#Hit it of king of hell style

[wonderlandwalker]

Hell Hath no Fury like a Buckley

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 / 𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x buckley!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.2k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: there's exactly two thoughts left in Steve's brain: you, and the fact that he's about to majorly violate the bro code 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: the usual I guess, hopeless pining, smut, mostly those, seems the only writing style I have is 'falls desperately deeply in love at first sight' and I'm not in the mood to psychoanalyse it so here's more of that

𝐚/𝐧: was gonna work on this more but I had to commemorate Pope Francis' morbidly entertaining demise somehow x

Steve Harrington was many things—

Former King of Hawkins High (retired, thank you very much). Babysitter extraordinaire (unofficial title, of course, but the kids would back him up). And, according to Robin Buckley—his best friend, partner-in-crime, and personal tormentor—a ‘walking disaster with good hair’.

But right now?

Right now, he was fucking mortified.

Okay.

Wait—

Let’s rewind.

Five minutes ago, life had been simple: Steve had been doing his best impression of a responsible lifeguard, which mostly meant leaning against the chair with his sunglasses perched low, pretending he wasn’t counting the minutes until his shift ended and he could stop caring about pH levels. The Hawkins community pool was the same as ever— the sharp tang of sunscreen and chlorine in the air, kids cannonballing into the deep end, and Debbie — the one lifeguard who actually gave a shit about the rules— blowing her whistle at some poor kid for running. Steve?

Steve was here for two reasons. One: free access to the pool after hours — unofficial, of course—courtesy of Keith’s lack of managerial oversight.  And two: A pay cheque that barely covers gas money but is still better than listening to his dad rant on to him about ‘loafing around all summer like a goddamn bum.’

And then— 

Then he saw you.

Which, okay, is not that unusual— people come to the pool all the time.  And it wasn’t that you stood out, not really. No, you were just— there. In a swimsuit like half the other girls, a loose cover-up tied around your hips, but fuck— As you stepped into the sunlight, it was like the universe had hit pause. You moved like a struck match in a room full of shadows—vivid, flickering, impossible to look away from. Everybody else blurred at the edges, cardboard cut-outs in your wake, but you? You burnt.

And Steve—God, Steve was already half in love with the way the light would destroy him. He knew the story. Knew how it ended. Orpheus wasn’t supposed to turn around. But you smiled at him, and suddenly he understood: some temptations aren’t meant to be resisted. They’re meant to unravel you, thread by thread, until you’re grateful for the ruin.

Oh, shit.

You were walking straight toward him.

Fuck.

Think, Harrington, think.

You looked familiar. Hawkins isn’t exactly a metropolis—if you’d gone to school here, he’d know you. Had you been at the summer fun fair? Sat behind him in chem sophomore year? Christ, this was bad. Steve—King Steve, who used to have the entire school catalogued in his peripheral vision—couldn’t even scrape together a fucking name. Maybe you were—

Your eyes met his—sharp enough to flay him open—and your smirk said you knew exactly how hard his brain was liquidating.

Double fuck.

You were smiling at him—Christ—that stagnant, astute curve of lips that already felt branded behind his eyelids, and he was staring. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Some distant, rational part of his intellect screamed at him: say something cool. Say something cool. 

Instead, all he could track was the way you tilted your head—that loose strand of hair escaping, catching sunlight like spun gold as it tumbled free. His fingers spasmed at his side with the sudden, visceral urge to reach out—to brush it back behind your ear with a touch too tender for whatever this was. The realisation made him feel violently stupid, like some second-rate rom-com hero about to monologue his feelings in the rain.

"Hey," you said, and your voice wrapped around him like smoke. Steve's pulse stuttered. "Have you seen Robin by any chance?"

The whiplash of it—the casual destruction of that moment—left his cerebrum sputtering like a dying engine.

Robin?

Why the hell were you asking about Robin?

Robin doesn’t have friends he didn’t know about. He is her best friend, which means he knows all her people—the band geeks, the weirdos from the record store, and even that one girl who could recite The Hobbit in Elvish. He’d met them all.

And yet, here you were, asking for her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you had the right to know her schedule. Like you—

His mouth moved faster than his brain. "She left to grab beers, like...five minutes ago."

"Figures," you hummed, rolling your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched—that tell-tale sign of years weathering Robin's particular brand of chaos. "She swore she'd meet me here, but I guess we're operating on Buckley Standard Time again."

Steve's thoughts screeched to a halt.

Buckley Standard Time.

That was—

No. That couldn't be right. Because that was his bit. Well, technically it was their bit — his and Robin’s— the joke he'd made after she'd shown up forty minutes late to their shift because she'd "gotten into a debate about whether hot dogs were sandwiches with some guy at the record store." 

He'd thought that was theirs. Just theirs.

But you knew it.

Which meant—

Oh shit.

Oh, no.

His stomach dropped like he’d just crested the first hill of a rollercoaster—that awful, weightless second before the plunge. Because there were only two kinds of people who knew Buckley Standard Time: him, and someone who’d known Robin longer than he had. And unless you were some kind of psychic super-stalker (which, given the way his heart was currently trying to break through his ribs, he might’ve honestly preferred), that left only one earth-shattering possibility.

His eyes flicked over your face again, searching for it—the resemblance. The same sharp wit tucked into the corner of your smile. The identical nose scrunch when you laughed. Christ, how had he missed it? He’d been too busy being dazzled, too busy cataloguing the way sunlight caught in your eyes, to notice the nuclear bomb of a truth staring him in the face.

“Y-you’re—” Steve cleared his throat, trying to wrestle his voice into something resembling casual indifference. It came out closer to a pubescent seagull. “You’re Robin’s…?”

“Twin.Yeah.” Your grin widened, head tilting in a way that should’ve had a government warning: Caution: May cause permanent heart palpitations.

Holy.

Shit.

He’d heard about you, of course—the mythical other half of Robin’s childhood stories, the shadow in the Polaroids stuffed in her wallet. He’d even known you were coming to town for the summer. But in his mind, he’d just pictured… Robin 2.0. Same chaos, different zip code. But meeting you in person was a different kind of disaster.

Not only were you Robin’s sister—fully, irrevocably off-limits by the Bro Code in every conceivable universe—but he’d just spent the past two minutes mentally drafting embarrassingly bad poetry about how your eyes reminded him of...something poetic (he hadn't gotten that far). 

And Robin?

Robin was going to murder him.

Slowly. Painfully. With that special look of disappointment she reserved exclusively for when he was being “particularly Harrington-ish”.

"Oh," he said, brilliantly. "Cool. That's—cool." The words hung in the air like particularly unimpressive confetti. You raised one eyebrow, clearly savouring the spectacle of smooth talking. Steve Harrington reduced to a floundering mess. "You okay there?"

"Yep. Great. Never better." His grip on the lifeguard chair tightened until the plastic creaked ominously. "Just, uh—didn't know Robin had a sister." Stupid. Stupidstupidstupid—

The moment the words left his mouth, your face twitched—part amusement, part genuine bewilderment. “Really?” For a second he wondered if he should just fucking bolt, but then your smile returned, and he forgot how his lungs worked. "I've been away at college," you explained, shifting your weight just enough to make the hem of your cover-up ride up, and Steve suddenly developed an intense fascination with the chlorine dispenser behind you, his ears burning crimson. "But I'm back for the summer, and Robin promised me pool privileges." You leaned in, dropping your voice to a conspiratorial whisper that sent shivers down his spine. "Apparently, you're the guy to sweet-talk for after-hours access."

Sweet-talk.

You wanted to sweet-talk him.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

His mouth opened, ready to blurt something catastrophically eager like, "You don't even need to sweet-talk me; I'd drain the pool and refill it with champagne if you asked," when—

"There you are!"

Robin materialised like some kind of vengeful angel, arms loaded with a six-pack and a half-eaten bag of chips. "I see you two already met." Her expression cycled from relief at spotting you to instant suspicion as her gaze darted between your amused smile and Steve's deer-in-headlights-meets-fish-out-of-water-meets-man-who-just-remembered-he-left-the-stove-on panic. "Why does Steve look like he's about to pass out?" She asked flatly, already exhausted. "Earth to Harrington. You good?" Robin waved a hand in front of his glazed-over eyes, then shot you a look. "This guy's supposed to save lives? Yeah, right."

Which brings us back to fucking mortified.

Robin doesn’t even wait for you to reach the car, having commandeered you on an urgent towel retrieval mission she absolutely (and suspiciously) couldn’t handle herself. One second Steve's watching you go, the next he's being manhandled behind the snack bar like a misbehaving golden retriever, Robin's fingers digging into his bicep like she’s trying to jump-start his malfunctioning brain through sheer force. "What the fuck is up with you?" She hisses, voice low enough that it bypasses his eardrums and vibrates directly in his panic centre. Her free hand gestures wildly toward the parking lot. "Why are you acting so weird?”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. His throat makes a noise like a dial-up modem trying to connect. "I wasn't—" Robin's eyes narrow into lethal slits. "You were." She releases his arm only to jab a finger against his sternum hard enough to leave a bruise. "The moment she walked in, you short-circuited so hard I could smell burning wiring. You called the pool ladder ‘ma’am’. Twice."

Steve’s pulse kicks into overdrive. “What? I was just—being nice.” He gestures vaguely at the pool, as if that explains anything. “I’m a nice guy, Robin. It’s a thing I do.” She scoffs, nostrils flaring. “Harrington, I’ve seen your ‘nice’. This wasn’t ‘nice’. This was—” She makes a frantic explosion motion with her hands, complete with a “pshooo!” sound effect. “—full-system meltdown ‘nice’. You were sweating.”

“It’s July,” he protests weakly.

“You never sweat.”

“I always sweat!”

“You once fought a demodog in a leather jacket and came out dewy at most.”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “That’s— that’s not—” But before he can dig his grave any deeper, you reappear, sauntering over with a smirk that spells nothing but trouble. “Everything alright over here?” Robin’s grip on his arm tightens like a warning. “Great!” she chirps, voice suddenly three octaves too high. “Steve was just telling me how thrilled he is to have another Buckley around.”

Steve’s smile is less��charming Harrington grin and more man awaiting execution. “Thrilled”, he croaks. “Yep. So. So thrilled.” Your grin widens at his words—slow, studious, dangerous. "Yeah?" You step closer, and Steve's heart launches into an Olympic-grade gymnastics routine—triple backflip, perfect landing, gold medal in catastrophic panic. "Because I was just thinking..." Your finger taps a thoughtful rhythm against your chin. "...about all that quality time we'll be sharing. Robin says you throw legendary parties."

Steve’s brain flatlines. Parties. Together. You. Him. Oh God.

Across from him, Robin’s gaze darts between the two of you, her expression morphing from suspicion to outright dread.

Steve's Adam's apple bobs like it's trying to flee his throat. She knows. Christ, she definitely knows. He has just enough coherent thought left to realise:

He is so spectacularly, catastrophically, irrevocably fucked.

He spends the rest of the week trying to avoid you. Trying being the key word here. The universe, it seems, has other plans.

Because you're everywhere—a constant, maddening presence burning at the edges of his vision like the ghost of a flashlight in the dark. He swears you're doing it on purpose, catching his eye just to watch him fumble, that sly smile playing at the corners of your lips every time his pulse stutters under your gaze. And God, does it stutter.

You’re at the impromptu movie night Nancy throws, wedged between Robin and Eddie on the couch, laughing as you recall some childhood disaster involving a stolen bike, a jar of peanut butter, and—if Robin’s dramatic interruptions are to be believed—a "very pissed-off raccoon with a personal vendetta."

"Way more traumatic than this," you declare, gesturing at the slasher flick on the screen where some poor extra is meeting their gory demise. Steve—who’s stranded in the armchair like some sombre, forgotten puppy—can’t manage to join in. Not when your laughter does things to his pulse that’s sure to send him into cardiac arrest any day now.

But then your knee brushes against Eddie’s as you lean forward to grab a handful of popcorn, and something hot and irrational coils in Steve’s gut. It’s stupid—Eddie’s just a friend, and it’s not like he has any claim over you—but the way your fingers linger near Eddie’s wrist for half a second too long makes Steve’s jaw clench.

Then there's the Hawkins High tailgate, where the lukewarm beer and golden-hour sunlight are the real stars of the show – not the Tigers' tragic losing streak. Steve leans against his BMW, nursing a drink and trying to convince himself that he’s here for school spirit— he’s lying. He’s so fucking obvious about it that Robin’s been giving him that look all afternoon—the one that says, ”I will skin you alive if you make this weird.”

And like his personal reckoning—you appear. One second, he’s staring blankly ahead, and the next, you’re sliding onto the hood of his car like you own it, all long legs and lazy smiles. The dying sun paints your skin in hues of amber and gold, catching on the delicate bend of your collarbone and the smooth plane of your thighs where your cut-off shorts ride up.

Christ.

He wants to map every inch of you with his mouth, starting at the delicate dip of your ankle—that vulnerable hollow where his lips could linger—then leisurely, torturously working his way up. Up the taut line of your calf, tracing the sensitive bend of your knee with his tongue. Higher still, along the trembling skin of your inner thigh, where his teeth might graze just to feel you shiver. An unhurried pilgrimage of worship, every gasp and hitch of your breath another sacred waypoint in his journey.

”Dude, you’re, like, actually drooling.” Dustin’s voice cuts through his increasingly inappropriate thoughts. Steve chokes on his drink, beer burning his sinuses as he wheezes, ”What? No, I’m not—!” But Dustin just raises his eyebrows, impervious. ”Uh-huh. Sure.” And then Robin’s there. ”So!” she chirps, stealing Steve’s beer right out of his hand. ”Who’s ready to watch our team get slaughtered?” You hum softly in your throat – a vibration Steve feels more than hears – as you tilt your head toward him. The calculated brush of your knee against his thigh burns through the denim between you, lingering just a second too long to be accidental. His breath catches when you don't pull away, your leg warm and insistent against his.

He’s so screwed.

Even as the midday sun is brutal at the Hawkins pool, he barely feels it—not when you’re walking toward his lifeguard chair with that look in your eyes —the mischievous Buckley spark.

You hold up the sunscreen bottle , tilting your head with a smile of practiced innocence. "Can you help me?" Before he can answer, you're already turning—presenting your back to him where the strings of your bikini top form a delicate, infuriating knot. "I can't reach," you add, voice dripping with false helplessness.

Steve's soul nearly leaves him: "I— You—Robin can—" "Robin's allergic to coconut oil," you lie effortlessly, glancing over your shoulder. The sunlight catches the curve of your shoulder blade, the flutter of your lashes. His mouth goes desert-dry. "And you are the lifeguard." You let the implication hang between you like the summer heat. "Isn't it your job to protect me?"

Fuck.

His hands tremble as he squeezes sunscreen onto his palms, the lotion warm from the sun. When his fingers finally make contact with your skin, you hum—soft, satisfied—and he swears you lean into his touch, just slightly. The sound goes straight to his gut, hot and insistent. His thumbs press into the dip of your spine, dragging sluggish circles that have no business being that deliberate. “You missed a spot,” you murmur, shifting just enough that his fingers brush the edge of your bikini tie. Steve’s breath comes ragged. This is torture.

And now? Now the bass from Tina’s stereo thrums through the floor, rattling Steve’s bones like a second heartbeat. The air is thick with sweat and cheap beer, the kind of chaos he usually lives for—except tonight, his entire world has narrowed down to you.

All evening, he’s been trapped in a loop of stolen glances and half-formed hopes, wondering if the way your eyes linger on him means something or if he’s just another fool drunk on wishful thinking. Is this real? Is this worth it? The questions gnaw at him, unanswered, even as he drains the last of his beer and sets the bottle down with a clink. And then, as if summoned by his desperation, you’re there. Emerging beside him like smoke, you lean into the wall, your shoulder pressing against his, and suddenly—the music, the crowd, the entire fucking room might as well not exist.

"Trying to hide from me, Harrington?" You taunt, tipping your drink to your lips. The bottle’s rim glistens under the dim light, and your mouth—pink, slow, meticulous—lingers there for a beat too long. It’s a calculated assault on what little composure he has left. His throat goes dry.

“Would it work if I were?” He shoots back, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. His voice is rougher than he intended, betraying the way his pulse jumps under his skin. You laugh, low and keen, before stepping into his space. Your palm lands on his chest, searing through the fabric of his shirt. “Probably not.” You admit, fingers crooking slightly—testing, teasing—and he knows you can feel the frantic hammering of his heart beneath your touch.

“You know,” you murmur, leaning in until your breath ghosts his jaw, “Robin talks about you all the time.” 

His breath hitches.

This is dangerous.

Your knee brushes his thigh, prudent and—holy shit—his thoughts dissolve into static. “But she never mentioned how cute you are when you’re flustered.” The words curl into his ear, sweet and lethal. He should say something clever, something smooth, but all he can manage is a shaky exhale as your fingers trail up to his collarbone, tracing the edge of his shirt. You’re close enough now that he can smell the jasmine of your perfume and the faint tang of gin on your tongue. Your hips tilting, just a fraction, and— “I wonder”, you whisper, lips grazing the shell of his ear, “what else I don’t know yet.”

Before he can respond—before he can even breathe—you’re leaning in, your nose almost brushing his. His hand lifts—to pull you closer? To push you away? —when—

"Oh my God."  

Robin’s voice shatters the moment as she stands there, arms crossed, looking done. “I leave you two alone for five minutes—”

Steve jerks back like he’s been burnt. "Robin! Hey! We were just—"

"—about to make my life a living hell?" 

Steve’s mouth snaps shut, his fingers flexing at his sides like he’s still debating whether to reach for you again, and his gaze flickers to your lips — just for a moment— before he forces a laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. The gesture does nothing to hide the flush creeping up his throat. “Come on,” he deflects, “We were just talking.”

Robin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Uh-huh. And 'talking' now involves you two looking like you’re about to re-enact Dirty Dancing in the middle of the living room?" Steve can feel your pulse kick where your thigh brushes against his, but you don’t back down. You’re clearly used to these sparring matches with Robin, a rhythm he doesn’t yet know the steps to, and he’s equal parts terrified and intrigued.

"Maybe you should’ve knocked," you shoot back, grinning wider when Robin’s jaw drops and Steve’s composure nosedives like a bird that just noticed the window isn’t open.

"Nope. No. Absolutely not." Robin jabs a finger between the two of you like she’s warding off evil. "I refuse to be the third wheel in whatever… this is." She spins toward the kitchen with enough dramatic flair to create wind resistance. "I'm getting another drink," she announces over her shoulder. "Or seven. Alone. Like the abandoned best friend in every fucking rom-com."

Steve takes a half-step forward. "Rob—"

"Save it, Dingus." She pauses, levelling you both with a glare that’s equal parts warning and surrender. "Ground rules," she announces, holding up a finger. "You—" The finger jabs at Steve's chest. “If you hurt my sister, I’ll give you a live demonstration of why The Texas Chainsaw Massacre wasn’t rated PG. Spoiler: It’s the bone saws.” Her finger swings to you, and Steve can practically hear your heartbeat kick into overdrive against his side. "And you—if you give him another existential crisis, I'm telling Mom you're the one who broke Grandma's urn and that you're the reason we had to get the couch steam-cleaned in '82."

Then she’s gone, swallowed by the noise of the party.

The silence between you is thick, charged. Steve exhales, slow and shaky, before turning back to you. The air crackles—Robin’s interruption only fanned the flames, and now it licks at his skin, relentless. His voice comes out rough, just this side of breaking: "She’s never gonna let me live this down." You bite your lip, stepping closer. The scent of your perfume coils around him, dizzying. "Then we might as well give her something real to complain about," you murmur, lips grazing the shell of his ear. His breath stutters when your fingers skate up his throat, nails scraping just barely over his stubble. A whimper claws its way out of him, raw and unbidden. "Christ. You’re killin’ me here." You grin, all teeth. "Good." Your thumb brushes the frantic pulse under his jaw. "We’ve got about twelve minutes until she storms back. Better make ‘em count."

This time, when you lean in, there’s no one to stop you, just the muffled clink of Robin angrily rearranging liquor bottles in the kitchen. Steve finally—fucking finally—learns what you taste like (gin and mint and something addicting), how your lips feel against his (softer than he imagined, but demanding, hungry), and how the dip of your waist fits under his palms like it was made for him. And Christ—the sound you make when he pulls you flush against him, a moan clawing its way up your throat, is enough to unravel him completely.

His brain, stuck on a loading screen for days, finally processes one coherent thought:

Fuck it.

Steve's hand fists in your hair, dragging you closer—Christ, not close enough—until your shared breath turns jagged. Just as he tilts his head to finally taste you properly, you pull back. His stomach plummets like a failed carnival ride. For one gut-twisting second, he's certain he's ruined it—misread the way your body arched against his, all heat and hunger, like you wanted to melt into his skin. Then your fingers lock around his wrist, nails biting just shy of pain, and the look you give him isn't hesitation—it's wildfire. "C'mere," you murmur, already walking down the hallway, tugging him along. Steve doesn't think; his body moves before his mind catches up, pulled by the magnetism of your touch.

The party dissolves into white noise—drowned out by the hammering rhythm of his pulse. Every passive draw of your thumb against his skin is a brand-new dare, burning straight through to his sternum. The hallway diminishes around you, lit only by a sputtering bulb that throws strobe-light shadows across your face. He doesn't miss the way your teeth sink into your lower lip as you glance at the bathroom door—or how your grip tightens like you're fighting the urge to sprint the last few steps.

Then you're shoving him inside, all impatient hands and shared momentum. The door clicks shut behind you with finality, sealing you both in the dark. Somewhere outside, a cheer goes up—maybe for the keg stand, maybe for the universe laughing at how thoroughly Steve Harrington is about to lose his goddamn mind.

The space is cramped, the air thick with the odour of soap and the lingering sweetness of someone’s perfume. The sink digs into his lower back, cold enough to make him hiss—but then your hands are on him, warm and demanding, and he forgets everything else. Forgets the way your thighs had tensed when he licked the salt off his hand before taking a shot. Forgets the way you’d watched his throat bob as he laughed at one of Robin’s jokes. Forgets the way you’d nearly choked on your own tongue when he’d rolled up his sleeves in the kitchen, forearms flexing as he scooped ice into a cup. The party’s bass thrums through the walls, a distant echo beneath the serrated sound of his own breathing and the slick noise of your mouth on his skin. Christ, he hopes the music’s loud enough to drown out the way you whimper when he sucks at your pulse point.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” you admit, voice low, and the crude honesty in it makes his throat go dry. Your fingers dig into his hips, pulling him closer. “All week”, you correct, and suddenly he’s replaying every glance, every brush of contact: the way you’d “tripped” into his side at the pool, how you’d lingered in his space after movie night, your knee pressed to his thigh for a full thirty minutes before Robin kicked you both off her couch. The memory of your breath on his neck when you’d leaned over his shoulder to steal a fry at the diner—had you always smelt this good?

Steve’s hands trail up your waist, thumbs carving possessive lines into that sliver of exposed skin where your shirt’s ridden up. “Yeah?” he rasps, voice wrecked—drunk on the way your breath hitches, on the way your ribs expand under his palms like you’re already starving for it. “Funny. I thought I was the one losing my damn mind.” You hum—a quiet, perceptive sound—before inching your lips along the column of his throat. He feels the vibration of it like a live wire down his spine, sparking at every vertebra. “Show me,” you murmur against his pulse, and the challenge in it sends his blood south so fast he gets lightheaded. It’s all the permission he needs.

One hand fists in your hair, wrenching your head back as he crashes into you. This kiss isn’t like before—no teasing, no hesitation—just heat and teeth and the slick, filthy slide of your tongue against his. He swallows your whimper when his other hand slips under your shirt, palm skimming the bare dip of your waist. Christ. The whimper you let out when his fingers dig into your hip isn’t just sound. It’s a bloody revelation.

Steve knows he’s on borrowed time. Robin’s sharp and observant—she’ll come looking sooner rather than later, and when she does, she’ll take one look at his flushed face and your swollen lips and know. The thought should sober him up, but right now? He doesn’t give a shit. All that matters is the way your nails bite into his shoulders, the way you gasp when he nips your lower lip, and the way your body fits against his like you were carved from the same damn stone. And when you roll your hips against his—slow, deliberate, maddening—his grip tightens, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to bruise. His voice is rough, wrecked, barely recognisable when he growls against your mouth: "This isn't exactly how I pictured our first time."

The words tear from Steve's throat, rough and wrecked—a confession to his sinful thoughts. The second they hit air, he freezes. Shit.

But you—Christ, you—just beam like you've won the lottery, dragging your teeth over his swollen bottom lip in a way that makes his knees threaten to buckle. "You pictured our first time?" Your voice drips with delight, thumb brushing the frantic pulse in his neck. Heat floods his cheeks, but you don't let him recover. You crash into him, kissing him so hard his back slams against the tiled wall. His hands move on pure instinct—lifting you onto the sink with a grunt, fingers skating up the soft underside of your thighs like he's memorising the map of you. When they dig in, kneading with a hunger that surprises even him, you moan directly into his mouth, and the sound goes straight to his dick.

You moan, and the sound tears something primal from his chest—a growl that rumbles against your lips, vibrating through you. "How about we save your ideal first time for later?" You murmur against him, biting his lip just hard enough to make him jerk against you. Your voice drops to a whisper, all heat and promise: "And focus on fucking my brains out in the next ten minutes?"

Steve's resolve doesn't just shatter—it disintegrates. Any pretence of patience evaporates as his hands find your waist, fingers pressing bruises into your hips that you'll savour tomorrow. His mouth crashes into yours again, but this time he's a man on a mission. He charts your skin like territory to be conquered—the sharp line of your jaw, the salt-slick column of your throat, the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his tongue. When he reaches the swell of your cleavage, you arch into him with a gasp that turns into a whine as his teeth scrape delicate skin. Your fingers are already working at his belt, tugging with impatient urgency.

"Steve—"

"Fuck," he rasps, pulling back just enough to watch your face. "You sound even better than I imagined." And Christ, he has imagined this—in the shower, trying to relieve the ache with his hand, in his bed with the sheets tangled around his thighs, in the fucking Family Video break room when you'd leaned too close to reach a tape. Every fantasy pales in comparison to the reality of your nails digging into his hips as he shoves his jeans down just enough to free himself. Your hand wraps around him in one smooth motion, and for one blinding second, the world narrows to the slick heat of your fingers, the way your thumb swipes over the head just to watch his abs clench.

If this is heaven, he'll sign his own damn death warrant.

But then—then—you spin him around with surprising strength, dropping to your knees on the bath mat. The cool tile bites into his palms as he braces against the sink, but all he can focus on is the way your breath ghosts over him, the way your eyes lock onto his as your tongue—

Jesus.

Fucking.

Christ.

His vision fractures at the edges, tunnelling until the universe condenses to three points: the wicked curve of your lips, the flutter of your lashes against your skin, and the sinful press of your tongue where he needs it most. For one suspended, blasphemous moment, Steve's convinced Robin actually killed him—because there's no earthly way this is real: your mouth sinking onto him like you've been starving for it, hot and wet and perfect, swallowing him down to the hilt with a vibration that travels straight to his fucking spine. The sound you make—a muffled, content hum around him as he hits the back of your throat—sends a full-body shudder through him.

Holy mother of God.

He knows better than to look. He knows he shouldn’t—but he does anyway, helpless as a marionette with its strings cut—

Big mistake.

Because now he's watching, really watching, as your lips stretch obscenely around him, as your throat works to take him deeper. Your eyes lock onto his, crinkled at the corners with vicious amusement as you take him deeper, and shit, suddenly he’s sixteen again, stumbling across his first Playboy, heart racing and palms sweating. Except now it’s your mouth, your knowing gaze scalding him hotter than July asphalt as you savour every choked noise he can’t suppress. He should say something, should at least try to form words, but all his head does is thud back again. That look alone—like you’re cataloguing his every twitch and heave—threatens to spill him into your throat right fucking now. If he doesn’t—

A burst of laughter ricochets down the hall, sudden and too close. Your fingers tighten reflexively around the base of him, nails grazing the sensitive skin there, and Steve’s entire body tenses like a bowstring drawn too tight, but his hips jerk forward before he can stop them, dragging a ragged groan from him.

“Fuck—we have to be quiet,” he rasps, but you just smirk around him, all devilish intent, dragging your tongue along his underside in a measured, filthy stripe that makes his vision blur at the edges. His legs actually cave in; he has to brace a forearm against the wall to stay upright.

It’s agony.

It’s ecstasy.

Then your eyes flutter shut, and the soft, satisfied hum you let out vibrates through him straight to his spine. His fingers fist in your hair—gentle, got to be gentle—but his hips jerk of their own accord, chasing the sinful heat of your mouth like it’s his only chance at salvation. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he chokes, voice shredded. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.” And he means it. Because if this is what you do to him in some shitty bathroom, with Robin and half the party just beyond the door—Then what happens when he gets you alone? His mind whites out, fever-bright with the images: Pinning you against the first available surface—his bed, his car, the fucking kitchen counter—anything to finally take what you’ve been tormenting him with. Peeling you out of your clothes with agonising slowness, just to hear you whine and beg for his name. His mouth on every patch of skin he’s watched you expose all summer—the dip of your collarbone, the inside of your thighs, that spot behind your ear that makes you gasp when he accidentally brushes it. The way you’d clench around him when he finally sinks in, tight and desperate after an eternity of stolen glances. The filth he’d whisper in your ear: “Knew you’d take me so fucking good.”

“Christ,” he grits out, hips stuttering as you swallow him deeper. His knuckles tensing against the sink. “You’re so fucking—”

A sharp knock at the door interrupts him.

“Hey, dipshits!” Robin’s voice slices through the haze, sharp with accusation. "You better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there."

Steve’s head thunks back against the wall. Goddamn it.

His entire body locks up, every muscle pulled taut between the mind-numbing pleasure of your mouth and the very real possibility of Robin kicking the door in. His fingers twist tighter in your hair—not to stop you, never to stop you, but because if he doesn’t anchor to something, he might genuinely combust. The bathroom light flickers overhead, casting shadows against your cheeks as you glance up at him, and—fuck—he’s never seen anything more obscene.

"Shit," he hisses, voice shredded. "Fuck, fuck—" The litany spills from him like a prayer, like a curse, like heresy. You pull off just enough to smirk up at him, lips slick and swollen, and the sight alone nearly undoes him. "We should stop," you murmur—liar, fucking liar—your breath scorching his skin. Your tongue grazes his tip as you speak, and Steve sees actual stars. He groans, low and wounded, but his thumb trails over your bottom lip anyway, smearing spit as he claims the wetness there. "Yeah. Yeah, we—" Another knock, louder this time, rattling the doorframe.

"I swear to God, Harrington," Robin’s voice cuts through the wood, "if you’re defiling my sister in there, I’m replacing your hairspray with Nair."

You pull back just enough to make him ache, and Steve’s breath hisses through his teeth—sharp, frustrated, barely holding back something far filthier. His hands twitch at your waist like he’s debating dragging you right back, but all he does is adjust himself with a rough groan, his jeans straining. When his gaze locks onto yours, it’s wildfire in the dark, pupils swallowing every last bit of reason. "This isn’t over." The words scrape out of him like a match strike, sulfur-sharp and spark-ready.

A smirk curls your lips as you stand, lips grazing the stubble along his jaw. The shudder it pulls from him is downright criminal.

"Better not be," you murmur against his skin, your tongue swiping the sting from his skin, sweet as poisoned candy. "Or I’ll finish what you started on my own—and trust me, you’ll lie awake trying and failing to picture it half as vividly as it’ll sound."

Steve’s breath catches. "Christ," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. He’s half-hard, wholly ruined, and absolutely fucked when you step back, looking far too innocent for someone who just had their mouth on—

The door flies open under Robin’s impatient fist. Steve barely has time to yank it wider before she’s glaring up at him, arms crossed. But Steve only has one thought consuming him:

Later.

[pt. II]

[cuteandhughesy]

The Great War ╰┈➤ JH86

summary: during a friends getaway to the hughes lake house, you are faced with the ongoing struggle of trying to get along with the middle hughes brother. the 3 times you were sure you and jack hated each other + the 2 times you aren’t so sure.

[word count] 11.7k

warnings: NSFW! enemies to lovers | rude!jack | alcohol | suggestive themes | smut | kissing | fingering | read at your own discretion.

🎵 the great war by taylor swift, right here by chase atlantic, sunsetz by cigarettes after sex, the way I loved you by taylor swift, golden by harry styles, set yourself on fire by ruel + love is a wild thing by kacey musgraves

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

one: the drive

"It's too early." ashley’s voice is an exhausted whine, and you look over just as she dramatically drops her forehead to the purple suitcase sitting infront of her.

you roll your eyes gently, very much used to your best friends distaste in early morning conversations and wake up times. you can’t say you’re the biggest fan of waiting on the grand stairs outside luke and jack hughes’ apartment building at 8 a.m., but the reasoning for the early wake up call was one that you were a fan of.

you met luke hughes in your shared freshman year at the university of michigan, and you had both hit it off instantly - becoming quick friends. since then, you and your friend ashley had always been invited to spend a week of summer vacation at the hughes’ michigan lake house and every year, without fail, you’d all get together and drive up.

ashley groans again, and the sound has you breathing out in a quiet laughter. your fingers drum against the smooth stone steps beneath you, your head lolling over to look at her properly. “it’s only 8, ash “

the brunette throws her head backwards, an even louder noise of displeasure leaving her small body. “yeah, way too early.” she stretches out her tan legs, nudging the suitcase out of the way with a painted toenail. ashley rolls her shoulder a few times and huffs obnoxiously. “what the hell is taking them so long?”

you frown, “I’m not sure. luke said they were on their way down a few minutes ago.” you glance over your shoulder and in the direction of the grand apartment doors behind you, trying to catch a glance of luke or anybody else you know. "maybe-"

"hello ladies" trevor zegras pushes open the doors, sauntering out from the apartment complex and over towards you and ashley. he’s sporting his usual sneaky grin, and there’s an expensive pair of black sunglasses covering his bright eyes - you couldn’t see his eyes, but you knew they were crinkled at the corners as he continued to grin.

just like ducks, the rest of the group follows trevor, making their way towards the three of you from the entrance of the building. you recognize pretty much everyone, saved from a face towards the back of your friend group that you’re unfamiliar with.

trevor pulls you get up, one of his strong arms effortlessly bringing you to your feet from where you previously lounged on the ground. you see alex tourcette help ashley up beside you, the kings forward narrowly missing tripping over the suitcase ashley had pushed away earlier.

beatrice, luke’s girlfriend is breathing a heavy, trying to catch her breath as she stands with her hands held firmly against her hips. she gives trevor a stink eye, wetting her dry lips. “trevor we told you not to run.”

“where’s the fun in that?” trevor laughs unashamed. immediately his exterior had you smiling, the sour attitude from the early morning long forgotten as you listen to quinn and trevor begin to bicker.

like you and ashley, trevor was another honorary hughes lake house member and was always bringing the lighthearted fun to your vacation week - ever since you met him, trevor has always been one of your favourite people.

“why you were so excited to get out here is a mystery to me dude, not like there’s anyone worth while out here.” for the first time, jack makes his presence known but not without the cruel comment which you knew he was directing at you.

you roll your eyes, typical. you and jack, for lack of a better word, despised one another. ever since luke introduced you to his superstar brother, you did not like him. maybe it was his sour attitude or the fact he always seemed like he couldn’t care less about you or anything you said - you’re not sure why. all you’re sure of is the strong feeling of needing to rip his head off and how it’s growing stronger everytime you have to spend time near him.

"i'm in vacation mode dude," trevor chuckles.

"same here!" an unfamiliar female laugh follows the preach, and it quickly has your attention. she's like ridiculously beautiful - the kind of beautiful that you're not even jealous of but instead you're just amazed by. the girl stands confidently beside jack, her blonde hair tied back into a low bun and her simple gold jewelry catches the sun so it looks likes she's glowing.

beatrice says something along the lines of feeling excited about wearing her new bathing suit, but you're too distracted by the mystery's girls sweet laugh, perfect teeth....and the way jack just seemed so enamoured by her. you watch as he looks down at her softly, his tongue wetting his plump bottom lip as he does. you've never physically seen jack look so kindly at someone, and the feeling is a bit foreign - weighing oddly on your chest.

quinn claps his hands together, and the sound has you blinking hard, quickly looking away from the middle hughes brother and the mystery model and finding quinn - who's clap affectively grabbed the attention of the large group. "Okay, less cars the better - i'm thinking two vehicles max. who's up for driving?"

"my cars here," beatrice smiles gently, her delicate hand raising as she gathers the attention. jack follows suit, telling everyone he filled his trucks tank the day prior and was ready for the hour drive up to the lake house.

at that, trevor immediately makes a b-line for the truck, which coincidentally was parked towards the front of the gated parking unit. "let's get going!" he tosses his bag into the open trunk just as it begins to open, because yes jack of course has one of those fancy vehicles that's trunks open with a push of a button.

you watch as ashley is whisked away by beatrice, the chatty brunette already talking about the things she had planned for the three of you to do while you were at the lake house. you just catch the end of beatrice mentioning a hiking trail before the sound of rolling wheels on the suitcases overpower the conversation .

just as you make a move towards beatrice's mini car, already praying that you'll fit between the ridiculous amount of luggage, luke rushes past you, tucking himself behind the driver's seat just as beatrice and ashley get in the front.

you slow in your steps, a gentle frown taking over your face. you analyze the remaining seat, thinking of ways to move around the luggage and bags to make room for yourself - but your thoughts are halted as alex jumps into the car, effortlessly moving around the suitcase so he can sit comfortably behind the passenger seat.

you sigh, hands falling to your sides. "seriously guys?" the only one that seems to hear you is luke, the other three already arguing loudly over what songs to play and who exactly gets aux cord privileges.

luke shrugs his shoulders stiffly and shoots you an apologetic smile. "cars full."

you run a warm hand through your unbrushed hair - forgetting to comb so early in the day - and you readjust your black duffel bag along your exposed shoulder. "luke, I swear to god if you don't let me sit in your spot-"

"what? why should I move?" he counters, brows raised comically as he looks up at you.

you take a step closer to the jam packed cooper, crossing your arms unimpressed over your tank top covered chest. it feels a bit awkward with the bag weighing down your shoulder, practically rubbing your shoulder raw - but you don't care. "bea and ash - they're my friends."

he laughs, "bea is my girlfriend."

just as you go to further your point, ready to tell luke that there was no possible way you could ride in the other vehicle, the sound of a rumbling engine gets louder, signalling that the truck had come to a halt behind your back.

you feel yourself physically deflate but somehow you also feel like you're frozen. you knew what this whole car situation means, especially with luke being his usual stubborn self and refusing to offer you his spot (you'll definitely get him back for that later). with no other options, you'll have to ride in jack's truck.

the all too familiar voice of the middle hughes brother calls out to your turned back, a taunting undertone to his words that just make you want to get swallowed up by the ground and not go anywhere. "you need a ride?"

suddenly, the bustling chatter and laughter from beatrice's car comes to a halt, the three previously noisy passengers all going silent as their eyes all find you.

awkwardly, you turn around and your eyes connect with jack's past trevor's completely oblivious smile - scrolling leisurely on his phone. jack was leaning over the center console of his truck, his weight resting on his elbow as he looks at you through the passenger window.

you give beatrice's car one last look of defeat - to which ashley, finally realizing your predicament, shoots you a sympathetic look, and her smile is a mixture of guilt and sadness for you.

with a huff, you look back towards the truck and send a forced, borderline sarcastic, smile in jack's direction. "obviously." you grit through your clenched teeth, taking the two steps towards the truck and hastily pulling open the door.

jack's lips slink upwards into a smirk at your words, watching you gently as you clamber over quinn's large outstretched legs to get to the middle seat.

once you're comfortable (as comfortable as you can be in a confined space with jack hughes), the truck begins to move, jack pulling out of the gated apartment complex and onto the street.

10 minutes into the drive and you were still feeling pretty on edge. the vibes in the truck were anything short of awkward - to say the least. you could tell quinn was waiting and anticipating for you and jack to start bickering - his shoulder tense against yours. anytime jack said anything to trevor or sydney (the beautiful model that jack had brought along - who introduced herself as soon as jack pulled onto the freeway) , quinn would hold his breath, waiting for an argument to start.

sydney's sweet voice pulls you from your head, eyeing you brightly. "so, y/n, how do you know luke?"

you smile, "we got close at uni - my good friend used to hookup with one of his friends so we'd all hangout at their place."

"now we can't get rid of her." quinn's elbow hits your ribs teasingly, letting you know he was only joking.

sydney hums lightly, "and are you still in school?"

you nod in conformation. unlike luke, you weren't a nhl superstar who's time in college was cut short - you still had a year left of schooling and gymnastic training at michigan.

"and I think jack mentioned you do gymnastics, are you wanting to persue that?" sydney eyes you curiously, knawing her lip intuitively as she waits for a response.

immediately though, your brows pull together as you try and work out why jack would mention you at all. you clear your throat, unable to think of a reason why. "that's definitely the goal, hopefully i’m good enough."

trevor laughs, eyeing you over the high shoulder of the trucks seat. his eyes are blown wide, and he's looking at you with an expression mixed of disbelief and amusement at your words. "you're definitely good enough - hell anytime i've seen you compete i've been left in pure astonishment."

you smile, head dipping slightly as you turn red from the praise. you can be really hard on yourself when it comes to your athletics, so hearing other people compliment your hard work is always nice and you can't help but blush.

jack clears his throat gently, shuffling forward in his seat. it gatherers your attention, and your eyes meet his deep blue ones in the rearview mirror. they flicker away shortly after, focusing back on the highway. "so, y/n." jack begins, eyes finding your gaze in the mirror once again.

beside you, quinn deflates as he mumbles to himself. trevor groans in exhaustion, already covering his face to save himself from witnessing any possible argument that could occur.

jack looks at you over his shoulder, eyes darting over your frame quickly.

on your other side, sydney is clearly unaware of the tension growing between you and jack, and she pushes against his shoulder gently. "hey, eyes on the road, jack. I don't wanna die."

jack did what sydney asked and turns back towards the road to divert the breakage of traffic laws - but the odd look he's been sporting didn't fall from his lips. "how's it going with ethan? luke hasn't mentioned you two in awhile."

your face falls. you can't tell if you're going to start sobbing uncontrollably or if you're going reach out and strangle jack until he passes out. you knew for a fact that jack knew you and ethan had broken up, because luke told him only a few days ago (and luke told you he told his two oldest brothers to help you avoid any akward conversations).

but this is typical jack, you think. trevor had complemented you, which had you visibly joyful, and jack seemed like he wanted nothing but the opposite for you. he's seen you happy so now he planned to ruin your mood by bringing up your freshly new ex-boyfriend.

"dude.." trevor whispers in disbelief, side eyeing his friend.

"jack-" quinn starts, brows furrowed uncomfortably.

"you know we broke up." you tell him roughly. you hope to catch his eyes in the mirror again, wanting to desperately have some fucking eye contact while jack insists on bringing you down once again- but he keeps his gaze on the road. "and you know that because luke told you about what happened."

"I forgot," jack practically scoffs, and one of his hands shoots up in defence. "no need to get all worked up over it."

you huff, "and there's no need for you to be a complete asshole."

"how was I being an asshole?" he laughs out, his fingers flexing on the edge of the steering wheel as the truck shifts lanes. "i'm just asking about your life."

"no," you correct roughly, "you were trying to get a rise out of me and congratulations jack, it worked and now i'm annoyed." you spit unpleasantly. your palms are starting to become wet with sweat, and your body feels like it's on fire. you always felt that heat when you and jack argued - he just always gets you so worked up and unfortunately, he's way too good at doing it.

"i'm not responsible for how you react to my words, y/n."

"is this taylor swift?" trevor's loud words cut off any further conversation brewing between you and jack. he turns up the volume in the truck so that's it's borderline deafening, a clear indicator that he was sick of hearing you both bicker at one another.

your arms cross over your chest stubbornly and finally, you look away from the reflective rearview mirror - eyes finding the carpeted floor of the truck. you miss the look jack sends you though, an unidentifiable expression on his face.

trevor starts to belt out the chorus of you belong with me - sidney and even quinn joining in on the impromptu karaoke session. but you ignore it...all of it. you ignored how jack brought a stranger to the cabin (a very sweet stranger - but still), ignored how jack has already picked a fight with you and humiliated you, and ignored how you'd have to spend a whole vacation with jack on top of it all.

you're feeling a little frustrated in yourself as well. you were so sick of taking his obvious bait, and allowing yourself to get so worked up over him. from now on, you're going to try your best to bite your tongue and stay quiet in his presence.

"hey, y/n, wanna shoot a text to bea and tell them we're only 20 minutes away." trevor's words have you already feeling better and pulls you out of your own self inflicted misery. the other passengers beside you begin to cheer in excitement, and quinn bumps his shoulder against yours knowingly - which has you breaking into a grin.

through the surge of excitement, you can't help but let your eyes wander back towards the driver's seat - instinctively landing on jack. he looks so happy, his teeth practically sparkling in the summer sun as he giggles at something trevor says.

his hair has grown since the season came to a disappointing end, giving jack that care-free, messy look you always thought suited him best. you squint questionably, wondering how he could be so happy and unbothered after your mini fight - did he not even feel guilty that he'd upset you?

you look away, past quinn's firm chest and out the truck window - watching the bustling city highways and buildings turn into beautiful lakeside streets and summer homes.

you're now really looking forward to lounging by the lake and doing nothing for a few days - planning on being the bigger person and acting civil for the remainder of the vacation.

screw jack and his stupid truck.

two: the boat

it was early morning before you saw anybody, besides ashley, again. after your rather draining car ride, you weren't feeling up to mingling or barbecuing with anybody, so after some lame excuse of feeling sick, you sulked to yourself in bed for the remainder of the day.

jack had rolled his eyes and huffed loudly as you made your way up the stairs, but you didn't stop or make a comment - you ignored him and kept going. after all, you'd had enough jack for the day.

you quietly make your way into the kitchen, bare feet padding against the hardwood floor as you round the corner.

trevor is already in there, slowly spreading some butter on a borderline burnt bagel half. he looks up, and his eyes widen in suprise at the sight of you. he licks some butter of his thumb, and then wipes it against his bare chest. "shit, wasn't expecting you."

you move around him and open the fridge. your eyes quickly scan over the options before you decide on orange juice, grabbing the full carton and bringing it towards the kitchen island. "forget I was here already?" you tease once you retrieved a glass and begin to pour yourself some juice., shooting him a look.

"could never forget you." trevor smiles, taking an extremely large bite out of his bagel so that butter smears over his dimples.

you laugh before taking a sip from your glass, letting the citrus juice slide over your teeth and down your throat - clashing with the toothpaste left over in your mouth. regardless, it's still enjoyable and you hum in satisfaction.

trevor eyes you, "how can you drink that shit?" he's laughing slightly, but his lips are tugged into a frown of displeasure. "apple juice is way better."

"it's not," you scoff gently, eyes twinkling with amusement.

he nods, "it is. nobody here drinks that shit but you."

you frown gently, "really? nobody else likes orange juice?" trevor shakes his head no, taking another bite and poppy seeds go everywhere. you hum questionably, "why did they buy it then?"

"who knows," trevor shrugs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "ask quinn and jack - they went out shopping last night."

behind you, footsteps come bounding around the corner and into the kitchen. you glance towards the entry way just as jack walks in - he doesn't look up at first, too engrossed on his phone. like trevor, jack was also shirtless but instead of wearing pyjama bottoms like the anaheim ducks forward, he had on his bathing suit - a towel thrown over his shoulder.

he looks up from his phone and over at trevor, "quinn and I were thinking of heading out on the boat for a bit - bring some floaties and shit. you in?"

trevor lights up, dusting his hands free of any buttery bagel residue, "yeah man, let me get changed."

jack moves further into the kitchen, eyeing you and your cup of orange juice silently before moving past your body and opening one of the cupboards behind you.

silently, you roll your eyes at his typical rude behaviour. he didn't like you, that much was obvious, you weren't expecting him to ask you to join them on the boat anything- but could he not even greet you.

trevor turns back towards your direction, his brows raised questionably. "y/n, you coming?"

behind you, you can hear jack busing himself, but you knew he wasn't actually doing anything - he was subtly waiting to hear your answer to trevor's question.

so much was certain - you knew jack didn't want you there.

“sure,” you smile is exaggerated, and you can only hope jack is watching it with irritation. "I'll lay out and tan."

trevor grins, although his eyes widen in something that looks like fear at your wide smile. he pats the door frame twice, mumbling something about pennywise as he walks off.

as soon as he is out of sight, jack sighs. “of course.” his words are very quiet, but you knew he had no intent of keeping his words to himself - he wanted you to hear.

initially, you ignore him - working on finishing the banana you’d begin to peel when jack first walked into the kitchen.

jack sighs again - louder this time and you can practically hear his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

you huff, spinning around slowly so that’s you’re facing the second oldest hughes. resting your hip against the edge of the granite counter top, you eye him - gaze full of question as well as knowing. “spit it out.”

his expression turns smug like he knew he could break you - and that just has your blood coming to a boil. you stay composed though, focusing your surge of anger on the chews of mushy fruit in between your teeth.

jack rests the heels of his palms against the opposite counter top - near the sink across from the island . he leans back, eyeing you with an almost teasing glimmer in his eyes. "I thought you would've shaved your legs before offering to lounge around in your bathing suit all day."

you sigh, tilting your head tauntingly in his direction. you had waxed your legs two days ago, so obviously there was nothing there but you know he’s just trying to push your buttons like usual.

you send him a sarcastic smile. "you’d like that wouldn't you."

jack tongues his cheek, and his gaze doesn’t leave you face - even when you push off the island and brush past him to throw your banana peel out. you smirk to yourself once you know that jack isn’t going to say anything back, and you go get changed.

10 minutes later, you and ashley make your way down to the dock where quinn, trevor, alex and jack are (impatiently) waiting.

at the sight of you, trevor groans with exasperation, "finally the princesses have arrived."

"whatever.” ashley mumbles, a sarcastic eye roll gracing her dark eyes. the la kings player is at the side of the boat quicker than you can process, eyeing your friend gently and offering his hand to her. she accepts the outstretched hand, and lets alex help her gracefully step off the wooden dock and into the boat.

alex tourcette has very obviously been crushing on ashley since trevor introduced them two years ago at the hughes lake house. it was alex’s first time there and the sight of ashley had him coming back every year since.

so like usual when ashley was around, alex was too wrapped up in all her glory - leaving you standing on the dock with your arms full of beach towels, a tote bag full of all your essentials, and trevor’s hat he’d forgotten inside.

“any help?” you ask, but the only thing you get is the view of trevor and ashley’s backs as they walk away. “hello?”

you think you’re going to have to just pray and make the step down - vision practically blocked from the plethora of things in your arms. just when you try and attempt, you catch jack look over at you.

but then after a second he looks away, his attention once again back on his phone. a moment passes, and you’re almost too in shock to say anything to him, because was he really about ignore you and let you try this by yourself? after seeing you struggling?

nobody else is moving to assist you. quinn and trevor are going over the depth reader set up and the manuals, and obviously, ashley and alex were busy being lovey dovey at the very front of the boat. nobody else knew your predicament.

jack suddenly groans and tosses his phone on the bench seat beside him. wordlessly, he gets up from his previous seated position and makes his way towards the part of the boat you were standing beside.

he places his hand out, his palm up in your direction. jack looks at you expectantly, his brows raised as he waits on you to make the next move.

you bite your tongue to stop any irritant comments from coming out, but you can’t control the way your eyes roll at his bluntness. you attempt to reach out for his hand, trying to balance all the stuff in the crook of your opposite elbow.

"hold on,” jack huffs tiredly, "pass me all the shit in your arms so you don't trip and fall into the water."

quietly, you load everything off and give it to jack - who then places it all near his cellphone on the bench seat behind him.

finally, jack takes your hand, and helps you stay steady as you step onto the boat. his fingers brush against your wrist delicately, the foreign feeling of his skin on yours providing and unfamiliar rush of feelings.

the tote bag you had chose to keep on your body, resting loosely on your shoulder, begins to slip down your arm as you step down onto the boat.

jack’s opposite hand darts out, grabbing the bag before it can fall off your arm - putting it back on your shoulder properly.

you look up at him, swallowing thickly. “thanks.”

jack walks away without a word, his touch that was, just seconds ago, all you could feel, was gone - leaving you feeling rather chilled under the blistering summer sun.

you huff, shaking your head clear of any thoughts of jack and his odd behaviour.

the boat took out onto the water just moments later, which helped in distracting your brain - the smell of fresh water and the wind on your face providing a new focus. it took quinn almost 15 minutes to find the ‘perfect spot’, before anchoring down near the sand bar he always ended up at anyways.

trevor and jack waste no time, and jump of the boat and into the michigan water while quinn was still dropping the anchor down into the water.

the idea of sitting with alex and ashley as the two of them cuddle and giggle to themselves was something you did not want to be witness to - so swimming it is. you quickly follow suit, stripping off your band tshirt turned cover up, leaving you in your bathing suit.

quinn rushes past you, cannonballing into the water. the commotion has trevor looking in the direction of the boat, watching as you throw your top into your bag - wiping the drops of water off your arms from quinn’s cannonball.

“looking hot, y/n!” trevor shouts at you, hands cupped around his mouth to further project his already loud voice.

you laugh warmly at his teasing as you make your way down towards the swimming platform - the last thing g you want to do is try and jump in and accidentally flash quinn, trevor and jack your nipple.

quinn laughs gently, pushing trevor under the water as a form of lackluster punishment for his degrading comment.

you swallow your laughter, and ignore the feeling of eyes on you as you begin to take the steps down into the water - quinn and trevor still laughing and bickering in the distance. the water is feeling cold from the temperature drop last night, and you quiver as you become fully emerged in the lake.

you practically doggy paddle towards the area of sand bar, and once you’re close enough, you grab onto quinn from behind - your small, cold hands gripping the muscles of his broad shoulders as you attempt to hold your torso above the water. "it's so cold, oh my god."

"you're fine," trevor insists, swimming up beside you, a small splash of water hitting your torso as he flicks it at you.

"trevor.” you warn sternly, pointing at him accusingly. “we’re not splashing.”

suddenly, quinn spins to face you and your hands slips off his wet shoulder from his sudden movement. the smirk on his face has your stomach dropping, and you take a step back through the water.

quinn sends a splash towards you, water sloshing up your arms and further wetting your bathing suit top. trevor continues and follows suit, soaking you with lake water as they splash you like children.

you try and escape the attack, backing away from them with your hands raised in an attempt at a surrender. “guys, seriously?!”

under the water, a piece of slimy seaweed is disturbed from your quick movements, and the green water plant grazes your calf. you screech at the foreign touch, hopping backwards to escape it. the water splashes up and around you at your quick and frantic jump, completely drenching you.

suddenly, your cold back come in contact with something unfamiliar- but not foreign. behind you, you feel warm skin tense and chest muscles move smoothly as you unexpectedly back into them.

you swallow, and you whip around and meet the harsh eyes of jack.

"careful," jack’s voice was calm, but still sharp like he was demanding something from you. it was like you were inconveniencing him by simply being in the same water as him, and his stern gaze was almost taunting as he looked over your face.

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

jack doesn’t say anything else. he makes his way over to the back to the boat, and pulls himself out of the water and onto the swimming platform effortlessly. he shakes out his hair, water spraying all around him - the droplets reflecting brightly in the sun as they fall off him.

you look away, jack’s typical weird behaviour leaving you feeling rather annoyed.

jack didn't speak or even look in your direction for the remainder of the afternoon - a sour attitude radiating off of him for the rest of the boat outing.

when you all get back to shore a couple hours after departing, jack had gotten off the boat first, not bothering in helping with tying up the ropes or bringing up any loose stuff from inside the boat.

you watch as he walks up to the deck a few feet away, and immediately plops himself on top of sydney, who was laying on a lounge chair tanning.

you hear luke tell his brother to get a room as he flips burgers at the grill with beatrice at his side, and your mood is suddenly very sour. you exit the boat with a scowl on your face, your arms full of even more stuff than you brought down that morning - no thanks to jack and his no help.

you quickly walk pass the four of them on the back deck, shooting a harsh glare in jacks direction before heading inside.

three: the kitchen

when you excused yourself from the warm comfort of the bonfire to use the bathroom and grab yourself another seltzer, you weren't expecting to end up crying before making it back outside.

but here you are - warm, salty tears falling heavy on the screen of your phone. on your screen, the same video is replaying over again, the familiar sound of your ex boyfriends laugh ringing in your ears as you listen through dylan duke's snapchat story. it was an innocent post really, dylan was clueless to the activities going on behind him and mark as the two talked away on the private story. ethan was seen in the background, laughing with a girl before going in and cuddling into her neck.

the breakup, although you're not actively having romantic feelings, still hurt, and watching ethan move on wasn't the easiest thing to witness.

you sniffle quietly, watching the video play out once more before you exit snapchat - closing off the app roughly. you wipe your leaking nose with the back of your hand, cleaning yourself up of any salty tears.

behind you, the patio door creaks open and just as quickly, it closes. jack walks in behind you, his cheeks tinted red from the day outside in the sun.

you swallow thickly, swiftly looking away so he doesn't catch your puffy, red eyes. you almost want to laugh in this moment - because, of course it was jack of all people who would walk in when you're on the borderline of an emotional breakdown. you reach into the box of white claws left open on the island - not in the fridge because you preferred them warm (you'll have to thank whoever left them out for you).

just as you pull out your desired flavour, the sound of a bottle cap sounds on the counter top, followed by the sloshing sounds of jack pouring his hard liquor into a cup.

your eyes flicker up, watching jack's diet coke mix with the clear liquor at the bottom of his plastic cup. you can smell the woodsy bonfire smell off his clothes, mixing with his usual spicy cologne.

suddenly, he looks away from his drink and across the island at you. his eyes dart between yours, like he was analyzing your somber expression - then his gaze moves around your face, noticing your blotchy cheeks and pink puffy lips. jack looks away for a second, brows pulling tight as he completes his drink. "why are you crying this time?”

the sound of your full can hitting the counter top echoes throughout the empty house and jack looks up rather quickly, meeting your eyes again. your shoulders deflate - too disappointed to even feel proper anger. "seriously?" you sigh, and your tone clearly indicates that you're feeling upset by his question.

jack shrugs once, wiping up some melted ice with one of the crumpled napkins that had been abandoned on the kitchen island. "well?" his words are knowing- his tone condescending.

you feel yourself beginning to tear up for the second time tonight, expect for some reason the tears currently threatening to fall felt more painful than the ones from ethan. jack doesn't say anything else and only looks at you expectantly- waiting for you to further breakdown.

you huff - all earlier feelings of sadness are quickly replaced with irritation and frustration caused by jack and his insufferable attitude towards you. "why do you treat me so terribly, jack? fuck," you sigh, wiping at your face angrily as you feel a few unwanted tears fall. "I came on this vacation to try and relax and forget about the past few weeks by spending time with my friends, and you have made it your mission to keep me miserable. god, even your girlfriend has been treating me better than you have, and she's a stranger." you finish roughly, swallowing thickly as you try and gauge jack's face for his reaction to your outburst.

you feel a little embarrassed about ranting about your emotions and anger towards jack...to jack. but you hold your ground, keeping you gaze on him.

jack clears his throat thickly. "she's not my girlfriend."

you laugh in disbelief, the sound mixing with a scoff. is that all he had to say? no apology? no reasoning for his seemingly amplified hate towards you this vacation? jack looks away from your somber face, and you have all the answers you need.

without another glance, you grab the white claw off the counter, the metal can scraping against the granite as you do so. you quickly make your way back outside, walking through the dimly lit backyard - saved from the fire pit glow.

you take your original seat on one of the blue campfire chairs, curling your legs under yourself as you look towards the roaring, tangerine flames.  beside you, you can feel luke eyeing you curiously - trying to analyze your exhausted expression. you don't give him the satisfaction though, keeping your eyes trained on the fire as you take a sip of your drink.

roughly five minutes pass before jack comes back outside, no drink cup in sight. you watch through the light of the bonfire as he sits next to sydney, and the two of them exchange a brief conversation before sydney turns away from him completely- a look of disbelief on her face.

you see jack shrug grumpily just before you move your attention away from them - you've had plenty enough jack for the night.

it isn't ten minutes later you find yourself becoming overwhelmed with exhaustion and you excuse yourself from the dying bonfire to head up to bed.

four: the injury

your face scrunches up involuntarily, the strong taste of tequila burning and warming your throat as you down another shot.

once you manage to swallow the alcohol, you holler in your own mini celebration- the affects of many, many, many drinks controlling you and your actions completely.

on the speaker you’d placed somewhere in the backyard earlier into the late night, the familiar chords of a drake song begin to play, and you gasp happily. “I looooovvvvveeeee this song!” you drag out your wording, the sentence slurred together in a drunken manner.

trevor laughs at you near the dying bonfire, his head dropping in an amused embarrassment. a couple other laughs are heard nearby, but you don’t find yourself caring all that much. after your previous miserable night and another demeaning conversation with jack, you told yourself you’d allow yourself get more loose. you didn’t necessarily mean getting sloshed by yourself, but a win is a win.

you practically squeal in delight, coming to a skipping halt infront of the youngest hughes brother. you pout largely, “come dance with me lukey."

thankfully, luke is a good sport and allows you to take ahold of his hands and pull him out of his caping chair - although, he is the one is pulling himself up because drunk you is one misstep from completely toppling over. the corner of luke’s mouth quirks into a smirk as you wave his arms around for him - belting out the lyrics to the song without hesitation.

letting go of luke, you take a wobbly step onto the picnic table you’d been around all night, sidestepping the hoodie you’d been wearing before the alcohol warmed you up. your hips sway to the music, and you smile warmly. you spin around on the wooden planks, but your state has taken away all your sense of balance and stability, so you’re closer to the edge than you expected.

your foot slips over the edge, and you fall onto the gravelled surface of the fire pit area.

“oh shit.” trevor winces - luke had tried to catch you before you hit the ground but his reflex’s had failed him, and trevor is met with you laying uncomfortably on the gravel.

beside him, jack shoots up from his chair, a look of undeniable concern on his soft features. trevor stands as well, both of them making their way over to help in assisting you. everyone else had previously gone to bed, and if it was sober you seeing that trevor, luke and jack being the only options to help you in your current state- you’d shit your pants.

but you’re drunk, so all you can do is focus on the burning sensation on your skin and immediate ache all over your body. “ouch,” you whine. once you’re eyes focus again, you get a proper look at the palm of your hand, and the sight of the raw wound has tears beginning to well up in your eyes.

drunk, embarrassed and hurt wasn’t your best look.

trevor curses again, "luke help me find the first aid kit," he stands from his previous squatting position next to you as he finished checking you over, nudging the youngest brother on his thick shoulder.

before the two of them disappear from your sight, luke looks back at you sternly, pointing a finger at you. “stay here.”

you’re left with nobody but jack. the gravel is cool on your thighs, and the dwindling fire is doing nothing to warm your shivering muscles. tearily, you look over at jack. "i'm sorry," you sniff, eyes darting back down to examine your palm. blood is mixing with bits of dirt and minuscule stones, making your wound sting terribly. "I slipped really bad."

you look at him again, his crouched position making it easier for you to do so. jack’s brows pull together tightly, his gaze flickering over your blotchy face. “you're fine, y/n. stop crying."

despite the harsh tone, jack takes ahold of your hand gently - one of his hands wrapping along your wrist while the other cradles the underside of your hand.

he brings your wounded hand towards his face, and immediately starts gently blowing on your palm. the cool air from his mouth helps soothe the pain temporarily, and it helps keep your tears at ease.

the night air suddenly feels even colder, and the temperature drop combined with the cool air on your palm has you shifting uncomfortably - you were cold.

jack stops, his eye gentle but words still firm. "stay still."

you sniffle again, and wipe your leaky nose with the back of your good hand. "I wanna go inside i'm cold."

"yeah, okay.” jack sighs quickly, moving his body so that he’s able to help you properly get to your feet. his one hand still cradles your wounded hand, while his other wraps around the dip of your waist. the feeling of his torso on yours is rather comforting, and the heat of his body radiating through his sweatshirt instantly makes you feel warmer.

he shuts the back door with his foot, and the thump of it closing echos in the empty kitchen. jack lets go of you in favour of turning on the kitchen sink, and you’re pretty sure you pout at the loss of contact.

it doesn’t take long before the water runs to comfortable temperature, and jack brings your hand towards the stream - your palm angled upwards and slightly tilted so the warm water flushers the scrape.

you hiss through your teeth, muttering a curse. the sting has a new wave of tears prickling at your eyes, and you can feel your throat grow thick with emotion. "that really stings." you admit gently, using your shoulder to wipe away a tear as it falls from your bloodshot eye.

jack looks at you softly, nodding with an understanding expression. “I know," he whispers - a sweet, silent echo in the quiet house. his fingers flex around your wrist, running over your pulse point delicately. jack looks down, back at your hand, "you're doing good though."

you swallow harshly, blinking away the millions of emotions flowing freely through your body. jack has never been so gentle with you, or as kind to you as he is currently being. it is actually really nice and you find yourself smiling gently - despite the burning sensation on your hand.

trevor rounds the corner into the kitchen, luke following with the first aid kit tucked under his bicep. "I thought you were staying outside." luke says knowingly, eyeing the two of you suspiciously once he registers what is actually happening infront of his very eyes.

trevor sends the youngest hughes a look, both of them having the same confused expression on their faces.

"she was cold." jack interjects immediately, answering for you.

thankfully, there was nothing too deeply embedded in your raw skin, so the rest of the cleaning process went pretty smoothly. jack had helped dry your hand as gently as he possibly could with paper towel, and then luke had poured the peroxide onto the raw scratches. that had you wincing uncomfortably again, your head hitting against jack’s outer bicep as you dropped your gaze to the floor.

luke delicately wrapped your hand in a bandage, sighing gently as the whole ordeal of it all came to a close. "alrighty, let's get you to bed." trevor says tiredly, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he begins to guide you through the kitchen.

just before you exit, you find jack’s gaze on you, his expression still gentle. you smile tightly, "thank you." your words are still a little slurred and you definitely sound tired, but jack can hear you just fine.

he nods once, a very small closed mouth smile making a brief appearance.

five: the hike + the dishes

the sound of nature around you was pure magic. you breathe in happily amidst your huffy exhale, continuing to walk on the beautiful hiking trail along side the hughes' lake property.

alex rushes past you, ashley following soon after as she tries to beat him in a foot race. you smile happily, watching alex turn on her and scoop ashley in his arms. she squeals delightfully, letting the hockey player manhandle her.

a pang of sadness hits your chest watching your friend so happy and infatuated with someone. you missed being in love and the feelings of want and need that came with it. you missed having somebody constantly in your corner and somebody waiting for you at home.

it wasn't that ethan was ever a bad boyfriend, but the relationship wasn't fulfilling enough. it was simply just easy - it lacked deep emotion and yearning.

you watch ashley blush as alex kisses her cheek quickly and you can't help but wish somebody was as obsessed with you as alex was with your best friend.

weirdly enough, it has you thinking about jack. when you woke up this morning with a blurry memory and a bandage around your hand, to say you were confused would be an understatement. you felt oddly peaceful among it all though, and that was even more worrisome.

luke told you that you'd fallen and scrapped your hand - which makes sense. but there was something else in the air, you could tell by the way luke and trevor seemed smug while you all ate breakfast, and how jack seemed especially quiet. jack had yet to make any unnecessarily rude comments today, which was of course nice - but weirdly enough it didn't feel right.

"let me get on your back," trevor comes up beside you, a wide grin on his tanned face. it pulls you from your thoughts, and you push down any lingering confusion about the off vibe from this morning.

you roll your eyes gently, but stop walking. you squat down slightly, locking your knees so trevor can climb on. "hop on trev."

he wastes no time getting onto your back, and you grunt out from the added weight to your body. you only make it twenty small, slow steps before tapping out - breathless with laughter.

trevor offers you a piggy back ride as an apology for borderline collapsing you under his weight, which you take happily. once you're secure, trevor instantly makes alex race with ashley on his back and of course alex complies - the four of you darting away on the trail.

from afar, luke breathes a pleasant laugh, watching the four of you run around like loose chickens. he falls into line with his second oldest brother, the two of them walking in a comfortable silence, finally without the constant pestering from trevor.

luke has noticed jacks sudden quietness, and he too is a bit confused on what exactly is going on. luke thinks jack must feel guilty for acting his typical way around you, and that's why jack has been more reserved today.

luke clears his throat gently, eyeing jack. "this is good for her, you know. she's been so sad recently because of ethan...i've been worried about her."

jack swallows, eyes trained in the distance. he watches you laugh at something ashley says - your body folding completely over and your mouth opening as you do that scream laugh you always do when something is truly funny. he tears his eyes away from you, gaze landing on the mud coloured path below his feet.

luke continues, "and listen jack, I know you hate her, and you guys have this uncomfortable bickering thing going on but- "

"I don't hate her," jack interrupts his brother sternly, "I've never hated her."

luke's brows twitch slightly, raising ever so subtly and he carefully studies his brothers expression, "okay, well, I don't think y/n knows that. and whatever you guys are doing, it makes her really sad - I can tell."

luke walks away, jogging to catch up with you all. he tells ashley he needs a turn on alex's back, which immediately starts another race conversation.

jack sighs, blinking up towards the trees. the conversation with his younger brother, combined with last night, really has the way he's been handling his emotions and actions towards you, not sitting right in his stomach. he feels extremely guilty, and he wishes he would of handled the situation differently.

jack looks away from the tree line, and finds you looking back at him softly over the line of your exposed shoulder. you look slightly confused, but jack can tell you're trying to hide your curiosity by keeping your face neutral.

he sighs to himself, and makes his way over to you and the rest of the group.

—

the sky is overcome with darkness, and a comfortable silence enveloped the inside of the lake house as 10 p.m. approached.

luke and beatrice were watching a movie with ashley and quinn downstairs in the den, trevor had been sleeping on the couch for the past hour, and alex had fallen asleep in his bedroom just 20 minutes ago - sydney even before that after she claimed she wasn't feeling well before dinner.

the silence was peaceful, and even as trevor begins to snore gently across from you, it's not a bothersome sound - it's familiar and comfortable.

you stand from your spot nestled under throws on the couch, leaving the living room and a sleeping trevor. the hike earlier had pretty much tired the majority of you out, and the ones who hadn't come on the hike were still tired from the sun they'd been in back at the house all day.

so although you were also ready for bed, you knew the dishes sitting in the sink from spaghetti dinner needed to be done. after all, it's the least you could do with the kind hospitality the hughes brothers had showed you on this vacation.

you've got soap suds up your forearms as you work on the large plates - cleaning them of their saucy, cheesy mess. the hum on the refrigerator and the sound of impractical jokers from the living room tv provide the perfect white noise, and you find yourself getting lost in your own head as you washed the dishes.

footsteps approach gently, somebody rounding the corner behind you. "hi," jack says, slowing in his steps.

you look over your shoulder, "hi." you put the last clean plate into your designated clean side of the sink, and you wipe your pruned hands on your bottoms. 

jack leans against the countertop, and the muscles in his forearms shift as he grips the edge of the granite. "if I knew you were doing dishes, I wouldn't of brought these down."

you notice the couple of small plates and the mug jack had put on the island counter, presumably from his bedroom upstairs.

you shrug gently, reaching across the small space between you and jack to grab the small stack of dishes. you shrug quickly, dropping them into your soapy side of the sink. "I don't mind."

jack rounds the side of the island and moves over towards you. his socked foot nudges against yours as jack borderline lunges across you, trying to take his dishes back. "i'm not going to make you do my dishes."

you laugh gently, "it's fine, really." you pick up the scratchy sponge, but jack snatches it out from your hands just as you do. you huff gently, one of your eyebrows raising in an amused manner. "jack, what are you doing?"

"i'll do them." he insists firmly. his fingers slide smoothly over yours, almost interlocking them under the soapy, warm water your hands are submerged under.

you don't give in, fingers tightening on rim of the new jersey devils branded coffee mug. with suspicion, you continue to eye him. "why are you being weird?"

he laughs once, a deep rumble of disbelief. "i'm not being weird."

"you are." you chime instantly.

jack is practically trying to pry your hands off the mug, and while he's focused on that task, you snatch the damp sponge back. you look at him smugly, waving the sponge infront of his face, a gentle ha passing your lips.

he sighs gently, "you're the one being a weirdo and doing my dishes after I said I can do them - you're not my maid."

you dip the sponge into the water and begin to scrub the coffee stains on the inside of the mug - soap splashing over the edge of the sink and wetting your pastel pink tank top. " I know that, but i'm trying to be a good guest."

jack watches you focus on the dishes, your eyebrows slightly furrowed and tongue poking out to wet your bottom lip. he finds himself mimicking you, and his own tongue licks over his lips to moisten them.

you look back up at him curiously, waiting for an inevitable response.

he clears his throat quietly, "you can be a good guest by doing nothing." without warning, he steps closer into your space, bumping you gently off to the side with his hip. the suprise of it all has you going freely, your hands leaving the dishes involuntarily. jack smiles teasingly, running the sponge over the front of a desert plate left from last nights chocolate brownies.

you huff, pushing your way back to the sink. jack's much stronger than you though, so he doesn't budge at your attempt to push him out of the way. in a mixture of amusement and disbelief, you laugh out, your hands resting on your hips as you look at jack - your eyes almost twinkling with delight. "that's not me - that’s not how I do things."

jack snickers knowingly, because he's well aware now of how you are. you've always shown compassion and caring for others and have always taken on that polite, motherly role that always has you thinking of others. it's something jack has inevitably always noticed when it came to you - he notices more about you than he allows himself to admit.

you reach into the sink quickly, taking the last two plates out of the dirty water and bringing them to your chest. immediately, your tank top is becoming soaked and drops of lukewarm water fall off the ceramic and hit the kitchen floor mat between you and jack.

jack looks at you with something similar to shock, his tongue poking against his cheek in a way to mask his growing smirk.

"you're ridiculous." he hums.

you back away slowly, the dishes still clutched in your hands. one of your brows raise challengingly, rounding the corner of the island counter. "yeah?"

jack's slinky smirk is the last thing you register before he darts towards you, coming around the other side of the island as he attempts to grab you.

you spin away from him, turning your torso around so that you've got the plates out of reach.

jack laughs, reaching around you in another attempt at grabbing the wet dishes - although now, the plates are becoming dry with your tank top soaking up all the water.

you giggle, and try to slip between the counter and jack's torso, quickly, to try and create some space between jack and the plates. it's an unsuccessful attempt, and jack pushes you against the island with his hips. now that you're trapped, jack plucks the plates right out of your grip, holding them out and away from you.

the press of his body on yours has you feeling syrupy - the time around you coming to a hard, screeching halt. you look up at him gently, watching as jack's previous smile falters, a much more serious expression taking over his flushed face.

you swallow, anticipating building low in your belly. your eyes don't leave jacks, even when his arm lowers, putting the plates on the counter with a gentle clink. your heartbeat increases, and you can feel it pumping loudly in your ears. in that moment, you and jack forget about everything- you forgot how trevor is only a room away, you forget the stupid arguments and the anger...it all fades into the background.

jacks tongue passes through his lips, wetting them slowly as he hovers over you. his eyes flicker between your eyes before finding your plump lips - slightly parted as a hitched breath is pulled between them.

just as softy, jack's hand comes up towards your face and he places it against your cheek, cradling your sunkissed, freckled skin. his palm is warm and a little sweaty, but it makes everything so much more raw.

his thumb strokes the shell of your ear gently, a little comforting movement that has you holding your breath.

jack leans down, nudging his sloped nose against yours sweetly before he kisses you deeply, lips enveloping yours in a tight, passionate embrace.

instantly, you find yourself grabbing ahold of jack, desperately needing to feel him under your hands. your fingers grip the material of his shirt, pulling him tightly so he becomes impossibly closer.

it was almost odd in a way, kissing somebody who before this very moment, you thought hated you. which was why you were left slightly confused on why kissing jack hughes felt so right.

your movements become more desperate- frantic. jack lifts you effortlessly, sitting you on top of the kitchen island. your legs spread instinctively, and he wastes to time slotting his body between your thighs. with his lips still messily on yours, jack pulls your hips to the edge of the counter, bumping your clothed crotches together.

between you, one of jacks hands rest on the edge of your waist band, two fingers dipping underneath the top of your leggings - teasing you.

you're body feels like it's on fire - that burning sensation you've always had around jack is just as prevalent as ever. when jack's hand slides down the threshold of your tights and he begins to palm you though your thin panties, you pull away mere inches, breathless.

"please," you whine quietly, bucking your hips so that jacks fingers slip over your wet underwear. it's successful, and he thumbs around your clit deliciously.

"fuck - i got you." he nods against you, hooking your panties off to the side underneath your leggings. he curses again as he slides his ring and middle finger through your folds, collecting your arousal and bringing it up towards your clit and down again.

you whine pathetically, head falling backwards - disconnecting your lips from jacks.

his free hand glides over your clothes chest, passing over your painfully hardened nipples, before he rounds to the back of your neck - pulling you back upwards so you're looking at him.

"you're so wet," he whispers, pressing a sloppy kiss to the junction of your neck. your pulse jumps, and your hips move again - desperately trying to get jack's fingers inside you.

you moan, watching the outline of jack's hand move against your core through your pants. it's all so dirty and erotic - you don't think you've ever been this turned on at the thought of being fingered.

jack shushes you, his usual demanding tone present. "be quiet for me pretty girl, okay? you think you can be quiet?"

you're completely at his mercy - not even having the slightest urge to tease him and bite back at his question. all you can do is nod quickly, breathless as you gaze into his warm eyes.

at that, two of jacks calloused fingertips tease your dripping entrance, feeling through the gush of your arousal. you bite your lip, holding onto the moans that are on the brink of passing through your lips. his eyes don't leave yours while he pushes the entire length of his tail fingers into you, and you gasp at the adrenaline of it all.

jack's mouth falls open slightly, basking in the feeling of your gooey walls tightly welcoming his fingers. he begins to pump them in and out of your entrance, and even with the limited space, it still feels amazing.

you grab his face, pulling jack in for another needy kiss. it's mostly hot breath and spit, but neither of you seem to mind.

the way jacks fingers expertly work your spongy walls and the feeling of his palm bumping your clit deliciously, has the tiny coil in your stomach tightening - ready to snap.

you pull back, "i'm going to cum."

"fuck," jack smirks quickly, so fast you can't even register it, and he leans back into you - pressing a sweet kiss to your blotchy cheek. "cum for me, baby, I can feel your pussy clenching down on me - you're so beautiful."

it's the final push you needed, the band snapping and sending your body over the edge into a euphoric state. you see white, releasing your juices all over jack's hand and wetting the seam of your leggings. you start to moan, but he silences you, pressing his wet lips against yours.

his fingers come to a slow stop, allowing you to ride out your blissed high. you hum against him, running a hand through his grown out hair, tugging gently at the roots.

jack moans into your mouth at the feeling, automatically grinding his hard dick against your wet crotch.

the couch creeks, and the sound of trevor's socked feet hit the hardwood floor loudly - signalling he's awake and on the move.

quickly, jack removes himself from between your legs, and you hop off the counter just as fast. your legs almost give out on you, but thankfully you catch yourself.

trevor walks into the kitchen just as you take ahold of the plates, bringing them back over to the sink in hopes to appear busy. he is still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, a big yawn echoing through the kitchen- trevor's jaw cracking.

jack fixes his obvious hard-on, his back turned to his friend. he hopes trevor doesn't notice, and thankfully the ducks forward is too sleepy and can't even properly open his eyes.

"what are you two doing?" trevor hums curiously, moving past you in favour of grabbing a glass from the cabinet.

you can barley hear him over the thumping heartbeat in your ears - your hands are shaky under the now cold, soapy water in the sink.

"nothing, just cleaning up." thankfully, jack answers trevor in an appropriate way - seeming completely nonchalant.

as trevor opens the fridge in search of the brita, you quickly glance over your shoulder, seeking out jack. as you do, jack meets your eyes and he sends you a quick wink. the fridge clicks shut, and you both look away.

six: the beginning

there was something so peaceful about the sunset - you'd take it over the sunrise anytime of the year. the stunning shades of fuscha mixed with the dark reds and neon oranges - combining with the upcoming navy night sky. watching the world infront of you go to sleep was just so refreshing.

the evening was warm, and a light breeze slinked through the air providing the perfect temperature combination for an approaching summer evening. the wood of the dock is slightly harsh against your bare thighs, but you'll put up with it for some much needed time away from inside.

after jack fingering you on the kitchen island the night before, your mind has been reeling with what it all meant. you had come to your own realization that you weren't fighting with jack because you didn't like him - but rather the opposite. you've been seeking his approval for years, desperately wanting him to like you the way you've always liked him.

you had been pushing those feelings so deep down that when you came to the realization, you almost didn't believe yourself. you don't know what last night meant for jack, and you didn't know how jack actually felt about you.

this morning, when you were all gathered in the kitchen, snacking on your respective breakfast foods, jack had eyed you teasingly, hiding his growing smirk with the side of his cereal bowl. you had blushed into your glass of orange juice, choosing to not look back - too scared to get caught.

then you had thought about sydney, the girl jack had brought to the lake house to join your vacation. jack told you a few nights ago that they weren't dating, but they also didn't seem like just friends.

everything piling on top of one another was very quickly becoming overwhelming, and for the entire day you were left wallowing in your own confused thoughts.

so that's why as the sun began to set, you came out to the boat dock, resting quietly by yourself - trying to tame the tornado made up of thoughts and ideas in your head. 

the sound of footsteps gently approach behind you, echoing against the faded wood. you turn down the taylor swift playing quietly on your phone until it's borderline silent, looking over your shoulder to find out who was making their way over to you.

jack smiles gently, looking very athletic in his black lulu shorts that displayed his thigh muscles delightfully, paired with a team branded tshirt. once he's close enough, he greets you gently before dropping down beside you. jack sits in a similar position, resting his forearms on his kneecaps, while you are hugging your legs to your chest.

it's silent for a few minutes, both of you bathing in the warm setting sunshine and basking in the comfortable silence each of your provided.

you choose to speak first, a slightly shaky exhale leaving your lips. "I don't know where to go from here, jack." you admit vulnerably, tearing your eyes away from the still water and looking over to him. "I mean, for years I thought you hated me and until last night I was set on that, but now...I don't even know what's going on." you laugh gently, tone thick with disbelief.

his brows pull together tightly, creating a little divet in the middle of his face. "I've never hated you...ever."

"then why did it feel like you did?"

jack watches the way your eyes gloss over, the moisture shining under the bright sun. he sighs gently, running a hand through his hair quickly - an attempt to try and relax his beating heart. "I thought that you hated me, y/n. so I would only argue with you because....I don't know, fuck." he curses, taking a shaky breath. "no - fuck this. I like you, really like you. so if you laughed at somebody else's jokes or if you were dating somebody else, I'd get so jealous that I would immediately go into this defensive zone- pushing you away with really horrible words."

he continues, "I was an asshole. I thought that you hated me and that made me mad, because I really wanted you. and I know that's a horrible excuse but it's the truth. I wanted you and thought I couldn't have you, so i'd lash out at you. i'm so sorry."

your breath hitches. you can't believe what you've just heard, and you have to pinch yourself to make sure it wasn't some longing dream you hadn't woke up from just yet. although his words seem authentic, you still feel weary. he could just be trying to get back in your pants, or maybe he was looking for some sadistic way to hurt you - maybe he actually did hate you. "how do I know you're not just saying this?"

jack laughs once gently, warm gaze looking out towards the water. he wets his lower lip before he looks back at your watery eyes and shaky lips. he sighs, "I didn't forget you and ethan broke up, I only asked because I wanted to make sure you didn't get back together - shitty, I know, but I couldn't think of another way to do it, I needed to know." he continues, "when I went grocery shopping with quinn, I was the one who picked out orange juice because I knew you liked it. I made sure nobody put the white claws in the fridge because I know you like your seltzers warm. when you hurt yourself by the fire pit, I blew on your scrape because I remember one time you told quinn that cool air always made your cuts feel better. I knew you'd be the one doing the dishes last night because you can never relax, so that's why I brought mine down - because any excuse to be near you, i’ll take."

you say his name, throat thick with emotion.

jack swallows thickly, voice dropping into a deep sigh. "I brought sydney here to try and make you jealous. and I know that's horrible, and I apologized to her a million times already. everything i've said to you and done to you is horrible, and i'm so fucking sorry."

"jack," you begin, "all that stuff you just said...I don't realize how well you know me."

he smiles gently, "I've had many years of watching you from a distance to learn."

your nose scrunches playfully, "that sounds really creepy."

he laughs, a real laugh that he usually only lets out around trevor and his brothers. but here he was, his shoulder brushing yours as he admits his feelings for you and laughs at your teasing. "it does doesn't it?"

you hum, shrugging your shoulders. "I can't say anything really, because i've been watching you from afar this whole time as well. I like you so much, jack. i'm so sorry for everything; the arguing, the rude comments and everything else. I should've just admitted my feelings - to you and myself."

he smiles, and the arm closest to you moves to wrap around your shoulders. jack brings your body into his, tucking you into his chiseled torso comfortably. "you're forgiven." his tone is teasing, and when you look up at him with a faux scowl, jack is already watching you playfully.

you pout your lips at him, feigning disappointment from his teasing comment.

jack rolls his eyes amusingly, and the last thing you see is his slinky smirk before he gives in and presses his lips to yours. 

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

[spideyjimin]

have you ever tried this one | jjk

⤷ a bloodlines entwined extra

—  pairing: werewolf!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: strangers to lovers, parents-to-be au, royalty au, werewolves au, soulmates au, smut, and a tiny bit of fluff

— rating: 18+ 

—  summary: after attending sabrina carpenter’s show, your boyfriend jungkook wants to try the juno’s position.

—  words: 1,140

—  warnings: strong language, swearing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, doggy style, good old missionary, nipple play, and creampie

—  author’s note: I recently went to a sabrina carpenter’s show, and it gave me a little idea for a drabble. Since i’m very close to finalizing chapter 9, i wanted to give you a little something while you wait for the next chapter. it’s not much, but it’s what i managed to do. i hope you enjoy this little extra ✨many thanks for all your constant support & for patiently waiting for the next chapter ❤️

SERIES MASTERLIST

Jungkook’s name rolls out of your tongue as he’s pounding into you at torturously slow pace. You’re on your knees, your face pressed against the bed, and with your ass in the air. How did you end up like this? Well, sabrina carpenter’s position in juno gave you and your boyfriend some ideas. Her position wasn’t something wild, just a classic doggy style, but it’s a hell of a good position.

Jungkook wants to wreck you so bad, but he also wants to torture you. He chooses the second option and has to contain himself to not harshly pound into you.

His dark orbs look down at the soft flesh of your ass, bouncing each time he slowly rolls his hips against you, and your body moving forward in tandem with his moves. The man behind you is completely mesmerized by the way his cock slips into you, his jaw slightly clenching as it’s getting harder for him to keep this slow pace.     

“Fuck,” he swears, his eyes completely captivated by his dick disappearing inside you.

The sticky wetness created by both your bodies starts to leak down each time his hips roll out, a sticky mess that drives him crazier and that makes him growl.   

“Harder,” you whimper. “You’re too slow, Jungkook.” 

This is just too slow for you. You want him to thrust harder, faster, and deeper. Damn, you don’t want this to be slow. The full moon is happening in a couple of days, and your se drive has only been increasing. Same for Jungkook. None of you seem to be able to keep your hands to yourselves. Add to that, sabrina carpenter suggesting a sexual position on her show, and you have two horny werewolves having sex the second they get home.

“Whatever you want, sunshine,” he answers.

Hearing this cute nickname while sharing a very dirty moment seems like a huge contrast. But you’re definitely not going to complain. You adore when he calls you ‘sunshine’.

Jungkook instantly adapts his pace to your wishes, his thrusts becoming harder and deeper. At first, his hands hold your waist tighter—you’re sure that he’ll leave some small bruises—before one of his hands goes up to your breast, pinching at your nipples.

“Your breasts are getting bigger,” he whispers.

“You can thank your son for that,” you tell him.

Since the beginning of your pregnancy, your breasts have double in size. You’ve had to buy new bras as the others were now way too small. It’s something you knew before getting pregnant, but you never imagined they’d get this big.

Jungkook’s other hand moves down to your stomach, softly stroking it.

“Don’t worry, I thank him every day for that,” he whispers.

“You’re dirty,” you answer.

“But you still like me,” he presses a kiss on your back.

“How couldn’t I?” you ask as a smirk grows on his face.

The room is filled with both your moans, his hips hitting your ass and the bed creaking under you. All those erotic sounds make you feel like you’re doing some homemade porn. The title could be something like: “The werewolf king and his pregnant lady.”

Even though you very much like to be doing this doggy style, you want to see his face. You always love to see his face. So, without warning him, you push his cock out of you before laying on your back on the bed and spreading your leg wide for him. A loud groan escapes his swollen lips because of the sudden loss of friction and of the pretty view you’re offering him. 

“Wanna see you,” you tell him before grabbing his cock, pushing it back into your core. 

Since it all happened in seconds, Jungkook thrusts back into you without giving it much thought, quickly taking back his animalistic pace. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him even closer to you. His eyes roam your face while he pounds you like there’s no tomorrow.

“You look like a fucking goddess,” he says before pressing his lips against yours for a sloppy kiss.

“And you look like a damn king,” a smirk appears on your face.

“That’s because I’m the king.”

The wave of pleasure grows so intensely inside you that you start to feel overwhelmed by its power. Your boyfriend keeps hitting a certain spot that has you crying out, your walls squeezing him strongly.

He senses that you’re very close to reaching out your orgasm when you writhe and moan louder beneath him. So, in order to push you closer to the edge, his right-hand goes to your clit to torture you a bit more. 

“Make a mess on my cock, sunshine,” he grunts.  

You whimper while nodding, his pace becoming ever more animalistic. Your eyes lock with his as you want to be looking at him while he gives you an orgasm.

With another few hard thrusts, you’re reaching your high, your chest arching to meet his as you’re completely overwhelmed by the intensity of your orgasm. You cry his name as your face contorts in pure delight.

You’re clenching so tightly around him, your arousal dripping around his cock and creating an even bigger mess. He keeps thrusting into you, desperate to reach his own high as fast as possible which doesn’t take long because of the sight of you coming under him. 

His hot seed fills your cunt, making you moan at the contact of it with your insides. With harsh thrusts, he pushes his cum deep inside you while moaning like a savage. Your walls keep clenching around him to milk him completely dry before he collapses next to you in bed. 

For a moment, none of you speaks as you’re trying to catch your breath.

“If I wasn’t already pregnant, I guess I would have been tonight,” your face turns to look at him.

He gets closer to you, his large hand resting on your stomach. His eyes look up at you while a bright smile appears on his face.

“Sabrina gave me wild thoughts tonight,” he confesses.

“Me too,” you smile at him. “And the effect of the moon doesn’t help too,” you add.

“Indeed,” he replies. “It’s so damn hard to resist you as the full moon gets closer.”

“Well, I have a solution for you,” your fingers move on his cheeks. “Don’t resist.”

“If I do that, we’d be making love every two seconds,” he laughs. “But I’m a king and you’re a teacher. People rely on us.”

A giggle escapes your lips.

“You’re too wild, Jungkook.”

“Not my fault that you’re a hot and sexy mamma,” he winks at you.

“And you’re a hot and sexy dad,” you reply.

You place your head on his chest, his hands now wrapping around your body before you slowly both fall asleep.

[mimideeznutsinyomouth]

"Like a small cat..."

Sypnosis. ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴅʏɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴏʙᴀʙʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴇᴍʙᴀʀʀᴀꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴇᴠᴇʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪɴᴅ ᴜᴘ ɪɴ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴏᴛᴏᴍᴇ ɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ, ʀᴇɪɴᴄᴀʀɴᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ'ꜱ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ! ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴡɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴇᴀꜱᴛ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀꜱ ʜɪꜱ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ...

𖹭 Isekai! Darling, who is very in love with the Princess in their game otome game, "Lovely Thornes"

𖹭Isekai! Darling, who dies the most embarrassing death over choking on a goddamn fry and slipping on the floor, hitting her head harshly.

𖹭 Isekai! Darling, who is ecstatic to be reincarnated as her favorite character's best friend. Even if technically, they are just a friend, it's better than being that god-awful villainess who hurts her!

𖹭 Isekai! Darling, who tries their best to win the Princess' heart, but always gets overshadowed by that stupid prince! So annoying!

𖹭 Isekai! Darling, who hates the prince for all their worth! He barely breathes, and their lovely princess is fawning over them!

𖹭 Isekai! Darling, who thinks the prince is taunting them! I mean, what else could he be thinking other than bullying him and smothering the Princess's attention away from them?

𖹭 Isekai! Darling, who is unaware that the prince is staring in adoration, even if he doesn't seem like it.

𖹭Yandere! Prince, who is one of the most popular bachelors in the kingdom. A true chad, who's on his way to becoming one of the greatest knights and the future monarch the kingdom has ever had.

𖹭Yandere! Prince,  who literally doesn't care about the princess. Sure, she's beautiful, she's the daughter of another powerful king, and she has powerful connections. So, what? But you're prettier and definitely smarter.

𖹭Yandere! Prince, who has that resting bitch face almost everywhere he goes. Yet, he tries to keep it that way, even when thinking about you.

𖹭Yandere! Prince, who is jealous as hell about your crush on the princess. She doesn't like you. Even you can see that, but you don't care anyway.

𖹭Yandere! Prince, who wishes to steal you away from that wretched Princess. She doesn't deserve you, anyway.

𖹭Yandere! Prince, who just admires your face while you glare at him like he killed your family. He can't help but smirk a bit, which caused you to scream at him more.

"You're cute." He suddenly said, making you freeze. Did he really just say that? He smirked right after. You felt yourself flustered. Not by excitement, but by embarrassment. Was he really insulting you right now? "Shut up, princely prick." You narrowed your eyes and stormed out of the room. The prince couldn't help but smirk at your exiting form. Those pouty lips and pretty flushing cheeks, he couldn't help but smirk at your beautiful face. He can't wait to surprise you.

𖹭Isekai! Darling, who gets ecstatic at the news of the Princess finally being of age for marriage. Poor darling, thinking that the Princess wants to marry them.

𖹭Isekai! Darling, who could physically and mentally feel their heart drop to their stomach when she proposed a marriage proposal to the prince. It was over. It was so over.

𖹭Isekai! Darling, who was so heartbroken that they didn’t even hear Yandere! Prince's refusal of the marriage and the gasps of the nobles surrounding them.

𖹭Yandere! Prince, who walks to Isekai! Darling, with love, surprising them as he ignores their protests while he picks you up in bridal style.

"Sorry, Princess," he smirks and kisses your cheek, despite your cute little hisses,

"I've already given my heart to another."

[dumbgoondog]

Yuji NSFW Alphabet

Cw/Tw— Blood, hunting, rough

Tags— he’s a secret freak

The newly revised Yuji alphabet

(A)ftercare - Oh he is the sweetest. Neck kisses shoulder kisses, smiling real big at you, he’s blushing like you just said yes to date him again.

(B)ody Part - Ass, ass, ass, ass, ass! Ass ass? Assssss! Ass ass ass?! Ass!! Ass ass… Ass? Ass.

(C)um - He wants to cum inside, but be careful, ever let him go at it raw? And he’ll NEVER want to wear a condom EVER again. oh but he’s so chill and will get a vasectomy if you require it.

(D)irty Secret - That he’s a freak. On a primal level, he’s like Mahito, he’s like Sukuna. The worst part? He didn’t realize he was until he met you. It was too late, he could never turn this side of him off now. He wants to have you worship him as the king of curses, which he HATES. And loves. He wants to hunt you like prey and pin you force you to submit and bite into you to mark you as HIS mate. Yeah… tip of the iceberg and he’s the titanic.

(E)xperience - None. His hand and that’s it. He’s not even kissed anyone. Why? He’ll shrug and jus be like “I dunno, wasn’t anything that I was looking for I guess.”

(F)avorite Position - lay flat, spooning, or standing, and he’s hitting it from behind. So he can watch your ass shake with every smack of his hips, he also likes when you try to look back at him in that position.

(G)oofy - he’s gonna laugh at a queef, if you fart he’s laughing and being dramatic as hell. “Noooo! The code! You can’t fart on a guys balls! Noooo!!!!”

(H)air - messy, pink, washed, a little musky, happy trail, trail down the balls. Oh but ya know what? He likes YOU unshaven. Rainforest pussy, dick bush, all of it. He prefers hair, he doesn’t mind the shaved look tho. He guesses… but maybe he can convince you to grow it out? A little bit? Even just a patch! Please?

(I)ntimacy - he is SO romantic. Picnics, buying you gifts constantly, taking you out on dates to movies and dinners. Picking you flowers, “I got you this shirt you were looking at and this figure of your favorite anime character!”

(J)ack off - Often. More than you’d think. He was a stressed and angry teen boy, and without any too many outlets… well he developed some habits and seeking dopamine! Like jacking off! Stress relief! Anger? No problem! Bored? Easy! Besides you don’t think that poster was cuz he liked the swimsuit, do you? Why mention Jennifer Lawrence? He knew his answer quick for Todo too.

(K)ink - please shackle him. As much as he will protest, he does like it. He likes being restrained! Blindfolds, gags/muzzles even, and cuffs! Collar him and he’s a mess. He LOVES it. Especially when he breaks out of it and surprises you.

(L)ocation - outside. On the grass. In the forest. Please let him chase you. Or even! Chase you in the house! He’ll be a good boy and not go as fast as he can go… to start.

(M)otivation - honestly not much. He has to already be in the mood, otherwise he’s not thinking about it. However. Teasing him in public will get him riled up.

(N)o - No feet. Please. He can’t take it seriously! He’s so sorry he just can’t! It’s the funny haha kink meme! He won’t make fun of it to your face if you’re into, but if you aren’t he will make jokes about it with you! Like “oooo baby you just finished working out? Bet your feet are all hot and sweaty~! Bahahahah!”

(O)ral - Mlem mlem mlem mlem mlem mlem, in his mouth! In mouth! Please! Yum yum! Eatin fingers, Eatin other shit, Eatin everything! He’s a hungry boy!

(P)ace - BAP BAP BAP BAP BAP *grunts and growls like a sexy alpha* BAP BAP BAP BAP- fr tho he’s thumpin his hips into you like he’s punching Mahito’s face. Then he’ll take pauses where he pushes all the way in and grinds his hips into yours, grinding as deep in as he can.

(Q)uicky - Not really, just not his style… but if it’s giving you oral? Yes please!

(R)isk - oh. Oh. OH. He did not know he was into this! Please please please grind against him, push back onto him and tell him to keep it together cuz you’re in public. But also he’s so up to try a bunch! Just ask!

(S)tamina - yuh. He’s better than unc when it comes to cumming multiple times but in overall stamina unc still beats him. He’s going at it for a good while, as long as you’re good with it and want it! I’d give him a solid 3hrs maybe 4

(T)oys - okay. He’s kinda dumb about toys. Dunno why it’s just my read on him. But he likes how you react when used on you! He’s a big butt plug fan for you as well… he’s a bit shy about it tho

(U)nfair - he doesn’t really tease! Sometimes he will tho, and it’s public teasing of him fingering/groping you. He’s not grinding against you in public, but he’s got a hand on you while he’s smiling and talking to someone like nothings happening

(V)olume - gawd damn can this mf be loud. He’s moaning and groaning, praising and degrading you whichever gets better reactions. “Fuck, can’t even wait to get home huh? Need me fucking you that bad? Don’t worry, I’ll give it too you soon<3”

(W)ild Card - he… he’s kinda thinking about the tattoos. They’re so cool he hates that they’re so cool! But he’d look so good, better than that asshole for sure! He thinks he’d look hot too!

(X)-ray - plaid boxers and boxer briefs… but also he’s got some really stupid ones. Human earthworm boxers for sure! White ones with hearts to match with his besto friendo, too.

(Y)es - Coming as a surprise, he’s open to threesomes and even foursomes! He’s not specifically thought of anyone, but it just sounds nice and really hot!

(Z)zz - yes yes! Put on a show! Cuddle! Eat snacks and drink pop! Get all lazy, let him rub your stomach, drift off together and sleep! Yessss!

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Bring me a dream, make him the cutest that I've ever seen

(Sam x female reader x Dean, spell-induced Crowley x reader)

Summary Crowley and you are struck by a love spell and Sam and Dean attempt to help you. And they’re definitely not jealous. Not at all. CWs Basically Sam and Dean get super jealous when you start smooching Crowley (for magic reasons). Cas is also there (but he's very confused about it all). Rated Teen. 4.5k words

My SPN masterlist

You were just raising the hand that was holding the machete, when the witch’s weird, magical zombie bodyguard punched you in the chest.

In the chest.

You went down, knees meeting the floor and hand clutching yourself, a curse brewing in you.

Who the hell hit people in the chest? At least it hadn’t been in the boob.

“You… asshole!” you hissed through clenched teeth, just as the thing dropped, one of the brothers, Sam or Dean, having shot it. Then you heard Castiel yell: “She’s getting away!”

You looked away from the disassembled body parts lying in front of you, just to see the colorfully dressed witch book it through one of the doors. You took a split second to look around.

Dean was fighting two of the zombie guards himself, Castiel three and Sam was just wrestling one to the ground, a few already lying at his feet. So you grabbed the machete you had dropped, pushed yourself to your feet and started sprinting.

Sam was closest to the door, and he saw what you were doing. He elbowed the guard he was fighting, and just managed a: “No, no, no, don’t go alo-” when one of the ones that had been focusing on Cas tackled him. Every bone in your body wanted to help him, but you knew the quickest way out of this was to get the witch and make her take back whatever magic she had used to raise those fleshy freaks.

You ran out of the room, having to correct quickly, the angle at which you turned too tight, the marble floors too slippery. Because of course this witch lived in a mansion with marble floors. Why wouldn’t she?

You saw her halfway down the hall. You had dropped your gun at some point, so all you could do was run after her. You were gaining on her, but not quickly enough.

She’s going to get away, you thought, when all of a sudden she bounced back, almost comically, as if she had run into an invisible wall. You came to a skittering stop, wondering what the hell had caused it. It turned out thinking of hell wasn’t far off, as a second later, you saw first a fancy fair of black leather loafers, and then the rest of the King of Hell come around the corner at the end of the corridor. You dropped your shoulders.

“I thought you said this was easy enough for us to take care of on our own?” you asked, referring to the fact that while Crowley had informed you about the evil witch, he had refused to join you on the hunt, saying it wasn’t his style to run around, brandishing medieval weaponry.

“Clearly, I was wrong,” Crowley replied, looking down at the witch who was groaning as she was lying there.

“Can you block her powers or something?” you asked. “The others are being pummeled by these weird zombie creatures she raised.

“Voodoo,” Crowley sighed, as if you were the most uneducated person in the world to him. But then he snapped his finger.

“That did it?” you asked, a little surprised. Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, that did it,” he said, disdain in his voice.

Suddenly you saw movement out of the corner of your eye, and just as you were raising your hand the witch was on her feet. She dragged something from one of the pockets of her robe and although you tried to reach her, you were too slow.

She threw whatever she was holding at the ground. You could see Crowley raise his hand to stop her, maybe make her head explode or whatever Crowley did with his enemies these days, but she screamed a few words in Latin and suddenly there was a blinding light, fog, so bright and hot that you had to shield your eyes, saw Crowley do the same.

There was a smell of burned hair in the air and you coughed as the fog cleared. You waved a hand in front of your face and took a few steps forward. There was no trace of the witch, but what you saw instead made you gasp.

The voodoo soldiers had all suddenly fallen apart. Sam was on the floor, and Dean with his back against the wall, Cas in the middle of the room, arm with angel blade raised. They all looked at each other questioningly.

“I guess that’s a good sign?” Dean asked. They quickly collected their dropped weapons, Dean gingerly touching his forehead where a bruise was already forming, while Sam wiped at a cut on his chin. Only Castiel’s face had made it out without any marks.

The three men walked outside, following the path you had gone, but the hallway in front of them was empty. Dean and Sam walked ahead, calling your name, when suddenly Cas waved them over.

“There’s noises coming from that room,” he said, pointing at a door that was slightly ajar. The brothers pulled their guns while Castiel raised his blade. There was still a chance that the witch wasn’t taken care of and that you were in danger.

Dean pushed the door open with one swift move of his hand, rushing into the room, Sam right on his heels. Castiel nearly ran into their backs when they stopped dead in their tracks. He just barely managed to look between their shoulders at what they were seeing.

“What… in the…” Dean managed to say.

The room they had walked into was some kind of conservatory. There were pots of plants and herbs all around, plus an expensive-looking plush red armchair. Crowley was sitting in that armchair, which in itself wasn’t hugely disturbing.

What was though was you, straddling him, holding him by the collar of his suit. Crowley’s hands were on your hips as if that was where they belonged.

You looked up when the brothers and the angel entered, and the reason you had to look up was because you had been kissing Crowley.

Deeply. Passionately.

Both Sam and Dean’s mouths were hanging open, their eyes wide.

“Guys,” you said with a small, embarrassed chuckle. “Don’t you knock?”

They managed to get you both to the car, although you and Crowley refused to stop holding hands the whole time. Dean had the brilliant idea of placing Castiel in the middle seat on the bench, you and Crowley to his right and left, while Sam and Dean took their usual positions in the front.

Sam had to actually grab you by the shoulders and maneuver you to your side of the car, because you were busy waxing poetic about how good Crowley looked in his suit.

“Okay,” Dean said, pulling closed the car door behind him an turning around. “What in the world is going on?”

“It must be some kind of spell or curse,” Castiel observed, just as Crowley leaned forward and winked at you, making you giggle. Sam threw a disturbed look at the both of you, then briefly squeezed his eyes shut to concentrate.

“So,” he said, “we need an, an anti-spell, or a— Would you stop that?” The last words were directed at you because not only had you not stopped giggling at Crowley’s flirting, you were also biting your lower lip, very much distracting Sam. You looked at him, surprised by his sharp tone.

“Jeez,” you said, crossing your arms and dropping back into the seat. “You’re such a killjoy.” Dean pressed three fingers against the top of the bridge of his nose.

“I say bunker,” he said, his tone tense, “and then we figure out how the hell we reverse this.”

“There’s nothing to reverse,” you spoke up. “Why are you getting so wound up about this?” Dean looked at you, the most incredulous look he could muster on his face.

“Because we’re talking about Crowley,” he said, “and you were… kissing him.” He almost spat the word. You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t be mad at them, kitten,” Crowley spoke up, looking away from Dean at you. “They don’t know what it means to know that you have found your other half.” A dreamy smile went over your face and you actually sighed. Cas was frowning.

“I feel,” he said, voice calm, “very uncomfortable.” With that, Dean started the car.

The trip back to the bunker took a while but Castiel’s physical presence and repeated warnings from Sam and Dean stopped anything untoward happening between you and Crowley on the way. Sam kept calling Rowena, but only got her voice mail.

After you parked, Dean took you with him, his hand wrapping around your upper arm, while Sam moved Crowley. They brought you to the library, sitting you at opposite ends of one of the long tables. Sam checked his phone, to see if Rowena had returned his message. She hadn't.

“Okay,” Sam said, running a hand over his face, “then we’ll have figure this out ourselves.” He went to one of the shelves, started taking out books, bringing them to the table. Dean, Cas and Sam each grabbed one at random, starting their research.

"What are we supposed to do?" Crowley asked, looking bored. Dean shot him a look that shut him up.

After a while you stood up, strolled over to a different shelf, ran your hand down the spines. Dean looked up, watching you like a hawk, only to see that you were making eye contact with Crowley. He felt an intense rush of annoyance run through him.

“I can see what you’re doing,” he said, and your head snapped towards him.

“I’m not doing anything,” you said.

“Are too,” Dean replied. “You’re making googly eyes at Crowley, who’s supposed to be your sworn enemy, by the way.” You wrinkled your brow.

“I don’t think I ever swore anything,” you said, then looked at Crowley again. “But I would swear something now.” Crowley grinned.

“What would you swear, my darling?” he asked, then raised his chin a little. “My queen?”

“That’s it,” Dean said, standing up. He got you by the arm again, dragging you out of the lustful looks you were throwing Crowley and maneuvered you to the kitchen. He sat you down at the table and went to the fridge, getting himself a beer. He opened it, taking a long sip, then watched you where you were sitting, pouting.

“There’s no part of you,” he asked, “that recognizes even a little that this is weird?”

“Jesus, Dean,” you replied, “get off it, will you? Why is this bothering you so much?” Dean extended his hand, pointing in the general direction of the library.

“I don’t know how many times I need to say it,” he responded. “It’s friggin’ Crowley.”

“Oh, right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “So if it was someone else, you’d be fine with it?” Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Yes,” he said, then shook his head. “I mean no, it’s still a spell.”

“It doesn’t feel like a spell, Dean,” you replied.

“Doesn’t change the fact that it is one,” he responded, leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping his beer. You watched him, then slowly got up, joining him at the counter.

“You know,” you said, and he looked at you sideways. “You’re supposed to be my friend. Would it kill you to be a little happy for me?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Crowley,” was all he said.

You scoffed. “I haven’t dated anyone in… God, I don’t even want to think about it. You’ve got your hook-ups, Dean, but I get…” You stopped, looked at the counter, running your hand over it.

“I get lonely sometimes, okay?” you said, not looking at him. Dean was studying you.

“You do?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

“But you have me and Sam. And Cas.” You looked at him again.

“You know what I mean,” you said. Dean swallowed.

“I had no idea,” he said, taking another sip. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” you said, smiling a little, “you would never let me hear the end of it? Make fun of me?” Dean shook his head.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he said quietly. You both didn't speak for a minute.

“What if it's not a spell?” you finally asked. “I mean, what if I just like someone? Would you be happy for me then?” Dean looked at you, thinking.

“I…” he said, but didn’t continue when you heard footsteps. Castiel entered the kitchen and you both turned to him.

“What’s up?” Dean asked.

“I just needed to get away from him for a little while,” Cas said, then threw you an uncomfortable look. “He keeps talking about… you. And… parts of you.”

You raised your eyebrows at Dean, then started walking past Castiel back to the library. Dean didn’t stop you. He was rooted in place for a few seconds, wondering if he had just given away his biggest secret.

You strutted into the library, making Sam look up from the book he had been studying.

“And I mean, the way she fights,” Crowley was saying. At some point he had gotten a drink, was standing by the bar cart, holding the glass with the dark liquid before him, moving it a little while he talked. “The way she moves her body, the smoothness and roughness at the same time—”

Crowley was interrupted when you walked up to him, grabbed his face and kissed him. His free hand went around your waist, pulling you close and you gasped against his mouth. You heard hurried steps behind you and then Sam was pulling you away.

“Hey, don’t—” you complained but there was no way to wriggle yourself out of Sam’s grasp.

“Believe me,” he said, gently depositing you on one of the chairs. “You’ll thank me for this later.” You huffed, crossing your legs and shooting daggers at Sam when Dean and Cas walked into the library as well. Sam spread his arms.

“Am I the only one still baby sitting?” he asked, voice frustrated. Crowley turned to you. “Should I make them go poof?” You grinned.

“That’s sweet, but they are my friends,” you replied. Crowley rolled his eyes. “We’ll have to talk about that,” he said, “who you've elected to spend your time with.” Sam ran his hand over his eyes.

“I can’t find anything that really matches this,” he said. “There’s more books in the archives, though.” Castiel walked over to Crowley, putting his hand on the demon’s shoulder.

“I’ll take him with me,” the angel said. “So that there are no more… shenanigans.”

Dean frowned. “Shenanigans?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, shenanigans,” he replied.

“Great,” Dean said, scratching his forehead.

Then the two men were walking off, but not before Crowley threw another lust-filled look your way. You sighed, leaning back in the chair, while Dean went for the bar cart. Sam was standing near you, looking down at a book opened before him.

“And?” you asked, looking up at him. “You close to finding your cure yet?”

“Not yet,” Sam replied, not taking his eyes off the book.

“Maybe because there is none,” you said.

“Everything has a cure,” Sam replied, his voice stoic.

“Ebola doesn’t,” you replied. Sam scoffed.

“What a fitting comparison,” he muttered.

“Don’t you start, too,” you said, and Sam finally looked at you.

“Can I just… focus on this?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Sam,” you said, leaning forward. “Just… let me be happy.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re not actually happy, it’s just the spell telling you you are.”

“So?” you asked, and now you were the one raising her eyebrows. “It feels the same. Why is that so bad?”

"It's not real," he answered.

You shrugged. "Reality's complicated," you replied.

Sam thought for a second, and when he didn’t immediately find a fitting response, he pivoted. “You don’t even know Crowley,” he responded. “I mean, really know him.”

“Oh please,” you said, “that kind of stuff doesn’t matter.” Sam frowned at you. “What,” you said, laughing a little, “I need to know what his favorite song is or, or his birthday or all his hopes and dreams to be in love with him?” Sam nodded.

“Yes,” he said. "That's kind of important."

“Come on, Sam,” you said. “Do you know those things about anyone?” Sam clenched his jaw and he looked down at the table again.

“Yeah, a couple of people actually,” he replied, not clarifying.

“Those are just facts, though,” you said, leaning forward, trying to get him to look at you again. “They don’t mean anything.”

“Some of them do,” Sam said, and looked back at you.

“Like what?” you asked.

“Like…” Sam said, then was quiet for a second. “Like I know you always look at those little cottages online. That you would like to buy one one day.”

You watched him intently as he talked. 

"And I know you would like to have a dog,” he said, then chuckled to himself. “But you’d settle for a turtle.” You looked a little awkward for a  moment.

“It’s not settling,” you said then, in a small voice. “Turtles are awesome.” Sam grinned.

“Yeah,” he said absentmindedly, as he continued scanning the text. Suddenly he stood up straight.

“What?” you asked, your eyes following him.

“I think I got it,” he said. You leaned over, scanning the book, then frowned. “You really think a guy called Rudolphus the Wistful  is gonna have the answer?” Sam looked at you, then chuckled. His fingers ran over the page, going lower, until they stopped.

“Oh,” he said. You looked up at him.

“Let me guess,” you said. “It’s not a spell and I was right all along?” Sam shook his head.

“It’s, uhm,” and then he went quiet.

“What?” you said, suddenly sounding a little worried. When Sam still didn’t answer, you got up, stood next to him and read what it said on the page.

And who that is smytun with a swerd, may oonly be delyuered, bi kissyng of oon that loueth hem.

“What does that mean?” you asked, looking up at Sam.

“It’s Middle English,” he said. “It means that if you’re struck by this spell it can only be removed if you’re kissed by someone who loves you.” You frowned.

“But I already kissed Crowley,” you said, shrugging. Sam looked down at you.

“I don’t think that’s what it means, but I…” he stopped himself, not taking his eyes off you. “I just…” he said but stopped again. You widened your eyes in question.

“You what?” you asked. Sam was chewing the inside of his lip while he was thinking. Then he looked up, his eyes searching for Dean. His brother was back at the cart for a refill across the room, his back to the two of you. Sam nodded to himself, then looked at you again.

Suddenly you felt one of his big hands on the side of your face.

“I just want to try something,” he said, his voice low. Before you had a second to wonder what he meant, he was leaning down, your lips gently meeting. It lasted only for a  second, and then Sam was pulling back, his hand still holding you.

“Anything?” he asked. You frowned but before you could say anything, Dean was stomping up behind you.

“The hell are you doing?” he asked, his voice outraged. “That damn spell get you too?” he asked.

Before Sam could answer, you turned to Dean and, grabbing him with one fist by the t-shirt, pulled him towards you and kissed him as well. When you let go of him Dean nearly stumbled from how much he had leaned into the kiss. You looked at the brothers, both their eyes wide in shock.

“See?” you said, raising your hands. “It doesn’t do anything, and neither would a potion or an anti-spell or if I sang a Beatles song backwards. Because it is not a spell.” You punctuated the last words with your hand whirling in front of their faces.

“Uhm, okay,” Dean said, seeming a little rattled. “Somebody catch me up?” Sam collected himself as well, then pointed at the book. He quickly licked his lips, then explained:

“I thought I found something, it says here that the spell can be broken when the affected person is kissed by someone who loves them.” He cleared his throat, awkwardly, while Dean considered the implications of what he had just heard.

“Oh,” he said, also clearing his throat, then added: “Uhm, uh,” and nothing more. Sam narrowed his eyes as they scanned the page again.

“Wait, it says something else,” he added, then read while moving his lips.

“What is it?” Dean asked, sounding as casual as possible.

“Does it say that it’s not a spell and you should just believe me?” you asked in a cocky voice, the brothers pointedly ignoring you.

“It says,” Sam said, and then he sounded sad, defeated. “It says the love must be reciprocated by the affected person, or the kiss has no effect.” Sam swallowed, then shut the book. “I guess now we know why it didn’t work,” he said, his voice clipped. Dean took a second to catch up, then he looked at you.

“Oh,” he said again. It was quiet for a moment, while you looked back and forth between the two men. You were just about to say something when a voice cut the quiet.

“Usually I would ask what in the world the three of you are doing,” Rowena said from the far end of the room, and all three of you looked up at her. “But in this case I think I am happy to live in blissful ignorance.”

“Rowena,” Sam said, “you got my messages?”

“Not here for you, Samuel,” Rowena answered, and started walking over to you. “I’ve heard rumors that my son has been hexed and I thought, where could he be? And of course the first place I looked was here with his sworn enemies.” You raised your hands, then dropped them by your side.

“When is everyone doing all this swearing?” you asked.

“I can’t have people using his vulnerable state to their advantage,” Rowena continued, then made a face. “Or worse, laugh at him. They cannot see us as weak.” There were footsteps behind you and as you turned, Castiel and Crowley came back into the library.

“Mother,” Crowley said, looking less than happy. “I thought I smelled a note of evil incarnate.”

“Fergus,” Rowena responded, “whatever it is that useless voodoo witch has done to you, I’m here to reverse it.”

Just then you separated from Sam and Dean, instead walking over to Crowley, wrapping one arm around him while standing next to him. Rowena frowned at the picture.

“There’s no need for any reversing,” Crowley explained. “We are quite happy. It’s a simple case of us realizing our feeling for each other.” To everyone’s surprise, Rowena’s face lit up.

“Really?” she said, then looked at you. “You two do make a pretty couple. Maybe I won't reverse it.” You giggled, Crowley pulling you closer.

“You’re joking, right?” Sam asked the witch.

“Have you seen the harlots he usually runs with?” she asked. “It’s disgraceful for a king. A partner would do wonders for his popularity.” Then she looked back at you.

“Also,” she continued, “he could do worse, she’s actually useful. As opposed to some people.” Rowena rolled her eyes at Sam and Dean.

“I can think of some uses for you,” Crowley said in a low, seductive voice, looking down at you and leaning closer.

"And what would that be?" you said, looking at his lips.

“You would make a wonderful mother to my heir,” Crowley replied.

A small moan left you and you kissed him deeply. Dean looked like he was about to be sick.

“I need to Clorox my brain,” he muttered.

But the happy expression was also slowly vanishing from Rowena’s face. Castiel was the only one still playing with enough of a full deck to catch it.

“An heir,” he said, looking at the witch. “That would put you where exactly, on the succession to the throne?” Rowena looked at him with an expression so annoyed it might have accidentally set something on fire.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll revert it.” And before anyone else could react, she pointed at you and Crowley, saying a few words in Latin.

You blinked, then looked to your left and immediately jumped back.

“What in the—” you said while Crowley looked around, confused. You turned to Sam and Dean.

"Why was I touching Crowley?” you asked, voice a little shrill.

“Oh,” Rowena said, “there might be some memory loss accompanying the cure. Might be for the best.” Then she snapped her finger. “Fergus, we are leaving.” Crowley was still confused enough to follow the order.

“Thank you, Rowena,” Sam said and the short woman turned to him.

“You owe me,” she said, then her eyes fell on the book behind him.

“Oh, you were really on the wrong track,” she said, pointing at the book. Dean turned, also looking.

“What,” he said to Rowena, “Rudy not worth the hype?” Rowena scoffed.

“They should call him Rudolphus the Horny,” she responded. “He made up a bunch of kissing cures in the sixteenth century. Got the boils? Kiss someone. Bad with money? Kiss someone. You ask me, he was just trying to get around. There’s no proof that anything he wrote ever worked, but there is some solid evidence that his kissing cure was part of what made the Black Death spread so fast.”

Rowena hooked her arm through Crowley’s. “Anyway,” she said, and then the two were walking off. It was quiet for a moment, then Castiel, Sam and Dean all turned to you.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked.

“Disturbed,” you answered.

“What do you remember?” Castiel asked.

“Not much,” you replied, then made a face. “I didn’t… touch Crowley any more than that, did I?” When the three men didn’t respond, your eyes widened.

“I didn’t kiss him right?” you said, your voice starting to sound panicked. Still none of them replied, all making faces.

“I need to shower,” you said, sounding defeated, then added: “From the inside, if such a thing is possible.”

“We tried to stop you,” Dean said, “but you were… insistent.”

“Aaahh,” you said, your hands going to your ears. “I don’t wanna hear that.” You pulled up your shoulders, shaking yourself and dropped your hands.

“Did I do anything else weird?” you asked, looking back at the brothers. They both went quiet for a second, uhm-ing and ah-ing.

“What?” you frowned at them. They didn’t answer, and then Dean blurted out: “Crowley talked about knocking you up.”  Your eyes went wide.

“I need to…” and then you were walking out of the room, stopping at the bar cart to grab one of the bottles. And off you went. Dean turned to Sam.

“Awesome,” he said in a sarcastic tone.

Castiel watched as the two brothers moved awkwardly around each other, each of them finally settling in a different chair, pretending to read something. The angel shook his head and sat down as well.

[micky-44-blog]

“Let the Slap of Love Commence”

Lucifer Morningstar x Wife!Reader – Tortilla Slap Challenge

___________________________________________

You had done some mildly unholy things in your time as the Queen of Hell, but today? You might have topped them all.

“Explain this to me again,” Lucifer said, eyeing the two massive tortillas in your hands with a mix of suspicion and amusement. “You want me to... what?”

You grinned, offering him one of the tortillas like it was a sacred weapon. “It’s called the Tortilla Slap Challenge. We each take a tortilla, fill our mouths with water, and try not to laugh while slapping each other with these.”

Lucifer blinked. “So... foreplay?”

You gave him the look. “No. Internet challenge. No flirting until after the slaps.”

He pouted, holding up the tortilla like it was made of sin itself. “Fine. But know that striking my ethereal face is a crime punishable by at least twenty years of cuddles.”

“Then I plead guilty in advance.”

--

Round One: Water Locked, Tortillas Loaded

You both filled your cheeks like overhydrated chipmunks and faced each other dramatically in the palace courtyard.

Lucifer raised his tortilla. “Mmmph!”

You nodded. “Mmph!”

Then, SLAP.

You took the first hit—and immediately snorted water out your nose trying not to laugh. Lucifer looked smug until your tortilla whipped across his cheek in a swift revenge arc.

SLAP.

He blinked, stunned.

You both paused.

Then—you lost it.

Water spewed from both of you as you doubled over laughing, tortillas flopping uselessly to the ground like fallen warriors.

Round Two: Vengeance

“No mercy this time,” he growled, refilling his cheeks and adjusting his collar with mock seriousness. “I am Lucifer Morningstar. First of His Name. Slayer of Kings. Bringer of Style.”

You nodded solemnly. “And you’re about to be slapped like a soggy sandwich.”

SLAP.

You hit him so hard the tortilla broke mid-air.

Lucifer spat water in shock, staggered back, and looked at the shredded remains in your hand.

“…That was excessive.”

You gave a faux-innocent shrug. “Your face broke it.”

“Oh, now it’s war.”

---

Later That Night...

Lucifer towel-dries his hair and flops beside you in bed, tortilla welt still faintly visible on his cheek.

“That,” he murmurs, curling an arm around you, “was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”

You kiss his nose. “You loved it.”

He chuckles. “I did. But next time? Pancakes. They’re softer.”

[sulumuns-dootah]

Hello and can i ask if its okay for a request? If its okay, I read your ‘WHB Characters meeting their Obey me counterparts’ and got the idea…

What if the WHB Kings meeting Diavolo from Obey me?

Or WHB Angels & Angels from Obey me? (you can choose one or make a request or not, if you like)

Thank you in advance

WHB kings meeting prince Diavolo

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Hi! I actually wrote the Seraphims meeting their OM! version in the second part of OM! meeting WHB ^^ (Took me a while but I'm back, babey!)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Oh hey, this future king of Hell isn't as scary as Satan expected

Actually, he kinda reminds him of Mammon in a way

With the whole golden retriver energy

On the other hand, Diavolo is intruqued with Satan's biker persona

Don't tell Barbatos, but he might buy a bike too and ride it while Barbatos is busy with chores around the castle

       ༺☆༻

These two get along really well

I already mentioned that they're really similar so lemme talk about it a bit more

They both have their royal manners, but still try to reach out to their people from their privileged pedestal

Also, they don't take anything much seriously

Like you could spill a whole gallon of soup on them and they'll ask if you're okay and then laugh it all off

       ༺☆༻

I really hope that Diavolo doesn't have any expectations based on the brothers

Leviathans couldn't be the furthest from each other so I doubt Diavolo would be able to befriend Levi by cosplaying Ruri-chan for him

At first he'll be his cheery self, but after Levi responds in a luke-warm way, he'll pretty much shut himself off

Leviathan, being Leviathan, doesn't wanna have anything to do with some other king of Hell

Will even try to start a competition about whose Barbatos is the better servant (OM!Barbatos wins, sorry)

       ༺☆༻

Oh but these two will hit it off nicely

Chaos ensues

Might be the frist time where Diavolo has to be the one to stop shenanigans from spiralling out of control

Please do make sure that Beel doesn't find out about Diavolo's fear of pickled vegetables, or he might end up chasing him around the castle (like that video of that one woman who was terrified of olives)

       ༺☆༻

Given what happened with OM!Belphegor did, Diavolo is a bit vary while meeting Belphie

Though, his fears are pretty much calmed when he finds out that this guy can't go an hour or so without falling asleep

He really admires how Nifleheim manages to not descent into chaos and definitely wants to try and implement some of the rules in the Devildom

Belphegor didn't even realise that someone new was in the room

Will probably ask Beleth if he changed up his style and tell him that red is not his color and that he should just keep the suit he wears normally

       ༺☆༻

Okay, Diavolo is scared

Like geniunelly terrified

He will actually refuse to be around Asmo for an extended period of time

Just hearing all the stories about him is enough

And even if he didn't, the smell would speak for Asmo enough

On Asmo's end, you already know he'd be down (who wouldn't he be for tho?)

Depending on the look that Diavolo would be in, different things would turn him on about him

       ༺☆༻

Lucifer saddens him

To what extent are the kings and the brothers different? Do they carry similar mindsets and feelings? If so, he really needs to have a long conversation with OM!Lucifer

Lucifer, on the other hand, is finally happy to find out who tf the Diavolo guy is

For some reason he kept thinking about it after having met his OM! self who would constantly only talk about him

Lucifer likes him, overall ^^

[navybrat817]

Any chance we can see Winter and Kisa? 🥺

I owe them a proper one-shot, nonnie, but I may have a little something to hold you over.

Almost Like Home

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Agent!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky told you his place would be your home one day. You see it firsthand with his closet.

Word Count: Over 1.6k

Warnings: Tension, longing, pet names, possessive behavior, slight obsessive behavior, conflicted reader, threat of violence (not against reader), very minor injury, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: More Winter and Kisa. That okay, lovelies? ❤️ Edit by the talented @nixakimbo . Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Arguing with Bucky to let you go back to your place was pointless today and you were too exhausted to try. Being sleepy was how you justified following him to his bedroom, your footsteps gently echoing in the hall. You took in your surroundings and tried to reason that it was out of curiosity and to stay alert, not because this would be your home one day. Even if he said it would be.

You’d take a quick nap and be on your way, right?

“You sure I can't carry you in?” Bucky offered as he stopped in front of the door at the end of the hall, sneaking a glance at you over your shoulder.

He trusted you enough to have his back to you.

“Don’t you dare,” you said without a hint of malice, biting your lip when he smiled and opened the door to let you go in.

“Worth a shot.”

The rays from the sunset seeped in through the window curtain before Bucky turned the light on. The bedroom was beautiful, as expected, with a king-sized bed, a chair near the balcony, and a fireplace. You imagined him sitting and reading after a long day. But the vanity didn't appear to be his style at all.

It looked like something that belonged in your room.

Bucky didn't attempt to move toward you as you met his all-consuming gaze, which somehow made the tension grow. It would’ve been easy to drag him to his bed or let him shove you down and make you his the way he claimed you were. But one taste wouldn't be enough for either of you.

“As much as I'd love to see you in my clothes,” he said to break the silence, gesturing to a door along the wall. “You might find something more to your liking in there on the right side.”

“I can't sleep in this?”

He dragged his lip along his teeth and shook his head. “The bastard who hit you may not have touched your clothes, but I’d sooner burn them before they touch my bed.”

“Possessive bastard,” you muttered, part of you liking it.

His watchful eyes followed as you crossed the room and opened the door, your mouth falling open as you looked around. The closet was larger than your apartment living room. To the left were suits, shoes, watches, and more that clearly belonged to the mobster. But to the right…

Your heart raced as you walked over and pushed through the clothes, something heavy settling in your stomach when you realized they were all your size. Not only that, they were designs and styles you wore and liked. Many of which you'd never be able to afford, let alone have the pleasure of feeling the fabric under your fingertips. You had long accepted that working for a living would never give you a life of luxury.

There weren't many times in life where you had the rug pulled out from under you, but this was something else entirely.

“What is this?” You whispered, turning toward Bucky as he strode through the door.

“Your closet. Well, our closet. You like it?” He answered, pride in his eyes as he glanced at your side. “I figured you could look at some of the shoes and jewelry after you get some rest. And you’ll love the lingerie almost as much as I will.”

You took a deep breath. And another. It did little to calm you down. “Bucky. I am not your girlfriend and I sure as hell don't live here, so why do you have half of your closet set aside for me?” You demanded.

Bucky lifted a shoulder, unbothered by the fury and touch of sadness that simmered in your eyes. “Girlfriend isn't really a title I want you to have. Wife and my queen, yes. Those will do. And you will live here, so I had to make sure you have clothes,” he said as his eyes bore into yours. “Though I don't mind if you'd rather walk around without wearing anything.”

Your face heated up as he stepped toward you and you wished you could ignore the throbbing between your legs. “You're delusional,” you stated.

He chuckled low, the sound sending more heat through your traitorous body. “No, Kisa. Not delusional. Prepared and excited, but not delusional.”

You scoffed, trying to cover up your arousal. Why did he put more into obtaining you than any other guy who crossed your path before? “Whatever you need to tell yourself to get to sleep at night, Winter.”

“I'll sleep much better when you're beside me.”

The softness in his voice surprised you, like you sleeping beside him would bring him some sort of comfort as well as satisfaction. “You say that like it's a sure thing.”

Your stomach twisted in knots as he smirked, all confidence and swagger. “Oh, you and I both know I always end up getting what I want.”

But what if he stopped wanting you one day?

Your back was against the wall, nowhere to go as he took another step forward. “You can't have me.”

The words sounded empty and you both knew it. “And why is that?” He asked.

“Because I can't let you have me,” you answered, pausing as your gaze shifted away from him. You almost regretted the next words that slipped out of your mouth. “You cloud my judgment.”

The admission didn't lift the weight from your chest because it didn't change anything. At the end of the day, Bucky would continue to do terrible things and you wouldn't bring him to justice. You couldn't bring yourself to do so. Yet you brought others in.

How many times could you justify letting Bucky roam free because he had a heart beneath the surface?

You willed your knees to keep you upright when he rolled his sleeves up more and smugly smiled. “Is that so? Hmm, I like the idea that you can't think straight around me.”

You held up a hand when he moved closer, as if it would stop him. “Don't let it go to your head. My job comes first. You know that.”

He grasped your wrist and brought it to his mouth, his lips barely grazing your skin. The spark between you continued to ignite when his tongue darted out. “Well, if I had it my way you'd come first every single time.”

The breath left your lungs in a rush. “Bucky, please,” you whispered, hating how weak you sounded when his scruff touched your skin.

He hummed as he pressed his lips against your pulse. “That's one of the things I imagine you saying before you come.”

You didn't rip your hand away, enjoying the attention far more than you should have. “You're being ridiculous. You know we can't do this.”

“No, I don't know that. Though you keep saying we shouldn't,” he said, taking your hand and placing it over your head against the wall. His grip didn't hurt. You almost wished it did so you'd have more of a reason to fight. “Maybe you're the delusional one.”

“Maybe I am a little,” you said, tears pricking your eyes. “Because I've crossed the line enough by not bringing you in.”

Maybe your hands weren't as dirty as his, but they sure as hell weren't clean.

A sympathetic smile tugged at his lips. “Because you want me and want to be with me.”

His eyes traced along your face as your breathing got heavier. You didn't object or deny him. Doing so would be a lie and wasn't life clouded enough with too many of those? But to speak the truth would be to lose a part of yourself.

“It doesn't matter. When the chase ends, you’ll stop wanting me,” you said, his brows furrowing when your voice cracked.

Because the game would be over and why would he want to play again? How much of you would he take with him? What would be left in the wake of his victory?

His fingertips ran along your sore cheek and brushed away a tear that fell. “The chase will end because you’ll be by my side, but it doesn't stop there. I’m still going to court you and show you every day why I’m nothing without you.”

Tilting your head, he placed a tender kiss on your cheek. The same way he had in his den. Would it be so wrong to let him seduce you further? “But you have the world,” you whispered.

“You are my world,” he whispered back before he pulled away and released your hand, your body suddenly cold. Your breaths felt shallow as he ran a hand through his hair and he still hadn’t kissed your lips. He looked like he was restraining himself as well. “Those aren't just pretty words. I’ll do whatever it takes to show you, Kisa. Starting with the man who hurt you.”

The resolve in his eyes before he turned and walked away tugged at your heartstrings. “Don’t kill him. Please.”

He stopped in the doorway with a sigh, but didn't face you. “I told you I can't let it go,” he said, grunting as he flexed his fingers. “But I'll try not to kill him.”

You couldn't ask for more than that. “Thank you, Bucky,” you said sincerely, pushing yourself away from the wall. “But you really don't have to do anything to him in order to prove something to me.”

His blue eyes lit up with purpose when he looked back at you. “No one hurts someone I love and gets away with it,” he said, leaving you all alone with your thoughts.

Because what were you really afraid of?

That Bucky Barnes loved you or that you maybe loved him, too?

UGH. I love them. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[hisnumber1]

Devil's Embrace

Paring: Lucifer Morningstar x reader

Summery: (Y/n) had found herself at the hazbin hotel. She never thought of redemption but she got a free room while she does her work. (Y/n) made outfits and tailored for people if they pay enough. She loves trying to make unique dresses for balls or for higher class. Keeping her name in the high class of hell, she tailored for the king of hell himself. Finding herself tailoring for him in the hotel of his daughter is an interesting situation.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: fluff, slowburn, close proximity.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

I find myself leaning back in my seat, sighing. Watching AngleDust flirt with Husker and he growls in response. Charlie is putting more stuff on her board as she tries to figure out how to make the hotel work. I jump back on feet, strolling down the hallway ways to get to my room. I walk into my room filled with drawing and projects I've worked on. I fall flat on my face into my bed, I turn my head, looking at my recent project of a dress.

The dress was a long ballroom dress, with a long v going down the chest. The sleeves were mesh, and at the top it came off the shoulder. The skirt came out and poofed out, with the back covered in a long black mesh. The dress was white, with highlights of red, all of the mesh was black, giving it a dark energy.

Something just seems off, I don't know what it is but it just does. I hear a ping come from across the room. Lifting up my head and seeing my phone light up, I groan as I pull myself up. Walking to my table, I grab my phone and sit on the table. I read the notification, it was an email. I tapped on it, scanning over the text.

"Dear Ms. (L/n),

I hope this email finds you well. I recently purchased a suit, while I am pleased with the quality and style, I find that it is slightly larger than my measurements. Therefore, I am writing to inquire about the possibility of having it tailored to a smaller size.

The suit in question is a white Shawl Lapel with red highlights, the fabrics are jacquard and velvet, and I purchased it about a week ago. I have attached a copy of the receipt for your reference.

I would greatly appreciate it if you could provide me with information on the process and cost involved in resizing the suit. Additionally, if you require any further measurements or details, please do not hesitate to let me know.

I am eager to have the suit adjusted so that it fits perfectly, and I trust your expertise in handling this matter. I am available to schedule an appointment at your earliest convenience.

Thank you for your attention to this request. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Warm regards,

Lucifer Morningstar"

I sigh as I look at the photos he sent. It is a beautiful suit, but if I did it, the style would be better, but it is not mine. Thinking of what the price is, I need to get his exact measurements to tailor it correctly. Pressing the reply button, I started typing out my reply.

'Dear Mr. Morningstar,

Thank you for reaching out and for providing the details regarding your suit purchase. I appreciate your trust in our tailoring services.

I will be more than happy to assist you with resizing your suit to ensure a perfect fit. Before proceeding, could you please bring the suit to my studio for a fitting session? This will allow me to accurately assess the alterations needed and provide you with a precise cost estimate.

Once I have examined the suit, we will discuss the adjustments required and provide you with a timeline for completion.

Please let us know a convenient time for you to visit our store, and we will schedule an appointment accordingly. Feel free to contact us if you have any further questions or concerns.

Looking forward to seeing you soon and assisting you with your tailoring needs.

Best regards,

(Y/n) (L/n)'

I read over the email before hitting send. 'Wait, isn't Charlie his daughter?' I thought as I look back over his name. I press another reply button and put the the address, letting him know where he could meet me. Tossing my phone onto my bed, I walk out into the lobby again, sitting on the bar stool. "A shot of anything strong." I grumbled at Husk, he was cleaning a glass when he heard me. "What's the occasion?" He asked grabbing a shot glass before pouring some. "Work." I groan with my head on the bar, keeping my eyes shut, my headache gets worse with light.

"Ever thought of getting anything for those migraines?" Husk asked when he placed down the shot, I look up, grabbing the shot and downing it. "Another please. I've looked into it, but I don't need to, I'll just deal with it." Sighing as I push the shot towards Husk. He shakes his head as he pours another one, pushing it towards me. Taking the glass and downing it again.

I hear Charlie in the lobby talking to Vaggie about something, I turn to her. "Hey Charlie. Your dad is gonna come in a few days." I slur out, catching her attention she turned me wide eyed. "What?" She asked as she walked closer. "I'm tailoring a suit of his, I told him I need to take measurements cause he could have grown in the last year." I replied to her. "So he's coming to the hotel?" "Yeah, I think so." Replying to her she chuckled a but before pacing back and forth. "He's only gonna be in my room, just to get measured. He's one my highest paying customers." I chuckle, feeling the alcohol get to my system.

"He emailed me a few minutes ago about getting a suit tailored. I told him that I needed for take his measurements and then I would come up with the price." I explain to her. Charlie's pacing got faster, but she's stops when Vaggie puts her hand on her shoulder. "When would he be here?" Vaggie asked me and I shrugged.

"I can go see if he answered if you would like?" I got up from my seat, walking to my room. Opening my door, I walk to my bed, grabbing my phone. I look at the notifications, seeing a email. I walk out to the lobby, opening the email.

"Dear Ms. (L/n),

Thank you for your prompt response and for offering to assist with resizing my suit. I appreciate your attention to detail and professionalism in addressing my tailoring needs.

I will certainly bring the suit to your studio for a fitting session. I propose scheduling the appointment for this Friday afternoon around 2:00 PM. Please let me know if this time works for you, or if an alternative time would be more convenient.

I look forward to meeting with you and discussing the necessary alterations. Thank you once again for your assistance, and I am confident in your expertise to ensure a perfect fit for my suit.

Best regards,

Mr. Morningstar"

I read out loud. Charlie pauses and starts pacing again. "He can't come. We don't even know if this works. If he comes he'll know I failed." Charlie said lowly, Vaggie hugs her and kisses her cheek. "It'll be fine love." She said as she pulled away from the hug. Vaggie looked over at me and sighed. "He'll be here in two days, just make sure he is only here for that a not going anywhere else. Charlie isn't ready to face him at the moment." She said as she looked up at the clock to check the time.

I nod, I grab the shot glass and down the last one before walking to my room. Falling onto my bed, a breath left my lungs as I hit the bed. I turn over and pick up my phone, unlocking it and looking at the photo of the suit. Thinking for a second, it looks a lot like the dress. Looking between my phone and the dress on the lay figure, they would look together.

Standing up from my bed, I tiptoe to the sewing mannequin. I run my finger across it, looking back at the photo and then back at the dress. A light bulb lit up and I ran to my desk, grabbing safety pins. Taking out my sewing needles, turning on my machine, grabbing buttons. I pull the mannequin next to the desk, sketching out the idea in my head.

A bang woke me from my slumber, I jerk up and look around. Standing in my door way is AngleDust, he looks out of breath. "(Y/n)! My shirt is ruined!" He said as he walked closer with his torn shirt. I groan and put my head back on the desk. "You alright toots?" He asks as he puts his arm on my shoulder. "I'm fine, I finally figured out what was wrong with the dress, and I fixed it. There is a problem though, Lucifer is gonna be here tomorrow and he's kinda matching with his suit." A groan left my mouth, Angle walks over to dress. "It's gorgeous. I mean it's always been." He said as he looked over it.

Sighing as I felt my eyes closing. I stayed up all night working on it, adding new fabrics, adding the details. I felt myself falling asleep again as Angle looked over the dress.

My eyes slowly open, I groan as I sit up. "My back hurts like hell." Groaning as I stood up. It looked dark out, I must have slept all day. Walking out of my room into the lobby, the lights were still on so someone was awake. Yawning as I walk to the bar, my eyes saw Alastor, he was sitting on the couch as he read a newspaper. "Morning Al." I yawn as I pour myself something to drink.

His head perked up at my voice. "Morning, you know it's in the late afternoon right?" He asked as he placed his newspaper down.

"Yeah, I didn't sleep last night. So I slept all day." Yawning as I walk over to the couch, sitting next to Alastor. "Why didn't you sleep?" He asked as he sipped his drink. "Working on that dress." I groan. He hummed in response. I downed the rest of my drink before standing up. "Well Lucifer is coming over tomorrow, so I need to sleep. Night Al." "Oh goodnight (Y/n)." He grinned.

I step into my room, closing the door behind me. Sighing as I walk over to my bed, sitting on the edge before falling backwards. Grunting at the sudden stop, I throw my arm over my eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep.

Waking up to my alarm, I groan. I slowly sit up and turn off my phone. I whimper as the sun hits my eyes, I have to get ready and clean up for the appointment. I pick up my phone reading the time, but I saw that I had a email.

'Dear Ms. (Y/n),

Hello, I hope this email finds you in good health. I wanted to make an appointment to have a meeting. I want some new clothes by your hand. If you have the time for a meeting please contact me.

Love,

Valentino <3'

I read over the email before putting my phone down. I really don't want to deal with him right now, I sighed as I went to my drawers. Pulling out some presentable clothes, then walking to my restroom to take a shower. I turn the knob letting the water start, after I pull my clothes off of me, letting it hit the floor. Pulling my undergarments off before sliding into the shower. The hot water hitting my skin and wetting every inch of my body.

I put shampoo in my hair and scrub it in, soap going down my body as I rinse my hair out. Grabbing the bottle for conditioner, letting my hair run under water. Pouring some into my hand before scrubbing it into my scalp. I let the conditioner soak, I wash my body before rinsing off everything. Turning off the water, I grab a towel and put it around my body.

Walking into my room, striding to my bed, where I put my clothes. Taking the towel and drying off my hair before dressing myself. After wards I look at the time, it read 12:47 pm. I sigh, I still have almost two hours before he gets here. I look around the room, seeing my room is a mess, knowing us have to clean it sooner or later.

Cleaning up my room, putting everything in place before he gets here and picking up trash and dirty laundry. I organized everything and I looked at the time, it was 1:36 pm. My eyes widen as I look at the time. "Shit he'll be here soon!" I yelled at myself and I got a new mannequin out for the suit, making sure I knew where everything I needs was. Keeping track of time, I brushed my hair and put on light makeup, so I didn't look like I was dying.

Getting myself mentally prepared to see the sin of pride. He was cocky everytime you saw him, not a bad cocky but like 'he knows he's hot and he's not afraid to show it off' cocky. The man was hot, I can't denie that.

I walk to the lobby waiting for the knock, not a second later I hear it. Walking to the door, slowly opening it to reveal Lucifer. "(Y/n), it's been to long." He grinned as walked in to the hotel, his eyes shifted all over the lobby. "We will be working in a room back here, just follow me." I say as I lead the way to my room. He gladly follows along behind me, still looking everywhere. We make it to my room and I close the door after he walks in.

"Now if you would please stand here." I ask him to stand on a X mark on the floor. He looked down and nods with a smile. "So how have you been (Y/n)? I haven't seen you in about a year." He asked as he gave me the suit. "Eh, tired. I have been working on a new dress over that year, I finally finished it the day before yesterday." I reply, setting the suit on the mannequin.

"Yeah? May I see it?" He asked as he looked around my room. I nodded and I walked into my other room, I have to rooms attached to each other for my bed room and my studio. Rolling the mannequin out, the jewels sparkled in the sun light.

"That is gorgeous." Lucifer said as he walked over, feeling the fabric. "It looks a little familiar." He said as he put his hand on his chin. His eyes caught on the suit and he gasped. "It's like a set! The dress and my suit." Lucifer stated as his eyes light up. I chuckled and nodded. "I noticed that when you sent me the photos."

"I would love to buy it." He said as he looked at it. I stopped in my tracks. "What?" I asked with a chuckle. "How much, I could gift it to my daughter." He stated as he started pulling out his wallet. "I'm not selling it right now. I actually made it for myself, kinda a dream dress." I chuckled nervously.

You could practly hear his face light up. "I've never seen you wear a dress." He said surprised. "Well yeah, I don't like wearing them." "You should put it on." He said. "No." I said flatly.

"Oh come on (Y/n). You even match with the king if hell, why not put it on?" He asked. "Lucifer, I need to start measurements, please stand where you were." I said with no tone. He was a persistent man. "Come on, I would love to see you in it." He purred out. "Lucifer arms up." I said with a measuring tape in my hands. "Come on." He whined out.

As he is begging me to put on the dress, I just ignore him and measure his body. As I measuring his bust to his groan there was blast and the hotel shaked. Causing Lucifer to tumble over and fall on me.

I closed my eyes at feeling of the rumbling, so I didn't know how close he was to me. "Well hello gorgeous." I hear Lucifer say, I open my eyes to see his face a few inches away from mine. "Oh you're wearing makeup, it looks good on you." He complemented me. "Lucifer get up." I say as I start pushing him. "I am darling." He chuckled. Standing up, he offered me a hand, which I gladly took.

"Well that didn't sound good." He stated as he dusted himself off, I nodded in agreement. "I actually finished measuring you, I would probably charge you about $230." I said as I looked over my notebook, adding the measurements. "Always straight to business. That's what I liked about you." He chuckled. Taking money from his wallet, handing it over to me, before I pull away he takes my hand, bringing it to his lips. Kissing my knuckles for a moment before pulling away. "Well I'll see myself out, and you should probably check what that sound was." Lucifer said as he started walking out of my room.

Watching him walk off, I felt the heat leave my face. When did that happen? When did my face get so hot? I asked myself, but just blew it off as me just getting hot. Placing down my money on the table, and I hear another bang. Groaning as more rubble falls down in my room. "Ughhh! What is that!?" I yelled out.

A/n: My first story on here and I plan to write more. Sorry if I update slow but I'll get around to doing it!

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

(Child AU)

Alastor watched as Lucifer walked over to Adam. The only way that Alastor even got a hit on Adam was by being underhanded, in spite of his large frame, Adam moved very quickly. Not surprisingly Adam was very strong too.

Adam: Okay, seriously!!! How many of you freaks do I have to fight?

Lucifer: Oh, I’m the only one that matters. See, you messed with my daughter and now, I am going to FUCK YOU!!!!!!

With half of his mark destroyed everyone could see that Adam was a very attractive man with gold eyes and some brown hair peeking from the helmet. While Adam looked perplexed by the wording, he didn’t against the idea of Lucifer bending him over and fucking him. Alastor didn’t care if the first man was horny for the King of Hell, he was angry that Adam bested him. He wanted revenge. Charlie then quickly ran to Lucifer.

Charlie: It’s fuck you up dad.

Lucifer: What did I say?

Before Charlie could say anything, Adam charged at Lucifer and slammed him into a wall. Lucifer was about to make a snide comment about Adam letting himself go since Eden. But he realized that would very cruel and Adam’s chubby stomach pressed against Lucifer felt nice and he could feel his pants grow tighter.

Adam: Well guess you weren’t lying about your desire to fuck me.

Lucifer: THAT’S WHAT I SAID!!!!!!!!

Before anything else was said, both Adam and Lucifer were enveloped by in bright green light from Alastor. Charlie frantically went to find her dad. But she found a five year old angel with Lucifer’s duck tail style. He had sky blue eyes and his six wings were white and sky blue. His robes and top hat were white, sky blue, and gold. Instead of a serpent there was a silvery blue halo with stars. Charlie knelt down to the child that looked like her father.

Charlie: Hey, would you happen to be named Lucifer Morningstar?

Lucifer: Yes, who are you?

Charlie: My name is Charlie.

Lucifer then heard soft crying and he flew to the sound was. He would a beautiful boy about his age that was also an angel. He had very soft brown hair and gold eyes. He had dark blue and gold robes with a large gold A on it as well as what looked like a gold leaf. He had a soft and chubby body under his robes. His wings and halo were gold. Lucifer flew over to the boy who was crying, but he smiled when he saw Lucifer.

Lucifer: Hello, what is your name?

Adam: I think my name is Adam.

Lucifer hugged Adam and held him close, he didn’t know why, but he liked Adam a lot.

Lucifer: Do you want to be my friend?

Adam: Yes, I would like that a lot.

Lucifer flew over to Charlie while holding Adam.

Lucifer: Miss Charlie, we need your help. Can we stay with you?

Charlie smiled at them, they looked so cute together.

Charlie: Of course.

Everyone was so fucking confused about how both Adam and Lucifer were now young children. But at least the hotel and everyone wasn't in danger anymore.

Mostly.

Lute glared and stomped over to Charlie: You can't keep him! Adam belongs in heaven no matter what form he takes on.

Charlie: Look, by the looks of it they want to stay together.

She pointed to them and now Adam and Lucifer were playing pattycake with each other just to entertain themselves.

Grown ups were boring.

Lute: I don't care. He's property of heaven and that demon shouldn't touch him!

She couldn't even go over and pick Adam up properly to take him back to heaven. And by the looks of it his wings were too small now for him to fly all the way.

Charlie: Nothing will happen to him.

Lute got in her face: Nothing better not happen to him. Or you'll wish he had of killed you when he had you by that scrawny throat of yours. Sera won't be pleased and I WILL be back for him.

She left with the other exorcists back to heaven to figure out what to do.

Vaggie: So..... Are we really going to take care of Adam while he's like this or can we just throw him off the hotel?

Lucifer gasped and held Adam close, he glared at Vaggie as Adam teared up and started to cry. He didn't understand why she didn't like him.

Charlie: Vaggie!! He's only a little kid who, by the sounds of it has no memory. That would be cruel.

Vaggie looked down: You're right.... Sorry....

Alastor materialized behind Charlie: Now now, your...... Father might be your responsibility and priority but the brutish angel surely isn't.

He had only meant to hit Adam with the spell, but this can work in his favor too with the King of Hell out of the way and practically in diapers.

[writebackatya]

Ducktales (2017) Holiday Headcanons:

It’s that time of the year again, time for me to dump a bunch of random headcanons! All of which relate to the holiday season cause I love this time of year!

Huey holds the record for most homemade Christmas presents given during the holidays thanks to his JWC skills. Webby is second

Louie wishes that homemade gifts were banned in the gift giving circle.

Dewey always hosts his annual Dewey Dew Night Holi-Dew Special in the Foyer in front of the Christmas tree, much to Beakley and Scrooge’s chagrin

Donald always insists on being the one to decorate despite the many accidents and holiday slapstick he gets involved in every year. They say, the amount of Holiday Slapstick Donald has been in could fill the entire ABC Holiday Special line-up

Now that Santa is no longer banned from McDuck Manor, he always stops and says hello the Duck family on his yearly delivery. Scrooge occasionally joins him and sometimes Scrooge’s Christmas ghost friends help out too

Bentina Beakley always makes the best hot chocolate with the right amount of marshmallows

The kids always go sledding with their friends on Killmotor Hill when the snow is perfect for sledding

Della still puts up a couple of traps every year “for old times sake”. The traps then immediately get taken down the very second Donald gets caught in one of them

Webby is the best gift giver

Huey, Dewey, and Louie got their “Picture with Santa” poses nailed

When given gift cards that are $15 or less from relatives, Huey, Dewey, and Louie will sometimes agree to combine their gift cards to buy something they all want

Drake, Launchpad, and Gosalyn are Jewish and all celebrate Hanukkah but one of their yearly traditions is watching The Darkwing Duck Christmas Special because Drake and Launchpad insist on watching it every year

Gandra Dee doesn’t celebrate Christmas, in fact she’s entirely anti-Christmas, but still chooses to celebrate Christmas with Fenton and his m’ma cause it beats being alone

M’ma Cabrera definitely watches a bunch of Hallmark Christmas movies. So do Huey Dewey and Louie. Also Donald. You know what, especially Donald

Donald’s favorite Christmas movie is It’s A Wonderful Life. It gets him emotional and he always breaks down when George Bailey is proclaimed “The Richest Man in Town”

Della’s favorite Christmas movie is Die Hard. It was her favorite pre-Moon, but the whole John McClane going through hell and trying to make things right with his family just hits a little too close to home these days. Also she says she could totally go through what John did

Dewey’s favorite Christmas movie is Home Alone. In fact he has even set-up a few Mccalister style traps in Donald’s boat house before. They weren’t perfect but they still worked on Donald. He was not the intended target.

Huey seems like A Charlie Brown Christmas kinda Duck

Both Donald and Della know it was Dewey who traveled back in time that one Christmas. Only problem is they don’t know what year it was he went back in time. They just assume it must’ve been on Christmas Eve cause that’s when they saw him. So now until Dewey looks a little bit older they will always be sure to greet Dewey with a mysterious “Welcome back” that sounds like it has multiple meanings whenever they see him after not seeing him for at least 5 min. on Christmas Eve. It’s a bit odd for Dewey to experience, ngl

Dewey and a few other family members will visit Launchpad and co. in St. Canard during one of the nights of Hanukkah to celebrate with them

Matilda always goes to Castle McDuck for the holidays

Donald usually sails back to Duckburg for Christmas, but on the years he can’t Della makes it her duty to FaceTime him on Christmas Eve

And now: The Worst Gift Givers of Clan McDuck

5. Louie, he’s a kid so I’ll cut him slack, but he should put more effort in his gifts. But he won’t

4. Goldie. Don’t ask her why the store security tag is still on

3. Gladstone Gander: King of the Last Minute Gifts, he’s lucky enough to get good deals that cost him next-to and sometimes nothing. Unfortunately the quality of gifts are “Acceptable.”

2. Gyro Gearloose. Just seems like someone who sees something and goes “Well that’s fine enough.”

1. Scrooge McDuck. Rich people suck at giving gifts. It’s a commonly known fact

Also this whole post was a ploy to read my holiday theme DuckTales anthology fic that shows some of these headcanons in action. Enjoy!

[liveontelevision]

Hiii ! I love all your work 💛 I was wondering if I could please have Lucifer with a reader who’s really curvy like Jesus rabbit or Meg the stallion and spoils our duck king just making sure he’s always taken care of he deserves all the love 🤣

SORRY FOR THE DELAY

But i've been wanting to do this prompt for a while because some ridiculous angst came to mind with it, so thanks for the request!

CW: Panic attacks and fluff and kissin'

Nostalgia | Lucifer x Reader

Not everyone was lucky enough to have an appealing form in the afterlife. For instance, you had the curves that brought adult film directors falling to their knees and begging for your participation. Your long hair nearly swept the floor, creating a sweetly flowing curtain to bring all focus to your contrastingly round bosom and hips. Really, a sight for sore eyes. Still, the flattering comments go hand in hand with the more unsolicited ones.

You were a rare case in Hell. You didn’t exactly belong, having made very little mistakes to bring you here, and you luckily fell near the hotel. That didn’t prevent the rare interactions you’d have with other sinners, the teasing and harassment.. After getting an earful of the princess’s mission, you had no reason to not give redemption a shot. The hotel was your first stop in your afterlife.

“Damn, girly, you musta just died!” Greeted with a friendly-looking group, a tall spider demon ushers you over to the bar. He examines you casually, looking your form up and down with a hum. “Hey Charlie, got any extra clothes for this one? I don’t think I got anythin’ that’ll fit.”

Of course, comments like this never truly meant malice, but it still left you instinctively holding your arms to cover your body in some sort. His words force you to look down at your unfamiliar form, wide hips and bust, compared to the lengthy stature of this kind stranger, and he was certainly right.

When you arrive in Hell, you usually are left in the rags you died in. And your death was not a pretty one. Your clothes looked covered in blood, and sopping wet at the same time, covered in little holes and tears in the most undesirable spots.

“Oh! Sure! We made sure to get some spare clothes for residents- until you can find something more your style, that is! Compliments of the hotel~” Charlie sings her words out proudly. You’re brought to one of the hotel’s rooms after some very casual and fleeting introductions to the rest of the staff and comfortably settle into the new space.

After some much-needed rest, you finally dress.

It was very.. business casual. Similar to what Charlie and the hotel manager -Vaggie- wore, a soft red blazer and a skirt that hugs your curves just a bit too tight. Any dress shirts laid out were splitting at the buttons. You opted out, relying very heavily on the quality of your jacket to keep your entire chest from being exposed. It should work for now. Until you can find something else, at least.

Tugging at the hem of the skirt and adjusting your top as you leave the room, you’re too frustrated to realize you hit another demon with the swing of the door. A quiet yelp and shuffle leaves you frozen in place for a moment. You hadn’t been in Hell long, but you knew to avoid confrontation in any form. Who knows what kind of monster this sinner is?

You let out a sigh of relief seeing a figure with a handful of paperwork, despite some of them being scattered to the floor. It must be a staff member. Thank god, it's a staff member. You finally snap out of your panicked state.

“Sorry! I-I wasn’t paying attention..” You quickly kneel down to scoop up as many documents as you can, but not without struggling to do so. You continue to pull at your skirt in between motions. The stranger is at your side, doing the same and neatly piling them back in his arms.

“It’s fine! It’s fine! I got it!” He seems to rush ahead of your reach, trying to keep you from assisting him. He seems stubborn. You peak up for a moment, seeing a pure white being, with similar features to Charlie’s -the red irises, the rosy cheeks, the golden locks- and it still takes you a moment to put everything together.

Shit.

Charlie briefly mentioned her father was around the hotel, but was far too busy to be there for introducing new residents and that you might see him around! Maybe..! Followed by a sigh of defeat. The thought was nearly erased from your mind until now. Until the King of Hell is sitting directly in front of you on the ground, his hand hovering over yours.

You hadn’t realized your eyes had met his own until an exclamation from behind you brings both of your attention to an approaching Princess from behind.

“Dad! This is perfect!” She squeals. You watch his expression immediately change at just the sight of her. His smile and eyes were suddenly bright as day as he stood up to greet her with a quick squeeze. “This is our newest resident! She just arrived earlier today!”

His eyes fall to you, still kneeling over the last few papers that you were handling while the two conversed with each other. He holds his hand out to you. You hesitate, but take it without question. You're stood up without any resistance, the angelic strength bringing you to your feet with a startling ease. You tower over him, being just a bit taller than Charlie. His hand continues to hold yours for a moment longer as if he were waiting for you to finally release it. But, you might’ve been doing the same.

“The, uh- papers, I can.. Take those.”

Shit..!

You finally pull your hand away and pass along the papers you still held, allowing him to adjust them back into his pile neatly.

“Good! We can get some introductions out of the way!” Charlie hooks each of you under her arms, forcing you to bend a bit to keep yourself from being essentially choked. Charlie also seems stronger than she looks.. must be genetic. “Dad?” Charlie pats her father’s back and he stumbles forward, towards you.

“Oh- Oh! Right, um.. You may call me Lucifer, I usually work in my office, but if you happen to run into me, or hit me with a door-” He mumbles those last words with a smile, and you cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “-then I’m more than happy to help.” His tone clearly shows that this was a scripted introduction, one that Charlie had made him prepare and recite to many others.

But his smile;. It seemed so natural.

The whole interaction leaves your heart thumping without you even realizing it until he walks off.

“Shoot.. Those don’t really seem to fit, do they..?” Charlie lets out a thoughtful hum and takes in your tight wardrobe. You instantly clasp your hands in front of you, after adjusting the skirt yet again. “That’s okay! I think Angel might be free soon if you-”

“-No need! I was just about to head to the tailor! It appeared my poor jacket has been torn yet again.” A static voice accompanies a shadowy figure beside Charlie. “I am more than happy to accompany our new guest on my outing.”

Alastor, the facility manager.

“That’s so nice of you Alastor! But- only if you’re okay with it.” She turns to you with a bright smile.

He seemed nice enough.. And tailoring your clothes did seem easier than buying a whole new wardrobe for now.

“Yeah.. okay! As long as you don’t mind my company-”

“Oh, I’m more than delighted to show you off to Cannibal Town.” His voice turns sultry for a moment, and the entire comment leaves you tense.

Show you off?

Wait.. Cannibal Town??

Since you’ve already agreed, and Alastor’s arm is already offered out to you, you quietly link them together and follow his long strides.

“Yes..!” Apparently, this was a moment to celebrate, you hear a tiny woo! from Charlie as you walk on. “You two have fun!”

-

You were surprised by the whole experience. Alastor went out of his way to not only send you to the tailor to adjust your current outfit, which was handled swiftly and skillfully, but to take you to a nearby shop and find some little things; accessories, jewelry, shoes, anything you could really dream of. You insisted you didn't need anything fancy, but apparently, it was another courtesy of the hotel.

During your shopping spree, you slow your stroll to take in a magazine that had been left on some bench. It had Lucifer on the cover. He had a shimmer in his eyes and wore a devilish smirk. He seemed so photogenic, compared to the tired man you had ran into earlier today. You're tugged along by Alastor before you can think any further.

Yet, you’re stopped again. A delicate necklace, a string of pearls that would sit sweetly on your chest; you spot it all boxed up in a red velvet display, looking expensive as ever. Still, you can't keep your eyes off of it. Like a child in a candy store, your eyes are locked on the glass case it's withheld.

“Something catch your eye, my dear?” Your greedy trance is broken when Alastor makes his presence known behind you. You reel your hands away from the glass and quickly shake your head.

“No, not really.” You say with a cool tone. “Nothing important.” As you trail off, assumingly done with this interaction, Alastor is quick to discover the source of your wonderment. He shows a devious smile to no one, then lets out a curious hum.

“Well, this could be fun..”

-

“Ooh! You look perfect! How was your trip?” Charlie seems to greet you at the door every time, even without you knocking. She's immediately in front of you, lifting your arms and examining the previous outfit that had been tailored for you.

Despite her lack of spatial awareness, you still felt comfortable enough to go on about your day with Alastor. The mentions of gruesome sights and lavish shops somehow all seem to fit together and paint a clear picture of Pentagram City and Cannibal Town. Charlie looks as if you're reading her a bedtime story, sweetly smiling and nodding with every little detail. at the mention of a certain little jewelry store, a cold sensation falls on your shoulders.

Pearls?

You place your hands against its length as you feel the heat of large hands on either side of your head.

“Alastor? What are you-”

“- your hair, my dear.” Silently, you pull your hair to the side, waiting patiently for him to release the clasp. It feels like he's taking his time. Or maybe it's the multiple sets of eyes suddenly on you that are making you feel unsettled.

As Alastor stands over your seated form, still working the jewelry between his talons, Charlie is going on about some other topic you are having trouble focusing on. And peeking over her shoulder, for just a second, you catch Lucifer passing by.

He seems to glance at the interaction then back forward, then turning his attention completely to you. He’s stopped in his tracks. His eyes are wide, the bags underneath only accentuated by his shocked expression. You're waiting for him to say something.

Do something.

Anything.

Anything but this damn staring game.

Luckily, Charlie's hyperawareness finds her father. She smiles and waves in his direction. Once he's broken from your trance, he almost looks like he's.. blushing. Just a tad pinker in the cheeks than before. The sight leaves you gripping your hair with a little gasp. He quickly moves on.

And so do you.

For a few weeks at least. Something you’ve picked up; your first day at the hotel and finding Lucifer not once but twice, was a rare occurrence. He was practically nowhere to be seen most days. An occasional passing in the hallways led you to try and smile and wave at the least, but you were only met with a disgruntled-looking king and a handful of paperwork. You'd see him while you worked on exercises with the others, stopping what you were doing to meet his eyes. Those moments were fleeting, usually only lasting until some other demon pulled your attention.

your mind automatically went to the worst, though. while he seemed nice enough, and you wouldn't mind getting the answer to that questioning expression he wears around you, there's one possibility you can't overlook.

Your wardrobe had to be accumulated to Hell. there weren't exactly seasons, but some days, with the absolute boiling heat, you were at a loss to the sight of Alastor and Charlie in a full suit. You even wondered if Husk got too hot on days like that. You wore more casual clothes, shorts and skirts, tops that seemed to hug you snugly despite their couture tailoring, often paired with a thin jacket or cardigan that draped over your shoulders to hide your striking silhouette.

Even though you hid your curves, for sound mind you told yourself, you wouldn't be surprised if the King of Hell was one to gawk or consider such sinful things. Any curiosities turned to delusions over time.

It was one of those nights. Unbearably hot, you refuse to leave the cool of your hotel room. You're fiddling with the pearls around your neck, a common occurrence considering how frequently you wore them. Using all your strength you convince yourself to get out and top off the cool drink that you'd finished moments ago. The idea of bumping into anyone in your current state left you in a state of discomfort, though. Despite the heat you’re trying to avoid, you are covered in one of those loose cardigans that you refuse to be seen without. An overheated mess, you still pushed yourself to the kitchen.

After a successful trip, you shut the door quietly behind you and let out a sigh that releases all tension.

“Oh- uhm.. Hi.” you're suddenly tense again. 

You turn your head quickly to see the king, of course. The one who’s been plaguing your thoughts no matter how often you deny it. He greets you with a small wave and another smile that seems as genuine as it does strained. With your body pressed against the door, you take a moment to process his words, then take each side of your sweater to cover your more revealing loungewear beneath it. “Were you looking for something? I can help-”

You quickly shake your head.

“No no, I'm fine, I just need.. Uh…” You scan the room as you talk, absentmindedly avoiding looking in his direction, and spot the oasis of water bottles nearby. “Just needed a drink!”

You begin to head to the door, escape any confrontation, with more water than you truly need.

“Have a good night, uh- your highness- your.. Majesty.. Sir?” You groan at yourself for the fumble, but the air is suddenly met with a peal of calming laughter.

“What, did you forget my name?” That's when you take the time to finally look at him. Leaning on the counter across the stove, he seems to be waiting for a kettle to finish boiling. You blurt out small talk without even thinking.

“It's a little late for coffee, don't you think?” You almost want to clamp your hand over your mouth, let out a quick nevermind!, and turn back to-

“It's tea, actually.” His voice is soft as ever. You only respond with a quiet hum, ignoring your inability to take your eyes off him. Both of you feel the need to fill the silence, Lucifer just happens to beat you to it.

“Would you.. want a cup?”

You examine the cup in your hand, it has intricate details, gold and purple colorings. It matches his. The tea inside looks golden, still steaming. Despite the heat, you can still feel the warm condensation drifting across your nose each time you take a sip.

Why did you agree to this, again?

“So.. If you don’t mind me asking, I’m a little curious about what keeps you so busy.” You fill the silence next, the tension in your body melting with each draw of tea. “I didn’t think the King of Hell would need to do paperwork. I thought it was all just.. Brimstone- and fire.”

“Mhm, it’s all for the hotel actually. I haven’t had to do this much desk work in a few.. years…” As he speaks, you watch him add an absurd amount of sugar and honey to his cup. You almost lose focus, trying to process how sweet that must be. “There’s a lot I still have to talk to Heaven about, and it’s just.. Easier for me to do it. I mean- I’m sure Charlie could handle it, but.. Listen, Heaven has a lot of rules, and who knows them better than-”

“-An angel?” You were just planning on putting an end to his rambling, he seemed to be getting worked up. His story is a well-known one from Earth, but it’s also mentioned throughout Hell. It’s not like you admitted to knowing some big secret, but his suddenly pained expression leaves you feeling guilty.

“You know it..!” His strained response is paired with a nervous smile. The room is met with another silence, you focus in on the clinking of his cup, the swirling of the spoon in his drink to bring together his overly sweetened tea.

“So it’s all for Charlie.. you must love her a lot, huh?” You ask softly. His eyes quickly meet yours.

“Of course I do! She’s my daughter!” He blurts out, almost immediately becoming flustered by the realization of his outburst.

“Sorry sorry! I mean, it’s just.. Sweet. Seeing how hard you work for her.” You try to recover your apparent mistake, and the room fills with yet another deafening silence. Or you thought so, at least.

Lucifer's eyes began to glow at your words. He still looks to you, even though you've made the decision to keep your eyes on the swirling remnants of what tea you had left in the cup. And his smile? It's subtle, almost not visible from far away, but it looks like the first time he's genuinely smiled in months.

And it’s because of you.

“I should get back to my room- so.. good night, then?” Your eyes still avoid his for the time being.

“Good night-?” he draws out his words as if he were waiting for you to finish his previous statement.

“Hm? Oh- Good night, Lucifer.” You clarify in your statement that you do in fact remember his name. Simply meant as a ploy to tease you, Lucifer finds himself rather pleased by the sound of his name coming from you.

-

You were sure you had thoroughly embarrassed yourself that night. He was kind enough to offer you tea and chat, and you got him all riled up over nothing. that being said, he still seemed to smile and greet you when you passed him in the hallways.

Which.. had been happening more frequently as of late. You'd see him at least two or three times a day, and you'd catch him leaning against a nearby wall during exercises. It was a bit peculiar, considering he never seemed to have time to stop and overlook such activities in the past. He’d stop directly in front of you, but far away enough that you'd be able to catch his eyes and smile his way. And you always did. because his response was a sweet glow, a blush to his pink cheeks, and a sparkle in his eye.

It was intoxicating.

A few weeks on, Lucifer decided he was a drinker. Whenever you were, at least. He'd find you at the bar almost every night, walk up, and pull a come here often? before sitting beside you and discussing completely irrelevant things for the night.

Lucifer wasn't exactly a lightweight, but you were more than capable of holding your liquor. you weren't even sure how that worked exactly. An angel, a being of pure light, how would he get tipsy? Maybe the alcohol sent you down this train of thought, but it didn’t last long before you felt a head drop to your shoulder.

Quickly examining your situation, you find that Lucifer may have had one too many. He continues to lawl his head against your shoulder, almost nuzzling to find some sort of comfort. His eyes flutter shut, and he seems to be humming and muttering incoherent sentences under his breath.

You adjust accordingly, allowing him to sit comfortably on your side. You aren't exactly sure why.. this could all be a game to get you in his bed. That's probably the case.. it almost always is. Then, you start to listen.

“You're beautiful~”

      “How'd you end up here? You're more of an angel than I am.”

“You have the sweetest smile.”

      “So sweet to me.”

You wonder if he knows what he's saying. Or if he's even talking about you, exactly. But just the implication that it is, is leaving you heated in the cheeks.

A part of you is ready to leave him here alone and let him sleep this off at the bar. Another part is.. Flattered. You haven’t felt flattered in a while. Those kinds of words almost always led to unreciprocated advances. Above all, he’s far too intoxicated to make any real decisions tonight. At the very least, you bring him over to the couch near the fireplace and throw a blanket over him.

“Mmn.. Stay…” A small hand takes a hold of your wrist and you're brought back to his side. You're.. tempted. To say the least. He's laid on his side, his eyes half-lidded and staring at you sweetly. You free your hand and brush back the hairs that had fallen into his face in the process of getting him to the couch.

“Good night.” You say softly. He hums to your touch, leaning his head into your palm as you rake your fingers through his hair.

“Mmy name-” you barely hear him say.

“Lucifer. Good night, Lucifer.” You roll your eyes as you speak and he sends you a pleased grin.

-

He didn’t seem to remember that little interaction, but the memory kept you company most nights. The little passing in the hallway made for easy conversation, despite your growing feelings. He would make little mentions at first,

Come here often?

      Careful with your door, this time!

Ready for round 2 in the kitchen?

Well.. that last one was meant to be an invitation to get tea again. He didn't quite understand why you were so flustered by that.

After some time, you'd offer to help with his work. He was hoping for some more time together, but he would never expect you to offer your help. He never expected you to be concerned by how much paperwork he's always carrying around.

To care.

He accepted, but only after some insistence. You'd spent plenty of time together after that. You'd bring him tea on occasions, see him stressed, and make a game plan to get through some work, and if he really needed it- just keep him company while he read over some documents.  He'd tease, and call you his little secretary, which you would respond to by calling him sir- and in turn, he would instantly heat up and regret his choices.

After some time, you'd become more of a distraction than a helping hand. You'd tell him about the books you'd read as a child, the fantasy stories, and how you'd always play pretend; play the prince coming to rescue the princess-

“So you were saving the princess?” He asked.

“What, don't you think I'd make a dashing prince?” You'd joke, puffing out your chest and acting ruggishly handsome. The action would cause your comfort coat to slip, yet you didn’t seem to mind.

Other times, you’d be listening to music, which always had to be a struggle, considering the constant bullying of your taste in music from Lucifer. He'd pull up true music, which usually was.. polka. But sometimes, he'd bring up these pieces, with a renaissance feel that were fiddle-heavy.

Prime for dancing.

You'd catch him tapping his foot, and one day, you gave in to your desires. Spinning him around in his chair, you take both his wrists and drag him to his feet. You twirled him around in a fit of laughter and he was quick to join along. He’d even sing along if there were lyrics, of course you didn't know the words one bit, but you were more than happy to simply listen to his angelic voice.

Once the music would come to a halt, you’d pull him in for a quick embrace. Your breaths were both labored, and to recover, Lucifer wrapped his hands around your waist, leaning into your form. With the height difference and your proximity, his head would rest comfortably at the top of your chest.

Finally catching your breath, it took you a moment to realize.. that this didn't bother you, either. You would even stand there, letting him hold you and look up to you for some time. His eyes were tired as if he could comfortably sleep right here in your grasp, yet he still smiled at you.

-

“What abouuttt… A ball?” Charlie and Alastor both turn their heads to the source of the recommendation. Lucifer is met with silence. “ ‘cause uh… We have enough people for it now! And it could be fun to celebrate that way.. right..?” He laughs nervously, ready to take back his words already.

You've been at the hotel for six months. Since that was around the time Sir Pentious was redeemed, it was starting to become a big deal. Charlie decided she wanted to celebrate with everyone, possibly as a farewell, so she gathered whoever was nearby to brainstorm. But neither Alastor nor Charlie was expecting such a bold idea from Lucifer.

Of course, he had his reasonings. you had talked a few times about your love of fantasy. The costumes, the extravagant events from books, the romance- the idea of a princess finding a prince.. A king, maybe. Feeling absolutely selfish, he saw the idea of a ball as a good time to celebrate you.. your progress, that is.

“I used to throw them all the time, It'll be perfect for her.” He says smoothly. His motives go unnoticed by Charlie, at least.

“That sounds fancy~ let's do it! It'll be great for some of the newer residents to mingle and make friends and- ah! This could definitely work!” Charlie’s already planning the night out in her head, when Lucifer glances at the radio demon, who's been silent for an uncomfortably long time.

“What's your problem, bambi?” Lucifer scoffs.

“Nothing at all! I'm sure our guest of honor will be delighted by the entire idea. why, it's the smartest idea I've heard from you in months! I'll let her know right away.” With a quick insult, he dissipates into his shadow before Lucifer has a chance to scold him. Charlie turns to her father, beginning the planning process immediately.

-

“A ball?” You turn from your vanity, facing Alastor in a mixture of confusion and fear as to how he managed to appear in your room without using the door. “like with.. dancing and fancy dresses?”

“Precisely! To celebrate your time and progress at the hotel! You'll be the guest of honor, my dear!” He presents the idea like a sales pitch, waving his arm in a feat of awe at the very idea. “What do you say?”

“Well.. it sounds… like a dream. I’ll need something to wear though, I didn't think about-”

“Not a problem! I'm more than willing to assist you with that as well.” You hum in thought. He did seem to get your style and preferences down pat when you first arrived..

“Sure..!”

-

The night came quickly. You'd be surprised how much faster a lavish event like this is done in the right spirits. Lucifer seemed over the moon that you were looking forward to it, and he clearly put his best efforts into the entire event. Once everything was to his liking, he finally stepped away to let Charlie finish some other details. This was the first event he’d truly planned since Lillith- well.

She was usually the one to get everything together. Lucifer was never one to mingle with Sinners, yet she was always insistent that he at least attend. He's surprised he picked up as much as he did just from those moments.

Standing proudly at the top of the stairs, his eyes scan the room. Hands on his hips, he's sure nothing could ruin this moment.

“Quite an accomplishment, your majesty!” Lucifer immediately stands corrected. “I'm sure our Belle of the Ball will be delighted by this display, wouldn't you agree?” Alastor props his elbow against the king's head, forcing a groan of disgust from him. He pushes him away with a huff.

“Yes, I'm sure she'll have fun. No thanks to you.” He snaps, running his hands through his hair to try and maintain what had been crushed beneath Alastor's taunting.” I didn't see you helping at all!”

“Why, I did my fair share! Our darling dear needed some assistance with her gown for the evening. I would say I dolled her up quite nicely, but I'll let you be the judge of that, Your Majesty.” Alastor leans on his microphone, looking out to the decorated lobby in a rare moment of calm between the two.

“Well.. good. She deserves some pampering. She's.. too good for this realm, that's for sure. Sweet, caring- always trying to help me- the hotel, I mean- even though she never needs to, she's just..” Lucifer lets out a thoughtless sigh, getting too distracted by his memories of you to truly think about his words. “She’s perfect.”

Alastor simply laughs at the slip of vulnerability.

“Quite a lovesick little thing, aren't you?” He pinches Lucifer's cheek condescendingly, only for him to swat his hand away in retaliation.

Lovesick?

“I must say, you certainly have a type.”

And with that, he's vanished. Lucifer looks around, only thinking on what he said for a moment before he's being beckoned by Charlie.

-

There aren't many sinners at the hotel, but with a few plus ones and some hired hell-born to cater, the lobby was perfectly filled with a small band and a dance floor to boot. lucifer walks in circles around the room. He's certainly dressed appropriately for a king hosting a ball, but he's still fretting over his clothes;

An elegant coat drapes over his shoulders, simulating a sort of cape that trails behind him as he paces the large area. He's shoved a decent amount of sweets in his mouth already, occasionally adjusting His long black gloves that cover most of his blouse. He went a bit bold, by the suggestion of one spider demon, with a corseted belt, the rivets tightened with a silk red ribbon.

why is he so anxious? He wasn't planning on confessing his feelings, which he's only recently accepted after being described as lovesick.. Perhaps it was your absence.

He's talking to Charlie, making awkward small talk with Vaggie, doing anything to keep his mind off of you. It's simply impossible. All he can see is your smile, your reddened face at the slightest tease, and your eyes when-

An announcer brings all attention to the top of the stairs.

You'll be the first to admit, that a big formal introduction isn't exactly your style. But Alastor, the good friend he is, manages to convince you that it might just be fun! and will only be a few moments!

This was the first time you'd seen the venue, considering you'd been locked in your room the entire day. Not exactly your idea, but Charlie insisted on it being a surprise. Besides, tonight's a night you decided to step out of your comfort zone. The announcement was one thing, but with Alastor helping find you a dress, you were definitely more.. exposed than you planned to be.

A neckline that traveled across both shoulders and flowed down to the floor in its own cape-like fashion. Mesh sleeves that followed up the sweetheart neckline of your gown emphasized your bosom, where your familiar pearls sat comfortably. The body hugged your abdomen right down to your hips, where it draped to the floor, trailing down the stairs with each step. A detail you weren't especially keen on, a slit that traveled up one side of your legs, revealing the sweet smoothness of your skin there. Any demonic features you adorned, horns or tails, were decorated and jeweled accordingly. With heels to bring your already tall silhouette to a new level, you were quite literally the Belle of the Ball. 

If Lucifer's jaw could drop any lower, it'd hit the floor. He's in the back of the crowd, watching you carefully descend the stairs. He took in your body for a moment, then your gown, and your flowing hair- and.. the… Pearls…

You certainly have a type.

“Fuck.” A rare curse slips from Lucifer's lips. It catches Charlie's attention and she kneels down to whisper to him.

“you doing okay, dad?” He nods slowly. “Good.. good..! This is going perfectly, this was a really great idea! She looks great too, doesn't she? Al did a good job, right?”

Alastor, you bastard.

She excitedly goes on, but Lucifer simply isn't there. He's watching you enter the crowd as the music starts back up. Some people are dancing, some are still chatting and drinking, but all he can see is you. A decent group of people have approached you, asking for a dance, offering drinks, or purely just being there to compliment you.

“Dad!” A quick shake of his shoulder brings his attention back to Charlie.

“W-What- what is it?” He says quickly, still trying to process the startling connection he’s made.

“We're gonna go say hi, are you coming?” With her arm wrapped around Vaggie, Charlie Is moving in your direction.

“Oh! Umm..! Maybe later, I just gotta.. check on these.. band- the band! I'm gonna see how the band is doing! Yeah!” He looks around the room as he speaks, finding the nearest excuse. They shrug before waving him off. and Lucifer.. Goes to check on the band.

Picking up a champagne flute on the way, he leans against the wall near the band's small platform. He feels like he’s been punched in the stomach and stabbed in the heart equally, his free hand gripping the ribbons of his belt.

Good god, you look divine. And he’s head over heels for you, that’s something he can’t deny.

But was it for the right reasons? Was it all just because you looked like-

“Lucifer!” He immediately recognizes your voice, sending a chill up his spine once he sees you fast approaching. He straightens his posture and puts his empty glass down on an incoming tray to pick up two full ones.

You let out a sigh of exhaustion, taking one the flutes. It was his plan to offer the second drink to you, but.. then he watches you take a sip, your dark lipstick leaving an unmistakable imprint on the glass. He gulps down the champagne, already needing another.

“I heard you did most of the planning for this, it’s beautiful! Thank you.” You smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. His muscles are tense under your touch. Keeping a hand on him, you lean away to take in his suit. “You clean up nicely, you know.”

He clears his throat and quickly nods. “y-you-” His voice cracks. “You- too..! How uh.. how’s… things..?” You cock your head to the side and finally move both hands to your glass. Leaning against the wall beside him, you start pinching and toying with those damned pearls, again.

“It’s fine. I’m getting a lot of attention.. which is a good thing, I guess? It’s just not exactly what I’m used to.” You say softly. He finally looks at your face, your eyes looking a bit tired. It’s clear you’re pushing yourself through this night. A bit of guilt strikes him, not exactly thinking of this sort of thing when putting the whole ball together. “but! It's still fun! It’s just like those books I was telling you about! That wasn't on purpose, was it?” You tease.

He responds with a nervous laugh, high-pitched and cracking. “M-Maybe, maybe not..”

You chuckle and immediately calm in his presence. With the bustling crowd in front of you, you can’t even tell how stressed Lucifer is.

“Hey.” just that word alone, leaves Lucifer weak in the knees. “This was never something I thought I’d be into.. but it’s actually a lot of fun. I didn't think I’d enjoy such a big crowd, but.. I do. I feel more confident after these past few months. Because of exercises- and Charlie. And because of you, too.” You smile down to him, a bit more of a distance than before due to the heels. “s-so.. thank you, for that.. I guess that’s all I'm trying to say.”

“Of course.” He says softly. Looking into your eyes calms him from his entire ordeal. Those eyes are yours. And no one else's. You’re the first one to notice the next song dying down.

“Would you.. want to dance?” You ask shyly. Your pink cheeks still show over your makeup. Lucifer musters the best smile he can. Offering out his hand, you take it a bit too eagerly.

On the dance floor, the song seems a bit slower than the last. You keep your grip on his previously offered hand, and place your other on his shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath, his free hand fidgeting a bit.

“Are you okay?” You lean down to ask in a hushed tone. He quickly nods, hesitantly placing his hand on your waist. What used to be a common occurrence, dancing in his workshop, left him gasping for air. Without those few drinks in his system, he’s sure he would've passed out by now. “Mm.. Good.” You smile and stand straight again, bringing your bodies closer.

You’re looking down most of the time, watching his feet and attempting to follow suit. He catches your focused expression every now and then and finally can't help but laugh quietly.

“Here, try this.” in a few quick motions, he’s reaching his arm up and out, sending you for a quick spin before bringing you back in. You’re giggling, your nerves easing. He’s adjusted your positions, bringing both hands around your waist. You instinctively pull both arms around his shoulders. “Better?”

He watches your eyes widen, as you assess the new stance. Despite the intimacy, it is in fact easier to follow along this way.

“B-better.” You say under your breath.

With the silence between you both, Lucifer is begging his mind to focus on the music, and not on your scent or your little heartmelting remarks. And a small part of him needs to examine your face, take in its details, to remind himself who he’s with right now.

The music stops, and you’ve linked your hands together behind him, looking down to see his sweet smile. It’s silent, the band taking a moment to begin the next song. Lucifer’s hands relax, dropping from the tight grip on your waist to your hips, then just slightly running his fingers across the slit on your dress unknowingly. You yelp, leaning away from him. He does the same, only now realizing the contact to your bare skin he had made. He’s suddenly red all over.

“O-oh, it was an accident, I-I wasn’t trying to- I’m sorry, are you-”

“Would you happen to be available for the next dance, darling?” Alastor butt's his way in, standing at your side and offering his hand out. He’s dressed up a bit as well, a fancy-looking suit with a long tail coat. It's still in that tacky red color, though. Lucifer groans.

“Oh! Sure-” You take hold of Alastor’s hand, and Lucifer hates that he can notice the size difference. His long fingers curl around your delicately gloved hand. “don’t worry about before, Lucifer, it was an accident, I know. I’ll find you after this dance?” You reassure him.

Lucifer nods, looking over to see Alastor’s wicked grin.

Oh, that piece of-

“Sure! I’ll be around if you want me! if you- need- I'll.. be over there.” Lucifer blurts out and struggles. The next song begins, and you’re skillfully wicked away by the radio demon.

-

Part of the renovated hotel gave a nearby balcony to the lobby, which was also decorated for the event. Lucifer needed air desperately. He's standing at the railing, looking to the town and fidgeting with his wedding band he hadn't dared to take off in thousands of years. he’d barely noticed its presence until recently.

He's thinking of you.

Thinking about your smile and the shine in your eyes. How excited you get about fantasy and fiction, and how you would go on and on about your books to him. He's thinking about how soft your hands always seem to be, and how desperately he wants to be held by you. To feel your lips on his-

“Lucifer?” He jumps at the sudden intrusion of his name, yet again.

“Ha! You gotta stop sneaking up on me like that!” He wheezes out, turning awkwardly to lean on the railing.

“I've.. been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now.�� You say, with a hint of concern.

“Oh.. sorry.”

“Are you really okay? I'm sure the ball was a big deal, but is there.. something else?” You place your hands against the railing, standing beside him. “Because I.. I would like to think you’re my friend after all this, and if there's anything I can do to help-”

You place a hand on his shoulder and he jolts away from your touch. “Lucifer, what's wrong?”

“Nothing- nothing! It's.. the ball! you're right. It's been.. a lot of work, but as long as you're enjoying it, that's all that matters!” He says his words faster than he can properly think of them.

“if you say so.. and I am enjoying it, it's almost perfect.” You hope to reassure him, since you can't get a straight answer from him.

“Almost, huh? What could've made it better?” He relaxes a bit, turning back around to lean on the railing beside you.

“If I.. well, I guess I need to admit something.”

Oh no.

“No time like the present, right? Who knows when I'll be redeemed, so.. I should get it off my chest-”

No no no no-

“Lucifer, I.. think I-”

Before you can get another word in, he’s pulled you down by your wrist and pressed your lips against his. He muffles a yelp from you, and you're immediately melting into his touch. His own eyes flutter shut, yet he hesitates to place his hands on your waist. You catch a glimpse of it briefly, taking his wrists and gently bringing his palms flush against your waist, which he comfortably takes.

You pull away to see a gasping, heated, mess, who's hands are flexing against your sides. You chuckle and brush your fingers through his hair.

“Breathe, Lucifer.” You purr into his ear.

He immediately reels away from your touch, his hands held on either side of his head.

“I can't! Nope! This won't work! It just- w-won't- I-I cant-” Feeling a sudden guilt that you may have gone too far, you carefully take his wrists and pull his hands away from his hair that he had nearly pulled out.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pressure you into it, if you don't feel-”

“I'm in love with you.” He says quickly. Despite the confusion you're feeling, your heart rate quickens. You can't help but feel elated that he's returning your feelings you didn't even get to confess yet.

“But, I just can't! You look- you're too- I thought if I just-” He lets out another frustrated groan. You take a risk and kiss his cheek. It works. A little.

“I know you haven't been in Hell for very long and you may not notice it- Hell, you might have looked completely different on Earth!” His tone goes chipper for a moment, hoping that might be the case.

“Not.. especially?” You tilt your head in confusion. Well, that doesn't help. He scoffs and runs his hand back through his hair.

“You are.. strikingly similar… to the queen.” He says incredibly soft.

The queen.. of Hell?

So, his-

“Oh. Oh! I'm so sorry, I-” 

“You shouldn't apologize for how you look, dear, that's not..” He sighs between his words. “That's not fair. None of this is fair.”

You're both seated at the bench facing out to the city. The quiet hum of the music from the lobby carries over to the balcony.

“So.. you said you are in love with me?” You're the first to break the silence.

“W-well, yes. At least, I thought so, until I realized-”

“When did you notice? About my.. looks?”

“Uhm just tonight. your dress… is similar to something she'd wear.”

You nervously run your hands along the dress, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious in it.

“And.. when did you realize your feelings?”

“I think.. I started feeling something that one night.. in the kitchen?” He plays with the hem of his corseted vest as he speaks. You nod him along. “W-when you said my name..?”

You let out a little hum, like you were more than satisfied with the answer.

“What do you like about me?” You add on, turning to look at him. “Lucifer?”

He shudders at his own name, knowing damn well you did that on purpose.

“Y-You're kind-hearted.. and you're very passionate about literature and even help with my paperwork sometimes so you're- you’re selfless and funny and you can handle all my jokes, which is quite a task, I'll tell you now-” you laugh a bit in response. “And your laugh.. is amazing. Your voice, obviously. And your eyes.. you're beautiful.”

This was all meant to be an effort to calm him down. To have him talk through this panic attack, But you found yourself completely in awe of what he said.

“W-Well.. none of that has to do with my appearance, does it?” A moment of clarity for the both of you, Lucifer meets your eyes.

And they're not Lilliths'.

Of course, they’re not.

They're yours.

He leans in a bit, taking his hand and placing it over yours. You look down quickly at his touch, then back to his face. It takes mere seconds for his lips to meet yours for a second time. It's less frantic this time.

More sure.

Placing a hand on his cheek, he's leaning into your touch, tilting his head to lock your lips together even deeper.

You can taste the alcohol on each other's breath with each passing moment. In an unthoughtful moment, you lick along his lips. His hand grips yours a bit tighter, and he’s parting his lips, allowing you to freely explore his own mouth. How you manage to wrestle with his tongue and keep it as tender as possible still baffles him.

Pulling away to breathe on occasion, you take every chance you can to whisper out his name. And each time, he responds with a quiet whimper, almost buckling down into your arms after a while. You take his hands, bringing them to your waist. He immediately takes notice, pulling you closer from the small of your back. He's a bit stronger than you anticipate, almost losing your composure, you take hold of his top for some stability.

He leans into your chest, raking his fingers up and down your exposed back from the low cut of the dress. His mind is clouded. His thoughts stuck on the way your skin is warm to the touch, despite the cool night time breeze hitting you.

You're perfect.

You're perfect.

You're-

“L-Lucifer-” You squeak out.

He reels away to look at you, panting heavily. Your lipstick is thoroughly smudged across your lips. And his, for that matter.

“I'm sorry, are you okay?” He asks timidly. You nod as the two of you adjust any clothing or hair that had come undone in the process. You run your hands through his locks, attempting to fix what you had been gripping at so desperately moments ago. He's straightening out his top as you do so. He snaps his fingers finally, cleaning his face from any lipstick entirely. And neatening yours in the process.

“Wh- why didn't you do that in the first place?” You smack his chest with a huff.

“I like it when you fix my hair.” You roll your eyes and he only chuckles, wrapping his arms back around your waist to plant a quick kiss to your cheek. “You’re too good to me.” He says softly.

“Mhm- Ah, by the way-” You take a hold of his cheeks and plant a heavy kiss on his lips, only recreating a deep stain. His lashes flutter a bit at the bold interaction, hazy eyes barely able to meet yours. “I love you, too.”

You.

I love you.

♡♡♡

So like.. I was brainstorming for this prompt and I thought "You know who else has Hella hourglass figure?"

Lillith! Surprise! Get traumatized, Lucifer! Huzzah!

Taglist:

( @vififofum / @thornwolfy235 / @tinywolfiegirl / @chipper-chip / @bat-boness / @misfitgirlwrites / @nayomi247 / @lonelynmisunderstood / @escapistoftherealworld / @b4ts1e / @hamthepan / @kyo-kyo1 / @looking1016 / @polytheatrix / @littledolly2345 / @lillianastuff / @yourlocalcryptidbee / @0strawberrysorbet0 / @themageofblood / @jayyyayaysblog / @floralsightings / @azmosposts / @8har0ley8 / @actuallyspiderwoman / @sirenetheblogger / @christineblood / @kaytemchugh / @cimadreamer / @simpdevil66 / @m3ow1 / @acrazyartist / @redfoxwritesstuff / @4k1to / @meesachan / @corvusskid / @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx / @alon3lylov3r / @sapphireravensworld / @mjmdragons / @catticora / @carrie0-1 / @shamblezzz / @cassandras-nest / @the-maladaptive-daydreamer /@str4wberry-t00th-anon / @voxrei / @raythegay / @whoknowswhoiamtoday )

[bagerfluff]

Love and Limps

Harry Potter x Slytherin Male Reader

Prompt - "Why did you help me?"

Harry cursed himself as he limped towards the hospital wing. Harry had accidentally fallen during quidditch practice and now had to limp his way to the hospital wing. It hurt but Harry was able to push through it. For about half of the journey.

Now that he had been walking with his limp for ten minutes it was starting to hurt. “Bloody hell” Harry whispered as he leaned against the wall. “You okay Potter?” Harry looked up at the voice to see Y/n standing a few feet away from him. 

Harry sighed as he looked away from Y/n. Y/n L/n the king of slytherin. Harry didn’t feel like getting teased, so he said he was fine and started to walk, or limp, away. But when he was a few feet away, he tripped.

Harry closed his eyes as he waited to hit the floor but he didn’t. Harry looked up to see that Y/n had caught him. “So you're fine?” Y/n asked with a small smile on his face. Harry looked back down at the floor as he blushed. Why did Y/n have to look so good?

Y/n shifted Harry so he was standing up but once Y/n realized that Harry could really stand he picked Harry up. Bridal style. Harry blushed as he wrapped his hands around Y/n’s neck. Harry tried to get down but Y/n just said “just trust me Potter”.

Harry stopped moving after that. Harry thought as Y/n carried him to the hospital wing. Why was Y/n helping him? Y/n was a Slytherin. Slytherins hate Gryffindor's. But when Harry thought about it Y/n never really did anything mean.

He mostly kept to himself. He didn’t join Umbridge. And Harry heard that he refused to torture the first years, Y/n even helped during the war. Maybe Harry was wrong about Slytherin's. The more Harry thought about it, the more he realized that only Malfoy and his goons were mean.

Every other Slytherin was fine, nice even. Harry realized that he was wrong, along with everyone else. Harry wondered how many first year Slytherin's were hated because of what people in the past did.

Harry was so caught up in these thoughts that he didn’t realize that Y/n had placed him on a bed. “Again Potter” Madam Pomfrey said before she left to get a potion for Harry’s leg. Harry expected for Y/n to leave but he stayed.

He was sitting in the chair next to Harry’s bed. “Why did you help me?” Harry asked as he looked over to Y/n. Y/n looked up from the floor and looked at Harry with a face of confusion. “Because you needed help” Y/n answered. 

“But why?” Harry asked again. Y/n smirked as he got up from the chair. Y/n then leaned closer to Harry to whisper in his ear. “Because I like you Potter”. Harry blushed as Y/n leaned away from his ear and walked out of the hospital wing.

Once Madam Pomfrey came back with the potion Harry was still blushing. “Here Potter” Pomfrey said and Harry drank the potion. Harry then walked out of the hospital wing but when he got back to the dorms he realized that something was in his pocket.

Harry pulled it out and realized that it was a piece of parchment. Harry unfolded it and blushed when he read it. 

Sunday, 10:30, Hogshead. See you there, Potter

Harry smiled once he realized who it was from. Harry entered the dorms with a smile. Already thinking about what he was going to wear. 

[da-shrimping-station]

Here is a shrimpy rambling about the Butler sprites for the April Fool's event 🦐

GAWD DAMN THEY BROUGHT OUT THE ENTIRE BAKERY WITH THOSE SPRITES

On a more serious(?) note, the sprites remind me of the Summer Raphael card. They're not L grade levels of rendering but they don't match the S grade card art style either. Naturally, I would assume they are S+ cards.

They will probably be acquired the same way as Summer Rara too: by purchasing a ticket with the code at the pop up venue. While I do get the marketing strat of lowkey forcing people to actually go to the venue to not only buy the code but also the physical merch, I hope PB wouldn't make much of a fuss about people reselling codes to people who really want the cards but aren't able to go to the pop up event.

So about the sprites! I don't think they are AI. That's just my opinion. Seeing the full body ones and looking through all of it from top to bottom (as respectfully as I could lol) they just suffer a bit of wonky-ness that all WHB sprites suffer. I don't wanna fault the artists since they've probably done the best they could. They gave us really good cakes after all. It could be from management's side of things or whoever is in charge of the art department.

Remember: the artists can give it their all but at the end of the day, management has the final say in things. Which sucks ass but that's the reality of things.

Besides, I think PB is smart enough to realise that using AI for their sprites would be like taking a shotgun to their own foot and ruin whatever's left of the players' goodwill. I hope.

MY BEEF!

The sprites are good but not perfect. There are glaring issues that we've seen and pointed out. Most of these are just stuff I personally have beef with.

1. Beel's skin tone.

Good god they massacred him. That is not Beel. Who the fuck is that man. I'm so happy the fandom agrees they fumbled this so bad. Putting up my edit beside it to preserve my sanity /hj

2. The poses and the proportions.

They're a hit or miss. Satan and Beel have the best poses imo. Mammon's is a bit fruity. Levi's and Belphie's is fine enough. Asmo's being a tease with the little butt grab. But Lucifer? Bro is your back alright???

And the butts...yeah idk how Beel's got the biggest and roundest. Oddly enough I think Belphie's got the most proportionate butt.

3. The difference in the rendering of their faces

Lookie at this:

Look how the rendering becomes more and more....simplified? as we go through the Kings in order of release. The main 4 is fine. Beel and Satan arguably have the better rendering with the lighting in their faces and hair. (i fucking hate using the unedited Beel sprite cuz of the skintone but im trying to make a point here)

Lucifer's is so-so but then we get to Belphie and Asmo....they got done dirty 💀 it's like the artist ran out of steam or smth.

I feel disappointed but not surprised kinda.

5. Asmo's hair

Just like Beel's skin tone, WHERE TF DID IT GO???? WDYM WE GET A LIMP ASS PONYTAIL FOR HIM???

Man where did all that hair go 💀 also did they make him paler??? like,,,how is that even possible

What in "Hell" is Bad's main selling point are the characters we simp and thirst over. PB should give great care when it comes to their art for them. I'm fine with average quality for the art but what I'm looking for is consistency. And for them to forget such a crucial feature like skintone, it really tilts me so bad. I can excuse the hair. You can argue that it's a different hairstyle but skintone??? I'm sure as fuck the artists have and can use a crap ton of references when they draw the character. So why the fuck did Beel's sprite turn out like that.

And then there's the inconsistency with the rendering. Idk what's going on during the art process but srsly....the difference is off putting, to me at least. Belphie's and Asmo's ass and clothes are more rendered than their faces.

At this point it's more of a Quality Assurance thing. Can PB get someone to review the art before it gets released or smth 💀 gotta make sure it's all yk, fucking consistent to all the art released so far

If you've made it this far, thank you for taking your time to listen/read to this shrimp's rambling about the demon porn game🙏

[dollopole]

Merlin needing to teach Arthur stuff when he comes back, but it’s funny.

Can you just imagine Merlin yelling at Arthur at his back because he can’t…

Ride a bike?

The king of Camelot flailing his limbs before falling ass deep into a ditch because he has no idea what to do on a bike.

What about cooking? Imagine the mess. Arthur failing at making an omelette.

Playing video games?

Arthur would obsess over Zelda, because Link is blonde and stupid and courageous and has a sword that he pulled out from a stone.

How to go shopping? Arthur would get lost in so many isles, the cashier would need to get on the microphone and call for Merlin, because,

“The King of Camelot needs Emrys at the cash register 2, please.”

Riding a car?

Even better. Merlin’s magic is the only thing keeping them from crushing completely and ruining several cars, before Arthur even learns what a pedal is.

Trains? I can totally see Arthur obsessing with trains and wanting to go on each and every one of them, and Merlin follows his ideas, because why not, Arthur looks like an happy kid.

Imagine Arthur’s reaction to a rollercoaster. And him throwing up his ice cream right after a ride because Merlin had dared him he couldn’t go there without being afraid and Arthur had to show off.

And Arthur discovering so many foods and sweets, he actually gets a sweet tooth.

The gym. This man will hit the gym consistently and will bring Merlin with him every day, while Merlin shoots him a murderous glare because he is a sofa man, not a gym bro (Arthur would totally be a gym bro).

But this same Arthur is scared of needles. He needs to take several tests and go to the hospital, and Merlin will need to hold his hand, because what do you mean the dentist will put gloved fingers in my mouth and touch my precious teeth?

Or what about Merlin needing to teach Arthur the simple things?

I’m already laughing at the image of Merlin trying to explain to Arthur how a toothbrush works, or a bathtub, or even a bidet.

Oh, the look on Arthur’s face the moment Merlin explains to him how to sit on a bidet.

HOW ABOUT HOW TO WEAR UNDERWEAR?

I bet at first, Arthur will come out of the bedroom with his underwear over his trousers, Superman style. Merlin will need a whack at the back of his head for him to stop laughing at the Once and Future King with briefs over his joggers.

I can totally see Arthur getting diagnosed with autism, and him being super excited over the new discovery, but simply because now he can’t stop thinking about it.

He collects rocks.

Yep, definitely. Arthur will collect so many rocks, tiny stones and gift them to Merlin, who secretly smiles and keeps them all in his precious jewel case.

And what about the sex related stuff?

That is indeed hilarious and a big jump from the Middle Ages and Arthur doesn’t understand why everyone goes around naked, and why they have to talk about everything that is supposed to be private and what the bloody hell is a sex toy? Or a sex shop?

Oh, oh.

Yes. Hilarious.