#through boys who are probably the devil

[talkbycolor]

MC's kindergarden . . . ↷

Yanderes as toddlers AU

GN!Reader as a teacher who doesnt get paid enough for this.

CW: just a bunch of weird kids wanting to marry their teacher, keep scrolling

Sunny Day Jack.

the golden child, the angel of the classroom, he is a little devil in disguise, getting his classmates into trouble so that his teacher thinks he is the best

he looks like a mini teacher, he teaches colors to his classmates and shares everything (except the teacher)

uses guilt to convince his teacher, but with that little face and red cheeks, who wouldn't fall for it?

a very intelligent child but he is selfish, he learned to steal cookies from the kitchen and has not told anyone

he gives part of his lunch to his teacher, he likes to eat and sit next to him, he is the child who gives bouquets of flowers picked from the playground (MC already scolded him so he should look for other places to get flowers)

MC doesn't usually scold him often since he manipulates and makes kicked puppy eyes to get his way, a mini bastard

John Doe.

probably autistic and socially anxious child, very attached to MC, they must always accompany him to go to the bathroom, he eats in the classroom during recess time while MC teacher accompanies him

this is the child you have to make sure doesn't go through the trash or eat the crayons

he is actually a very sweet boy, MC usually combs his hair before school so it doesn't bother him, for some reason Doe always has it tangled and dirty

he can't count to 10 with his hands, poor thing

cat-like affection, gives insects or interesting things he found on the playground to his teacher

when the children play house, he is the mascot

Alan Orion.

boy obsessed with outer space, his lunch box and clothes are full of planets and stars

wants to impress MC with his knowledge about space, he usually tells them facts about galaxies and constellations during classes

MC of course would notice certain marks on Alan's little body, he would feel protective of the child (llamen al dif)

he steals things from his classmates, he was already scolded several times by MC

animal lover, once brought a moth he found on the playground into the classroom and Doe ate it, he cried for thirty minutes while MC comforted him

when he plays with puppets he pretends that one puppet is him and the other is MC, usually his games are of them getting married and living in the forest

Peter Dunbar.

a very sociable child simply because he is indifferent to all other people other than MC, he enjoys causing mischief to his classmates who play with MC

MC has to make sure Peter doesn't bite his fingers or scratch his face, a habit he has while concentrating

Peter looks like a bald rat when it's very hot weather, which MC finds funny, but they still puts sunscreen on him so the boy doesn't get sun-burned

even though there are many things that Peter doesn't like, like swimming, fruits or singing, he would do it for MC, adding the biggest embarrassment of his life by doing group dance with his classmates but happy to see his favorite teacher smiling

he would bring sweet lunches to share with his teacher, lying by saying that it is too much and he can't eat it all by himself (Peter loves sweet lunches but he loves his teacher more)

probably draws him and MC on the board with lots of hearts around them, causing the other kids in the classroom to start crying because they want to be the only ones for MC

Ren.

a cutie with his teacher, a bastard with everyone else, he knows how to maintain that image very well to fool MC

he sneaks into the staff room to see you, very attentive, isn't he? sometimes he leaves small gifts on your table

fights with Peter every time he tries to get him in trouble with the teacher, he must maintain his good boy reputation for you to love him!

the last time a girl confessed to him, Ren pushed her into the mud of the playground and made her cry, unfortunately the girl told MC and Ren also cried, not because of the scolding but because he didn't want MC to think that he was bad

once he saw you outside of class time, you were at the supermarket and he panicked because he had fake tattoos that he put on (they came in the packaging of the gum he ate)

MC would come to think that Ren lives in a super religious way since he always draws angels. Ren doesn't draw angels, he draws an angel (you)

Mycheal.

another little manipulator but this one cries every time he tricks MC and gets hugs illicitly (little baby)

he is a very hardworking child in class when it is time to do manual work, he likes to make small paper flowers for his teacher

the baby gets very sad every time he is left out of school projects, he doesn't know why no one seems to like him. surprisingly, he managed to get along fairly well with John Doe until he noticed his interest in MC

usually wraps his tail around MC's leg whenever he feels nervous or sick, that has been an indicator for MC to lull the child

kid who is a cotton candy fan, Peter pushed him while they were playing on the playground and his candy fell to the ground (he cried for 40 minutes)

kitten boy starts purring when MC praises his work

Keith and Tenebris.

as for them, I decided that they were twins in this AU (tenebris still has his blue skin and strange smile), they don't seem to get along very well and have a marked rivalry because they both want MC for themselves

Keith usually hates being in the classroom because his classmates are very noisy, MC has tried to help him with the overstimulation so that it is not an uncomfortable experience, since then Keith loves going to kindergarten

Tenebris does not get along with most of his classmates (if not all), he came close to befriending John Doe and Mycheal because they know what it's like to be treated differently because of how they look, but Doe scared him off by showing him a pair of beetles he found on the playground and Mycheal…well, just by being a liar

Keith is a very dedicated child, he likes to take care of the flowers in the playground with the help of MC, his teacher usually reads books about facts about flowers and apparently Keith is one of the few who pays attention (he cries every time that Jack plucks flowers from the garden to give them to MC)

Tenebris uses a toy guitar from the classroom to serenade his favorite teacher, that always kills MC with cuteness (Tenebris gets angry because it's not a real guitar)

when there are school trips, Keith always takes his teacher's hand and tries to pull them to see everything he finds interesting with them, whether it's a flower or a heart-shaped cloud

Tenebris always takes advantage when playing with swords with his classmates to satisfy his violent need to hurt everyone who likes MC, the game ends up turning into a real battle and Tenebris is scolded

Solivan Brugmansia.

at first glance, MC thought that the boy was always upset and didn't like him being around, but Sol just doesn't know what to do like when he's around his favorite teacher

the quiet child in the classroom, prefers to do his work alone, always takes the opportunity to draw MC with chalk on the playground

the boy is obviously obsessed (and not in a fun way) with his teacher, his parents came to the classroom angry because Sol had his sketchbooks full of sketches of you

you are the only person he allows to hold his stuffed animal, he leaves it with you whenever he goes to the bathroom and asks you to play with it, you don't think it's strange that Sol has a stuffed horse, children have strange toys all the time

Sol is clearly a target for bullying, you know it, you see it, so you have to constantly check that he is not hurt (Peter put gum in his hair once and he cried a lot)

SURPRISINGLY, he is one of the few children who has REAL friends, he has Hyugo, a classmate from another class, Hyugo knows about his crush on MC and is not very secretive, Sol has to cover his mouth or push him to the sandbox to make him shut up

Damon.

puppy love, usually chases other children on all fours and licks snot from his own nose

barks every time someone gets too close to MC but in the end the scolding is always worth it since MC teacher strokes his head when he doesn't promise it won't happen again (it will happen again)

he will believe anything you tell him, he is quite gullible with the things that MC says, if his teacher tells him that he can't dig holes in the playground because giant insects will come out of there that will eat everyone, Damon believes it

sweet tooth, loves chocolate, MC has to be careful with what his students eat, Damon often hides chocolate bars in his pockets and that always ends in MC confiscating the chocolates

Damon has a friend in another class who he calls DG, he is his best friend and again Damon is one of the few kids with real friends in your class, DG knows that Damon likes you but unlike Hyugo he is more secretive

when there are school dances, Damon gives his all, always trying hard, not only because he loves to dance but he also loves when his favorite teacher applauds and praises him

 ♡

[kuntprodukt]

I NEED YOU (I BREATHE YOU)

Next chap. |

Dante Sparda x reader | 18+ MDNI. SMUT, female reader, sugar baby&sugar mommy dynamics, age gap(reader is in her 20s), vaginal sex, unsafe sex, creampie, teasing, blowjob, nipple play, tits sucking, cowgirl position, light feminization.

Summary: Dante isn't the best in the financial field. Too many debts, every cent he gained at missions they slipped through his fingers simply trying to finally close those damn debts - so a good question emerged in his mind; can a man be a sugar baby? At his age? Turns out the only woman that wants him is younger than him.

notes: this is unplanned and a quick fic, wrote it without too much thought and i didnt even proofread it so if you see mistakes then you are wrong and ignore them, english isnt my first language anyway. reblogs, asks or comments and any kind of interractions are really appreciated!

Dante isn't the best in the financial field, doesn’t mean he is dumb - last time he opened a dictionary the definition of smart didn’t include the ability to manage one's money well. Too many debts, every cent he gained at missions they slipped through his fingers like sand by paying too much stuff and trying to finally close those damn debts - any good bank would tell him to fuck off and ban him from even thinking about setting the foot there. 

So a good question emerged in his mind; can a man be a sugar baby? At his age? Only sugar babies he heard of were young women in awful financial need or just with daddy issues. Jackpot! Hit the bullseye - he is both, with an additional bonus of mommy issues, if not worse. There shouldn't be a sex discrimination, men can work for those money not worse than women, surely there would be a woman of his age - in need of a good dick and waste her money. 

Turns out the only woman that wants him is younger than him. By 20 years. Where the fuck do you get money? Daddy’s money, probably. He wishes that's not true cause at his 43 the less drama from strangers the better it is. And he just wants to throw those debts in the bin finally. Perhaps there is some kind of sugar baby chain he isn't aware of? Patience and silence, Dante, money doesn't like shit talking - and you are too perfect for him, so fucking eager to feel his hands on your pretty body. This is weird, unusual even - companionship for such a pretty tight piece while you could find any other better man than whatever the mess he is.

And you like him too much for a sugar mommy. God, can he even call you like that? Mommy. Sugar. Sweet like one, but not a mom. Yet. His coat collection became richer than before, some stuff he'd never wear, but it is a nice thing to have - just to watch or give it to Nero, boy clearly doesn't believe Dante found someone finally. Maybe some devils were just too much into fashion. 

“Did you rob a bank? What the fuck, Dante?” Nero frowns at the sight of another new coat on Dante, leather one - not those used and already patched leather, like rings of cut tree showing their age. No-no, this one hugs his shoulders nicely and if he even bothered to button it then the curve of his waist would be hugged nicely. “Since when is there a big demand for you?”

“Or maybe someone learnt how to settle down“ Trish would poke at him, ambiguously raising her eyebrow. Damn her.

“Ehhh… who knows,” Dante shrugs. She eyes his face, probably already caught his uncertainty. Uncertain if he even should tell his sugar mommy to them - you. Young, god, they’d think he is a creep - like raunchy magazines weren't already enough. 

Too many doubts, Dante, one should be grateful for money in exchange his dick would get wet so easily, of course, little to complain. Rent gets paid with debts, other additional stuff is just a nice dessert.

Maybe Dante likes this too much than he is supposed to.

His heart melts everytime your head lays in his lap, while he is on the couch, doing jack shit - “watching” some crappy movies (no raunchy magazine with you, he isn't sure if you would have approved those) and drinking beer - not the cheapest, the best one. The curves of your hair in his laps, luring him to rest his hand on you, brush away the curls from your face to see your half lidded gaze settled on him and feel the warmth of your silk skin. Curling like a cat, trying to draw out of his warmth before returning it back by sucking him dry.

“What are you watching?” your voice pulls him out of the trance you've given him just with your presence. Somehow he doesn't even know himself, his eyes dart to the screen that has been illuminating your bodies for a good hour. A cheap movie with a bimbo with over exaggerated curves and some cliche muscular hero - it’d be a miracle if those actors didn't end up washed up after two years of their career. 

“Whatever on the TV” He shrugs, not wanting to admit he just put some crap. It is good food for your brains after a hard day. You hum mindlessly, as your fingers creep up under his shirt to feel his skin better. And he shivers, going straight to his cock with the image of you kissing his happy trail just to take his dick in your mouth. Sweet, better than magazines - they dont suck him off as you do, nor do they get wet his dick.

“Doesn't sound fun” Dante raises his eyebrow at your words, taking a quick sip of his beer.

“What’s fun for you?” His finger pokes on your forehead “I believe I’m fun enough” 

“Not shitty movie with bimbos and beer clearly” 

Dante stays silent, purses his lip thoughtfully,- more like a disapproval. He can't really voice it. But you are right. 

“Baby” your hand raises his shirt, his abs tense after getting exposed to the air and your gaze. Your fingers brush on the hard surface, squared shapes on his stomach are so pleasant to trace your finger tip on - lower and lower to his white happy trail like a sign guiding your eyes to the zipper of his jeans. Unzip me! Like a present.

“Mmm?” Baby… Baby, b-a-b-y… Baby, - god he likes this so much, how it rolls on your tongue like a candy melting slowly just to leave a cavity - the one he wouldn’t get rid off. His cock throbs beneath the fabric. 

“I have a present for yoouuu” And you have all his attention now, even more than before. He hopes it is something expensive or just cash - not that he doesn't like gifts, it’d be sad to sell them and unlikely he will anyway. 

You sit up, pulling out a long little dark object, he has seen it multiple times - lipstick, Trish uses identical one. It makes him feel weird. 

“What's that for?” Dante raises his eyebrow. Pop! It opens and slides out a sharp tip with the pretty cold red color. He isn't the expert here, but looks like a new buy - smells nice too. 

You don't answer. Your fingers grip his cheeks, squeezing them to purse his lips with a glee smile on your own. 

The curve of the lipstick presses on his lip, slowly sliding side to side and covering his slightly dry skin with a new color - your eyes lit up, like he has never seen before in you, getting off of the sight of lipstick on him and he can’t even say anything. Another pop! And something next to his eyes - trying not to blink too much, but he will be judged tonight cause it feels impossible. His eyelashes and eyes aren't used to the mascara. 

“You look gorgeous,” your eyes scan his face, finally finishing your job. “Maybe we should go to some places too..” You slip lower. “Some expensive restaurant,” On your knees in front of him now. “Maybe with a dress too, like a pretty girl.”

Dante’s eyes are set on you in between his spread legs, caressing his hardening cock under the jeans before they free it. Unzip, unbutton and tug on his boxers -  easy, simple. And he groans just from the anticipation. His cock bobs up to his hip, hard flesh with trimmed pubes - he isn’t a teenager to even care about his or someone’s body hair. And you don't seem to mind. Your gaze traces his cock, the red tip with an already formed bead of pre-cum on the slit, flinching under your gaze as a plea for your mouth to wrap and taste the light bitterness on your tongue. To trace his tip and underneath it with your tongue, slowly moving to the base and to feel the prominent vein of his cock pulse before cumming in your mouth.

Your palm curls on his cock, gripping it steady and Dante can see a new manicure - pretty, dark red with a sharp kitty-like shape slowly stroking his dick.

“Pretty nails..” He lets out and you sparkle up like a Christmas tree - a subtle detail can easily excite you, reminding him how young you are. Confirming his theory too - you may have daddy issues too.

Your lips press against his tip, slowly kissing around it. What a tease for him, your tongue peeks out to lick away precum his tip leaks before sinking your mouth on his cock. The warm and wet heat of your mouth envelops it, your tongue flicks along the shaft. Dante can feel himself getting harder and his hips buck back in response, letting quiet groans.

Briefly his tip brushes at the back of your throat, forcing another buck of his hips into your mouth before it pulls away from his cock. You cough slightly, having a hard time to take him entirely in your mouth - deepthroating isn't the born talent, more like an acquired skill. Dante pats your cheek with a cocky smirk.

“Don't bite off more than you can chew, doll” His hand creeps in your hair to push you up. Your lips are puffier than before, glistening with the saliva and the sight makes his cock throb painfully. His cock twitches in the air. 

 “Fuck, come on” Dante grunts, too impatient, pulling you up and his fingers dip in your plush thighs, the skin squeezes softly in between free space of them. “Your gorgeous girl needs to feel your pussy” He smirks, leaning back on the couch. “You wouldn’t deny me, right?”

You straddle him, your pussy hovers over his wet cock, as his arms snake around your waist - slowly pushing your hips lower: his tip nudges your hole, slipping inside and burying himself deep inside you. Warmer, wetter and so much better than your mouth, your walls stretch around him so right, gripping his hard skin tightly - surely you will feel every little curve of his cock inside you. Pressing and hitting your g-spot is so good too, like you were born to have him inside your pussy - or vice versa, he was born to be used by you. Your hips roll together with your body, it arches into him, his cock sinks deeper into your pussy and your clit grinds against his pubic bone - coaxing more moans out of you, as his arm slowly coils around your waist to pull you closer.

Your tits bounce so well in front of his face - in the sea of pleasure he leans in to bury his face in them. Slowly kissing and biting on the plush surface, coaxing more moans with a sweet perfect arch of your back. His hand creeps up to knead your boob, while sucking on the nipple of the other. Hard bud against his tongue, slowly sucking on it. Light bite, while his eyes are set on your expression twisted in pleasure. He could die here and now - but satisfied and fulfilled as a man. 

He can feel his balls tighten easily, slapping against your ass as you keep riding him. So close, you are too, after all his playing with your tits didnt go to waste. Your pussy clenches tighter his cock, signaling your own orgasm is approaching too. His hips bucked up to meet yours in a messy pace as everything became more and more overwhelming. With a final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, giving last and soft kisses to your tits. Your body shudders eventually too, your walls spasm harder around him as the crushing wave of orgasm hits you, pleasant shockwaves dumb every bad thought in the head. His cock throbbed, finally spurting ropes of cum into you. You rest on him. Your heavy breathings feel  the room, no more flesh-hitting and wet sounds, just you and the forgotten movie rolling on the tv - some crap dialogues in the background you both don't care about.

Dante was last to get hold of himself, you leaning back brought him back to you. Your hair sticks to your skin, forming wavy forms and giving a much cuter look he has never seen you having before. Something is missing. 

“No kissing for your best girl?” Dante teases again, a toothy smile on his face flashed from sex and you notice his lipstick got smeared and messy without your ministrations. A sparkle of jealousy, or whatever it is. Not sure why and from where. Your hand runs through his white strands just to grip and crush your lips into his. Smearing even more the lipstick on his mouth, but this time tainting yours too with that pretty red. His mouth opens to deepen the kiss, tongue brushes at the seam of your lips just to end up denied and pulled away from you just to meet your own toothy grin dirtied with lipstick. 

Huh, seems like he ended up kissblocked. Not cockblocked, at this point uncertain what's better end for him.

[padmerry]

Stan twins: codependency & identity issues

“I tell you it’s unnatural for siblings to get along as well as you do,” says Stan to Dipper and Mabel in Not What He Seems, clearly missing his own relationship with Ford before things started to change. “We used to be like Dipper and Mabel,” says Ford in Weirdmaggedon 3: Take Back the Falls. Were they really, though?

I think what many people don’t get about Stan and Ford’s dynamic as children, or even as teenagers, is that, no matter what Stan and Ford think or say about it, they were not like Mabel and Dipper. That just highlights their lack of self-awareness. Here’s a canon analysis for anyone who cares to understand my point:

Mabel and Dipper have overall very different interests and hobbies and act separately on them. They have other friends and spend time with them—well, at least Mabel has Candy and Grenda, as the bubbly social butterfly she is; Dipper, on the other hand, seems way more preoccupied with deciphering the mysteries of Journal 3, but doesn’t miss an opportunity to be included in Wendy’s cool teenage group, as seen in episodes The Inconveniencing and The Love God (in the latter, he seems to be actually succeeding). As fraternal twins of different genders, no matter how alike they look (and despite Mabel’s joke of being “girl Dipper”), they still manage to retain pretty distinct identities. No issue here.

Mabel does her sleepovers, goes to boy band shows, and has encounters with potential crushes. When a surprised Dipper asks her about her vampire love in The Deep End, she points out, “I don’t tell you everything.” Dipper, meanwhile, explored the town with Soos, went to Wendy’s house, hung out with her teen gang, and overall lived many adventures without Mabel, such as trying to prove himself a man with help of the Manotaurs. I think the episode that shows the healthy independence Dipper and Mabel had from each other the best is probably Carpe Diem, inspired in Alex’s real life frustration with his sister, Ariel, but it can be observed all through the series:

What is shown to us in AToTS already differs from that. The Stan twins were inseparable, and each other’s only friends, as Stan establishes early on in his narrative: “Those bullies may have been right about us not making many friends, but when push comes to shove, you only really need one.”

With his question to Ford in the Lost Legends comic, The Jersey Devil’s in the Details, Stan implies they really did everything together, in a way reminiscent of Phineas and Ferb: “So what’re we gonna do today, buddy?”

Even small details, like the toys in their room, served to show the difference between the Stans and Dipper & Mabel, as Matt Chapman clarifies on the episode’s official commentary:

You also see that at this age, all the stuff that would cross over, that would appeal to both of them. You know, it’s not just like, oh, there’s science stuff here and then there’s like—I don’t know—what little Stan would be into. It’s like, no, they both like all this.

“But Mabel was just as desperate in Dipper and Mabel vs the Future as Stan was in A Tale of Two Stans!” Yes, true. She was, and I do believe her relationship with Dipper was the most important one in her life. But do you think the facts that a) she was already terrified of growing up, as shown in the episode Summerween, b) Candy and Grenda declined her invitations to their birthday party, c) Wendy showed her the apparently terrible reality of being a teenager, and d) Stan told her that it would be fine because at least she would always have Dipper... had nothing to with it? Originally her parents were going to forbid her from bringing Waddles to Piedmont, as revealed in the episode commentary of Dipper and Mabel vs. the Future, as just one more heartbreaking thing on the pile of Mabel’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. (Of course, teen Stan’s circumstances were aggravated by the bad home situation he was being “left alone” in by Ford—just like Mabel! Whose parents were arguing, per TBoB canon, to the point of giving Dipper recurring nightmares.)

Another very important thing is that the poor girl was twelve years old, while Stan was presumably seventeen-ish, an age at which separation would be normal and even expected, with the time for college approaching. In fact, differently from what happened with Mabel, whose imminent separation from Dipper came out of left field through an unexpected proposal by Ford (foreshadowed only by her slight discomfort over how close Ford and Dipper were becoming), there was a blatant rift between the teen Stans that Ford went so far as to acknowledge to Stan’s face. Using Stan’s own words from the Land Before Swine commentary: “Anyway, cut to high school, the guy’s never kissed a girl, prom is coming up, and he asked me for advice. ‘Stanley, I know things have been a little weird between you and me with college, but can you talk to me about girls?’” That was before prom (the one in which a girl threw fruit punch at Ford), mind you.

And still, this is what Stan thinks when he realizes Ford is going to accept the scholarship: “Without Ford, I was just half of a dynamic duo. I couldn’t make it without him.” He saw himself as only half of a whole—no wonder, with the way both twins were pushed to believe this since their birth, when they were both named Stan.

When asked about Shermie, Alex observed that a crucial part of their dynamic is that they only had each other. No younger or older brother to support them. The quote from HanaHyperfixates’ and ThatGFFan’s interview:

In terms of Shermie, I remember asking Rob or somebody at some point, like, “Would Shermie be here, logically? Do we have to see him?” I don’t really wanna see him. I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in Stan and Ford being—sort of having only each other and then losing each other because of their different life paths.

I think the suggestion was, “Maybe Shermie would be a baby. Maybe that would happen.” And being like, “okay sure.”

Let’s not forget, too, the only time Ford ever mentions Shermie in Journal 3—“Sherman Pines’s,” surname and all:

From my own observations about their parents, that point is only driven further home.

Filbrick is, well, Filbrick. I don’t think I need to explain much here; every one of us has different interpretations and headcanons about him, but they seem to all agree on the common factor he wasn’t a good father—how much that can be justified by their time period or stretched to accommodate the most heartwrenching stangst is up for debate, just not a subject for this post.

Caryn is more complicated. I think Filbrick was definitely ‘worse’ than her, so to speak, at least in a more obvious way, and she has canonically demonstrated considerable fondness for Stan in particular—according to her, Stan’s rambunctiousness can be attributed to an excess of “personality,” he’s her “little free spirit.” She was, most notably, one of the two people present at Stan’s funeral if the info on the new website is to be trusted. We see her smiling brightly in the picture of the baby Stan twins included in TBoB, which hints at the fact she indeed liked her kids.

But the fact that she, as an adult, didn’t intervene when Stan was kicked out is simply, in my point of view, inexcusable. One could say she was momentarily paralyzed from an overwhelming fear of Filbrick, as a supposed victim herself, but a) that’s already entering headcanon domain, and b) I think that’s far from the truth and directly contradicting the comics, in which she looks happy and relaxed in the company of Filbrick: initiating contact and kissing him on the cheek, comfortingly stroking his back, looking at him with can only be described as tenderness... I don’t think Filbrick is meant to be seen as a monster, not in an exaggerated way. (He’s shown to be touched by Stan’s little stunt with the golden chain, too.) Just a really shitty father, in a common, boring, more nuanced, no less traumatizing, way.

Borrowing a paragraph from a previous analysis:

To me, the most telling thing of all is the fact Stan calls for Ford to help him, not his own mother. Ford, his brother, same age as him, who was at the moment beyond furious with him and very unlikely to show any compassion. Ford, whose attempts to change Filbrick’s mind would more likely than not have been unsuccessful. Not Caryn, adult, who probably had much greater sway over Filbrick. They say a child��s first instinct is to call for their mama. Clearly not in this case!

I’m not saying, here, that Caryn didn’t care about her boys. I elaborate more on her in the meta referenced above, here.

I find it adorable how easily, without any previous prompting, baby Stanley opens up to Ford about his feelings in the comics. The sheer vulnerability of this moment, seeking Ford’s reassurance that he wasn’t a bad kid; the implicit, profound trust, especially coming from someone like Stan, who grows into a man packed to the gills with toxic masculinity due to what he learned from his father. And the manner in which Ford gently comforts him, as if he were used to doing so. As Stan, too, had been shown to do when Crampelter mocked Ford’s fingers. They were clearly accustomed to being each other’s emotional pillars, in the way that kids who learned early on that they can’t count on adults or lean on the authority figures in their lives start building their own little safe space.

The way I see it, the Stan twins got along extremely well, for better or for worse. No obnoxious sibling bickering. No fights and conflict. How could they? They were literally each other’s only friend. If anything, their first major fight was caused by lack of communication, among many other things; they repressed their frustrations with each other to a ridiculous point instead of simply externalizing them like you would expect of an average sibling dynamic.

Second of all, they were monozygotic aka identical twins, as strongly hinted in the show, comics, and books, and as confirmed by Alex on the TBoB website, the behind-the-scenes DVD commentaries, and Twitter. The first mention of it, in 2015, below:

They were both named Stan, they had the same face. I’ve read irl identical twins’ confessions about the nature of such a relationship re: identity issues and how people tend to treat you, and it’s often not pretty. In the Stan twins’ case, their sense of identity was beyond blurry, and it’s not difficult to see why. If you pay attention to the show or the comics, you’ll see many hints of this unhealthiness: the way they were both called to the principal’s office (“Pines twins,” even though only Ford was an interested party), the way Stan was called “a dumber, sweatier version” of Ford by Crampelter, the way they had already pretended to be each other before, not in their childhood but adolescence (Stan’s idea, according to hilarious extra material in the DVDs).

Baby Ford, in the comics, has demonstrated a tendency to shoulder the blame that should only be attributed to Stan. For example, when he exclaims, “Oh my God! We killed the Sibling Brothers!” Ford, honey, if anyone had killed the Sibling Brothers, it would’ve been your brother, the person who shoved them in the first place. Not you.

I find it adorable that he also grounded himself for Stan! Filbrick had been very clear about grounding Stan, only, not both twins. But Ford stays with him as if he were grounded as well, as if he didn’t even have a choice. Where Stan was, there was Ford, not far behind.

They were an unit. Inseparable. As simple as that.

Until they weren’t.

The science fair incident happens, of course—and it’s worth noting Ford doesn’t consider the possibility that Stan sabotaged him out of jealousy or envy of his success for even a second! Instead, he immediately assumes Stan broke his machine so Ford would stay with him!

Did their codependency end with their separation, then? I’ve seen many people believing that yes, it did.

But mullet!Stan, now an adult, ten years after his fight with Ford, still resents Ford for not staying with him “forever”:

Not only that, but as Rob Renzetti (who is Gravity Falls’ supervising producer and story editor and the co-author of Journal 3) phrased it in this separate interview by HanaHyperfixates, Ford’s absence in Stan’s life haunted him and shaped all his relationships:

Um, I mean, to me that’s—I mean, really, Stan—Stan’s life has been… it’s been… sad, and lonely, since—he really… his brother was his best friend, and he loved him so, and I don’t think, you know, I don’t think any other relationship ever worked out for him, because of what happened between him and his brother.

And by the end of it all, you get Bill calling Stan “co-dependant” (British Bill?) on the TBoB website:

I know you might think, at first, that we should take Bill’s insults with a grain of salt, since he’s 1) Bill and 2) petty and desperate. But Bill has also a track record of trying to hit where he thinks will hurt the most, and he knows people. His insult here is not an isolated thing either. It might have been easily dismissed, I agree, if not for all the other evidence for the Stans’ codependency that I’m currently showing you. It’s just one proof out of many, just reinforcing an idea that’s already presented quite clearly.

If you’re still not convinced, Alex has revealed in HanaHyperfixates and ThatGFFan’s interview that Ford’s entire character was built around the type of person that could plausibility explain Stan’s neediness:

Ford was very much us building backwards. The same way you know a black hole is there by the light warped around it, it’s like, you know the damage someone’s family has done to them by all of their weird tics and behaviors. So who is the character who would result in Stan being this hurt and needy and mad and also longing?

But Stan’s codependency, imo, was always easier to see than Ford’s, to the point people mistakenly think Stan cared more about Ford than Ford about him. (I’ve dedicated an entire meta to debunking that assumption as well, here.)

In the commentary of Society of the Blind Eye, though, Alex added, referring to Ford and Fiddleford’s friendship:

Ford as somebody who lost Stan is kinda looking for—even though he rejected his brother, he kinda needs, he needs that other person, and he tried to find that in this kinda sweet prodigy and he just pushed him too far.

What Alex said about Ford’s relationship with Fiddleford can easily be applied to Ford’s relationship with Bill and with Dipper, since Ford needs “that other person,” needs to be one half of a duo. Ford has tried to recreate his dynamic with Stan again, and again, and again:

And then, of course, we have Ford’s proposal.

What’s really cool about this first image (below) is that it was drawn before Stan even accepted Ford’s proposal, and parallels their childhood picture in Ford’s pocket (one that, per Word of God, Ford has always carried with him, even before his portal days, as explained here) in a very obvious manner:

Ford was already excitedly fantasizing, drawing fanart of them together, picking their outfits and the name of the boat.

But more than that, he also says:

[...] I think it’s time for the Pines twins to join forces again. At least, I hope so. I haven’t discussed my idea with Stan yet. But if I know my brother, he will jump at the chance to find “money and babes.”

And this, to me, expresses both his hope that Stan would welcome his idea and agree to sail away with him and his almost certainty that it is exactly what is going to happen. Ford does mention Stan’s love for “money and babes,” but do you guys think Ford didn’t know what (or better yet, whom) Stan actually loved? In AToTS, Journal 3, and TBoB’s new canon material, we can observe that same certainty. In all three instances, Ford immediately assumes that Stan will show up and come for his call via postcard with no indication whatsoever that the possibility of Stan declining showed up in his mind.

Alex has also commented, in the first interview I’ve referenced:

Those characters at sea—it was so rich. They’re really really funny, because they both have major major blind spots. I can kinda write stories about them as a duo forever, because you can always excuse them both getting hyped on a bad idea for their own reasons, and then you can always come up with a reason for them to disagree about it, and it’s always sweet to see them come together again, because they’re so full of themselves, but they are also both so damaged they desperately need each other.

Not only reinforcing the idea that their codependency was—or at least eventually became—mutual, but confirming that things returned to their status quo. Ford has a black & white mindset, the only way he knows how to be with Stan is a codependent way. They’re either separated and estranged or they’re sailing completely alone on a boat for the rest of their lives. Either rivals or best friends forever. There’s no middle ground for him.

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 01. IN DREAMS WE REST

a/n: i've been stressed about this fic probably more than any other i've ever written. not because it's logan per se, but because wade wilson makes me want to rip my hair out. i love that bastard, but writing him feels like pulling teeth. i'm in love with this concept solely for the angst, so if you see more throughout and wonder if they will ever get a happy ending, please know i'm dead inside. enjoy!

summary: stuck in another universe and unsure of where he stands, logan expects things to even out as they always did. but when you cross his path and you have no idea who he is, he's in for a rude awakening.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, angst, cussing so much cussing, alcohol consumption, grief, pain, a broken man pretending he's not broken, chance encounters, awkward conversations, hope.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

He can hear it when he sleeps.

Their screams.

The constant ring of agony that chimes out like a bell, an alarm he never set for himself. A joke once told to him in the midst of World War II, as bullets flew by him and soldiers lost their lives each second of each day. There's no escape from hell. No running from the devil that nipped at his heels the faster he went, the longer he tried to navigate a way free.

There's no escape from the memories that ate away in his mind. Multitudes of them, of the faces he once called family, the people he used to love. They were his punishment. The boulder he continued to roll up the hill, day after day after day. Until eventually...he was crushed by his own self-hatred.

"Logan." The voice whispered long enough for him to grasp who it might be, yet never louder than a mere breath of air.

He clung to it some days. Sunk his claws into what little of his past remained good and allowed it to fill him with some amount of peace. At least then he'd be able to bear this weight, this grief he could never quite name.

Something light brushed across his cheek. Tickling the skin enough to send a flare of irritation down his spine, but the dreams held him in their grasp. What came next never surprised him. He expected it at this point—longed for it. The distant pain of losing what once made him whole; the entirety of his life now defined by one single moment he could never change.

"He sleeps so sweetly. I just want to curl up in his arms and have him read me bedtime stories."

"He's not gonna like that when he wakes up."

"Zip it Al. If I wanted an opinion, I'd go see a Hollywood therapist."

A scoff echoed in the background. "No therapist wants you on their couch."

"Not true. I hear Ryan Reynolds has a great one."

"Who?"

"Not the point." The feather dusted across Logan's face again, soft enough to keep him asleep yet annoying enough to bring a smile to Wade's face. "I wonder if he's dreaming about killing bad guys. They say it's good for the soul."

"Who the fuck is they?"

Wade laughed. "Oh you know. Them. The readers. And boy howdy do they love their blood."

Every day he was forced to listen to Wade's voice became another day Logan dragged his claw through a tally mark of his sanity. "Do you ever shut the fuck up," he growled, gripping Wade's wrist until he heard the satisfying crack of bones.

"Only when I swallow."

"I'll tear your fuckin' arm off."

The smile on Wade’s face only added another tally. "Nice kitty. No need for the claws."

Anger washed across his skin in a familiar wave as he released Wade's arm, watching it go limp. Trying to kill the unkillable walking irritation was like trying to swat a fly that never quite died. It still buzzed incessantly. Until eventually madness was the only viable option of dealing with it. In his case, he seemed to be driving head on with no brakes.

Logan wasn't sure he possessed enough sanity left within him to keep dealing with this. Sleeping on the couch didn't help the way his body never rested; always stuck in that permanent fighting mode. He'd give anything to find some peace. A small sliver of it carved off the past that continued to call him—that begged him to come back and try again.

Swinging his legs off the couch, he planted a swift kick to Wade's chest that sent him across the floor. The lack of caffeine in his system left everything hazy and half coherent. If he focused he might have caught the keys thrown at him, but being exhausted and sober didn't make for a good combination with him. An empty whiskey bottle lay discarded on the floor from last night; the memories of how he passed out barely tinged on the edge of his mind.

He could recall stabbing Wade in the leg.

Nothing beyond that.

Dried blood—now an ugly brown—stained his white shirt. He nearly stripped himself of it, prepared to throw it in with whoever was washing next, but his flannel being chucked at his head caught him off guard.

"Fuck off," he snapped, stumbling to the kitchen.

Wade sighed, following him. "Get dressed, peanut. We have to go do human things today."

"Human–”

"Food," Al retorted. "We're out."

Even in a new universe, he couldn't see himself acting normal. For so long he did what had to in order to survive. Yet now...he wasn't so sure. Accompanying Wade Wilson in order to complete household chores left a bad taste in his mouth. But the thought of fresh coffee and an unopened bottle of whiskey sounded like sweet silver bells in his head.

With reluctance, he buttoned up half of the flannel before he became annoyed with the small size of the holes punched into the fabric. There was only so much he could do with the life he had now. And sometimes shit really sucked.

"Don't scratch my fucking car," Al pointed her words towards Wade, thankfully ignoring Logan's existence for a brief moment.

"Is it safe for her to own a car?"

The door shut behind him with a bang, echoing down the vacant hallway. He was surprised people actually lived here given Wade's antics. They could hear the loud mouthed fucker across the street—if the angry notes in the mail were anything to go by. He didn't bother asking if he should be concerned with any of it. Not when he had no say in how the house was run. And choosing to insert himself where he wasn’t needed, rarely went well for him.

"God no. But I give her the benefit of the doubt. She hasn't killed anyone. Yet."

He yanked the keys out of Wade's hand. "Yeah well I don't trust you either Bub."

The car didn't leave room for his legs as he squeezed into the driver's side. His body practically folded in half as he turned it over—the rumble of the engine rattling against metal. How Blind Al managed to pay for this vehicle went beyond even Wade's knowledge, and in all honesty…he was too fucking scared to ask.

Too much seemed to be happening for him to ever catch up. While this Earth felt similar to his, small things were different. And when they began to add up...he began to wonder if he was drowning.

"Turn left to merge onto the asscrack of traffic."

He barely heard the directions as he drove, his mind drifting the further they went. Part of him sensed the grief from earlier begin to claw up the back of his throat. It begged him to fall, to be swallowed whole by the darkness he'd been stuck in before. And he nearly gave in; could feel his body shift into its constant mode of fight or flight.

The steering wheel cracked under his white knuckled grip as Wade's voice became an afterthought to the war he fought in his mind. Terror trapped itself in his throat and he slammed his foot on the brakes a foot away from a parking spot in retaliation. The car lurched forward, his claws descended. A snarl rumbled in his chest the longer he sat there thinking.

"Woah..." For the first time in days, Wade fell silent. "You alright?"

Logan ripped himself free, shoving his body out of the car before he even threw it in park. He gulped in breath after breath and did his best to wait for this fucking feeling to leave his system. The nightmares only came as he slept. A constant familiar horror show after two centuries.

Yet now he was left like this. Leaned up against a car, his eyes closed shut, and heart racing.

All because he couldn't do his fucking job.

"Logan–"

He snapped, shoving past Wade and his pity that choked him with a vengeance. He didn't deserve anyone's pity. He didn't want it. But people couldn't help but hand it over unconsciously. As if they could see the layers of broken pieces beneath his false expression of strength. Logan never pretended to be okay. Why bother with something people could see right through?

He merely wanted others to ignore he was there. Walk past him, look through him, do whatever it took to pretend that him and all his tragedies weren't standing before them. Because one day he would die and fuck how he couldn't wait for that time to come.

A small hole in the wall dive bar sat in the corner of the shopping center. He barely caught sight of it. But the unmistakable scent of alcohol poured out the door as someone stumbled out—their eyes squeezed shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. He could understand them in a way.

His world didn't have sunlight this bright. Or perhaps he never noticed it ‘til now.

Maybe his body wasn't acclimated yet; unsure of what the fuck was still happening. Everything seemed to be turned up to eleven for him, yet no off switch existed.

The dark hazy glow of the interior sent a wave of calm through him as the door swung shut with a soft thud. Four people sat scattered around the place and a bartender with white and graying hair stood cleaning a glass so foggy it was probably better to throw it out. He found himself letting out a breath that'd been trapped in his chest since that morning. Finally some peace before he had to listen to Wade yap about bullshit he didn't in fact give a shit about.

"What'll you have?" the old man asked, his face screwing up in a wince as he limped towards Logan's spot at the end of the bar.

A quick glance down let him see the brace wrapped around the man's knee. "Whiskey on the rocks."

He nodded, slowly heading towards the center of the wall—a lonesome half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Logan shifted, taking the center seat directly behind the man.

"I can't say I've seen you around before son."

He grinned, his finger tracing a random carving that'd been placed in the wood. "I just moved here. Living with a coworker."

"Coworker huh?"

The word didn't sound right to Logan, but he couldn't exactly call Wade his friend. Although they were more than people who fought together, more than men who shared blood during the same battle. That was the thing about Logan though. He'd never be able to put a label on something like that. To him...things weren't one or the other as much as he wanted to pretend they were. There was nuance to his life.

Complications which made living that much harder.

The man turned, surprised to see Logan so close, but didn't make note of it. Logan could see the gratitude in the way his drink was slid carefully to him. The small silent thank you in the bowl of pretzels placed beside it.

"You look lost."

Logan grunted, biting into the salty and dry snack. "Do I?"

"More than some of the others that come around here."

"And who comes around here?"

The man laughed. "No one as of late. You're the first young man I've seen in a while walk through those doors."

He bit back his laugh at the word young. The stories he could tell would leave the man baffled. About wars that no living person had witnessed. About when the world was far different than today—when mutants were freaks of nature and humans were far less forgiving. He could list it all and then some.

But whether or not someone would listen was another thing entirely.

"This place that old?" he inquired, sipping on the amber liquid with a contented sigh.

"Oh you bet." A weary laugh filled the space. "I bought this place in the sixties. When my wife was still my girlfriend. She almost left me because of it."

Logan huffed, his lips curling slightly. "She wasn't a fan?"

The man shook his head, tossing a cloth over his shoulder. "Still isn't. Well she...wasn't." He pressed his thumb to the worn gold band on his left hand. "When she was alive she used to host a book night. Helped bring in the men's wives. Kept them outta trouble."

"Book night huh?"

"She loved to read."

Before he could down the final sips of his drink it was topped off. Logan nodded his head in thanks, his thumb digging into the thumbprint shape of the glass. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost see himself coming here every night. He pictured a life far different than his own, a past where he might have been happy. With someone who might have even made him smile.

"I'm not much of a reader," he replied, his voice hoarse and eyes fixed on the ice that floated to the surface.

"Ah me too," the man laughed. "I just liked seeing her smile."

A soft remark was on the tip of his tongue before an entirely new image began to take shape. The face of someone lost. Of a smile he'd known better than his own. Hands that once held his face with the tenderness of a lover—a voice that sent the hair rising on the back of his neck. He could see it as clear as he did the man.

You in all your beauty. Lost to a past he could no longer rectify.

He swallowed thickly, beating back every emotion that crawled under his skin. "What's your name?"

"Travis."

Raising his glass, he tipped it towards the man with a tight grin. "Logan." The alcohol went down with a quick and biting burn. A feeling he'd grown familiar with. One he counted on.

"Nice to meet you Logan."

"Yeah you too."

He dug out some cash and tossed it on the bar as he stood with a slight grunt. He may heal quickly but the ache in his bones still existed. As if something resisted against how his body moved with each slow shift.

Fighting meant he could ignore it.

Existing is what made it worse.

The sun practically burned his eyes when he stepped out, the heat of the day encompassing his whole body quicker than he would have liked. For some unknown fucking reason, summer here felt worse than on his Earth. Then again the alcohol didn't help. He stood in the shade of the building next to the bar, searching the parking lot for any sign of Wade.

Going into the store wasn't an option and as much as he wanted to leave the annoyance behind, he didn't want to feel like a piece of shit. That is...even more than he already did.

"Fuck," he hissed, leaning against the brick wall. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

One option would be taking a walk to work off the energy that ran through his veins. At least then he'd be able to sleep at night. And the temptation almost worked. If it weren't for the shop doors that opened to his left, effectively distracting him from the chance of leaving. He could have ignored the person, probably should have given everything he'd been through.

But then his heart dropped to his stomach as you walked out. He'd never seen you in such a soft sundress before, the off white fabric draped off your curves in a way that floored him. As if you were an angel floating by without a care in the world. You were busy shoving a small piece of paper in your purse, your face furrowed in frustration, and Logan smiled. Because he'd traced each line of that face before, he'd kissed those cheeks, your eyelids as you slept.

He'd loved you in ways that would scare a normal human.

And there you were.

"Honey?" he called, unconsciously following you quicker than he intended to. "Honey."

You glanced to the side, completely unaware of the giant lumbering man trailing after you with a soft look on his face and hope in his hands.

That alone tore him in two more than the memories from before.

"Baby, it's me."

The breeze finally went through the air, pushing the skirt of your dress a bit higher on your thighs. Except that's not what he latched onto. Your scent was different. Unlike any he'd encountered before. Honey still sweetly caressed his senses, but flowers overlayed that—peonies if he guessed. Delicious enough to have his mouth watering; his body already aching for you to be closer. To look at him in the way you used to.

He wanted to call out to you—gain your attention properly—but your name wouldn't leave his tongue. Because you were there and you finally caught sight of him and you were looking at him as if nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.

You saw him as a man.

Not a disappointment.

He willed himself to stop and breathe. Take in his surroundings; realize that you weren't who he once knew. You weren't even the same fucking person.

But before he could think straight, he'd already followed you halfway to your car. His eyes were dazed, heart nearly throttling him alive as he stood there dumbly. Waiting for you to finally speak.

"Oh..." Your heart rate spiked quicker than he expected. He couldn't find it in himself to feel bad though. "Hello?"

"Honey," he sighed, the weight on his shoulders lifting ever so slightly.

He caught the way your fingers tightened around your keys, the defense mechanism an instinct by now. And Logan realized what he looked like. A strange man standing too close for your liking. So he took a step back and gave you some space. In the hopes that you wouldn't see him as a threat. That maybe...you'd listen to what he had to say.

"Can I help you?" you asked, eyes darting around the parking lot in case you needed help.

What he wouldn't give for the opportunity to reassure you. To explain that he wasn't here to hurt you. That he'd kill himself before even laying a hand on you. Yet the correct words were lost and all he seemed to get out was an incoherent babble that had him wanting to dig his own claws into his chest.

"You smell different."

You straightened your spine, eyes narrowed into a glare he felt burn across his skin. "Look, I don't know who you are. But fuck off."

Something akin to pride flared in his chest at your tone, your words. But he couldn't show it externally. How would he explain that your fight—your fire—is what drew him to you in the first place? How could he tell you about a version of yourself you'd never know? A person he thought would be with him until his last breath exhaled into the world.

"I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands in an attempt to prove his point, but like your variant counterpart you were willing to bite first and ask questions later.

"Yeah. Sure asshole." The shopping bag in your other hand was lifted up, until you had a tighter grip on it in case something happened. You didn't know him. You probably never would.

But Logan had to try. He owed it to you to give it all he had this time around.

Otherwise...what was the point of living?

"My name's–" He made the wrong move stepping forward and knew it the second his boot hit the gravel. With a wince, he watched you stumble back against your car, your arm coming up to protect yourself. "No. Look I'm not gonna do anything–"

"Get the fuck away from me," you spit.

He moved back as if approaching a wounded animal—his body finally on edge in a new way. The fact that you didn't know him wasn't what broke off another chunk of his heart. He could handle that. He'd been through that.

You were afraid of him.

That realization dug in too deep for his body to heal.

That...he couldn't live with.

"WOAH hey!" He'd never appreciated Wade's irritating ass more than in this moment. He jumped between the two of you, the cart of groceries forgotten as he blocked Logan from your sight. "Step away from the nice lady wolf boy." Wade regarded you with a smile. "Hi! Sorry. This is my uncle and well as you can probably tell he's lost eight of his lives. So we're going on little old nine. And well the mind just goes to shit first."

Seconds passed by like minutes and Logan watched you visibly deflate. "Wade," you greeted him, visibly calmer than before. Logan felt his stomach twist violently at the thought. "It's good to see you. How's the job?"

"Oh yup you know. Left that. But I'm really pushing through. I've got an Etsy store where I sell miniature paintings of Michael Angelo's David's penis. So there's that."

Your laughter sent a hole through his chest and Logan bit back the growl that rose up the back of his throat. What the fuck was Wade doing making friends with you? Why were you laughing at his humor?

He couldn't count how many days he'd spent longing to hear your laugh again, the shine in your eyes that always came around when joy flooded your bloodstream. He could smell the honey off your skin, the warmth of what no doubt lay beneath your thin dress. And he wanted to rip Wade to pieces knowing that he was the one making it happen. That you were comfortable with a man who's mouth ran at a mile a minute.

"Did your sister have the baby yet?"

You brightened and Logan felt his heart stutter. "She did! A boy."

"Named Wade I hope."

Another peal of laughter had Logan's claws itching to descend as you ignored he was there. "Theo actually. A cutie."

"Aww." Wade moved closer, head bent to see the small polaroid you pulled out of your wallet. "Wow, he looks like you'd find him in a Gerber's advertisement."

Your eyes drifted up, past Wade's shoulder, until you finally caught Logan's gaze. And he felt like he could breathe. Every ounce of fear was wiped from your face; interest now creeping in as you dragged your eyes down his form. Past the slight peek of chest hair and down to how his jeans hugged his hips. Logan stood taller for your benefit, as if he needed to make a good impression.

He wanted to linger in your mind for days. Until the curiosity ate you alive.

"We're gonna go," Wade announced, after grabbing your bag and placing it in your trunk for you. "Someone has to feed the blind woman in my apartment. She tends to root through everything looking for food." He gripped Logan's arm, shoving him back a good few feet. Even as your eyes still remained glued to his face. "Glad to see the Hyundai is still working. You know you could take the fattest fucking nap in the back of that puppy. Makes you feel like an Egyptian mummy."

"Bye," you said, a dazed look in your eyes as Logan smiled in your direction. At ease with the knowledge that even in a different universe, he could still fluster you with a look.

Dragging himself away from you was hell, but Wade's grip remained unbreakable as they clambered to the car. The groceries stacked in the small backseat.

He could glimpse you driving off and suddenly the nightmare from earlier was the last thing on his mind.

Wade's back hit the wall with a crack before the door could shut properly. The groceries in their hands toppled to the floor. He barely had time to duck before Logan's claws were aiming for his head—a snarl ripping from his throat.

"What the fuck?" Wade shouted, grabbing the paper bag and gently setting it on the table. "Next time just say you need to stay home and find some joy in an empty room and your hand."

"How do you know her?"

Wade smiled, assessing the furious state of chaos Logan was now left in. The tatters of his stability falling to the floor around him. For as much as he held himself together, it certainly remained easy enough to tear him a part.

"Got an eye on someone, do we honey badger?"

Logan grimaced, running a hand down his face. "Would you just fucking tell me?"

"Let me bask in this Logan. I'm about to watch a romcom come to life and need some popcorn." He rummaged through the bag, yanking out some chips. "Salty and sweet. That'll do."

"Wade," he bit out.

"Stick with us girls, we're about to get to the good stuff."

"WADE!"

He tossed the bag to the table, eyeing the way Logan never quite settled. "I'm gonna take a guess and say we know her more than just friendly hellos."

Logan couldn't answer because his grief did it for him. He did what he could to catch his breath, to stop seeing his version of you. The disappointment on your face, the pain in your voice. You'd been so angry with him. To watch the person he loved be reduced to a screaming crying mess wasn't something he wanted to relive, but Wade's question seemed to send an avalanche toppling to the ground.

"She's..." He sucked in a breath. "On my world. I...knew her."

"Knew her? Or knew her."

He reached for the bottle of whiskey Wade threw in with the rest of the groceries and popped it open before he spoke again. "It didn't end well between us. None of it did."

Wade fell silent and Logan found himself loathing the quiet more than the sound of his voice. If he was joking Logan could ignore it. He could pretend nothing happened. That you weren't here, you couldn't be hurt by him again.

You were safe from his destructive tendencies as long as you were in another universe.

"She lives across the street." Logan's head rose and whipped to see the window that faced the building across from them. "The old uncultured shit whistles that keep complaining about WHAM! the greatest thing to happen to music. They're her neighbors. Live right next door."

"Neighbors."

Wade nodded, offering him a chip. "She found their note and angel that she is, she very sweetly threatened to get them evicted. I offered to let her borrow my katanas but was rejected like younger me on prom night. You've really got yourself a catch there buddy."

Logan didn't need Wade to tell him how fucking lucky he was. He knew that the second you walked out of that store. You were everything good in his life at one point, everything he couldn't save. There wasn't much keeping him going on his old Earth, but having you made all the suffering he went through—all the pain he endured—worth it.

If you were waiting for him at the end, he'd do it all over again.

"So you want to take a dip in that honey huh? Taste that rainbow?"

His claws would have sunk into Wade's throat if a knock hadn't sounded at the door. With a huff, he stepped into the kitchen, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand. Whoever decided to give Wade some luck was of no concern to him.

Or so he believed.

"I didn't mean to accidentally take your groceries," you laughed, handing over a overpacked paper bag.

Stuffing the bottle under the sink, he met you halfway to the living room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you still in that dress. Still delicate enough for him to rip if he tugged it right. Heat curled along the base of his spine when your eyes met his, wide and glimmering with your laughter. He felt himself crumple at the sight of your lips parting, the surprise at his size still enough to make you speechless.

"Good to see you again," he greeted you, voice low and soft.

You didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, but something about the way his gaze devoured you within seconds left you breathless. The swooping sensation in your stomach became too much to handle. Desire and attraction weren't unknown concepts to you. But this felt like more. You could sense him right down to your bones and it scared the shit out of you.

"Oh right!" Wade scooched past you to swing an arm around Logan's shoulders. He did what he could to not stab him in the stomach. "This is Logan. My hunky new roommate."

Logan groaned. "Alright–"

"No, no it's good. You remember when I was declared basically the savior of the universe?"

Your face screwed up in confusion. Logan had never wanted to kiss someone more.

"Marvel...Jesus right?"

"I prefer MJ. Since I've got a Peter." Wade's head whipped to the side. "Suck it Tom Holland." His grip on Logan tightened. "This walking People's Sexiest Magazine helped. We're talking big claws, abs you just want to lick whipped cream off of–"

Logan's elbow slammed into Wade's stomach—crimson slowly tinting the tips of his ears. "That's enough."

"AND the Wolverine."

Surprised etched itself onto your face even further. Until you finally regarded Logan with a look he'd seen once before. Awe. When you first met one another in the halls of the mansion, you stared at him that exact way. As if you couldn't quite believe that iconic figure the X-Men made him out to be actually existed.

He couldn't tell if he liked it. Or if he'd rather you view him as a stranger.

"Logan," he said, offering his hand to you politely. Your skin remained as soft as he remembered.

Warmth bloomed in your body at the feeling of his calloused palm overwhelming yours, the scars across his knuckles old and ancient. Yet you found yourself wanting to trace them over and over, until the sight of them seared in your mind. You fought the urge to press your lips to them, etch your own mark into his skin. Something told you he wouldn’t mind.

Logan could see the intrigue on your face—the distracted gaze he wanted to keep in place. You were still curious. Still willing to learn about him. To pick him a part with soft words and even softer touches.

"Logan," you murmured under your breath, your eyes catching his. He felt his stomach leap at the sound of your voice whispering his name. Memories flooding his mind quicker than he expected. Of mornings spent in bed, your skin pressed against his. Of nights alone in his cabin—your stories lulling him to sleep.

Everything he willed himself to forget, yet could never truly let go of.

"I've got to head back." Disappointment filled your heart at the thought of not getting a chance to talk to him more. He had yet to let go of your hand and you found you liked his touch on your skin. "I'll see you soon Wade."

"Logan will be more than happy to walk you back," Wade replied, waving drastically behind your back. "Can't have you getting hurt now can we? Right peanut?"

You smiled. "I'm just across the street."

"I don't mind," Logan cut in, glaring at Wade to shut the fuck up.

"Okay," your voice was soft. Happy.

Logan would have done anything to keep it that way.

The walk back wasn't long enough for him to explain his actions from earlier, but you seemed to be just as smart as your variant self. Shutting the building's door, you turned to him—your dress fluttering in the breeze. Logan choked on his spit at the slight peek of your ass before you pushed the skirt back down around you.

"Did you know me?" You lead him to the corner, waiting for the traffic to die down. "On your Earth."

He paused, his eyebrows pulling together, and for a moment you wondered if you asked the wrong question. Wade told you bits and pieces of what happened since you last saw him, but Logan's background wasn't a discussion you tried to seek out. All you knew was that Wade acquired a new roommate. Not even a name.

Certainly not that he was Wolverine.

"Yes," Logan muttered, glancing at the change in lights.

You started to walk. "In what way?"

His hands curled into fists—echoes of his past rising to the surface. "We were...friends. You're a professor."

"A professor?" you exclaimed, a smile tugging on your lips. "Am I a mutant?"

He nodded. "You're able to bend time. Or control it." He snorted, following your lead towards your building. "I could never understand it. But Charles did."

The walk up to your apartment was silent, your thoughts filled with the new information he'd given you. And no matter how hard you tried to picture it, you couldn't see yourself as a mutant. A powerful being that held the ability to manipulate time who just so happened to be a professor. Somehow even thinking about it made you wonder why Logan was bothering to entertain this version of you. When the better one existed on his Earth.

"You said were."

Stopping at your door, he nearly knocked into you. "Hm?"

"Were friends. What happened?"

The answer he couldn't give you. The words he wouldn't even admit out loud to himself.

He felt his heart twist as if a knife slowly carved through his spleen. "We uh..." He coughed. "You..."

"I don't have to know." Grasping gently onto his arm, you offered a warm smile he felt down to his toes. A look he hadn't seen in quite some time. Logan could picture the last day you were happy in his head. Laughing with Charles in his office as you shared dinner, working on theories of your powers late into the night.

A week before they came.

"It's good to see you like this," he breathed, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek before stopping midair. "Happy."

Your eyebrows knit together. "I wasn't happy?"

"No." What he wouldn't give to take that information back, but it was out in the open, and as always—he remained too late.

"Why?" you asked, your hand sliding down to his much to his delight.

"I made you a promise." He sucked in a breath, his body begging him to start running. You'd be better off if you never knew. If you never remembered him in the first place. "I couldn't keep it."

I'll always keep you safe.

Words he refused to say again.

How could he promise this version of you that? How could he look you in the eyes and lie again? Breaking his Earth's you would haunt him for the rest of his life. He couldn't fathom doing it all over. It would kill him.

Except you weren't the person in his mind. You weren't the mutant who hated him with every fiber of your being. You were you. A continuous surprise that left his heart stuttering in his chest each time you looked his way. An enigma he found himself wanting to unravel.

"Maybe this time around you can," you said softly, letting him go with a smile as you entered your apartment, effectively opening the wound in his heart so wide there was no saving him.

Although he now knew something he didn’t know before.

He didn’t want to be saved.

[cirruslush]

1. Repressed Emotions

You’ve had the biggest crush on your brother’s best friend ever since he started coming around. But lately, it’s not just a crush anymore. He’s grown into a man, and what you feel for him now runs deeper—more passionate, more lustful.

You’ve known Hamzah since before you really understood what it meant to want someone. He was your brother’s best friend—the kid who used to steal the last slice of pizza and smirk like it was his right . The boy who used to ruffle your hair like you were some kind of puppy, then laugh when you tried to swat him away. The boy who grew into a man far too quickly, all broad shoulders and low laughs ,eyes that lingered too long when he thought no one was watching.

And now, he was living in your house.

-

-

Your parents had left for Europe, and your brother, had turned your home into a bachelor’s playground.

Hamzah was over every day—scratch that—he was staying over. His duffel bag lived by the couch, his shoes piled next to your brother’s, and every night you’d hear the low murmur of their video games and banter, long past midnight. For a week, you ignored it. You told yourself it was just noise.

But that wasn’t the case.

-

-

⤷ 3:48 AM

The walls were thin. Too thin for whatever chaos was going on behind your brother’s bedroom door. Laughter, thumping bass from some game soundtrack, and that familiar, piney, earthy scent that smoked cannabis leaves behind. A crash—was that a chair?

You threw your blanket off, and started padding down the hallway, barefoot and irritated, your sleep shirt clinging to your thighs. You banged once, sharp and hard, on the wood. Surprisingly, the music volume not even lowering itself.

The door opened almost immediately.

It was Hamzah.

He leaned against the frame, shirtless—of course—and grinning like the devil himself had taught him how.

“Well, well. Sleeping Beauty’s awake.”

You crossed your arms. “Are you guys serious right now?”

He tilted his head, eyes dragging down your frame before flicking back up. “What? Missed us already?” he teased

“Hamzah.”

“Ooh..scary look you got on your face. Pretty hot”

Your cheeks heated. He was joking. He had to be. But there was something different in his tone, just beneath the surface.

“Just—keep it down.”

“Will try” he said, but didn’t move. “You know, you could always join us . Just once. Might be fun.”

You gave him a look that screamed absolutely not and turned on your heel. Behind you, he chuckled low, like he knew something you didn’t

-

-

⤷ Two Days Later

You woke up thirsty. Restless. Again.

The apartment was quiet for once, bathed in that eerie stillness that only came late at night.

The laughter coming from your brother’s room was quieter this time—muffled and broken up with long silences, probably another one of those intense games your brother and Hamzah would get sucked into for hours.

You didn’t even bother putting on pants. Just the same oversized t-shirt. You wouldn’t be staying at the kitchen for long anyways.

No lights were on. Just the silver-blue glow of moonlight seeping through the windows.

The hallway was dark, cool.

You dragged yourself through it barefoot, rubbing at your eyes, not expecting—

“Shit—”

You slammed into someone the second you rounded the corner.

Hands grabbing your waist instantly, steadying you. Firm and familiar

You looked up, and there he was again.

Backlit by the silver glow of the moon pouring in through the kitchen window. His hair was messy—tousled from hours on the couch. Shadows kissing his jaw in just the right places and his eyes, even darker than before under the dim moonlight.

He didn’t let go.

“You always this clumsy,” he asked, “or is it just when I’m around?”

You huffed a breath, trying to sound annoyed—but it came out breathless instead. “It was dark.”

He grinned, low and lazy. “Didn’t seem to stop you from finding me.”

You didn’t respond. Suddenly hyperaware of how warm his hands were. How close you were. “Why are you always in the kitchen anyway?”

He shrugged. “that’s the second time I’m running into you here today” His fingers flexing slightly on your waist. Like he forgot they were there—or even better—didn’t care that they still were.

“I wanted water.”

“Mm,” he said, glancing down at your bare legs, the way your shirt stopped far too early. “Sure it’s not the attention?”

You scowled, trying to pull back, but he didn’t move. Just enough resistance to make you feel like you’d need to really try if you wanted to leave.

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered.

“I’ve been called worse.”

He finally let go, taking a slow step back, and the absence of his hands was somehow worse than the weight of them.

You went to the counter, trying to focus on the glass in your hand, your breathing, anything.

But you could feel him right behind you. His presence leaving the atmosphere heavy.

He leaned on the other side of the counter, watching you carefully.

“You always walk around like that?” he asked casually. His arm sneakily, wrapping around your waist again.

You paused, crossing your arms, more to cover the way your body betrayed you out of modesty. The glass in your hand nearly slipping.

“Like what?” the saliva in your mouth, nearly flooding. “It’s just a T-shirt” You gulped harshly.

The moonlight caught in his eyes, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe properly. His hands still on your waist, his thumb moving—just slightly—dragging along the hem of your t-shirt like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. A whisper of a touch, but it lit you up from the inside out.

You glanced toward the fridge, like it could grow legs any time now and save you.

“Right,” he said. This time there was something in his voice—mocking. Teasing. He let go of your waist slowly, the drag of his fingers intentional, like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

“You should go back to sleep,” you said, voice quieter than you intended.

“You should stop wearing that shirt,” he replied, eyes dragging over it again, this time slower.

“It’s a problem,” he said under his breath. Almost as if he was talking to himself “but hey, your house, right?”

“You’re so—” You turned to snap something back, but he was closer than you thought. Not touching. Just there, admiring. You had to look up at him.

His face was unreadable now—calm, maybe even bored. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like you weren’t a big deal.

That made it worse.

He then took a small step forward—closing the small remaining space between you. Letting himself almost sink in your body. Carefully, he put his hand out, placing it next to your thigh, to the counter

“W-what are you doing?” you asked quietly, kind of flustered. Sweat drops forming on your forhead.

Hamzah blinked innocently.

Soon, a nasty smirk forming on his face.

“Just getting water.” he said.

Opening the faucet behind you, letting the water forcefully fill his glass

And just like that. He turned his body away, and walked out—laughing—quietly, slow, dark..Like the air wasn’t still charged, like he hadn’t just lit a fuse and walked away from the fire.

Leaving you in the kitchen with your heart pounding and your whole body, already on fire. Your skin remembering the feeling of his big hands, his voice curling around your spine like smoke and your mouth as dry as a dessert.

Still thirsty—But not for water.

You slipped back to your room in silence, but sleep never came.

It was only you, and your thoughts.

-

-

⤷ The next morning.

You came into the kitchen late, half-hoping he wouldn’t be there.

He was.

Of course he was.

Sitting at the table like he owned it, like this wasn’t your house. Shirtless again—because apparently that was his default now—one leg stretched out, the other bouncing lazily. His phone in hand, head tilted slightly, hair a little damp like he’d just come from the shower. A mug of coffee sat untouched in front of him, steam still rising from his body.

He didn’t look up.

But you felt him notice you.

That awareness. That shift in the air. Like gravity shifted.

You ignored it—or at least—tried to.

You walked past him with studied indifference, reached into the cupboard for cereal like you didn’t still feel the echo of last night—his voice behind you, the nearness, the unspoken heat.

“You sleep okay?” he asked casually, like it was a throwaway question.

“Fine.”

“Dream about me?”

You turned slowly, cereal box in hands, giving him the flattest look you could muster. “Are you ever serious?”

Finally, he looked up.

And there it was—that same look that had been driving you crazy for years. Playful on the surface, but underneath? That lazy, low-burning interest he never voiced.

That challenge.

“Not around you,” he said simply.

You stared at him. The tension tightened.

He tilted his head, eyes trailing deliberately down to your collarbone, where the edge of your sleep shirt gaped. Exposing the fact that you were indeed bra-less.

You swiftly turned back to the counter—after only realizing yourself—hands a little too tight on the coffee mug.

“I need caffeine before this conversation,” you muttered.

“Could’ve asked me to make it for you.”

“You’re not that charming.”

“No?” His voice dipped, low and slow. “You seemed pretty charmed last night.”

Your fingers froze around the handle of the coffee pot.

He wasn’t teasing anymore.

You didn’t turn, just stared down at the counter, the silence hanging too thick.

“You like messing with me,” you said finally.

“Not messing.”

His voice was closer now.

Right behind you.

You didn’t even hear him move.

“Just testing limits.”

You turned, and there he was—again. Always there. Close enough that the space between you practically suffocating. Close enough to feel the heat off his skin.

“What kind of limits?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes dropped to your lips.

Then back up.

“You tell me.” he leaned in.

You didn’t move. Didn’t stop him.

His hand brushed your hip—just a whisper of contact, but it made your stomach twist. His other hand came up, slow, like he was waiting for you to pull away. To push him off of you.

But you didn’t.

Fingers grazed your jaw, tilted your chin up.

It was soft. Way too soft for how sharp the tension had been.

And then—he kissed you.

Fucking finally.

It was warm and unhurried, but not sweet. There was heat behind it—coiled, restrained. Like he’d been thinking about this just as long as you had. His fingers stayed gentle on your face—his mouth was anything but that. It was possessive. Raw

And you—

You kissed him back.

Harder than you meant to.

You stepped forward without thinking, backing him into the table. He let out a soft grunt of surprise, smiling against your mouth. His hand dropped from your jaw to your waist, pulling you flush against him like he wanted more, like this was just the start—

CREAK.

You both froze.

The sound was faint, but unmistakable—the creak of a bedroom door upstairs.

Your brother.

Your eyes widened. Hamzah pulled back a fraction of an inch, breathing shallow, eyes still on you.

Neither of you said a word.

You stepped back, fast. Heart racing.

His lips were swollen. His hair was a mess. And he was still looking at you. A look like, you’d just slapped him across the face

You grabbed your coffee mug, turning on your heel without another word.

“Morning,” your brother’s voice called down from the stairs.

You didn’t answer. You just walked off, head high, coffee clutched tight, hoping he couldn’t hear your pulse in your throat.

Behind you, you heard the scrape of a chair, the clink of Hamzah picking up his coffee.

“Yo,” he said to your brother, calm as ever. “You sleep okay?”

But his eyes never left the hallway where you’d disappeared.

Not once.

And the smirk he wore while sipping his coffee?

Smug. Possessive. Like he knew something your brother didn’t.

And he was enjoying it.

-

-

4:16 AM

The house was dead quiet. The kind of silence that presses against your skin.

You’d woken up in a cold sweat again. Your shirt clung to your back, your heart pounding like it was still trying to outrun the nightmare. You blinked into the darkness, disoriented, the weight of the dream still sitting heavy in your chest.

Then—a knock.

Sharp. Twice. Muffled against the wood of your door.

You flinched.

Your brother?

Unlikely. He could sleep through a fire alarm.

You sat up slowly, dread giving way to confusion—until you heard it:

“Take your time, sweetheart.”

That voice.

Low, cocky. Half amusement, half challenge.

It was Hamzah.

You stilled. Your heart started a different kind of race now.

Did he wake up because of the noise? Or… was he already awake?

Your mind flashed back to the morning—his mouth, his hands, the heat in his eyes right before your brother’s door creaked and shattered the moment. You hadn’t spoken since. You’d avoided him, like the coward you are.

But now he was here. At your door. At your worst hour. Not being able to escape him.

Something about that made your stomach twist.

Would opening the door be giving in?

Maybe. But was that such a bad thing?

Surrendering didn’t sound half as bad now.

You didn’t give yourself time to hesitate. Fingers curled around the knob, and you pulled.

Hamzah stood there, shirt wrinkled, revealing his happy trail. Sweat drops riding low on his hips and his blonde tips messy, like he’d run a hand through them a thousand times. He looked like he belonged in every bad decision you’d ever made.

Stepping forward, his eyes swept over you, slow and deliberate. Down your bare legs, the same oversized shirt hanging off your shoulder, the faint flush on your cheeks—He didn’t bother hiding it.

The door clicked shut behind him

He didn’t say a word.

No smirks. No jokes.

Just a slow, deliberate turn to face you, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them.

He moved toward you without speaking—silent, intense, like a predator that had finally cornered something it had been hunting for years. Every step felt heavier than the last, until he was standing right in front of you again.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Say something,” you whispered, voice barely there.

“I warned you,” he said. Calm. Even. Dead serious. “Told you I wasn’t messing around tonight.”

Your pulse spiked. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t—not when he was looking at you like that. Like he owned you already and was just giving you a head start before claiming what was his.

He reached for your jaw, fingers tilting your face up—not gently, not rough either. Just enough to remind you that you were his to move. His thumb brushed along your bottom lip, and his gaze dropped there for a second, fixated.

“You opened the door like you were ready” he muttered. “So don’t look at me like that now.”

“I am.” you said—too fast maybe.

Too honest.

His mouth twitched at the corners, forming into a smile—subtly showing off of his sharp canines.

But there was nothing kind in it. Just hunger.

“Then show me.”

You didn’t even get the chance to answer.

His hands were on your waist, dragging you into him, lips crashing onto yours again—harder this time. It was different now. No more teasing, no testing limits. This was full control, no hesitation.

You gasped, and he took that opening like an invitation—tongue claiming your mouth with brutal precision. He kissed like he had something to prove. Like he knew exactly what you wanted and had no plans to let you leave without getting it.

You barely noticed when he started walking you backwards—until the back of your knees hit the bed, and he shoved you down with one hand, still standing above you.

You blinked up at him, dazed, panting, lips red and swollen.

He looked at you like you were the best mistake he’d ever made.

“Stay there.”

You didn’t move.

He reached for the hem of his shirt—like he’d even needed it in the first place—and yanked it off in one motion, tossing it somewhere behind him. Every inch of him was lean, carved muscle and sharp lines. Not too perfect. Just real. Solid. Like he was built to ruin someone.

And right now, that someone was you.

He climbed over you slowly, knees framing your hips, hands planted beside your head.

“You scared?” he murmured, face inches from yours.

“No,” you breathed, even though your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape your chest.

His eyes flicked down to your neck, your chest rising and falling too fast beneath the thin fabric of your shirt. He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw—barely—his voice low. Brutal.

“You should be.”

His mouth finally found your throat, kissing a slow, long, bruising path downward. His hands skimmed along your thighs, parting them with no hesitation, settling between them like he belonged there. You felt his weight press into you, anchoring you in place, and god—it was too much and not enough at the same time.

“Look at you,” he said against your skin. “Acting all shy now. After provoking me all this time.”

You whined, fingers clutching at his shoulders. He caught your wrists, roughly placing them above your head with one hand.

“Hands stay here.”

You obeyed. Instinctively.

He smiled. That same wicked grin, but darker now. More possessive.

“You’re learning.”

His other hand slid under your shirt, dragging upward, slow and torturous. He took his time, watching your reactions the entire time, soaking in every little twitch, every breath you tried—and failed—to steady.

You didn’t know where to look—his eyes, his mouth, the flex of muscle every time he moved, like he was built to do this.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, voice hoarse now, like he was hanging on by a thread.

“I want this,” you whispered, lips parted, flushed.

He hovered just over your mouth, not kissing you yet.

“Say my name.”

You whimpered. “Hamzah…please”

That was it.

That was all it took.

He kissed you again, rough and passionate, like he needed to stamp himself into your memory. Your hands stayed above your head like he told you, even when your whole body was trembling beneath his.

And when he finally let go of your wrist, his hand didn’t leave—it slid down your arm, slowly, deliberately, until his fingers laced with yours.

The softest touch he’d given you all night.

His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.

“Too late to change your mind now,” he muttered.

You smiled, “was never gonna.”

His other hand slowly reaching for the waistband of your shorts—not taking them off—only sliding it under, making you go insane, more and more by seconds.

A soft whine escaped your lips—quickly covering them with your hand—as he teasingly rubbed your clothed clit in a slow circular motion.

“Sensitive,” he murmured, tongue brushing over the marks he’d just left. “Didn’t think I’d get you like this so fast.”

Your eyes fluttered closed. “You’re cocky.”

“You love it.”

He was right. You did.

It was maddening.

He slipped your panties to the side, dragging his fingers, painfully slow along the line of your wet folds. Restrained, soft moans leaving your mouth.

Hamzah seemed to get more fascinated by the fact that you were trying so hard to remain calm and silent. He wanted to hear your voice. Even if that meant getting caught

He slid one finger inside you, slowly pumping it in and out, doing that one circular motion every time—searching for your g-spot while also making sure not to hurt you.

“Oh- fuck Hamzah” a moan slipped. Your high forming rapidly. Your head falling deeper onto your pillow as your hands met with his, desperately trying to slow him down

And then he knew.

He knew that was it—your sweet spot.

Purposely picking up the pace, he added another finger. Making a mess out of you as he hit the same. exact. spot. every time

“At this point, you’re going to cut my fingers off.” he teased. Pointing how hard you were wrapping your walls around his fingers.

Instinctively you bit back the noise rising in your throat as the knot on your stomach was sluggishly untying itself. Him teasing you even when you’re about to orgasm definitely was the cherry on top of the cake.

You clenched your fists into the sheets beneath you. Silently moaning—as much as you could. Your whole body shivered, soon enough, your cum dripping on his fingers.

Hamzah let out a soft, low, laugh

He was enjoying this.

Too much.

“I hate you,” you breathed.

He smiled against your cheek. “You’ll hate me more tomorrow.”

He kissed you once more—lazy, lingering, cruel in how good it felt—and then finally pulled away. Slow. Reluctant. Like it physically pained him to stop.

And maybe it did.

He sat on the edge of the bed now, back to you, running a hand through his outgrown buzz, chest rising and falling with restraint. You sat up behind him, dazed, hair a mess, lips bruised, body aching for more.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“T-shirt looks better off of you than I thought it would.”

You threw a pillow at him.

He caught it without looking.Smirking.

“Get some sleep, princess,” he said as he stood, already backing toward the door, shirt still forgotten somewhere on your floor. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

And just like that—

He was gone.

Leaving you hot, breathless, and completely wrecked—without ever taking anything at all.

────୨ৎ────

✎ a/n: gotta love me a power top 😙

Originally this was supposed to be smaller but i just wanted to add more and more tension. Bear with me ❤️ HOPE YOU ENJOYED THAT!

[smuttysabina]

The Most Motherly Maknaes

(Male Reader x Purple Kiss Swan and Dreamcatcher Gahyun, 6K Words) Tags: Mommy Fetish; Threesome, Tittyfucking; Double Tittyfucking, Fat sloppy creampies; Praise Fetish; Virgin Sex; Yet more Mommy Fetish; Oral and Vaginal Sex; Lots of Kissing and pampering; Oh hey, Jihyo is in this one as well, what a surprise; You don't get to fuck her though, maybe next time; Implications of Incest; Pregnancy; Also apron fetish I guess?

You had always had an absent mother, so it was somewhat of a pleasant surprise when you acquired two new ones, who were far more attentive. Their breasts squishing against either side of your chest, while the warmth of their breath tickles your neck, you find yourself trapped in their less than wholesome embrace. One of them is demanding of your attention, her luscious lips split by a wicked smile as she rewards your boldness with further "encouragement", pushing you to indulge yourself more. While the other is kindly and supportive, her fuller curves drowning you in affection whenever you crave solace, but always pressing you to try again. Gahyun and Swan may have been abysmal at getting you to focus fully upon your calculus homework, but they were excellent at satiating your desire for motherly attention; if not your passion for something more... Their hands gently close around the embarrassingly obviously bulge in your pants as they both whisper in your ears,

"Good boy..."

With your father busy spending his evenings plowing his secretary, and your mother constantly overseas on business (as well as whoring around), it had fallen to your dear cousin Jihyo to check in on you in what scattered time she had. Of course, as an active idol wrangling eight other active idols, she had only been able to visit on occasion, and when she had, more often than not she arrived dragging a whole train of girls. So you became well acquainted with the ladies of Twice, though soon enough girls from other groups would spice the mix, and looking back on it there was perhaps a noticeable preference for idols with matronly features... Beautiful Momo with her ditzy airs, Nayeon who always looked somewhat carnivorously at you, Jeongyeon who spent so much time teasing you, the elegant Karina, always accompanied by a warm Winter, kindly Nancy who doted upon you; and of course, many more who were lacking in such sizable assets. By the time you had finally grown into a man, these gorgeous women had pranced through your dreams on a regular basis, and Nayeon had started drooling uncontrollably whenever she was around you for more than five minutes. This attraction had not gone unnoticed, and so of course Jihyo had decided to act before she found the two of you in the closet; or really, any of the other idols. The last time Itzy had visited, Yeji had had to physically restrain Yuna, and the usually dorky leader herself had shown brief lapses where she would stare intensely at you, her eyes twitching spasmodically. To forestall the tragic loss of your virginity to a horde of slavering idols then, Jihyo, in her infinite yet somewhat warped wisdom, came to the obvious solution to the problem...

The afternoon had begun like any other, the dull mundanity of schoolwork, punctuated only by the brief breaks of entertainment when you would glance at your phone during a break. At least until the ping of a notification snatched your attention, and you read the message from your cousin Jihyo. She and a few (so probably a "few" dozen) girls would be swinging by to visit, but unfortunately she herself would be delayed by a few hours due to something coming up at work; but of course you would be a dear and entertain the girls already on their way? With a resigned sigh you halt your tiring journey through calculus, and hurriedly tidy up the place, not that it ever really got very messy, but still; the devil was in the details. After getting things touched up, you slouch back onto the couch, stuck in that annoying state of wary idleness as you wait for your slightly unwanted guests to arrive; hopefully Jihyo would be able to finish up whatever she was working on quickly, so you wouldn't get distracted for too long. You had barely started to settle in when the doorbell rang, and grumbling softly you scurry over to the door, throwing it open in welcome to reveal not the horde you had expected, but merely two idols. Gahyun and Swan blink bemusedly at your shocked face, before politely inviting themselves inside, squishing themselves against you in a warm hug that sends your heart racing a little.

The pair were, well, sizably endowed to say the least, a fact that remained prominent in your mind as you lead them to the couch, and as they slip in on either side of you. It was a struggle to not stare dumbly down at their exposed cleavage, but you manage to contain yourself to polite glances, and the girls do not comment if you perhaps spend a little too long looking. Swan was the more curvaceous of the two, her top straining to contain her hefty breasts, her body so soft you could drown in it. Gahyun meanwhile made up for her comparative lack of shapeliness with a vivacious and teasing attitude that soon had her teasing her companion relentlessly; and her chest was still sizable enough to distract anyone. The fact that both maknaes had you comparing their ample bodies, and not the intricacies of derivations, did not bode well for your productivity this night; not that the girls weren't trying to be supportive. Like any good guest, the idols did their best to repay your generosity as a host by helping you through your mundane tasks, so that you might fully entertain them when they are done. Therefore, they peered intently over your work, rummaging through their brains for long-forgotten knowledge before dispensing it in a haphazard manner; and with every movement they seemed to press closer against you. Soon you can barely move your arm without brushing against their breasts, as they each encourage you in their own ways; Gahyun pushing you, while Swan guides you.

You really would like to be able to finish your work, but your hindbrain was starting to swamp your forebrain with hormones, distorting its attempts to solve complex mathematics; those "3"s really looked a lot like Gahyun's lips... Something warm bulges against your leg, your body reacting naturally to the intimate proximity of such gorgeous ladies, even as you do your best to ignore its lascivious demands. But the busty maknaes are more receptive to your body's desires, they can smell the stench of lust emanating from you, and they seem more than willing to satiate it. The idol's hushed advice now steams against your neck and ears, making you shiver, their curvaceous forms invade your personal space beyond the point of politeness, and their fingers tip-toe oh so delicately along your thighs. Your pen slips from your grasp as you feel something soft press against your neck, and a stain of wetness drags itself up the other side. You shudder as the two idols kiss their way along your neck, but withdrawing before they could reach your own lips. The pair smile at you from either side, "Ready to become a man?" Gahyun purrs seductively, Before Swan chimes in, "Don't worry," she sighs, "We'll be gentle, a good boy like you deserves to have a nice first time, don't you think?"

Indeed, this was not exactly how you had planned on losing your virginity, you had imagined it would have been beneath Nayeon as she rode your first load out of you, or pinned down by one of the nymphos of Itzy, or even shuddering between the limber thighs of Wonyoung as she haughtily consents to opening her legs for the blood-relative of Jihyo; but not by such... motherly women. They politely take their turns kissing you, all the while praising you, scratching at an itch you had always born. Gahyun's lips are greedy for yours, her tongue eagerly slipping into your mouth to tussle with your own; then it is Swan's turn, her kisses more demure and reserved, more keen on showing you how to kiss properly than using your mouth for her own pleasure. Your face is already flushed by the time they are satisfied, your heart hammering in your chest, and they have barely even gotten started yet. With a knowing smile, Swan sits erect, reaching behind herself to unhook her bra and allowing her capacious breasts to droop freely down her chest. She leans back, allowing you to drink in the sight of her enormous assets, their dark nipples accentuated by her sizable areolas. Swan brings your head down into her cleavage, smushing your face between her boobs and urging you to indulge yourself; and soon you are suckling upon her nipple like a baby while you knead her tits. When you stop sucking it is only to unintentionally moan one word, which makes the idols share a pleased smile, and Swan agrees, "That's right dear, just let it go, be a good boy for mommy."

You shudder with unfathomable satisfaction as something in your brain clicks, your long-suffering desire for motherly approval was finally being satiated; and it when mixed with your youthful lust it scratched an itch you probably should have realized you had. Perhaps unsurprisingly, you were quite the mommy's boy. So you luxuriate in the warm comfort of Swan's breasts, while she rains praise down upon you; at least until Gahyun joins in on the fun, squishing her own massive boobs against your face. While your head is wrapped in such a soft embrace, your manhood conversely strains against your pants for release, and the moment your hips start to writhe the idols take notice. Gahyun leans down and kisses your forehead, "Aww, look how needy you are!" she purrs salaciously, "Don't worry, Mommy Gahyun will make it all better, okay?" Then with a devilish smile she wriggles down between your legs, carelessly shoving the low table back away from the couch as she crouches on the floor. Gahyum expresses shock after she wrenches your pants off, allowing your manhood to flop free of its confines, resting meatily upon your groin as she laughs with delight. You try and adjust it, but she slaps your hands away, "Just sit back dear, and let Mommy do all the work," she licks her luscious lips, "just look how hard you are..."

Snuggled between Swan's sizable cleavage, you open your legs so that Gahyun can have her way with you, which she does with evident relish. Her perky lips slip down your shaft, slathering your cock with her moist spit, staring up into your eyes as she takes your dick to the hilt down her throat. You groan loudly as your new Mommy gives you your first blowjob, and your balls throb as you struggle to contain yourself. But Gahyum has no intention of your first load sliding down her gullet, and after your meat has been suitably lubricated she pulls off of you; leaving behind only a red smear of lipstick around your base as evidence of her skills. Another smudge graces her cheek as she cleans off her lips with the back of her hand, and as she readies her breasts for what will come next, Swam murmurs praise down at you for holding on so well. Wearing a wicked grin, Gahyun pushes your cock between her breasts, squishing them around your shaft until only your tip peeks out. If her tits had felt heavenly pressed against your face, they felt transcendent when wrapped around your manhood, their softness moving up and down your length with surprising ease. Gahyun giggles at your facial expression, "You had better not cum yet dear, you can hold on for me, right?" Swan agrees, wrapping her arms around you to hold you tightly, "Mhmm don't finish yet, be a good boy and hold that load in for Mommy!"

Gahyun plays your meat like an instrument, pleasuring it with her smooth breasts until you are on the edge of climax, before pausing until your balls had fallen enough before continuing. Of course, after a few rounds of this you were begging for it, pleading with your Mommies for release, willingly submitting to their affections as you chased your orgasm. It also was not helping that it felt so good putting all your trust in them, these Mommies would not leave you, they would keep showering you with love and support so long as you remained a good boy, right? And it seems like you were, when Gahyun stops tittyfucking you so that she can stand and wriggle out of her jeans and panties, revealing her most precious spot for you to gawp at. She smirks at your reaction, before shooting a glance up at Swan's unseen expression, "What, your lips took his first kiss, its only right that mine take his first load," Swan evidently demurs, because she leans down to kiss your forehead, "Time to become a big boy," she informs you kindly, as Gahyun eagerly straddles your crotch. Her breasts brush against your face while her hand grasps your dick, lining it up for insertion before Swan chides her, "Geez let him watch!" Sighing, Gahyun indulgently leans back, allowing you to drink in the sight of her weighty breasts, as well as the glistening slit you will soon be filling. Her core tensing, she then raises herself up, bending your cock back until it kisses her wet entrance. Gahyun smiles teasingly, then she sits on it.

You moan unashamedly as your virginity is taken, your manhood pulsing as it is engulfed in Gahyun's warm, sloppy insides, every inch of it disappearing into her like magic until her prim lower lips reach the red mark left by her other lips. Her face as flushed as your own, Gahyun leans down to kiss you hungrily before breaking it off to growl, "Thanks for your virginity dear, how does your first woman feel?" You answer honestly, and her lips curl into a smug smile, "Good boy, now relax, try to hold on as long as you can..." Her pussy had felt sublime just soaking your cock in her juices, but when she started moving it was all you could do but clutch onto wobbling breasts and hold on for dear life. With your dick having been subjected to such extensive foreplay, you were never going to last very long, but things were hardly helped by the constant praise the two idols heaped upon you. "Such a good boy..." "Holding on for so long..." "Isn't she so tight?" "I can feel it twitching..." "Just let go..." "Good boy..." "Good boy..." "Do it, do it now..." "Do it for Mommy..." Gahyun grasps your face with either hand, staring intensely into your eyes, "Cum for Mommy," she purrs, and you do.

Your mind goes blank as pleasure surges through your shaft and into the warmth of Gahyun's belly, a seemingly endless tide of bliss that leaves you gasping for your Mommies. Squished between their soft bodies, you melt into them, unmoving except for the furious clenching of your manhood as it pumps an idol's pussy full of your sperm. When you come to, Gahyun has a look of sublime contentment upon her face, relishing in the feeling of her pussy being swamped by semen, her eyelashes fluttering with every fading pulse of your balls, "Fuck," she sighs, "Virgins always cum so fucking much, no wonder Nayeon got addicted to this..." Then she opens her eyes and smiles down at you, giving you a congratulatory kiss before asking, "So, how does it feel to be a big boy?" You awkwardly stammer out a reply to this goddess, but she laughs and hushes you after your words turn to gibberish, "Don't strain yourself dear, just relax, doesn't it feel so nice to be between us after you cum?" It does indeed, your usual post-coital sadness extinguished as you cuddle between the two idol's voluptuous bodies. After a little while, Gahyun slowly pries herself from your arms unmounts you, your cock soft enough that it flops out almost immediately, and her pussy squelches as it burps out some of your load. Giggling, she stoops down to clean your meat off with your mouth before rejoining you on the couch. The girls shift around, and you find yourself on your side facing Swan, as it is now Gahyun who presses up behind you, her breasts sticking against your sweaty back.

Swan hums soothingly, playing with your hair as her other hand traces along your sides along with Gahyun's, their touch making you shiver. You meanwhile suck on Swan's breasts like a baby, content in your vulnerability, feeling so safe and protected in their arms that you let down your barriers and indulge in the pleasures of being pampered again for the first time in a long time. The idols for their part seem more than enthusiastic about showering you with yet more attention, playing the part of your Mommies to perfection and lavishing you with love. And when you once again feel something stirring between your legs, the girls are purring with anticipation as they susurrate their soft bodies against yours, your pitiful moans only arousing them even more. Swan runs an idle fingertip along your shaft, causing you to twitch, "Does Mommy need to help her good boy drain his balls again?" You nod shyly, your submissiveness making Swan's lips part sultrily, "Well then, I imagine you want Mommy to sit on it again? You seem to enjoy just taking it..." Your cock bulges in answer, and both idols giggle. Swan huffs playfully, "Goodness Gahyun, what are we going to do with him?" Gahyun laughs, "Fuck him, of course!" Swan snorts before thoughtfully tapping her chin, "No, I think he should fuck me this time," she glances down at you, "I like making the cute ones work for it."

As the idols untangle themselves from you, Swan slips off her shorts, and finally pulls her top and bra up from where they had pooled around her neck. Fully naked, she leans back on the couch, allowing you to drink in the sight of her fertile body spread before you; from her pillowy breasts, down to where her healthy tummy curved into a prominent pubis that supported her puffy pussy. Trembling with nervous excitement, you hesitantly move between her legs until she stops you with a ginger to the forehead. She points downwards, "Eat your meal before you have your dessert," she chides you with a smile, before pressing down on the top of your head. Awkwardly, you crawl down her body, squirming around to support yourself properly as you breathe in the stench of your Mommy's sopping pussy. A layer of soft black hair graces her crotch, not long enough to get in your way, but it adds to the mature aura Swan was emitting. You lower your face down onto her sex, and timidly run your tongue up between her moist folds, lathering it with her honey. It tastes like an odd mixture of fish and piss, but your hindbrain correctly interprets it as delicious, and so you dig in with gusto. The salty tang of her pussy fills your mouth as you inexpertly lick up and down her labia, Swan holding your head in place with one hand as she gropes herself with the other, and you grind your crotch against the couch as you eat her out.

Eventually, Swan is satisfied enough by your efforts that she gently pushes your head from between her meaty thighs and hauls you back atop her voluptuous body. She was as soft as the cushions you had just been laying upon, her face flushed with arousal as she pulls you into a deep kiss while her arms clutch at your back. With the taste of both of her lips upon your tongue, you hump needily at her sex, prodding at her wet folds with your cock as you gormlessly try and enter her. With an amused sigh, Swan breaks off the kiss, and reaches down to guide you in, "No, wait like a good boy, just let me line it up and then-" she lets out a soft moan as you impulsively thrust forward the moment your tip enters her warmth, "Oh there you go dear, now you're inside Mommy..." The sultry heat of her pussy engulfs your shaft as you fill her until your balls press against her asshole, leaving you groaning her name as your cock pulses with pleasure. Swan pulls your head down into her breasts as you awkwardly start fucking her, your movements hindered by your inexperience, but your Mommy does not seem to mind. With one hand curling your hair while the other roams your back, she soothingly urges you to go slow, "Just like that dear, just focus on how warm and soft Mommy feels.." You try your best to keep your thrusts languid, you really do, but Swan's pussy was so wet it was dripping down your balls, and your body was unable to resist doing its best to plow her pillowy softness. Mommy is understanding though, and she locks her legs tightly around your waist as she urges you on, "That's it dear, its okay, Mommy knows how good it feels, Mommy is proud you lasted so long inside of her, so hush," she pushes your head against her neck so she can whisper in your ear while your body is fully meshed against hers, "Just let it out dear, it's okay to cum inside, Mommy will take responsibility, just relax and breed me," you moan plaintively as your thrusts grow long and deep, and Swan purrs happily, "Mhmm, there you go, breed me, breed your Mommy...oh there's so much..."

You shudder in Swan's loving embrace as the most powerful orgasm of your life rocks your body, your hips spasming as you try and unload as much semen as possible inside of her fertile pussy. The idol continues to murmur encouragement as pleasure gushes through you, her soft body feeling divine against yours as your overstimulated nerves make you writhe. You are left feeling drained and exhausted, your balls aching from the size of the load you had just spurted inside of Swan, sweat making your skin stick together as you lay atop her. Your Mommy does not try to move you though, instead letting you rest in her arms while your cock slowly shrinks until it is barely laying inside of her sloppy hole. Only once the after-effects of your climax fade does she release you, allowing you to stagger upright, looking down at her voluptuously formed body that you had so recently claimed with your seed. But lest you forget, you had two Mommies, and Gahyun was keen to remind you of that fact. Her kiss is hungry and demanding, her tongue invading your mouth and slaking itself upon your own. Your hands involuntarily come up and start groping her ample chest, which only seems to deepen her passionate kiss, until it feels like her tongue is going down your throat. You are left breathless and lightheaded, and you willingly allow Gahyun to pull your face down into her tits as she leans back against the couch, leaving you bent over with a nipple in your mouth.

Gahyun smirks down at you, "Suck on them, dear," she orders before glancing up, "Want to get him hard again for me?" she asks. You hear Swan shifting behind you as she gets up, "Oh sure, I don't mind cleaning up my own messes either," you feel her hands against your thighs as she makes you open your legs, "Adorable... oh wow, it is still leaking out, I wonder if I'll end up getting knocked up from this," Gahyun laughs, "Jihyo would love that," her gaze flicks down to you, "Did Mommy say you could stop sucking? Back to work dear!" Gahyun shoves your face back into her breast, force-feeding you her hardening nipple as you slurp messily upon it, "That's it, good boy!" Gahyun groans. Something warm and wet lazily traces its way up your shaft, making you start, but your Mommy keeps your attention firmly upon her while her counterpart toys with your manhood. Swan sucks and licks the sticky mess off of your cock, steadily nursing it back into its full length; your balls might still be recovering, but your member was already eager for more. Her tongue traces its way up your taint, as your dick is suddenly engulfed in a soft pressure that was rather familiar to you. You moan into Gahyun's boobs as Swan squishes her cleavage around your manhood, your entire length buried between her breasts as she uses them to massage you. Completely at her mercy, all you can do is mewl around Gahyun's nipple as Swan reminds you how stimulating a tittyfuck can be. Only when your cock starts to pulsate does she relent; after all, it was Gahyun's turn.

Gahyun wears a wicked smile as she bends over the couch, wiggling her ass enticingly as you shuffle over on your knees; your cock waving as it spears the air in front of you. Her smirk grows wider as your trembling hands grasp her waist as you clamber between her legs and into position, your dick rubbing between her modest cheeks against her slit. Your hotdogging grows more determined as Gahyun's lower lips moisten, your manhood eager to enjoy your Mommy's warmth once more; and so you angle yourself horizontally and press forward. For a second time, you simply end up prodding at your partner's folds, unable to figure out how to enter her, but before your frustration grows, Gahyun reaches between her thighs and grasps your meat, "Say please," she says, glancing back at you; and you do. She laughs, "So obedient! Can we keep him, Swan?" Your Mommy is kind enough to angle your cock properly though, even while she teases you relentlessly. You are unable to contain a shudder as your member slips inside of Gahyun once more, its tight folds gripping your shaft like a long-lost lover as you fill her pussy with every inch of you. Tentatively, you start to thrust, and soon discover why doggy was so popular a position, it was so much easier than missionary to get your strokes in! Gahyun giggles as you go to town on her from behind, expertly arching her back to drive you even wilder, "C'mon dear, Mommy likes it rough," she purrs, "So put your back into it! Make me feel good!" In all honesty, it was hard not to be a little rough in this position, the ease of motion and the cushioning of her ass cheeks made it difficult to resist slamming yourself against her as hard as you could. And while your balls were still gathering themselves for another load, your length was brimming with pleasure as you fuck your Mommy with youthful vigor.

The sound of your flesh slapping against Gahyun's was only barely louder than the noise her breasts made as they clapped together with every thrust. Your abs burn from overuse, your muscles unused to being put to use in such a particular manner and for so long, but you were unable to stop yourself from continuing to plow your Mommy; even as sweat pours down you. Her pussy was addicting, tight enough that your cock felt like it was in a vice, yet loose enough that you never had any trouble pulling out for a fresh plunge into her depths. Swan had joined the fun as well, squishing her curvaceous body up against your back, her hands stroking your chest while she urges you on; the feeling of her massive tits suctioned to your skin spurring you on. Gahyun suddenly begins moaning, hissing into the couch, "Yesssss, right there right there right there!" And when you start to fuck her even harder she snarls in approval, "Don't you dare fucking stop dear, just like that, Mommy is going-" she lets out a sudden gasp, and you feel her pussy spasming around your shaft; Swan purring with approval as Gahyun orgasms on your dick. You are left shocked and dazed, more than a little exhausted from your burst of effort, but still surprised that you had managed to make an experienced idol like Gahyun cum so easily... When she slips off your cock, her cunt leaves behind a layer of milky cream, sure evidence of your efforts.

Gahyun languidly turns around, smoothly moving to kiss you once more, and you are trapped between your two Mommies. both of them nibbling upon you while showering you with praise, "Oh good boy..." "Such a good boy..." "Just look at how nice you made Mommy feel!" "She left such a mess on your cock..." "It must have felt so good, didn't it?" "Mommy is so proud that you lasted so long..." "Your poor balls must be aching..." "Mmm... still hard?" "Oh... yes he is!" "Should we?" "We shall!" "Why don't we... you know?" "I think that's a proper present for our darling..." Your Mommies giggle knowingly as Swan slips around to your front and joins in devouring your lips, spittle slopping down your chin as her tongue joins Gahyun's in violating your mouth until your head spins.

Both Idols are smirking as they drag themselves down your chest, causing you to shiver as their rigid nipples trace along your skin. They kneel together in front of you, before wrapping one arm around each other's shoulders, and squishing their chests together, their ample breasts squirming against one another as they form a fleshy prison for your cock. With their free arms, the motherly pair grasp your ass and haul you closer until your tip is against the sweaty entrance to their conjoined cleavage. "Don't stop until your balls are empty, dear," Gahyun growls up at you, while Swan sighs, "Just relax, and let it all out for your Mommies, okay?" You nod hurriedly, before pressing forward into the supple pussy the idols made from their tits, your member buried in their soft flesh, its passage eased along by Gahyun's juices still coating your dick. Their breasts were large enough that you did not even emerge on the other side, and if anything it felt as good as their holes had, it was warm, moist, and oh so pliable. The sound of you plowing your Mommies' massive mammaries was appallingly loud, a dull squelching noise that erupted from between their cleavage with every thrust, but that just aroused you even more. You groan as you pump between their tits, holding onto their shoulders while you use their cleavage like the world's best fleshlight, your brain turning to mush as their warm pillows press in on either side of your manhood.

Your Mommies continue to pamper you even as you violate their chests with your cock, telling you what a good boy you were, saying how proud of you they were, how they just knew that you would be able to give them every last drop... The stimulation from their huge breasts was starting to get to you, and it was not helping that Gahyun and Swan would occasionally pause in their vocal encouragements to sloppily make out, their spit raining down onto their cleavage and seeping in to soak your penis. It was all too much. The idols' moans of pleasure, the burning heat suffusing your shaft, the texture difference between Swan's softer boobs and Gahyun's firmer ones, the feeling of their hard nipples scraping along your length as you thrust past them... You were going to cum, you were going to impregnate your Mommie's fat juicy tits, you were going to fill their cleavage with your sticky seed, you were going to drench them with your semen until your balls were dry. Your Mommies' eyes light up as you near climax, and they use their hands to drive you into them even harder, as a final groan escapes your lips and your eyes roll back as you finish. Ropes of jizz spew into the tight confines between Gahyun and Swan's breasts, dripping down onto their thighs while they gasp and coo with delight. Your orgasmic convulsions grow so strong with your cock head pops out from between its fleshy prison, showering their chests with your load and painting their chins with watery cum. With your cock now in the open the girls don't wait for a second, with first Swan taking your cooling meat into her mouth and slobbering all over it before letting Gahyun take her turn as well.

So that was how your first time ended, with two beautiful Mommies passing your messy cock between them as they sucked it clean; well, relatively clean. Of course they cuddled with you afterwards, pressing in on either side and purring with praise while your seed dried upon their flushed bosoms, giving you and each other more than a few kisses. Eventually you recovered enough to take stock of your surroundings, and you realize that you were in fact, no longer alone. Jihyo was curled up calmly in one of the chairs to the side of the couch, wearing not but an apron, blissfully ignoring the sizable wet stain on the fabric between her legs. She beams with pride when you notice her, clapping her hands in together, "So, how was your first time? Was it as satisfying as you thought it would be? Oh! Don't rush yourself dear, dinner is on the table, I'm sure everyone is absolutely famished!" You can only gawp as your cousin blabbers happily at you, just how long had she been there for? Just how much had she seen? But your stomach growls loudly at the thought of food, and your worries fade as you consider your much more pressing need. Somewhat awkwardly, the three of you untangle yourselves before following Jihyo into the dining room; if Gahyun or Swan were the least bit embarrassed at walking around stark naked around the other idol with her cousin's semen leaking from their holes and smeared across their chests, they did not show it.

After a somewhat awkward dinner where Jihyo merrily grilled you on every nasty detail of your first time, she cheerily shoos Gahyun and Swan out, though not before dressing them, and not before both of them gave you rather passionate kisses in goodbye. Then it was just you and your cousin Jihyo, who playfully undoes her apron, allowing it to pool at her feet; you had always known she was busty, but seeing her like this... Her tummy still bulged with pregnancy, and her breasts had swollen up even larger than you had ever imagined in your naughtiest wet dreams. Jihyo tickles your chin, "So, my darling baby cousin is now a man, I am so proud of you!" Somehow, Jihyo's praise hits you even harder than the others' had, and warmth fills your chest. Jihyo beams at your reaction, "Well, I'll stay for a bit and help clean up, but when I get back on Saturday..." she leans close, her engorged nipples brushing against your chest, "I want to see just how much you've grown up," she whispers, her eyes alight with lust for you in the first time you can remember. Then it is back to her usual teasing self, "Of course, Nayeon will want a turn, she's been sniffing your dirty underwear for like a year now. Oh, and I think Somi might be wanting to get in on the action as well, she's been masturbating to you for a while now..." she trails off, giving you an amused look, "What dear, are you so surprised? It tickles a girl's motherly instincts to see a boy with such obvious... issues."

As you go to bed that night, your heart is filled with a contentment that it had not been with in a long while. After all, you might have an absent mother figure, but it seems like you now had a plethora of Mommies to fill that void...

[captain-huggy-bear]

"Can- Can you come over please?" (I believe prompt list 1 number 80?) with whoever you're inspired for please 😊 thank you! - em

Em, it was giving soft boy Luke who's maybe feeling shitty after a bad game, so I hope you like it. First time writing Luke so I'm super sorry if it doesn't feel right for him (as we think of him because obvs we don't know him but still) Also I like how I was like let's write something short and then...just kept writing...😂 Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

You'd been friends with Luke Hughes for almost as long as he'd been in New Jersey, both of you new to the city at the time had stumbled into each other quite literally one wintery afternoon. Your coffee going all over his hoodie, his doughnut squishing chocolate icing over your sweater. You'd expected him to yell, instead you learnt that day how utterly sweet and kind Luke Hughes was. He replaced your coffee and refused to let you buy him a new doughnut, but did let you invite him over so you could put some stain remover on his hoodie.

You might be thinking, 'are you crazy? Inviting a strange man to your apartment?', but you can only explain your risk through two pieces of information: 1) You knew roughly who he was. You weren't a fan of his by any means but you followed Hockey and had heard about the newest addition to the Devils, so you at least knew he wasn't a criminal, 2) Luke Hughes had been wearing snoopy socks and something about that had screamed 'non-threatening'.

Looking back it was probably slightly insane on your part, but it bagged you a close friend who you may or may not have had a massive crush on, so you couldn't really say you regretted risking it.

It wasn't unusual for Luke to phone you after a game, more often than not you got a quick phone call or a few texts sent through while he was out celebrating or commisserating with the team, often being invited out even when he knew you weren't much for late nights out on the town.

It was unusual though for that phone call to come in at 1 in the morning while you were sleeping.

You're groggy and half awake, hand patting the bedside table until you grip your phone, Luke's ringtone blarring through the speakers only because he was one of your few exceptions. One of a handful of people who could call you after 11pm without being sent straight to voicemail, the others being your family.

"Lukey? It's..." You stop to squint at your alarm clock, "1:41 in the morning, what's wrong?" You knew the game had ended late, but Luke should have been in bed by now or he should have been out partying with Jack and the boys, definitely not phoning you. You half expected him to be drunk on the other end of the line, maybe having phoned you while out with the team.

Instead his breath is shaky on the other end of the line, voice raspy like he's been crying and that's what has you sitting upright and swinging your legs out of bed before he even finishes his question.

"Can- Can you come over please?" His voice is scratchy and strained, a rasp that sounds defeated. You don't even considering getting changed from your pajamas, you just throw a jacket on from your closet.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, what's wrong?"

"Just...just come over please, angel" You're quick timing it as you shove your feet in a pair of shoes and grab your keys off the side, locking your apartment door behind you. It didn't matter to you that it was nearly 2am or that you hadn't brushed your hair or that you were half-asleep, all that mattered was Luke and the way he sounded like the world might be just a little too much for him right now.

"Okay, okay, want me to stay on the line?"

"No, just...drive safe?" You pause in the hallway, heart hurting at his concern, that even now when he's begging for your help he cares that you're safe.

"Yeah, course, Lu, i'm leaving right now, sweetheart." He lets out a shuddering breath on the line, right before he hangs up and you're certain you might cry because God, Luke shouldn't sound like that, so utterly defeated, so fragile.

You do your best to honour his request on the drive to his and Jack's apartment, even as you want to break a hundred traffic laws just to get there sooner, but you don't. It doesn't take long, but ten minutes feels like one hundred when all you want is to be see Luke and make sure he's okay.

He's at the door from the first knock and you don't say anything, just take him in. His tall form hunched at the shoulders like he's trying to hide within his hoodie, hood pulled over his head and eyes red rimmed, blotchy. There are dark, deep circles beneath his eyes and his lip is bruised and split, a few neatly placed stitches holding it together.

You don't say anything, just step forward and wrap him in your arms as best you can, tiptoeing to press your chin to his shoulder, arms tight around him as if you can protect him from whatever is going on in his head.

He grasps as you like you're a lifeline, fingers digging into your jacket, face pressed so tight to the crook of your neck that you're certain he'll fuse there.

He doesn't protest when you pull him into his apartment, door slamming shut. Doesn't protest when you pull him to his room, asking where Jack is, only to get a short clipped reply of 'club'. Doesn't protest when you sit him on his bed and join him, shoes being kicked off. It's not until you try to pull away from him that he really seems to come to life, hands grasping you firmer, pulling you back, "Don't go, please don't go..."

"'m not going anywhere, Lu, it's okay..." You pull back just enough that you can pull his hood back, fingers carding through his brown curls gently like he might break. "What happened?"

"Just needed you..." His face presses back into your shoulder as your fingers work through his hair like it's a perfectly normal thing to say to your best friend, like he didn't call because he had a shit game, because he doesn't want to talk about it."

"Lu...talk to me, baby"

There's a stark silence, broken only by a shaky breathe that comes from Luke as if the idea of talking is enough to make him cry for the second time that night. "I'm...i'm not good enough for the team, did a shit job tonight and we lost...it's my fault. Played like shit."

"What did Jack say?" You're gentle with it, soft voice, soft fingers on the nape of his neck. It's silly, he knows he's being dramatic, he also knows that it's not a friend thing to do. Knows he wouldn't call any of his other friends at near 2am because he needs them, knows he wouldn't beg for their fingers in his hair to sooth him or feel better just by the smell of their laundry detergent and shampoo. Luke knows he called you because he loves you, pretty sure he loved you the moment you excitedly showed him you'd gotten the coffee stain out of his UMIC hoodie.

"I was being too hard on myself, that it wasn't the 'Luke Hughes show'." He immitates Jack's voice, a pouty sort of tone riding his voice because he knows his brother is right even if he refused to sit moping with him and went out drinking instead.

"He's right. Hockey is a team sport, Luke, you aren't even on the ice the entire time! You do not get to decide that you're the reason a game is won or lost, you don't get to shoulder that."

"But.." Your palms cup his face, pulling him up to look at you. Your face is dead serious brows furrowed, lips pursed.

"No, you're a good hockey player. They picked you to play for them because of what you bring to the table and maybe you didn't play your best tonight , but you deserve to be on the team. You can't always be at 100." Your thumbs brush his cheeks under his eyes, like you might be able to wipe away the dark bags there. He looks worn, exhausted, tears just welling in those green eyes of his.

You're not entirely sure he believes you, "If I said I wasn't good enough because I had a bad day at work, what would you say to me?"

"To shut up and stop being mean to yourself..." Luke frowns at you like you're insane for even suggesting something like that, and it's what makes you smile for the first time that night, as if to say I told you so.

"Exactly, so stop being mean to yourself, Lu. You're amazing, i'm always in awe of how you skate..." You brush a curl from his eyes and watch them flutter closed slightly, throat tightening a little because you know this isn't the way you're supposed to feel about your best friend.

"Really?"

"Really..." You watch him carefully, the way he just leans more into your hands like he trusts you entirely to hold him up, the deep swelling of his lip, the beauty marks across his cheeks. "What do you need from me, right now?"

He takes a moment, like the words are stuck on the tip of his tongue whether unsure of how to ask or worried to make things weird. Both of you always toeing the line between friends and something decidedly more romantic.

"Can...can you just hold me? Just stay the night?" He blinks up at you with such big sweet eyes that you're not sure anyone would be able to refuse him, so you don't.

"I can do that."

You treat him delicately, like he's not a nearly 200 pound hockey player that regularly gets body slammed against boards and ice, who's covered in bruises and currently sporting a split lip. You pull him to lie down with you, curling around him like a protective blanket, pulling his face back into the crook of your neck, legs twisting with his. It's definitely not what friends do, but it's what he needs, so he grips you back tight, presses his face firmly into your neck and pulls your leg over his hip to be as close as possible.

You don't move more than the brush of fingers through his hair or down his arm, across his back. Even when you can hear soft snores, the sign of him having fallen asleep, you don't move because as much as Luke said he need this, you kind of need this too.

[cinnxmxngxrl]

“Halloween party”

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Masterlist here

Summary: You’re drunk and horny in a college halloween party and you want your dad’s best friend, Joel, to see the little devil costume you’re wearing.

WC: 4,4k

Warnings: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, car sex, dirty talk, age gap, oral (m!receiving), fingering, swallowing, creampie, pre outbreak, reader is a little drunk please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with it.

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You already knew how much of a terrible idea this had been.

This was not your scene at all. Halloween night for you was meant to be popcorn and horror movies, curled up in bed. But there you were, in a little devil costume that left too little to the imagination, completely wasted, trying to find your friend, only to see her making out with some douchebag in a dark corner of the room.

The music and people’s shouts were loud, and mixed with the amount of alcohol in your blood, they made your head spin. The bass thudded through your chest like a second heartbeat, the room a blur of sweat-slicked bodies, flashing lights, and too much noise.

You were completely left alone, tipsy, having to get drunk guys’ hands off your body as you made your way to the bathroom.

Their breath reeked of liquor and cologne, and the leering eyes made your skin crawl. One guy had grabbed your waist like he owned it—you shoved his hand off, the heat of his fingers lingering in a way that made your stomach churn.

You stumbled into the bathroom around 1:47 AM, phone in hand, drunk and reckless and pulsing with need.

You sat down on the closed toilet lid and opened Facebook on your phone, scrolling down—

Until you saw Joel Miller’s new post.

It was a summer recap photo album: only a few nature pictures and a few innocent ones of him with his daughter, enjoying an evening at the lake. Except for the last one.

The last one was a picture of him shirtless. Not an intentional one, as if he purposely posed half-naked for the picture. No. He just casually appeared in the background, only in his swimsuit.

You almost dropped your phone to the floor when your shaky fingers went to zoom in on the picture.

Your breath caught, lips parting slightly, your heartbeat skipping a beat as you stared at the broad, sun-warmed expanse of his chest, the ripple of muscle beneath tanned skin, the faint salt-and-pepper trail disappearing under the waistband of his trunks.

Jesus fuck, that was one hot man, if you’d ever seen one. You felt the ache that started low in your belly and quickly spread down, straight to your core.

You could feel your cunt palpitating, and the dampness that started to gather in your panties. And that’s exactly what happened every single time you saw Joel Miller.

He’s been your father’s best friend ever since high school. You remember how you’d call him Uncle Joel when you were little. Back then he was safety, warmth, and comfort. The man who carried you on his shoulders at the county fair. The man who taught you how to ride a bike and brought you peppermint sticks every Christmas.

Well, that’s just a little fucked up, having in mind that now you were dying to fuck Uncle Joel.

You didn’t know exactly when it started—when you began to fantasize about Joel. Probably after you realized boys your age weren’t it. And that what you really wanted, really desired, was a grown man.

Not some stupid frat guy who didn’t even know what a clit was, much less where it was or how to touch it right.

No, you wanted a man with experience—experience with women, and experience in life. Someone you could learn from, not someone you had to teach.

A man just like Joel. You watched the zoomed-in photo: his ripped muscles—not from the gym, but from a life of hard physical work, of lifting heavy things and working until the sun went up.He was built from real effort, the kind that made you imagine the weight of his body pressing you into a mattress, his calloused hands gripping your hips with purpose.

You imagined how it would feel to run your hands all over his body, feeling the grey hair on his chest, going down to his stomach, even lower…

Fuck, you were pressing your thighs together so hard, and yet it was not nearly enough to relieve the ache you felt.

Truth is, you’ve been trying to fuck Joel for years now, ever since you were legal. You thought that wearing pretty sundresses and tighter little bikinis each year would help him fall for you.

Because any man would take the chance to fuck a young, pretty thing like you whenever he had the chance. But not Joel. He was so decent, so morally correct, such a good man that it drove you mad.

And it only made you want him more.

The way that he would look away whenever you bent down to pick up something you purposely let fall to the floor, letting him peek at your lacy panties. How he would clear his throat and pull away awkwardly whenever you hugged him and pressed your breasts against his chest, letting him feel all of you.

Because in some twisted way, you didn’t want just any pervy old man with a thing for young chicks. You wanted to corrupt Joel. Make him let loose and show him how good a young girl could make him feel.

The alcohol in your system made you do something stupid. Your fingers scrolled down your contact list until you found Joel.

And you pressed call.

You held the phone to your ear, swaying slightly in your heels, drunk and flushed and soaking wet between your legs.

He picked up on the third ring, voice rough and sleep-wrecked.

“…Darlin’?” Oh god, his voice was so sleepy and sounded even raspier than usual.

You had to suppress a little moan from escaping your mouth as you pressed your thighs together even harder.

“Hi, Joel,” you said.

There was a beat of silence, he could hear the loud music and conversations in the background.

“Where the hell you at? You alright?”

“At a party,” you said, dragging the words out. “M’fine. Just thinking about you.”

“Thinkin’ bout me?” he muttered. You could hear the sheets rustling, the weight of his body shifting. “It’s the middle’a the goddamn night. You been drinkin’?”

You smiled lazily. “Mhm.”

Joel cursed under his breath. “You need a ride or what?”

“Would you do that for me, Joel?”

Another heavy pause. “Just text me the damn address and I’ll be there in twenty.”

Twenty minutes later, you were sitting on the porch. Legs crossed. Lips glossy. Your little red dress riding dangerously high and your hair slightly messy, with the devil’s horns from your costume.

And your face lit up like Christmas when you saw him pulling up in front of you in his pickup truck.

“There he is,” you purred, stumbling a little as you stood. “My favorite old man.”

You saw the way his eyes flicked down your legs, quickly, before he looked away. Like the sight of you physically pained him.

“Get in,” he said from the driver’s seat.

You practically threw yourself into the passenger seat.

You could sense the way he was looking at you, at the way your nipples were hard under the soft fabric of the low-cut dress, how he could almost see your damp panties when your dress rolled up even more.

And Joel was trying to look away, distract himself with anything, so his now half-hard cock wouldn’t get fully hard.

“A devil, huh?” he said, touching the horns on your head.

“Mhm, tempting you to sin,” you said, giggling.

His jaw clenched. His fingers flexed on the wheel like he was fighting the urge to grab you.

Fuck. He was fully hard now.

He shifted uncomfortably in the seat before starting the engine and driving away.

“Party that bad?” he said, trying to make some conversation and distract himself from all the dirty, nasty thoughts he was having.

“Yeah, my friend ditched me five minutes after we arrived to go hook up with some dickhead.”

“And what about you?” he said, arching his brow. He was sure it wouldn’t be difficult for you to find a guy for yourself—hell, he was sure you’d be able to get any guy in that, or any other party, you wanted.

“I didn’t want to fuck any of those boys,” you said bluntly. “They all look like babies.”

He didn’t say anything right away—only groaned.

“Jesus, don’t say shit like that.” His voice dropped lower. Strained. Like he was battling himself with every word.

“Why not? It’s the truth.” You looked at him, batting your lashes. “Bet you’d take better care of me than any of those assholes.”

“Alright, that’s enough. Quit runnin’ your mouth.” he said under his breath, his heart beating fast. “You’re gonna get me into trouble.”

“Maybe you should put something inside my mouth to gag me.” You giggled, feeling as bold and reckless as ever. Your hand reached to palm him over his jeans—hard as rock and twitching instantly at your touch.

His body got stiff and he hit the brakes quickly, the truck stopping violently in the middle of the road. The force of it jolted you forward in the seat.

“Keep your damn hands to yourself,” he said as he yanked your hand from his bulge, pushing you to your seat with more force than necessary, “Sit back. Buckle up.” he grabbed the seatbelt and fastened it—as if to keep you from moving.

His breathing was ragged, nostrils flaring, and you could see the storm raging behind his eyes. Desire battling with guilt, morality against hunger.

He wouldn’t even look at you now. His breathing was labored, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching.

He took one long breath and began to drive again, desperate to get to your house and leave you there, just so he could go home and take care of the big problem between his legs.

“Why should I keep them to myself? You’re hard, and I’m sure I can help you with that.”

You unfastened the seatbelt and knelt on the seat, your upper body pressed down, laying your head on his big thigh.

“Can I suck your cock in the truck?” you looked up at him.

“Enough.” His voice was strangled. His knuckles white around the wheel. “You’re drunk. You don’t mean none of that.”

“I might be drunk now, but I’m not when I touch myself thinking of you every single night.”

“You think this is funny?” he snapped. “Playin’ games like that? You’re a goddamn kid.”

“Oh come off it, Joel. I’m barely ten years younger than you, that’s practically nothing.”

“It’s over ten years,” he corrected you. “You call me drunk in the middle of the goddamn night, talkin’ like a fuckin’ pornstar, lettin’ me look at you dressed like that—”

His hand slapped the steering wheel. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I should take you straight home and tell your daddy what you been up to.”

“Be sure your boner is gone when you talk to my dad,” you teased him. “I don’t think he’d appreciate knowing how fuckin’ hard you get over his daughter.”

You chuckled at the way he was looking at you—anger in his eyes but lust behind them.

“I think you’re pissed off all the time ‘cause you wanna fuck me and you can’t.” you continued to tease him.

His jaw twitched. You were getting to him. Finally.

“I ain’t sayin’ it again,” he hissed, his voice shaking. “You don’t get it, do you? This ain’t no joke. This is serious. You’re my best friend’s daughter. You’re practically a kid—I was there the day you were born, for god’s sake, I held you when you were a baby. You’re—fuck, you’re not s’posed to look at me like that.”

“And now I’m a woman. One you wanna fuck. And one that’s desperately begging you to do it. So own it. Be a man and fuck me, Joel.”

He was breathing hard, looking at you like he didn’t know whether to throttle you or kiss you. Like the war inside him had reached its peak, fists clenched and jaw tight, every nerve screaming.

He stopped the truck in the middle of some deserted road and he surged forward, grabbing your face with both hands, and kissed you like he hated himself for it. Like he was drowning in it. His mouth crushed against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, tasting the alcohol on your breath.

His hand fisted in your hair, the other cupping your jaw like he needed to hold you in place, or else he’d break apart.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he muttered against your mouth, hand sliding up your bare thigh. “Knew you’d be nothing but trouble. Knew I should’ve stayed the hell away.”

His hand made its way between your thighs and reached the edge of your panties. He felt the heat. The slick.

His breath hitched the moment he touched you, a low growl vibrating in his chest like a warning.

He growled. “Jesus, you’re soaked.” There was awe in his tone, disbelief, like you’d shattered something inside him just by wanting him this much.

“I saw the picture at the lake you posted and got like this,” you said. “What? You’ve never seen a girl this wet, Joel?”

He groaned like it physically hurt him, resting his forehead against yours for a second, breathing hard.

“I’m gonna take you home,” he muttered, voice rough. “Gonna put you in your bed, and then I’m gonna go jerk off in my truck like a fuckin’ lunatic.”

“No, you’re not. I need you too much, Joel,” you whispered, reaching for his belt. “Please, pretty please, Joel. I want it like you have no idea.”

He didn’t stop you when you undid the buckle. Didn’t stop you either when you reached into his jeans and wrapped your hand around him. His stomach flinched under your touch, a broken gasp escaping him, his whole body going tense like your fingers had struck a nerve.

His eyes fluttered shut. A soft, filthy growl escaped his throat.

“I swear to God,” he rasped, “if you don’t stop right now, I’m gonna fuck you in this truck.”

“Please do.” Your hand was still wrapped around him, thick and pulsing in your grip, and Joel hadn’t moved a muscle to stop you. His cock twitched in your hand like it agreed with you more than he dared to.

You pulled his cock out of the confinement of his jeans, and you almost whimpered when you saw it.

It was big, to say the least—you’ve never seen one quite that size in person. Only in the adult videos your friend had insisted you watch with her just for giggles.

“Oh my God, Joel,” you breathed out as you took in the sight of him—it looked obscene in the best way, thick and flushed and so hard it looked like it hurt, veins pulsing, wet pre-cum leaking from his tip. “It’s so big.”

“Called me up practically beggin’ for cock with your voice all slow and filthy like that. Now take care of it—it’s what you wanted, right?”

You let your mouth brush the head of his cock. A soft kiss. He twitched again, his hand clenching in the seat beside him, like he was trying to keep control.

“Come on, baby, show me how much you wanted me.”

You took him in your mouth. Warm. Wet. Slow at first—just the head, swirling your tongue around it, tracing that sensitive spot just beneath the ridge. He gasped, eyes rolling back, one hand flying to your hair.

“Shit… baby… killin’ me here,” he moaned. “That mouth—Jesus, such a talented mouth.” His words came out in pieces, half-groaned, half-worshipped.

You moaned around him, taking more, letting him slide deeper. Your lips stretched, jaw aching already from how big he was, but you didn’t care. You loved the way he filled your mouth, the way his dick twitched on your tongue, the way his whole body went rigid when you swallowed around him.

“Ngghh… Look at you. You look so good with my cock down your throat.”

You blinked up at him, eyes glassy and full of want, spit pooling at the corners of your lips.

You bobbed your head slowly, hand working the base where your mouth couldn’t reach, spit dripping down to your wrist. The messier and wetter, the better it felt for Joel. You wanted him to feel it. Every flick of your tongue. Every tight pull of your throat.

He was so sensitive, thighs were shaking, his voice breaking. “Stop, darlin’…please…gotta stop.” You could hear it in his tone—he didn’t want to stop. He just didn’t want to lose control.

You looked up, lips swollen around his cock, and moaned again.

Joel’s grip tightened in your hair. His hips started to move, tiny thrusts, shallow but desperate. He was fucking your mouth, slow and helpless, trying not to lose it too fast.

“Gonna cum,” he gasped. “Fuck…I’m gonna—shit, baby—”

You sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks. Taking him deeper, even when it made your eyes water. You wanted to ruin him. You needed to.

“You wanna swallow it? Gonna swallow every drop like the good little girl you are?”

You nodded frenetically. And then he came. Hard. A broken shout. His whole body tensed as he spilled down your throat.

Hot and thick ropes of his cum, tasted a little salty but so good just ‘cause it belonged to him. It was so much, but you swallowed every drop, not even flinching.

When you finally pulled off him with a soft pop, Joel was wrecked. Panting. Sweating. Staring down at you like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, smirking.

“Get in the back,” he muttered under his breath.

You didn’t hesitate. You climbed into the back seat, the leather cold on your thighs, knees already trembling with anticipation. Your tiny dress rode up higher, exposing lace panties soaked through at the center.

Joel followed. He didn’t even shut the front door. Just crawled into the back after you, big and hulking, like something unchained. His hands were on you immediately, yanking the dress up over your hips, gripping your thighs so hard you whimpered.

He pushed your legs open with both hands, groaning at the sight of how wet you were.

“All this for me, huh? At some college party, dressed like a slut, callin’ me up talkin’ filth ‘cause you didn’t want any of those stupid pricks, you wanted me.”

You nodded, lips parted, breath hitched. Shivering at the raw hunger in his voice.

He slapped the inside of your thigh, sharp and hot. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “I wanted you. I want you so bad, Joel.”

He let out a sound like a snarl and pulled your panties to the side. He made a little noise, almost a whimper.

“What is it? When was the last time you’ve seen a cunt this pretty?”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered. “You’re so beautiful, ain’t got the slightest clue.”

Two thick fingers slid right through your slick folds, parting you. He hissed through his teeth. His pupils blown wide, jaw clenched like he was in pain.

He teased you with his fingers, barely dipping into your entrance, just enough to make you shake. Every nerve in your body stood on edge, begging for more.

“J-Joel… please,” your voice breaking.

“You need this cock that bad, huh? Don’t worry, babygirl, I’ve got you. I’m just gonna stretch you out a little first.” He shoved two fingers in, and you choked on a gasp. Thick. Rough. Curling just right. “Gotta make sure you can take it.”

Your back arched off the seat. “Oh—f-fuck—!”

“Yeah, that’s it. You’re so tight and it’s only my fingers, you’re squeezing them like crazy,” he grunted, working you open, watching your face with fire in his eyes, like it was his religion

“Look at you. Bet none of those little college boys know how to make you squirm like this.”

“N-no… ah… t-they can’t,” you gasped, fingers clutching the seat. “They don’t know anything.”

“All them boys in that house, drunk little shits. Could’ve had any of ‘em. But you called me.”

He kissed you again, hard and messy, all teeth and tongue, swallowing your moans like he couldn’t get enough. His fingers never stopped pumping. He curled them just right and you cried out against his mouth.

“This pussy’s a fuckin’ dream,” he muttered. “Come on, baby, cum for me, and then I’ll give you my cock.”

His thumb began to circle your swollen clit, and you saw stars. He fastened his pace, merciless, single-minded, with the only goal of making you feel the biggest pleasure you could experience.

“I’m… I’m close, Joel… p-please don’t stop.”

You let a loud moan, shattering from the force of your orgasm. Head thrown back. Fingers clutching the seat leather. Crying out his name like a prayer.

“Fuck, that was beautiful,” he muttered, pulling away just enough to breathe against your cheek. “Think you’re ready to take me now?”

“Y-yes… I want your cock inside me.”

Joel sat up on the back seat. “Get in my lap.”

You scrambled over, straddling him. He grabbed your ass and pulled you against him, hard cock sliding against your soaked folds.

“No condoms,” he gritted.

“I don’t care,” you whispered, rolling your hips. “Wanna feel you. Want you to cum in me, Joel.”

That was it.

You barely had a second to breathe before he was lining himself up, grabbing your hips and…

“Fuck—” he groaned as he sank in, slow but deep. Pushing inside you in one hard thrust. You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, your whole body going tight around him. The stretch burned in the best way, he was big, thick, and deeper than anything you’d had before. It felt almost like your first time, and in a sense, it was—your first time with a real man.

Joel grabbed your hips and guided you, panting against your neck, voice wrecked. His hands trembled just slightly, like he couldn’t believe you were real, like you were the most beautiful and precious thing in the world, and for some unknown reason you were letting him have the privilege of fucking you.

You felt the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes. Every inch of him, dragging against your walls, filling you like nothing ever had. He bottomed out and held still, panting against your neck.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he cut off with a strangled sound. “So fuckin’ tight, so goddamn wet… oh, this cunt feels like heaven.”

“Ngggh… J-Joel,” you whimpered. “I-It’s too big.”

“Relax… You’re taking it so good for me,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

You moaned, fucking yourself down onto him, your dress bunched around your waist, heels still on. The truck rocked, the windows fogging thicker with every bounce of your hips. The air was heavy with sweat, lust, and the scent of sex.

“This pussy was made for me, huh?”

“Yes,” you gasped, wrapping your arms around him. “It’s yours, Joel. Always been yours.”

He growled low in his throat and pulled out, only to slam back in—hard. You saw stars.

Your cry cracked in your throat, your whole body arching into him.

Then again. And again.

Joel kissed you like he was starved, and you bit his bottom lip, tugging.

“Harder,” you whispered. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Joel growled and started thrusting up into you. The sound of slick skin slapping and your whimpers filled the truck like music. His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, your ass, your hair. His mouth was on your neck, sucking bruises, biting softly, marking you.

“I should be ashamed,” he gritted. “Should hate myself for wantin’ this. For wantin’ you.”

“But you don’t,” you whispered, dazed and breathless. “You love it.”

“You love that I wanted you,” you went on, voice a broken moan. “You love that I called you instead of some college boy. That I made myself yours.”

He pulled out suddenly and flipped you over. You yelped, hands bracing against the seat, ass in the air. He yanked your panties all the way down this time, tossed them somewhere, and slammed back in from behind. This angle felt deeper. Brutal. Relentless.

Joel’s hand came down hard on your ass, and you cried out.

“That what you needed, baby?” he snarled. “Needed to be fucked like a little whore in the back of my truck? Needed this old man to fuck you stupid?”

“Yes!” you sobbed. “God, yes, Joel—don’t stop—don’t stop—!”

His hand wrapped in your hair, tugging your head back so he could growl in your ear. “Not stoppin’ ‘til you’re fuckin’ ruined.”

He fucked you until your voice was hoarse from screaming his name. Your thighs trembled and your vision blurred. You felt another climax approaching, and you came again, this time around him with a cry so loud it drowned out everything else.

“Ah…ah, baby, don’t squeeze me like that…I can’t hold— I’m gonna cum,” he breathed. “Gonna cum inside you, fill you up, let you leak all over those pretty thighs”

He wrapped both arms around you and spilled inside you with a deep, broken moan, growling your name like a man who’d been starving for years—he didn’t pull out, didn’t even try. His whole body shook. You held his head close, whispering how good he felt, how full you were, how much you wanted it.

He just stayed there, breath hot against your back, hips twitching, filling you full, thrusting a few more times just to fuck his cum deep inside your pussy, not letting one drop go to waste.

For a long time, the only sound in the truck was panting. The occasional shaky breath. His palm, warm and wide, soothing up and down your spine like he didn’t know how to let go.

“Fuck.”

You laughed, breathless. “Yeah.”

He pulled you into his lap, arms wrapping around you tight. The only sound was the ticking of the cooling engine and your slow breaths. Joel’s hand still locked in the curve of your thigh. His chest rose and fell like he’d just finished running, eyes glazed as he stared through the fogged windshield, not seeing a damn thing.

You were still in his lap. Dress wrinkled, panties around one ankle, his release sticky between your thighs.

“You okay?” his voice was soft. “I think… I was too rough, I’m sorry, you felt too goddamn good and it’s been so long since—”

“Don’t.” You smiled lazily and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “It was amazing… fuck, you made me cum twice,” you chuckled, as if you couldn’t believe it.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just let his hand move slowly over the back of your thigh, tracing your skin like he was trying to memorize it.

Finally, he said, “You shouldn’t’ve called me. And i shouldn’t’ve come.”

You kissed his neck. “But I did call you, and you did come.”

His hand tightened suddenly on your thigh, and his voice dropped lower. “This ain’t somethin’ I can walk away from anymore.”

“Then don’t.”

“Your costume makes a lot of sense, y’know?” There was a low chuckle behind it, half-amused, half-kickin’ himself.

He looked at you—really looked—and something in his face softened, like he was scared of what he wanted and wanted it anyway.

“C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s get you home before I do somethin’ even dumber.”

A/N: heey, first of all, if you reached this point, thank you so much for reading. I began posting the fics I write here without expecting much but y’all are so kind and you literally make my day whenever you comment or reblog saying something nice. So thank you for putting a smile on my face. I hope you enjoyed this one🫶🩷

[kaisentine]

i was binge watching blue lock edits on tiktok and it kept showing ryusae and uhm! DID SAE ACTUALLY GIVE RYUUSEI HIs NUMBER AFTER HE SHOWERED 😭😭😭

long distance relationship with sae… (japan n spain)

itoshi sae knew it was a bad idea giving that little devil his number. but it wasn’t actually his number because he accidentally dialed your number instead. probably because he’s entered it more times than he has his but it’s only for the reason that he’s always at after parties for a game or because his manager forced him into attending for publicity (which he legit did not need) and he forgets to charge his own phone that just so happens to die all the time so he has to use a friend’s or another person’s phone to call you to reassure you he’s doing alright.

he’s done it so much it just became a natural response.

random day in the week at 17:00, you start receiving random and very concerning messages from an unknown number. first you thought it was a scam but then you realize it wasn’t through the way the number started texting you irregular things that scam bots would not normally send unless they would want to have romantic human relations.

UNKNOWN NUMBER : omg u actually gave me ur number

UNKNOWN NUMBER : let’s meet up some time 😍 i got da money for a flight

UNKNOWN NUMBER : or u do, whichever

UNKNOWN NUMBER : call me devil boy one more time please

UNKNOWN NUMBER : boi y aren’t u responding u legit gave me ur number to just ghost me?

UNKNOWN NUMBER : u player, it’s cool ig bc i have my own tricks

UNKNOWN NUMBER : also u have ur read receipts on

you : hi who is this and why are you texting my number?

UNKNOWN NUMBER : BRO im shidou ryuusei? did you just forget or what…

you : sorry, i think you have the wrong number

UNKNOWN NUMBER : but u gave it to me dafuq

UNKNOWN NUMBER : ok wait u aren’t joking. shi mbmb (not mb) thought this was itoshi sae 🤤

you stare blankly at your phone, it’s hard to believe sae gave some guy you remember seeing play on the U-20 team with him your number. to play it safe, you leave this shidou guy on read and open your messages with your boyfriend.

you : did you give the blonde guy your phone number

sae <3 : i did

sae <3 : why?

you : someone messaged me

sae <3 : send

you : 🤨

you : [1 image attached]

sae <3 : .

sae <3 : number now

you : stop how’d he get my number though

sae <3 : i think i gave him your number by accident, sorry

sae <3 : number, please

you : ###########

[lee-laurent]

Sparks in Jersey - Luke Hughes

Summary: Luke finally has the chance to wow the girl of his dreams

content: angst, fluff, underage drinking, kissing, suggestive jokes

wc: 7.1k

notes: requested!!! enjoyyyy

"Jack, stop!" Blair whisper-yelled, trying to stifle her laughter as the two of them crouched behind the bushes. "If you get caught, your mom's gonna ground you, and then I'll be next."

"She won't catch us," Jack whispered back, his wide grin not matching his feigned seriousness. He held up the spray can like a prized trophy, its contents intended for the blank patch of wooden fence at the back of the yard. "This is art, Blair. ART."

Blair rolled her eyes, nudging him with her elbow. "You're a menace, Rowdy. If I get in trouble, I'm blaming you."

"Yeah, yeah," Jack said dismissively as he shook the can and began spraying a wobbly rendition of a hockey stick.

From the corner of her eye, Blair caught a small figure creeping through the grass toward them. Eight-year-old Luke wasn't great at sneaking--his floppy hair and oversized hand-me-down hoodie made him a blur of movement as he crouched and tripped his way to their hiding spot.

"Guys!" Luke whisper-shouted, clutching a flashlight in one hand. "Mom's looking for you. If she sees this, you're gonna get in so much trouble!"

Jack turned to shush his brother, but Blair intervened first, pressing a finger to her lips. "Luke," she said softly, leaning toward him. "We're almost done. Be our lookout, and we'll owe you one, okay?"

Luke froze, wide-eyed, as Blair's attention zeroed in on him. He nodded so quickly it almost looked painful. "Okay. But if you get caught, it wasn't my idea."

The grin Blair flashed him felt like the sun breaking through the clouds. Luke planted himself by the edge of the fence, clutching the flashlight like it was his badge of honour.

Luke knew one thing for certain: if it meant protecting Blair, he'd do it.

~~

Blair Adams had lost count of people who assumed she and Jack were siblings. From the time they started grade school together, their lives had intertwined like vines--endless hockey games, late-night study sessions, and whispered secrets that only best friends would understand.

By the time high school rolled around, they were practically inseperable. If one of them was missing school, then the other was guaranteed to be moping around the whole day. So when Jack got drafted to the Devils and she got into Princeton, it wasn't even a question that they'd live together.

Jack was her family in every way that mattered. But his brothers? That was a different story.

Luke, the youngest Hughes sibling, had always been sweet--quiet in a way that balanced Jack's constant energy. Blair remembered him as the little boy who followed them everywhere, starry-eyed and eager to impress.

And now he was moving into their apartment.

Blair set her coffee cup on the counter, glancing at the clock. Jack had texted her that morning, reminding her about Luke's arrival, and while she wasn't nervous, she did feel... curious. She hadn't seen Luke since a couple Christmases ago, and even then, their interactions had been brief.

"Probably still a beanpole," she muttered to herself. She couldn't picture him as anything but Jack's little brother.

Still, the thought lingered as she tidied the living room.

~~

Luke sat in the back of the Uber, his hands fidgeting in his lap as they wound through Newark's crowded streets. His suitcase bumped against his knee with every pothole, but he barely noticed.

He was finally here.

His older brothers had always been larger-than-life figures in his world. Quinn was the golden child--quiet, disciplined, and effortlessly skilled. Jack, on the other hand, was the whirlwind--his humour and energy lighting up every room he walked into.

But Blair? She was someone else entirely.

For as long as Luke could remember, Blair had been part of the family. She'd been at every birthday party, every Thanksgiving dinner, and every summer barbeque. And Luke had always adored her, even before he knew what the word crush meant.

Back then, he'd thought his feelings were something he'd grow out of, like his obsession with dinosaur pyjamas. But as he got older, those feelings only deepened.

Now, at 20, with two years of college hockey under his belt and an NHL debut on the horizon, Luke felt ready. Ready to prove that what he felt for Blair wasn't some childish infatuation.

He gripped the strap of his bag tighter. "Play it cool," he muttered to himself. "She probably still thinks you're a kid."

But what if she didn't?

When he walked into the apartment, Jack was already waiting, sprawled on the couch in sweatpants with his phone in hand.

"There he is," Jack said with a grin, standing to pull his brother into a quick hug. "Welcome to Casa Hughes-Adams."

Luke glanced around the space. It felt warm and lived-in, with mismatched throw pillows and the faint scent of cinnamon. It didn't escape his notice that Blair wasn't in sight.

"She's in the kitchen," Jack said, as if reading his thoughts.

"Who?" Luke asked, feigning indifference.

Jack smirked, leaning in. "Blair, dummy. And before you ask--yes, she's still single."

"Jack.." Luke warned.

"I'm just saying," he threw his hands up in mock innocence. "You two are gonna be living together. Might as well shoot your shot."

"Jack."

Jack grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. "Relax, Lukey. I'm just here to help. Now, go say hi before she starts unpacking your bags for you."

As Luke moved toward the kitchen, his heart thudding, he caught the glint in Jack's eye. Whatever he was planning, it was bound to be trouble.

~~

Blair was standing by the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed and a teasing smirk playing on her lips as Luke wrestled a suitcase. The duffle slung over his shoulder slipped down his arm, and he cursed softly under his breath, making her bite back a laugh.

"Need help there, big shot?"

Luke looked up, a sheepish grin breaking across his face. "Nah, I've got it. Totally under control."

Blair's teasing died in her throat. When did he get a jawline like that? she wondered, her gaze catching on the sharp angles of his face, the broad set of his shoulders, the way he carried himself--despite his current struggle with luggage.

She blinked, forcing herself to refocus. Relax. It's Luke. Jack's little brother.

Still, as he straightened and ran a hand through his hair, her stomach did a flip.

Luke caught her staring and raised an eyebrow. "Something on my face?"

"Nope," Blair said quickly, turning toward the living room and willing the heat in her cheeks to dissipate. "Let me show you where your room is before you destroy the place."

Luke followed her, taking in the apartment as he went. It felt surreal being there, sharing the space with Blair. The same Blair he used to follow around as a kid, who used to ruffle his hair and call him "Lukey." Now she was standing there, effortlessly beautiful, and he couldn't decide if the butterflies in his stomach were exhilerating or terrifying.

Once they'd unloaded his bags into the spare room, Blair escaped to the kitchen, grateful for the excuse to put some distance between them. She leaned against the counter, staring at the fridge as if it held the answers to life's most pressing questions.

Okay, so Luke's grown up. Big deal. He's an athlete; they all end up looking like Greek statues. She snorted at the thought and shook her head. Doesn't mean anything.

Still, the image of him smiling at her--his dimple making a rare appearance--lingered in her mind.

"Get a grip, B," she mumbled, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water. "He's Jack's little brother. End of story."

But the flicker of doubt refused to fade.

~~

Later that evening, Jack stood in the doorway, pulling on his jacket.

"Wait, you're leaving?" Blair asked, arms of full of laundry she'd been folding on the couch.

"Yup," Jack said, popping the 'p.' "Dinner with some of the guys. You two have fun."

Blair frowned. "You didn't mention that earlier."

"Didn't I?" he replied innocently. "Must've slipped my mind."

Luke appeared from the hallway, his hair still damp from a post-flight shower. He glanced between the two of them, his expression cautious. "You're going out?"

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, but don't worry. Blair will take care of you." He shot Blair a pointed look before sauntering out the door, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Blair rolled her eyes, muttering, "Subtle as a brick, that one."

Luke cleared his throat. "So, uh, what's for dinner?"

They ended up in the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the fridge.

"How do you feel about spaghetti?" Blair asked, holding up a box of pasta.

"Sounds good."

They worked together in silence for a while, the only sounds the clinking of pots and the soft hum of the stove. But as the pasta boiled, Blair leaned back against the counter, studying Luke.

"So... how's it feel finally making the big move?"

Luke shrugged, stirring the sauce. "Good, I think. A little surreal, honestly. I mean, this is Jack's turf. I'm just trying not to screw it up."

Blair softened. "You'll be fine, Lukey. You're good at what you do. Plus, Jack thinks he's way cooler than he actually is."

Luke laughed, the sound warm and rich, and Blair felt her chest get tight.

As they sat down to eat, the conversation drifted to Jack--his quirks, his bad habits, and all the ridiculous things he and Blair did as kids.

"Remember that time he put hot sauce in my water bottle?" Blair asked, laughing.

"Oh, yeah. You chased him with a fucking hockey stick."

"I should've hit him with it," she shook her head.

Luke leaned forward, his gaze softer. "You were always good at keeping him in line."

Her laughter faltered under the weight of his words, their eyes meeting.

"Yeah, well," she said lightly. "Someone had to. Hell... I still do."

The rest of the evening passed smoothly, but as they cleaned up the kitchen together, Blair felt like something had shifted. Luke might not just be Jack's little brother.

And that scared her... a lot.

~~

Blair had always thought of herself as someone who adapted quickly, but living with Luke Hughes presented a unique challenge. Much different than living with Jack. He wasn't difficult, per se--in fact, he was the opposite. Too helpful. Too funny. And, if she was being honest, too damn distracting.

It was the little things that threw her off.

Like the way he always tidied up without being asked. She'd leave her coffee mug in the sink and come back to find it washed and drying on the rack. Or the way he'd linger in the kitchen, chatting about his day as she cooked, leaning casually against the counter with his stupidly charming, crooked grin.

And then there were his routines. Every morning, Luke came out of his room in sweats and t-shirt, his hair adorably mussed from sleep, to make a protein shake before his workout. The sight had become so familiar that it almost felt... domestic.

Get it together, she'd tell herself for the thousandth time as she passed him on her way to make her coffee. But as she caught the faint scent of his cologne mixed with his shampoo, she couldn't help the butterflies she felt.

Luke wasn't sure what he expected when he moved in, but things had been going better than he'd hoped. Sure, living with Blair was a constant exercise in restraint--her laugh, her quick wit, the way she'd hum under her breath when she thought no one was listening--it was enough to drive him insane.

But he'd made a plan.

Step one: Show her he wasn't a kid anymore.

It was in the small things. Like volunteering to carry the groceries or fixing the wobbly kitchen stool without anyone asking. He made sure to cook extras for her once in a while, too--nothing fancy, just enough to make her pause and say, "Wow, you've really got this adulting thing down."

Step two: Flirt... just a little

Luke wasn't reckless enough to come on strong, but he'd test the waters now and then--a playful nudge when they passed in the hallway, a comment about how her sweatpants made her look cozy. He lived for the moments when her cheeks turned pink, even if she brushed off his remarks with a roll of her eyes.

What he didn't expect, though, was how much just being around her would feel so... right.

~~

Blair was cozied up on the couch, her laptop balanced on her lap as she scrolled through pages of research for a project. Luke was on the other end of the couch, his long legs taking up more than his fair share of space as he half-watched a hockey game on the TV.

"Hey, where's Jack?" Blair asked, glancing at the time. It was past seven, and he hadn't returned from his workout.

Luke shrugged, not looking up from his phone. "He said he was meeting some guys for dinner. I don't know."

She frowned. "Didn't he do that yesterday?"

Luke smirked, finally looking at her. "Maybe he's just really into team bonding."

Blair narrowed her eyes. Something was definitely up. Over the past week, Jack had mysteriously disappeared more often that usual, leaving her and Luke to fend for themselves. It wasn't that she minded the company--Luke was easy to get along with--but the pattern was hard to ignore.

Later that night, as she was rinsing her coffee mug (the one Luke usually beat her to), her phone buzzed with a text from Jack.

Jack: How's it going? You two getting along?

Blair: fine. why?

Jack: No reason

Her gut was telling her he was up to something.

Meanwhile, Luke passed by, grabbing a glass of water and shooting her a quick smile. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Blair said slowly, slipping her phone into her back pocket. But as Luke left, she couldn't shake the idea that her best friend was trying to play matchmaker.

~~

Jack was still out and the apartment was oddly quiet. Blair had given up on her work and was now scrolling through Netflix in search of something mindless.

"You watching something?" Luke asked as he emerged from his room, a hoodie thrown on over his sweats.

"Trying to," she replied, tossing the remote in his direction. "Your turn to pick. I'm too indecisive tonight."

Luke caught it easily and plopped down beside her, the cushion dipping under his weight. He scrolled for a minute before settling on a documentary about space exploration.

"Space?" Blair cocked an eyebrow.

"Come on, it's cool," Luke said, grinning. "Plus, you might learn something."

She rolled her eyes, but stayed put. As the documentary started, she found herself leaning into the couch, her shoulder brushing against Luke's. It wasn't much, just the barest contact, but it sent a spark through her.

At one point, Luke turned to make a comment about the astronauts, his voice low and close enough that she felt the warmth of it on her cheek. She glanced at him, and for a split second, the room seemed to hold its breath.

But then Luke pulled back, casually sipping his water as if nothing had happened.

Blair just exhaled, turning her attention back to the stipid documentary.

~~

The rain tapped against the windows of the apartment, the kind of soothing sound that made everything feel a bit more intimate. Blair was on the floor, sorting through all of her notebooks from every year of college. Luke was on the sofa, tossing a ball in the air absentmindedly.

"You sure you don't want me to just toss all this for you?" he teased, nodding at the stack of papers that threatened to topple.

Blair shot him a glare. "Do you want me to throw out all your hockey gear?"

"Touché." He grinned. "But my gear gets me paid. Does this" --he picked up one of her notebooks, flipping through it--"get you paid?"

"Rude," she said, snatching it back, though she couldn't stop her smile.

Luke leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. The movement drew her attention, and for a moment, Blair found herself distracted by how easily he seemed to fit into every situation. He wasn't a little kid anymore, and she was starting to notice.

"Why do you keep all this, anyway?"

Blair shrugged, shutting another notebook and hugging it to her chest. "I don't know. I guess in case I ever need any of it. Or... it reminds me of where I started. It's easy to lose sight of that when you're trying to figure out where you're going."

Luke set the ball down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "I get that," he said. "Sometimes I feel like... I don't know, like I'm chasing something. Trying to prove I belong. First at Michigan, now here."

"You? You're one of the Hughes brothers. People expect you to belong."

Luke laughed, but it was a quiet, self-deprecating sound. "That's the problem. Everyone expects me to be just like Jack or Quinn. And they're... amazing. Don't get me wrong. But sometimes it feels like I'm playing catch-up, you know?"

Blair’s chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. She shifted onto the couch beside him, her knee brushing against his. “You’re not Jack or Quinn,” she said softly. “You’re Luke. And that’s enough. It’s more than enough.”

"Do you really think that?"

"I know it."

"What about you?" Luke asked. "You've got this whole life mapped out--Princeton, your career. Doesn't it ever feel... heavy?"

Blair hesitated, surprised by how much she wanted to answer honestly. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “It’s like I’ve been so focused on what I’m supposed to do--keeping up with school, supporting Jack, being the dependable one--that I forget to think about what I actually want.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The rain outside grew heavier, the rhythm filling any silence between them. Blair glanced at him, his profile softened by the dim glow of the lamp. She felt her pulse quicken, the air between them charged.

"You're not what I expected," she whispered.

"What?"

Blair hit her lip, searching for the best words. "When Jack said you were moving in, I thought it'd be... different. I don't know. But you're--"

"Not a kid anymore?" he finished for her, a small, teasing smile playing on his lips.

Blair's heart stuttered. "Yeah. Something like that."

The smile faded as their gazes locked. The teasing warmth in Luke's eyes gave way to something deeper, something that made Blair's breath catch.

He leaned in slightly--not enough to close the distance, but enough for her to notice. For her to feel the magnetic pull between them.

"Blair," he whispered.

Her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine, but reality crashed over her like a wave of cold water.

She pulled back abruptly, breaking the spell. "I should... I should finish sorting these," she said, gesturing to the forgotten notebooks. Her voice sounded unsteady, even to her own ears.

Luke blinked, leaning back as if to give her space. "Right. Of course."

He didn't push, but the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable.

Blair sat in bed that night, staring at the ceiling as the scene replayed in her mind like a broken record. She could still feel his breath on her, the way he looked at her like nothing else mattered.

He's Jack's little brother, she reminded herself, gripping the blanket tightly. This can't happen.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shut her brain off and fall asleep.

In the room down the hall, Luke lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the same way: This can't just be a crush anymore.

~~

Jack was sitting on a stool, arms crossed, a devious grin spreading across his face as he watched Blair finish her coffee.

"So," he said casually, "I was thinking we should do a group night. You, me, Luke, maybe a couple teammates and their girlfriends. Drinks, a movie, the works. Sound good?"

"Group night? Since when do you plan movie nights?"

"Since I'm such a generous, thoughtful friend," Jack replied. "Come on, Blair. You've been working nonstop. You need to relax."

Blair glanced at Luke, who was silently buttering toast at the counter. "Sure. Why not? It could be fun."

"Great." Jack clapped his hands together. "I'll set it up."

Unbeknownst to her, Luke caught Jack's michievous glance over Blair's shoulder.

~~

Two nights later, Blair was setting out snacks as Luke flipped through all the different streaming services the three of them were subscribed to. The apartment was warm and cozy, the perfect atmosphere for a chill night with their friends.

"Where is everyone?" Blair asked, frowning as she checked her phone.

Luke smirked, already knowing the answer. "Check your messages."

Jack: Oops! Something came up. Can't make it tonight. Have fun without me!!

She groaned, running a hand over her face. "Unbelievable."

Luke laughed, plopping onto the couch. "Guess it's just us, then."

Blair hesitated, tempted to go curl up in her bed with a mug of hot chocolate and watch a cheesy rom-com on Netflix. But as she glanced at Luke, comfortably lounging on the sofa, his smile easy as ever, she decided against it.

"Fine," she said, grabbing two coolers from the fridge. "But you're not getting out of picking a movie."

Half an hour in, the movie played, but Blair was much more interested in Luke than the plot.

He was relaxed, his arm draped over the back of the couch--not touching her, but close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence. Every so often, he'd glance her way to catch her reaction.

"This movie's fucking ridiculous," Luke said, shaking his head at the over-the-top action scene.

"I feel like that's the point," Blair replied, tossing a piece of popcorn at him.

Luke caught it, popping it into his mouth with a smug grin. "Impressive, right?"

"Maybe you're the ridiculous one."

"And yet, here you are, stuck watching this shit movie with me."

She turned to scowl at him, but it faltered as their eyes met. The room seemed to shrink, the movie getting quieter. Luke looked down to her lips, catching himself and looking back at her eyes.

She looked away quickly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "We should... get back to the movie."

"R-right, the, uh, the movie."

As soon as the end credits rolled, Blair busied herself with cleaning up, grateful to have something to do. Anything.

She'd enjoyed their unexpected time alone more than she cared to admit. Luke always made her laugh, left her feeling... seen. It was new. Different.

Too different, she thought as she set the popcorn bowl in the sink.

The idea of crossing that line with Luke felt impossible. Jack was practically her brother, and Luke was his little brother. No matter how much he'd grown, or changed, it still felt... complicated.

Luke watched from the couch as she washed the dishes. Her hair was messy from where she'd ruffled it during the movie, and the way she smiled as she hummed to herself made his chest ache.

"Hey."

"Yeah?" she glanced over her shoulder.

"Thanks for hanging out tonight," he said, his tone genuine. "Even... if Jack bailed."

Blair turned to face him fully, drying her hands on a tea towel. "Yeah, well, you're not the worst company."

Luke smirked. "That's high praise coming from you."

"Don't let it get to your head."

"Too late," he chuckled, standing up to grab a drink, his shoulder brushing hers as he reached for a glass. The touch was subtle, almost nonexistant, but Blair felt like her skin was on fire.

Luke caught the way she stiffened, but instead of pulling back, he stayed close, voice lower. "You know, you don't have to keep pretending."

"Pretending what?"

"That you don't like being around me."

Her breath caught, her mind racing for a response, but he stepped back, giving her space.

"Goodnight, Blair," he teased, heading to his room.

She wasn't sure what she felt more: frustration at herself for the way her heart reacted to him... or the undeniable truth that Luke wasn't wrong.

~~

The post-game energy was infectious, the crowd buzzing as fans lingered in the arena, snapping selfies and chatting excitedly. Blair stood near the players' tunnel, sipping a beer and watching Luke from afar.

He was good at this, she realized. Not just the hockey part--though he'd had an impressive game tonight--but the whole... persona. The awkward Luke smiles, the attention he gave to fans, the way he handled it without the sass his brother did.

She wasn't the only one who noticed.

Blair stiffened as a blonde girl, maybe a year or two younger than her, leaned close to him. She was bold, confident in the way only someone used to getting attention could be.

Blair tried to brush off as she watched Luke smile politely, but then the girl handed him her phone. Luke hesitated for a moment before taking it, his expression unreadable.

Her stomach twisted. She didn't want to feel this way--this hot, irrational pang of jealousy that clenched her chest like a vice. But when the girl's face lit up, giddy with what was probably Luke's number, she had to look away.

It wasn't her place to care. She had no claim over Luke. He was free to flirt with whoever he wanted.

~~

Blair was laying in her bed, a half-empty glass of wine resting on her bedside table. The room was dark, her laptop playing an episode of Law and Order that she'd already seen.

She heard the front door open, a bag hit the hardwood floor. Then Jack strolled into her room, flopping onto her bed like he owned the place.

"Alright, what's up?"

Blair glanced over at him. "What do you mean?"

"You're drinking wine in the dark and watching a show you've seen a million times. That's weird."

She groaned, burying her face in her duvet. "You're insufferable."

"Yeah, but I'm also right." Jack leaned back against the headboard. "So spill. What's got you all mopey?"

She grabbed her glass of wine, downing the rest of it. "It's nothing, okay? Just drop it."

Jack gave her a long look, his smirk softening into something more serious. "Blair. I've known you for, like, ever. You're not okay. Just tell me."

"It's... it's Luke."

Jack's eyebrows shot up, and his grin was immediate. "Finally."

"This is exactly why I didn't want to say anything!"

"No, no, this is great!" he sat up, his excitement bubbling over. "You like him! Like, like-like him."

"Can you not make it sound like we're in middle school?" Blair shot back, though her face burned at his words.

"Okay, fine... but you're into him, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe," she whispered.

Jack nudged her shoulder. "You do."

Blair let out a frustrated laugh. "Jack, it's complicated. He's your brother. I've known him since he was a kid. And tonight, at the game, there was this girl, and he was..."

Jack frowned. "And you were jealous."

She bit her lip but didn't deny it.

Jack leaned over, grabbing her glass from her and putting it down on the nightstand. "Blair, listen to me. Luke's not a kid anymore. He hasn't been for a long time. And he's crazy about you. He's been crazy about you since he was old enough to know what a crush was."

"He doesn't--"

"He does," he interrupted firmly. "And I'm telling you, you don't have to feel guilty about this. If you like him--and I think you do--then let yourself have this. You deserve it. He does, too."

"And... you're okay with it? With us?"

Jack grinned. "Blair, you're my favourite person in the world. Luke's my brother. If the two of you make each other happy, the yeah, I'm okay with it. More than okay."

~~

Luke couldn't help but notice that Blair hadn't talked to him after the game. He didn't even see her until the next morning when she was making her daily coffee.

"Morning."

"Morning," she said, not even turning to look at him.

He grabbed some frozen fruit from the freezer, getting ready to make his smoothie. "You okay?"

Blair hesitated, taking a look at his face. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept much, but his eyes were still as warm as always.

"Yeah. Just... thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"About how much things have changed. And how... how much you've changed."

"Good change or, uh, bad change?"

"Good... I think."

Then air felt heavier, but not in a bad way. Luke clicked his tongue, about to respond when Blair brushed past him, wrapping her housecoat around her tighter.

"I'm gonna get ready for class."

~~

Luke was tired of just waiting for things to change. Blair deserved more than casual glances and hesitant words. She deserved to know how he felt, and he decided it was time to show her.

He looked down at the litle notebook resting on the table, one he'd seen Blair scribbling in late one night while she thought no one was around. It didn't seem to be much--just a collection of her to-do lists and random thoughts--but it had sparked an idea.

Blair arrived home from classes, balancing her tote bag and a paper bag of takeout. She kicked the door shut behind her, surprised by the warm glow of the apartment. The living room was dimly lit, a few candles flickering on the coffee table.

"Luke?" she called, setting her things down.

"In here," came his voice from their balcony.

Blair crossed the room, stepping outside to find Luke leaning against the railing. The table next to him was set with two plates, her favourite flowers in a simple vase at the centre.

"What's all this?"

Luke stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I just... I wanted to do something for you. You've been working so hard, and I thought you could use a break."

"Luke, you didn't have to--"

"I wanted to," he interrupted.

He pulled out one of the chairs for her, gesturing for her to sit. Blair hesitated but eventually lowered herself into the seat. Luke took the spot across from her, his nervousness barely contained.

As they started eating, Blair couldn't help but notice the little details--how he'd ordered her favourite dish, how he kept the conversation light but still genuine. It was thoughtful... thoughtful in a personal way.

After dinner, Luke retrieved something from inside, returning with a small, wrapped package.

"What's this?" Blair asked.

"Just... open it," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

She tore the paper carefully, revealing a leather-bound notebook. It looked old; the edges were slightly worn, and the faint smell of ink and must wafted from it.

Blair ran her fingers over the cover, her breath catching. "This is... like the one I had as a kid."

Luke nodded. "You, uh, you told it about me during one of our late-night talks. How you used to write everything down--your dreams, stories, your plans for the future. I thought... you could start again... as an adult."

Blair's throat felt tight as she opened the journal. It was so simple, but it meant everything.

"Luke..."

He stepped closer, crouching slightly to meet her eyes. "Blair, you've always been this incredible, unstoppable force. And I just... I wanted you to have something that reminds you of that."

She stood, clutching the notebook to her chest. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you matter to me, Blair. More than you know."

"Lu-"

"I know I'm just Jack's little brother to you," he said quietly, his voice steady despite his vulnerability. "But I'm not a kid anymore. And I've been waiting my whole life for you to see me--really see me."

Blair stared at him, processing his words. For so long, she'd fought against the pull she felt toward him, telling herself it was wrong, that it would complicate everything. But in that moment, with Luke standing in front of her, open and unguarded, she couldn't deny it anymore.

She reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek. "You're not just Jack's little brother."

Luke's eyes widened slightly, his breath hitching as her hand lingered. Slowly, carefully, he leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against hers.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered.

But she didn't pull away. Instead, she closed the space, her lips brushing his in the most electrifying kiss of her life. Years of tension and unspoken moments poured into their kiss.

Blair pulled away, her cheeks flushed. "You've always been waiting for me to see you?"

"Yeah. And you were worth the wait."

~~

The morning after their kiss, Blair replayed the moment over and over again. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word from Luke had burned itself into her memory.

"Morning."

She jumped as Luke's voice cut through the quiet. She looked up to find him standing in front of her, his hair mussed.

"Morning."

"So... about last night."

Blair swallowed, setting down her coffee. "Yeah... we should probably talk about that."

Luke nodded. "Look, I'm not sorry it happened. But I don't want to make things harder for you. Or for us."

Blair's lips pressed into a thin line. "Jack's going to notice if things... change. And the rest of your family... I just don't want things to get too complicated too fast."

"So, what? We sneak around for a while? Keep this a secret?"

"Maybe," Blair said through her nervous smile.

Luke grinned, stepping closer until he was right in front of her. "I can work with that."

When his hand brushed against hers on the table, she didn't pull away.

Keeping their relationship under wraps turned out to be equal parts thrilling and frustrating.

There were more stolen moments in the kitchen, their hands brushing as they cooked. Blair would catch Luke staring from across the room, his eyes filled with something new.

Once when Jack was napping in his room, Luke cornered Blair in the hallway, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was quick but left her breathless.

"Someone's going to catch us," she whispered, trying to sound stern but failing.

Luke smirked, hands resting on her waist. "You worried about Rowdy? He sleeps like a rock."

Still, the constant sneaking around wasn't without its challenges. Jack had a knack for walking in at the worst possible times, forcing Blair and Luke to spring apart like guilty teenagers.

"Why are you both so jumpy lately?" Jack asked one evening, narrowing his eyes at them as they sat on opposite sides of the sofa.

"Jumpy? We're not jumpy," Blair replied quickly, her voice a little too high-pitched.

"Yeah," Luke added. "You're imagining things, Jack."

Jack's eyes narrowed further, but he didn't press--yet.

But it didn't take long for him to connect the dots. He wasn't oblivious, despite what Blair and Luke seemed to think.

The knowing grin that spread across his face when he walked into the kitchen and caught them in what they thought was a private moment. Luke's hand was on the small of Blair's back as she stood by the stove, and her laugh was just a bit too soft, too intimate.

"Oh my God," he startled them both.

"Jack! Wha--"

"No way," Jack interrupted, pointing between them. "Are you two fucking?!"

Luke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Jack, just--"

"You are!" he shouted. "This is amazing. I knew it! I fucking knew this would happen!"

Blair groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Jack, can you not make this a thing?"

"Oh, it's already a thing," Jack said, crossing his arms triumphantly. "And I'm a genius for making it happen."

"Making it happen?"

Jack shrugged, completely unbothered. "I gave you two all those nights alone. The movie night? You're welcome."

"You... you're telling me you've been matchmaking this whole time?" Blair gasped.

"Matchmaking, nudging, masterminding--call it what you want," Jack said with a smirk. "Point is, I'm responsible for this."

"Yeah, sure, Jack. All you," Luke rolled his eyes.

"So, when's the wedding? Can I be the best man and the maid of honour?"

~~

The sound of goal horn echoed in Luke's ears, but this time, it wasn't in celebration. Another defensive breakdown. Another minus on the scoresheet.

Luke sat in the locker room after, still in his gear, staring blankly at the floor. Around him his teammates untaped sticks and headed for the showers, but he felt frozen.

The reporters were outside, ready to dissect every mistake he'd made that night. The fans would be tweeting about his rookie performance. But worst of all, he'd let himself down.

When he finally got home, it was late. Blair was waiting for him on his bed. The second she saw him, her face softened.

"Hey."

Luke dropped his bag by the door, sinking down into his bed beside her, leaning his head on a pillow with a deep sigh.

"Rough game?"

He nodded, jaw tight. "I keep messing up. It's like... no matter what I do, it's not good enough. I'm not Jack. I'm not Quinn. I don't know if I'll ever be."

Blair reached over, resting a hand on his arm. "Luke, you don't have to be Jack or Quinn. You just have to be you. And you're amazing, even if you don't feel like it right now."

"What if I'm not? What if I'm not cut out for this?"

She shifted closer, wrapping her arms around him. "You are, Luke. And so do a lot of other people. You're allowed to have bad days. It doesn't make you less."

~~

Blair's phone buzzed with yet another text from her mom.

Mama: So... Luke? Are you two really together? Luke as in Jack's little brother?

She sighed, tossing her phone onto the bed beside her.

Her relationship with Luke had been public knowledge for a few weeks now--thanks to Jack's slip of the tongue at a post-game interview--but the fallout was more stressful than she could've anticipated.

Her parents were surprised but supportive, though their questions about the long-term implications left her feeling uneasy. And Jack? He was thrilled that the world knew now, that he didn't have to hide the secret.

"What if this changes everything?" she murmured aloud as she folded her laundry.

"What changes everything?" Luke asked, walking into her room with a bowl of cereal in hand.

Blair hesitated, her hands stilling on one of Luke's sweatshirts. "Us. You. Me and Jack. All of it."

Luke set the bowl down. "Blair, what are you talking about?"

"It's just... I don't want this to mess things up. With your family. With Jack. If something went wrong, it'd be--"

"It's not going to go wrong. And even if it did, that's on me, not you. You're not responsible for holding everything together."

"But I feel like I am. Jack's been like family to me my whole life. And now, with us, it's like I'm risking everything."

Luke took her hands. "You're not risking anything, Blair. Jack loves you. My family loves you. And I... I'm not going anywhere, okay? No matter how hard things get."

But the cracks began to show.

Luke's schedule grew more demanding as the Devils pushed for a playoff spot. Practices ran longer, travel days piled up, and his rookie season came with added scrutiny from fans and the media.

Blair was juggling her internship and her last semester of classes. Their time together became scarce, and when they did have a moment, it was often overshadowed by Luke's frustrations or Blair's anxiety.

"It's like no matter what I do, it's not enough," Luke paced the living room, hands in his hair. "I make on mistake, and everyone is on my ass. Meanwhile, the vets can screw up all night, and no one says a word."

Blair looked up from her computer, bags under her eyes. "Luke, I get it. I do. But can we just... not right now? I have a huge presentation tomorrow, and I'm barely keeping up as it is."

"I didn't mean to dump that on you. I just... forget it."

He turned to leave, but Blair reached out, catching his hand. "Lu, wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just--"

"It's fine," he pulled his hand away. "Good luck with your presentation."

The strain between them was becoming harder to ignore, and she didn't know how much longer they could keep pretending everything was fine.

~~

As soon as Luke entered the apartment, Blair warpped her arms around him. "I know it's been hard," she said quietly. "But I'm here. Always."

Luke exhaled, snaking his arms around her waist. "I know. And I'm sorry. For everything."

"We'll figure it out. Together."

"Yeah... together."

~~

The past few weeks had been spent making quick apologies and sharing half-hearted reassurances that everything was fine. But it wasn't fine. She'd spent so much of her time worrying about what other people wanted that she'd forgotten to think about what she wanted.

And she wanted Luke.

Jack: Game tonight. I snagged you a ticket. Go

~~

She slipped into her seat, spotting Jack on the ice with HUGHES on his back, just like hers and Luke's. He turned, catching her eye, and throwing her a thumbs up.

She spent the whole game watching Luke, her stomach flipping every time he would touch the puck. And when he scored in the second period, she leaped to her feet, cheering louder than everyone around her.

After the game, she waited by the players' tunnel, spotting Luke emerging from the locker room, his hair damp, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Luke!" she called.

His head snapped up, mouth dropping in surprise. "Blair?"

"Hey."

Luke glanced around, clearly aware of the people watching, but Blair didn't care. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

"You were amazing!"

"I... I didn't know you were coming."

"I wasn't sure I was going to," she admitted, pulling back from their embrace to look in his eyes. "But then I realized I was being stupid. I don't care what anyone thinks. I'm with you because I want to be."

"You sure?"

"Completely."

~~

Blair attended every home game she could after that. No more secrets and they were feeling the best they had together. She supported him through the highs and lows of his rookie season. And Luke helped her study, even letting her practice her presentations on him.

"You know," she said softly. "I think we're pretty good at this."

Luke cocked an eyebrow. "At what?"

"Us."

He leaned in, lips brushing her temple. "Yeah. We are."

Jack entered the room, a smirk on his face. "Told you so."

[lavshaze]

❤️ | Beautiful thing

Continuation to terrible thing, but can be read as a stand-alone, I'm terribly sorry this took so long, I'm starting to think writing silco smut is my destiny and I should just drop out and do this 24/7

✧ contains ⤐ continuation of the wet dream shenanigans, so naturally also smut! finger sucking and fucking, oral (female receiving), missionary, a lot of feelings, like the yearning truly hits its climax (but so do both of them so it's alright), oh and lovely tween jinx is there at the beginning <3 w.c. ~ 7.7k (big boy)

It’s around 7:35 when you reach The Last Drop. 

You could blame it on the amount of time you spent in the shower, staring at the tiled floor and trying to get over the visions you had, but you weren’t going to tell Silco any of that. ‘I almost got robbed’ sounds a lot nicer and just as believable. 

You’re greeted with ear-splitting music the minute you walk through the door, a usual for the club, especially at this hour. It was only getting started and was probably going to be a lot worse by the time you leave. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself as you scan the crowd of faceless dancing bodies, looking for your possible silver line for tonight, a tall and strong woman who you’d actually pay to come up to Silco’s office and bully you just for this night. 

You visibly deflate when you don’t catch sight of her in her usual spots, not playing poker nor flirting at the bar. All you can see is a lot of sweaty people and a lot of shimmer being passed around. You do, however, spot Ran by the pool table, and you place her in your mind as your backup plan. 

Fortunately for Ran, your favorite blue haired devil is at your side the minute you open the door to his office. 

“Jinx!” 

You yelp out her name in equal parts excitement and surprise. Her hug attack nearly knocks you off your feet, if it weren’t for the door frame you’d managed to hold on to. You can’t help the grin that spreads on your face at the eagerness; the poor girl is stuck with a monologuing villain as a father all day, it’s probably a relief to see you, a normal human being who doesn’t glower and speak in riddles.

“Hello, Jinx.” You fondly run your fingers through the hair at the top of her head. She turns her head to look up at you, pearly whites exposed in a wide grin. “I missed you, sweet girl.”

She's grown taller over the past few months, now tall enough to reach your chest when she hugs you, but she's still as lanky as the day you found her. Or, well, the day Silco found her. She was smaller back then, but just as skinny. You look at the man who took her in, deeply immersed in whatever document is stressing him out tonight— looking just as malnourished as she does— and it all makes sense. 

“I've been waiting for you all day,” comes the squeaky whine from below, demanding your undivided attention. “Silco is so busy, he doesn't have the time to check out my new paintball gun, which is really lame, because this one has explosives!”

At the mention of his name, the man looks up from the troubling piece of paper. He stares at you for a minute, eye adjusting to the sight of another human being, then begrudgingly places the wretched document down on the desk and pushes the chair back to stand. 

“You're here.” 

You smile, absentmindedly petting the girl attached to your waist, “yes, I am. Did you not hear me talking just now?” 

He reaches for his glass of bourbon, three melting ice cubes in a nearly empty cup, “I did. I wasn't quite sure if you were a figment of my imagination or not.” 

Your smile almost slips into something sinister, all the nervousness from before suddenly escaping your body, “what, you have fantasies about me?” It’s so easy to slip back into the subtle flirtatious routine, the light comments that aren’t supposed to mean much to either of you. The earth-shattering dream almost seems like a silly thought now that you’re here, in his office, breathing in the air that’s tinted by him in every way. 

It’s Silco. Things didn’t have to change between the two of you, you could always just enjoy purgatory. 

He looks at you from atop the rim of his glass, a flicker of a smile on his face, “only when I'm at my wit's end.” 

The moment ends there, if only to protect Jinx. 

He makes his way around the desk to settle on the couch, leaning back and finishing up his drink. You observe the way his hands curl around the glass, how he crosses one slender leg over the other, and bite down on your lip like a voyeur— always watching through the glass, never having the chance to lay your hands on the merchandise. 

Jinx detaches from your waist and goes over to sit next to him, thankfully pulling you out of the slightly unpleasant thoughts you were having. He puts his arm out, and she automatically goes for a side hug. You smile to yourself, watching The Eye of Zaun growing softer around the edges at the hands of the blue haired menace never gets old. 

You sit beside her on the couch, and she draws you into countless conversations. Reminiscing the past week, telling you about the progress she's been making with the explosives/paintball gun, and how she's already tried it on Sevika a couple times— ‘Jinx, that's not nice’ ‘it's sevika, she doesn't deserve nice!’ — and retelling a particularly funny bar fight that she witnessed.

While she’s explaining the process she went through to implement the explosives into a harmless toy gun, your eyes flicker back to the man at her side. He’s leaning back, craning his neck to look at the ceiling, and you take the chance to admire his side profile. Enhanced by the dim light of his desk lamp, the curve of his nose is particularly alluring at the moment. From his nose to his charming overbite to the strands of hair that fall to the side as a result of a long exhausting day, you sneak subtle glances at him, as much as you can without getting caught. 

But you know, in your heart of hearts, that he must be aware of your burning gaze on the side of his face. And you know, when he turns his head slightly to lock eyes with you, that the look he gives you is just as loaded and dangerous as this little game you were playing.

“..anyways, I’d really like to show you the gun now.” 

Your attention falls back to the child nestled between the two of you, big blue eyes blinking innocently at you. You know she’s not clueless, and you know she’s probably sick of you playing eye games with her father when she’s right there. 

“Of course, honey. Silco?” 

He removes his arm from around her, adjusting his position so his body is drawn away from yours. Huh, funny. You hadn’t noticed how much it was angled towards you until now. 

Jinx sighs in relief the minute the two of you are out of the door and you can’t help but laugh.

“Jinx.” 

“Oh, c’mon, it’s impossible to be in the same room with the two of you without you making kissy eyes at each other!” 

Thankfully, you’re far enough down the hall to know Silco wouldn’t hear that. “We do not make kissy eyes at each other.” 

She stops, turns to give you an unamused look, then turns back around and continues walking. 

You follow her down to the basement, where she pulls out her magnificent invention. She shoots it far enough away so neither of you get impacted and you’re thankful to see that the explosions are more like fireworks than actual big booms. You’re proud of her and you tell her as much, she practically glows at the praise.

But then her smile drops and she sighs dramatically— the spitting image of her father when it comes to dramatics, how are they not blood related— “if only things could always be like this…” 

You frown, “like what?” 

“You and me, having fun, no Silco.” 

The statement is so jarring that it pulls a stunned laugh out of you, and Jinx grins, proud of herself. “Kidding! I like him too, I just wish you two would stop your secret messages.”

“Secret messages?” 

She nods, “the ones you communicate with your eyes. I wanna be in on those conversations too!” 

You smile. She definitely does not want to be in on those conversations, but you'd preserve what was left of her innocence. 

“So, Jinx,” you lean down to be on her level, “what do you wanna do next?” 

You watch as all thoughts of those secret conversations practically vanish from her head, replaced with much more important things, like visiting Jericho’s stall. 

When you make your way back to Silco’s office, it’s with a lot more food than you left with. Jinx is happily satisfied with the meal that she had at the stall, but she carries the extra food bags like ammo. She was nice enough to consider leaving some of it for her dear father. 

To your disappointment though, the office is empty. You think maybe something came up and he had to take care of it, as it often happens, and you feel a little relieved that maybe you’ll get to end the night here and postpone the sensual torture he puts you through to a later time, when you're not so hormonal. As you’re about to back up into the hallway to ask the standing guard of his whereabouts, you feel a pair of hands on your hips, holding you in place.

“Careful,” Silco leans forward to speak the words right into your ear, “it’s awfully rude to cause such an injury to your host.” He’s not even whispering, he just always uses that tone. 

His hands are gone from your hips as fast as they’d been placed there, and you almost mourn the loss. But the sight of Jinx’s knowing, bored expression diverts your attention back to the girl. 

Right, no kissy eyes. 

“Jericho’s?” He asks, one eyebrow raised. Jinx nods and rushes to place the remaining food on the coffee table, “we got some for you too!” 

“How nice of you, Jinx. Unfortunately, I’m rather full at the moment so I must postpone such an appetizing meal to a later time.” You note the smell of smoke in the air, he definitely had his meal of the night. “In the meantime, I think we should be getting you to bed.” 

Jinx groans, “already? But she just got here! I barely get to spend time with her.” 

You put an arm around her shoulder, “I’ll come by earlier on Monday if you go to bed on time right now.” She moves to wrap her arms around you for a final time, looking up at you with glossy blue eyes, “you promise?” 

“I do,” you plant a kiss on her forehead. 

Silco extends a hand and she takes it, small fingers engulfed in his much larger one. She waves at you as he guides her outside his office, down to her bedroom, you wave back as they slip out the door. This leaves you in the dim office alone. 

You saunter over to the couch and mindlessly drape yourself over the cushions, your head occupied with the inevitable decision you’re facing now. You either make up an excuse to leave early, one that he’d know better than to believe, or stay and put up with more hidden innuendos and dark, poorly masked looks. It’s not that you’re not used to it, or that it’s a new development, but rather the fact that you’ve come to the harrowing realization that whatever you felt for him ran deeper than you anticipated. It had been bubbling in your chest, threatening to overflow like a boiling kettle on a stove, and the final straw— the thing that truly pushed you over the edge— was that dream. 

And it's not the fact that it was dirty, you've had those about him before, and consequently, you’d learned to brush them off as wild fantasies. It happened once in a dream kind of deal, you weren’t going to get hung up over the possibilities of those thoughts ever coming to fruition. The problem with this particular dream was how romantic it was— the heated gaze in his reflection, the appreciative scan of your body, gods, just the feeling of him inside you. You weren’t fucking that man, you were making love to him. 

The thought is so cliche it makes you gag, but that look in his eyes when he was watching you in the mirror, your unconscious brain was endlessly cruel to make it look like he held such love for you. The longing, the monstrous yearning that dream instilled in you was dangerous. It planted a feeling inside your chest that now threatens to split it open if you're not careful. 

You're not blind to possibilities, there's a chance that Silco shares the sentiment and you're not in this mess entirely alone; but you're also aware that he's extremely mission oriented, and he probably wouldn't consider the prospect of something serious with you as long as Zaun wasn't free. It’s something you respect him for, never losing sight of his goals, you just wish it didn't make him nearly unattainable.

Because gods above, you'd love to attain him. 

It’s a thought that’s been brewing in the back of your mind since you first met. Three years ago, a much more distressed version of yourself was too tipsy to feel endangered by his presence at one of the less frequented bars. Back when Vander was in charge, you didn't know who Silco was or the implications of what had happened between them. All you knew was that this strange man had a sexy scar and his eye kinda glowed in the dark, and that made your alcohol-addled brain see stars.  

To this day, you aren’t quite sure what about your slurred conversation skills made him tolerate you enough to listen to you all night. You’ve suspected it was the loneliness he was dealing with at the time, and you were likely his least dangerous form of entertainment, or maybe he thought you were pretty and perhaps much more charming when sober. It’s probably the second one.

But that's how your unconventional friendship started, chance encounters in small bars. He was always able to find you alone and you were never sure how he did it but you didn't really mind. Where you found your curiosities being satisfied every time he shared something about himself, he found someone willing to share the burden with him. Eventually, you learned about Vander and what actually happened between them. The river, the betrayal, the blood; the respect you'd had for Vander soured into distaste, and turned into borderline hatred when you learned of the deal he had with the enforcers. 

Things were progressing quickly though, and it wasn't long before Vander was out of the picture. The Hound had been overpowered by The Eye, and that's when you met Jinx for the first time, hysterical and wailing in Silco’s arms. Powder, they used to call her, peculiarly fitting for the girl who had crumbled in your hold that night. You held her until the screaming ceased and the three of you fell asleep on the couch. 

That's when your relationship with Silco started changing, getting much more intimate. That night where Silco discovered just how useful you could be with Jinx, that was the first domino in a long line that led up to this moment, to the present where you were fighting tooth and nail against the feelings that were threatening to suffocate you. 

The sound of the door unlocking pulls you out of your thoughts, the object of your suffering walks in. 

“Drink?” He walks over to the bar cart.

You shake your head, “actually, Silco, I'm thinking of going home early today.” 

He pours himself some whiskey and doesn't look up at you, “oh, were you now?” He takes a slow, agonizing sip of his drink before he speaks again, “anything important?”  

You smile in spite of yourself, “not really, just tired.” 

He looks up from his drink, two mismatched eyes settling on your frame. His gaze travels down your body, assessing you as if you were one of the chembarons working under him. But under that scrutinizing gaze, you catch embers of something else, something dark and seductive, something that looks a lot like desire. 

Your face burns. 

“I guess I shall not keep you then.” He turns, walking over to his desk, “I wouldn't want to distract you from such important appointments.” 

He settles back in his chair and is almost immediately immersed in work again. You envy him for being so focused, knowing that if you go home now you'll just keep yourself awake thinking about him. You watch his fingers grasp the pen that he puts to paper and feel yourself grow light-headed, it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that you had to go home and sit with your thoughts while all he touches is paperwork. You wanted him to touch you, put you out of your misery. 

You stand but make no move towards the door, instead making your way over to him. He doesn't look up when you pass by, walking over to the grand window that highlights the main wall of the office. You'd always been fascinated by it, the color was certainly a choice, and in daylight it looks mystifying. Right now, it's dark enough for you to catch your reflection, you pretend to adjust your hair. 

“You don't really want to leave, do you?” 

He doesn't move, doesn't turn in his chair. You know he can't see the gesture but you shake your head, “I don't know.” 

“Is there something you'd like to tell me?” 

Your body feels a tad too warm for comfort. 

“I don't know.” 

He discards his work with a sigh. Your lips curl in amusement, knowing that whenever you’re around, he’s too distracted to get any actual work done.

You watch as his reflection comes up behind yours, the heat in your body intensifies in response to the glowing glare of his dark eye. You know he's aware of the effect he has on you, and you know he does it on purpose. You wonder if he's ever haunted with thoughts of you the way you are of him, you wonder if he ever has dirty dreams about you. 

“Has something happened?” 

You shake your head. 

“Is someone threatening you?”

You shake your head again and laugh, of course that's what he would ask. 

“Look at me.” 

You don't have it in you to resist, especially when he's using that tone. You turn around, coming face to face with his narrowed eyes, sea green and charcoal eyes looking back at you. It’s difficult to miss the hint of concern that you’ve become accustomed to recognizing over the years. 

“What's on your mind, dove?” 

Your heart sings at the pet name and your lips curl bashfully, “I can't say it.” 

“Can't you?” His eyes trail down to your lips, “you can tell me anything.” 

In theory, you can. In theory, you have, ever since you first met and you'd spilled way too much about yourself to him, and that leap of faith is exactly how you ended up here. Standing in front of the man who holds your heart so firmly, unable to reach out and touch him, unable to have more than a small part of him. 

He draws closer, too close. 

“No, Sil. I'm afraid I can't this time,” your voice comes out soft, strained, “I'm afraid I have to leave before I do something stupid.” 

He pays no mind to your statement, hands reaching up to cup your face, rough fingertips contradicting the gentle nature of the act. Your eyes gloss over, the spark you've been feeling erupts into wild flames that threaten to consume your whole being. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone with such care that it makes your chest squeeze. Expression unreadable, he observes your face carefully; when his thumb skirts the outline of your lips, your breath catches in your throat.

You part your lips slightly and something inside him understands the silent communication. Something else throbs.

Experimentally, he brushes his thumb over your lips, appreciating the rough texture of the chewed skin. He watches as you open your mouth wider in invitation, assessing the situation before he pushes his thumb past your lips and right into the wetness of your oral cavity. Your mouth closes around him, careful not to bite, as you stare back into his observant eyes.

His breath hitches, pupil of the good eye blowing wider, as he watches you take his finger to the hilt. You think this must be another cruel trick from the gods, another wet dream that you're going to wake up from in frustration, but the feeling of his finger against your soft, wet tongue is unmistakable.

You’re not sure what this means, for you or your relationship with him, but you’re sure that it’s happening and you feel the need to savor what you can. Your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, thumb caressing the inside of his hand as your eyelids grow heavier. 

For a moment, the world stops. For a moment, all you can think about is how he tastes in your mouth, and flashes of the wicked dream you had only a few hours before run through your mind. Weeks of filthy thoughts push at you to do more, to ask for more of him, but you’re insistent on taking it slow, on memorizing every little gesture, just in case you never experience it again. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” 

You hum around his finger. The tent in his pants may be a visual representation of the effect you have on him, but you’re feeling rather greedy. 

“Surely, you must, or else, you wouldn't walk into this office with such pride, so confident knowing that you've got me wrapped around your finger.” Your lips curl into a smile around his finger and he scoffs in amusement, “happy to know that you're my weakness, aren't you?” 

He removes his finger and you're left to think about the implications of a ‘weakness’. A soft spot, a passion, a sweetness, a hazard, an obstacle, a problem. Did Silco see you as a problem? And most importantly, as you look into hungry, lustful eyes, does he care about that right now? 

You can't help the hand that comes up to grasp at his vest in desperation, you can't help the frantic need to keep him close while you can, to touch him for as long as he deems himself touchable. You can't help the force that makes you pull him closer to press your lips against his in a bruising kiss, and you can't help the shiver that runs through your body when he kisses you back with just as much force. 

He tastes like the cigar that you knew he was having earlier, sweetened by the taste of whiskey still in his mouth. The contact overwhelms your senses, unable to process anything besides how he tastes, how he smells, how he feels. 

He backs you up against the window so your burning hot skin is pressed against the cold glass, tongue shoving into your mouth with admirable ferocity. You let him tilt your head for better access, place his arms around your waist, push you up against the glass, you'd let him do anything to you right now. 

Sharp teeth bite down on your lips and the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth, you find yourself unable to contain the small sounds of pleasure at his vicious probing. You can feel his arousal through his pants, poking at your thigh. Hungry for more, you reach down to give it a stroke over the clothes, to which he groans directly into your mouth.  

He draws back and you come face to face with the feral look in his eyes. 

“Needy little thing.” 

He reaches underneath your skirt and you gasp when his cool fingers make contact with the warm wetness of your underwear. He runs his finger back and forth in slow tortuous cycles. 

“So wet, so eager for my touch. Tell me, dove, how many times have you fantasized about this?” Your breath catches as he moves the offending fabric to the side and presses his finger to your bare cunt. “How many times have I made you this wet?” 

“Silco, please.” 

A devilish smile extends on his lips, “I know. Answer my question.” 

You throw your head back against the glass in frustration, breathing deeply. 

“More than I can count.”  

The fire that catches in his eyes is enough to burn down the greatest libraries in the world, mere embers of it manage to set your whole body aflame. It would be mortifying to witness if you weren’t the object of his affection, the recipient of what pleasure he has to offer. 

“You terrible little thing.”

Your answer rewards you with one, long finger easing its way past your lips and into your cunt. Your hips stutter at the contact and it elicits a sharp smile from your assailant as he curls the digit inside you. He watches your face contorting in pleasure, drawing out helpless needy moans from your sweet little mouth. He moves to swallow the gasps with his own, planting soft but relentless kisses on your lips. 

He's kind enough to insert a second finger in, working you on his hand as he angles his wrist to reach further inside. You break off from his mouth to peer down at the sight, watching his fingers disappear into your cunt; it’s endlessly obscene and it only feeds the fire burning inside you. You tighten around him when the pleasure gets too much and he grunts into your ear, the sound rolling down your spine. 

You force your head back up so he can kiss you again, shoving your head back against the glass. He claims your mouth once more, fingers relentlessly probing at your opening. His thumb moves to rub against your clitoris and your body twitches with pleasure, forcing you to draw back from his searing hot mouth. He observes you with the ravenousness of a predator observing its prey, appreciating the way your mouth helplessly hangs open. 

His thumb continues to rub against your clit as you approach the precipice at an alarming rate.

“I should like to see you speechless like this more often.” 

The smug smirk that stretches upon his kiss-bruised lips, the sinful tone of his voice, and the burning hot gaze he observes you with— it’s all too much. 

It takes a lot of control to keep your eyes open, but you don't strip him of the pleasure that comes from watching you crumble at his hand— on his hand. Those cursed, rough fingers that have committed atrocious crimes in the name of a greater cause, they continue to fuck the common sense out of you until you have no fight left in you.

When he pulls his fingers out, they’re coated with your wetness and you flush in embarrassment. Undeterred, he places the fingers in his mouth and licks them clean, before he leans forward and presses a soft kiss against your lips.

“Shall we continue this in the bedroom?” 

Gods above, thank you Janna. 

“Please.” 

When you're laid down on the silky bed sheets this time, it's miles better than you dreamt it to be. 

Silco wastes no time undressing you, having pulled your shirt off on the way to the bed, he figures out how to unhook your bra pretty quickly. You shouldn't be too surprised, those fingers are seriously skilled at everything they do. Once they're off, he dives to catch one of your breasts in his mouth, teeth grazing sensitive nipples. You take rapid deep breaths as you watch him devour your chest, creating bite marks that you'd definitely admire later. The wanting between your legs is overwhelming, but so is the one in your chest. You affectionately thread your fingers through his hair, pulling on it when he bites down on your sensitive skin. You think you could come from this alone. 

When he's satisfied with the assault on your chest, he moves lower. Your skirt is unzipped and removed at an alarming speed and his face is between your thighs before you have a chance to protest. 

Warm breath fans over your underwear, still wet from your first orgasm. He pauses, eyes peering up at you in such an uncharacteristically serene manner that you almost think something's wrong. 

“I've thought about this before.” 

You tilt your head, eyelids heavy as you smile down at him. “Have you?” 

“You have no idea, darling. I've thought about you in positions much worse.” 

You bite your lip, “I know. I've thought about you too.” There's a silent, unspoken implication in your statement that you hope the breathlessness and aching look you give him convey well enough, you're not sure that you'd be able to push out the confession otherwise. His eyes flicker from your face back to your clothed cunt, deep in thought. Almost mindlessly, he reaches up to lace his fingers through yours. He does it on his left, you reach for both his hands, rubbing gently at his knuckles. If it weren't for the position, you'd lean down and kiss them. 

“You must understand how badly I've wanted this,” and you do, “you must understand that this isn't a mindless act of the body.” Your breath hitches at what he's implying, and you're thankful that he doesn't declare it just yet, because you think you'd explode under the weight of the feeling bubbling in your chest.

“I do, Silco. I feel the same.” 

‘We can talk about it later’ is unspoken, but well understood between the two of you. For now, you focus on the way his body feels against yours, the way he noses at the inner side of your thigh in a slow absentminded motion. 

“Are you going to eat me out or should I get up and leave, Sil?” 

That catches his attention, eyes snapping to meet yours. His fingers leave yours to curl possessively around your thigh, digging hard enough to leave marks. 

“Leave? I would never let you, not when I have you in my hands like this.” 

And oh Janna, did he have you in his hands. 

The first contact of his tongue against your folds has you arching your back in fervor, eager to meet his mouth with your core. His eyes flicker in amusement as he pins you down by the hips.

“Patience.” 

You whine, the amount of need circulating your body overwhelming your senses. He presses his tongue flat against you and licks another experimental strip; your chest heaves, heart beating erratically against your ribcage. The frustration has you untangling your fingers from his to grip onto the sheets. He glances up at you, a dangerous look playing in his eyes, and goes for another lick. 

You sharply inhale, “Silco.” 

His lips curl in amusement, “good things come to those who wait, my love.” 

You throw your head back and release a sound that's a combination of pleasure and frustration. Teasing, evil bastard. 

“You've waited a long time for this, haven't you?” You nod, feeling too frustrated to answer. “Tell me, dove, what made you snap this time? What gave you the audacity to wrap your lips around my finger so desperately, looking at me like I hold the key to all your desires?” 

Your skin feels impossibly hot, his warm breath fans over your exposed core but he makes no move to relieve you of your suffering, looking at you expectantly instead.  

“I had a dream,” you push out through gritted teeth, “I had a dream about you.” 

He draws lazy circles on the inside of your thigh, “have you? Did it feature such promiscuous positions?”  

You shake your head, smiling down at him, “worse, you fucked me in front of your mirror.” 

His breath hitches, pupils going wide at the mental image. He speaks slowly, entranced, “is that what you like?” 

“Maybe for another time,” your smile drops, “right now, I'd like you to fucking eat me out, please.” 

He chuckles, planting a toothy kiss on the inside of your thigh, “so impatient.” 

When his tongue makes proper contact with your pussy, you let out a wanton moan. The relief it provides is inexplicable, allowing you to melt back into the covers, his grip on your thighs keeping them wide open. Your hands travel down to thread through his hair, and you get the wonderful vision of dream-disheveled Silco as a very real projection between your thighs. 

“I always knew you were good with your tongue, Sil.” You sigh in bliss. He hums against your core, “gave it a lot of thought, have you?” 

“You have no idea.” 

His wet tongue rubs against your soft walls, eliciting more needy sounds from your throat. He eats pussy like an experienced veteran, silver tongue curling inside you to reach the deepest spots. If only he could always put it to such good use. 

His sharp nose rubs against your clit and your body jolts in pleasure. 

“Right there, Sil. Don't stop,” he looks up at you with dark eyes as you continue to beg in the neediest tone known to man, “please, don't stop.” 

And he doesn't. True to his nature, he has the stamina of a fighter, and if this is how good he eats you out, you look forward to what comes after. 

He works you with his tongue until you approach your second orgasm of the night. Your back arches in anticipation, grip tightening around his hair, all you can manage in warning is a breathless close that he responds to with more vigorous probing. His hands around your hips pin you down, resisting the relentless twitching that's evoked by his tongue moving inside you. 

You call out his name in desperate pleas, hips stuttering with every deep plunge into your cunt. His eyes meet yours from between your legs, practically glowing in enjoyment; your heart stutters at the sight, you don't know if you'll ever witness anything like this in your lifetime. He mercifully continues to rub at your clit, providing you with the release you've been begging for.

The tight rope inside you continues to curl and tighten further until it snaps, reverberating through your body like an intense war cry. You come with a broken moan that has you squeezing your eyes under the intense weight of pleasure, unshed tears wetting your lashes.  

Silco squeezes your thighs, silently asking you to look at him, and you shakily comply, allowing him direct eye contact while he fucks you through your high. 

He detaches from you within a few seconds, and the affection swelling in your chest has you pulling at his vest to pull him up for a bruising kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, the evidence of your orgasm mixing into your shared spit. When you pull back, you're met with his wonderfully disheveled and flushed face, and you notice— with great amusement— that you've rubbed some of his foundation off on your thighs. 

Your eyes trail down to his clothed chest, you realize that there's a great disequilibrium between your states of undress. Your hands rise to trace the gold in his clothes, all the way up to his collar. 

“Will you take this off?” You tug at his clothes, “please, I'd like to see you.” 

You're aware that it's a big request, that his bare body would put him in such a vulnerable position that he would never recover from if this doesn't go well; but you're not quite sure what ‘this’ is either, between the lust you feel in your core, and the love beating in your chest, the one feeling that courses through you is ‘want’. 

You want him naked, vulnerable, offering himself to you just as you have to him. 

He looks torn, hesitant.

Your hand creeps up further to brush at what little skin is exposed from his neck. Slow tentative movements over the sensitive area has him twitching in your hands, but he doesn't move away. Your hands creep higher to settle around his neck, feeling for the physical and emotional scar that was left there ages ago, but still burns as if recently instilled. 

Discussions about Vander have been few and far in-between, and you understand the wound still runs deep. For a minute, you're afraid that he's going to turn away from your touch when his breath catches in his throat at the incidental scratch of your nails, but he relaxes in your grip when you continue to rub soothing patterns over the sensitive skin. 

With what power you have, you trace mindless circles on his shoulders, leaning forward to plant soft kisses along his collarbones. “It’s okay.” You kiss upwards, drawing closer to the junction of his shoulder and neck. His breath hitches as you draw closer to the sensitive skin, but he tilts his head back and allows you unspoken access anyways. 

Trust is not easy to come by, especially with someone like him, but the sight of Silco practically melting in your hands while you trace over his most sensitive scar, it feels like a bond even deeper than trust. 

The need to be brave for him, to lay yourself bare— even more than being entirely naked under him— is imminent. You take a deep breath before your fingers hook together behind his neck and pull him down for another kiss, once more for courage. 

“I like you, Silco,” you speak against his lips, glistening with the proof of your kiss. “I like you a lot, and there's nothing you can say or do that will make me like you less.” Your eyes trail up to his own, the next words feeling much more serious than you intend, “I like you so much that nothing you can show me now will make me turn away.” 

It's a reckless promise, a heated confession that admittedly just follows the weight of the moment without much previous thought. Later, you'd have to enforce the idea of boundaries, the things that he isn't allowed to do, but something in your head tells you that you weren't lying. Regardless of what he does, you don't see yourself ever walking away. 

His gaze softens, the hesitant look from earlier replaced by a prominent ache, the aftermath of a healing wound. 

“Ever the sweet talker, dove.” 

You smile, “only for you, Sil. Only for you.” 

He draws back, moving to undo his vest before he halts, instead reaching for your hands. 

“Would you like to help?” 

Your eyes twinkle with mirth, “please.” 

Slender fingers wrap around yours, guiding you to undo his tie, take off his vest, push his shirt off his shoulder. You appreciate the sight of his bare, scarred chest, running your fingers across his torso. You lean forward to plant a few soft kisses on his shoulder while you attempt to undo his pants without looking. 

You’re forced to draw back with a laugh when you undeniably fail. 

“Your pants are killing me.” 

He huffs a light laugh, “it takes a moderate amount of skill, dearest,” something flickers in his eyes, “you'll gain experience in no time.”

Your heart squeezes at the implication. You watch as he illustrates how to undo those buttons, burning every movement to memory. Once the pants are off, you reach for his underwear eagerly, grunting out a finally that only amuses him further. 

Within a few seconds, he's back on top of you and you're both equal parts naked this time. You wrap your legs around his waist, secure him against you as you exchange more open mouthed kisses. He grows harder against you, rubbing against your thighs and wet, sensitive cunt. You groan into his mouth and he takes it as a sign to reach between your legs and position himself properly. 

Your arms squeeze around his shoulder when he slips in. His girth is impressive for someone of such stature and it has you gasping for air. He raises his head to look at your face as you take him in, allowing you the glorious vision of his ruined, flushed face— he's continuously coming undone under your touch. Janna, you could watch him like this forever. 

Your fingers dig crescent moons into his pale skin once he begins moving inside you. It starts out slow, he enters all the way until you're taking him to the hilt and then allows you the pleasure of slow thrusts. Needy moans bubble in your throat as your grip on his shoulders tighten so much that you think you're about to draw blood, giving him a more pleasurable sort of scar. 

“It's been hard holding back around you lately,” he whispers against your lips. “You're impossibly alluring when you want to be.” 

You kiss him once more, “how do you think I feel?” He chases your lips when you part but you speak again, “how long has it been for you?” 

“Since the day I took in Jinx.” He drops his head into the crook of your neck, almost like he's shy, “and for you?” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, “since the day we met.” 

He breathes a light laugh against your skin, you continue. “No seriously, I'd have fucked you back then if you initiated anything. Men with scars are lethally sexy.” 

“Aren't you lucky, then.” 

He bites into your neck, eliciting a soft moan from your mouth, and sucks until you're sure it forms a nice satisfactory bruise. He licks the sensitive skin and moves to other sites to plant more marks. “Always knew you were a biter,” you say breathlessly, throat constricting under his hot mouth.

Once he's done with his assault on your neck, he stands tall and you watch something shift in his expression. The soft, loving look is replaced with something hungry and dangerous, it has you squeezing around his cock. 

“You've waited so patiently,” he hooks your legs higher around his middle, “I have to make sure I live up to your expectations.” 

And then something is set off inside him, because his pace changes from soft and romantic to goddamn animalistic. His pace speeds up, drilling so deeply inside you that you think you feel him in your stomach. Your fingers dig into his back for some sort of grounding ritual but it only makes him groan right into your ear and the sound travels down to where you're connected. You can barely catch your breath. 

“You, oh my gods, you exceed expectations, Sil.” 

“Oh, I know, darling, the way your cunt squeezes around me is proof enough.” 

Every obscene word goes right to your core and you feel him tugging on every sensitive string in your body. It's much more than that dream— gods that stupid, wonderful dream that had started the cascade of events that lead to this. There was no need for dreams anymore, his cock inside you was very much real and it was throbbing with need, one that you matched in your own core. 

His arms are on either side of your face as he fucks the living daylight out of you, and you turn and burry your teeth in his left hand to feed some of the gnawing need in your core. You think it would be delightful if you could have more of him in your mouth, you consider if you should bite down until you draw blood but you choose to be kind this time. You can save it for the next few times, something he seems to be planning as well. 

You turn back to face him and find yourself grinning stupidly at the knowledge that you're going to get this sight again, and again, and again, until you are either satisfied or dead. And if you happen to die during it, that'd be even better. 

“Dirty girl, smiling to yourself while you take my cock. What are you thinking of?” 

“I'm thinking of how beautiful you are, and how you're going to fuck me over and over again until we're both satisfied.” 

He releases a low groan, hips stuttering momentarily before he picks up the pace again, slamming against your bare ass with newfound vigor. 

“You're going to be the death of me.” 

Then he leans down and catches your mouth in one last sloppy kiss, tongue assaulting yours in a similar fashion to his cock assaulting your cunt. You wrap your arms around his neck once more, whining pleas into his open mouth. The pleasure in your lower abdomen is overwhelming, overstimulated by his bruising kiss and arms coming around you. 

It accumulates, all the sensations and the continuous coiling in your pelvis, until it explodes. The ecstasy washes over your body in waves, making you gasp against Silco’s mouth as you come undone. It shakes your whole body and for a second you think you see stars in the glowing orb of his damaged eye. He's endlessly beautiful, even as he brings you to your ruin. 

He continues to fuck you through your orgasm and long enough to reach his own, too. He finishes inside, spilling himself deep within you, making you shudder at the sensation. He doesn't stop until he's completely soft inside you. 

It's severely disappointing when he pulls out, but you understand that you can't be joined at the hips forever without an unfortunate lab accident. Instead, you settle for his embrace when he puts an arm around your shoulder, cuddling into him— two sweaty heaving bodies and an uncertain future. 

When he traces invisible patterns into your bare skin and leans down to kiss your forehead though, it doesn't really matter. 

It especially doesn't matter when you look up at him with a smile that matches his own, and it doesn't matter even more when that smile of his turns into a smirk at his next words.  

“If that's what one dream can do, I look forward to the rest of them.”

Lovely illustration for silco being an #eater right here ♡

[shanastoryteller]

Sam seems convinced this is going to work, but Dean’s pretty sure it’s just a load of crap. Bobby’s even more convinced that it’s a whole lot of nothing, although he had admitted that he couldn’t read every symbol that Sam had added to this mess up devil’s trap. That didn’t mean it would work. It just meant that Sam had thrown everything he could think into it.

The real reason that Dean is going along with this, and probably Bobby is too, is because it means that Sam wouldn’t be alone after Dean is dragged to hell. Although standing in the middle of Bobby’s junkyard in a mess of spray paint isn’t exactly how he’d wanted to spend the last hour of his life.

“You really think Lilith is going to show?” he asks. He doesn’t know why she would. She just has to send the hellhounds, who’s howls and yips Dean has been hearing for days. And those things have never been stopped by any sort of devil’s trap.

“Yes,” Sam says, tense, not looking at him.

That’s another thing. For weeks Sam has barely looked at him, barely talked to him. Which sucks, because he’d really wanted to spend the last weeks of his life just looking and talking to and spending time with his brother, but Sam hadn’t been interested in that. At all.

He shares a look with Bobby, who just shrugs, hands tight on his shotgun.

Then the hellhounds come, just like he knew they would, no Lilith in sight. “Sammy,” he says, reaching out for his brother. Not because he thinks he can do anything, but because he wants to touch Sam one last time, one last memory to sustain him through hell.

Sam snaps out his hand and the hellhounds go skittering back, letting out pained yowls.

Dean stares, not understanding. “What did you – wait. You can see them?”

Only he should be able to see them. He’s the one that made the deal.

Sam still won’t look at him, damnit, even as Dean fists his hand in the back of his shirt. Sam's voice is low and pained when he says, “I’m sorry.”

Fear clenches in his gut. But before he do anything, there are demons surrounding the devil’s trap, appearing one by one in Bobby’s junkyard. They’d needed to take down his protections so Lilith could get in, but they hadn’t expected this. Of course she brought a freaking audience.

“Which one of you is Lilith?” he barks out, dragging Sam behind him. He refuses to let the last thing he sees be his brother hurt, or worse.

Dozens of demons stand there, human vessels with pitch black eyes. The hellhounds whimper and slink around them, but don’t seem interested in getting any closer. Dean can’t blame them.

Sam pries his hand off of him, stepping away before Dean can grab onto him again. He leaves the safety of the devil’s trap, which is fucking stupid. Dean’s lunging forward to stop him, but then there’s Bobby’s arm holding him back, face pale with a horror Dean doesn’t understand. He hadn’t looked like that even at Cold Oak, when they’d seen the gates open to hell.

The demons bow.

He blinks, not understanding what he’s seeing.

Sam is standing there in front of them, no protections, and they’re all bowing to him.

Except one.

Ruby is there, stupid red leather jacket and blonde hair and the smirk he hates so much. She walks around the demons up to Sam, who’s face is cold and expressionless. “She’s coming.”

“I know,” he says. “If this doesn’t work, I’m going to kill you.”

“Promise?” she returns. “If this doesn’t work, death will be a mercy.”

Dean tries to push Bobby off of him, to get in between Sam and this bitch, but he doesn’t let go.

Then there’s a little girl in a white dress, head tilted to the side. “Something here belongs to me.”

Ruby flinches, stepping just slightly behind Sam.

“Not you,” she sneers. “You haven’t belonged to me in a long time, I fear. You really think that this boy can save you?”

“Sam,” Ruby says.

He sighs, like this is a trial, and raises his hand.

Lilith’s sneer drops from her face. Her upper body yanks forward, but her legs won't move. “You bastard,” she snarls, raising her hand in return, but nothing happens.

For the first time, fear flickers across her face.

Ruby steps forward, her own terror swallowed up by arrogance, by delight.

Dean tries to move, but finds he’s just as frozen as Lilith, even more so. He can’t twitch a single muscle. Going by Bobby’s unnatural stillness next to him, he assumes he’s in the same boat.

“Samuel is the heir of the light bringer,” Ruby says. “He has taken his birthright. You can’t touch him.”

What’s she talking about? What birthright?

What has Sam done?

“No,” Lilith snarls. “He’s nothing more than one of Azazel’s experiments.”

“A night, a full day, and then morning,” Ruby says. “That’s what he was. Then he rose on the third day.” She shoots a mocking look his way. “If it weren’t for his brother, he would have died nothing more than a failed experiment. But he has risen.”

No. What does that mean? What’s she saying? He had just wanted Sammy back.

Did he do this? Is this his fault?

“Ruby,” Sam says, a note of warning in his voice.

“Right, right,” she sighs. Then, back to gleeful, “Her eyes.”

Sam’s finger twitches and Lilith’s eyes bleed black tears.

She screams, the sound even worse because her vessel is a child.

Ruby lists thing after thing, pulling out her fingernails, peeling her skin. Her blood is black, none of it red, and the injuries shouldn’t really be hurting her but they clearly are. Dean watches helplessly as Sam tortures Lilith at Ruby’s command, enacting one terrible thing against her after another.

Lilith lies there, moaning, limbs broken, body in pieces.

“That’s enough,” Sam says.

“Enough?” Ruby hisses, turning to face him. “You know what she did to me! She – she–”

Sam’s stoic mask breaks, creasing in sympathy. Dean would prefer it wasn’t for a demon, for Ruby, but at least he now recognizes his brother. He raises his free hand to her head, his touch an oddly gentle counterpoint to everything he’s done to Lilith. “I know. But it’s enough.”

Tears glint in her eyes, just for a second, then she swallows and nods, stepping away from Sam’s hand.

He steps forward, crouching in front of Lilith. “You shouldn’t have come after my brother. Now we both have to live with the consequences.” His mouth twists. "So to speak."

Whatever she would have said in response is lost in her screams. Black smoke pours from her, then lights up, like a spark in steel wool, the fire moving through her reminding him almost of the Colt.

Lilith dies. Sam kills her, no Colt, no devil’s trap. Nothing but his own terrifying powers.

“Will you bow to me now?” he asks.

Ruby tears her eyes from Lilith’s corpse and her irritating fucking smirk slides back into place. “Now?” She steps closer, tilting her head back almost like she’s about to kiss him, then falls gracefully to her knees in front of him. It looks more like she’s about to give him a blowjob than a form of subservience, but he thinks that for a moment Sam almost seems amused. “I bowed to you first.”

“So you did,” he says softly. He raises his voice. “Move out. Casey. You know your job.”

“Yes, sire,” says one of the demons, voice almost familiar.

Then Sam’s walking away, Ruby just a step behind him. The other demons follow suit, the hellhounds not even glancing at Dean as they get caught up in the procession.

Sam still won’t look at him. He only sees the back of his brother’s head as he leaves him behind

The only demon left is Casey. He knows her, he recognizes her, the demon he’d been trapped with in that city full of sin, the one that Sam had shot and killed. He’d seen him kill her.

She gets to her feet, offering him a smile as she draws closer. “Hello, Dean. I bet you never thought you’d see me again.”

She steps right into the devil’s trap and presses a hand to him and Bobby each. As soon as she touches them, they’re able to move, darting away from her and leaving her stuck in the devil’s trap.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, wishing his voice wasn’t shaking, but he has more important things to worry about.

She turns to face them. “Samuel does not want you to die. He did what he had to do to ensure you wouldn’t.”

“The fuck you talking about?” Bobby asks gruffly.

“I told you back then I was ready to follow Sam,” she says, stepping out of the devil’s trap like it’s nothing, which she definitely shouldn’t be able to do. Bobby hadn't thought that this thing would be able to contain Lilith, but Casey’s nowhere near Lilith’s level. It should work on her just fine.

Bobby’s hand darts out, throwing holy water over her, but it doesn’t so much as steam.

She just looks amused. “That won’t work on me now. Neither will an exorcism, or any of the usual tricks. I have been purified.” She holds out her hand to Dean and it’s the Colt, the one that they’d lost when Bela sold it. “This is the only thing that will kill me now.”

“And you’re just handing it over?” Dean asks.

“I have my orders,” she says steadily. “Samuel wants you to have it.”

His entire body goes gold.

“What do you mean purified?” Bobby asks, shooting Dean a concerned look. “You’re a demon. Purifying you should kill you.”

“And was Lucifer a demon?” she asks. “I have taken the sacrament.”

Dean doesn’t know what that means, but Bobby’s expression shifts from disgust to shock to a horror filled curiosity. “You drank Sam’s blood?”

She did what?

“I have taken the sacrament,” she repeats, lifting her chin. “Samuel purified me.”

How the hell would Sam’s blood do that? Why had she drank it in the first place? She’s a demon, not a damn vampire. Dean pushes those questions aside and instead asks, “How are you even alive?”

“Samuel resurrected me,” she says. First he can kill demons, and now he can bring them back? “He knows we had a rapport and he thought it would be easier if it was me.”

“What would be easier?” he asks. His head is spinning and his heart hurts and he doesn’t understand anything that just happened. At least being dragged to hell would have been simpler.

She presses the Colt into his hands. “Samuel doesn’t want you to die. He knows this will be difficult for you, that you’ll make poor choices. I have my orders. I am to stay with you and keep you alive. We’re going to get to know each other very well, Dean.”

“Like hell,” he says gruffly, hand tightening as he takes the Colt and raises it to her head. “What’s to stop me from killing you?”

“The same thing that will stop you from killing Samuel,” she says and he flinches. “Nothing.”

He stares at her. He can’t bring himself to speak.

“You’ll have to hunt him down the old fashioned way,” she says casually. “But if you can find him, you can kill him. We’re all under orders not to touch you. Samuel won’t stop you if you want kill him. The same way I won’t stop you if you want to kill me.”

“Why?” he asks.

She shrugs. “It’s always been up to you, Dean. He trusts you. If you decide that he must die, then he’s willing to die.”

Dean sold his soul for him. He’s not going to fucking kill him.

But the Sam he sold his soul for wasn’t capable of doing that to Lilith. He wouldn’t have even wanted to be.

“What about your demon lover?” Dean asks, thinking of the priest that Casey had embraced and kissed, the demon she’d begged to spare Dean’s life before Sam had killed them both. “Sam bring him back too?”

Grief chases across her face before she smooths it away. “He will. If I am good, and obedient, and loyal, then Samuel will bring him back for me.”

Dean’s stomach rolls to hear Sam described like that, like some sort of tyrant or king. Like Dad. “You really believe that?”

Casey meets his gaze steadily as she echoes the words she’d said to him in that basement as she spoke of Lucifer, except now she’s talking about his brother. “I have faith.”

[jinkiezzsstuff]

Met The Devil

lucifer x human!reader

based on folklore about the devil, cause i thought that would be cool teehee

Part [2]

Warnings: SMUT 18+, implied fem reader (clit use), based on devil folklore so possibly ooc lucifer, so sorry but lucifer our boy ain’t that caught up on lilith here, penetrative sex, didn’t proof read so lmk if you see any mistakes, no mention of hairtype/bodytype/skin colour, swearing,

Word count: 4K

Your shoes clacked against the concrete, water from puddles splashing out from underneath your feet. The rain poured down vigorously, and unforgivingly. Your hair ruined, your clothes soaked and your mood sour. It’s been a trying day starting off with a failed job interview and ending with bending over backwards for people who didn’t deserve it.

It wasn’t even like you couldn’t handle a problem, or a hurdle, but it seemed like every path you took led to a dead end. You were tired, broke, and felt drained, you would kill for just a break from the failure.

Your pace slowed long ago, not really wanting to return into a room full of loud family members with critical opinions. You dragged your feet through puddles of water, feeling the cold rain soak through. The storm raged on clouds continuing to pelt down fat droplets, you inhaled the smell of wet grass, damp concrete and mud as you strolled.

The amber street lights above you were dim, and your eyes danced around the street lazily, observing everything and nothing. Just a few feet away from you was a bus stop, with a shelter and a bench, figuring it’d be better to not be drenched completely, you decided you’d have a seat maybe the rain will dissipate.

You dragged your feet focusing down at them as you walked into the shelter. As you turned into it, you bumped into someone jolting you backwards slightly. Reflexively your head shot up from your feet to see a man’s back, he quickly turned to you. You observed his clothing his head held a rather out there looking white hat, shoulders holding up a long white chesterfield coat along with white boots to match his monochromatic look.

Meeting his eyes you admired the unique colour; they looked light brown, but they were such a concentrated colour it could’ve been mistaken for an amber or perhaps orange. He was very pale, and poking out of his hat extremely blonde hair you briefly had the thought of perhaps he just lacked in melanin; he was albino, and so you moved past it. Standing fairly short even with his boots, he seemed like a wealthy man, and perhaps a model too, there’s no way he couldn’t be with such a catching appearance. The man gave you a wide grin, showing off his sparkling teeth, perfect as you expected. “Hi!” The strange man shouted, a rich booming voice coming out of him. You didn’t know what voice you expected to hear from him, but the slightly unsure, sultry one definitely wasn’t it.

Stepping back from him lending him some personal space back, you smiled nervously. “Hi, i’m sorry i thought- well i didn’t see anyone in here, sorry.” The man ‘pfft’ at you, eyes closed momentarily, head tilted back. “It’s not a problem at all! Eh, i was just stopping by!” Waving at you he stepped futher in the bus shelter, opening his arm to welcome you in excitedly.

You watched him intently as you walked inside, you felt curious about him as he had an aura you couldn’t quite place. When inside you stood parallel to him, watching as his posture slowly decompressed like he was glad you were here. You briefly wondered what he meant by stopping by it didn’t seem like the appropriate term to use in this scenario, but you argued with yourself that he could’ve been flustered.

Gazing down at his arm a cane had appeared- one that wasn’t there before, you had to do double take, assuring yourself that you were seeing things correctly. As you did so, he leaned ever so slightly on it putting more trust in the cane then he probably should have. “An apple?” You questioned observing the handle that he grasped with gloved hands. His eyebrow rose with a confused expression gracing his gorgeously sculpted face waiting for you to elaborate. “Your cane, sir.” You smiled nodding toward it, feeling a strange sense of adoration him and for the far away look in his eyes, one you recognized. “Cane? Oh, OH! My cane, ha! Yes uh, apples. They’re, uh gods gift after all.”

Realization flooded his face, smirk reappearing as he leaned forward just a bit, as he did so you felt a sudden sense of familiarity that was almost sickening. You’ve never felt such a pull before to a person like you did in this moment. “Would you like an apple? It’s cold out, you must be tired after such a long tedious day.” Watching him as he dug into his pocket pulling out a decently sized apple- perfectly red as well.

Tilting your head to the side questioningly you ask; “How did you know my day was tedious?” The question came out gently, quiet, void of any accusation or fear. Instead you felt calm gazing from his captivating eyes to the apple, hand stallled just a bit away from yourself reaching toward. “It’s so evident on your face, you poor thing. Here go ahead sweetheart.” His voice that was once insecure, unsure and bouncing in pitch, was now relaxed, smooth and hypnotizing.

There was no malice or condescension in what he said, but rather an observation of what you failed to hide in your current state. Nodding with a short shrug, you reach further, the man meeting you half way to place the fruit in your palm. Your hand briefly touched his own gloved one, they were warm as ever, and you’d wish you could’ve gotten more of a feel.

Smiling at him you suddenly noticed his lids were covered in a lavender purple, perhaps you noticed because they were lidded at you now, unlike before when they were wide. His smile was lazy as he watched you bite into his fruit. It was probably one of the more fresher apples you’d ever bitten into, and as you swallowed the first bite your stomach growled, literally demanding more.

The strange man in white chuckled at the sound of your stomach, and before you could let embarrassment consume you he spoke. “See! So glad I found you, wouldn’t want you starving now would we?” It seemed he had gone back to his boisterous mood as he watched you crunch happily down.

“Thank you so much sir, this is such a good apple, really, did you grow this in your garden?” You asked him, he came closer standing beside you, the two of you now facing the road, looking out at the rain. “Mm, not my garden…” The man muttered under his breath, you quirked a brow humming at him barely hearing what he said. His eyes widened and he quickly shook his head. “Heh! Oh nothing sweets! Don’t worry, i was just, uh, remembering some stuff. From. Like, the past.”

It was as if he’d lost his cool for a moment, stumbling over everything that came out of his mouth, his gaze fixed ahead at nothing. You admired the side of his face as you chewed the last bit of apple, his head slowly turned to you, eyes catching your own.

“You’re eyes are ethereal.” You breathe eyes squinted in focus as you drank him up. You didn’t fully mean to say what you said, it was something just burst out of you without restraint because you felt so strongly about the beauty they held.

Stuttering, he blushed finding it hard to gather the words under the heated look you were giving him. “Thank you, YN.” The man finally said easy going smile once again present on his face. Before you could say anything in return- including questioning how the hell he knew your name, he again reached in his pocket this time pulling out a single playing card the king of hearts. Furrowing your brows you accepted the card but didn’t understand why he gave it to you.

“Love a good game of cards, always have! I think we’ll see each other some day soon!” The man exclaimed smiling brightly at you, behind you, you could make out the sound of a bus coming up to your stop. You smiled and thankedthe man regardless of the oddities, he returned the gesture smiling toothily at you. He rested himself against his cane again watching you intently as you glanced behind you. The bus lights lit up your figure, and you supposed you’d get on for the rest of the ride home. Turning with a smile to say your farewells to the mystery man, your stomach dropped. The man had vanished, and you’d only looked away a second. Stepping out into the rain, you peered up and down the long streets, unable to see his white coat or hat in either direction.

Standing next to the curb the bus whined to a stop, the compressed air blowing out warmly at your legs. When the bus driver opened his doors, you stepped on tapping your finger against the safety glass. The conductor looked at you exhausted by the night and the people he handled.

“Sorry if this is strange, but did you see anyone in the bus shelter with me?” The diver looked at you and it was obvious to him he couldn’t care less, but you stayed put waiting the vocal confirmation. “No ma’am, but if i’m being honest i wasn’t paying attention.”

You nodded quickly eyes casted down, thanking him you put your toll in and walked your way down the isle. When in your seat, you pulled out the card once more to inspect it in the light. Your eyebrows lifted looking down at the card, written on the back where there was nothing before, now had beautiful calligraphic writing with an address on it.

Typing the address into your phone, it directed you to what looked to be a website where people posted looking for house sitters. Turning your mouth in a disgusted manor, you silently questioned why the hell this man would give you such a thing. Scrolling through the different enlistings, you boredly read through descriptions and pay killing time until your stop.

Just a few stops away from home, your thumb stopped on a house, it was a pretty decent home appeared to be some sort of log cabin. The pay they were willing to give was generous, and it was only for three days, oddly enough. Clicking on it, you read through the description, they asked not to bring pets, eat their food, or sleep in their bedrooms asking to bring something to sleep on.

It was a two hour commute by drive, but seeing as you didn’t drive, it was a four hour commute with the train. You sent the owner a quick message telling them that you needed the pay and you were willing to comply to all the rules no issues. After sending your message, you stood mirroring the robotic voice as it called the name of your stop.

—

“Hi welcome!” Marie greeted you with a handshake, smiling at her you shook back. Walking into the cabin alongside Marie she explained that she needed to pick her husband up from a business trip from the middle east, and her house was too high maintenance for her to leave behind. “Occasionally, the pipes will freeze if the temperature drops, you the heat will need to controlled carefully. There’s a garden outback i am very proud of, i’d really appreciate you checking on it daily, just to make sure no pesky animals intrude.”

Walking through the house, you notice different things hanging, but no family pictures. The house was filled with mahogany and oak woods, which were really gorgeous, the house was dark and lit by yellow lighting from different chandeliers and vintage looking collectors lamps.

“Oh! Also if you need we have a prayer room! Don’t touch anything in there as they’re very expensive. Besides that, you’re good. Alright i gotta run, this willl be a very tedious trip. Call me if you have any problems.” Nodded as she spoke, you walked along side her towards the front door. You smiled at her assuring that all would be well, and if there was any problems you wouldn’t hesitate to call.

—

Another rain storm moved into the area thunder shaking the cabin. You had a cot set up in the living room per Marie’s request, and your food was put away in the fridge. You had gotten into shorts and a t-shirt now that you didn’t have to worry about being presentable and settled in the cot with your phone and laptop.

You’d been in the house for ten hours now, and you weren’t able to relax, paranoia filled your mind as you felt off about being in a strangers home. The urge and need for money fueled you in the beginning, but now alone in the middle of the woods, in a cabin that isn’t your own with a thunderstorm overhead, yeah you were filled with anxiety.

Just as you felt a bit of tension release from your shoulders, three knocks sounded from the door making you jumped from the disruption of silence. Standing cautiously you walked to the fire place grabbing one of the pokes that sat off to the side, and went to the door. Peeping through the hole you were surprised to be greated by the man from the bus stop. He held the rim of his hat down over his his face that held a scowl of discomfort, slumped over and soaked.

Opening the door you stood the fire poke off to the side against the wall. Despite your apprehension and confusion, something in you felt compelled to open the doo. “What the hell?” You exclaim, watching him perk up at the sound of your voice, eyes naturally finding your own. “Oh you! Y’know i had a feeling you’d be here, uhh, mind helping me out. It’s freezing!”

Grabbing his bicep you tugged him in, him letting out waohs as he stumbled in letting you do as you pleased. Slamming the door behind you, you grabbed his shoulders gently looking into his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing all the way out here? God, you’re soaked.” You saying eyeing him, he was wearing the white outfit he had on nearly two months ago.

Walking to your suitcase you pulled out a towel, t-shirt and joggers for the man. Turning you walked back to the entry to see him already half naked, gasping you spun on your heel. “What the hell dude! Put this on!” You screamed tossing all the items behind your back.

The man laughed, it sounded charming and he seemed delighted at your shock. “Don’t worrrryyy, its no biggie. Look as long as you please.” Scoffing you turned seeing him with the joggers on, hat tossed to the side drying his hair. “You look very good tonight,“ The man trailed eyeing you up and down.

You felt hot at such a statement making you feel like a horn dog. You crossed your arms and gave him a grin. “Can I help you by the way, maybe call you a car? I’m uh, house sitting.” You explain walking up to him, he shook his head smiling coyly at you. “No no, thats, fine.” You went to question further but he had other ideas and brushed past you wandering into the house.

“I don’t even know your name!” You say speedily following him as he observed everything in the cabin he passed. He glanced back at you briefly before muttering; “Lucifer,” Quickly before you could get a word in edge wise he turned aburptly stopping, you bumping into him lightly. “And I only ask that you spare me a few hours, maybe a meal?”

-

So there you two sat, you had ate with the man, and now sat listening to the stories of a man who swore up and down his name was Lucifer. He explained his predicament while you ate, saying that he just took a wrong turn and drove into a ditch.

You laughed along he told you interesting and funny stories of his life and the people around him, telling you about his crafting hobby. Which captivated you the most, honestly you were mesmerized by the man, and he seemed to feel the same about you.

His eyes lidded and relaxed, his chin rested on his hand, leaning forward completely encapsulated by your presence. You never had a man so focused on you, he hung on every word, and you felt that framillar tinge once again, pulling you into him.

The magnet kept pulling you in, and you were ever so hungry for the man in front of you. “Yeah, my daughter uh, she’s like me with the ambition. I’m just afraid she’s gonna end up like me.” Lucifer said shrugging while looking off to the side. You wont deny you felt the slightest bit upset at the statement, daughter implies mother. “Even if she does fail the only thing can do is be there for her through the trip. It’s harder to fail alone, i think.”

Nodding in contemplation the blondes eyes came back to you, his hands came the the middle of the table causing your gaze to drop. His hands twisted, flicked and your focus was now on a gold circle spinning on the table. His wedding band.

“She’s been alone a long time, my wife, she left seven years ago, we’d been divorced since Charlie was a toddler, heh, kept hoping she’d return. I left Charlie alone too, kinda thought it was for the best. Not anymore. We work together.” He explained smiling at the mention of his daughter. Slapping his hand atop the ring ceasing its momentum he looked at you watching as you placed your hand ontop of his, gently caressing him as you did so.

The two of you stared at each other silently, for how long you weren’t sure. It wasn’t until he pulled himself to his feet sluggishly that the staring spell broke. The confidence returned to him, as did his mischievous smirk. You were under the assumption be was ready to go so you stood with him.

Just as you were about to speak, thanking him for the unique experience he granted you, he grabbed you by the arms and tugged you into him. You fell forward hands flying to his chest, meanwhile his head tilted and softly his lips met yours. You didn’t have time to question a thing before your lips danced in tandem with his. Perhaps you should’ve been less willing than you were but how could you not be? It was like a gift from god, this man.

You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him to your chest, his hand moved from your arm to your hips grinding himself into you needily. You whimpered at the contact feeling how excited he already was, when you whimpered he took the chance to sneak his tongue into your mouth. As your own tongue slid past his you stuttered feeling how long he could reach, and moaned at the way he tried to swallow you whole so nastily.

Pulling back slightly, Lucifer paused as you felt the fork of his tongue. Shocked you pulled back fully looking at his lustful expression, it was almost as if his eyes were a darker shade.

“What’s wrong?” He asked hands slowly travelling from your hips up to the hem of your shirt, toying with it. “Your tongue?” At your inquisitive tone, he stuck his tongue out. “Thish?” He spoke through is tongue that stuck out to your, normal sized and unforked.

Smirking at him you shook your head gently you must’ve been nervous. Pulling him toward your make shift bed you two crashed down on it haphazardly, he leaned back on his elbows watching as you crawled on top of him meeting his lips eagerly. His hair was slightly disheveled, his breathing jagged under you.

You slid yourself up and down, gliding yourself purposely right on his hard on. Pulling away from the sloppy make out session you two were in, Lucifer looked at you with glassy eyes. “Let’s make deal,” He breathed panting to catch some of the breath you stole straight from him.

“What?” You whispered inches from his lips. “Let me have you, all of you and when the time comes you’ll be a queen, you’re just a diamond in the rough.” There was almost a saddness you could detect, maybe something you could describe as mournfully lonesome. You felt the tug; the pull to him you couldn’t deny, so you took his hand away from your hip, and shook it. “Deal.” You say mocking something that would be business offical.

With a sly grin, he pushed himself up to you, your lips crashing into his instantaneously. You bit his lip gently as he grinded himself into you enjoying how unashamed he was of showing his desire. You met his grinding with your own, dragging your hands down his warm chest. Lucifers breath stuttered at your touch, his nails sinking into your flesh with anticipation.

You stopped at the band of the joggers pulling away from the kiss. As you did Lucifers eyes were wide, pupils blown and he robotically lifted himself by his hips, awkwardly shuffling his joggers down. You lifted yourself so he could get them the rest of the way down before tossing your shirt to the side.

Grinding down on his uncovered cock you moaned head thrown back, he was all consuming and the air felt so hot after the deal. It was desperation that was evident on both your faces, Lucifer hypnotized by you as you greedily grinded against him. Lucifer whimpered laying back down flat on the cot trying to stop himself from violently bucking up.

“Tell me what you want Lucifer,” You purred lifting your hips from his boner rotating your hips round and round while just barely touching his dick beneath you. “Fuck please, get on me.” Lucifer gritted out teeth clenched, eyes closed sparkling at how tight he had them sealed.

Manurvering yourself you pulled down your shorts and urged him to sit up. Lazily he followed your pull sitting up straight toward you. You liked this position way more, face to face as your sunk yourself down on his cock. His legs jerked, spreading out falling off each side of the caught causing you to bottom out, slipping right down to his balls.

“Oh shit you’re an angel, fuck, you feel so good, oh,” Lucifer whimpered voice wavering, although he smiled through the pleasure. Unwillingly he fucked up into you, your body unmoving jerked up with his hips, you were too busy getting used to him girth and size not to mention his all consuming presence. He was so hot, smug, and it made you feel hornier than you already are.

Sliding your hips forward you whimper and moaned. Face in your neck he breathed you in, whimpering as he continued to fuck up into every now and again, still trying to hold back for you. You wrapped your legs around his back clenching on unable to speak as Lucifer had your brain wiped of all thought.

Lucifer bit down holding back a groan, effectively drawing blood from the wound, licking it right up after. Suddenly like a madman, he gripped you like a life line, gently but swiftly flipping you over onto your back. He looked down at you with red eyes stunning you into silence. “Lucifer?” You whispered breathlessly as he smiled down at your form, his tongue darting, out forked once again, and dragged his devilish tongue against his no longer normal teeth.

Without responding he sunk himself into you, your legs on their own accord flew up around Lucifer as he slowly plunged himself into you. You cried out in pleasure as he picked up the pace slamming his hips into you, skin slapping filled the room as well as Lucifers gravel groans and growls.

Your eyes were closed as you reached up to him, your body jerked at his thrusts the cot creaking. You pulled him toward you, he made no effort to pull away from your tugging. His lips met yours pulling you into a hot kiss, you met him with need, teeth clashing and tongues twisting. You being to fucked out in bliss to realize the razor sharp teeth that nicked your lips and tongue, or the snake like tongue that explored your mouth.

You moaned at the sensations you felt all around you, your heightened senses picking up the cold snake like skin that whipped by your calf. Opening your eyes you clenched coming face to face with Lucifer, the devil, the literal devil.

Long red horns stuck out from his pale skin, red eyes lidded and glowing down at you, sharp teeth evident by his smirked. His pace never slowed as he watched you stare at him, and his pride swelled at the fleeing of you clenching him tightly, legs simultaneously pulling him in closer.

“Like what you see angel?” You mewled at his words grabbing his shoulders as he looked down at you eyes full of desire and pride. “Yes,” You gasped as he hit a pretty little spot inside you that made you sing to him.

“Please Lucifer!” A rumble sounded in his chest a noise you couldn’t describe. Attempting to stabilize your jerking body, your hands moved to grip his back but paused at the feeling of feathers. Lazily your mouth fell open, body jerking as your head tilted to the side getting a better look at the red and white wings that cascaded far across the room.

“O-oh, my god, fuuuck.” You moaned trying to make sense of the display in front of you but Lucifer pressed his finger down on your clit making you loose control of your mind once more, bucking up to him, begging him.

You pleaded to Lucifer like a chant to him, looking into his red glowing eyes. His smile was gone his eyes lidded eyebrows pinched as he fought off the urge to cum just a little longer.

With a shout your body shook tensing, toes curling, Lucifer muttered your name over and over worshipping your name as you did to him. His hips halted deep within you and he bit down on your neck leaving several different bite marks.

Pulling away he stared down at your sweaty body his demonic form shrinking away, his eyes going yellow with his natural red irises. You stared shocked at him, but he only coyly smiled at you. “How was your date with the devil?” He smiled brushing his hand down your cheek.

“You’re really the devil?” You asked in disbelief and astonishment. “Well y’know,” He coughed looking away, pulling away from you effectively pulling out of you. “Yeah that’s what they call me.” Another charming smile graced his face.

Your lurched upward eyes wide. “I made a deal with the devil?!” You exclaimed not feeling the way you expected if you were to meet the devil. Y’know fear.

“Yep, and, you promised yourself to me,” Popping his ‘p’ as well as accentuating the ‘and’, he tossed the ring at you. Swiftly you caught it, and by the time you looked down at it, and then back up to him, he was redressed in his suit, coat and hat.

“Speaking of which, I’ve got a kingdom to run.” Thunder rumbled shaking the cabin making the lights flicker out ominously, and in that brief moment, the devil himself, disappeared. Leaving you alone, with his ring, naked in the cabin.

[two-white-butterflies]

★ — lights will guide you home | carlos sainz and multi

Description: Trying to find love after your ex-fiancee told you that his mistress makes him happier. How hard could it be?

part two of it was all yellow

Pairing: actress!singer!reader/multi (undecided), actress!singer!reader/carlos sainz (past).

Trope: Secret Baby Trope

Disclaimer: Everything written in this fanfic holds no truth about anyone's personality or actions. It is made purely for entertainment.

A/N: this part will mainly focus on the main character and her relationship with pablo, while setting things up with her future love interest + angst with carlos?🤔

carlossainz55: Everyday Magic! I love you baby.

liked by because.official and 712,923 others

>comments

ynnationlovebears: GIRL...

because.official: aww he looks so cute hubs 🥺 - carlossainz55: ❤️

iggyagaelabeef2: OH MY GOD SHE'S GOING TO KILL U

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The situation was awkward. Pablo was wise beyond his years, he understood the situation - but his difficulty understanding it was obvious. He wasn't comfortable around Carlos, who until yesterday didn't even exist in his little world.

"Give him time." you comforted the older man.

It felt strange, comforting a man who was the reason of your sorrow. He was the reason that you didn't feel confident in your own skin, in your own face, because he thought that someone was better.

You spent these past years trying to look for the faults that he found inside of you, because if he could cheat on you, the next one could.

"Until yesterday, he didn't even know that you existed." you scoffed, attempting to avoid his guilty stare. "I don't know what I'm looking for - or what he likes. Children are a tough crowd." he chuckled nervously, mentally cursing Kirkman for leaving the both of you.

There was a silence, only interrupted by the slight sound of rain on the background. It was obvious that you had nothing in common. You had no desire with being friends with him. "I posted him on instagram, is that fine?" he broke through the thick atmosphere.

You licked your chapped lips.

"Yeah."

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notdanielricciardopriv: this is so scary 😭

liked by 7 others

>comments

notmaxv33: Slendrina - notynln: a lotta nerve from someone singing gagadegadao with my son ??

landofanbasebutreallandonorris: IM SO SCARED RIGHT NOW PLEASE DON'T KIDNAP ME - notynln: 😭

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ynworldupdates: I literally don't understand why Carlos Sainz Jr. decided to cheat on the most beautiful woman in the whole universe 😭😭 like SHE LITERALLY PLAYS TARGARYENS FOR A LIVING MAN!!

liked by 829 others

>comments

birdsofafeather83: literally mother mary incarnate

holypoodlesticks: i want this woman to play a divine goddess

alex_lnc: that's why i love women, men will always CHEAT

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>comments

floppiana83: "that makes her a good friend" MAX YOU ARE NOT SLICK HAHAHAHAHAHA

arianabanana: And they get married and have kids

inchident01: go to 2:01 I'm sensing a crush

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"Charles told me that you were ignoring Carlos' messages." Daniel sits beside me, his face filled with concern.

"I didn't know how to react, okay." you groaned.

A few days ago Carlos posted a picture of Pablo. Your son's face was in full view, everyone began to critique his features - even the looksmaxxing community had a lot to say. It was a boy! A child!

"If you didn't want him posting P - then you should've told him in the first place." he responded, trying to play devil's advocate. It only added more to your fury. "The deed was done, someone probably already saved it - I couldn't just ask Carlos to delete the picture."

"- plus, you know how I get with confrontation." you breathed.

He was about to respond, but he sees your crestfallen face. The same curve of your lips that you miserably wore when you lost a game of UNO, or lost an acting role that you've been pining for.

"I hate him for what he did, but I miss him like a little kid. He makes me feel so stupid and useless."

" - when I'm around him, I can't help but think about my mistakes. I could've been better - maybe then, Pablo would have both of his parents." you sobbed, burying your face in his chest.

Daniel takes a deep breath.

"It shouldn't come from me ... but it's tough being a mother. Carlos can afford to make mistakes, no one will hate him for it - but it's unfair once you're the one who does." he comforted.

Between all your friends, Daniel was the only one who knew how to comfort another person. He was a blessing. A warm teddy bear.

"I-I just wanted to give Pablo the change of having privacy. His father and I never had that as kids. I know how tough it is being in the spotlight, I thought he'd understand." you sighed.

This was another lesson.

"I'll tell him next time." you nodded to yourself. A human being can make mistakes, but as a mother, it's best to not have any.

I've got to learn how to put my foot down.

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yn.ln: a lot of you don't know this but me and @maxverstappen go way back.. i've seen the interview, thank you for calling me a good friend 🤣💚 ps. we first met each other when we were 5 and i'm pretty sure he forgot about me until we met again at 17 🤣

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen and 83,293 others

>comments

helaenaslawyer: OH MY GOD ?? SHE LOOKED LIKE RHAENYRA WHEN SHE WAS A KID...THE HOTD CASTING DEPARTMENT NEVER MISSED

emmadarcy: OMG 🔥

maxieworldf1: never beating the sibling allegations

maxverstappen: Have you always been that short? - yn.ln: uhuh mr. tall king? lols

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Carlos was taking snaps of Pablo on his new Kodak camera. The little boy seemed to enjoy being the subject of his father's photos. Daniel nudges your elbows, encouraging you to speak up. "Carlos, will you be posting that on social media?" you inquired.

He looked up with a smile - the smile that used to have you weak on your knees, now instead leaving you with neutral feelings. "If it's okay with you?" his eyebrows merged into each other.

"Uh I actually would prefer it if Pablo stays off the media for a few years, just until he's old enough to make his own decisions." the words slipped out of your mouth like a dam.

His eyebrows raised upwards, surprised.

"Oh I'm sorry that makes sense." his voice sounded defeated, but he quickly returns to playing with his son. You lean back on the sun-bed, flashing Daniel a winning smile. "That was surprisingly easy." you leaned back, watching as he takes a sip of his piña colada.

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yn.ln: this is so 2014 core 🕷 📸 shot by p

liked by maxverstappen and 821,239 others

>comments

helaenaworld: this awakened something within me

holdmybeer: pedro alonso, stephanie beatriz, cm punk, carlos sainz I GET YOU...

bandanaqueef: O M G O M G O M G

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formulaonewagsupdate: because and y/n l/n in one boat?

liked by 82,239 others

>comments

becausefanbase: i get it why carlos cheated HAHAHA

hotpotcentauri: Why does Y/N always look so awk? - ynlncloset: y/n l/n does not belong to you because, mainstream media and parties do... - callmeadefender: She's literally the most charming of all of the ladies in that boat 💀

babyohh: to be a fly on the wall during that yacht ride.

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next part>>

thanks for the support guys. pt. 3 will focus on the yacht ride.

IDEAS FOR THE FUTURE ENDGAME ARE STILL OPEN, JUST BECAUSE THIS CHAPTER IS MAX AND DAN CENTRIC DOESN'T 100% MEAN THAT THOSE DRIVERS ARE ENDGAME.

[krypticcafe]

Can please get fic where young reader almost gets r-word.. like! What happened to ellie on 'the last of us' like make it into that situation, reader kills the rapist and flees away and runs into the 141 team, and their like in this state of like panic, but they calm them down and they explain what happened they are beyond livid so they just reck hell on the people who was with the man who tried to r-word reader.

(this a platonic relationship between reader and the team)

Me and the Devil

rating: mature

pairing(s): platonic 141 x gn!reader

warning(s): no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, non-explicit attempted r*pe, emotional and physical trauma, sexual physical and mental violence, canon-typical graphic violence, comfort

wordcount: ~3.8k

a/n: i'm not exactly sure what anon meant by young, but for context, reader is probably 20-22, I'm just not comfortable writing this kinda stuff for teen or child reader, I hope you don't mind. also, huge, HUGE emphasis on the warnings. though nothing is explicit and there are no sexual graphic terms, the descriptions and actions alone are still very disturbing and uncomfortable! and the violence is a little uncomfy for those not used to it, too. title is from 'Me and the Devil' - Soap&Skin

synopsis: You can see it. The devil. It laughs, and laughs, and laughs, mocks you for your childish stupidity and naivete. To think the angels would come marching in, that you'd make it out with any semblance of sanity. You can't fight it, you can't even hide from it. All you can do is lie in your grave.

Just hours ago, you were alongside the 141, cleaning up and wiping out an enemy base, a typical Tuesday on a summer afternoon. You should've known things would go downhill with how smoothly it was all going. Even Price commented on it with an air of wariness and suspicion. After all, it was a saying that if the fight starts getting too easy, then it's an ambush. And an ambush it was. You want to tell yourself that it was nothing, easy as pie compared to what you've been through. You wanted to say that it was a success and you turned the tables on your enemies. You wanted to say that it ended within a matter of minutes and that you were on your way back to base with your boys, ready for a night of banter at the pub. You'd join Ghost in watching Soap and Gaz try their hand at poker, taking a shot each time Soap's dogshit luck lost him another couple of euros while Price would pry Roach from having another cocktail and piss himself ('it was one time!' he slurs).

But instead, you're here. Locked in a room, bag over your head, tied to a chair, a stereotypical hostage situation but that didn't make it any less tolerable. Though having a potato sack over your head was nowhere near as embarrassing as the reason why you were captured. You tried your best to hold onto the jeep, honestly, you did. Until some ankle-biter decided to latch onto you and sink his teeth into your flesh, causing your grip to loosen and send you tumbling into the dirt. Your bodies slammed into the ground, kicking up dust and your opponent taking most of the fall damage for you. How thoughtful.

Seething at the audacity he had to chomp on your leg like some feral mutt, you gave him a piece of your mind and made sure he'd never bite another ankle again. His friends caught up the moment you were done. They dragged you back down to the coarse dirt and sand of the earth, making you taste and choke on dust. You looked at the lifeless figure in the sand, briefly wondering if you'd be wishing you were him before a bag was slipped over your head and tied like a collar. It didn't help that the sand on the roof of your mouth combined with your ineffective attempts to ration your breathing made for a burn worse than any hard liquor down your throat. Thrashing and shouting like a madman, you cursed them like some teenager who discovered swearing as they tossed you into the back of a truck, rolling you forth with the heels of their boots. Not your finest moment.

Once you were loaded and the rest of them climbed on, the truck shot forward without slowing down for a second, taking you to your own personal hell for the next few days. Knowing the 141, they were probably at the safehouse, planning their next move to retrieve you. In the time between interrogations and routine attempts to break you, you could imagine Soap and Roach pacing around the room, Ghost brandishing a knife with a dark look in his eyes, and Price looming over a map and pulling up contacts with Gaz at his side. While you hated to burden them with your own mistakes, thinking about them all gnawing their teeth in comical anger at your expense brought you momentary comfort, eliciting a small chuckle.

"Something funny?" Much to your ire, all your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of several people shuffling into the room. You could only expect so much privacy in a place like this. The man who spoke up seemed to carry himself like a leader, considering how he spoke above all others and you could hear him carrying out demands every now and then, checking up on you as if he actually gave a shit. And currently, he was on the top of your "to kill" list, along with every other cunt in this prison.

"What'll it be today, more screaming or more silence? You know, you can only stay quiet for so long." He sighed. Judging by the sound of metal screeching on concrete, he pulled up a front-row seat. With a single yank, you were again temporarily freed of the confines of the bag on your face, glaring at the man with a look of ferocity that seemed as if it were etched on your face permanently. His clothes were disturbingly clean-cut and polished despite the blood he spilled for the past few days. Your blood he spilled. "Come now... you know you'll only make things more difficult. Face it, kid, they're not coming, it's been days."

When you felt gloved fingers touch your jaw you snapped, pulling away like an animal restrained by a leash. Your captor let out a taunting "Oooh", and your skin crawled at how he heckled and laughed like some adolescent boy poking a rabid animal with a stick through its cage. "So it bites."

"Fuck you." You rasped.

"And it talks." The humiliation of their nonchalant attitudes made you seethe, you knew it was a tactic to get under your skin and you just wouldn't have it, turning your head away from the men.

"Uh-uh, eyes on me. How is such a fresh thing like you out fighting wars with men like them?" He hummed, gripping your jaw with a strength that took you by surprise and had you wincing. Even though his hands were gloved, it felt as if he were trying to dig into your skin. With no other choice, you were forced to look into his eyes, the pyres of unimaginable anger burning in yours.

However, it was then that you felt it. Something was off. Something was horribly off about him. The several times he'd come in here to either coax you with gentle words or have his men beat you within an inch of your life, he either had some faux kindness or gleeful malice painted across his face. But this time, his eyes were alight with slimy delight. You hated it, Hated how it made you feel small, cornered, pulling on your leash so that you couldn't be yanked from the one place that made you feel safe. You hated how it didn't feel like he was trying to get under your skin, or sink into your bones but instead your mind as if to violate it. You hated how it seemed like he had something more in mind, something that you couldn't predict like a kick to the ribs or a carefully worded reassurance that you'd be in "good hands". It was the one thing you felt like you had control over, knowing what was next, and now you didn't.

With a wave of his hand, his men all filed out of the room, leaving just him and you alone. One came back with a bowl in their hands and you felt yourself doubt your worries. Were you already beginning to lose it in here? "Hungry?" He smiled, taking the bowl and dismissing the soldier. It looked and smelled like a stew, potatoes, and beef, not scraps of stale bread or lukewarm, half-empty beer cans.

"I asked them to make something special today for you, isn't that nice? I suppose even someone like you has a taste for the finer things in life and wouldn't say yes to leftovers." No answer came but it was to be expected as he mixed the stew with a spoon. Your eyes were trained on his face instead, expecting some kind of strings attached. He entertained that expectation by—to your disgust—spitting into the stew, mixing it more, and bringing up a spoonful to your face. "Consider that the cost of being so picky. Open wide, soldier. Surely you won't make a fuss again, now will you?"

There was a pause, you leaned forward, lips ghosting the tip of the spoon before you roughly shoved his chair away from you with your boot. The bowl fell from his hands onto the ground, pooling between the two of you. He could go to hell with his stupid fucking soup.

He let out a scowl of disapproval, his self-satisfied smirk replaced with disgust and irritation like a parent to their troublemaking child. Fine with you, you didn't need that asshole's approval. He stood, grabbing a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping his hands and the small splatters on his uniform. "Should've known better that the government's pets would act like such animals. I gave you a chance, I tried to make this easy for you." He snarled, tossing his handkerchief aside and grabbing you by the collar, "But no, you just had to be a fucking brat, huh? Fine, be one. I can work with that. Either way, you'll be put in your place soon enough."

Before you could comprehend what he was implying, he slashed the ropes that binded you to your chair with a combat knife and shoved you to the floor, your head throbbing as it hit concrete, along with the rest of your aching muscles. Vision blurred, you sat up and tried to make out what he was doing, falling back when he roughly grabbed your hair and shoved your head back down into the ground. Like an alarm, every single flight or fight response went off in your body and yet you couldn't figure out what he was trying, you just knew that this was something worse and that you were a fool to let your guard down for a single second.

A twisted smile broke across his lips, "You know, you have a very lovely voice. You sing the loveliest songs."

Your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face until you let out a yelp of pain when he pressed into your stomach, already bruised from previous matters. He let out a sigh that made you shudder and you felt bile creep up your throat, moving your face to the side in fear that you'd choke on it.

"Eyes. On. Me." He snapped, his voice sounding so much louder than it actually was, his hand twisting your jaw back to look up at him while his fingers proceeded to dig themselves into whatever spots got you hissing and squirming away. That's all it took for your resolve to break, the blaze in your eyes fizzling out and replace with genuine fear and utter shock as you watched him straddle you and stare with a piercing gaze that trapped you. It forced your attention to stay on him, daring you to look anywhere else but him when that was all you could focus on. Him.

You couldn't even scream, paralyzed when you heard the sound of metal clinking against metal and the brushing of fabric, raw horror setting itself alight in your bones at how he loomed over you. At that moment, you swore you could see the devil itself laughing, cackling, mocking you in his eyes.

It was like you were seven again.

Scared, cornered in your room because you swore, you swore and sobbed and cried that you saw it, a monster in your closet. A dark, shadowy figure that'd taunt you merely with its existence and prayed on your downfall, drinking the fat tears you spilled and listening to your high-pitched cries as if they were music, eyes that you couldn't see but they could see you.

Others tried to convince you that it wasn't real, opened the doors, and closed them again, showing that there was nothing but cleanly folded clothes and hung-up jackets lined neatly along a rack. Every time, you'd feel a little more silly about your fears but anxious that they'd come back for more.

At some point, you nearly forgot about the monster altogether. It ceased to exist in your closet, but never your mind.

"Damn it, what now?!"

Pulled back into the present, you heard muffled speech with loud, obtrusive noises and more screaming and cursing from the man above you. He was faced with the still-closed door, talking to a soldier behind it. Instead of trying to catch up with what happened, your mind raced to its defensive instincts. Finding the spoon dropped from earlier, you reached for it with a strained grunt which caught his attention. Yet with a swift grab and thrust of your hand, you jammed the blunt handle of the spoon into his throat and screamed at him, your vocal cords ripping in deliriously satisfying pain.

Barely giving him a second to let out a final gasp for air, you flipped him over underneath you and yanked the spoon out, blood erupting out of the gash. Fire ignited in your veins and you balled your fists, giving him a taste of the rage of a caged beast with nothing left to lose, just the desperation to survive for more. It was a symphony of grotesque crunches of bone and ligament, and you yelled, screamed, and cursed with each impact at him, at the entire organization, at a godless world for making you live through hell. A pitiful yet gruesomely satisfying attempt to reclaim what sanity and control you lost in that room.

Blood and flesh coated your fingers like warm syrup, and you were sure your knuckles were split. Crimson red was a good look on a sterile uniform, you thought to yourself. The sight of your work made you realize it wasn't the devil in his eyes was laughing at you, but rather its reflection from over your shoulder, still gleefully singing and squealing with delight as it watched you indulge in pure, unadulterated wrath. Its tail wrapped around your neck, strangling you with delirium and bloodthirst, guiding you in your ear as you beat an already dead man to a pulp.

Taking a stand, its whispers remained in your ear, praising you and yet you felt sick looking at what was left of what you had done, of what was left of the man's face. His blood pooled around his shoulders, mixing with the stew into an unholy concoction, evidence that was a testimony to your suffering and to your sin. Using his combat knife, you cut through the ropes around your wrists, skin scratched raw and bleeding. Without a second glance, you took his gun and left the room.

To this day, you tell yourself that you crawled out of hell that day.

"Any signs of the hostage?" Gaz shouted over comms, holding off a room of enemies alongside Price.

The moment they had all seen your fingers slip from the jeep and saw you tumble away that afternoon was the moment they knew they wouldn't be coming back to base for a long time. Roach had watched in despair as he was so damn close to grabbing your hand, swearing that had he'd been a little quicker, you wouldn't be here. Soap had yelled for Price to go back but Gaz and Ghost both knew his hand wasn't going to turn that wheel anytime soon. All of them knew. They couldn't turn back, and you wouldn't have wanted them to either, not unless the entire team and mission were to be jeopardized. However, that didn't stop them from doing whatever it takes to get you back safe again.

"Negative." Ghost answered over the line, standing with Soap in a hallway painted with the blood of the opposition, bodies scattered like lifeless bags of flesh with no greater purpose than to rot.

"I have eyes on them, they escaped from captivity. Currently pursuing them!" Roach responded. He'd seen your figure run down a hall at an alarming speed, and when he followed you, he had a glimpse of the room and the spectacle you left behind, "The leader is terminated, too. Jesus, can someone get over here?! They're gunning it for the west exit and I can barely keep up!"

You were in fact, bolting for the exits, panicking the more you got lost and running so fast that you probably could've broken a record on base. Distant gunfire and blasts snapped at your heels like a pack of dogs, reminding you that if you didn't keep running, you'd be dead, you'd be torn apart and beaten just like their leader and fed to the wolves. Boots trampled the ground behind you like drums of death, the yelling of men ringing in your ears, a requiem to the inevitable. Run, just run, it's all you could do in this frenzied state. If you didn't you'd be helpless, you'd be put down like a rabid fucking animal. Run, even if your bones shook from the pain, even if flames licked at your torn muscles, even if it meant dying of exhaustion because anything was better than dying at the hands of those animals.

At last, you found the light of an exit, finally an escape from this asylum. Your heart felt lighter when sunlight kissed your skin only to be weighed down by getting slammed into, grabbed into a relentless hold. You screeched, shrieked, snapped, and sneered while the voices seemed relieved, almost happy at your capture.

"Don't fucking touch me-!" You screamed with animosity, practically frothing at the mouth, "Don't fucking touch me I'll fucking kill you! I'll fucking—"

"Friendly, friendly!"

Still growling under your breath, confusion flickered over your eyes. Why did it sound like... like...

"Captain?"

"You're safe kid," Price panted, as if he'd been running to chase you. He was chasing you. In all your hysteria, you hadn't realized that the group had been running after you for past minute or so, trying to call for you, get you to slow down. The only thing that worked was to just grab to and hopefully knock some sense into you or knock you out. "It's just us, see?"

Your gaze softened, taking in the features of the man before you. Despite the crossfire and fighting, somehow he still had such a kind look on him, puppy eyes that pitied you and kept you grounded. Turning your head, you saw the rest of the men watching you in concern, all tired but overjoyed nonetheless that you were finally back.

You were safe.

It was like a weight finally lifted off your chest, a pile of restrained misery and relief washing over you, and you wept without a thought to pride. Price whispered your name in a way that felt so comfortingly familiar, tucking your head into his shoulder and letting you muffle your sobs into his uniform. It was painful to hear your wails, the relief and the instability shaking off of you in waves. A part of you expected to be scolded, to be teased for messing up so badly with a simple mistake as letting go of the jeep but they didn't.

"You're in good hands,"

"We've got them covered,"

"They can't hurt you anymore, love."

"Do you have any major injuries?" Gaz asked, but you couldn't say a thing, clinging onto Price's jacket and crying like you were four years old and found by your parents after getting lost. Slowly and gently, Price pulled you from him to examine you, and that's when he saw it. It didn't take long for the others to notice as well. Your clothes were torn and belt undone. While no physical harm was visible, knowing what happened was enough to make Price tick.

"Roach, get them to the car and give them some spares ASAP. Everyone else with me, we're cleaning out the place." Everyone else had the same dark look in their eyes, one that sent shivers down your spine but encouraged you once more you were secure now. While Roach escorted you away, you peeked back to see them disappear back into the building. After you changed in the car, you could hear the distant gunfire and screams, shutting your eyes closed tight, making an effort to drown out the thoughts.

"You okay?" Roach frowned. he had apologized to you a dozen times over on your way to the car and explained all that happened after you were taken, which you appreciated him for and insisted it wasn't his fault. But he was sweet and stubborn, bandaging your wounds and telling you he'd make it up by giving you his dessert for the next month, a gesture that made you smile for once in a while.

"Yeah, yeah just... hope they're safe." You breathed, sinking into your seat with the rest of your thoughts. Though you cried once more, quietly this time and on Roach's shoulder. He was cautious not to initiate too much physical contact, holding your hand only when you asked for it.

The building was silent, not a single soul left to be reaped by the 141. They all regrouped around a body that was beaten beyond belief, to the point where the face was unrecognizable. Regardless, they knew who it was.

Gaz broke the silence, "You think they did this?" They all looked at each other, not wanting to imagine what happened to lead to this point.

Ghost nodded, a confirmation of something they already knew but wanted to mutually agree on. "No one else could've made this much of a bloody mess. HQ's going to have a field day with this. Can't say that he didn't have it coming for him, though."

"And well deserved, too." Soap spat. Price continued to look down on the figure on the floor without any thought to it. Not anger, disappointment, or spite, just disregard. Headquarters would be interested to hear what happened, but he could care less about the report. All that mattered was that loose ends were tied.

Minutes later, the men all piled up in the car again, setting for the road back. You woke from your half-asleep state, rubbing your eyes. You were met with a soft smile from Soap, who ruffled your hair. "You alright there, sleepin' beauty?"

Humming in acknowledgment, you nodded and glanced out the window to see the road whizzing by, the building growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Some dingy warehouse. So that was the hellhole you were stuck in for a near week.

"Dinnae think 'bout it too much," He followed your gaze and nudged your boot with his, "When we said they can't hurt ye anymore, we meant it."

"Yeah," You quietly mumbled, leaning back on Roach, who had fallen asleep and leaned on Gaz for support. "Can smell it on you guys."

That got a rumbling laugh out of Soap and even a little headshake from Ghost who sat in the passenger seat. Looking at the rearview mirror, Price was looking right back at you, eyes flickering to the road occasionally, "Get some rest. It'll be a long ride home."

You nodded like a little kid with a mumbled "yessir" and drifted off once more. For the first time in forever, you feel like you can breathe and ground yourself, no punishment, no torture, nothing to haunt in this rare bit of calm. You didn't feel the pain of your sore muscles, you didn't feel that your body was filthy, you didn't feel small and scared, not anymore. Just surrounded by nothing but a familiar feeling of safety and lulled to sleep by the sound of the engine that took you home.

a/n pt.2: had a tough time writing this one but hey, I think I managed! to be honest, though, I'm not super confident about the ending and proofread this while half-asleep, but I'd love to hear some thoughts about it. shoutout to the people who noticed any reoccurring themes.

[inseobts]

Heyyy. Can I request a part two of "Luffy's sister" where she met then meet Sabo?

Luffy’s ‘sister’ pt.2

sabo x fem!reader

part 1

a/n: I tried to use the anime canon events so it could contain spoilers for these who didn't watch dressrosa arc yet! also I tried my best to explain that you're not their sister lmao

tags: dressrosa arc spoilers, sabo spoilers?, emotional reunion, memories, humor, slow burn (really really slow)

words count: 5.3k

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You’ve never been good at sneaking around.

But today, you’re a ghost... hood up, steps light, slipping past the guards with your heart pounding in your ears.

You weren’t trying to get involved. You just wanted to see Luffy. Make sure he’s okay. Make sure the plan hasn’t blown up in his face again.

You find a small side passage near the Colosseum’s underground tunnel. It leads to an open area behind the stands, away from the crowd’s eyes. You peek out carefully.

And there he is.

Luffy.

You exhale in relief, until you see what he’s doing.

He’s on top of someone, arms wrapped tightly around the man like he’s trying to crush him.

Your eyes widen.

“What the—?” you mutter, stepping out into the open “Luffy?! What are you doing?!”

He doesn’t even flinch.

You hurry closer, panic rising “Oi! Why are you fighting outside the arena?! Who is this?!”

You try to pry him off the stranger “Let him go! He can’t breathe—are you crying? What is happening?!”

Luffy stays stuck, unmoving, his grip unnaturally tight, rubbery and impossible to break.

You groan “Oh, come on. Of all times to use your stupid Devil Fruit…”

You plant your foot and yank again, finally pulling Luffy backward just enough that the other guy can breathe. Luffy’s arms stretch as you drag him off, his face still teary.

You stand up straight, panting “Jeez, dramatic much? Why are you even trying to kill someone like that...”

You don’t turn around yet. You’re too busy scolding him.

“Honestly, I thought you were here to blend in and keep a low profile, not body slam strangers underground. You’re gonna blow the whole—”

Luffy suddenly grabs your hand. His grip is warm and shaking.

“Y/N...” he says in the middle of his sobbing.

You blink.

“What?”

He doesn’t say anything.

He just pulls you toward the man behind you.

You turn slowly and freeze.

The man standing before you looks older than the boy you remember... taller, broader, his blond hair messier than ever. There’s a jagged scar running down the side of his face. His eyes are softer now, but familiar. Too familiar.

You stare.

Your mind tries to say it, but the name won’t come out.

Your body doesn’t move. You don’t speak. You just look at him, your expression unreadable. Nothing on your face gives you away. Not shock. Not anger. Not tears.

Just silence.

Luffy is quiet too. He watches both of you carefully, like he knows this is your moment.

The blond man steps closer, slowly, cautiously. His voice is calm, but low, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

“...I was hoping I’d find you too.”

He pauses.

Your hands hang limp at your sides.

He takes one more step “It’s me. It’s Sabo.”

Nothing.

A flicker passes through your eyes, but your face doesn’t move.

Sabo lowers his head a little, voice softer now “You probably thought I died.”

Still, you say nothing.

He almost smiles painfully “To be fair… I thought I did too.”

A wind moves through the tunnel. Quiet. Heavy.

You just stare.

No tears. No yelling. Just a stillness so sharp it makes Luffy shift uncomfortably behind you.

Sabo doesn’t push. He just stands there and waits.

The silence stretches.

Sabo is still standing there, a few feet from you, eyes steady and soft. He’s giving you time. Space. But your body feels frozen, like it hasn’t caught up with what your eyes are seeing.

He’s alive.

He’s real.

He’s right there.

But you can’t process it.

You blink slowly, once.

Then you turn… not to him, but to Luffy.

Your voice is quiet. Too calm.

“I’m going to wait outside.”

Luffy flinches a little “Huh? Wait—Y/N, don’t you wanna—?”

You’re already walking.

“I’ll be outside” you say again, not turning back.

You don’t look at Sabo. You don’t look at Luffy again either.

You just leave.

The tunnel bends, and the second you’re alone it hits you.

Your knees buckle.

You catch yourself against the wall, but it doesn’t matter. The sob breaks out of you like a punch to the gut. Then another. And another.

You slide down to the ground, hands trembling.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

And you said nothing, you just left.

The tears come fast, hot, quiet, unstoppable. You bury your face in your arms, biting your lip to keep the sound in. But your body shakes anyway. Your chest aches with everything you never got to say. Everything you buried.

You’re not even sure what hurts more, losing him before, or seeing him again now.

You don’t know how long you sit there but you don’t move. Not yet.

Footsteps echo down the tunnel.

You wipe your face quickly, trying to steady your breathing, but your eyes are still red. Your shoulders still shake.

You know that rhythm. You don’t look up.

“...Luffy.”

He crouches in front of you. Doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you with quiet eyes and a small frown, like he doesn’t know whether to pull you into a hug or sit silently until you ask.

Finally, he says, “He didn’t know you were gonna be here either.”

You flinch—but only slightly.

You look away “Don’t.”

He tilts his head “But—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He stays still.

You wipe your eyes again, harsh this time, like you’re trying to erase the weakness. You breathe in through your nose and push yourself up with stiff legs.

“We’re here for Ace’s fruit, for Doflamingo etc” you say, voice flat, like nothing just happened “That’s the priority.”

Luffy stares at you. You don’t meet his eyes.

“I get it,” he says softly, after a beat “But you don’t have to—”

“I do.” Your voice cracks just slightly “Because if I don’t focus on that, I’ll fall apart again.”

Luffy looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t. Instead, he just nods.

You finally glance at him, your expression calmer now, but your eyes still tired. Still swollen. You offer a shaky smile.

“Let’s finish what we came here for.”

The chaos has slowed for now.

You’re seated on a stone ledge just outside one of the old Dressrosa corridors, away from the crowd and the noise. Law is nearby, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. His eyes are half-lidded, but you know he’s alert. Always is.

You sit quietly for a while, the silence not awkward… just thick with things unspoken.

And then, like it sneaks out of your mouth before you can stop it, you ask “...What would you do, if years ago, you saw someone you love die right in front of you…”

Law’s eyes open just a little.

“…and then one day, out of nowhere, they show up alive. Like nothing happened. Like those years of grief didn’t even exist?”

He looks at you.

He knows exactly who you’re talking about. And you know exactly who he’s thinking of too.

Law doesn’t answer right away. He looks off to the side, like the wind carries memories he hasn’t let himself face in years.

Finally, he says, quietly “I would do nothing.”

Your chest tightens.

He shifts just a little, as if that confession cost him something “If he walked in front of me right now… I wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t move. I’d probably think it was a trick.”

You swallow hard.

“I don’t think there’s a right way to react,” Law adds, glancing at you now “Grief... changes the way you see the world. Coming back from it doesn’t happen in one moment. Not even if they return.”

You nod slowly. For the first time since seeing Sabo, something inside you… softens.

Maybe your silence wasn’t wrong.

Maybe your reaction was your answer.

You look down at your hands, voice barely above a whisper “Thank you.”

Law just hums quietly “Don’t thank me. Just give yourself time.”

The silence settles again after Law's last words. You're not crying anymore, just sitting there with your arms resting on your knees, the ache in your chest finally dulling.

Law glances at you sideways.

Then, deadpan as ever, he says “Are you sure you’re Luffy’s sister? You look… normal.”

You snort, caught off guard “Wow. Rude.”

He smirks, just barely.

You shake your head “I’m not his real sister, anyway.”

Law raises an eyebrow.

“When we were little,” you start, your voice softer now, “Luffy, Ace, and Sabo made this whole brotherhood pact thing. You know—swore on sake cups, made it official, the whole dramatic act.”

Law nods once, silently amused.

You roll your eyes a little “I wasn’t there when they did it. They didn’t invite me. Said it was a boy thing or something dumb like that.”

Law gives you a dry look “That tracks.”

You grin faintly “I was so mad. Didn’t speak to any of them for days. I even bit Luffy when he tried to apologize.”

Law’s eyes flicker “You bit him?”

“Hard,” you say proudly “But you know Luffy. He just kept showing up, acting like nothing happened. Then one day, out of nowhere, he tells someone I’m his sister. Said I was there when they made the promise, and I’ve just ‘forgotten.’”

Law blinks “He… rewrote history?”

“Loudly and convincingly,” you say with a laugh “Ace just ran with it. After a while, they both acted like I was part of that pact from the start. They even started getting mad at me when I didn’t call them my brothers.”

You exhale “ But Sabo never got the chance to go along with the lie.”

There’s a long pause “…I’m kind of glad.”

Law watches you closely now, sensing the shift in your tone.

You look away, your voice quieter.

“Because I don’t think I could’ve handled hearing my crush call me his little sister.”

That surprises a chuckle out of him, soft and sharp “Makes sense.”

You give him a sideways glance “What does?”

“Why you looked like you saw a ghost and got punched in the heart at the same time.”

You groan “I did not—”

“You absolutely did.”

You cover your face with both hands “Ugh. I hate this.”

Law, surprisingly, just says, “It’s fine.”

You peek at him through your fingers.

“It’s not like he called you his sister yet,” Law adds with a shrug “There’s still hope for your embarrassing feelings.”

You shove his shoulder but you're smiling now.

Dressrosa is a battlefield.

Buildings cracked in half, marines flooding the streets, chaos unfurling like smoke. But you’re already deep in it, your body flickering into flowing strips of fabric that twist and snap like whips. You stretch your torso around a collapsing wall, harden the strands like steel, and knock out three soldiers in one elegant motion.

“Always dramatic, aren’t you?”

The voice drops from above.

You roll your eyes before you even see him “You again.”

Sabo lands beside you, spinning his staff lazily “Don’t act like you’re not thrilled.”

“I was, until the part where you showed up.”

He grins “You used to be nicer.”

“No, you used to be less annoying.”

But your mouth twitches. You hate that it feels normal again, bickering with him like nothing happened. Like there weren’t years of silence and grief between you.

The fighting pulls you back into rhythm.

You move fast, wrapping a strand of your now-hardened fabric around a marine’s leg, yanking him off balance. Sabo intercepts another with his staff and a burst of flame. You duck under his arm as he swings, your body briefly unraveling into long sheets of cloth that snap back into place behind him.

“Still showing off” he mutters.

“You’re the one on fire.”

“Jealous?”

“You wish.”

Your fabric slams into the ground beside him, cracking the earth and knocking back a group of enemies. His flames chase the shockwave, torching the air in a clean arc.

You’re mid-battle, wrapping around enemies, flipping them off their feet. You're swift, focused, a total force.

But your damn hair won’t stay out of your face.

You keep blowing strands away, grumbling between punches “Stupid wind—stupid hair—get out of my face!”

Sabo’s voice cuts in from behind you “You never fixed that, huh?”

You glance over your shoulder “Fixed what?”

He ducks an enemy’s attack and then jerks his chin toward you “Your hair always did that when you fought. Thought you’d have learned by now.”

“Excuse you—my hair is a strategic distraction.”

Sabo laughs “You used to say that exact line.”

You freeze for a half second.

That tone. That smile.

Suddenly

Flashback You’re back in the woods. Same old gang, same old forest clearing. You’re younger. Sweaty, annoyed, trying to keep your hair tied back as the boys spar with sticks. It keeps falling into your face. You hiss under your breath, yanking it into a terrible knot. Sabo notices from across the clearing. Later that day, he shows up with a long, fraying strip of ugly, faded blue fabric. You frown “What is that?” He shrugs, trying to sound casual “Something to keep your hair out of your face.” “You made me something?” “Shut up. It’s not a big deal. I just don’t want you blaming your losses on bad hair.” You wear it every day for months. At the time, you thought it was just friendly teasing.

Now, mid-battle, back in the present, your hair still flying wild and his eyes still on you like he remembers every version of you, and you realize it wasn’t just a scarf.

He glances sideways at you, eyes warm “You really haven’t changed.”

You smirk “I upgrade. Learn the difference.”

When the final marine falls, you harden your leg into woven steel and deliver a clean spinning kick to finish it off.

Silence settles in.

You’re both standing in the middle of the ruined street, breathing hard. Sabo spins his staff once more and slides it onto his back.

You raise a hand, palm up “Not bad. I’ll give you a C-plus.”

He raises an eyebrow “C-plus?”

“C for ‘Could’ve-done-it-myself.’”

But you’re smiling genuinely, for the first time in a long time.

He laughs, then high-fives you without hesitation.

The contact is quick but his cheeks color the moment your hand slaps his.

You pause, blinking at him.

He’s still smiling, but it’s softer now. Maybe even shy.

Realizing what just happened, you quickly drop your hand and turn away, mood snapping back into place.

“Whatever,” you mutter “Let’s keep moving.”

But he doesn’t let the silence linger.

He steps up beside you, voice lower “We need to talk.”

You don’t look at him, but your answer is quiet. Solid.

“Later.”

He watches you for a moment, and for the first time today, he doesn’t feel like you’re slipping away again.

The little safehouse is quiet, tucked in the hills after the battle. Everyone’s exhausted. Robin pours tea, Franky’s patching his arm, and Usopp is dramatically recounting a battle no one asked about. Luffy’s already halfway through his third plate.

You’re leaning against the back wall, arms crossed, trying to ignore the way Sabo keeps stealing glances at you across the room.

It’s almost peaceful.

Then Usopp opens his mouth.

“So this is your brother, huh, Y/N?” he says, nodding toward Sabo with a big grin.

You whip around and punch him in the arm.

“NO.”

“OW—WHAT?!” Usopp yelps, clutching his arm “What’d I do?!”

Sabo blinks, genuinely confused “Wait… you’re not…?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples “I’m not their sister. I was never part of their little brotherhood pact.”

Luffy’s mouth is too full to answer, so he just grins guiltily.

Zoro raises an eyebrow “But Luffy keeps calling you his sister, you even introduced yourself that and told us you were in the pact.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, “Actually those three idiots didn’t want me in the original pact. I wasn’t ‘boyish enough’... I sulked for weeks.”

Sabo pauses, eyes widening a little “Wait… I was the only idiot. I asked them not to invite you.”

The room goes silent.

Your heart skips a beat “You what?”

“You… hated me that much?” you say, voice suddenly quieter, tinged with something raw “You didn’t want me to be part of your family?”

Sabo’s eyes go wide “What? No! I didn’t hate you. I… I told them not to invite you because…”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking incredibly awkward now, flustered, even.

“…because I had a crush on you. And I didn’t want my crush doing a brotherhood pact with me. That’s weird.”

You blink. Hard.

Flashback You’re all sitting around a fire after stealing food from the town again. Luffy’s asleep already, curled up like a cat. Ace is leaning back on his elbows, smirking. You’re messing with a broken dagger you found, cleaning the rust off with a cloth and not really part of the conversation. Sabo is beside you, stealing glances. Too many glances. Ace notices. Of course he does. He nudges Sabo with his elbow and whispers just loud enough, “You’re being obvious, lover boy.” Sabo nearly chokes on his bread “I’m not—shut up!” You look up “What are you two whispering about?” Ace grins “Nothing. Just telling Sabo he’s dreaming too big.” Sabo scowls “I said shut up!” You narrow your eyes “Why? What’d he say?” Ace just shrugs with that smug look “Told him you’re way out of his league.” Sabo turns even redder “AACE—” You freeze. Your hands go still on the dagger. “…You guys are mean,” you mutter, standing up quickly “Don’t joke like that.” Ace blinks, caught off guard “Hey, I was just—” But you’re already walking off into the woods, pretending your face isn’t hot. Pretending it doesn’t sting. You thought they were teasing you. Mocking you for daring to think you could be anything but “one of the boys”. That maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Strong enough. Good enough. You had no idea Sabo was blushing for a different reason entirely.

You realize Ace wasn’t being cruel that day.

Sabo wasn’t embarrassed for you, he was embarrassed because of you.

You didn’t mishear them.

You just didn’t believe it could be true “…Come again?”

He avoids your gaze “To make them go along with it, I promised Ace and Luffy that… uh… I’d make you their sister-in-law instead.”

The entire room freezes.

Sanji drops his cigarette. Nami almost chokes on her tea. Even Zoro raises both eyebrows.

Flashback You're running toward the clearing where Ace, Luffy, and Sabo are whispering, clearly plotting something. You’re grinning, excited to finally be part of one of their “important meetings”. “What’s going on? Did you find treasure? Are we stealing meat again? Count me in!” They go quiet. Ace gives Sabo a long look, and then sighs “It’s not about meat.” Luffy squints at you “It’s not for you.” Your smile falters “What?” Sabo hesitates “We’re… making a brotherhood pact.” You blink “So? I’m here too.” Ace rubs the back of his neck “It’s a brotherhood. You’re not a brother.” Luffy crosses his arms “Yeah. You’re not even tough enough.” That one stings. You ball your fists “I’m tougher than all of you!” They don’t answer. The silence says enough. You storm off, cheeks burning, not from rage, but from humiliation. After that you avoid them for days. Then weeks. You sleep in different spots. Train alone. Refuse to talk to them even when they try. They’re clearly lost. Ace tries bribing you with dumplings. Luffy leaves a weird drawing of the four of you fighting a sea king (you’re drawn tiny). None of it works. Sabo watches you with guilt in his eyes but never approaches. Until on morning, when you're sitting alone by the river, skimming stones and still furious. Sabo shows up, hands in his pockets. Doesn’t speak for a long time. He sits beside you, quiet again. He doesn’t bring up the brotherhood. Or the fight. Or the fact that you cried when no one was looking. Instead, he hands you something small. A rusty key on a string. “What’s this?” “It’s the key to my secret treasure chest.” You squint “What treasure?” “Can’t tell you. It’s a secret.” You narrow your eyes “How do I know there’s anything in it?” He shrugs “Guess you’ll have to find it someday.” You roll your eyes “Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Sabo smiles, just a little “It’s our promise. If you ever find it, you can keep everything inside.” “Even if it’s full of bugs?” “Then I’ll owe you a treasure better than anyone else’s.” You look at the key again, trying not to smile. You tie it around your neck without saying a word.

Sabo rubs his neck, looking like it physically hurts to admit “I didn’t want you calling me your brother. I had a crush on you. I couldn’t do that promise with you there. I panicked. I was a kid, okay?”

Silence again.

You stare at him, face slowly turning red “You WHAT?!”

Sabo’s ears are red now “It made sense at the time! I was nine!”

“WAIT A SECOND,” you shout, whirling around to Luffy “YOU KNEW?!”

Luffy keeps chewing “Mmhmm.”

“AND YOU DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING?!”

“I forgot!” he grins, crumbs flying “But yeah, Sabo said he’d marry you or something, so we didn’t let you be our brother.”

You bury your face in your hands.

Usopp whispers, stunned, “So… wait… you were engaged and didn’t know it?”

Franky slams the table “THAT’S SUPER!”

“Luffy,” you growl, still covering your face “We are having words later.”

Sabo scratches the back of his neck and finally, softly says, “So… does that mean I don’t need to avoid the conversation anymore?”

You peek through your fingers at him, expression unreadable.

“…Later.”

And Sabo smiles because this time, he knows you mean it.

The safehouse is still too quiet after Sabo’s confession. The crew is frozen in various degrees of “What did we just witness?”

You’re still trying to process the idea that Sabo, your childhood thorn in the side, your years-long ache, the boy you grieved, apparently planned on marrying you before he even learned how to write cursive properly.

Your face is burning.

He looks just as flustered, sitting stiffly like he doesn’t know if he should run or hide.

Then, of course, Luffy happens.

“Well then,” Luffy says through another mouthful of food “Why don’t you tell him you had a crush on him too? That way you’re even!”

Dead silence.

Your entire body freezes.

Sabo chokes on his tea.

You snap your head toward Luffy, eyes wide with sheer disbelief.

You walk over and punch him in the shoulder hard “Luffy, shut up!”

“Ow! What?! I’m just helping!” he whines.

“I don’t need help!”

Zoro smirks from the corner “You kinda do.”

You ignore him.

Your heart’s pounding in your ears, hands twitching with nervous energy, and you can feel Sabo’s eyes on you, uncertain, hopeful, soft.

So before anyone else can speak, you walk straight over to him, grab his wrist, and say, “Outside. Now.”

Sabo blinks, startled, but lets you pull him to the door.

Sanji whistles under his breath “Someone’s about to get a love confession or a fist in the face.”

“Or both” Nami mutters.

The door slams behind you.

The air outside is quieter. Cooler. Still buzzing with post-battle energy, but calm enough that your thoughts start to catch up with you.

You let go of his wrist.

He doesn’t speak yet.

Neither do you.

Until you finally turn around, arms crossed tight.

“You’re seriously telling me… all those years ago, you didn’t let me be your sworn sibling because you liked me?”

He runs a hand through his hair, chuckling nervously “It sounds dumb when you say it like that.”

“It is dumb.”

“…Yeah.”

Pause.

You stare at him “You meant it?”

He looks at you now.

Clear-eyed, warm, and with the kind of steady patience that says "I’ve waited years already... I can wait another minute".

“I did.”

Your voice is smaller now “So what now?”

Sabo steps closer, hands in his pockets, smile soft “Now… you can either say Luffy was right—”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“—or you can tell me to forget it all and we go back to awkward eye contact and pretending to fight about things that don’t matter.”

You hesitate.

Then you exhale “...I did have a crush on you. Back then.”

His expression shifts, something like awe and relief.

“And now?” he asks quietly.

You roll your eyes and glance away “...Still kinda mad at you.”

Sabo grins.

“So… I’ve got a chance?”

You finally smile, barely “Ask me again when Luffy isn’t listening.”

The sun has dipped low behind the hills, casting the small safehouse in a warm gold glow. Most of the crew has drifted into sleep or taken watch. The quiet hum of insects and the distant crash of waves fill the night.

You’re sitting on the back porch steps, watching the sky turn from orange to violet, your arms loosely wrapped around your knees. You know he's behind you before he speaks.

Sabo doesn’t ask if he can join you.

He just does.

You don’t look at him right away, but you don’t move away, either.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” you ask softly, “or were you just trying to be poetic in front of an audience?”

He chuckles lightly “I meant it. All of it.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s looking up at the sky now, the firelight from inside catching his features, older, worn, but still him. There’s a calm to him now, but it feels earned, not effortless.

“I wanted to tell you… what happened to me” he says.

You nod, settling in without interrupting.

“I don’t remember the shipwreck. Not really. Just flashes. Pain, water, fire. Then… nothing. I was with the Revolutionaries. Dragon found me. Saved me. They told me who I was, gave me a name, a life. But not my memories. Not really.”

His voice is low, steady.

“I kept having these dreams, though. Faces I didn’t recognize. A little boy with freckles. A loud kid with a hat. A girl with bright eyes who threw a sandal at my head once.”

You smile faintly.

“I didn’t know what they meant. Just that I woke up missing something. Missing someone.”

He finally turns to look at you.

“And then, when I saw that article about Ace… it all came back. Like someone cracked my chest open. Every memory. Every promise. Every dumb plan we made.”

You swallow hard.

“And I realized,” he continues, voice softer now, “that I missed you three all this time. But not in the same way.”

You glance over at him, and this time, your gaze lingers.

“I missed Ace like a brother. I missed Luffy like the idiot best friend he always was. But you…”

He breathes in, slow and steady.

“You were different. There was always something in my heart that felt too heavy, something that wouldn’t let me move on. And now I know why.”

Your pulse skips.

Sabo leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

“I’m glad I listened to that weight every time it slowed me down. Because now… I got a chance. With you. After all these years.”

Silence stretches between you, warm and electric.

You don’t speak right away. You just lean your shoulder into his, lightly, gently. No dramatics. No tears.

Just quiet understanding.

“…Good,” you murmur “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiles, slow and sure, and for the first time in years, that heavy part of his heart finally feels light.

Now Sabo preparing to leave. The chaos of Dressrosa is winding down, but the ache in your chest is ramping up.

Sabo is leaving...

Again...

You knew it would happen. You told yourself it wouldn’t hurt. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry.

But here you are, standing with the crew near the docks, arms stiff by your sides, lips pressed tight together, and that familiar burn rising in your throat.

Sabo is saying his goodbyes, quick, easy, all smiles and handshakes.

Then he turns to you and your eyes meet.

And something in you breaks.

Your breath hitches. Your eyes sting. And before you can stop it, before you can hide behind sarcasm or anger like usual, your face crumples.

The first tear falls before you even realize it.

Then another.

And another.

Until you're full-on crying in front of everyone.

You gasp softly and try to turn away, embarrassed, but it's too late. The damage is done.

Everyone freezes.

Even Luffy looks stunned, eyes wide with surprise “Y/N…?”

Sabo’s entire expression shifts, from shock, to concern, to something impossibly soft.

He steps forward and cups your face gently in both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, wiping the tears you can’t stop.

“Don’t cry,” he says quietly “I promise we’ll meet again soon.”

You sniff, voice catching “You said that last time…”

“I mean it this time,” he whispers “And I won’t let anyone, or anything, stop me from coming back to you.”

You lunge forward before you can think.

Your arms wrap around him tightly, fiercely, your first real hug since he came back, and it shakes with everything you couldn’t say until now. Your fingers clutch the back of his coat, and you don’t let go.

He hugs you back instantly, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

He leans down, lips near your ear.

“When I come back,” he murmurs, “we’ll go on our first date.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, arms tightening around him. You nod but you don’t look up.

You can’t. Not yet. Not when your chest still feels like it’s breaking.

But his heartbeat is solid against yours. His warmth is real.

And this time, his promise feels real too.

The crew is quiet after Sabo’s departure. Too quiet.

You’re sitting on the deck, knees pulled up to your chest, staring out at the waves. The salty wind brushes your face, cooling the sting left by tears you didn’t plan to shed.

You’re still hugging your arms around yourself, trying to feel normal again.

The crew watches you from a respectful distance.

Then they start moving in.

First is Sanji, with a tray.

“I brought snacks,” he says gently “And tea. It’s sweet.”

You take a sip. It is sweet... too sweet. You gag.

He immediately fumbles “Wait—okay—too much honey—I can make another—”

Then Chopper waddles up with a blanket.

“I brought something soft! It’s warm and smells like medicine!”

You blink “…Why does it smell like medicine?”

“Because it’s mine...” he says proudly.

You pat his head anyway.

Then Usopp sits beside you and, very seriously, says, “If it makes you feel better, I cried for two hours when my goldfish died.”

“…You had a goldfish?”

“…No.”

You blink.

And you burst out laughing.

It slips out of you like a hiccup, and suddenly your shoulders shake, not from sadness, but from the absurdity of your friends trying so hard to comfort you in the worst ways imaginable.

You’re still wiping your eyes when your gaze locks onto Luffy across the deck.

He’s crouched on a barrel, chewing meat, acting like nothing ever happened, and suddenly your laugh dies.

Your expression flattens into cold fury.

You stand slowly. The crew senses the change and clears a path as you stalk over.

“Luffy,” you say sweetly “You wanna explain to me why, for years, you insisted I was your sister but never once told me Sabo had a giant crush on me?”

Luffy blinks up at you, meat hanging from his mouth.

“…I forgot?”

“YOU FORGOT?!” you roar, grabbing him by the collar.

“I THOUGHT YOU LIKED ACE!” he shouts, flailing “I DIDN’T THINK YOU NEEDED TO KNOW YOU WERE BREAKING SABO'S HEART!”

Zoro, from the side “He kinda has a point.”

“STAY OUT OF THIS, MOSSHEAD!”

Usopp whistles low “There she goes. She’s back.”

You let Luffy go with a growl and storm off, cheeks burning, but this time, it’s not from tears.

It’s from the tiniest bit of hope starting to grow in your chest.

Because now… Sabo has a promise to keep.