#scraping y crawling
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
FEVERRR?!
Synopsis. Oh no! Getting hit with a séx technique gave him a fever - babyféver.
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, sĂ©x cursed technique (heâs affected), PĂSSYDRĂNK MEN, brĂ©eding, cĂșmplay, matĂng presses, clan leader!Gojo, ĂnnaproprĂate use of jujutsu, manhandIing, marathons, maIe squĂrting, overstĂm, dĂșmbifĂcation, best friend!Choso, proposals, marking, phĂ©romones, HĂATS, true form Sukuna, Sukunaâs second mouth, pet names, swĂ©aring.
A/N. Skibidi alpha Tony is baaaack (and ovuIating.)
⥠TOJI FUSHIGURO - No running!
That pesky, low-grade curse he happened to encounter on a gig today? Tch, Toji Fushiguro didnât even break a sweat before finishing it off. Didnât even flinch at its weak cursed technique, didnât- didnât evenâŠ
-didnât even make it to your bedroom.
âYouâre lucky.â A pained wheeze spits from Tojiâs clenched canines as soon as his hips bully your own into the soft carpet of your doorway. And his clammy core sticks feverishly against your back - burning hot, desperate. Heâs inhaling your honeyed fragrance and stuttering- âY-youâre lucky youâre lucky youâre lucky I didnât- oh.â
Your husband jolts once heâs catching the hazy sight of you mindlessly crawling away, a rugged snicker leaving him as he claws a massive palm on top of your scalp to draaaag you right back down.
Slurp! goes the way his round, cherry-red circumference circles your sloppy entrance, and youâre whining over your shoulder. âT-Tooojiâ! Whatâs gotten into you t-today?â
âY-youâre about to find out, ma.â
âWhat do youâŠâÂ
That question on the tip of your dampened tongue didnât even have a chance to formulate, before youâre gathering up every ounce of strength in your body to meet Tojiâs jaded stare and- oh.
Oh, it hits you.
You were fucked.Â
Oh-so-very vulgarly fucked, heâs ramming his painfully aching length just mere sultry inches past your saturated folds and itâs enough to leave you dizzy. The swollen spheroid of his crownhead scraping your walls rawly open, Tojiâs shivering above you.
Sharp jaw bitten at the tight resistance of your elastic hole. Sounding fucked out of his mindâ âFeel that?â Youâre gasping when one of his palms travel halfway down your tummy, searching for that familiar nudge of his stout cockhead. âYeah- feel me all inside? Youâre luck- ngh- youâre lucky. Sooooo fucking lucky-âÂ
WasâŠyou could feel your slobbering pussylips grow ever-wetter, glossing out a slick coating that glues to his sagging hilt in a ring. Was the Toji Fushiguro pussydrunk right now? Already?Â
With the calloused ends of his fat digits clasping âround your throat, heâs reeling you to him like some cute toy. Drinking in your every piping shrill, kissing, gnawing- âL-lucky I didnât catch ya right then and there, doll.â
And maybe Toji was just so big that it rendered you stupid.
Because with your spine bowed up against the ridges of his abs, youâre huffing nâ puffing with every glissade of his beefed-up muscles. âWh-whyâ?â
âWhy? Why?â His baritone comes out broken, octaves higher. He slouches over to breathe in a heavy gulp of your sweetened scent and almost sobs in disbelief, ââWhyâ m-my wife asks- why-â And before you know it, Tojiâs holding tightly onto your cute throat nâ siiiinking his fat shaft deeper inside. Shoving and shoving his toned v-line into you with every snug resistance from your cunt, âOhhh fuck- fuck! I canât even- you donât even know- because mâgonna break ya, doll.â
âGonna break- ngh- gonnaâ fuuuck, why are you so big?â Youâre so fucking full that you can feel his steaming dollops of pre fill you up to your lungs, damn near splitting you in half.Â
Grinning savagely, âNâ yet sheâs still begging for more. She wants me- needs me-â With a coo, Toji hikes up one of his meaty thighs to plant down on your sweaty skull and make you arch. â-and I thought Iâd die without this p-pretty pussy.â
âHck! Inside- w-want every inch, Tojiââ The wooden floorboards underneath creakily sing with every rummaging drill.Â
He was fucking you like a madman. âThat damn curse- fuck, wanted to fuck you right there. Right in public- right in front of e-everyone.â Truly, he was burning every nanosecond he wasnât jackhammering you silly.Â
That cursed technique working overtime to make him tense his front and slap sloppily into the mounds of your ass. Over and over in jagged, animalistic ruts just trying to fit himself in.Â
More more more more - and yet, it still wasnât enough.
âTake it all- gonna break-â The rotund curve of his left thumb roams down, curling past your soppy crevice to smear open your droopy folds. Wiiidely agape to push his squelching cock further, the snagging stretch felt feral. â-gonna break me.â
A fat line of saliva escapes from one end of Tojiâs unfastened maw once you clench, dripping down to target your leaking hole with a loud splat! splat! splat! The impact so sudden and scalding hot that it has you flinching-
âO-oiââ And has Toji immediately digging the fringes of his fingerpads deeper upon either side of your throat and tugging- you werenât even creeping away this time, and yet he was letting off a pained grunt as if you were.Â
Couldnât even bear the mere thought-
âNo no no no no, donât run-â Heâs gritting his teeth, precisely skidding his vein-decorated length until Tojiâs pointed mushroom smooches your most sensitive spot. A direct strike, âDonât run from me, mama. You have nowhere to run tonight.âÂ
Finally, finally bottoming out.Â
BANG!
Tojiâs palm comes slamming down on the space of floor right beside your head, hard enough that the entire floor shudders. Just as much as he was.Â
âFuck- fuck.â He sounded so fucked-out that it made your own ears ring. Long, raven lashes shuttering, cheekbones flushing, scarred mouth falling into an oh! at the feeling of your hot cunt.
âO-oh my godâŠfuuuck Tojiâ!â Youâre sobbing at the taut stretch of your poor walls, bruising with the slip nâ slide of his rock-hard length. Tojiâs cock was probinâ in so deep that youâre counting every lecherous ba-dump! of his racing pulse down under.Â
A few black tendrils of his happy trail rub on your ass cheeks as heâs tugging you closer, furiously blinking his hooded eyelids to clear his vision.Â
âMâgonnaâŠâ And just as soon as the words are forming on his tongue- theyâre falling flat.Â
Because Tojiâs only just raising his white-knuckled hand from the sizzling carpet to find that heâd left a smashed crater in the shape of his hand.Â
Strength so overwhelming, powers so out of control - he didnât know whether it was the technique or you that had him soâŠruined.Â
âH-heh.â He barks out a hoarse breath of shocked laughter, that very same heated palm drifting down to cup your bulging pussy. Stretched and stretched and stretched around his barreling sizeâ
You can only squirm at the way his touch is so unintentionally hot, almost simmering out the branding of his handprint. Dangerous.Â
One hand massaging your tearful cunt, the other letting go of your craned neck to pat that outline he was fucking into your tummy with every- single- slam. The shape of his glazed tip creaminâ into your insides, Toji coos. âMâgonna haaaa fill this cute bulge up with Megsâ new younger sister, ma.â
⥠NANAMI KENTO - Big big BIG
âYou- you know I respect you- right, my love?â Nanamiâs seething out with a sharp bite of his handsome jaw, nostrils flaring at that saccharine scent you were giving off. âRight?â
Slowly, you nodâ vision blurred with the glassy film of your own stimulated tears.Â
What? What happened to make your dear, gentle Nanami Kento soâŠferal.Â
Only for your husband to spank down a hold on the curve of waist and draaaag you bodily down the silken sheets- âBecause- because mâgonna fuck you right now. Hard. Fast. Disrespectful.âÂ
Oh.Â
Nanami wasnât just big - he was teeth-clenchingly, mind-numbingly big. So wide nâ swollen that just a brush of his pretty pink tip against your mushy walls left you ruined from the inside out, whining.Â
And right now he was bigger.Â
âKenââ Your brows furrow adorably tight, and youâre swearing that that made your husband grow even fatter. Prolonging a few sultry inches that made your toes curl all the way, â-Ken y-youâre soâŠâ
âSâbiiig, huh?â Heâs softly swabbing away that thin trickle of drool decorating the side of your lips. Free hand loosening that satin yellow tie of his that he didnât even bother taking off - couldnât. âKeep those- hah! legs open, sâalright-â
And every breathy word comes out in a murked pant - heaving, desperate. Gasp after hot gasp departing from his stern mouth every time Nanamiâs squelching his girth inside, he spits wetly down your slit.Â
âSee?â Thumbing inside that translucent splatters, âYou- you can take this, then you can take this, my wife. You can- haaaah you hafta. Let me- let me.â
âOh, p-pleeease!â Youâre squealing as he laces an overlarge palm on top of your sweat-matted crown and pushes you onto his throbbing, aching length. Ogling away at the beefy flex of his biceps as he does-
The intensity of your gaze makes him jolt. Body shocked, heat burning- his carnal fingertips itching to squeeze your puckered pussylips together, âCâmon-â Tighter, cock pulsing fatter. âCâmon.â Tighter.Â
Just to watch the way your moans pitch higher, face polished with a wave of fucked-out drool - your husband was so mean.
âHafta fill you up.â His scorching pants make your forehead humid with perspiration. Words sharp, narrowed down where his mushroom tip was slimily mazing inside of you, âHafta make her f-full, hafta ngh- breed this cute lilâ cunt right here.â
Heâs never been thisâŠdepraved.Â
Never been this vulgar, never this impatient as he keeps clinging onto the nub of your clit with his ring finger, making you yelp at the chilling touch. And you had half the mind to wonder what the hell happened on his mission today.
âWhat happened? What- ngh! Iâll tell you wh-what happened, my love.â
Shit- were you talking out loud?
His bludgeoning thrusts were so rawly good that it had you stupid, your pupils circling your eyes in a way that was almost silly. âWh-whatâŠâ
âSâa curse- a technique- a- fuck! I donât even know.â Something stupid when he was rushing to get home to you. And something even more deprived cracks at the back of Nanamiâs dry throat, syllables slurring together in a way youâve never heard your eloquent husband do before.Â
âJust wanna fuh-fuck you, darlinâ.â Soft, plump lips graze yours tenderly, and heâs drinking in your sweetened scent. The taste of it enough that he ruts - without even knowing. âWant- no, need it. Sâlike this pretty pussyâs hck! holding me hostage. Gonna die without her.â
He needed you. He needed you.Â
The very moment that Nanami finds himself sheathed all the way to those curls of tawny gold lining down his washboard abs - filling you up so much you could barely motion your lungs to breathe - heâs gone. Gone.Â
And he was fucking you straight into the mattress, until you felt like you were on the very verge of being swallowed up by the creaking bedsprings. Until you felt like you were going insane-
Bottomed out yet pushing and pushing and pushing.
Your trembling fingers latch âround Nanamiâs dangling tie for dear life, and it only makes the sculptured man above you grin. âYeah- yeah thatâs itââ One of his roughened free hands clasp over your own and let you puuuull and tug to your lecherous heartâs content, â-roughen me up.â
He wanted to be strung around, he wanted you to scrape your nails all over his muscles every time his deeply scouring cock was hitting your innards.Â
âOh- my god, Kentoâ!â Comes out your answering whine as he slouches his sturdy weight on top of you until youâre press-press-pressed down with his core. Heels of your feet snagging on the bindings of his thigh suspenders, âPlease- please please mâso close.â
Harder. Faster.Â
Gazing down at where you were slobbering in great heaving dollops with such greed, Nanami was so needy that you see him drool in thin slivers.Â
He didnât even realize.Â
âS-such pretty birthing hips. Weâre gonna have s-such gorgeous kids.â He almost whimpers - whimpers out - blond strands sticking in an uncharacteristically unruly manner to his forehead. Nanami plants yet another sweet mass of spit on your sensitive cunt until it had you squirming, âThat- yeah like that- c-can you spell my name, darling?â
And he wasnât just asking - he was manhandling you into it with a few thorough pushes of his toned thighs. Shaking. Unsteady.Â
Nanamiâs breath catches in his breath once your gyratinâ hips manage to move in something that resembled a slurping K-E-N-T-O - giving extra care to let his vein patterns massage your sweet spots on that last âOâ.
âO-oh, Kenââ Your hips keep repeatedly bucking and he finds it so hypnotizing, â-mâclose- mâgonna- fuck fuck fuck mâgonnaâŠâ
K-E-N-T-O
One set of thick fingers rolling on your clit, the other pushing those fogged-up glasses further up his blushing face.Â
âFuck-â Curved mound of his breeder balls kissing your cunt over and over, stinging. Something in him twitches as he feels your fleshy walls squeeze nâ clench nâ cum. âFuuuck k-keep doing that and mâgonnaâŠmake a mess. Mâgonna-â
The wave of your high only punctures with one of your shrilling moans as Nanamiâs tunneling shaft gives an animalistic twitch. Youâre hauling him by the tie to crash your lips into his, open-mouthed and raw. âP-please KenâŠinsideâŠ?â
Barely even coherent over your euphoria and it still manages to shock him to his very core like a zillion volts.Â
And maybe heâs cumming - maybe heâs cumming twice- but fuck. He doesnât even know right now, doesnât even feel anything other than the clingy splatter of something wet and oozing out of his geysering tip - and the cold, cold taste of your wedding ring.Â
Being brought up to his snarling mouth so that he can bite downâ â-mâgonna p-put another one of hck! these on you, my love.â
⥠GETO SUGURU - âS-sweetâŠâ
That soft gasping whine tumbles out of Getoâs pretty lips like he didnât even mean it to - like he didnât even fucking realize until it was too late.Â
And your tearful eyes are cracking wider just a smidge, a sweltering hot gasp sprinting from your mouth and straight towards his tender shaft. Where your leader was ravenously fisting his reddened length in front of your face - rapid, sloppy tugs while he straddled your head.
Practically goading that pearl-sheened droplet of precum to splatter down onto your face, âSweet.â His nostrils flare as heâs gulping in your scent even further, and now that heâd started he couldnât stop.
That all-new cursed technique the sorcerers used on him was driving him mad, dolloping out a stringy wad of sap that leaks from the strawberry-pink orifice homed at his very tip. Down, down, down to glue your puckered lips together, âYouâre so sweet.â Spank goes the ringing impact of his vein-covered length slapping your cheek, until you feel every winding pattern. Gasping, âWhy? Why the fuck are you so sweet?â
Agonizing, he was genuinely asking.
Spank spank spank-Â
Getoâs slender fingers fly up nâ down from the raven curls at his pelvis to thumb his curvaceous cockhead, âGonna- gonna be the death of me.â His thick, milky thighs shiver where he hovers over your face, dark brows furrowed. â-gonna ruin me. Gonna fuck- fuuuckââ
Your tongue flops out readily as a few speckles of pale white ooze out onto your face, spittle overflowing at the way it was so hot you could almost see steam.
And it wasnât enough that youâre making him cum like this - your glittery pussy just looks so delectable that Geto Suguru feels like he could die if he doesnât shuffle himself down your body and plug you full right this very second.
So thatâs exactly what he does.Â
Fast enough that your stupidly muddled brain wonders whether your boyfriend had teleported, because in a split-second heâs thwacking his ruby-red tip between the leaky crevice of your pussy and cumming.
In ropey, white mases that cobweb your entrance- Getoâs spit-stringed maw falls open at the way your glistening hole quivers greedily. âGod, you love it like this, huh?â He seethes, canines drawn in a snarl. âYou love it. Sucking me up like that- ya have noooo idea what you do tâme, huh?â
âJ-jusâ want you so bad, Suguruââ Youâre whining out, the caps of your knees hitting your tits once youâre being folded like a lawnchair underneath him.Â
âFucking slut.â Trying for his usual predatory leer but he sounds feral, gone. Sounding off the most primal slurp as he coats his achinâ tip with the lustre of slick dripping down your boneless thighs, Geto leans over until you could practically taste his expensive cologne. âSâworse than that t-technique. YouâŠyou like it like this, huh?â
And the âyes yes yesâ is just starting to formulate on your tongue before heâs smushing your cheeks together with his left hand - and barreling his fat, rock-hard cock into your sobbing cunt with the right.
Inch after inch.
So big that just the first creeped-in plop! of his ridged tip scours your gooey wet spots and leaves you keening. His rotund tip stout and wiiide enough that your mouth falls into the same agape oh!
It wasnât enough - just getting himself off would never be enough. He needed you you youâ
âSâthat it? Sâthat what you want?â Getoâs grouching sounds just as merciless as his pace was starting up, flexible hips swirlinâ aaaaching drags of his heavy cock against every nook and cranny of your pussy. âTa ruin me? Huhâ?â And his eyes blow wide, shuddering thighs coming to press up against yours, he grins. âWell- youâve got me ruined. Fuuuuck youâve got me ruined.â
âN-nghhhâ Sugu- s-so deep.â You cry out once his cherry-red tip swabs your cervix in a prolonged line, your sanity fraying at the edges with each rummaging push.Â
âShit- you like being fuh-fucked like this.â Pounding every wiry sput of ivory into you so hard that you can feel it swirl inside of you and make such a mess. It wasnât lost on his cottony brain how that only made you even wetter, prattling. âLike this- all- all sloppy.â
âYes- yes yes yes, want it- want it all.â
And your ruthless leader doesnât know whether itâs that damn technique or simply you that makes his heart race so rapidly.Â
Giving your cushy walls yet another slam, âOh yeah? Ya like it when I make this ngh- cute cunt all sloppy? Then you better not w-waste a single drop.â
Youâre mewling at the probing feeling of his slender fingertips pushing apart your claggy folds to treat your pulsating clit like a button. Tugging and toying. âD-did you just stutter?â
âShut up.â And for all your mouthiness, it earns you the biggest slap of Getoâs split-ended head bruising your g-spot. So hard that he was almost a magenta purple at the drooling tippy-top, âShut up shut up shut up-âÂ
His soothing bass cracks, his hips shudder. Your calves almost ache where heâs manhandling you easily into a mating press, âNâ take it- t-take it- Hck! gonna be all full with meâŠfull with my kids.â
Plural - and that is almost enough to make you babble out nonsense all over again.
âFuh-fuuuuckâ Suguââ
Getoâs hazed amethyst eyes falter shut as he buries his face to your throat and draaaags in a deep inhale of your honey-dipped pheromones. So sweet. âH-heh- maybe thatâll stop all that backtalk- huh, gorgeous?âÂ
The curvy lines of his veins slip across your walls as he drills into you oh-so-relentlessly, and the only response you can give are a few gurgling gasps of his name.Â
He was insatiable - nothing like himself.
âYeah? Oh yeah?â Something in his voice hatches primally, and Geto leans over almost mockingly. Harder. Plump, pink lips curling with every squelch! your stretched-out walls sing, âTell her ta s-stop drooling nâ talk to me straight-â
âB-but I am-â
âI meant her.â Cutting you off, you can feel your ears pop with the sheer pressure of him ravaging your tender insides. The mound of his crownhead pushes into your cervix and you whineâ âShh- sheâs talking-âÂ
Fuck, he wasnât even talking to you. So fucked-out that you wondered whether he even realized.Â
âSheâs talking- telling me that she wants it- ohhh she wants me ta fill you up e-even more-â He has the audacity to giggle - giggle - out something octaves higher and maddened, â-ta breed you, my p-pretty cumdump. To make you all full and round and- and full. Full of my daughter, gorgeous.â
Only dabbing the hand at your clit upwards to sliiide along your ajar maw, gathering a few gumdrops of creamy cum that had decided to slip free earlierâ he glosses over your lips and makes you let off the loudest wet noise yet.Â
Your lashes grow heavy with tears of sensitivity as that very same sensory pad sneaks down to your swollen folds, gliiiding it all over in a lustrous coating. Thick and hot.Â
âH-heh.âÂ
His parched Adamâs apple bobs at the treacly wet glazes decorating both pairs of your lips, looking so unfairly pretty. All dark strands of black sticking to his clammy forehead, dimples displayed, blush devastating. âAlmost looks better on her.â Half-opened eyes narrowed down at your soppy pussy, now all glittery and moistened. Geto growls, âGonna hafta give her a second helping ta make sure, gorgeous.â
⥠CHOSO KAMO - Got milk?!
âB-baby-â Chosoâs puffy, ruby-red lips flap wildly as your hips swerve gently arooound his aching hot cock. That swollen mushroom tip of his stirring your goopy insides in a snug heart until you didnât know whether you were more fucked or he was. âBaby- hck! baby.â
âYeeees, Cho?â Youâre cooing downwards, planting a sweet, sweet kiss that leaves your poor best friend blushing.Â
He was just plain cute even after a mishap with his own cursed technique - one that left his curse-like powers out of control and himâŠin heat. Thankfully you knew how to help.Â
Whining breathily as he gnaws on your lower lip like candied gum, âN-noâŠâ
You watch on with your head tilted prettily as he lowers his chestnut gaze shyly, a silvery line of sweat roaming somewhere down his temple. âI-I meant-â Chosoâs stuttering out needily, the blushing curve of his shaft pounding oh-so-rapidly inside of you, pulse racing. Heâs creeping a hand up the sides of your hips - your womb. â-I w-want a baby, baby.â
Every second that youâre stilling in slight shock felt like agony to him, every soft clench youâre instinctively smooching over his rummaging circumference was heaven.
And Choso was damn near letting his heavy lids burst with a waterfall of desperate tears before you blink your lashes in such a sensual wayâÂ
âAwww, Chosoââ Leaning over his toned pectorals until your honeyed scent overwhelms him and makes him throb. You pat the sexy incubus-looking inking thatâd burned over his curly brown happy trail, â-of course you c-â
He doesnât even let you finish your sentence - doesnât have the patience to.
Not even the fucking sanity to do anything but clamp down his honed, animalistic canines into the crook of your neck and cum. Just from those words shrilling out of your mouthâ heâs wafting out guttural grunts upon grunts into your heated flesh with every splat! of creamy seed covering your insides.
âI-Iâll take ngh- care of it.â Youâre making out his scratchy words, âIâll take care Iâllâ oh.â The plump pads of his fingers smear a wet wipe down your leaking slit, scooping up oodles of cum. âIâll take take of you- take care of our daughter take- takeââ
Shit, you looked so sinful with your pretty pussy drooling down on him this way.
Spraying out a shiny sheen of glossy white that dripped down either side of his slender hips, your greedy entrance gulping up every wiry web of seed he was pouring inside you.Â
âNeed to fuck you- gonna fuck you. Feels like mâfucking burning up if I donâtâŠâ Overtaking him - overtaking his pace.
Youâre squealing at the splosh of wetness pooled inside your walls, âP-please, baby.â Head throwing back stupidly once the fat of his thumb slithers to stuff your hole with so many copious wads of sap. âW-want more-â
âD-donât say that.â A hefty digit finds itself stuffed inside your slackened mouth, and you canât help but slurp up the caramel salted taste of Chosoâs cum right off of him. â-sânot good t-to talk out of your cute c- ohâŠâ
And heâs so ready for you to squirm your body even closer and spit that ivory frosting back over into his mouth, striking his pinkish tastebuds with a resounding splatter. And he swallows. His eyes rolling all the way backwards until you could only see pure white- humming, âBut I want more, Cho. Inside.â
âM-more.â Choso gazes up at you - blank-faced, mouth agape. Gone. Shaking his head, gasping to free himself from this cursed technique, âReally- really want more.â
Nodding, âMor- mmpfâ!â
Chosoâs slouching over right in half - he couldnât get enough of you, couldnât want anything but more. In an instant, all the murked air inside your lungs is being squeezed out once Choso sits up on the silken mattress and hugs his strong arms âround your body.
Face pushing into your neck, breath scorching your skin. âMore- more.â A high-pitched - almost crazed - sort of laughter departs from his adhesive-like lips, âShe wants more- my-â Groooaning at the sultry smooch of his weepy orifice accurately into your cervix, â-my baby wants more fuuuckâ!â
Mouth watering with a syrupy wave of spittle at your fragrance, so sweet that he could almost taste it. With a creak! of your aged bedcoils, heâs pounding up into you-
Hard. Fast.
Every gyrating motion massaging his tense core all over your front nâ sweaty inner thighs, âMilking me- milking me- ohh, my baby can f-feel all of it, huh?âÂ
âI can- hngh! C-canâŠâ Your arms throw over Chosoâs broad shoulders as you hold on for dear life. He was just so veiny that every whack! whack! whack! of his bludgeoning crown left your dangling knees weak.
Curtained by silky bangs, glassy eyes of his catch yours, âYou can- y-you can, h-huh? Feel every inch, every v-vein-â Almost as if he himself couldnât believe it, Chosoâs trekking over one of his splayed palms to feel for where heâs rummaging your insides and hisses. Sharp tattoos on his nosebridge crinkling, â-every push-â His puffily veined shaft slips over your g-spot with a delicate sluuuuurp, â-right here?â
âOh- ohhhh fuck! I canââ
âYeah- yeah yeah yeah- feel it. Feel me.â Now slobbering like a damn dog with every cloudy puff of your pheromones, he can feel the heat overtaking him and making his glistening tip swell. âGonna fuh-fucking die before I donât fill ya up-â
It was almost hard to remember that this was your best friend. Youâre thumbing away one of the pearly translucent tears that slip down his burning cheeks, âThen you better not hah! miss.â
So looong that every rugged thrust reaches your deepest, tenderest insides; spearheading your poor pussy until you felt your folds rub raw. And the sloppier his cadence gets, the more rapidly your hazed irises are circlinâ your eyes dizzily.Â
Chosoâs sweet lips glue to each other with a lustre of spit and wobbles, a furious blush overtaking his features from the tips of his ears to down under. âN-ngh!â
And itâs all that he has to say- all that he can breathe before Chosoâs not just cumming for the second time - heâs squirting.Â
You made him squirt out hot rivulets of sticky sap that clings onto your cunt lovingly, trickling down every ridge of his washboard abs. So much. So heavy.
His bulky tip slips out of your entrance at the sheer momentum and Choso whines- âSh-sheâs gonna have your gorgeous eyes- I love your eyesâŠâ Angrily fisting the chubby base to froth out more and more milky ribbons that scorch your slippery crevices, youâre being flooded to the very brim. â-your smile- y-your beautiful skin- your hair- alllll of you. Mâgonna take care of it allll.â
Thighs twitching, youâre barely even talking at this point, your pussy letting off more than enough chatty squelches on behalf of you.Â
Choso grips a handful of your right asscheek to tug you closer before- with a noisy splatter, a few viscid tendrils of cum drivel out of you. And oh, his tear-filled gaze is hypnotized by the sight of the mess heâs made below.Â
Jaw-dropped. Heated.Â
âOh- marry me.â
⥠RYOMEN SUKUNA - Suffocate me, woman.
The King of Curses didnât know how he got here- he didnât even know why.Â
One his damn court subjects was showing off a cursed technique, and the next thing yâknow is that youâre seated right on top of his plush, puckered mouth whilst the Ryomen Sukuna begged for your dripping wet cunt.Â
âO-oh but, Kuna-â Your lower lip wobbles cutely as his clawed fingers grip each side of your hips like a vice, heâd already been driving you mad with his tongue and his dual cocks for hours now.Â
And yet - he still needed more.
âFuck âb-b-butâ.â Your hulking husband snarls from down below, and just the sight of his gleaming, honed canines is enough for you to shudder out a gasping oh! The edges of his plump lips tickling your perked pulsing clit-
âIf I suffocate y-â
âThen fucking s-suffocate me.â You donât even have the time to register that youâd made the big, bad king stutter before heâs gripping a bruising handful of your ass and draaaagging you down. Plopping, sitting. Grouchy baritone cracking, âWh-who do ya think I am, puny human?â
It was a rhetorical question, and the only answer youâre able to give is a jumble of mashed âfuck!â and âKuna!âÂ
Bellowing out a throaty groan at the honeyed sap beading down his tongue, Sukunaâs prominent Adamâs apple bobs and gasps with every gulp. Every slap of his scratchy tastebuds, every smooch.Â
âS-smells so sweet.â And as if he wasnât lewd enough, youâre feeling the frigid breeze of him inhaaaling the fragrance of your candied pussy. Grunting, âWanna kiss? Sloppy- w-wanna kiss, donâtcha?â The slivery edge of his tongue slips past your folds and laps up the remnant excess of his creampies from before- âMmmm- sânot enough. Not- not enough.â
âN-not enough?â
And it really wasnât enough for him.
Shoving himself even more nose-deep between your puffy folds meant that Sukuna was hypnotized, his crimson peripherals barely peeking out between his pinkish bangs.Â
âCleaning you up t-ta put in more-â A webbed wallop of cum slips between his lips, and heâs taking a few seconds to sniff your honeyed, raw cunt once more. Senses sensitive twofold, â-gotta put in more. S-sooo much more. Gotta fill you up.â
His mouths - both his mouths - were fucking restless. The slimy tip of his second cursed tongue weaving upwards until youâre flinching at its touch, slopping a wet sheen all over your inner thighs. Youâre shuddering as the very berry-pink muscle prolongs to slap your clit, âW-wait thatâs ngh! Unfairrrrââ
âDidnât think I would be nice, did ya?â Heâs grumbing out, and the length of his other tongue was so loooong that it could stretch all the way until youâre being smeared wide open. Up, up, up just to taste you.Â
Youâre halfway through screaming as you feel the tiny hearts that heâs drawing over your inner thighs, faster. Faster. Cracking open a heavy eye, âWhat? Hm?â Not talking to you - but to his other cursed mouth. âKeh, greedy thing. Go on then.â
Oh.Â
Oh, you only get what he meant when his winding muscle starts pokinâ your rubbery entrance. Playfully nudging once - twice, before splitting you so open.Â
âS-so deep-!â Sukunaâs mazing his tongue down your dewy dampened walls so deep, glistening hot tip searching like a headlight. He scratches the ridges of his tastebuds right over where he could just pinpoint your g-spot, âW-wait there- hck! Thereâ!â
And usually he would snipe back with something smug, usually he would mock your wailing whines.
But right now, Sukuna was so gone on your dizzying pussy that his nostrils flare as he pushes further face-deep between your jittery legs.Â
âThere- there there there.âÂ
Chin dribbling with a lustrous glazing of slick and cum and slick, your fuzzy brain sparks with so many stars with every thrust. Faster. âDoes it please you to drench me, brat?â Making out with your slobbering cunt like a man parched. Faster. âDoes it p-please you to have me like this? Begging and cleaning out your sloppy haaaa pussy- only to fill you up again?â
Overstimulated tears saturating your eyes, you can only throw your head back and whineâ âY-yesââ Legs twitching where they were fully cushioning Sukunaâs handsome face, â-pleaseâŠwonât last, Kunaââ
Itâs like both his drooling maws only get more eager at your declaration.
Jaw spanking the front of your cunt, heâs sucking on your cute clit like a lolly. âWonât last, huuuh?â Leering grin reflected upon both mouths, Sukunaâs second tongue dares to draw a swooping pattern- no, his name. His name in a sizzling hot motion on your battered g-spot, âCum then.â
And when you do, itâs with that very same name trilling from your spit-slicked mouth until your lips are buzzing.Â
Peak after peak of white-hot euphoria that leaves your head spinning, heartbeat thundering down all the way to your hot core. And the king is soooo much more than happy to let his features brace your every sloppy drag.Â
Creaky joints ricketing at the sheer force, the backs of your thighs aching, âS-sâtoo good-â Your throat clogs with a few wads of saliva that overspill, so filthy. â-feels like mâin heaven, Kuna.â
And itâs only once your tingling high has simmered down, only once youâre just beginning to catch your punctured breath that heâs finally, finally wrenching himself away with a claggy mwah!
âWell donât tap out just yet, brat.â Heavy lids hooded - the smile heâs gifting you is so drunken. Chuckling gruffly, âLook at this mess.â
Calling it a âmessâ was an understatement.Â
Sukuna was ravaged from the apples of his high cheekbones - all glossy with a lacquer of your juices - down to his slobbering second mouth. Still licking its monstrous lips with the cloying remnants of you, tongue flicking wet swipes at your thighs for more more more.Â
âClean it up.â
His tone is sharp, stern- but the way that the man himself hiccups once two of his four beefy arms pick you up and manhandle you over his matching cocks was anything but.Â
Hell, he was already wondering whether he could get that damn curse to hit him with this cursed technique a second time.
âO-oh.â Sukuna stutters - stutters, at the heated warmth of your pussylips being spread open over his swollen, pre-topped cockhead. Both so big that not even how much his secondary mouth had tugged on your hole could prepare you for the streeeeetchâ
âThatâs it- that- thatâs it-â His broad, meaty pecs heave, his crimson eyes dilate, his own mouth drools at the snug clench of you. Looming so big, youâre being hovered down like a pretty porcelain doll to maze his rovering strawberry divots tight inside your wet cunt, ravenous. âThe king canât have an heir without filling ya up, human.â
⥠GOJO SATORU - HEIR
It wasnât the Gojo clan leaderâs fault this time - it wasnât. He swears with every sparking, pussydrunken ounce of his brain that he didnât purposefully let those damn elders hit him with a sex technique-
âYâknow why I l-let them haaaah- use that technique on me, s-sweetheart?â Gojoâs pert, pink lips twitch as they struggle to keep holding his cocky smirk. Snowy brows furrowing at the splashing wave of his own cum that greets him at your entrance, rumbling bass low in your ear.Â
And a sensual squelch sounds as he draaags his ruby tip all the way down and up your slit, sluuurping in a way that makes your husband lick his own lips. âBecause this sweet pussy was ngh- begging to be bred. They wanâ an heir, theyâre gonna get one.â
And before you can even let out another saturated gasp! heâs hovering his clammy palm over your tummy - your skin crackling with the sizzle of cursed energy before-
âNot yet.â
Not yet not yet not yet.
Youâre whining, itâs been this way for hours - days? - now, and Gojoâs leveraging his glowing Six Eyes to check whether his repeated, milky creampies had finally taken. âT-Toru, youâre so mmpf-!â
Unable to even finish your sentence before his beefy, impatient arms are looping around your restless body and hauling you halfway down the soft tatami mats. Both boneless legs thrown over one shoulder, Gojo hadnât even bothered to take off his expensive yukata.Â
Hadnât even bothered to think - to breathe before heâs plugging you up until youâre overflowing. The curving fringe of his mushroomed tip smacking open your glutinous walls, he hugs your thighs. âSheâs begging- sheâs saying ohhhâŠâ
âF-fuuuck, Toru!â The whack of his slimily-topped cockhead into your cervix makes you keen, gushing out in so many spurts of thick white that it forms a puddle below you. âSatoru, itâs the hck! technique-â
âSânot.â Heâs gritting his pearly teeth, and thereâs a little tremble in Gojoâs voice that makes him sound as if heâs on the verge of sobbing. Tender ribbons of his veins bursting out shockwaves- âSheâs talking tâme- telling me h-how badly she wants ta be bred.â Sneaking a deeeeep gulp of your saccharine pheromones, gasping. Dizzy. âDonât you hear that- donât you- fuuuck, listen.â
Drilling into you until your popped eardrums flood with those noisy squelches, and to the strongest it wasnât just lecherous music to his ears.Â
No, no, no no- it was a full-on conversation that he was sluggishly nodding his head along with. âRight- right.â Smile dangling with strings of lustrous saliva that seems to water his mouth after every vulgar rut, âSays sh-she wants ta be all full- all round nâ glowing with my hair. Nghhhâ oh, sheâs purring.â
Words crackling with a bout of crazed laughter, youâre gulping at the sexy way that Gojoâs azure pupils bulge ever-so-slightly with stimulation.Â
Thighs thrashing on top of his broad shoulder- but Gojoâs too strong. Heâs pinning them down on one side and trawling you to meet every mazing thrust, leaking divot digging inside your wet cunt like a searchlight.Â
âSatoru- hck! Satoruââ Your trills pitch upwards in both volume and pitch again and again and again with every slapping slam of his rounded girth inside. Gummy walls rubbed raw after so many hours, your body twitches every time you feel the remnants of his goopy cum dribble down your entrance. âI-I want-â
â-more?â Gojo finishes for you, octaves higher. Feverish - and it wasnât just the technique any more.
And the look in his eyes told you that he wasnât going to back down any time soon, he wasnât even growing close to slowing down once he rovers a hand down to your clit and pinches.Â
âH-heh, more.â Heâs sputtering wetly, knobbly ends of his fingers buzzing with cursed energy. Making you see white-hot, âMore more more moreââ Gojo twists his dextrous wrist and pulls on your clit, â-my wife w-wants ngh- more, riiiight?â
âYes- yes yes yes yes-â But more than that you were so close - you were about to cum.
But, of course, the Gojo Satoru knew that.
Itâs exactly why heâs tugging on your perked clit a few repeated times more, flickers of blue lightning bolting from the ends of his pretty eyes as he gazes down at your tummy and watches his fat, meaty cock part your slippery walls and target your g-spot dead-on.Â
Powers working overtime, âHit iiiit~â Going out of control, he couldnât stop watching every syrupy smooch right into that cute bundle oâ nerves, âCâmon- scream my name every time I hit it- donât be haaaa shy, sweetheart.â
You do you do, with every stinging smack! of skin sticking onto skin - Gojoâs hips were so ruthless itâs as if he was trying to brand your ass with the imprints of his v-line, bruising himself red.Â
âMore- heh- nâ youâre gonna g-get more.â Cooing at your glittery pussylips, he strikes your clit with a pap! of his thumb. Rubbing in your scent, âMore more more- more-â
And Gojo counts underneath his strained breath to exactly three before youâre hitting your overwhelming orgasm. Startling your tearful eyes wide open with the sheer force- itâs enough to make him hitch his breath and collapse his sweaty body on top of yours.Â
The squeeze of your strobing walls so tight, the toe-curling pleasure enough for Gojo himself to rub his washboard abs in sultry gyrations like he was melting into you. Stirrinâ his rotund crown deeply inside with every blissful wave, as if he could see the stars bursting cartoonishly around your head.Â
Face furiously flushed, long lashes flapping, maw agape.Â
âYeah câmon- câmon câmon câmonââ Heâs hissing into your open mouth, sharp canines leaving your poor swollen lips bruised. â-milk me. Milk me- This time- this time sâgonna take, my girl.â
Itâs so much - both your peaked highs and the way that Gojoâs crashing into his own. Not hitting, no- crashing.Â
Because all it takes is a few more sloppy strokes of his uneven cadence and his strawberry glazed orifice is bursting with jetstreamed squirts of cum - squirting.Â
âO-oh my- fuck!â Your throat scratches at the sheer volume being animalistically stuffed inside of you, creamy white seed and sap and- and youâd just made Gojo Satoru squirt.Â
The idea itself was enough to drive you wild - and so was the splashes of puddling torrents that bawled out of your sopping wet pussy. So much that you were leaking, thick. Gushingâ
Splat!
You donât even realize that youâre fucked stupid until it takes a wet splatter somewhere near your heaving chest for you to be brought back into heady reality. Lashes blinking back some semblance of your blotchy vision, âT-Toru are you-â
He was tearing. Those pooling salted tears staining your skin just as much as his goopy white cum was soiling the yukata slipping off of his broad deltoids.
âOhâŠâÂ
âWh-whatâ?â
Gojoâs drool-covered lips sag open as he veers his misty gaze to that tummy bulge heâd just pounded ruthlessly into you, aching hips still slithering his swollen inches back and forth.Â
Fully wrung out, voice breaking- he sniffles, â-it took i-it took andâŠohâ Before you can let out anything more than a few whimpering hiccups, youâre just stuffed so full you can barely articulate. âWonder- wonder if sheâll be gorgeous like her mama- ngh! W-wonder if sheâll be e-extra powerful if I breed this ngh- sweet pussy twice. âÂ
Heâs giving you a squeeze to your clit that makes you whine at the faintly buzzing cursed energy, fully babbling now. âWonder if I can use cursed energy on my cock-â
âSatoru.â
A/N. MWAHAHA I feel somewhat better now babygirls nâ itâs all cuz of yâall <3
Plagiarism not authorized.
#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jjk x you#gojo x reader#geto x reader#sukuna x reader#nanami x reader#gojo smut#geto smut#sukuna smut#nanami smut#tonywrites#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#choso x reader#choso smut#toji x reader#toji smut#jjk x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader smut#gojo x reader smut#toji x reader smut#satoru gojo x reader#toji fushiguro smut#nanami x reader smut#choso x reader smut#geto x reader smut
13K notes
·
View notes
Text
taking one (& another & another & another) for the team | soap x reader x ghost | inspired by: @softaestluv johnny's pent up blurb
It started as a joke. "I'm gonna die if I don't get my cock wet soon," Johnny whined, sprawled backward over the couch, legs spread, hand draped over his forehead like he was seconds away from his last breath. *"Swear I can feel it in my fucking molars, mate. I'm gonna explode."
At first, you and the others ignored him. Typical Soap â loud, dramatic, a walking sexual frustration PSA. But it didn't stop. If anything, it got worse: every mission debrief, every meal, every late-night sit around the barracks, Johnny lamented his poor, poor cock like it was a national tragedy.
When he started describing how tragic his wanks were â "My hand's too fuckin' rough, not the same, need something wet, something tightâ" â you snapped. Loud enough for everyone in the room to hear: "Christ, Soap, I'll fuckin' take one for the team if it'll shut you up."
Johnny sat up like you'd just offered him oxygen.
Which is how you found yourself bent over the nearest flat surface, jeans yanked halfway down your thighs, Johnny pressed tight to your back, rutting into you like a man possessed.
"Fuckâfuckin' hell, love, yer savin' my life," he groaned, hips slamming into you like he was trying to crawl inside. "Warm 'n tight, fuck, could stay here forever."
You barely bit back a moan, hands braced hard enough to hurt. You weren't supposed to enjoy this, just do your duty to the squadâs sanity.
But then Johnny started whining again â not his usual loudmouth bitching, but these needy, half-choked sounds against the back of your neck.
"Need ya," he rasped, like he couldn't help himself. "Need yer cunt, fuck, not gonna be enough, need it againâ'm not doneâ"
Even after he came â hot, messy, filling you to the brim â he didn't stop. Still rocking against you, still murmuring desperate filth into your skin, already hardening inside you again.
You realized then: You hadn't fixed the problem. You'd made it worse.
He barely pulled out before he was pushing right back in, thick and slick with his own cum, grinding into your overstretched walls like he could merge the two of you if he tried hard enough.
"Fuckin' perfect," Johnny slurred against your neck, teeth scraping along your skin. "Mine now, y'know that? Filled you up goodâfuckin' claimed youâ"
You tried to push him off, half-hearted at best â muscles trembling, brain fogged from how full you felt â but Johnny just wrapped an arm around your middle and held you there, hips rolling slow and filthy, fucking his own mess deeper inside.
"Nuh-uh, love," he muttered, pressing kisses to your shoulder, messy and possessive. "Said I'd lose my mind if I didnât get to fuck you. Yâthink one load's enough to fix this? After all that sufferinâ?"
You whimpered, feeling his cock twitch again, fully hard despite just cumming. He chuckled low against your skin, voice dark and wrecked.
"Told ya I'd go mad. Now yer stuck with me, sweetheart."
He fucked you slow the second time â not like the frantic, desperate slamming from before, but a grinding, possessive rhythm, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you properly. Every time you clenched around him, he gasped, praising you in that ruined, filthy brogue.
"That's it, good girl," he breathed. "Take it all, take it like y'made for it. Fuckin' born to milk my cock, huh? Gonna pump you so full you won't remember what it feels like to be empty."
You felt him bulge even thicker inside you, grinding down into your cervix, every thrust stretching you wider, making you feel owned in a way that had nothing to do with orders or duty.
Johnny growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. You barely registered it before he was moving â hands gripping your hips, manhandling you onto your back like you weighed nothing.
"Wanna see," he panted, almost delirious. "Wanna see how fuckin' ruined you are for me."
Your legs were shoved open before you could think to protest, ankles tossed over his shoulders. Johnny leaned back just enough to look â and groaned, obscene and ragged.
"Fuckin' hell, look at that," he hissed, watching his cum leaking out of you, your cunt red and puffy, still clenching greedily around nothing. His cock throbbed in his hand, still wet, still ready.
"So messy, love. Drippin' for me already. Y'know what that means, donât ya?"
You shook your head weakly, breath stuttering in your chest. Johnny just grinned, all teeth and danger.
"Means Iâve gotta fill you up again. 'Til you can't take any more."
Without warning, he lined himself up and pushed â forcing his cock back inside your sore, sloppy cunt in one thick, slow thrust. You cried out, back arching, and Johnny moaned like you were his whole damn salvation.
He didnât give you a chance to breathe. Started fucking you immediately â deep, grinding strokes that had your whole body jolting with each brutal snap of his hips.
"That's it, that's it," he gasped, head tipping back, sweat dripping down his temple. "Take it all, pretty thing. Gonna make sure yer stuck full of me. Walkin' round leakin' my cum for days."
Your brain barely worked anymore. Just open-mouthed whimpers, toes curling, walls spasming around him like you wanted it â wanted everything he was giving you and more.
Johnny's pace turned frantic again, slamming into you harder, the sound of skin against skin filthy and wet between you.
"Belong to me now," he growled, words punching out of him with each thrust. "No one else. Fuckin' mine."
You couldnât even pretend to fight it. Couldnât think past the way he filled you so perfectly, the overwhelming heat, the way his cock dragged along every sensitive spot inside you until you felt tears spring to your eyes.
He buried himself to the hilt one final time, grinding down against you, hips jerking as he spilled deep again, thick and endless. You could feel it â the heat, the stretch, the way he pulsed inside you like he was branding you from the inside out.
Johnny didnât pull out. Just collapsed over you, mouth hot and messy against your jaw, still twitching inside your wrecked cunt.
"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "Still not enough. Need you again, love. Gonna fill you 'til youâre round with me, swear it."
Johnny stayed buried in you for a long moment, hips grinding lazy, slow circles, as if trying to force every last drop even deeper. You could feel it leaking out around his cock â hot, sticky, obscene â and you whimpered, overstimulated and wrecked.
Johnny noticed immediately. Growled against your throat, feral.
"Leakin'," he muttered, almost offended. "Can't have that. Gotta keep it all in, love. Need you drippinâ full for me."
He finally, finally pulled out â and the flood of cum that gushed out made you sob, weak and broken. But Johnny didnât give you a second to recover. He dropped between your legs, shoving two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep and obscene, scooping the mess back up.
"No wastin' it," he rasped, fucking his cum right back into your cunt with slow, filthy thrusts. "Take it all, greedy girl. You fuckin' need it."
Your legs kicked weakly at the overstimulation, but Johnny just grinned â wild and unhinged â before spreading you wider, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit while he stuffed you full with his fingers.
"Gonna breed you proper," he whispered hoarsely. "Fill you so deep youâll be round with me. Belly all heavy, stuffed full of my fuckin' loadâ"
You sobbed, hips rolling despite yourself, body desperate for more even as your mind shattered into static. You should have known itâd be like this â Johnny didnât do anything by halves.
He leaned down, mouth dragging messy, possessive kisses along your trembling stomach like he could will it to swell.
"Mine," he murmured. "All fuckin' mine."
And thatâs exactly when you heard the door creak open. You barely had the strength to lift your head, vision blurry â but you saw a tall shadow in the doorway.
Ghost.
He stood there, silent, unreadable behind his mask â just watching. Johnny didn't stop. Didnât even slow down. He curled his fingers inside you again, making you cry out, making more of the mess spill down your thighs.
Ghost's head tilted slightly, almost curious.
"Problem?" Johnny barked over his shoulder, voice wrecked but cocky as hell. Like he wanted Ghost to see â to know.
Ghost said nothing. Just crossed his arms slowly over his broad chest.
Johnny smirked and turned his attention back to you, dragging his fingers out with a wet squelch just to stuff them right back in â slow and possessive.
"That's right," he said lowly, clearly for Ghostâs benefit now. "Had to take care of it myself. Filled her up so good she's fuckin' leaking. Ainât that right, sweetheart?"
You whimpered in response â too broken, too full, too wrecked to argue.
Ghost watched you for a long, heavy moment â chest rising and falling â before he spoke, voice flat and unreadable: "You better clean up after yourself, Soap."
Then, calmly â without another word â Ghost shut the door behind him with a click.
Johnny barked out a wild, breathless laugh against your stomach. "Come to help, mate?" he panted, fingers still lazily dragging through the wrecked mess of your cunt. "Think she needs it. Poor thing's so fuckin' stuffed already, can't hold it all."
Ghost didnât answer. Didn't need to.
He stalked closer, heavy boots thudding against the floor, until he was standing right at the edge of the bed â looming over your trembling body. You watched through blurred eyes as he popped the button on his cargo pants, dragging the zipper down slowly, deliberately.
Johnny shifted you slightly, spreading your legs even wider, thumbs digging bruises into your hips to keep you open â presenting you like a ruined offering.
"C'mon, Ghost," Johnny muttered, voice rough and wild. "Don't leave the girl waitin'. Look how pretty she isâdrippin' fuckin' ready."
Still silent, Ghost wrapped a hand around the base of his cock â thick, flushed, already leaking â and lined himself up.
He didnât ease in. Just pressed the fat head against your already-used, dripping hole and pushed.
You screamed, body arching off the bed, overwhelmed instantly by the stretch, the pressure, the unbearable fullness of taking another man inside you without even a second to adjust.
Ghost let out a low, broken sound, not quite a grunt, not quite a moan, and buried himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
"There we fuckin' go," Johnny whispered against your ear, laughing breathlessly. "Take him, love. Take us both."
You couldnât breathe. Couldnât think.
Ghost fucked you without mercy â slow, devastating thrusts that forced Johnnyâs mess and his own spit to spill down your thighs in filthy, wet streams. He said nothing â just breathing harshly through the fabric of his mask, hands brutal on your hips, using you like a living, breathing fucktoy.
Johnny kept whispering filth into your ear â encouragements, praises, commands â while Ghost destroyed you from the inside out.
"That's it, good girl," Johnny crooned, petting your hair while Ghost slammed into you. "Take it like you were fuckin' made for it."
You felt your mind fracturing â pure overstimulation, pure broken pleasure â as Ghost fucked you harder, grinding deep, his cock stretching you to the point of tears.
And then Johnny shifted again â ducking low between your legs to lick around where you were stuffed full, his tongue dragging over your overstretched rim every time Ghost pulled out just a fraction.
"Fuckin' hell," Johnny gasped, almost reverent. "Look at that, Ghost. Cunt's swallowin' you like she needs it."
Ghost let out another low, broken sound â and picked up the pace. The bed creaked violently under you, your body jolting with every brutal, punishing thrust.
You could feel it building â some dark, overwhelming climax you couldnât fight â tightening low in your stomach, burning up your spine.
Ghost suddenly reached down and gripped your throat â not tight, just heavy, possessive â and that was it.
You shattered. Clamping down around him so hard Ghost actually groaned, thrusts going sloppy, brutal. And then you felt it â hot, thick, spilling deep inside you, Ghostâs cock pulsing violently, joining Johnnyâs mess inside your ruined cunt.
You lay there twitching, barely conscious, as Ghost finally pulled out â slow, heavy â and watched as his cum immediately leaked out after him.
Johnny's hand was already there â catching it, stuffing it back inside you with lazy, satisfied fingers.
Ghost pulled his gloves back on silently, redressing with mechanical efficiency. Said nothing. Before he left, he pressed one gloved hand to your trembling thigh â firm, approving â and then disappeared out the door without a word.
Johnny leaned down over you, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead.
"Told ya, sweetheart," he whispered with a wicked grin. "Was gonna fill you proper."
And from the ache in your gut and the obscene mess between your thighs âyou knew he wasnât lying.
Morning hit like a slow, heavy sledgehammer.
You barely even remembered falling asleep â just flashes: Johnny fucking his cum deeper into you with lazy, loving thrusts while you sobbed into the sheets; Ghostâs heavy hand gripping your thigh one last time before disappearing without a word.
Now your entire body ached. Your thighs were sore, trembling even at the slightest twitch. Your pussy was a wreck â raw, swollen, still leaking a slow, lazy drip of milky white that soaked into the crumpled sheets beneath you.
You tried to shift â to roll onto your side â and whimpered immediately. Everything hurt. You could feel the mess drying on your skin, inside your cunt, coating your thighs.
And Johnny, of course, was already awake.
He lay stretched out beside you, arms tucked behind his head, a smug, satisfied smirk spread wide across his face.
"Morninâ, sunshine," he drawled, voice rough from use, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Sleep well?"
You glared at him weakly, too exhausted to even muster words. Johnny just grinned wider.
"Yâlook wrecked," he said cheerfully, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from your sweaty forehead. "Proper job, that."
You tried to move again â a pathetic, sluggish attempt â and Johnny laughed, full-bodied and warm.
"Aw, poor thing. Canât even fuckin' walk, huh?"
His hand drifted down â over your collarbone, the bruises heâd left, the fingerprints, the possessive marks â until he palmed your lower belly, pressing down just slightly.
You gasped, muscles clenching reflexively around the lingering mess inside you.
Johnny's grin turned wolfish.
"Still full, are ya?" he murmured. "Good girl. Holdinâ it all for us."
He sat up slowly, bare chest gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat, and pulled back the sheets.
You whimpered as cool air brushed your ruined, sore cunt â thighs automatically trying to close, to hide yourself.
Johnny tsked softly, spreading you open with two rough hands like you were something precious to be displayed.
He hummed low in his throat â a sound of satisfaction.
"Ghostâll be pleased," he muttered, almost to himself.
You blinked sluggishly at him, confused.
Johnny chuckled and gestured toward the nightstand. There â sitting neatly next to a bottle of water â was a simple piece of paper. No name. No explanation. Just three short words, written in Ghostâs heavy, blocky scrawl: âHold it in.â
Your heart hammered painfully in your chest.
Johnny laughed again â delighted, wrecked â and leaned down to press a filthy, claiming kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh.
"Guess weâre not done after all, love," he whispered against your skin. "Orders are orders."
And from the wicked glint in his eye, you knew you werenât getting a break anytime soon.
#cod#cod fanfic#cod imagine#cod modern warfare#soap cod#ghost cod#johnny soap mactavish#soap x reader#john soap mactavish#johnny soap mactavish x reader#soapghost#soap smut#soap mactavish#soap call of duty#soap mw2#ghost smut#ghost fanfic#simon ghost riley#ghost#simon riley smut#simon riley#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#johnny mactavish#johnny mactavish x reader
11K notes
·
View notes
Text
.àłàż motherhood and matrimony I ch 10 đ©á„«áĄđȘ




êšïž pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader
êš summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoruâs father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.
êšïž warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies (annoyances) to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, marriage of convenience, slow burn, smut, fluff, some angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, triggers of prior domestic abuse » ăNOTE FOR THIS CHAPTER - violence. minor character death. blood and brutality. prior trauma. explicit sexual context: handjob, blowjob, face fucking, swallowing, praise, desperate, needy satoru. he's literally so in love with you.
êš words: 14.9k
êš a/n. hi hi!! it's been a while. i'm excited to share this ch with youuu đ„č !! please caution !! - there IS violence, read my tags bbs. oh man, here we go... the yakuza don't fuck around ya'll. also, welcome nanami!! see you at the bottom. ⥠(art by 3aem )
êš taglist: open (ao3)
⏠playlist
series masterlist êšïž previous chapter êšïž next chapter â pending

ch 10 // ruin and reverence

Blood and money.
Two currencies of power.
One, pooling thick and dark, seeping into the cracks of the aged wooden floor. The other, crisp and clean, slipping effortlessly through Mei-Meiâs manicured fingers. The Zenins have always understood both intimatelyâone is used to buy power, the other to maintain it.
Tonight though, only one is being spent.
The sickening crack of brass knuckles against bone splits the air, followed by a wet, choking cough. The man kneeling before Toji jerks forward, lungs fighting for air they donât have room for. His arms are bound behind his back, wrists cinched so tight his fingers have gone blue.
And his face?
Well, not much left of it now. One eye swollen shutâthe other, barely tethered to consciousness.
He isnât aloneâtwo others lie slumped beside him, bodies twisted in the way only pain can shapeâblood pooling beneath them like spilled ink. Toji hasnât glanced at them since they dropped. Theyâd served their purpose.
This one, though? Still breathing.
The room is dim and airless, the kind that holds onto heat and old violence. A flickering overhead bulb swings gently above, casting shadows that crawl across the walls with every shift of movement. The smell of sweat, blood, and something metallic lingersâheavy, but familiar.
This isnât a room meant for conversation.
Itâs a room meant for remembering your place.
âP-please,â then man rasps, wheezing. âIâI told you everything, I swearââ
His knees scrape the floor as he bows, forehead nearly touching Tojiâs boot. Shame, surrender, desperationâitâs all there, thick in the air like humidity before a storm.
But Toji doesnât blink. He just watches. Shoulders rolling, fingers flexing. The brass glints under the low light. His head tilts slightlyâcalculating.
âMm⊠that so?â
âYes-yes,â the man nods desperately, breath hitching. âI swear. Please, I swear.â
Tojiâs lips curl slightly, not in amusement, but in something far less kind, and with no warning, he fists a hand into the manâs blood-matted hair, yanking his head back like a drawn bow.
âWaitâp-please!â the man jerks, his good eye wide with panic, spine pulled tight.
Arching a brow, Toji observes him like a purchase that didnât hold up.
âYou were in his house,â he states simply.
âY-yes,â a frantic nod. âIâI wasââ
Toji hums. âBreathing his air...â
The man nods again, breath shuddering with a quiet sob, his shoulders convulsing involuntary.
âWalking his floors...â
Another nod, another breathless sob.
Toji clicks his tongue, pondering. ââŠmakes you valuable, doesnât it?â
And there it is. That flicker.
Hope.
Thin as thread.
Pathetic, really.
Toji lets it bloom, just long enough to see it shine in the manâs good eyeâlet him believe. Then, leaning in, his voice drops to a murmur.
âSo why?â he asks, almost curious. âWhy do you still look so fucking useless to me?â
Thereâs no time to answer. The man crumples, folding in on himself as Tojiâs fist drives into his ribsâsharp, direct. A wet crunch. Then, without so much of a glance, Toji steps over his body without looking down. Itâs just dead weight on the floor. The others had figured it out tooâright before the end.
Theyâd begged.
It hadnât mattered.
With a slow exhale, he approaches the table, where Mei sits, thumbing through yen with that same detached grace. She doesnât glance up as he reaches for the glass of sake beside her. But as Toji brings the glass to his lips, taking a sip, he catches movement in his peripheral, and behind him, the grunt coughsâwet and raw.
âŠheâs still trying?
With a tilt of his head, he turns, watching the man drag himself forward through blood and spit. Ugh⊠itâs always the ones who stay conscious that think theyâve earned something.
âHeâs still breathing,â Mei hums, unmoved. Her eyes stay on the cash, more interested in the spoils than the suffering that paid for them. âThatâs a bit generous, Toji.â
âYeah yeahâŠâ he takes a swig of sake, exhaling, ââŠnot for long.â
Suddenly, the door creaks, and Naoya strolls through its opening. Smooth strides, like itâs just another business report. Golden eyes scan the room, moving from the bodies on the floor to the blood smeared across the boards, then to the one poor bastard still crawling like it might matter.
Huh. Nothing unusual.
âYo,â his hands shove into his pockets, tilting his head with a smirk. âYouâre working late.â
Lifting her chin, a smirk plays at Meiâs lips like the edge of a knife.
âEvening, Naoya.â
He returns the gesture with a lazy tilt of his head, but his attention shifts almost immediately to the tableâto the scattered aftermath of whatever poor bastard had made the wrong move tonight.
Gold chains. Scattered bills. Watches stripped from the wrists of men who thought they had more time.
Spoils of failure.
âHaving fun?â
Reaching for the next stack, Mei hums.
âMore than them.â
Naoya drops into the chair beside her, kicking his feet up like this is a poker night and not a graveyard.
âWell, well,â he exhales, gaze cutting toward Toji. âIf I knew it was open season, Iâdâve brought popcorn.â
Lifting his sake, Toji watches it swirl in the glass. He doesnât spare Naoya a look. Doesnât say a word.
Naoya waits.
And waits.
And⊠waits?                   Â
Eventually, Toji sets the glass down with a soft clink, rolling his shoulders, exhaling. Then, he turns back toward the crawling manâwhoâs made it, maybe, four inches from where he started.
The fuck?
Naoya frowns slightly, eyes narrowing.
âPsh... not even a hello?â he scoffs, shifting in his chair like heâs brushing off the tension. âCold, even for you.â
Still no answer.
Just the dull sound of Tojiâs boots against the floorboards as he closes the space again.
Thenâ
A punch.
Then another.
And another.
Each one lands with a dull, final force, like closing a door that shouldnât have been opened. Bone crunching. Flesh splitting beneath steel-plated knuckles.
As Naoya watches, a subtle unease creeps inâthreading through his amusement like a hairline crack in polished glass.
âYouâre in a moodâŠâ he offers lightly, rocking his boot idly against the edge of the table.
Tojiâs fist drives into the manâs ribs, followed by a wet, wheezing gasp.
âAm I?â
Itâs almost conversational.
Almost.
Another hit follows. Harder. Meaner. And Naoya exhales, stretching out in his chair like heâs not watching someone die.
âYup⊠quieter than usual,â he muses, clicking his tongue. âBad news? Or just bad company?â
Toji hauls the man upright, his body sagging like itâs already given up.
ââŠboth.â
Naoya hums, like heâs got a fix for that.
âWell⊠maybe I can help with that. Got something on Gojo today.â
At that, Tojiâs grip loosensâthe man dropping to the floor with a heavy thud, and Naoya perks up. Encouraged, like a dog who thinks itâs being tossed a bone.
âHeh⊠thought youâd appreciate it,â he leans back, legs stretching further, âyâsee⊠I took a little⊠initiative.â He says it like he wants a fucking gold star. âDropped by Gojoâs place. Figured Iâd get ahead of things.â
Tojiâs back stays turned, but he tilts his head, barelyâjust enough to feed Naoyaâs ego. Mei raises a brow, knowing better.
âGotta say⊠his security wasnât much,â Naoya goes on, waving a hand lazily. âPaid them off. Walked right in,â he pauses, his smirk stretching. âGot into his office and poked around. Grabbed a few files⊠contracts, statements⊠stuff thatâll sting once weâre in court.â
Toji nods. Slow. Thoughtful.
Too thoughtful.
âThat so?â
Naoyaâs grin growsâhe canât help himself. âYup. Even got photos of everything. There was a safe I didnât crack, but we can go back. Who knows what kind of dirtâs buried in there?â
Toji hums low in his throat. Like heâs thinking. But heâs not.
Why? Because he already knows.
Without warning, his fist swings againâone final, devastating blow. The manâs body jerks violently. Then stills. Toji grabs him by the collar again, lifting him halfwayâchecking.
But thereâs nothing. No breath. No twitch.
Dead.
Behind him, Naoyaâs smirking like an idiot.
âDamn. Poor bastardâŠâ he says, half-laughing. âCan barely even tell he had a face.â
âHuh⊠youâre right,â Toji muses, giving the corpse a second look. Then, he drops it without ceremony, wiping his knuckles off on his shirt, slow and methodical.
âGuess you canât even tell he was one of yours.â
Naoya blinks.
ââŠhuh?â
Toji finally looks at him, flashing a smug grin. âOh, yeah,â he nudges the body onto its back with his foot, revealing the ruined mess of a face. âDidnât you know? These are your men.â
Something shiftsânot the blood, not the bodies, but something else, something that had been slowly, steadily unraveling and Naoya had missed it.
ââŠw-what?â he blinks, speechless, forcing out a dry laugh. âThe hell you mean, my men?â
Toji says nothing. Just begins rolling up his bloodied sleevesâone fold at a timeâlike heâs getting ready to mop the fucking floor.
âGojo fired his entire staff tonight.â
A pause, because thatâs itâthatâs enough. Enough to let Naoya know how deeply, irreversibly heâs fucked up. The men Toji beat to death were Gojoâs old employeesâtheir moles.
But Naoya just scoffs. âTch⊠youâre fucking with me.â he leans back, arms crossing like heâs trying to hold something in place. âI mean⊠câmon. Gojo fired his staff?âÂ
Toji looks at him, gaze flat. âDid I stutter?â An unnerving pause. âAll of them,â he adds casually. âKept Remi though.â
Jaw ticking, Naoyaâs fingers twitch against his bicep.
âParanoid bastardâŠâ he mutters, too dry, too short. He swallows. Tries to laugh. âDoesnât mean shit. Just means he got spooked. We knew there was a risk.â
Tojiâs head tilts a fraction deeper, a shadow passing through his expression.
ââŠwe?â
That word is a hammer. Naoya stills, because Tojiâs voice is calm, but the weight of it drops like a fucking lead pipe.
âLetâs see⊠if I recall correctlyâŠâ he says, stepping closer, voice steady, cold, âI never fucking asked you to go into Gojoâs house, isnât that right?â
âWell⊠butâŠâ Naoya stammers. Then tries a shrug, rolling his shoulders like itâll shake off the weight. âI did what needed to be done. We needed leverageââ
A cruel laugh cuts him off.
Toji shakes his head in amused disbelief, then movesâsnatching the dead man by the collar, hauling him up like a ragdoll and slamming him down onto the table in front of Naoya.
The table jolts. A stack of yen shifts slightly. Leaning in, Toji presses a hand to the corpseâs face, twisting it toward him.
ââŠhonestly?â his voice drops to a razor-thin edge. âThis is how your fucking face should look right now.â
He holds it there, letting Naoya see every ruin of it. Then lets go, letting the corpse slump back into the table.
âButâŠâ Toji sighs, wiping the back of his hand along his jaw, smearing blood like itâs no more than sweat. âLucky for you⊠I need you lookin' pretty. So they donât catch on.â
Naoya is stunned, frozen, desperately trying to piece together what the fuck to say, while Mei hums, still thumbing through her cash, unfazed. He tries to roll his shoulders back, to remember who the hell he is, but the tension sits thick in his bones.
Câmon nowâŠ
He didnât mess up. Right? Not really.
He was just doing what needed to be done. Thatâs what he tells himselfâover and over, even as his gut twists tighter. After all, breaking into Gojoâs house wasnât a mistake. It was necessary.
Strategic. Calculated.
He had to find something to use against that smug bastard. Had to find something to remind you what happens when you step out of line.
Clearly it's not because he cared. Not because he gave a shit about what you were doing. Just leverage. Just... business.
Thatâs all it was.
âŠexcept it wasnât. Not really.
Clenching his jaw, Naoya hates the flicker of truth that stirs under the layers of justification. Because he hadnât been looking for evidence. Heâd been looking for you.
For proof you were miserable without him. For proof you hadnât actually slipped free. Because Naoya was a man who didnât lose. Not women. Not anything. It was second natureâthe way they folded. Under his voice. His anger. His hands. And youâyou had been no different.
Until you were.
Until you walked out without permission. Until you looked him in the eye and told him no.
The thought curdles hot in his blood.
You were supposed to be broken without him. Begging. Waiting. Not smiling. Not building a life. And sure as hell not fucking Satoru Gojo.
So⊠maybe he hadnât gone into Gojoâs house for leverage after all. Maybe heâd gone in because he needed to remind himself he still mattered. Still had power. Control. Because if you had really moved onâreally slipped awayâwhat does that make him?
Weak? Forgettable? Nothing?
Naoya grits his teeth so hard his jaw aches.
Fuck no.
Naoya Zenin doesnât lose. Not to you. Not to anybody.
The silence lingers, and as Toji straightens slowly, his gaze drops, catching on somethingâjust a flicker of red lace peeking from the edge of Naoyaâs pocket. He shifts.
âWhatâs this?â and Naoya tenses as he reaches down, two fingers hooking the fabric from his pocket.
Panties.
Holding them up, Tojiâs lips press together in a flat, humorless line.
ââŠthis what you brought back?â he asks, voice dry, tossing the panties onto the table, inches from the corpseâs hand. âJesus fucking Christ, NaoyaâŠâ
Across the table, Meiâs brow lifts, flicking through another bundle. âClassy,â she hums, amused.
Naoya straightens abruptly, chair scraping across the floor. âIt wasnât like that,â he blurts. âIââ
âDonât.â Toji raises a hand, palm open. His voice doesnât rise, but it slices through the room.
He looks down at the lace again.
âLetâs see if Iâve got this rightâŠâ he says slowly. ââŠyou break into Gojoâs house without my permission⊠stir up shit we werenât ready to stirââ His gaze snaps back to Naoya, seething. âAnd you come back with that?â
Naoya scoffs, brittle and defensive. He fumbles for his phone, tapping the screen like it proves something.
âLook, âcuzâthis wasnât about her. I got real shit. Photos. Documents. Things we can actually use. I know we needed leverageââ
âWe didnât need shit.â
Tojiâs voice is like ice. He snatches the phone from Naoyaâs hand, tossing it onto the table with a heavy clack. It spins, landing crooked against the corpseâs elbow.
Leaning in, the weight of him towers above Naoya, like a shadow.
âWe agreed to use her to take him down. Clean. Quiet.â He pauses. âYou went off script.â
Naoya shifts, stiff, shoulders tense.
Toji doesnât back off.
âThis isnât about Gojo anymore,â he says, quieter now. âItâs about you, Naoya. You canât see straight. Youâre too caught up in your fucking toy.â
Blinking, Naoya opens his mouth, only to close it againâjaw flexing. Heâs speechless, and Toji nods slowly, as if confirming something to himself. Pulling away, he exhalesârunning a hand through his hair, contemplating.
ââŠyou know why Iâve let her stay breathing this long?â
Naoyaâs brow furrows, ââŠwhy?â
Tojiâs mouth curls into something that isnât quite a smile. âBecause you wanted her.â He shrugs. âJust me being a nice cousin, I guess.â He leans a knuckle on the edge of the table. âPlus⊠figured letting Gojo have her would keep you focused. Make it personal. Y'know... keep your edge sharp.â
Mei doesnât stop counting, but thereâs a faint twitch at the corner of her lips as Toji lets the silence stretch. The room holds its breath.
âBuuut⊠sheâs clouding your judgment that badly, huh?â he mutters, rolling his neck, slow and lazy. ââŠmaybe I should just kill her.â
Naoya jerks forward so fast the chair scrapes across the floor again.
âDonât,â he snaps. âSheâs mine toââ
Tojiâs fist is moving before his last word is even fully outâstraight to Naoyaâs chestâbrass knuckles biting deep.
Gasping, Naoya doubles over. The air rips from his lungs in one crushed breath, and he grabs the edge of the table, knuckles white, wheezing. But Toji doesnât even look angry. He just brushes a drop of blood from his wrist, flicking it to the floor.
âThatâs the last time you raise your fucking voice to meâŠâ he says quietly, leaning one hand flat on the table. âGet your shit together. Start thinking with your headânot your fucking dick. Youâre not the one who makes the calls. Iâm the one running this clan, are we clear?â
Naoya doesnât answer. Canât. Heâs still wheezing, hunched over the table like the air might never fully return to his lungs. Straightening, Toji refills his sake glassâslow, unhurriedâas if the conversationâs already over. And across the table, the red lace sits exactly where it landed. Bloodied, silentâstill sitting in plain sight.
Mei picks up a ruby ring, turning it under the low light.
âWellâŠâ she sighs, slipping it onto her finger, âif weâre taking votes, Iâd love to kill the bitch. Sheâs getting a little too cozy in my house.â
Taking a slow sip, Toji doesnât answer. His eyes are still locked on Naoyaâs crumpled figureâlike heâs weighing whether this was a warning or the warmup.
Propping her chin in her palm, Mei watches the ring flash red as it catches the light.
âShe walks the halls like she owns them,â she murmurs. âLike she thinks sheâs safe.â
Tojiâs gaze flicks back to the lace on the table.
âShe wonât be for much longer.â
A deep breath pulls through Naoyaâs teeth, rough and shaky. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then plants an elbow against the tableâtrying to think.
Thereâs blood in the air, metal in his teeth. The corpse on the table is already cooling, but the heat in Tojiâs glare hasnât faded.
You die if he slips again. And⊠if you die before he winsâbefore you look him in the eye and regret leavingâbefore he gets to make you need him againâthen he loses forever.
And Naoya Zenin doesnât lose.
Straightening, his breath finally steadies, and he forces the words out like they were always part of the plan.
ââŠshe agreed to meet me,â he mutters.
Toji glances at him. Just a flick of the eyes.
âDid she?â
âYeahâŠâ Naoya nods once. âTomorrow. The park by the river.â A pause. âShe⊠thinks I want to talk.â
It sounds steadier than it should.
Because the truth is? Heâs not sure what the fuck heâs doing anymore. He tells himself this is strategy. A setup. Another angle in the plan.
But in reality?
Itâs need. Itâs obsession. Itâs him clawing at the fraying ends of something he used to hold in his hand like a leash.
Mei hums, unimpressed, setting the ruby down again.
âIf sheâs dumb enough to show up,â she shrugs, âsheâs dumb enough to disappear.â
Naoya scoffs, jaw twitching.
You'll come.
âI never said she was smart.â
Mei smiles faintly, flipping a coin between her fingers. âNo. Just smart enough to run before you tightened your leash.â
Leaning back, Naoyaâs chair creaks under him.
âShe still listens when I talk, doesnât she?â His voice is low, mean. âStill flinches when I go quiet. Means she remembers her place.â
For a second, he almost believes it.
Mei glances at him, sideways.
âAnd yet⊠here you are,â she says. âFumbling for control like a man whoâs already lost it.â
Naoyaâs glare snaps sharp, hot.
âFuck you, Mei. Sheâll come crawling back. Just you wait. She still wants me.â
Toji exhales through his nose, sharp and tiredâlike heâs heard this all before and itâs not worth the energy anymore.
âOh, shut the fuck upâboth of you.â He sets his glass down with a soft clinkâa sound that lands heavier than any fist. His gaze cuts to Naoyaâsharp, certain. âSo. Tomorrow. You set this up?â
Hesitating, Naoyaâs hand tightens around the edge of the table. The tension in his shoulders is like a drawn wire.
âYeahâŠâ he says finally.
Toji watches for a beatâthen nods, like the final piece has just slotted into place.
âAlright. Then weâll use it.â He steps forward, planting both hands on the tableâcasual, but weighted. âYou show up. Smile. Play the part. Whatever version of âsorryâ she still falls for.â
Leaning in, Naoyaâs eyes narrow. âOkay⊠sure. And where will you be?â
Toji smirks. âIn the trees.â he rises, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. âWe take her. And once sheâs gone, Gojo will lose his goddamn mind.â
Mei perks up slightly, glancing up from her stack of bills.
âThatâs the fun part.â
Toji nods. âIf there's no mother, there's no custody. She vanishesâand before the hearing? The court eats that shit up alive. Theyâll label her unstable. Reckless. Unfit.â He looks at Naoya. âHaru goes to you. And so long as you donât fuck this up, youâll get to keep your toy.â A beat. âAnd Gojo? Heâll fall apart trying to find her. Every camera. Every connection. Heâll tear his whole fucking empire down just to get to her.â
Naoyaâs lip curls. Smug. Thatâs what he wants. But Toji doesnât let it breathe.
âAnd when heâs desperate enoughâŠâ Toji steps closer. His voice drops. âHe bends. He crawls. For her. For the kid.â
Mei smirks faintly, thumbing through another bill.
âBreak the girl, break the man.â
Toji nods once. The final move in a game heâs already won. His eyes drop to the red lace still crumpled between the yen and the corpseâs elbow.
âOnce you say the word, Naoya. We move.â He straightens, pulling his jacket off the back of the chair and sliding it over his shoulders. âWeâll be sure to wire you in the morning.â His voice is cool. Measured. âIâll be listening in. Just give me the signalâ
a pause
âand I take her.â
êš
A knock at the door.
Haru stiffens beside you, her small fingers curling tight into the hem of your hoodie. Youâre still barefoot, still warm from sleep, but something in you mirrors her instinctâyour spine straightens, breath pausing at the thought of whoâs on the other side.
âThatâll be them,â Satoru is already rising with a low stretch, dragging a hand through his hair as he strides toward the hallway.
The door swings open a moment later.
Nanami Kento.
He stands framed in the entryway like a man sculpted from stillnessâtall, clean-cut, his suit so crisply pressed it looks like it could cut glass. Blonde hair swept neatly back, glasses catching the light, his expression unreadable.
Reserved, but not coldâthe kind of man who makes silence feel like structure.
Surveying the room, he nods, stepping inside with measured ease, placing his suitcase down by the door. A moment later, Suguru follows behind him, all relaxed posture and familiar warmthâscarf loose, coat half-buttoned, hands tucked casually into his pockets.
âMorninâ,â Suguru greets softly, a quiet knowing nod.
You nod back. âMorningâŠâ
Satoru shuts the door and leans into it, grin already tugging at his lips.
âWell, shit,â he drawls, eyes sliding toward Nanami. âYou actually came.â
Nanami exhales like heâs already regretting it. ââŠyou texted twelve times.â
Satoru pushes off the doorframe with a little whine, his steps lazy and exaggerated. âYeah, well. You werenât answering your phone,â he pouts. âI was starting to think you finally blocked me.â
âIf that worked,â Nanami says dryly, âIâd have done it ten years ago.â
âAww, you say the sweetest things, Nanamin~â Satoru beams, clapping a hand around his shoulder, giving him a warm, too-familiar shake. âStill stiff as a board, I see. What gives, Malaysia didnât loosen you up?â
Exhaling, Nanami adjusts his jacket, like heâs resetting the moment.
ââŠI thought I was retired.â
Behind him, Suguru hums, unwrapping his scarf and hanging it over the rack.
âWas.â
Satoruâs grin broadens, playful as ever.
âYou love me too much to stay gone.â
âI regret it alreadyâŠâ Nanami mutters.
âYou should,â Suguru adds, smirking as he slips off his coat. âBut weâre grateful you showed up.â
âYes⊠well,â Nanami smooths a crease from his sleeve, voice quieter now. ââŠyou said it was important.â
Satoru pauses, his smile shiftingâquieter now, less playful.
âIt is...â
His gaze flicks to you. Then down to Haru, still clinging to your leg like a koala. Straightening, his cocky smile returnsâjust enough to cut the weight in the room.
âNanami⊠meet the only people on earth who still tolerate me,â he gestures grandly, a magician presenting his final trick. âMy girls.â
Turning fully towards you, Nanamiâs head dips in a small, courteous bow.
âMrs. Gojo,â he says, voice even. âItâs a pleasure. Iâm Kento.â
âKento,â you echo with a nod, offering a soft smile. âNice to meet you too.â
Your hand moves gently along Haruâs back, a quiet reassurance she doesnât take. Sheâs glued to your leg, her little body half-hidden in the folds of your hoodie, face tucked into the fabric like itâs a shield.
Smoothing a hand down in slow, comforting strokes, you glance up at Nanami with a small, apologetic smile.
âSheâs a little shy around new peopleâŠâ your gaze dips down to her. âHaru? Sweetie⊠can you say hi to Mr. Nanami?â
Lowering his gaze, Nanami studies her in silence. He doesnât step forward. Doesnât crouch. Doesnât crowd. Just waitsâstill and calm.
Haru peeks. Then retreats.
âNanamin, câmon manâŠâ Satoru groans behind you. âYou trying to scare her into a lifetime of therapy?â
Nanami doesnât even blink. âI⊠havenât said anything?â
âExactly,â Satoru sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. âSheâs timid around serious people. And you, my friend, look like you do taxes in your sleep.â
But glancing down at Haru, Satoru hesitatesâjust for a beat.
Because there are still daysâquiet, strange daysâwhen heâs unsure how to comfort her. When her small flinches echo louder in his chest than they should. When he wonders if heâs failed before heâs even begun. When her silence makes him feel like heâs still standing on the outside of a door he desperately wants to be let into.
Sometimes he wonders if heâs more stranger than safety.
But then, he breathes out, settling on the rug beside her, careful not to startle. He doesnât speak at first. Just reaches out, resting a hand gently against the small of her backâsteady, grounding.
âHaruâŠâ he murmurs, softer, more measured. âSweetheartâŠâ
She doesnât look up.
Leaning closer, he keeps his tone light. âHey⊠this is my friend. Nanamin.â
She peeks. Just a flash of her eye.
ââŠNanamin?â she murmurs, muffled against the hoodie.
âMhm,â Satoru nods, grin softening as he gently brushes a knuckle along her cheek. âHeâs gonna help protect you and Mommy for me.â
Blinking, her grip shifts, loosening your hoodie slightly.
âHeâs not scary,â Satoru whispers, conspiratorial now, as if sharing a very important secret. âPromise. He doesnât eat kids. Just spreadsheets. And sometimes bad guys.â
That earns the softest giggleâthin and breathy, curling beneath her lips like something fragile finally surfacing. And Satoruâs chest warms with itâlike sun cracking through a cloudy morning.
With a heavy breath, his hand settles over her back again, reassuring. She doesnât flinch this time. Clearing his throat, Nanami brings your attention back to him.
ââŠmay I?â he asks you, removing his glasses, gesturing to the space on the rug in front of her.
âOh, yes.â You nod, caught a little off guard by his gentle tone. âOf course.â
Crouching slowly, the fabric of his suit whispers against itself as he settles into the space. Not too close. Just close enough.
âHello there,â his voice is low and warm. ââŠmay I ask your name?â
Hiding her face, Haru grips your sweater tighter. Refusing to answer.
âItâs okay, sweetheart,â you lean down, soothing her. âGo on. You can tell him.â
A pause.
Then, she tentatively whispers, ââŠHaru.â
Nanami nods, like sheâs given him something sacred.
âThatâs a beautiful name, Haru.â
She doesnât respond. Not with words, at least. But her fingers loosen, and her eyes liftâstill cautious, but no longer retreating.
From it, Nanami reaches into his coat pocket. Thereâs something about the gestureâprecise, but quietâthat draws Haruâs attention. When his hand reemerges, heâs holding a folded crane. Pale blue paper patterned with tiny clouds. He sets it gently on the rug between them, like itâs always meant to be there.
âI made this on the train,â he says simply. âI thought you might like it.â
Haru blinks, slowly lowering herself to her knees, studying the crane with wide eyes.
Still crouched nearby, Satoru raises a brow. âWait. You made that?â
Nanami doesnât look at him. âYes.â
âOrigami?â
âYes.â
ââŠthe fuck?â
Behind him, Suguruâs voice drifts in with a faint laugh. âHeâs been folding paper since middle school. You never noticed?â
Satoru whips his head around to look at him, genuinely affronted. âHow have I never known this?!â
Suguru shrugs, unbothered. âBecause you were too busy getting suspended for throwing erasers out the window.â
Nanami doesnât react. Just keeps his focus gently on the little girl in front of him.
âYou can keep it,â he tells her. âIf youâd like.â
Looking up at him, Haru slowly stretches forward, picking up the crane like itâs something precious, like it might fly away if she touches it too roughly. Something meant for her.
ââŠitâs pretty,â she whispers.
Satoru rises with a groan, stretching as he leans against the wall beside Suguru, arms folded, eyes narrowed in mock betrayal.
ââŠshe warmed up to him faster than she did to me.â
Suguru grins. âSheâs got good taste.â
Satoru pouts, muttering, âI make her wafflesâŠâ
But before Suguru can toss another jab, the soft click of the front door handle breaks the momentâthe familiar twist of metal, the hush of hinges swinging open.
The energy shifts. And thenâRemi steps inside.
Her heels tap lightly against the floor, coat draped perfectly over her shoulders, a scarf knotted at her throat with practiced elegance. She pauses in the entryway, looking surprised to see so many people in the foyer, but it fades quickly behind a polished smile.
âHi Haru!â she calls brightly, saccharine sweet.
Haruâs head whips up, eyes wide.
âRemi!â she gasps, nearly dropping the paper crane in her handsâtaking off in a rush of quick footsteps, throwing her arms around Remiâs legs, giggling. âYouâre here!â
Crouching down to return the hug, Remi softens with a familiar ease. âOf course I am, sweetheart,â her fingers tuck a curl behind Haruâs ear. âIâm excited to play with you today!â
From his place near the wall, Satoru straightens, unfolding slowly from where heâs been leaningâexpression neutral, but watching closely.
âAh, RemiâŠâ he says, tilting his head slightly. âMeant to text you earlier. Shouldâve mentioned.â
You glance toward him, brow furrowing. And she glances up, blinking once.
âOh?â
âYeah, sorry you came all the way down here. But youâre not needed today.â He gestures loosely towards you. âMy wifeâs staying home. So go ahead and take the day off, yeah?â
You blink, startled. He didnât mention that. Usually Remi stays to help, regardless. Stillâ
âŠyou guess it makes sense, doesnât it?
Youâre home. Haruâs home. So... of course you wouldnât need the nanny. Brushing the surprise off, you tuck it away.
Remi hesitates just a second too longâher lashes flickering, eyes jumping from Satoru to you⊠then drifting, just barely, toward the unfamiliar man crouched on the rug beside Haru.
Nanami is already rising, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves with quiet, deliberate calm. And for a moment, you feel itâa ripple beneath the surface. Nothing you can name. Just a shift.
Remiâs smile returns quickly, but thereâs a brittleness to it now. âI see,â she smooths her coat, standing upright. âWellâŠâ she shifts her purse on her shoulder. âIâll justâleave you all to it, then.â
But Haru, still clutching her hand, pulls her back with the urgency of someone who needs to share something important. âWait! Look!â she holds up the crane, beaming. âNanamin made this for me!â
Remi blinks, eyes dropping to the crane, lingering for a second too long, and when she looks up again, her smile doesnât quite reach her eyes.
âHow lovelyâŠâ she murmurs. âYou take good care of it, alright sweetheart?â
âI will!â Haru chirps, already turning back toward Nanami, fingers curled around the little wings.
Releasing her hand, Remi steps back, moving toward the door. Her heels tap gently against the marble as she passes behind Satoru, casting a fleeting glance in Nanamiâs direction. Then she leavesâthe door closingâa soft, decisive click.
âNanamin,â Haru says brightly, lifting the crane with both hands. âWhatâs his name?â
Leaning forward, Nanamiâs forearms rest gently on his knees.
âHe doesnât have one yet⊠but I think heâs waiting for you to choose.â
Tilting her head, Haruâs eyes flick between the delicate folds of the crane and Nanamiâs face.
âBut⊠I donât know what he wants to be.â
Nanami hums, studying the little paper bird. âHmm⊠he looks like a Sora to me. That means âskyâ in Japanese. Peaceful. Light. Brave. Seems fitting⊠donât you think?â
Haruâs eyes brighten. âSoraâŠâ she repeats softly, looking down at the crane with newfound reverence. âOkay! Thatâs his name.â
âA very good choice,â Nanami smiles gently.
Beaming, she inches closer, holding the crane up between them like an offering.
âCan you help me make one?â
You chuckle under your breath, looking down at your daughter.
âSheâs going to want a whole family of them by the end of the dayâŠâ
Nanami looks up, giving you a wry smile, and you glance toward Satoru, still leaning against the wall. His arms are folded, but thereâs something softer in his eyes now. Something almost protective.
His gaze is on Haru, but then it flicks to you. And you knowâwithout him saying a wordâheâs relieved. And honestly? You are too. Because Haruâs earlier anxiety has dissolved entirelyâlike mist lifting from the floor. You hadnât even realized your shoulders were still tense until now. Because you werenât sure what to expect with this Nanami Kento⊠but if heâs someone Satoru is trusting you with? Then⊠you will trust him too.
âDo you have paper?â Nanami asks you, then turns his attention back to Haru. âIf we have paper, Iâd be happy to show you Haru.â
âYay!!â she squeals, scampering offâvoice trailing behind her as she rambles about colors, wingspans, and how the next crane should have a name that means rainbow.
Starting to rise, you instinctively begin to follow her, but a familiar voice draws you back.
âWell then⊠weâre gonna head out,â Suguru calls from near the door, adjusting his coat with one hand.
Satoru groans as he pushes off the wall, stretching his arms overhead. âDuty callsâŠâ he mutters, dragging a hand over his face before walking toward you.
âOh⊠right.â Nodding, you meet him halfwayâhim stopping in front of you. As your eyes meet, thereâs something different in the way he holds your gaze. Something gentler.
âHeyâŠâ his hand lifts to tuck a piece of hair behind your earâfingers lingering a beat too long. âYouâll⊠be alright?â
âYeahâŠâ you nod once, but the gesture carries weight. A dozen things you donât say. That youâre still a little nervous. That you know heâs been trying to keep you at ease. That you hate this. That you wish he wasnât leaving. That you know why he has to.
That despite everything⊠you have a gut feeling why he hired Nanami. And that⊠you trust him, unconditionally.
Heâs studying youâreally studying youâgaze moving across your features, searching, as if trying to read the things your mouth wonât form. And when your eyes flick awayâwhen your lips press into something tight and fragileâhe exhales.
âHmmmâŠâ his arms warp around your waist, swaying. âIf I tell Naoya to go to hell and cancel this⊠would you be mad?â
You blink up at him, startled. âWait⊠what?â
âIâm serious,â he says, eyes narrowing. âGive me one reason. Iâll stay.â
You pause, caught between the earnestness in his voice and the way it cracks your chest open. A soft breath escapes your lipsâa laugh, small but real. And that alone makes his shoulders ease just slightly.
âSatoruâŠâ you say, gently. âYou⊠you canât,â you sigh, swallowing. âFor the custody battle⊠for Haru. You have to go talk to him.â
âYeah⊠I know,â he mutters, exhaling. âStill doesnât mean I like leaving⊠especially not when your face looks like that.â
You pause, lifting a brow. âOh? What face?â
âThe one that makes me want to deck him twice before weâve even said hello.â
A light giggle slips past your lips, and that smile, that soundâitâs everything he needs, every assurance that tells him itâs going to be okay. Youâre going to be okay.
...right?
His hand moves again, brushing a knuckle down your cheek, thumb tracing your jaw. Then, slowly, he leans in, pressing a kiss to your foreheadâslow, steady. Like a vow. Like heâs sealing something in the silence.
But as he lingers there, words begin to build behind his lipsâthe urge to say it.
I love you.
Itâs there. Pressing hard against the back of his throat. Lingering. Long enough to consider saying it. ButâŠ
No. Fuck⊠not here. Not yet. Suguruâs watching. Nanamiâs waiting. Haruâs nearby, chattering about paper cranes and rainbows like itâs the most important thing in the world.
So instead, he swallows it down, tucking it somewhere safe, resting on something smaller.
âBe back soonâŠâ he murmurs into your hair, a little hoarse. ââŠIâll miss you.â
You nod, but your fingers curl into the front of his coat, grounding him for just a second longer. âIâll miss you too,â you murmur.
Pulling back, a slow smile tugs at his lipsâquiet, lopsided. The kind he only ever gives you. Then, reluctantly, he steps away, turning toward the rug where Haru isâSora in hand.
âBye, sweetheart,â he crouches beside her, brushing a lock of hair from her face. âYou be good for Mommy and Nanamin, okay?â
âOkayâŠâ Haru nods, clutching her crane to her chest. âBye-bye, âtoru.â
Chuckling, he taps her nose gently, risingâadjusting the hem of his coat. Nanami is already at the door, waiting with a quiet kind of stillness that feels more like assurance than impatience.
Satoru joins him. But before stepping past, he turns for one last look.
Youâre seated now on the rug, watching Haru chatter excitedly about crane friends and rainbows. Your hands guide hers through another fold, her head bows in concentration. And while youâre there, smiling at her, nodding at whatever sheâs saying, something about it⊠roots him.
For a moment, he just stands there, watching. Quiet. Still. Then, without turning away, he speaks to Nanami.
âIâm trusting you with my family.â
Nanami blinks, not answering at first. Satoruâs voice is quiet. Stripped of his usual wit.
Honest.
He hesitates. Not because heâs unsureâbut because he knows the weight of that statement. Because he hears something in it that Satoru Gojo rarely gives: vulnerability.
After a moment, Nanami nods. ââŠI know.â
And Satoru nods back, something faint and unspoken passing between them. A trust that didnât need provingâbut was given anyway.
Exhaling, Satoru steps out as Suguru pushes the door open beside him.
âTry not to give her a spreadsheet to color, kay?â he waves, half-grinning as he steps out.
Nanami lifts a brow. ââŠIâll do my best.â
And then theyâre gone.
The door clicks closed behind them, the house exhales. The warmth returns, but underneath it⊠a stillness lingers. Like the moment before a thread pulls taut.
You shift on the rug beside Haru, whoâs holding out a new sheet of paper in both hands like itâs a treasure.
âNanamin!!â she calls. âThis oneâs gonna be Soraâs friend. Can you help?â
And settling beside her, they begin again.
âOf course, Haru.â
êš
âYouâre staring at the ceiling like it owes you money.â
Slouching in the limoâs leather seat, a low hum rumbles in Satoruâs chestâlike heâs tuning Suguru out entirely. One leg stretches out, the other hooks casually over his knee. His head is tipped back against the headrest and his arm is tucked lazily behind itâsunglasses perched in his snowy hair haphazardly.
As the car glides beneath them, smooth and muffled, the outside world is reduced to shapes behind tinted windows. Across from him, Suguru sitsâphone in hand, thumb idly scrolling. But his eyes linger on Satoru, drawn to the quiet focus in his best friendâs expression.
Suguru sighs, nudging the sole of Satoruâs shoe with the tip of his own.
âOi!â
Satoru startles just enough to be annoyed. âThe hellââ
âIâm talking to you,â Suguru deadpans.
âYou couldâve just said my name like a normal personâŠâ Satoru huffs.
âI did. Twice. You ignored me. Kicking you was plan B.â
A long, exaggerated exhale drags through Satoruâs noseâlong suffering. He shifts, arms crossing loosely as he leans back into his seat again, eyes fluttering closed like maybe if he fakes sleep, Suguru will let it go.
He doesnât.
âYouâve been quiet for five whole minutes,â Suguru muses. âShould I be worried?â
Smirking, Satoru cracks a blue eye open. âWow. You want me to talk more? Frame this moment. Call the press.â
Suguru rolls his eyes. âIâm just sayingâŠâ he shifts, slipping his phone into his coat pocket, leaning an elbow on the armrest. ââŠIâm not used to seeing your mouth closed. Itâs unnerving.â
Satoruâs smirk stretches deeper. âYeah?â he lets his eye fall shut again, shifting deeper into the seat with a low, amused hum. âThatâs rich coming from the guy who used to make me sit through his existential philosophy rants after two beers,â he murmurs.
Clicking his tongue, Suguru grins. âYeah, well. At least I shut up when the beer runs out.â
âMmm⊠touchĂ©,â Satoru chuckles.
For a moment, the silence returnsâlingering as Suguru glances at him sideways, reading between the lines. He sighs.
âCâmon⊠whatâs really up?â he asks, tilting his head. âYouâve got that expression again.â
Raising a brow, Satoruâs eyes open.
âWhat expression?â he plays dumb.
Suguru rolls his eyes, seeing straight through his bullshit.
âThe one where your brainâs running a marathon and none of us are invited.â
Giving in, Satoru exhalesâlong, deep. Like itâs the first real breath heâs taken in minutes.
âDunno,â he mutters, arms dropping, fingers running back through his hair. âJust⊠thinkinâ, I guess.â
His gaze shifts toward the window, and the city slides past in streaks of motion blurâgray buildings, flashes of glass and steel. Everything feels like itâs moving too fast and not fast enough all at once.
Suguru doesnât push. Just watchesâtracking the shift in his tone. He already knows where this is going. Thereâs only one thing thatâs been able to slow Satoru Gojo down lately. Only one person.
ââŠabout your wife?â
Satoruâs eyes flick to him, a hum slipping from his throatâlow, almost sheepish.
âYeahâŠâ he says quietly. âSheâs in my head a lot lately.â
Leaning back in his seat, Suguruâs arms fold loosely across his chest.
âYouâre different with her.â
A slow smile curls at Satoruâs mouth, wry and self-aware. âPsh⊠is that your way of saying Iâm whipped?â
âNo,â Suguru replies dryly. âThatâs my way of saying youâre not acting like a complete jackass for once. Never thought Iâd see the day.â
âWow,â Satoru gasps, clutching his chest with mock betrayal. âTouching. Really. Remind me to put that on a plaque.â
âYup. With her, your⊠serious. Less obnoxious. Honestly?â Suguru pauses for effect. âSlightly tolerable.â
âJesus,â Slouching deeper into his seat, Satoru tosses one arm over his face with theatrical flair. âIâm being bullied,â he whines, muffled. âBullied in my own limo. Suguru, say something nice before I cry.â
âNo,â Suguru corrects, barely holding back a grin. âThis is an intervention.â
Satoru peeks out from under his arm, his pout barely hidden beneath the feigned theatrics. âYou used to be nicer to me.â
âYeah, well,â Suguru shrugs, resting his head lightly against the tinted window. âYou used to be single.â
That pulls a low laugh from Satoruâs chest, his hand dragging through his hair as he sighsâdeep, thoughtful. The humor lingers, but so does something heavier beneath it.
âI dunnoâŠâ he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. âItâs not like I havenât been with people. But with herâŠâ he trails off, struggling to articulate something that still feels too big, too personal.
Suguru fills in the blank for him.
âYou donât want to fuck it up.â
Satoru huffs a breath thatâs almost a laugh. âYeah⊠that.â
âSheâs got you all twisted, man,â Suguru says, shaking his head with a grin. âYou, the guy who ghosted a girl for bringing a toothbrush.â
Satoru groans like heâs already regretting ever telling him that story. Grimacing, he tosses a hand in the air. âThat toothbrush was aggressiveâŠâ he mutters, like that justifies everything. âShe left it in my sink on the second date.â
âRight⊠and now here you are, firing your entire staff after someone steals your wifeâs panties?â
Groaning loudly, Satoru drags both hands down his face. âDonât start.â
Suguru snickers, clearly enjoying himself. âIâm just sayingâwhen Satoru Gojo starts launching internal investigations over lace? Thatâs not casual.â
âFuck off,â Satoru groans again, voice muffled by his palms.
Leaning forward slightly, Suguru rests his chin in his hand.
âItâs justâŠâ his expression softens. âIâm pretty sure this is the most serious youâve ever been about anyone.â
For a moment, Satoru says nothing. His eyes flick toward the passing city againâthen shift back to Suguru, and when he speaks, the joking tone is gone. Thereâs no smirk, no dramatic pout. Just truth, laid plain.
âYeah⊠wellâŠâ he murmurs, voice low. âSheâs it, yâknow?â
He holds Suguruâs gaze.
ââŠsheâs my one and only.â
That makes Suguru pause.
Something in his face stills. Itâs not like he didnât knowâbut hearing it like that, from Satoru, who never says anything like that? It lands.
âWell⊠damn,â Suguru mutters.
Satoru nods, slow and firm, like heâs still trying to believe it himself. Like saying it out loud makes it more real.
âLast nightâŠâ his eyes fix on the skyline again. âI told her I loved her.â
Suguru blinks. A beat of stunned silence settles between them.
ââŠholy shit.â
A faint smirk tugs at Satoruâs mouth. He nods again, almost sheepish.
Suguru straightens, brow arching. âShe say it back?â
Satoru snorts under his breath. âShe was asleep.â
Suguru stares. âYou confessed to a sleeping woman?â
âI didnât plan it, alright?â Satoru groans, flopping back against the seat like it physically pains him. âIt just came out. We were talking⊠I was lying there with her in my arms, and it justâhappened,â he scrubs a hand over his face, dragging it down in frustration. âAnd after I said it, I looked down and she was already out. Just⊠totally asleep.â
Suguru stares at him for a moment, then shakes his head with a quiet laugh. âYouâre a fucking idiot.â
âThanks,â Satoru deadpans.
âSo⊠now what?â Suguru asks.
Leaning forward, Satoruâs forearms brace against his knees, palms rubbing together like heâs grounding himself. His voice drops againâquieter, more measured.
âI guess⊠I wait? Or try again,â he sighs, pausing. âBut⊠I want to do it right. This time, I want her to hear it. I want her to know I mean it...â His hands fall still, eyes dropping to the floor. âShe deserves that⊠a real proposal. A real wedding. Not⊠whatever the hell I dragged her into.â
For a moment, neither of them speaks. The limo hums along, the gentle rhythm of the road filling the silence like background music to something neither of them wants to admit feels heavy.
Thenâclickâthe intercom above the driverâs seat crackles softly to life.
âWeâre about five minutes out,â Ichijiâs voice chimes through, polite as always. âApproaching the south entrance of the park now.â
Satoru blinks, dragging a hand down his face like the sound physically yanks him out of his thoughts. Leaning back, he eyes the window againâbut the skyline has faded now, replaced by iron railings and leaf-heavy trees, blurring past.
Suguru exhales, straightening in his seat.
âSo⊠remember what we discussed,â Suguru murmurs. âYou want me to start?â
Satoru shifts, pulling his sunglasses from where theyâre perched in his hair, sliding them into place over his eyes. His expression hardens, smoothing into something unreadable.
Itâs like watching armor click into place.
âIâll start,â he declares. âIf he gets mouthy, feel free to step in and hurt his feelings.â
Suguru huffs a laugh, pulling his long hair into a lazy bun at the nape of his neck. âSounds like a plan. Just⊠donât underestimate him. Stay alert, this is the yakuza weâre dealing with. And try not to lash out. Anything you say, heâs gonna try to use against you.â
"Yeah..." Satoru nods once, slow. His jaw ticks. "I know..."
And he'll do whatever's needed, whatever he needs to do.
For you.
êš
The wind bites through the trees with purpose, and Naoya adjusts the cuff of his coat, eyes fixed on the empty path ahead, foot tapping against the stone beneath him. His nerves are frayingânot that heâd admit itâbut this waiting game has never suited him. Waiting implies heâs not in control. And he is in control. Always has been.
Glancing down at his watch, he exhales, irritated.
Where the fuck are you?
You said youâd come.
And you always do, donât you? Compliance is a habit. He made sure of that. And when you show up todayâalone, nervous, eyes soft with apologyâitâll confirm everything. That youâre his.
Thatâs why youâre coming today⊠right? Because deep down, you want to come back. You still need him.
And heâs not unreasonable, okay?! God, heâs not cruel. Not unless you push him. Not unless you make him be. He only ever raised his voice because you forced him to. He only grabbed your wrist because you werenât listening. He had to yell, to break you when you left him no choice.
Youâre just being difficult. Youâve always been a little emotional, havenât you? Fragile. Confused. You run away, cryâthen crawl back. Right now, youâre just spiralingâlatching onto anything that feels safe. And maybe Gojo feels safe to you right now. Sure. Heâs got the money. The house. The image.
But given time, youâll remember who you belong to.
He almost convinces himself of it, and then, as a black limo rolls into viewâtires crunching over gravelâhe straightens, lips curling in amusement.
Finally.
Well⊠that is, until the door opens with a hiss and two silhouettes step out.
Satoru. Fucking. Gojo.
White hair catching the gray light, hands shoving in his pockets, like nothing here is serious enough to touch him. That stupid, lazy grin already on his face. And beside him, Suguru Getoâall quiet control, eyes scanning the space.
Naoya stills. No you.
âŠwhere the fuck are you?
You said youâd come. His lips pull back into a snarl.
âGod fucking dammitâŠâ he mutters, jaw clenching as the door closes behind them.
The earpiece in his collar clicks. âWhat?â Tojiâs voice filters through.
Naoya doesnât answer right awayâeyes narrowing as Gojo lifts his hand in a lazy wave, like this is some social call, like greeting an old friend. Like Naoyaâs the punchline.
âThey didnât bring herâŠâ he growls. âItâs just Gojo and Geto.â
Thereâs a beat. Static hums.
âMmm. Yup.â Toji replies. Flat. Like he saw it coming. âFigured this might happen.â
The two men begin their approach, shoes tapping over the stone in slow, deliberate stepsâdragging the moment out, letting it stretch. Theyâre making it a fucking show. And every second of it grates under Naoyaâs skin.
Growling, Naoyaâs hands curl into fists inside his coat pockets.
âFuck the plan,â he mutters. âWe should just end it here, yeah?â
Toji huffs, unimpressed. âYou wanna jump âem? In broad daylight?â
Naoyaâs jaw tightens. âNo oneâs around. We move fastââ
âNo.â
That single word lands sharp.
Naoya bristles. âWhat?â
âYou heard me. Donât fuck up again. Remember what happens if you do?â
Naoya falls silent and Toji grins.
Good.
Eyes narrowing, Toji watches them approachâperched in his hidden vantage point, one with the trees. Heâs not worried about a fightâheâs just not stupid enough to pick the wrong one.
Gojoâs got that cocky swagger, sureâbut itâs not just for show. Thereâs balance in his stride. Stillness in his arms, even with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His weight shifts like someone who knows where to brace if things go sideways.
Heâs not posturing. Heâs ready.
Because Satoru Gojo isnât just some heir with a punchable face. Takemi made sure of that. He didnât raise a son. Raised a successor. Something sharp in a soft coat.
And Getoâfuck, Toji hates the quiet ones. Getoâs not looking at themânot even pretending to care. Which means heâs watching everything. Lawyer or not, that kind of calm means one thing: heâs broken someoneâs nose before, and didnât lose sleep over it.
Toji could take them. Maybe. Probably.
But this isnât about if.
Itâs about when.
And where.
And what the fallout looks like.
You were easy.
One snatch. Clean. Quiet.
But this? This is different. Two men trained to react, both alert, in a public park?
Thatâs not control. Thatâs noise.
And Toji doesnât like noise.
âTheyâre right here,â Naoya snaps, again. âCâmon, letâs just end him. This whole thingâs a joke if we donâtââ
âI said, no.â
This time it lands like a gunshotâsharp, finalâwind moving through the branches, brittle and dry.
âIâm not here to fight him,â he exhales. âIâm here to break him. Ruin him.â He pauses, a wicked grin stretching across his lips. âAnd⊠that takes patience, âcuz. Our day will come.â
êš
Satoruâs grin pulls slow across his mouth as they near, all teeth and lazy ease.
"Appreciate you makinâ time for us," he hums, stepping forward without a care in the world, hands tucked deep into his pockets, like heâs strolling through this encounter instead of walking into a confrontation.
Naoyaâs jaw ticks.
âYouâre not the one I came to see.â
Tilting his head, Satoru studies him with a laziness thatâs almost mocking. His grin lingers, but thereâs a shiftâsomething colder bleeding in around the edges.
âYou really thought Iâd let you get within ten feet of my wifeâŠ?â
Wife.
The word detonates in Naoyaâs blood, cracking through the cold air like a whip.
âTch. What a load of shitâŠâ he scowls. âShe was never wife material to begin with.â
Shifting his weight lazily, Satoru hums, tapping his chin like he's genuinely thinking it over, just to be an asshole about it.
âIâd say it suits her,â he muses. âShe looks better beside me. Softer. Happier.â He lets it hang, watching Naoya grind his teeth. âAlmost like⊠she smiles more when you're not around.â
Naoyaâs nostrils flare, body tightening under his coat like heâs one wrong word from snapping.
âSheâs just clinging to you because sheâs scared to be alone,â he spits, stepping forward a fraction, trying to reclaim ground heâs already lost. "Always trembling for attention... doesnât mean she actually wants you."
Satoruâs grin doesnât slip. If anything, it deepensâslow, wicked.
"NaaahâŠâ he shrugs, closing the space between them without hurry, savoring it. âShe trembles because I actually know how to touch her.â He quirks a brow, grinning. âI just make her feel good, in more ways than one."
Naoyaâs eyes flare as Satoru casts him a lazy winkâlike twisting the knife is part of the fun.
âFuck you.â
Satoru laughs. âDid I hit a nerve?â he tilts his head, slowly. âYâknow⊠she leaves things with me. In my nightstand. Little things. Keepsakes. Itâs kinda our thing.â He shrugs, smug. âWeird when they disappearâŠâ
He lets it hang there for a moment.
ââŠyou ever notice when somethingâs just⊠not where you left it?â
In Naoyaâs ear, the comm hisses softly.
âDonât react. Donât take the bait.â
Naoya scoffs, trying to roll his shoulders loose.
âYou lose something, or are we just makin conversation?â
Satoruâs grin curves slow, sharp at the edges.
âNah⊠not lost. Just gone. Thereâs a difference.â
Studying Naoya, Satoruâs gaze flicks downwardâto his handâto the bandage wrapped around his palm. Clean, precise, fresh.
âHuhâŠâ he hums softly. âThat looks recent.â
Tensing, Naoya glances down at his hand before shoving it back into his coat pocketâlike itâs nothing.
âGlass,â he mutters. âBroke something. Cut my palm.â
Satoru nods, contemplative. âYou knowâŠâ he drawls slowly. âI couldnât help noticing a bit of blood in my wifeâs bedroom the other day.â
âOh⊠yeah?â Naoya murmurs.
âMhmmâŠâ Satoruâs eyes narrow. âStrange, right? Seeing as none of my staff seemed hurt.â
The comm clicks again.
âPush it off you. Change the subject.â
âYouâre sounding a bit paranoid Gojo,â Naoya scoffs, shifting. âIf this is how you handle losing a memento, canât imagine how youâll handle losing in court,â Naoya straightens, smirking. âFigures sheâd send her fucking lapdog to speak for her today. Little bitch was always good at pretending she was the victim. Wonât even face me.â
Satoruâs expression hardens instantlyâthat lazy grin vanishing in a blink. But as he feels Suguruâs hand on his shoulder, he shifts, glancing at his best friend.
Suguru is smiling, wide and unbotheredâsliding between them like itâs his turn on the chessboard.
âCome on now, NaoyaâŠâ he hums, light with mock sympathy. âAs a fellow lawyer, you know how this works.â
Gritting his teeth, Naoya glares. âSuguru GetoâŠâ
âYo.â Suguru lifts two fingers in a lazy wave. âLong time no see.â
He lets that hang for a moment before continuing.
âThereâs a case open. Custody-related. Which means you shouldnât be anywhere near my client⊠right?â Suguru reminds him, head tilting in amusement. âSo, youâll be directing all communication through me moving forward. Iâll be representing y/n.â
Naoya huffs, rolling his eyes. âWhat happened, Geto? Couldnât cut it in real courtrooms, so youâre doing babysitting gigs for Gojo now?â
Suguru chuckles softly. âYou can question my rĂ©sumĂ© if it helps you sleep at night,â his grin stretches, sharper. âWonât change whatâs coming. This case will be over faster than your career ever was.â
âPfft. Yeah?â Naoya laughs bitterly. âGood luck building a case on her.â He sneers. âShe can barely hold it together for five minutes without crying. Weak, whiny little bitch.â
Satoruâs jaw locks, heat radiating off him. âHey. Watch your fucking mouth.â
Peering back, Suguru lifts a handâcalm, watchful.
âSatoru...â
But Naoya keeps going.
âYou think you won something?â he spits. âSheâs nothing but a fucking burden. Always was.â
Satoruâs blue eyes darken into something dangerous.
âIâm seriousâŠâ he steps forward, voice lowering. âYou better watch your fucking mouthâŠâ
ââŠthat so?â Naoya raises a brow.
Bingo. He just got an idea.
Shifting on his heels, he crosses his arms behind his head lazily.
âAnd whyâs that, Gojo? Did I hit a nerve now?
Exhaling slowly through his nose, Satoru tries to hold himself steady.
âYouâve got some fucking nerve⊠Iâll tell ya that.â He lowers his glasses to the bridge, glaring into Naoyaâs eyes. âShe carried everything you couldnât handle⊠and you have the nerve to call her a burden?â he scoffs. âTell meâdid you even try being a father to Haru?â
The comm crackles in Naoyaâs ear. Tojiâs voice, low and amused:
âCareful. Youâre about to get punched.â
But Naoya grins. Because thatâs exactly what he wants.
âDonât even get me started on her as a mother,â he scoffs. âPathetic. A fucking failure. Canât handle a kid, canât handle herself. Sureâsheâs got a pretty face, a hot bodyâŠâ He shrugs. âBut thatâs it. Nothing underneath.â
Satoruâs shoulders rise, slow and stiff. Suguru shifts again.
âSatoru. DonâtâŠâ he mutters carefully.
But Satoruâs eyes hold Naoyaâs. Glare sharpening.
âIâm telling you nowâŠâ his fist clenches. âYou donât get another warning.â
Smirking, Naoya shrugs againâlike heâs tossing scraps.
âWell⊠at least she spread her legs good,â he sighs, shaking his head. âDecent fuck. Though even then, she couldnât finish unless someone told her she was worth the mess. Pathetic littleââ
The punch lands hard. A sharp, wet crack as Naoyaâs head jerks sidewaysâblood blooming at the corner of his mouth. Stumbling back, he hits the concrete with a thud, grinning. And Satoru surges forward again, but Suguruâs already thereâarm around his chest, pulling him back firmly.
âHey. Heyâenough.â
But Satoruâs not done.
âYou say another word,â he growls, fighting Suguruâs hold, âand I swear to God Iâll bury you so deep in the ground, your own fucking clan will forget you existed.â
With an exaggerated groan, Naoya lazily wipes the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.
âOuchâŠâ he winces, looking up, grinning. âMy poor lip⊠I donât think the judge is gonna like this little outburst.â
Satoru freezes, and Naoyaâs grin stretchesâlip split in a red smile.
âWhat do you think?â he muses mockingly, pulling out a recording device from his pocket. âMy daughterâs stepdad⊠threatening to kill me in a public park.â He tsks softly. âNot exactly a good look.â
Fuck.
Satoruâs stomach drops. For a second, he just stands there, breathing hardâeyes widening. Then, without thinking, he lungesâhand shooting toward the recorder, full of blind instinct.
âGive me that! You fuckingââ
But Suguruâs arm is already across his chest, yanking him back hard.
âAlright,â he mutters sharply, âthatâs enough. Let it go, Satoru.â
Rising from the ground, Naoya laughs softly, dusting off his pants.
âAww⊠donât be a sore loser,â he says lightly, holding the device up mockingly. âYou gave me a gift.â
Satoruâs lips press togetherâheâs seething. But before he can say or do more, Suguru is dragging him by the arm, heading towards the limo.
âRight then, anyways,â Suguru shouts back, waving lazily. âSee ya in court, Naoya. Good talk. Till next time.â
âSure, sure,â Naoya calls after them, voice lilting. âAnd you should work on your temper Gojo!â He chuckles, waving. âAfterall, it looks bad in court. Especially for someone around a kid.â
êš
The limo door slams shutâso hard even Ichiji flinches from the front seat.
âFuck,â Satoru mutters, plopping into his seat. âFucking fuckâŠâ
With a flick of his wrist, he tosses his sunglasses across the console. Both hands rake through his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration.
âThis is bullshitâŠâ he grits.
Exhaling through his nose, Suguru settles into the seat across from him with infuriating calmâfolding one leg over the other, like heâs already miles past what just happened.
âYou got blood on your cuff,â he says casually, nodding at Satoruâs sleeve.
Satoruâs gaze snaps up.
âI shouldâve done more,â he growls. âFucking prick. You heard what he said!â
âI did,â Suguru nods. âAnd so did your right hook. Pretty sure thatâs why he was grinning through the blood.â
Groaning in defeat, Satoru runs both hands down his face.
âShitâŠâ he quiets. âI fucked that upâŠâ
âMmm⊠I wouldnât go that far,â Suguru hums. Calm. Assured. âHe had that punch coming. You just beat me to it.â
Peeking at him through his fingers, Satoru gives him a flat, exhausted stare.
âDude⊠what the hell. You were supposed to stop me. Why didnât you stop me?â
A slow grin tugs at Suguruâs mouth.
âYou think I didnât know he was baiting you?â he shrugs. âI figured youâd hit him. He figured youâd hit him.â
Satoru blinks. ââŠseriously?â
âDonât worry about it,â he sighs, pulling a sleek black recorder from his inner jacket pocket. âOur version will hold up better in court.â
Satoruâs entire body stills. He stares down at the recorder like itâs divine intervention.
ââŠyou were recording too?â
âIâm always recording,â Suguru replies smoothly, leaning back with a faint smile. âEspecially when youâre involved.â
âOh thank GodâŠâ Satoruâs expression softens with relief.
âItâs gonna be fine,â Suguru waves it off, shoving the recorder back in his pocket. âYour little death threat wonât matter much once the judge hears him call your wife a whore and a failed mother. Among other things.â
Satoru exhales, slumping further into the leather like all his tension has finally snapped free. His eyes close.
ââŠI owe you.â
âI know.â
âLikeâbig time.â
âYou do.â
Cracking one eye open, Satoru mutters, âWhat do you want? Beer? Blood? My firstborn? Iâll sit through one of your 3 a.m. philosophy rants if thatâs what it takes.â
Suguruâs grin widens, just slightly.
âMmm⊠Iâll let you know when I think of something properly excruciating.â
Satoru huffs out a tired laugh, shaking his head.
ââŠthanks, man.â
êš
As the limoâs tail lights disappear into the dark, Satoru stands still for a moment at the Gojo estateâs entrance, keys in hand, shoulders tight.
With a sigh, he pushes the front door open, greeted in stillnessâthe lights low, a soft flicker from the TV illuminating the living room in gentle color. Youâre curled up on the couch, blanket tucked under your chin, eyes half-lidded as the glow washes over your face. Your hairâs a little messy, your feet barely peeking from under the throw, remote resting loosely in your hand.
You glance over as the door clicks shut behind him.
âWelcome homeâŠâ you say softly.
With a wry smile, Satoru takes a breath, like the sight of you has completely anchored him back to earth, knocking the tension out of his chest all at once.
Youâre safe.
From the hallway, Nanami steps forward, hands in his pockets, as if heâd been standing quietly nearby this whole time. Watching. Not loomingâjust present.
âHeyâŠâ he greets with a nod. âHaruâs asleep. No issues.â
Satoru drops his keys on the endtable. âThanksâŠâ
Glancing past him, Nanamiâs eyes narrow on the still-closed front door briefly.
âSo⊠everything handled?â
Satoruâs jaw tenses for a second. Then relaxes.
âYeahâŠâ he scratches the back of his head, shrugging. âMore or less.â
âGreat.â Nanami gives the barest nod. âIâll be in my room, then.â He says, stepping back into the hallway. âCall if you need me.â
âGot it.â
And with that, Nanami disappears quietly down the hall.
Turning back to you, Satoru stands there for a beat, letting the silence wrap around him, drinking in the sight of you all cozy on the sofa. Then finallyâwith a soft gruntâhe crosses to the couch and drops beside you, landing with a dramatic sigh, head lolling to the side to look at you with those vibrant blue eyes.
You peek over your blanket.
ââŠyou okay?â
He smiles, tired. Lopsided.
âYeahâŠâ he mumbles. âNow I am.â
Shifting slightly, you lift the edge of the blanket in silent invitation, and he slides under without a word, settling in beside you, shoulders brushing. You feel the tension still clinging to him, like static.
âSoâŠâ you ask softly. âHowâd it go?â
His head falls back, staring at the ceiling for a second.
âWellâŠâ he sighs. âI only punched him once. SoâŠâ he shrugs. âPretty good I guess.â
You blink. âWaitâyou punched him?â
âYup.â
âLike⊠in the face?â
He glances at you, deadpan. âHard.â
You stare at him for a beat. ââŠwas that part of the plan?â
He shrugs. âDefine plan.â
You snort, but the edge of your smile fades as you see his expression doesnât changeâstill flat, still tired. Heâs spent.
âMmm,â he sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck. âHonestly? Youâre lucky I didnât commit a felony. Fuck that guy.â
The way he says itâlow, bitter, coiled with something deeperâmakes your chest tighten. You donât need to ask. You already know.
âThat bad⊠huh?â
Exhaling again, his voice softens, like his words are slipping out without thinking.
âYeah⊠I didnât think he could piss me off more than he already didâŠâ
Glancing over at him, you see heâs not joking anymore. Heâs not even mad. Heâs just quiet. And⊠tired.
âBut, seeing itâŠâ he goes on, barely above a murmur. âHearing the way he talks about you. About Haru. Like none of it mattered. Like you donât matter.â He shakes his head once, sharply. âI knew he was garbage. But now⊠I get it.â
Looking down, his jaw flexes.
âAnd⊠I hate that you had to live with that. Every day.â
You donât speak right awayâjust slide your hand under the blanket and find his, fingers curling through his gently. You squeeze. He squeezes back.
âI⊠hated it too,â you whisper.
A silence settles between youânot heavy. Just full. Full of everything that doesnât need to be said right now.
Then, after a beat, Satoru mutters:
ââŠnext time Iâm aiming lower.â
You snort. âSatoruâŠâ
âWhat?â he says, mouth twitching into a grin. âIâll break his fucking dick. Piece of shit.â
A surprised, soft laugh slips through your lipsâbut it tapers off too quickly. Because the weight of whatâs happenedâwhat heâs doneâlands a little heavier now. The joke fades, and the silence that follows feels different.
Shifting, you adjust the blanket a little higher around your shoulder, voice dipping quieter.
âI⊠hate that you had to do this for me.â
Satoruâs brows lift slightly, turning to face you more fully.
âWhat? What are you talking about?â he says gently. âSweetheart⊠I didnât have to. I wanted to.â
âYeahâŠâ you murmur. âI know.â
But your tone doesnât lift. His smile slips, frowning.
âAlright⊠whatâs going on in that pretty head of yours this time?â Nudging your leg with his knee, his brow furrows in concern. âHey⊠look at me.â
You do, hesitantly, meeting his gaze.
âWell⊠itâs justâŠâ you breathe out slowly. âYou shouldnât have to clean up my mess. Heâs my past. My mistakes. And now youâre the one taking the hits for it. I guess Iâm just feelingâŠ. useless.â
Satoruâs expression softens.
âHey nowâŠâ he says, voice dipping. âYouâre not a mess, and youâre not useless. You didnât cause any of thisâhe did. All you did was survive it.â
Blinking, your throat aches with a tightness that you try to swallow down.
âBut⊠now heâs your problem tooâŠâ
He snorts, not unkindly, leaning in just a bit.
âSweetheartâŠâ he says, quiet but firm, âthe second he said your name like it was something to spit out? He became my problem.â
Holding your gaze, his blue eyes shimmer, steady and certain.
âBecause⊠youâre mine now. And no one talks about you like that. No oneâyou hear me?â
Your chest aches in that breathless, blooming kind of wayâso full it almost hurts. And before you can stop yourself, before you can think, youâre leaning forward and kissing him.
The moment your lips meet, the tension bleeds from his body like steam. He sighs, inhaling as youâre tugging him closer, his hands finding your waist under the blanket. As your lips move, he begins to shift, groaning from the taste of you.
Your stomach flips as you chase that sound, and suddenly you canât stop touching him. His breath hitches as your hands explore down his chest, across his stomach, the smooth ridges of his muscle beneath your fingers.
The moment you dip lower, cupping his dick through the fabric of his pants, he whines in your mouth.
âFuckâŠâ he mutters, hoarse and frayed. âBabyâŠâ
Heâs panting against your lips, twitching in your hand as you rub him gently, ocean blue eyes half lidded, framed through snowy lashes.
His hips are shifting underneath your touch, and you surge forward, kissing him harder, working him gently through his pants. Itâs electric. Consuming. But thenâ
Just be good for me.
Freezing, your hand stills, and you break the kiss with a soft gaspâforehead leaning gently against his, breath trembling.
Immediately, he stills too.
âWhat is itâŠâ he pants quietly, blue eyes searching your face, ââŠyou okay?â
You nod. But itâs not convincing.
âIâm okay⊠I justâŠâ
Trailing off, thereâs a shake in your voice, and you hate it. Hate the way it trembles, hate that he can hear it. But he doesnât press. He waits.
Youâre not even sure how to describe it. The knot in your chest. The way your skin feels too tight for your body. The way the air still tastes like a memory you never asked to keep.
So you settle for, âSorry⊠itâs stupid.â
His brows furrow.
âNothing you feel is ever stupid.â
You glance down, fingers tracing the thick outline of his cock beneath the fabric of his pants. Thereâs heat thereâreal, tangible heatâbut itâs not just lust. Itâs this aching, burning need to give him something. To take care of him. Because heâs done everything for you. Heâs seen every version of youâmessy, scared, shut downâand never once flinched.
âI justâŠâ you breathe, fingertips ghosting down his length, ââŠwant to make you feel good.â
Satoru groans like youâve just unraveled him. âUh⊠you are?â he pants, eyes fluttering shut. A breathless laugh slips out. âDo you not feel how fucking hard I am right now just from kissing you?!â
Eyes flicking up, you stillâholding onto the restraint burning through his gaze. Something wobbles inside you. Not from him, but from the voice that still whispers at the back of your mind.
Just be good for me.
You hate it. Hate how much power those words hold over you. Hate how theyâve sent you spiraling back into an old story you thought you had finally closed the book on. One panic attack, one flashback, and it was like youâd been dropped back into the hollowed-out shell he left you in. And yetâSatoru never looked at you like you were broken. He didnât need you to shrink yourself to be lovable. He didnât demand, didnât take. He waited. He held you through it.
But what do you give the man whoâs given you everything?
âWhat if⊠I disappoint you?â you whisper. âWhat if⊠Iâm not good enough?â
Satoruâs expression softens in an instant. His hand lifts gently, brushing a knuckle along your cheek before cradling it in his palm.
âThis again? BabyâŠâ he murmurs, low and steady. âYou donât have to prove anything to me. Iâm not him.â His thumb sweeps across your jaw. ââŠyouâre already everything I want. Whatever the fuck he expected of you, whatever he made you believe you were supposed to be⊠fuck that. I donât want perfect. I want youâas you are. Smart, stubborn, brave as hell. You hear me?â
Your chest achesâso full it almost cracks. Because for the first time in so long, you feel seen. Fully. Not just the parts of you that shine under pressure. But the ones that tremble. That doubt. And this manâthis beautiful, loving manâis yours.
Nodding, his hand falls away as you shift, and suddenly youâre easing yourself off the couch, sliding onto your knees in front of him.
ïżœïżœïżœOh, fuck.â Satoru stills, pupils darkening instantly.
âI justâŠâ your fingers work the button of his slacks with a quiet click, ââŠwanna take care of you, Satoru.â
âShitâŠâ Satoru is so wrecked heâs trying not to combust. âFucking hell⊠you on your knees for me? Fuck. I could die happy.â
You giggle, tugging his pants and briefs down just enough to free himâand when his cock springs out, thick and flushed, your breath catches.
ââŠGod. Youâre big.â
The moment the words slip out, you realize what youâve said, face heating as your eyes flick up to meet his. And of fucking courseâheâs smirking. White hair falling into his gaze as he tilts his head, looking down at you affectionately.
âMmm⊠âcourse I am,â he hums, smug and glowing with amusement. âBut please⊠keep the compliments coming.â
âCocky shitâŠâ you mumble, but your hand wraps around the base of him, your thumb brushing over the glistening tipâand Satoru hisses through his teeth.
âOh, s-shit⊠fuck,â he groans, shifting his hips up into your touch. âIs this really happening right now?â
âYou tell me?â you breathe, and then your tongue is dragging a slow stripe up the underside of his cockâfrom base to tipâcollecting the pre thatâs already dripping for you.
Satoruâs breath shudders. âFucking hellâŠâ he pants, head tipping back, fist curling into the cushion behind him like heâs hanging on for dear life.
And truthfully? He is.
Because as heâs looking down at you, legs spread on the couch, you on your knees for him, lips closing around his cockâfuck. Itâs too much. Youâre too much. Too good. Too goddamn much.
Your long lashes flutter as you look up at him, humming against him, dick jerking in your mouth while that skilled tongue laps and sucks him eagerly. Heâs panting, mouth agape as he watches your head bob. You look so beautiful and filthy as the TV casts a blue muted glow behind you, and your hand strokes in tandem what you canât fit in that pretty little mouth.
God, the warmth, the pressure, the sweet little hums and slurps dripping from your lips as you devour his dickâhe canât help it. Heâs unravelling, needy, desperate moans spilling out of him as his breath shudders.
And the thing is, heâs biting his tongue so fucking hard right now he can taste blood. Because it would be so easy to say it right now.
 I love you.
But how the fuck could he say that right now? While his cock is in your mouth? What kind of dumbass confesses mid-blowjob!? And yetâhow could he not feel it?
Satoru is cursing himself, because fuck⊠when the fuck is he supposed to tell you?! His mind is running a marathon, and his cock is throbbing in your mouth with the need to feed you every drop of his cum. The need to shove you down on his dick and paint that pretty tongue white. The need to bend you over, filling up your cunt with every inch of him, pounding that tight little pussy until itâs gushing and milking his cock, wringing out every sticky spurt of jizz until youâre filled to the brim. The lust, the passion, the love, he wants to give you everything,
You release him with a loud, wet pop, your hand stroking the mess heâs made of himself, each fap echoing in the quiet living room as your eyes flick up, searching his expression.
âYouâre surprisingly quietâŠâ you murmur, rolling your thumb along his head. âUsually, getting you to shut up is the challenge.â
Now youâre looking at him all shyly again, and Satoru groansâdeep and guttural, his hand scrubbing over his face like itâs the only way heâll survive this.
âF-Fuck⊠y-yeahâŠâ his breath hitches.
Tilting your head, your brow furrows sightly, but your hand keeps moving, massaging the weeping head of his cock with a slow, wet roll of your wrist.
âIs it⊠okay? Are you liking it?â
âW-What?! Of course I am. Are you kidding?â He blurts. âShitâs-sorry, babyâI just⊠fuuuckââ another moan tears from his throat, because shit, forming words feels impossible. What the fuck is wrong with him? Bucking into your touch, his dick drools all over your hand. âHaaaâŠ. âm just⊠t-trying not to embarrass myselfâŠâ
ââŠoh?â your lips curl with curiosity, your voice dipping into a smile as you press gentle kisses up the base of his shaft. âAnd⊠embarrass yourself how?â you murmur.
Satoru is whining, high and helpless as you find his head again, that cute pink tongue flicking out to tease the slit.
âB-Because IâmâŠâ he grits out, voice cracking, âF-Fuck⊠s-shit⊠Iâm justâŠâ trying not to say something Iâll regret. âNnnngh⊠trying not to cum in thirty fucking seconds. Fuck, youâre perfectââ
You pull off again, lips slick with spit, smiling all sweet and teasing as his cock twitches in your hand.
âHmmâŠâ you hum, pressing his dick against your cheek as you look up at him affectionately. âThought you said you didnât need perfect?â
God, but how are you so perfect? So his.
Inhaling sharply, he looks down, and he knows it. Heâs so fucking gone for you. Loves you so much itâs stupid.
âI⊠donâtâŠâ he breathes, fingers trembling as they brush back the messy strands of hair that have begun to cover your face, threading through your locks reverently. âBut⊠somehow⊠I still got you.â
Nuzzling into the side of his cock, youâre grinning at him now, all smug and sweet. Fucking hell youâre going to ruin him.
âThen show me, âtoruâŠâ your lips brush his tip as you speak, ââŠhow good I make you feel.â
And suddenly youâre hollowing your cheeks down on him, humming as he groans, instinctively gripping your hair as his head falls back.
âF-Fuuuck⊠oh shitâŠâ he pants, voice thick and broken, cradling your head as you work his dick. âJ-Just like that, baby⊠yeah, fuck⊠you look so fuckinâ pretty with your mouth fullâŠâ
His breath stutters, gaze dropping again to take you inâblue eyes glowing, watching you like heâs in a trance. Heâs biting his lip so hard, trying to hold back all the pathetic moans threatening to rip from his throat.
Spit glistens on your chin, your lips stretch around him, gliding deeperâand fuck, itâs all he can do not to fall apart, watching every fucking inch of his cock disappear further and further.
Itâs too good. He wants more. Needs more.
Groaning, his hips are twitching forward, shallowly thrusting, begging for you to take him deeper. Heâs barely aware heâs doing it until you shift, adjustâand donât stop him.
âS-Shit⊠can Iâ?â he rasps, gently tugging your hair. âCan I move? Fuck your throat a little?â
You nod without hesitation, eyes fluttering shut, humming as you reposition again in silent invitation. And thatâs it. Thatâs all he fucking needs.
âOh, fuck⊠fuckâokay,â he groans, cock throbbing, shifting his hips as he grips your head tighter. âJust⊠tell me if itâs too much, angel.â
He begins moving, rolling into your hot, wet mouth, and though his thrusts start slow, thereâs nothing soft about the way heâs looking at youâjaw clenched, head tilted, snowy white hair falling into those pretty blue eyes. Heâs whimpering, watching your lips stretch around his cock, spit stringing from your chin to his base as he feeds you more, more, more.
âFuuuckâfuck, sweetheartââ Satoruâs losing his fucking mind, moaning whorishly, âThatâs it⊠haaa⊠just like that,â his hips roll deeper, pace picking up. âFucking hell⊠y-yesâŠyour throatâs so fucking tight, babyâshitââ
Blinking, your hands brace tightly on his thighs, watching the way his abs begin to flex as he rocks into you. His dick is jerking, leaking sweet pre all over your tongue, holding your head as he thrusts deeper into that hot willing mouth.
âS-ShitâŠâ he pulls you off, blue eyes blazed with pleasure, giving you a moment to breathe. ââm not gonna last much longerâŠâ he murmurs, cock twitching up, soaked in front of your face. âWhere you want my cum baby?â
Shifting, you pant, eyes flicking up at him. âMy mouthâŠâ you breathe, opening wide for him again, and Satoruâs cock jerks up immediately.
âOhmygodâŠâ he groans, shoving you back down on him, taking on a pace thatâs anything but sane. âYesss⊠haaa⊠good girl⊠hungry fucking girlâŠâ heâs babbling now, thrusting faster, spit dripping outside the corner of your lips as you let him chase his pleasure. âT-Take it⊠nngh⊠fuck. I loveâŠâ
You.
Satoru growls, internally kicking himself, taking that frustration out on your pretty mouth.
âI⊠fuck⊠love your mouth so fuckinâ muchâŠâ he grits.
His cock is slamming into you again and again, and the sounds are obsceneâwet, messy, lewd. His hips are unrelenting, but you brace yourself, taking him, eyes fluttering, tears building as you look up at him through wet lashes.
God, heâs panting, whining, whimpering, completely lost in you, looking down at you like you fucking hung the stars.
But the moment you gag, he immediately stills, stuttering. âS-Shitâsorryâfuckâyou okay?â he pants, brows furrowing, looking at you like heâs afraid he broke you.
You pull back, nodding, giving yourself a moment, and then, just as eagerly, youâre pushing yourself back down on him, down to the hiltâand he swears you just ripped the air out of his fucking lungs.
âF-Fucking⊠god,â he chokes, watching with wild eyes as you take it again. âYouâre⊠unreal. What the fuckâŠâ
Whimpering, heâs desperate now, gripping you tightly as he thrusts vigorously. âThatâs it⊠yes, baby⊠yesâŠâ your throat is clicking, spit dripping from your lips, âSucha good girl⊠take my cock⊠fuuuckâŠâ heâs unraveling, cock so hard it hurts. âYouâre too fucking goodââm closeââm⊠fuckfuckfuckâgonna cumâ"
And suddenly heâs burying himself deep, gasping and whining as hot spurts of creamy cum spill down your throat, fingers tightening as he keeps you there, hips stuttering with every pulse as the sticky thick mess floods your mouth.
And you takeit. All of him. Blinking back tears, moaning as you swallow every fucking drop. Itâs only when he finally stills, that you pull backâhis cock slipping from your lips with a lewd, wet pop.
Heâs staring down at you, completely wrecked in the best wayâchest rising and falling, mouth parted, eyes wide and glassy with awe.
âWow, SatoruâŠâ you hum, smiling all coy, licking your lips slowly as you breathe through your nose. âThat was⊠a lot of cum.â
âOh my fucking godâŠâ
His voice comes out like a whisper and a whimper all at once. His brain is still bufferingâtrying to reboot after the holy experience you just put him through. Dragging a shaky hand down his face, he blows out a disbelieving laugh.
âYou⊠wow. You actually swallowed⊠all of it.â
Giggling, you drag your hand up his thigh, fingers brushing, watching the way he twitches under your touch.
âI told youâŠâ you smile softly, nuzzling against his thigh, eyes gleaming affectionately. âI⊠wanted to take care of you.â
And godâSatoru swears he might ascend. If only you knew how you make him feel. Huffing, he shakes his head in awe.
âCâmere youâŠâ heâs tugging you up gently, urging you into his lag, and you go easily, straddling his thighs as his arms wrap around you, holding you flush to his chest.
You can feel his heart thudding heavy as you settle against him, and you shift, burying yourself against his neck.
âFeel betterâŠ?â you murmur softly, fingers combing through the soft mess of his white hair.
âBetter?â a breathless laugh slips out, catching in his throat as he tries to collect himself. âYeah⊠thatâs the understatement of the century,â he exhales hard, then adds, âI think I mightâve just seen the face of God⊠with your lips.â
You snort into his shoulder, giggling, and he chuckles tooâlow and husky, the sound vibrating through your body. But even as he smiles, his grip on you stays tight. Steady. Anchored.
Because you donât realize itâbut this? This is everything. His expression softens, his heart aches so much as the thought replays over, and over in his head.
Iâm so in love with you.
It hits him like a trainâagain, fresh and full and terrifying. Like itâs the first time heâs realizing it all over again. Youâve stripped him bare, pulled every shield from his body with a touch, a look, a laugh. He cherishes you so damn much.
And thatâs the scariest, most beautiful thing of all.
âIâm so fuckedâŠâ he whispers, more to himself than to you.
âHm?â pulling back slightly, youâre blinking up at him. ââŠfucked how?â
He meets your eyesâand for a second, everything softens. The whole world slows. He could say it. Right now. Just open his mouth and say it. ButâŠ
âOh⊠yâknow, justâŠâ he exhales shakily, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âReally, really fucking into youâŠâ he says instead.
And god, he means it.
ââŠyeah?â you whisper.
âYeahâŠâ he nods, sighing. âLike⊠no-coming-back, kind of into you.â
Your smile spreads, soft and full of warmth. And as you curl into him, your head rests against his shoulder.
âMe tooâŠâ
The moment quiets, settling between you in a hush of breathless heartbeats. And as he holds you close, arms protective and sure, pressing his cheek to the crown of your head, his mind begins to turn.
Heâs going to do everythingâeverythingâin his power to keep you safe. To keep you happy. To ensure, you are always here, in his arms. Because if he ever lost youâŠ
No.
Shaking his head, he shoos that thought away, out of existence. Heâs not even going to entertain it.
And then, after a minute, he begins to shift, murmuring low against your hair.
âCâmonâŠâ heâs rising from the couch, lifting you up bridal style as he stands. âLetâs clean up⊠and head to bed.â
Nodding, you wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you awayâyour body melting against his. Neither of you say the words sitting unsaid in your chest. But that doesnât make it any less true.
I love you.

a/n. hello my lovelies!! it's been foreverrrrr... i know. thanks for your patience with this chapter. i unforch had to go back to work full time, whilst still being in school đ€Ș so it feels like i've had NO time. but, once this semester is over my writing should pick back up. this chapter definitely challenged me. i was worried how you guys would feel about the violence, but alas... that's what the yakuza do. all i can say is if you don't like it, you can chose not to read it! đ€·ââïž but as ya'll can probably see, this story is definitely taking a turn... the plot is heating up. nanami has joined the battle! he's so sweet with little haru. i'm gonna have so much fun with the plans i have for his character, hehe đ„° satoru in the car with suguru... *sigh* đ this man is literally so smitten for reader it's too damn cute. my heart can't take it. i've decided to reopen this taglist! if you want to be tagged and you're not on it, lmk. i would love to hear all your thoughts and theories with this chapter, and as always, tysm for reading guys. i love you all sm đ«¶đ» â you are currently all caught upêš
taglist:
@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie
@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie
@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana
@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher
@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7
@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean
@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg
@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy
@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff
@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @gojoslefttoenail


#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#satoru gojo x you#gojo x reader smut#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#satoru angst#satoru smut#satoru x reader#gojo smut#satoru gojo fluff#gojo fluff#satoru gojo angst#gojo angst#gojo satoru angst#jjk fluff#jjk smut#jjk angst#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen satoru#gojo jujutsu kaisen#jjk fanfiction#jjk fanfic#fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#marriage of convenience#fake marriage
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
FALLING INTO PLACE LUKE HUGHES




Summary :: Youâve always been best friends with Jack, but itâs his quieter, more patient brother Luke whoâs been there all along. As you grow older, the bond between you and Luke transforms into something deeper, forcing you to finally see him in a new light.
Warnings :: reader is blind to love, small age gap (reader is the same age as Jack), unrequited love (+ a small amount of heartbreak), angst with eventual fluff, childhood friends(ish) to lovers, kissing, mini arguments, brief description of minor injuries, pining
Word count :: 22.3k

The Hughes family had always been a part of your life.
From the moment you were born, they were thereâjust next door, just across the lawn, just within reach. Your parents had moved into the neighborhood the same year you and Jack were born, and from the time you were old enough to crawl, your lives had been tangled together like the overgrown vines on the fences separating your yards.
There was never a time when Jack Hughes wasnât in your world. He was there for every scraped knee, every birthday candle, every summer afternoon spent chasing fireflies. The moment you took your first wobbly steps, Jack had been beside you, already running, already pulling you along with that infectious, boundless energy of his. He wasnât just your neighbor; he was your person.
It was inevitable, really. Your parents had been close from the start, the kind of friendship that formed effortlessly when two young families found themselves living side by side, both navigating sleepless nights with newborns. Your mothers had bonded over shared exhaustionâlate-night feedings, first words, first stepsâand before long, you and Jack had become an extension of that bond.
He was the first friend you ever made. And for the longest time, he was the only one that mattered.
Your days had a rhythm, an unspoken routine that started long before either of you were old enough to understand what routine even meant.
Every morningâwithout failâthere was a knock on your bedroom window. Not a polite tap, not a soft greeting, but a loud, impatient thud thud thud that had your parents groaning in the next room, already knowing exactly who it was.
âJack, sweetheart, use the front door like a normal person,â your mother had called out once, exasperated.
âBut itâs faster this way!â Jack had shot back, as if that explained everything.
And so, every morning, you would shuffle to the window, still half-asleep, and push it open. Jackâs faceâgrinning, eager, already bursting with energyâwould be waiting for you.
âCome on,â heâd say, bouncing on the balls of his feet. âWeâre racing bikes today.â Or âQuinn says we can use his hockey net!â Or âMom made waffles. You have to come over.â
It didnât matter what the plan was. You always went. Because Jack always made everything sound like the most exciting thing in the world.
Some mornings, he barely gave you time to get dressed before dragging you outside. There were days when you stumbled out of your house still in your pajamas, only half-awake, your hair a tangled mess, while Jack was already running down the driveway, laughing over his shoulder, challenging you to catch up.
Other days, he climbed right into your room through the window, ignoring every possible protest, flopping onto your bed as if it was his own, acting like there was nothing unusual about breaking into his best friendâs house before 8 AM.
âJack, you canât justââ
âHurry up, Y/N!â heâd groan dramatically, burying his face in your pillow. âWeâre wasting daylight!â
You had long since stopped trying to argue with him.
The Hughesâ house wasnât just Jackâs homeâit was yours, too. It had been for as long as you could remember.
You knew that house like the back of your hand. You knew exactly which steps on the staircase creaked the loudestâthe third from the bottom and the second from the topâmaking it impossible to sneak around undetected. You knew where Ellen kept the extra blankets in the hall closet, the ones you always pulled out when you inevitably fell asleep on their couch after a long day of playing outside. You knew that Jim liked his coffee strong and black, and that Jackâdespite his endless energyâcould never function properly before noon without something sweet to eat.
Their fridge might as well have been yours. You never thought twice about opening it and grabbing a snack, just as Jack never hesitated to raid your pantry for whatever chips or cookies your mom had bought that week. If the Hughes were ordering pizza, there was always an unspoken assumption that you were staying for dinner.
There were no formalities in their home. No knocking on doors, no need for permission. You walked in and out as freely as if it was your own house.
Ellen treated you like one of her own, scolding you and Jack equally when you got into trouble (which was often). Quinn, the responsible older brother, always made sure you were safe, always keeping an eye on you when Jack got too carried away. And Luke⊠well, Luke had always been there, too.
The Hughes house was warmth and laughter, noise and chaos. It was yelling over video games in the basement, the sound of skates scraping against the driveway, the echo of Jackâs voice calling your name as he ran up to your door, never bothering to knock before barging in.
It was home.
You fit there. As if you had always belonged.
But Jack wasnât the only Hughes brother in your life.
From the very beginning, Quinn had taken on the role of your unofficial older brother.
He was only a few years older than you and Jack, but at that age, those few years felt like a lifetime. He was bigger, stronger, wiser, as you and Jack had once believed. In a world where Jack was all reckless enthusiasm and boundless energy, Quinn was the counterbalanceâthe quiet, steady presence who made sure neither of you got into too much trouble.
It wasnât that Quinn didnât join in on the chaosâhe did, when it suited himâbut he was always the one who knew better. The one who thought things through. And, more often than not, the one who had to clean up whatever mess you and Jack inevitably got yourselves into.
If Jack came up with a stupid idea, it was Quinn who sighed, crossed his arms, and shook his head.
âYouâre going to break something.â
âNo, weâre not!â Jack would insist, already halfway through convincing you to do whatever dangerous, poorly thought-out scheme he had concocted that day.
Quinn would roll his eyes, mumbling something about how he was too young to be dealing with this, but he never truly left you to your own devices. Because whenânot if, but whenâJackâs plan went sideways, Quinn was always the one to step in and make sure neither of you got too hurt.
When you were five, Jack decided he was going to make you a hockey player.
It was a rainy afternoon, and the three of you were stuck inside, boredom settling in like an itch that neither you nor Jack could stand for long. You had spent the last hour sitting in the Hughesâ living room, fidgeting, when Jack suddenly bolted upright, eyes lighting up with excitement.
âLetâs play mini sticks!â he had declared, already sprinting toward the basement.
You had barely even known what mini sticks were at the time, but you followed anyway, because that was just how things workedâJack decided something, and you went along with it.
The moment you got downstairs, Jack shoved a tiny plastic stick into your hands and pointed at the net they had set up against the far wall.
âOkay, you have to score on me,â he said, crouching down in front of the goal, holding a goalie stick that was nearly as big as he was.
You looked down at the mini stick, then back at Jack.
âHow?â
Jack groaned dramatically, as if your question physically pained him.
âJust hit the ball into the net! Itâs not that hard!â
But it was hard. You didnât know how to hold the stick properly, didnât know how to control the ball, and every time you tried to take a shot, it rolled harmlessly to Jackâs feet.
Jack, to his credit, lasted all of three minutes before he got frustrated.
âNo, no, no!â he huffed, marching over to you. âYouâre doing it all wrong!â
âWell, I donât know how to do it right!â you shot back, annoyed.
Jack groaned again, clearly ready to give up, but before he could, another voice chimed in.
âHereâlike this.â
You looked up to see Quinn kneeling beside you, his own mini stick in hand. Unlike Jack, he was patient. He adjusted your grip, gently moving your hands into the right position. He showed you how to angle your stick, how to follow through on a shot.
âItâs all about control,â he explained, demonstrating with an easy flick of his wrist. The ball soared cleanly into the top corner of the net.
Your eyes widened. That was how you were supposed to do it?
âTry again,â Quinn encouraged, nudging the ball toward you.
You did. And this time, the shot actually had some power behind it. Not muchâbut enough.
Quinn smiled.
Jack groaned.
âOkay, fine, sheâs kinda good,â Jack admitted.
But even after that, whenever you struggled with somethingâhockey or otherwiseâit was always Quinn you turned to. Because where Jack would get frustrated and impatient, Quinn would always take the time to help.
Jackâs impulsive nature meant that you got into a lot of trouble growing up.
One summer, when you were seven, Jack had come up with what he insisted was a foolproof planâjumping off the swing at its highest point to see who could land the farthest.
âItâs so easy,â Jack had said, already climbing onto the seat. âYou just have to time it right.â
You had been hesitant.
âAre you sure?â
âYes, obviously.â
Quinn, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, had sighed heavily.
âYouâre going to break your arm, idiot.â
Jack ignored him.
And, predictably, about five seconds later, Jack launched himself off the swing, flailed wildly in the air, and landed in an ungraceful heap on the grass.
To his credit, he hadnât broken his arm. But he had managed to knock the wind out of himself so badly that he lay there gasping like a fish while Quinn stood over him, unimpressed.
âI told you,â Quinn muttered, before turning to you. âDo not listen to him.â
You listened. Mostly.
But there were still plenty of times when Jack managed to drag you into his ridiculous plans. And, inevitably, there were times when you got hurt.
There had been one particular summer afternoon when Jack had dared you to race him down the street on your bikes.
âI bet I can beat you by so much,â he had taunted, grinning as he climbed onto his bike.
âYou wish,â you had shot back, determined to win.
The race had started off fineâpedaling furiously, wind rushing past your face, Jack laughing beside youâbut then you hit a pothole.
The bike jolted violently. You lost control.
And the next thing you knew, you were flying over the handlebars.
Pain exploded across your knees and palms as you skidded across the pavement, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.
Jack had screeched to a stop, his face a mask of horror.
âOh my God. Oh my Godâare you okay?!â
Your knees were scraped raw, blood trickling down your shins, and your palms stung so badly you thought they might be on fire. You wanted to be tough, wanted to brush it off, but your throat was tight, and tears were already pricking at your eyes.
And then, before you even had time to process what had happened, Quinn was there.
âJesus, you guys,â he muttered, crouching beside you.
You sniffled, still trying to hold back tears, but Quinn didnât make a big deal about it. He just scooped you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly, and started walking you home.
âYouâre okay,â he said, voice calm and steady. âWeâll get you cleaned up.â
Jack trailed behind, looking guilty as hell.
âIâI didnât think sheâd actually fall,â he mumbled.
Quinn shot him a look.
âOf course she fell, Jack. You two donât think before you do anything.â
Jack had no argument for that.
But even as Quinn sighed, even as he grumbled about âhaving to babysit two disasters,â you knew he cared.
Because Quinn never let anything happen to you.
And he never would.
Then there was Luke.
Luke had been there from the almost start, having arrived two years late to the world you and Jack had already built together.
It wasnât that he was unwelcomeânot at all. But in the early years, he had been youngerâjust enough behind you and Jack that the gap felt significant. When you were five, he was three. When you and Jack were racing bikes down the street, Luke was still on training wheels. When you were climbing trees and dangling from the highest branches, Luke was stuck at the bottom, his small hands barely able to reach the first grip.
And no matter how much he wanted to be included, the truth was, there were just some things he was too little for.
Where Jack dragged you into every wild idea that popped into his head, Luke was the one who stood on the sidelines, watching. His wide, eager eyes followed your every move, his tiny fists clenched with determination, his whole body buzzing with the desperate hope that this timeâthis timeâyou and Jack might let him in.
âCan I play?â he would ask, gripping his little hockey stick so tightly his knuckles turned white, his gaze flicking between you and Jack.
Jack, more often than not, would groan. âLuke, youâre too little.â
And because Jack was your best friendâthe leader of every game, the one who decided what was and wasnât funâyou had gone along with it.
âMaybe next time, Lukey,â you had said, ruffling his hair before turning to chase after Jack, never noticing the way Lukeâs shoulders slumped as he watched you run away.
Luke always wanted to be part of your world.
But back then, you had only seen him as Jackâs little brother.
That didnât stop Luke from following you both everywhere.
If you and Jack were playing knee hockey in the basement, Luke was there, sitting on the sidelines, cross-legged on the carpet, watching intently. If Jack scored, Luke cheered. If you fell, Luke was the one scrambling up to check if you were okay before Jack even noticed.
If you and Jack were racing across the backyard, Luke was trailing behind, his little legs working furiously to keep up, his breath coming in short, determined puffs.
âWait for me!â
âLuke, hurry up!â Jack would yell, already halfway across the lawn.
And Luke would hurry. He always hurried, always pushed himself to the limit just to try and close the distance, just to prove that he could keep up with you and Jack.
But more often than not, by the time he caught up, the game had already changed. Jack had already moved on to something bigger, something better.
And Lukeâstill catching his breath, still trying to process the game that had just endedâwould be left standing there, watching as you and Jack disappeared into the next adventure without him.
But Luke never left.
Even when he wasnât included, even when Jack brushed him off or you followed Jackâs lead without a second thought, Luke stayed.
Because if he couldnât play, then he would watch.
And when Jack inevitably got bored and abandoned a game to chase after something elseâwhen his attention flitted from knee hockey to soccer to wrestling to something entirely newâLuke was the one who stayed behind.
If Jack left the net in the basement empty, Luke picked up a stick and asked you to shoot on him instead.
If Jack abandoned a game of tag to go inside for a snack, Luke asked you to keep playing.
He never demanded your attention the way Jack did. Never insisted that you pick him first, never threw tantrums when he was left out.
He just waited.
Waited for the moments Jack wasnât around.
Waited for the moments you finally turned to him.
And you? You never really thought much of it.
Not then.
To you, Luke was just there.
Just part of the background of your lifeâalways orbiting close by, always tagging along if it meant he could be newr you.

It was the summer you were seven, a time when everything still felt simple and innocent. The world was filled with endless possibilities, and your days were spent on adventures with your best friend, Jack. You both had a rhythmâan unspoken understanding that no matter what, you would always be together, running, playing, dreaming. The world had no limits when Jack was by your side. And that evening, in particular, was no different. Or so you thought.
The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the park, the colors in the sky blending into soft hues of orange and pink. The kind of evening that made everything look surreal, like the entire world was pausing to admire the beauty of the moment. You and Jack were sitting on your usual benchâthe wooden one that creaked under the weight of years of memories, positioned perfectly to overlook the expansive field that stretched out before you. The warm summer breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, and the sweet scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the distant hum of crickets chirping in the cooling air.
Jack was sitting beside you, legs dangling off the edge of the bench, his sneakers brushing against the ground as he swung his feet back and forth. He was talking, as he always did, hands gesturing wildly as he described yet another hockey game heâd watched on TV with his dad or something that had happened on the ice at practice. His voice was animated, full of the kind of energy that made it impossible not to pay attention. His dark brown eyes were wide with enthusiasm as he recounted the detailsâwho scored the most goals, what move one of the players had pulled off, how he couldnât wait to try it himself in his next game. It wasnât surprising to you; hockey was everything to Jack. He lived and breathed it, and you could tell by the way he spoke, by the way his hands moved in the air to illustrate what he was saying, that this game, this sport, was a piece of his very identity.
You smiled at him, your head tilted back against the cool wood of the bench as you half-listened, half-watched the way his face lit up. Jack had always been a little bit wild in his energy. There was something so captivating about the way he threw himself into everything. Whether it was talking about hockey, creating new games to play, or just dragging you along on some new adventure, Jackâs passion was infectious.
But tonightâtonight something felt different. It wasnât that Jack was any less enthusiastic about hockey, but there was a subtle shift in the air between the two of you. As he spoke, his words becoming more animated, you couldnât help but feel a flutter of something unfamiliar. It was a strange sensation that started somewhere in the pit of your stomach and spread out, slowly working its way into your chest. Maybe it was just the energy of the eveningâthe warm glow of the setting sun, the peacefulness of the park, or maybe it was something else, something you didnât fully understand yet. But as Jackâs words flowed around you, you found yourself caught in a strange mix of emotions that you couldnât name.
You were used to listening to him talk about hockey, about his dreams and his wild plans, but tonight, for the first time, you werenât just hearing the words. You were feeling them.
You turned to look at him, still speaking at full speed, his words coming faster now, his enthusiasm growing with every sentence. He didnât even notice you watching him in that way, the way you were suddenly hyper-aware of every little movementâhow his hands were moving as he spoke, how the sun reflected off his hair, how his voice had a different cadence tonight, more alive, more⊠intimate, for lack of a better word. It wasnât anything tangible. There was no clear reason for why it felt different, but the air between you seemed to hum with a silent understanding that had never been there before.
But then, in the midst of his animated storytelling, Jack turned to you with that familiar mischievous grin, the one that always made your heart flutter a little. You had known that grin for as long as you could remember. It was the kind of grin that meant Jack was about to do or say something unexpected, something that would probably make you laugh or roll your eyes, depending on the day. But tonight, something about it felt different.
Jack was always a whirlwind of energy, the kind of kid who could never sit still for more than five seconds. He had an incredible ability to make anything sound like the best idea in the world. And when he spoke, it was with an infectious excitement, like the entire world was waiting for him to tell it what to do. He could make even the simplest things feel like the start of some grand adventure. And, for the most part, you always followed him. He was your best friend, your partner in crime, and his ideas were always bigger than yours, always more fun.
âWe should get married when weâre older,â he said, completely casually, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You blinked, your mind briefly stalling as you processed the words. Your head turned toward him in confusion, trying to make sense of what heâd just said. You werenât sure whether he was joking, serious, or if it was just another one of his wild ideas. It had to be a joke, right?
âWhat?â you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, like you werenât sure if youâd heard him correctly. You tilted your head, looking up at him with a puzzled expression.
Jack didnât seem to notice the sudden tension in the air. He just smiled wider, clearly pleased with himself for getting your attention. His eyes sparkled as he leaned back, still sitting on the bench beside you, looking out at the sunset like it was the most natural thing in the world. He always had a way of making everything sound so simple, so easy. Like the world was just a place where everything worked out the way it was supposed to. And thisâthis ideaâwas no different.
âYou canât just decide that,â you said with a playful shove, trying to brush it off. You wanted to laugh, to keep things light, because it felt like a joke, right? Jack was your best friend, and this was just another one of his offhand remarks. You nudged his shoulder gently, trying to play along, but deep down, you felt a strange fluttering sensation in your chest that you didnât fully understand.
Jack, however, didnât back down. His smile didnât waver for a second. In fact, he seemed to lean into it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He was so sure of himself, his confidence radiating in the way he sat there, relaxed and unfazed by the unexpected question he had just tossed into the air. It was as if he had always known this was where the conversation would lead.
âWhy not?â he said with a shrug, as though it was an entirely reasonable suggestion. âYouâre my best friend. And married people are best friends, right?â
The words hit you differently than youâd expected. Youâd heard about marriage before, sure, but it was always in fairy tales, with knights and princesses and happily-ever-afters. You didnât really know what marriage meant in a deep, meaningful way, but you understood one thingâJack was asking you to be with him forever. And though you didnât know exactly what that looked like, the idea of it felt warm, like the gentle glow of the setting sun.
You laughed, trying to push down the feeling welling up inside you. It was absurd. It was just Jack being Jack, always saying the first thing that popped into his head. Of course, it didnât mean anything serious. You werenât even sure he understood what he was really saying.
But still⊠something about the way he said itâso casually, so confidentlyâmade your heart beat just a little bit faster. The idea of always being with him, of never being apart, settled somewhere deep in your chest. And for the first time, the word âmarriageâ didnât feel like a fairy tale. It felt like a real possibility.
You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. The playful, teasing tone you wanted to use felt wrong all of a sudden. Jackâs grin hadnât faltered, and his eyes were sparkling with the kind of certainty that only he could have. But you werenât sure anymore whether you were laughing because it was funny, or because it felt real. Too real.
âYeah, butâŠâ you trailed off, staring at the ground for a moment, unsure of how to explain the confusion that was building inside of you. âWeâre just kids. You canât just decide to get married.â
Jack didnât seem to think it was a big deal. He shrugged again, unbothered by your hesitation. âWhy not? Youâre my best friend. Weâve always done everything together. It just makes sense.â
His words lingered in the air, carrying a strange weight you hadnât expected. His logic was simple, almost childishly so, but it struck something inside of you that made your chest tighten. You looked at him, really looked at him, for what felt like the first time in ages. Jack wasnât just your best friend. He was something else, something more. And suddenly, you were hyper-aware of everythingâthe way his hand rested just inches from yours, the way the sun hit his hair, casting a golden halo around him. His words echoed in your mind. It just makes sense.
You felt a sudden rush of warmth flood your chest, spreading outward like the soft heat of the sun sinking lower on the horizon. You wanted to brush it off, to laugh it off, to keep things the way they always had been between the two of you. But deep down, you knew something had shifted.
You hadnât asked for it, hadnât expected it, but suddenly you couldnât imagine a world where Jack wasnât your best friend, where he wasnât the person you shared every adventure with. And the thought of being by his side, of being his in a way that was more than just friends, settled over you in a way that made your heart race.
But it didnât make sense, right? Not now. You were just seven. You didnât know what marriage was supposed to mean. You didnât know what love was. It was silly, wasnât it? Just a passing thought.
Still, something inside youâsomething deep and softâwanted it to be real. Wanted Jack to be that person. Always.
Behind you, just a few feet away, Luke had been quietly swinging, his tiny legs kicking rhythmically, the chains of the swing creaking softly with each motion. It had been a peaceful moment for him, one of those simple, innocent afternoons where he felt content in his small world. But now, in the middle of your conversation with Jack, something shifted for him.
Luke had always been content in his little world, his world of swings and sunsets, of quiet afternoons that stretched on forever. There was something peaceful about the way he lived, the simplicity of his routine, and the certainty that his big brother, Jack, would always be there beside him. And youâyou had always been a steady presence in that world too, a familiar face in the background, someone who would push him on the swing when he asked or cheer him on when he kicked the ball to the other side of the yard.
But today, something was different. The moment he stopped swingingâdragging his feet against the ground, the sudden halt so jarring that the swing swayed a little before coming to a stopâit was like the entire air around him had shifted. He didnât quite understand why, but something in his chest felt tight, something unsettled bubbled up from deep inside him. His feet dragged through the dirt, and his small body seemed to freeze mid-motion. The world around him, so familiar and safe just moments ago, now felt too big, too loud, too heavy.
He didnât quite know what it was that had made him stop, but he couldnât seem to pull himself away from it. Something in the way you and Jack were talking made him feel like he didnât quite fit anymore. At first, he hadnât understood the wordsâyou were talking about things he didnât know about, like the future and marriage, things that didnât make sense to him at all. But it wasnât the words themselves that caught his attention. It was the way you were both acting, the way you were standing there, so close to each other, like there was something that didnât include him. Like there was a secret between you two, something that made him feel like he was no longer part of the picture.
His hands, which had once been gripping the swing chains tightly, now hung limp at his sides. He could feel the stillness in his body, a strange weight settling in his chest. He looked at you both, his little body small in comparison, trying to make sense of the way you were standing together, the way your attention was so entirely focused on Jackâs words, as though he was no longer someone who mattered in the conversation. You were his world too. You had always been his world. But now⊠now he wasnât so sure.
Luke didnât understand what was happening. Not really. He didnât know what it meant when Jack said, âWe should get married when weâre older.â All he knew was that something had shifted in the air, something unspoken, and it made him feel small. He wasnât sure why, but the words left an ache in his chest that didnât quite make sense. The way Jack spoke about itâso casually, so easilyâmade Luke feel like he was standing in the middle of something big, something important that he couldnât be a part of. And for the first time, he felt like an outsider in a world he had once felt so safe in.
His feet shuffled in the dirt, but he didnât move. He just stood there, feeling the uncomfortable tension settle deeper in his little heart. His big eyes, full of curiosity and innocence, were fixed on you both. But there was no joy in them, no spark of the usual childlike wonder. Instead, there was a quiet sadness, an intensity that seemed far too old for a seven-year-old. He wasnât sure what to do with himself. He didnât understand why he felt left out, why his world suddenly felt off-balance.
The truth was, he had always looked up to Jack. Jack had been his hero, his older brother, the one who showed him the ropes, made him laugh, and taught him how to throw a ball. But now, in this moment, Luke could sense a shiftâa shift that was happening between you and Jack, one that made him feel like there was a new kind of connection between you two that he wasnât part of. Something unspoken, something important. And that feeling of not being included, not being part of whatever was happening, felt too big for him to carry.
His little shoulders hunched, trying to make himself smaller, trying to avoid the strange feelings crawling up his spine. His feet dragged a little more as he turned away, walking back toward the swings, but he didnât swing this time. He didnât know if he could swing anymore, not with the weight in his chest, not with the way his mind felt heavy and confused. So, instead, he just stood there, watching the two of you, trying to make sense of it all.
From his vantage point, everything seemed too complicated. The way you and Jack laughed, how you exchanged looks, the way your attention was so fully on himâit was all so much. It wasnât like it had been before. It wasnât like the afternoons where you would smile at him and push him on the swing, where everything felt simple and clear. Now, there was a distance that seemed impossible to bridge, even though he had no idea what it was. All he knew was that he wanted to be a part of it again. He wanted to be included in that world, but he didnât know how to get back to it.
He glanced over his shoulder at you once more, his eyes full of that quiet sadness, and in that moment, it felt like you were so far away. As if you had crossed some invisible line, and now there was a space between you that couldnât be closed. His heart hurt. It didnât make sense. He didnât even understand marriage, but he understood the feelingâthe feeling of not being enough, of not being included in something that had once been his.
But then, just as quietly, he turned back toward the swing. It was all he could do, this small child with no words for the ache in his chest, with no way to express the confusion that was crawling through his mind. He started to push the swing gently with his foot, the creaking chains barely audible over the stillness that hung in the air. But even as he moved, there was a heaviness in him, a quiet realization that something had changed. And that changeâwhatever it wasâmade him feel like he was standing on the outside looking in.
He couldnât understand everything, not yet. But he could feel it. He could feel the change. And that was enough to make him pause, to make him stop swinging, to make him turn away. Because even without the words, he knew that whatever was happening between you and Jack was something that didnât quite fit with the world he had always known. And in that small, quiet moment, he realized something that made his chest ache all the more: he was no longer the center of that world.

The lake house had always felt like a second home to you. It wasnât just the lake that made it special, or the house itself, but the feeling of being away from everything familiar, yet somehow closer to everyone that mattered. That first summer you were invited to spend there when you were eight was a turning point in your childhood, a mark in time where everything seemed to shift, like the beginning of a chapter in a story that you didnât know was going to be so important.
It was the first day, when the sun was still high and the smell of fresh pine and saltwater clung to the air, that you felt the magic of it all. You and Jack had already wasted no time in rushing to the water, shoes abandoned on the dock as you dove in, laughing, splashing, racing to see who could swim the fastest to the floating platform in the middle of the lake.
âIâm going to beat you!â Jack called, swimming ahead, his strokes cutting through the water with ease.
You kicked harder, determined not to let him win. âYou wish!â you shouted back, splashing water in his direction.
âLast one there is a rotten egg!â Jack laughed, kicking his legs to build speed, his eyes bright with excitement.
But you could feel the burn in your muscles, the fatigue setting in as the floating platform grew closer. Jack was always faster, always the one who would win the challenges you came up with, but that didnât matter. He made it funâhe always did. Every game felt like a race, and every race felt like it was the most important thing in the world. You were in it together, the two of you, as if nothing else mattered.
You finally reached the platform, gasping for breath, and Jack was already standing there, grinning with triumph. âYouâre getting slow,â he teased, splashing water in your face.
You wiped your eyes and smirked. âI let you win,â you said, playfully sticking your tongue out at him.
âYeah, sure,â Jack laughed, rolling his eyes. âBut next time, Iâm not going to make it so easy for you.â
You both floated there, letting the water gently rock you, eyes squinting up at the bright sky above. The feeling of the cool water against your skin was enough to make the heat of the summer day feel far away. But then, just as you were catching your breath, you noticed him.
Luke.
He was standing on the edge of the dock, his small frame barely noticeable as he gripped the edge tightly, watching you and Jack with wide eyes. He wasnât in the water like you, wasnât playing along with the games. He was just there, standing a little off to the side, as always.
You were so used to Jackâs loud presence, his infectious energy that drew everyone in, that it took a moment for you to really see Luke. He wasnât as loud, wasnât as reckless. He wasnât the one making every day an adventure like Jack did. But there was something about the way he looked at youâsomething quiet and unspokenâthat made your heart twinge. You were used to Luke tagging along, used to him always watching from the sidelines, but in that moment, it felt like something more. It felt like he was waiting for something that you couldnât give him, at least not in the same way you gave Jack.
âLuke!â you called, waving at him from the water. âCome in, itâs awesome!â
Luke hesitated, his small fingers tightening on the dock as he glanced at Jack, who was still lounging on the platform. âI donât knowâŠâ Luke mumbled, his voice quiet, unsure.
Jack perked up at the sound of his brotherâs voice. âWhatâs the matter, Lukey? You scared?â He flashed a teasing grin, but there was a hint of challenge in his words.
Lukeâs face scrunched, his little brows furrowing. âNo,â he muttered, though there was no conviction behind it.
âCome on, Luke!â you called again, trying to sound enthusiastic. âItâs not that deep, and weâre having so much fun! Youâll love it!â
He bit his lip, clearly torn, before his shoulders sagged in defeat. âOkay. Fine.â He pulled off his sneakers and set them beside the dock, dipping one foot into the water cautiously.
You and Jack watched him for a moment, both of you already knowing that Luke wasnât as confident as you were in the water. But after a few more encouraging shouts, Luke finally stepped in, wading slowly, his head barely above the water. You swam over to him, grinning.
âI knew you could do it!â you said, reaching out and offering him your hand. âCome on, weâre gonna race back to the dock.â
Luke took your hand, his grip tight but still tentative. He glanced at Jack, who had already started swimming back toward the shore. âI donât think I can beat you two.â
âYou donât have to beat us,â you said with a shrug, smiling warmly. âJust swim with us. Itâs more fun that way.â
He seemed to relax a little at your words, and for a few moments, the three of you swam together, splashing and laughing, the water cool against your skin. But even as you swam and played, you couldnât shake the feeling that Luke wasnât quite part of the same world as you and Jack. He was there, yes, but it wasnât the same. He wasnât as comfortable in the water, wasnât as reckless in the way he approached everything. He seemed to linger at the edges of every game, a little hesitant to jump in fully, waiting for the perfect moment.
The sun soon set, leading the group of you to settle around the fire pit. As the flames crackled, casting their warm orange glow against the night, Luke couldnât help but feel a sense of unease settling into his chest. He sat on the edge of the fire, a little further away from everyone else, trying to blend into the background. Jackâs ghost stories were always a source of amusement for everyone, but for Luke, they felt different. It wasnât the ghosts themselvesâhe wasnât afraid of thatâbut the way his older brotherâs voice seemed to pull all the attention, to draw everyone in so effortlessly. And the way youâyouâwould laugh and play along, giving Jack that familiar, easy smile that made Lukeâs heart flutter in a way he couldnât ignore.
Luke had always been quiet, content with simple games and easy fun, where he didnât have to think too much about anything. But lately, something had been shifting, and it seemed to revolve around you. It was as though something had clicked that afternoon a few weeks backâsomething small, but unmistakableâand now, as he sat on the edge of the firelight, his eyes kept drifting to you. Your laughter rang out as Jack continued with his stories. Every time Jack made a dramatic gesture or spoke in his spooky voice, you would laugh, your eyes lighting up with amusement, and Lukeâs chest tightened with something he didnât understand.
There was something in the way you looked at Jackâa warmth, a familiarityâthat made Luke feel as though he was standing on the outside of a world he wasnât allowed to be a part of. He wasnât angry, exactly, just⊠distant. A seed of something had been planted in his chest, and it made him feel like he was growing up too fast, like everything around him was changing in ways he couldnât keep up with.
As Jackâs voice dropped into that familiar eerie tone, Luke tried to focus on the flames. But the words Jack spoke carried a weight that Luke couldnât shake.
ââŠand they say the ghost of the old man still haunts the lake,â Jack was saying, his voice dropping to an almost whisper, âwaiting for someone to come too close to the water. They say if you stand on the dock at midnight, you can hear his footsteps behind you, dragging along the woodâŠâ
You let out a little laugh and elbowed Jack in the side. âJack, come on, thatâs the oldest story in the book! Youâre just trying to scare us.â
Jack grinned, clearly enjoying the reaction. âYou donât know that!â He leaned in closer, his voice lowering even further. âThey say if you get too close to the edge, heâll grab your ankle and pull you in, dragging you down into the depths of the lake, never to be seen againâŠâ
You made a face, clearly pretending to be spooked. âOkay, okay, Iâll bite. But Iâm still not scared.â
Luke found himself watching you intently as Jack wove his tale, his words spinning a web of eerie suspense. There was something in the way you played alongâhow you looked at Jack with that warm, teasing affectionâthat made something stir inside of him. But it was the way you glanced over at him in that moment, your eyes briefly catching his, that made his heart leap in his chest.
When you reached out and grabbed Lukeâs arm during the spookiest part of the story, he froze. For a moment, he thought maybe it was just his imagination, but then he felt your fingersâwarm and firmâwrap around his wrist. The touch was small, but it sent a rush of heat through him, making his heart race in his chest. He clenched his fingers instinctively, as if afraid the moment would slip away too quickly if he didnât hold on. It felt like the whole world paused, and Luke couldnât stop the flush that crept up his neck.
His fingers felt large and awkward beneath yours, but you didnât pull away. And for that one brief moment, the ghost story, Jackâs teasing, everything else seemed to fade into the background. He was lost in the quiet of the space between you, the warmth of your hand on his wrist.
But then, just as quickly, you let go, laughing again, your fingers slipping from his. The moment passed so easily, so quickly, as if it had never happened at all. And Luke was left staring at his own hand, the lingering warmth still there, the ache in his chest growing.
Jackâs voice brought him back to the present. âAnd thatâs when they say youâll hear the screams of the old man, echoing across the waterâŠâ
Luke barely heard the rest. He didnât want to hear it. Instead, he found himself once more focusing on you, sitting next to Jack, your laughter mixing with the sounds of the night.
The group moved down to the dock, and Luke stayed behind, slipping his feet into the cool water. The night was beautifulâdeep and vast, the stars scattered above like jewelsâbut the beauty did little to soothe the tightness in his chest. He glanced over at you again, now lying on the dock next to Jack, both of you staring up at the stars. Jack was rambling on about his plans for the future, his voice excited, and you were listening so intently, leaning toward him. The way you looked at Jack, the way you gave him your full attention, made Luke feel even more distant.
Jackâs enthusiasm was too loud. His laughter rang too sharp against the silence, and Luke found himself retreating further into the stillness of the water, where he didnât have to fight for attention. Where he could be just there, unnoticed, and just try to understand the confusion that swirled inside him.
It was Quinn who broke the silence, standing at the edge of the dock, his eyes catching Lukeâs. The older boy had a way of knowing things without needing to be told. Quinnâs gaze softened, his expression unreadable, but Luke could sense the shift in him. The quiet understanding.
Luke quickly turned his eyes back to the water, not wanting Quinn to see, not wanting anyone to know how much he was changing inside. But Quinn had already seen it.
A small, almost knowing smile curled at Quinnâs lips. He nodded once, just a slight tilt of his head, as if acknowledging the unspoken shift that had started to settle in Lukeâs heart.
Quinn didnât say anything. He didnât need to. And in that moment, Luke felt something settle in his chestâsomething lighter, something like reassurance. He wasnât sure if Quinn understood everything, but he felt a little less alone in it all.
But the night carried on, and Luke stayed at the edge of the world, staring at the stars, waiting for something to change, waiting for the gap between him and the rest of the world to close. He didnât want to be left behind. Not anymore. But the ache inside himâstronger than beforeâwas something he wasnât sure how to share. He wasnât sure how to bridge the gap between the feeling he had and the words he couldnât find.
For now, though, he stayed silent. He stayed at the edge of the dock, watching the night pass by, hoping that one day, it would all come together. That the ache in his chest would make sense, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldnât have to carry it alone anymore.

The summers always stretched on endlessly, the lake house becoming more familiar with each passing day, and yet every time you and Jack rushed down the dock or leapt off the platform, the excitement felt new. It was a rhythm you had come to depend on, like the pulse of the water beneath you, the steady pattern of life that had taken root here by the lake.
But despite the constant flow of games and adventures, there were moments when the world seemed to slow, when the noise of the days fell away, leaving only the stars, the soft rustle of the trees, and the quiet company of Luke.
One of those nights had arrived by the end of the week, when the air had turned cool, and the sky stretched out above you like an endless canvas. You and Jack had spent the entire day competingâarguing over who could jump from the highest point on the dock, who could hold their breath underwater the longest, who could run from the house to the dock in the shortest time. It was the same thing every summer, the same challenges, the same breathless laughter. But as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, fatigue settled into your limbs, and for once, you and Jack let yourselves slow down.
Jack had gone inside to grab some snacks, leaving you alone with Luke.
Luke had been sitting quietly at the edge of the dock, his legs crossed, his hands braced behind him as he leaned back to stare at the night sky. He wasnât as loud as Jack, never the first one to dive into the chaos, but there was something about the way he existed in these momentsâso quietly, so fullyâthat made it feel like he belonged here just as much as anyone else.
You stretched out beside him, letting your legs dangle off the dock, the cool wood pressing against your bare skin. The air smelled like pine and lake water, thick with the warmth of the day fading into the crispness of the evening. The kind of night that felt so still, like everything in the world had paused just to let you breathe.
Luke shifted slightly beside you, and you noticed how he always sat a little closer than usual, how his knee brushed against yours every now and then as if he couldnât quite figure out the space between you. But he didnât say anything, and neither did you.
Instead, you both just watched the stars, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a blanket.
From Lukeâs perspective, everything felt like it was slowing down.
The stars were so big tonight. They seemed to stretch on forever, like they were waiting for him to notice. He didnât often sit this still, didnât usually spend his time just watching the sky. There were rocks to skip and trees to climb, adventures to go on. But tonight, it felt different. Maybe it was the way the night air cooled his skin, the way the breeze felt like a promise, or the way you were beside him, the only sound your soft breaths mixing with the rustle of leaves in the trees.
He glanced at you. You looked so comfortable, so at ease, like the world was something you understood in a way he couldnât quite grasp. Luke had always been quieter than Jack. He didnât speak as easily, didnât have the same kind of loud energy that Jack did. But in these moments with you, he didnât feel like he needed to be anyone else. He didnât need to act like Jack, didnât have to say anything clever or jump into a race to prove himself.
Your quiet presence was enough.
But it was also something else. Something that made his stomach twist a little, made his thoughts turn into a confusing jumble. It was the way your knee brushed against his, how you never pulled away, how it felt like you had no problem being near him. You hadnât noticed, of course. But Luke was aware. More aware than he should have been. His thoughts, his heart, they didnât make sense. He had never been good at understanding what he was feeling.
He looked at the stars, trying to keep his mind occupied with something else. But there was a part of him that wanted to ask you questions. Wanted to talk to you, share something with you. But what could he say? What did he even feel?
âWhatâs that one?â he asked suddenly, pointing at a cluster of stars near the horizon.
You turned your head slightly, following his finger. âThatâs Orionâs Belt,â you said, shifting to sit up a little. âThose three stars in a line. You can find them every year, and itâs said that theyâre the hunter.â
Luke furrowed his brow. He wasnât sure what the hunter meant. He didnât know if he even understood the stars the way you did, but he wanted to know. Wanted to understand the world like you seemed to. âWhy is he a hunter?â Luke asked, feeling the weight of the question in his chest, âWhatâs he hunting?â
You paused, and for a second, Luke thought maybe you hadnât heard him, but then you responded, your voice soft, âI donât know. I think itâs just something from old stories. Maybe heâs hunting for adventure or something big. He probably had dreams like we do.â
Luke stayed quiet for a moment, digesting your words. He watched the stars again, his mind turning over the idea. He wasnât sure what adventure meant, but the idea of itâthe feeling of searching for something moreâcaught his attention. He looked at you, your face lit by the soft glow of starlight, and he felt a sudden urge to ask another question. Not about stars this time, but something bigger.
âDo you think weâll have adventures like that when weâre older?â
It was a question that felt too big, like a thought that had been floating in his chest for a while, and now it had finally found its way out. He wasnât sure what made him ask, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like he was standing on the edge of somethingâsomething he couldnât quite see, but that made his heart beat faster. His voice was soft, quieter than usual. Almost uncertain. He wanted to know the answer, but he was also afraid of hearing it.
Lukeâs question took you by surprise.
It was a simple question, really. But you could hear the quiet weight behind it, the way it lingered in the air, like Luke was asking for something more than just an answer about adventures. He was asking about the future. About his future. What kind of life he would have when things werenât just about running around and having fun at the lake. What kind of person he would be when the world wasnât as simple anymore.
You didnât know. You hadnât figured that out for yourself. You had spent so many summers here, growing up with Jack, and yet you couldnât predict the next few years, let alone the kind of future Luke would have.
âI donât know,â you said honestly, your voice soft as you turned back to the stars. âI think everyone has their own adventure. Maybe theyâre different, but theyâre all important. Whatever it is, weâll figure it out.â
Luke didnât say anything at first, but you could feel the way his eyes lingered on you. You didnât know exactly what was going on inside him, but you could tell that something had shifted in him tonight. Something you hadnât seen before. There was a stillness to him now, a quiet understanding, and it felt like it was building up inside him, like he had caught a glimpse of something bigger, and it was all tangled up in that simple question.
And when you glanced at him, he wasnât just looking at you. He was hearing you, too. His gaze was intense, thoughtful, and for a moment, it made your heart beat a little faster. You didnât know what it meant. But it felt important.
After a while, Jack came back with a bag of chips, shoving the screen door open with a loud bang, breaking the quiet spell between you and Luke. The night faded back into its usual rhythmâJack talking too loud, the crinkle of plastic as he ripped open the bag, the familiar chaos of another summer night at the lake.
But you couldnât help noticing how Luke stayed close to you after that.
How he sat just a little closer than before, how he lingered beside you when Jack wasnât looking, how he seemed to seek out your presence in little, unspoken ways. You didnât know what it meant, but it felt different.
And even though you didnât understand it yet, something about it felt like a beginning. Something you couldnât quite name, but something you were starting to notice more each day.
For now, the night would go on, and Jack would fill it with his usual boisterous energy. But there was a shift, a quiet shift in Luke, that made you feel like the summer was moving forward in a way you hadnât expected. The lake, the stars, the nights spent in quiet companyâthis was all part of it, part of the change that was unfolding slowly, one conversation, one glance at a time.
The next day dawned bright and cloudless, the kind of summer morning where the air was already thick with warmth, the sun glittering off the water like a thousand tiny diamonds. The lake was calm, barely a ripple disturbing its glassy surface, and the excitement buzzing between you and the boys was almost tangible.
Jack, as expected, was already hyped up, practically bouncing on the dock as he grabbed his paddle. His energy was endless, like he was constantly running on some invisible fuel that no one else could match. He turned to you and Luke, his grin wide and mischievous. âAlright,â he announced, puffing out his chest like a true competitor, âfirst one to the floating platform and back wins. No cheating.â
You rolled your eyes playfully. âYouâre just saying that because youâre the biggest cheater here.â
Jack gasped in mock offense. âMe? A cheater? Please. Iâm just naturally faster than you.â
Luke, who had been kneeling beside his canoe, adjusting his paddle, snorted. âYou always cheat, Jack. You just call it strategy.â
Jack waggled his eyebrows. âItâs not my fault Iâm smarter than you.â
âYouâre not smarter,â Luke shot back. âYouâre just reckless.â
Jack only grinned wider, already lowering himself into his canoe. âSame thing.â
With that, he was off, shoving away from the dock with an exaggerated push, his paddle slicing through the water in wild, hurried strokes. You barely had time to climb into your own canoe before Jack was halfway across the lake, moving with all the grace of a bull charging forward.
âUnbelievable,â you muttered, grabbing your paddle and pushing off.
Luke, still on the dock, rolled his eyes before easing himself into his canoe, far less rushed than either of you. You could see the difference instantlyâwhere Jack was all force and chaos, Luke moved carefully, steadily. His strokes were slower but more controlled, his canoe gliding through the water rather than thrashing against it.
You tried to catch up with Jack, pushing yourself forward, your arms already burning from the effort. The lake was bigger than it seemed from the shore, and the floating platform in the middle felt impossibly far away. Water splashed against your arms as you paddled harder, your breath coming in short, determined huffs. Jack was still ahead, but he wasnât as smooth as he thoughtâhis frantic paddling caused his canoe to veer slightly off course every now and then, forcing him to correct himself.
âYouâre wasting energy!â you called out, laughing as you gained on him.
Jack only grinned over his shoulder. âYeah, but Iâm still winning!â
It wasnât until you reached the platform that you let yourself rest, your canoe bumping gently against the side of the wooden float. Jack was already there, panting slightly but triumphant. He smacked his hand against the platform dramatically, as if claiming victory. âBoom. Winner.â
You narrowed your eyes. âRace isnât over yet.â
Jack laughed, already pushing his canoe back toward the shore. âBetter hurry up then!â
You were about to follow when you glanced back, realizing that Luke was still a little ways behind. He wasnât strugglingâfar from itâbut he wasnât racing either. His strokes remained patient, steady, as if he wasnât concerned about beating anyone. He was simply moving, letting the water carry him as much as he carried himself.
Something about that made you pause. Jack had already disappeared ahead, but suddenly, winning didnât seem as important anymore. Instead of rushing after him, you turned your canoe slightly, slowing your strokes to match Lukeâs pace.
He glanced up at you, surprised. âYou donât have to wait for me.â
You shrugged, resting your paddle across your lap for a moment. âI donât mind.â
A small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He didnât say anything right away, but you could tell he appreciated it. The two of you paddled side by side, the sounds of the water lapping gently against the canoes filling the quiet between you.
Luke hesitated, then spoke, his voice softer than before. âJack always makes everything a competition.â
âYeah,â you agreed with a laugh, shaking your head. âHe doesnât really know how to do things any other way.â
Luke glanced at you, thoughtful. âDo you like that?â
You blinked, caught off guard by the question. âWhat do you mean?â
Lukeâs paddle skimmed the surface of the water, creating small ripples. âAlways having to race. Having everything be about winning.â
You exhaled, considering. With Jack, it had always been like thatâfast-paced, wild, a constant need to prove something. And it was fun, most of the time. But there was something different about the way you were moving now, next to Luke, with no urgency, no need to rush.
âI donât know,â you admitted, glancing toward the shore where Jack was already climbing onto the dock, victorious. âI guess sometimes itâs nice to justâbe.â
Luke nodded, his gaze fixed on the water. âYeah.â
Neither of you spoke for a while after that, just paddling together in a comfortable silence. The sun was higher in the sky now, reflecting golden streaks onto the lakeâs surface. You let yourself get lost in the rhythm of it, the slow, unhurried way Luke moved, how it felt like he wasnât trying to chase anythingâjust experiencing it as it came.
By the time you finally reached the shore, Jack was waiting, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently. âWhat took you guys so long?â
You shrugged, stepping out of the canoe and stretching your arms. âWe were enjoying the view.â
Jack scoffed, but Luke just smiled knowingly. You caught the small look he gave youâlike he understood something you hadnât fully realized yet. And in that moment, standing there on the dock with the water dripping from your fingertips and the summer sun warming your skin, you realized that maybe, just maybe, Luke had the right idea all along.
The rainy days at the lake house had a magic of their own. They brought with them the soft patter of raindrops against the windows, the smell of damp earth rising from the porch, and the hum of restless energy that filled the house as you all searched for ways to entertain yourselves. The moment the first drops fell, signaling that youâd be stuck inside for the day, Jack would immediately declare, âKnee hockey tournament. Living room. Right now.â
It was a tradition. The coffee table was shoved to the side, pillows lined the edges of the room as makeshift boards, and everyone knew the stakes were high. Jack, naturally, was the most competitive, his grin practically splitting his face as he grabbed a mini stick and tossed you another. âDream team, back again,â he announced, bumping his shoulder against yours. You caught the stick easily, already grinning. You and Jack were always the duo to beat, your quick reflexes and synchronized movement making you nearly unstoppable.
Quinn, ever the strategist, took his time choosing his teammate, tapping his chin dramatically before slinging an arm around Lukeâs shoulders. âIâll take Luke,â he said, grinning as if he knew something you didnât.
Luke shifted beside him, his expression unreadable at first, but there was something in his eyesâsomething determined, something that almost looked like anticipation. He didnât protest.
Jack just scoffed. âGood luck,â he teased, twirling his stick between his fingers. âYouâll need it.â
The first game was fast-paced, the sound of the plastic ball slapping against the hardwood floor echoing through the house. Jack and you worked in tandem, passing quickly, faking each other out, weaving through the small space with an ease that only came from years of playing together. Every goal you scored, Jack celebrated like it was a Stanley Cup game, yelling dramatically and sliding across the floor on his knees.
But Luke and Quinn werenât easy to beat.
Luke wasnât as fast as Jack, and he didnât have Quinnâs sharp strategic mind, but he had something elseâa quiet patience, a precision in the way he moved. He watched the plays unfold, predicting your movements, using his body and stick to block your best shots. He wasnât reckless like Jack, wasnât rushing headfirst into every play. Instead, he was steady, deliberate, thinking two steps ahead.
At first, you barely noticed. You were too caught up in the thrill of the game, too focused on scoring. But then, every time you tried to cut around him, he was just⊠there. Anticipating. Blocking. Smirking a little when he managed to steal the ball from you.
You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. âYouâre getting good at this, Lukey.â
He shrugged, but there was something teasing in the tilt of his lips. âMaybe Iâve always been good. You just never noticed.â
That threw you off more than it should have.
Jack groaned dramatically, cutting between you. âStop flirting and play the game!â
You blinked, heat rushing to your face. âWeâre notââ
But Luke just grinned, turning back to the game as if nothing had happened. As if he hadnât just sent your mind into a tailspin.
As the summers passed, knee hockey remained a staple of the rainy days, but something about those moments with Luke started to shift. It wasnât just the way he played anymoreâit was the way he was. The way he carried himself. He was taller now, his movements more confident. He didnât hesitate as much, didnât linger in Jackâs shadow like he used to.
And then there were the momentsâsmall, fleeting, but impossible to ignore.
Like when you had just swum back to the dock one afternoon, breathless from racing Jack across the lake, your arms aching from the effort. Jack had already hoisted himself up, shaking out his wet hair like a dog before flopping onto his back. You reached for the dockâs edge, ready to pull yourself up when suddenly, there was Luke.
He was crouched at the edge, one hand outstretched toward you. His fingers curled slightly in a silent offer.
You hesitated for just a second before reaching up. His hand was warm despite the coolness of the water, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you up. For a moment, your fingers lingered together, your skin slick with water, your breath caught in your throat for reasons you didnât quite understand.
And then, just as quickly as it had happened, Luke cleared his throat, dropping his gaze as he let go, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasnât sure what to do with himself.
You swallowed, trying to shake off whatever that had been.
Jack, oblivious as always, sat up, running a hand through his damp hair. âCâmon, letâs go again. Best two out of three.â
But Luke was still looking at youâlike he knew something had shifted.
And maybe⊠maybe you did too.
Some nights, after the chaos of the day had settled and the others had gone inside, you and Luke found yourselves lying on the dock, staring up at the stars. It was never planned, never something you spoke about beforehandâit just happened.
Jack was usually the one who exhausted himself first, retreating inside after a long day of swimming and competing. Quinn would follow soon after, leaving you and Luke behind in the quiet lull of the night, the water gently lapping against the dock.
Luke lay beside you, arms folded behind his head, his gaze fixed on the sky. âDo you think itâs weird that everything looks so big at night?â he asked suddenly, his voice low.
You turned your head slightly to look at him. âBig?â
âYeah,â he continued, his brows knitting together in thought. âLike, during the day, everything feels⊠normal. But at night, when you look up, itâs likeâyou realize how small you are.â
You stared up at the stars, the vast, endless expanse of them. âI guess so,â you murmured. âBut I think thatâs kind of nice. Like, it makes everything elseâeverything that feels too bigâseem smaller.â
Luke was quiet for a moment, as if letting your words settle. Then, softly, âYeah. I like that.â
The silence stretched between you, but it wasnât uncomfortable. It was peaceful, a quiet understanding that didnât need words.
Then, in a softer voice, Luke asked, âDo you ever think about what happens after this?â
You turned your head to look at him again, surprised by the question. âAfter what?â
âAfter all this,â he said, gesturing vaguely at the lake, at the sky. âAfter we grow up.â
You exhaled, staring up at the stars again. âSometimes. But I try not to think about it too much. I like it here. I like now.â
Luke nodded slowly, as if he understood. And maybe he did. Maybe he felt the same.
The summers were changing. You were changing. And Luke wasnât just Jackâs little brother anymore. He was something elseâsomeone else. Though your heart still truly belonged to his older brother, no matter how hard Luke tried.

At sixteen, Jack told you after practice one afternoon, back home, when summer was still weeks away.
You had stayed late at the rink, the way you always did, dragging out the minutes after his practice because neither of you were ever in a hurry to leave. The ice had already been cleaned, the faint smell of Zamboni fumes still lingering in the air, and most of his teammates had already headed out. But Jack had slung an arm around your shoulders and said, âOne more round,â and you never could say no to him.
So you skated circles around each other for another twenty minutes, taking lazy shots on goal, passing the puck back and forth without speaking. It was comfortable, easy. The way it had always been.
And then, after you finally dragged yourselves off the ice, you sat together outside the rink, letting the cool spring breeze dry the sweat still clinging to your skin. His hockey bag was tossed carelessly beside him, skates still half-laced like he hadnât quite decided if he was done for the day. The sun was warm against your face, the kind of warmth that made the air feel electric, buzzing with the quiet anticipation of summer.
Jack leaned back on his elbows, stretching his legs out in front of him, and kicked absently at a dandelion sprouting between the cracks in the pavement. His voice was casual, easy, when he said it.
âOh, by the way, Iâve got a girlfriend now.â
It took a second for the words to sink in.
You had been in the middle of reaching for your water bottle, fingers curling around the plastic, when the sentence hit you like a slap.
âWhat?â
Jack turned his head toward you, squinting against the sun, his mouth curling into that familiar lopsided grin. âYeah. Alyssa. You know her, right? Sheâs in our chem class.â
You did know her.
She was blonde, pretty, and effortlessly coolâthe kind of girl who seemed to float through life with an ease you had never quite mastered. The kind of girl who made sense for Jack, in a way you suddenly felt like you didnât.
âOh,â you said, forcing your expression into something neutral, something that wouldnât betray the way your stomach had twisted into a knot. âThatâs⊠cool.â
Jackâs grin widened, oblivious to the way your voice had faltered. âYeah, sheâs awesome. Youâll love her.â
You nodded, pretending to be interested, pretending that the sudden ache in your chest was nothing more than an odd reaction to the heat.
And then, as if the news itself hadnât been enough, he added, âSheâs coming to the lake house this summer.â
You felt like the ground had been yanked out from under you.
The lake house.
Your lake house.
The place that had always been yoursâyours and Jackâs, yours and the Hughesâ, yours and the memories you had built there for nearly a decade.
You swallowed, forcing your expression to stay neutral. âOh. Yeah, that makes sense.â
Jack didnât seem to notice your hesitation. He just stretched his arms over his head, looking out at the parking lot like this was just another conversation, just another day. âItâs gonna be great. Sheâs never been, so Iâll need you to help me show her around.â
You wanted to tell him no.
You wanted to tell him she didnât belong there, that the lake house wasnât just some placeâit was home. It was the sound of Jackâs laughter echoing off the water, the endless knee hockey battles on rainy days, the constellations you used to trace in the sky when the two of you were kids, whispering dreams about the future.
It wasnât supposed to change.
But instead, you just nodded.
âYeah,â you said, the word barely making it past the lump in your throat. âItâll be fun.â
Jack grinned, already moving on, already pulling out his phone to check his messages, like he hadnât just turned your entire world upside down.
And just like that, everything shifted.
The first night at the lake house, you couldnât breathe.
It wasnât Alyssaâs fault. Not really.
She was nice in the effortless way that pretty girls always seemed to be. She laughed at Jackâs jokes, tucked herself easily into the spaces that had once been yours, fit in with the family like she had always belonged. She had only been here for a few hours, and yet somehow, she already knew which cabinet the cereal was in, already had Quinn rolling his eyes at one of Jackâs ridiculous stories, already knew exactly how to lean into Jackâs side at the dinner table like she had always been the one sitting next to him.
Like that seat had never been yours to begin with.
Maybe it never was.
Maybe you were the one who had been holding onto something that had never really belonged to you.
So you smiled. You nodded when she spoke to you, laughed when you were supposed to, played the role of best friend because thatâs all you had ever been. And if your fingers curled a little too tightly around the edge of the table, if your stomach twisted every time Jack whispered something into her ear, if the food on your plate went mostly untouchedâno one noticed.
Or at least, you thought they didnât.
The house settled into a comfortable quiet as the night stretched on, the familiar creaks of the wooden floors, the distant hum of crickets beyond the porch screens. Jack and Alyssa had disappeared upstairs together after dinner, their laughter trailing up the staircase, and you had felt something inside of you unravel.
So you had slipped out onto the porch, closing the door quietly behind you, needing air, needing space, needing something to dull the ache in your chest.
The lake stretched out before you, dark and endless, the water lapping gently against the dock. It should have been comforting. It always had been before. But tonight, it felt hollow.
You wrapped your arms around yourself, pressing your fingers into your ribs as if that would somehow keep the hurt from spilling out.
The door creaked open behind you.
You didnât turn, but you knew who it was before he even spoke.
Luke.
He was always the one who lingered. The one who noticed things even when you tried to hide them.
He didnât say anything at first. He just sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed against yours, his body warm against the cool night air. He didnât try to fill the silence, didnât try to force words where they didnât belong.
And for some reason, that was what undid you.
The tears came before you could stop them, silent at first, then harder, faster, your shoulders shaking as you tried to hold it in, tried to pretend you werenât breaking apart right there on the porch.
Luke let out a quiet breath, barely audible over the sound of the water. And then, without hesitation, he reached out, pulling you into him.
You didnât resist.
You buried your face against his chest, gripping fistfuls of his sweatshirt like it was the only thing keeping you from shattering completely.
He was warm. Solid. Safe.
His arms tightened around you, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head as he let you sob into him, let you break apart without saying a word.
You didnât know how long you stayed like thatâcurled into Lukeâs chest, the fabric of his sweatshirt damp beneath your cheek, your fingers still twisted into the material like you were afraid to let go. But Luke never moved. Never let go. He just held you like he had been waiting to, like he had always known this moment would come.
And maybe it was because you were crying too hard, or maybe it was because your mind was too clouded with grief for something you had never really hadâbut you didnât hear it.
You didnât hear the way Luke exhaled shakily, like he was holding back something too big to say aloud.
You didnât hear the quiet, broken words he finally let slip.
âIf only I were him.â
But Quinn did.
He had been walking past on his way to the kitchen, pausing at the doorway when he saw the two of you.
His expression was unreadable as he stood there, watching the way Luke held you, the way his fingers curled ever so slightly into the fabric of your sweatshirt, the way he looked at you.
And then, without a word, Quinn turned and walked away.
You had eventually left him there.
Slipped out of his arms, whispered a quiet âthank youâ, and disappeared back into the house before he could stop you. Before he could say anythingâbefore he could ask you to stay.
Luke had let you go, even though everything in him had wanted to hold on just a little longer. Just long enough to keep you close, to keep you from slipping through his fingers like water, like you always did.
Now, the dock was empty except for him.
But the ghost of you remained.
The warmth of you still clung to his sweatshirt, the scent of lake water and the faintest hint of whatever soap you used lingering in the fabric. The weight of you had pressed into his side, curled into his chest as you cried, and even though you were gone, he still felt you there.
Luke sat motionless, staring out at the water, his breath slow and uneven. The lake stretched out in front of him, vast and endless, its surface dark except for where the moonlight painted streaks of silver. It was quiet nowâno laughter, no voices drifting from the house, just the steady lapping of the water against the dock, the occasional rustling of the trees in the breeze.
He should have gone inside.
Should have shaken it off, pretended like nothing had happened. Like holding you, feeling you tremble against him, hadnât carved something deep into his chest. Like it hadnât made him ache in a way he wasnât sure heâd ever recover from.
But he couldnât move.
Because the truth sat too heavy in his bones, pressing down on him like a weight he couldnât shake.
Because the words had already slipped past his lips.
Soft, quiet, spoken to no one but the night itself.
âIf only I were him.â
Luke squeezed his eyes shut, dragging a hand down his face, as if he could erase the thought from his mind, as if he could shove it back down into the part of himself that he had spent years trying to ignore.
But it was too late.
Because the words were out there now, hanging in the cool night air, impossible to take back.
He wished he were Jack.
He wished, just for a second, that he had been born in a different place, with a different name, with a different place in your heart.
Because then maybeâjust maybeâyou would have seen him.
Not as Jackâs little brother.
Not as a second choice.
Not as the boy who was always just a little too young, a little too quiet, a little too easy to overlook.
But as someone.
As yours.
Luke let out a slow breath, staring down at his hands. His fingers curled into his sweatshirtâyour sweatshirt now, because he knew youâd probably stolen it from Jackâs room at some point. His grip tightened, like if he held on tight enough, he could still feel you there.
But it didnât matter.
Because you hadnât heard him.
You hadnât heard the quiet confession, the words that had been sitting in his chest for longer than he wanted to admit.
And even if you hadâŠ
You still wouldnât have understood what they meant.
But Quinn had heard.
Luke heard the footsteps before he saw him.
The quiet creak of the old wooden boards, the familiar rhythm of Quinnâs strideâit was enough to tell him he wasnât alone anymore. But he didnât look up. He just kept his gaze locked on the water, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he could wring the frustration from his bones.
Quinn didnât speak as he lowered himself onto the dock beside him, stretching his legs out in front of him, their shoulders barely brushing. For a moment, neither of them said anything.
The night was still, the lake stretching out before them, dark and endless. The moon carved a silver path across its surface, shimmering in the gentle ripple of the waves. It should have been peaceful. It had always been peaceful before. But now, the silence only seemed to amplify the storm raging in Lukeâs chest.
He stared at the water, trying to steady himself, trying to ignore the way his pulse still hadnât settled since you had been in his arms, since your tears had soaked into his sweatshirt, since you had disappeared inside without ever hearing what he had said, the words still sitting bitter on his tongue.
Quinn exhaled beside him, breaking the quiet with a sigh that felt heavier than it should have. And then, finally, he spoke.
âYou love her.â
Not a question. Just fact.
Luke let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head. His grip on his hands tightened, knuckles white in the moonlight. âDoesnât matter.â
âIt does.â Quinnâs voice was softer this time, but there was something firm underneath it, something unyielding. âYou should tell her.â
Luke scoffed, shaking his head. His throat burned, the weight of it all pressing down on him. âShe loves Jack.â
The words came out sharp, clipped. He hadnât meant them to. But saying them aloud made them feel heavier, like they held more truth than they should.
Quinn didnât say anything for a long time.
The air between them was thick with something unspoken, something impossible to name. Luke could hear everythingâthe soft rustling of the trees, the distant hum of crickets, the steady lapping of the lake against the dock. It all felt too loud, too sharp against the quiet ache settling in his chest.
And then, finally, Quinn broke the silence.
âShe thinks she does.â His voice was careful, measured. âBut sheâs never even thought about you as an option.â
The words hit Luke harder than he expected.
Because they were true.
You had never looked at him the way you looked at Jack. Never let your gaze linger. Never let your fingers brush his just to feel the contact. Never let yourself wonder if maybeâjust maybeâhe could be someone to you.
Because to you, there was only ever Jack.
Luke clenched his jaw, his chest tight, his stomach twisting itself into knots. His fists curled against his knees, nails biting into his palms.
âBecause I was born in the wrong place,â he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. âIf I were JackâŠâ
But Quinn cut him off before he could finish.
âBut youâre not Jack.â His voice was quiet, steady, but there was something firm beneath it, something final. âAnd maybe thatâs a good thing.â
Luke swallowed hard, staring out at the water, at the reflection of the stars shimmering in the dark.
But he wasnât sure Quinn was right.
Because if being himself meant always being second, always being the afterthought, always sitting alone on this damn dock while you smiled at someone elseâthen he wasnât sure he wanted to be Luke at all.
Luke never brought it up. And neither did you.
The night you had cried into his chest, the way his arms had wrapped around you so tightlyâlike he could somehow hold you togetherâit was never mentioned again. It became one of those moments that lived in the quiet spaces between you, something fragile and unspoken.
But it lingered.
He felt it every time you sat at the dinner table, smiling when you were supposed to, nodding along as Alyssa laughed at something Jack said. Every time your fingers curled around the edge of your glass just a little too tightly. Every time your eyes drifted toward themâtoward Jack and the girl at his sideâand took on that faraway look, glassy and unreadable.
Luke knew you were hurting.
And God, he hated it.
But there was nothing he could do.
Because even though he wanted to reach across the space between you, to shake you, to tell you that Jack wasnât the only person in the world worth lovingâyou didnât see it.
You didnât see him.
And Luke didnât know which was worse: the fact that you were in love with Jack or the fact that you didnât even realize how much Luke loved you.
So he stayed quiet.
He watched as the summer stretched on, as you smiled when you were supposed to, as you forced yourself to be okay. And maybe to everyone else, it worked. Maybe Jack and Alyssa and even Quinn believed the act.
But Luke didnât.
He saw how your hands clenched in your lap every time Jack threw an arm around Alyssaâs shoulders. He saw the way your throat tightened when she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He saw the way you looked away, always just a second too late, always after the damage had already been done.
And it killed him.
Because you deserved more than thisâmore than spending the summer pretending you were fine, pretending your heart wasnât breaking every time Jack smiled at someone who wasnât you.
Luke wanted to tell you that.
But he didnât.
Instead, he just kept sitting beside you on the dock, kept making quiet jokes when the house got too loud, kept handing you a marshmallow before you even had to ask for one by the fire. Kept being there, in the only way you would let him be.
And maybe that wasnât enough.
But it was all he had.

The first time you missed the trip to the lake house, it seemed trivial. Just a weekend, right? You could make up some reasonâsomething simple that wouldnât raise suspicions. Family obligations, work commitments, even the classic âIâve got a lot of homeworkâ excuse would be enough. After all, youâd been going to the lake house for as long as you could remember. It had become a part of you, woven into the fabric of your summers, a backdrop to countless memories with Jack, Luke, and Quinn. A weekend away wouldnât change anything, right?
But it did.
You could feel it the moment you hung up the phone with Jack. The weight in your chest, heavy and undeniable. You thought you could escape the feeling, put it out of your mind, but it lingered in the corners of your thoughts. The lake house wasnât just a place; it was a memory, a comfort, and now it was a reminder of everything you were trying to avoid.
You told yourself it would just be one weekend. That you were just taking a break. You convinced yourself it was temporary. You were busy, thatâs all. There would be another time. But deep down, you knew it wasnât that simple. There was something more, something unspoken between you and the others that you didnât know how to confront. It had been brewing for weeks now, something under the surface, something you couldnât put into words.
When Jack called, you almost dreaded hearing his voice. It was familiar, comforting, but also the thing that felt like a weight around your neck. The guilt hit you all over again, curling deep in your stomach.
âHey, are you coming this weekend?â Jackâs voice was casual, but there was an edge of expectation underneath it. âWeâll be at the lake house, like always.â
You could hear the unspoken promise in his toneâthis is what we always do. And you hated yourself for it. Hated that you couldnât just say yes, that you couldnât be there like you always were. Your hand gripped the edge of the counter, your knuckles white, as your mind raced for an answer.
You wanted to say yes. You wanted to slip back into that familiar rhythm, to fall into the comfort of the lake house and the people who filled it. You wanted to be with Jack and Quinn, and especially Luke, but the thought of seeing them all together made your chest tighten. You werenât ready. Not yet. You didnât know how to face them, how to face yourself in that space. You couldnât bear to see their faces, not when you had so much left unsaid, so much you hadnât dealt with.
âI⊠I canât, Jack,â you said, your voice faltering just slightly as you tried to keep the lie steady. âIâve got work.â The words sounded hollow, even to your own ears, and the guilt twisted in your gut. âMaybe next time.â
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. You could almost hear him processing, trying to understand, but the confusion lingered there in the quiet. You hated that it was so easy to lie, that the words came so naturally. You hadnât been ready to deal with what was really going on inside you, and so you just pushed it all down.
Jack sighed, a sound that carried a touch of disappointment, but also something moreâsomething patient. He always knew how to give you space when you needed it, even when it hurt him. âAlright,â he said softly, his tone still holding that hint of sadness. âWell, weâll miss you. But I get it. Just⊠donât stay away too long, okay?â
You promised him you wouldnât, but deep down, you knew you were lying. You didnât know when youâd go back, or if you would. And as soon as you hung up the phone, you knew the distance between you and the lake house, between you and them, was widening.
The next weekend came, and you stayed home again. And the one after that. And then it became easierâslipping out of the routine, making new excuses, burying yourself in other things so that you wouldnât have to think about it. It was easier to hide behind a wall of work and other commitments than to face the truth.
And what was the truth? That you werenât ready. Not for the lake house, not for Jack and Alyssa, not for Luke. It was easier this way, wasnât it? To stay away. To pretend like everything was fine, like you didnât feel the aching pull between what was and what could never be again.
The absence didnât go unnoticed, though. Not by Jack, and certainly not by Luke.
Jack didnât say much. Maybe he didnât want to push you too hard. You were always good at deflecting, at making light of things, and maybe thatâs what Jack saw in youâa person who was always willing to pull herself together, even when it didnât make sense. But Luke? Luke noticed everything. Every little shift, every subtle change. And when you werenât there, when you stopped showing up, it was like a part of him was missing too.
You hadnât seen him in weeks, and you knew it. The last time youâd crossed paths had been so fleetingâjust a few minutes at the grocery store, the briefest exchange of glances. Heâd smiled at you, but it wasnât the smile you remembered. It was distant, guarded, like he was afraid to get too close. And maybe he was. You were afraid too.
It wasnât just that Luke noticed your absenceâit was the weight of what was left unsaid between you, the quiet space that had grown larger with every missed trip. Every time you saw him from a distance, there was something in his eyes that pulled at you, something unspoken that you couldnât ignore, but also couldnât face. You had known him longer than anyone else, and yet now, he was the one you couldnât quite reach.
The weeks stretched on, and the distance between you and the lake house deepened. It wasnât just the physical distanceâit was the emotional gap that had started to separate you from Jack, from Luke, from everything you had once known.
And Luke? Luke was the hardest part of all. Because no matter how hard you tried to keep your distance, no matter how many excuses you made, you couldnât escape the way your heart twisted whenever you thought of him. You couldnât escape the way you missed himâmissed the way heâd been there for you, the way his presence had felt like home. It was easier to pretend, to tell yourself that you were just busy, but you knew the truth: you were avoiding him. You were avoiding everything, and truly you didnât understand why.
The silence between you and the lake house grew louder with each passing day. And somehow, you felt yourself drifting further awayânot just from the lake house, but from everyone you once considered family. But you couldnât bring yourself to stop. Because if you did, if you allowed yourself to face them, then youâd have to face everything you were running from. And that was the hardest part of all.

The week after the summer had ended and you missed yet another lake house trip, Quinn found you. He hadnât been looking for you exactly. He wasnât sure what had driven him to come, but the truth was he knew something was wrong. Youâd stopped coming, and it was starting to weigh on him. The silence between your absence and Lukeâs growing frustration wasnât something Quinn could ignore, even though Luke never said a word about it. But Quinn could feel itâcould feel how the absence of you was slowly becoming too heavy for all of them to carry.
Quinn had no clear plan as he stood outside your door, his knuckles hovering just above the wood, unsure of whether he should knock or simply leave. The house had always been a place of comfort, a home that felt like his, but today, it seemed different. Quiet in a way that made his chest tighten, the sounds of your laughter no longer filling the corners. The soft shuffle of your footsteps, the casual conversations youâd had over the yearsâthose sounds were missing, and in their place was a hollow emptiness that Quinn could almost taste.
You answered the door slowly, and for a moment, he wondered if you had been expecting someone else. Your eyes were too tired, too distant, and there was something about the way you stood there, half hiding behind the door, that made him feel as though you were trying to shield yourself from somethingâor maybe from him. He couldnât quite tell.
He didnât want to make things worse. He wasnât sure how much to push, how much youâd be willing to share. The hesitation in his step betrayed his uncertainty, but when you met his gaze, he saw something that twisted in his chest: something sad and lost.
âYou okay?â he asked, his voice softer than usual, the words hanging in the air between you.
You gave a small smile, but it was strained, and Quinn could see right through it. He didnât believe you for a second.
âYeah, just⊠busy with school and everything. You know how it is.â You shrugged, but the motion felt hollow, and your eyes never quite met his.
Quinn nodded, but he knew it wasnât the whole story. He could feel itâcould feel how your words didnât match what was in your eyes.
âYou havenât been around the lake house much, though,â Quinn ventured, his voice calm but holding a trace of concern that you couldnât miss.
You shifted slightly, the space between you both feeling thicker than it should. âIâve just got a lot going on.â
Quinn raised an eyebrow. That wasnât the real reason, not by a long shot. âReally? Because Jack misses you. We all miss you.â
At that, he saw itâthe brief flicker in your eyes. It was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. Hurt. Regret. Whatever it was, it made Quinnâs chest ache, his heartbeat a little heavier. There was something more to this than you were letting on, something that made him wonder if you even saw how much everyone else was hurting.
A long silence stretched out between you both, a quiet that felt like it would swallow him whole. The distance was painful. It had always been easy between you and himâfriendly, easygoing. But this, this was something different. Something that Quinn didnât know how to fix, but something he couldnât leave unresolved either.
Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. âI donât know, Quinn. It just doesnât feel the same anymore.â
The words cut through the air, sharp and heavy, and Quinnâs heart sank. He had always known you as part of the rhythm of the lake house, the one constant they could count on. And now, you were drifting away, and he had no idea how to pull you back in.
âWhat do you mean?â Quinn asked, trying to keep his voice steady. It wasnât like you to avoid questions like this, to shy away from the truth.
You closed your eyes for a brief moment, a flicker of pain passing over your features before you spoke again. âEverythingâs changed. And I donât know how to fix it.â
âMaybe itâs not about fixing it,â Quinn said, his voice gentle but firm. âMaybe you donât need to fix anything. Just⊠come back. Come back to the lake house. We miss you.â
You shook your head slightly, stepping back from the door, as if you were trying to distance yourself from him, from everyone else. âI canât. Itâs too hard.â
Quinnâs stomach twisted with the weight of your words. It wasnât just that you were avoiding the lake houseâit was that you had withdrawn from everything. From everyone. And that scared him more than he let on.
âItâs not about being perfect,â Quinn said, his voice quiet now. âWeâre all just⊠trying to figure things out.â He took a step closer, his eyes softening as he met your gaze. âWe just need you to be there. We all do.â
You didnât say anything for a long time, but Quinn could feel how your breath quickened, how the weight of what he was saying started to sink in.
âI donât belong there anymore,â you murmured, your voice cracking on the last word.
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of realization. It wasnât just about the lake house. It was about you, about how you had come to see yourself outside of all of them, outside of the family youâd once been a part of. And that hurt. It hurt more than he was prepared for.
âOf course, you belong there,â Quinn said, his voice breaking a little. âYou always have.â
But you didnât believe it, did you? Quinn could see it in your eyesâthe sadness that seemed to swirl just below the surface, a darkness he couldnât reach. He felt helpless in a way he never had before. He didnât know how to make it right, how to bring you back to them.
âI miss you at the lake house,â he admitted, his voice softer now, raw with emotion. âWe all do. Jack misses you. Luke misses you more than you know.â
Your chest tightened at that, the truth of his words cutting through your defenses. You knew Luke missed you. In fact, it was one of the hardest things to faceâthat the one person you didnât know how to deal with, the one person you couldnât bring yourself to confront, was the one who missed you most.
âMaybe,â you whispered, your voice barely audible, âbut it doesnât matter. Things are different now.â
Quinn studied you for a long time, his gaze intense and unwavering. You wanted to look away, to shut him out, but his eyes held you captive. You saw it thenâthe rawness, the vulnerability, the care that Quinn had never been one to show so openly.
âI know you think itâs different,â Quinn said quietly, âbut youâre wrong. Things havenât changed as much as you think. Youâre still part of this family. You always will be.â
And in that moment, with those words hanging in the air between you both, you could feel something shifting. You didnât know if it would be enough to bring you back to the lake house, back to them, but you could feel it in your bones: the connection, the love, the deep-rooted truth that no matter how far you pulled away, they would always be there, waiting.
The next few weeks were a blur. Jack kept calling, trying to bridge the gap, and you kept finding reasons to avoid his calls. Work. Homework. Other commitments. It never seemed to stop, and every time you answered with another excuse, the guilt only piled higher.
But Luke⊠you hadnât seen Luke in weeks. And that absence? That ache in your chest that you just couldnât explain when you thought about him? It was always there, quietly gnawing at you, reminding you of what you were running from.
Then, one afternoon, Jack showed up at your door.
His presence was like a weight, a storm that had been gathering, ready to break. Standing there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by something quieter, more serious. The frustration in his eyes was unmistakable, and his voice, when he spoke, was softer than it had ever been.
âI donât get it,â Jack said, his words hanging between you both. âWhat happened? Why are you pulling away?â
You swallowed hard, a lump rising in your throat. There was no easy way to answer, no simple excuse you could give to make it go away. âI donât know,â you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. âI just⊠need space.â
Jackâs expression softened, and though he didnât say it, you could tell how deeply he felt the distance. âYou donât need to do this alone, you know? Weâre all here for you.â
You nodded, but even the words felt hollow. âI know. I just⊠Iâm not sure how to fit back in.â
Jack took a step forward, his gaze intense as it locked with yours. âDonât shut us out. Weâre your family.â
And just like that, the weight of it all hit youâthe weight of the lake house, of Jack, of Luke. You couldnât keep running away, not anymore. But you werenât sure how to face the truth. The truth that Luke was still there, waiting, somewhere in the shadows, and the hardest part of it all was knowing that, maybe, you hadnât been able to face him yet.

The air was beginning to shift as the first hints of fall whispered across the trees, rustling the leaves in the distance. It had been another summer of avoidanceâweeks stretching into months, each one slipping by as you found more and more reasons to stay away from the lake house, from Jack, from Luke. The reasons werenât as simple as school or work or family, but they were the excuses you told yourself to make it easier. To convince yourself that pulling away didnât matter. But as you sat behind the wheel of your car, driving down the familiar road leading to the lake, you couldnât deny the knot in your stomach.
You didnât know how youâd gotten here, but you could feel the weight of it in your bonesâthe guilt, the emptiness. You couldnât remember the last time you had felt truly connected to any of it. To the people, to the place that had once been everything. It was as if, over the course of a summer, the distance between you and them had grown to a point where it felt too difficult to cross back.
You could see the lake house in the distance, the same wooden structure that had once felt like home, but now it was just a shadow of itself. Everything about it felt different, hollow in a way you couldnât quite explain.
As you stepped out of your car and made your way down the familiar path that led to the dock, you wondered why you were here. You had avoided coming for so longâavoided the people, avoided Luke. And now, walking in the direction of the place you had always felt safest, you couldnât help but feel like a stranger.
Your eyes scanned the area as you approached the dock, the soft sound of water lapping against the shore mixing with the gentle rustling of the trees in the breeze. It felt peaceful, serene even, but there was an ache in your chest you couldnât ignore. A heaviness that made your steps feel uncertain, as if you werenât quite sure you were supposed to be here.
And then you saw him.
Luke was sitting on the edge of the dock by the water, his back stiff, his hands resting on the wooden panels beneath him. He hadnât noticed you yet, his gaze fixed out toward the horizon, where the golden light from the setting sun danced across the surface of the lake. His hat was pulled low over his face, casting a shadow that made his expression unreadable, but there was something about the stillness of his figure that made your chest tighten.
It was like time had paused in that moment. The world around you faded as you watched him, your eyes tracing the outline of his silhouette, the familiar shape of him that you hadnât seen in weeks. There was a distance between you now, one that seemed to stretch out endlessly, a chasm that you had been too afraid to face.
You hadnât meant to avoid him, not really. But with Jack and Alyssa together, everything had changed. And with every day that passed, the more it seemed impossible to go back to how it was before. You missed Luke. You missed the way heâd been there for you, the way he had always been in the background, supportive and understanding in a way that was easy to take for granted. And yet, when you thought about him, you always found yourself circling back to the same thought: Itâs too late now.
The wind picked up, and the leaves in the trees swayed gently, their movement in rhythm with the pulse in your chest. You stood still for a long moment, just watching him, unsure of what to do next. The quiet between you felt suffocating, a reminder of the unspoken words that had been left unsaid for so long. You wanted to call out to him, to ask how he had been, to break the silence and bridge the gap that had been growing between you. But you stayed silent, not knowing what to say, what right you had to speak when you had stayed away for so long.
Then, as if sensing your presence, Luke shifted slightly. His body tensed for a moment before he turned, his eyes lifting slowly from the horizon to meet yours.
In that instant, everything in you seemed to stop. His gaze was heavy, intense, as if he had been waiting for this momentâwaiting for you to come back. But there was something more in his eyes, something deeper. His expression was unreadable, but there was an undeniable pull in the way he looked at you, like he was seeing through all the walls youâd built up, all the excuses youâd made.
âY/N,â Luke said quietly, his voice carrying across the distance between you. He didnât stand up, didnât move. He just stayed there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if you hadnât been avoiding him for months.
You couldnât find the words. You wanted to say something, anything to break the silence, but nothing came. Instead, you just took a step closer, stopping a few feet away from him. You both stared at each other for a long time, the quiet stretching out longer than either of you was comfortable with.
Finally, Luke broke the silence. âWhy do you keep running away?â His voice wasnât angry, but there was a rawness to it that you hadnât expected.
You froze, the question hitting you harder than you thought it would. âIâm not running,â you said quickly, trying to sound calm, but even you could hear the lie in your voice.
âYes, you are,â Luke replied, his words sharp now, like they had been building up for a long time. âFrom the lake house, from me.â
The words stung more than you wanted to admit. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You just stood there, unable to process what he had said, what he was implying. You felt something inside you snap, but you couldnât bring yourself to admit it.
âLuke, what are you talking about?â you finally asked, your voice coming out softer than you had intended.
Luke let out a sharp breath, like the weight of everything he had been holding in was finally too much. He stood up then, but didnât come closer. Instead, he looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time in a long while, like he was waiting for you to really see him, to understand what he had been carrying.
âI love you, Y/N,â he said, the words slipping out of his mouth like a confession he had been holding onto for years. âIâve loved you since before I even knew what love was.â
The world around you seemed to stop. The trees, the water, even the air itself seemed to freeze in place, leaving you standing there, staring at him in stunned silence. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came.
Luke took a step closer, his voice growing quieter now, but more intense. âBut you never saw me, did you? I was just Jackâs little brother to you. I was always just there. In the background. You never noticed me for anything else.â
His words hit you like a freight train, shattering everything you thought you knew about yourself, about him, about what had been right in front of you all along. You stood there, frozen, as if the world around you had suddenly slowed down. His confession wasnât just a declarationâit was a breaking point, a revelation that you couldnât escape. You had always thought you knew who Luke was, always thought you understood the quiet, steady presence he had been in your life. But you had been blind.
The memories flooded back all at onceâthose small, seemingly insignificant moments you had brushed aside without a second thought. The way Lukeâs gaze would linger on you when you laughed, how he would stay behind after everyone else had gone home to help clean up, how his voice had always been a little softer, a little more patient whenever he spoke to you. The way he had stood in the background, never demanding anything from you, never asking for more, but always there. Always just a little too quiet, a little too distant, a little too kind for you to notice. And now, as the weight of what he had just said hung heavy in the air, you understood. All those moments werenât coincidences. They had been his way of loving you without you ever realizing it.
You opened your mouth to speak, to process it all, but the words were stuck in your throat. I never knew. The thought echoed relentlessly in your mind, but you couldnât say it aloud. You couldnât bring yourself to voice the truth, not yet. It was too overwhelming, too raw, and yet, as much as you wanted to deny it, you felt the heavy sting of regret curling up from somewhere deep within you. You had missed it. You had missed him.
You took a small step forward, the movement feeling more like a leap into an unknown space, like walking on the edge of something fragile and delicate. Every part of you felt exposed, the rawness of the moment too intense for your usual walls to hold up. Your heart was hammering in your chest, each beat louder than the last, thumping in your ears as if to remind you how real this was.
Luke was still watching you, his expression unreadable, but his eyesâthose familiar eyesâspoke everything. There was a softness in them now, a quiet vulnerability that you had never seen before. He didnât look angry. He didnât look bitter. He didnât look like he had been holding onto this for years just to lash out. No, instead, he was just standing thereâquiet, patient, waiting. Waiting for you to see him. Waiting for you to finally look at him the way he had always looked at you.
You took another step closer, the words that had been building in your chest finally spilling out. âLukeâŠâ Your voice trembled, barely a whisper, but it was enough for him to hear. Enough for the world to hear the weight of it all. âI never knew.â
There was no sudden shift in himâno dramatic reaction, no sigh of relief. He didnât move. He didnât take a step toward you or away from you. Instead, his expression softened even further, and for the first time in years, you saw Luke as he truly wasâvulnerable, raw, and, in that moment, completely open to you. He wasnât holding back anymore. He wasnât hiding his feelings, wasnât waiting for you to come to him. He had already given everything he could, and now it was up to you to decide what came next.
âI know,â he whispered back, his voice so soft that you almost couldnât hear it over the pounding of your heart. It was a simple response, but it felt like it contained the weight of everything he had carried, everything he had hoped for. âBut I needed you to.â
The words hung in the air, a delicate thread between you both, and you felt the weight of them settle in your chest. He needed you to see him. He needed you to stop running, to stop avoiding the truth that had always been there, hiding behind the easy smiles and the comfort of friendship. He needed you to finally understand that, all this time, he had been right there. Right in front of you. And you had missed him.
It wasnât just about the lake house, or Jack, or the old memories of summers past. It was about you and Luke. About everything that had been unsaid, everything that had been quietly building up in the background while you had been so caught up in your own confusion, your own feelings for Jack. You had never allowed yourself to see what was standing right there in front of youâwhat had been waiting for you all along.
A sudden ache pierced through your chest, a mix of regret, guilt, and something elseâsomething you couldnât quite name. You had been running from him. You had been running from his love, from the possibility of something deeper, something real. And now, standing there, with him just a few feet away, you realized just how much you had lost by not seeing him sooner.
Luke was still standing there, waiting. He wasnât pushing you, wasnât asking for anything. He had already given you everything. His love. His time. His patience. He had been there for you in ways you hadnât even understood until now. And for the first time, you felt the full weight of it.
You took a deep breath, the air around you thick with emotion, and you felt something shift inside you. You had been running for so long, but now, in this moment, you didnât want to run anymore. You didnât want to hide from the truth. You wanted to stop pretending that everything was fine, that you had everything figured out when, in reality, you had been avoiding the one thing that could make everything right.
The silence hung in the air, but this time it felt different. It wasnât a chasm between you that needed to be filled with words, but a soft space of understanding, a quiet kind of anticipation. It was as though everything that had once been said, and everything that had been left unsaid, was coming together in this one moment. The weight of what Luke had shared with you, the rawness of his confession, it wasnât a burden anymoreâit was a bridge between you, and you could feel it stretching out before you.
You stood there, a few feet away, and your mind raced, scrambling to find a way to process what had just happened. But no matter how hard you tried to make sense of it, you kept coming back to one thingâLuke. Luke, standing there, his eyes soft, his expression vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. He was no longer just Jackâs younger brother. He was Lukeâthe boy who had been there for you in every way, without ever asking for anything in return.
It was almost as if, in that moment, you could feel the shift deep inside of you. Everything you had been running from, everything you had been hiding from, came rushing to the surface. You realized, with a sharp clarity, that you had been avoiding him, yesâbut you had also been avoiding yourself. Avoiding the truth that had always been right in front of you.
And then, without thinking, without hesitating, you closed the space between you. One step. Then another. The sound of your heartbeat was the loudest thing you could hear, each beat reverberating in your chest, urging you closer. You had no plan, no idea what you were doing, but somehow, in that moment, you knew. You knew you had to stop running.
Your breath caught as you stopped just inches from him, the world narrowing down to the two of you. His presence seemed to envelop you, a warmth that you had once only felt in his friendship, but now⊠it felt different. It felt like it was pulling you in, like gravity itself had shifted, and the only place you could go was to him.
You raised your hand instinctively, your fingers brushing against his sleeve, and then, without saying a word, your lips met his.
It wasnât urgent. It wasnât the wild, impetuous kiss of a first love or an overwhelming rush of emotion. It was something softer, quieterâa hesitant question that had never been asked. You could feel the uncertainty between you both, as if neither of you was sure what this meant, but you both knew you needed it. You needed to close the gap, to answer the question that had hung between you for so long. It was a kiss that felt like the very beginning of something, not a culmination.
But then, as the seconds stretched, as the warmth of his lips against yours seemed to sink deeper into your skin, something shifted. The hesitation melted away. It was like the dam inside you had finally broken, letting all the emotions that had been bottled up for years flow out in one sweeping wave. The kiss deepened, soft and slow, but urgent nowâas if you were both finally allowing yourselves to feel everything you had kept locked away. His hand gently cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if he couldnât get close enough. And youâyour hands found their place on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The rhythm matched your own, and it felt like you were syncing with him in a way that was more intimate than anything you had ever known.
In that moment, you felt like you were being seenânot just as the girl who loved Jack, but as yourself. As youâthe person Luke had always seen and loved in his quiet, steady way, even when you had been blind to it. It wasnât just the touch of his lips on yours. It was everythingâhis patience, his understanding, his willingness to wait for you to finally see him for who he truly was.
When you pulled away, your breath came in short, shaky bursts. You couldnât remember the last time you felt so exposed, so utterly vulnerable. But at the same time, it felt like everything had fallen into place. All the fear, all the doubtâit had evaporated in the warmth of the kiss, leaving only the quiet certainty that this, whatever this was, was real.
You rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling together as you both tried to catch your breath, to come back to reality. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he couldnât quite believe this was happening either. The two of you, standing there in the quiet of the evening, under the pale light of the setting sun, it felt surreal, but it was also exactly where you were meant to be.
Lukeâs thumb brushed over your cheek, the motion tender and slow, like he was memorizing the feel of you beneath his touch. He opened his eyes then, looking at you with a depth that made your heart skip a beat. There was no anger in his gaze, no resentment for the years you had spent blind to him. There was only something softerâsomething more powerful. Something that told you he had always known you would come back to him, even if you didnât know it yourself.
He let out a shaky breath, the words escaping him quietly, as if he were confessing something deeply private. âIâve waited so long for you to see me like this. To see me for me.â
The weight of his words landed on you like a soft wave, gentle but impossible to ignore. You hadnât seen himânot truly. Not until now. But now, in this moment, you could see everything. Every little piece of him that had been hidden in the quiet corners of your heart, waiting for you to wake up.
You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a second, savoring the feeling of being held, of finally being seen. His words echoed in your mind, and you felt an overwhelming ache in your chest, a deep sense of longing that had always been there but had been buried under years of hesitation, confusion, and missed opportunities.
âIâm sorry,â you whispered, your voice breaking as the truth finally tumbled from your lips. âI didnât know. I shouldâve seen you. I shouldâve been there. I didnâtâŠâ
He shook his head softly, interrupting you with a quiet smile, the kind that made your heart ache with tenderness. âYouâre here now,â he said, his voice full of warmth, of understanding, of everything he had been waiting for. âThatâs all that matters.â
And in that moment, you realized that he was right. The past didnât matter anymore. The things you had missed, the time you had wastedâit didnât matter, because you were here now. Together.
You took a deep breath, pulling away slightly to look at him. The future was still uncertainâstill unknown. But standing here, in the quiet, the world around you seemed to fade. The wind ruffling the trees, the soft murmur of the lakeâit all became background noise, insignificant compared to the pull between the two of you.
And when you looked at Luke, you didnât see Jackâs younger brother anymore. You didnât see the boy who had been stuck in the shadows of his older brotherâs life. You saw Lukeâthe boy who had always been there, waiting, loving, patient. And for the first time, you were able to see him for who he truly was.
And that was enough. That was more than enough.

The next summer at the lake house felt like a new chapter, a fresh breeze sweeping through the familiar spaces. The house, though unchanged in its appearance, felt different to youâlike it had grown, expanded, become something more than it had ever been. The old rhythms were still there. Jackâs easy laugh echoed in the kitchen, Alyssaâs chatter floated through the air, and Quinnâs voice was a steady undercurrent, always with that knowing smile. But there was something new now. Something you couldnât put into words, something that had shifted in the space between you and Luke, something that made the house feel like a home.
As you walked through the front door, your heart fluttered slightly in your chest, a mixture of excitement and nerves. The familiar scent of the lake, the wood of the house, and the salty air filled your senses. You had missed it all, but it felt different now. You had avoided this place for so long, spent so many months running from it, running from him. And now, standing here, you felt a mix of both vulnerability and relief. You knew what had changedâit was the way you saw Luke now, not just a background figure in your life. He was Luke. And he was everything you had needed and didnât know you had been waiting for.
When you walked into the living room, your eyes immediately found him. Luke was standing by the window, his broad shoulders relaxed, and that warm smile of his lighting up his face. It was the same smile you had seen a thousand times, but now it felt like it was meant for you, and you couldnât help but return it. His gaze flickered over to you, and his smile deepenedâno longer the shy, almost hesitant grin you had seen before, but a confident, knowing one. He waved, his eyes playful, but there was no longer any hesitation between you. No more distance. No more of the quiet longing that had once been there. Just Luke. Just the two of you.
You found yourself walking toward him, almost instinctively, like you were following some unseen thread that had always been pulling you closer. As you approached, he reached for your hand, slipping his fingers into yours with an ease that felt completely natural. The touch felt right, as though the universe had always intended for you two to be this way.
Jack was sitting on the couch, his arm around Alyssa, and Quinn was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed but with a small, knowing smile on his face. It was as if Quinn could see something in you and Luke that no one else could, like he had been waiting for this moment for years. His smile was subtle, but there was a quiet pride in it, a quiet satisfaction. He knew what this meant. He had watched his younger brother love you from the sidelines, and now, as he looked at the way you and Luke stood together, there was a peace in his eyes. It was as if he had been holding his breath for so long, waiting for Lukeâs feelings to be reciprocated, and now, finally, they were.
The evening passed like it always did, with laughter and familiar chatter filling the space. But there was a new dynamic nowâone that everyone could feel. Jack, ever the easygoing older brother, noticed the subtle but undeniable shift between you and Luke. He didnât say anything, but you could see it in his eyes when he caught your gazeâacknowledgment, understanding, and maybe even a little relief. Jack had never been the type to need to understand everything, but he could see what had always been there between you and Luke, and now, seeing the way Lukeâs eyes lit up when he looked at you, seeing the way you seemed to belong by his sideâit was clear. There was no need for words. The change had come, and it was undeniable.
When the evening wore on and the sun began to dip low over the lake, painting the sky in warm golden hues, you and Luke found yourselves outside. The air had cooled, the breeze soft and comforting, and you both gravitated to the old bench by the water. It was the same bench where so much had unfolded between you in the past, where you had first realized the depth of your feelings, where you had started to see Luke in a new light. It felt almost like fate that you would return here, as if this spot, this place by the water, was the point where everything had started to change.
Luke sat down first, his hand still holding yours, and you followed suit, settling beside him. His arm brushed against yours, and for a moment, the two of you just sat there, letting the quiet wash over you. The soft rustling of the trees, the gentle lapping of the water, the distant call of birds settling in for the nightâit was all so familiar, yet now it felt new. The air between you and Luke was filled with an unspoken understanding, a peace that neither of you had ever experienced before. You didnât need to say anything. You didnât need to explain the emotions swirling between you, because you both felt them. You were here. Together. And that was enough.
Lukeâs hand gently slid into yours, his fingers entwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. You looked over at him, your heart swelling as you realized how far you had come. The awkwardness, the uncertainty, the hesitationâthey were all gone now, replaced with something deep and sure. You finally felt like you had arrived, not just at the lake house, but at a place where you could truly be yourself, where you could finally see Luke for who he was and love him the way he had always loved you.
The stars began to twinkle overhead, the sky darkening as the night crept in. The silence between you wasnât uncomfortable anymore. It was peaceful. And when you looked over at Luke, you saw him looking up at the sky too, a soft smile on his lips, the glow from the stars reflecting in his eyes.
âI never thought this would happen,â you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the peaceful sounds of the night. âI didnât know I was running from the one thing that was right in front of me all along.â
Lukeâs eyes met yours then, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. âYouâre here now,â he said, his voice steady and full of warmth. âAnd thatâs all that matters.â
The words were simple, but they held so much weight. You had been running, yes, but you had stopped now. And in stopping, you had found something more beautiful than you had ever imagined. You had found him. And that was enough.
As you sat there, side by side, under the stars, you realized that everything had come full circle. All the years of missed moments, all the moments of doubt and confusionâthey were behind you now. You were finally here, with Luke, where you both belonged. And as the cool breeze ruffled your hair and the distant hum of the night surrounded you, you felt like the world was finally right again.
And from where you sat, you could see Quinn watching from the porch, that small but knowing smile still on his face, as if he knew this moment was a long time coming. Luke had always deserved this. And now, finally, he had it. He had you. And you had him.
In that moment, there was nothing left to do but lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beside you. The world might have been uncertain, but here, with him, you felt more certain than you ever had before. And you knew that, for once, you wouldnât run anymore. You were right where you were meant to be.
#nhl#nhl imagine#nhl x reader#nhl x you#nhl fic#nhl players#nhl hockey#new jersey devils#new jersey devils x you#new jersey devils x reader#new jersey devils imagine#nj devils#nj devils x reader#nj devils imagine#nj devils x you#luke hughes#luke hughes x you#luke hughes imagine#luke hughes x reader#hughes imagine#lh43#lh43 x you#lh43 imagine#lh43 x reader#angst#fluff#luke hughes angst#luke hughes fluff#777bae
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Just Giving In
Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist
Read on A03!
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, truth curses (with a silly twist!), light fluff, angst, smut (fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n
Summary/Warnings: You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.
Author's Note: It's amazing how I'm able to delude myself into truly believing that I'll actually write something short and only horny. No. We must write 3k of story and 5k of emotional smut. Enjoy!
Title from Never Let Me Go by Florence + the Machine
Word Count: 8.6k
Itâs past midnight when you get back to the bunker.Â
You were supposed to be back that afternoon, but certain complications arose, and youâre back now. Youâll have a long, sleepless night to come up with an excuse for why exactly you were five hours late, didnât text Sam and Dean that you were going to be five hours late, where exactly you were in the first place, and why the car looks like that. Scraped and dented and wrecked, like it had been put through a meat grinder and spat out in a hunk of metal that somehow didnât explode when you drove it.Â
Youâre glad you didnât take the Impala. If Dean yelled at you right now, you might start crying on the spot. Thankfullyâin what should be a rare stroke of luck, but feels like a dagger right into your stomachâSam and Dean seem to have given up on trying to wait for you to come home, so youâre free to retreat to your room and cry in private, like any reasonable adult whoâs probably going to die within the week would-
âYouâre back.âÂ
A light behind you flicks on as Dean snaps from across the room, and you grimace as everything inverts. Dean did wait up for you, and thatâs tiny and electric high that goes right up your spine. Youâre also not lucky, but that just feels like a given at this point.Â
You will not cry in front of Dean. You have spent the whole night repeating to yourself that, no matter what happens here, you will not cry in front of Dean. He either think nothing of this week, and it will fade into the distance as you figure this out yourself and he never knows, or heâll look back on it with nothing but simple grief and anger, remember you fondly and furiously instead of as a weak, emotional, manipulative bitch. Remembers you as the person youâve spent so long proving yourself to be, instead of the feral girl theyâd found you as.Â
It doesnât make turning around to face him any easier. Heâs sitting in his usual chair, glaring at you with his arms crossed, and there are bags under his eyes that you put there. A tight line to his lips thatâs your responsibility, because youâd fucked up and he knows it. He always knows it.Â
Because you fuck up a lot.
âHey, Dean, whatâs up-â
âWhatâs up?â He snaps, and you have to force your body not to flinch. âYouâre crawling back here at one in the goddamn morning without ever, I donât know, thinking to fucking call when you realized youâd be late, and youâre saying whatâs up?â
You swallow. âI lost my phone.â
âYou, fuck-â Dean rubs his jaw with a hand, giving you a look of pure disbelief. âYou couldâve borrow someoneâs, or prayed to Cas, or just, goddamnit-â he mutters your name, looking at you with an exhaustion that makes your gut flail. âWhere the hell even were you?â
âUm,â you glance down at your hands. âHunt?â
âHunt.â His voice is flat, and you wince. âThatâs all youâre going to say.â
You nod. âRowena called me. Needed help with something.â
âAnd you just fucking went with her, without telling anyone-â
âI didnât just go with her, I brought a gun. I was careful.â you try to stand a little taller, looking back up to Dean, because you need to sell your half-truth of a story and get out of here. Out of where Deanâs just right there, and itâs making your skin crawl and your blood cold and your eyes push out of your skull the longer you lie to him. âAnd I did tell Cas-â
âSon of a bitch, thatâs not enough.â Dean groans, pushing out of the chair to glower down at you. Itâs an intimidation tactic youâve seen him use before, where he makes himself large and furious, almost beast like. Sometimes it makes him look bigger than Sam, and he only pulls it out when heâs furious, and demanding answers. You donât think he knows that, when he uses it on you, it does not have the intended effect. Â
âDean-â
âCas didnât tell us.â Dean hisses your name, stalking across the room and getting far too close for your brain to function properly. âYou need to tell us, because we were, I was-â Dean cuts himself off with a grunt, his whole body rigid as he scans over your face.Â
âIâm sorry.â You mumble, and itâs the truth, so itâs like clear, fresh water over your head and down your throat. âI didnât mean to freak you guys out. I didnât think it would be that big of a deal.â
âYou didnât-â Deanâs jaw is clenched, and his words seem pushed through his teeth. âJust go to bed,â he mutters your name, and you feel something in your chest snap. âWeâll talk in the morning.â
You nod weakly, and almost run away from him. But not to bed. Youâve already blown this up way too much to just go to bed.Â
You go right to Samâs room and bang on the door, keeping a careful eye over your shoulder for Dean to walk into the hall.
It takes a very long, tense minute, but eventually you hear a groan from the other side of the door, tired words muffled through the wood.
âDean, sheâll be back, and youâre not helping anything-â The door swings open to reveal a messy haired, bleary-eyed Sam, and he blinks at you with a frown. âOh, youâre back. You should go tell Dean-â
âHe knows.â
âCool, thatâs good.â Sam scans over youâbouncing slightly on your feet, every movement and breath feeling frantic and borrowedâand frowns. âAre you okay?â
âNo.â
âOh, uh, you need to talk about it-â
You donât bother to answer, pushing past Sam into his room and dropping on the end of his mattress, watching him blink at you, his frown deepening every second.
âYeah, you can come in-â
âCan you please close the door?â You whisper, like Dean might somehow hear from wherever heâd gone after your fight.Â
Sam nods slowly, and the movement you hear the click of the doorknob, the words start to fall out of you like vomit.Â
âI fucked up, Sam. I really, really fucked up, itâs bad, Iâm fucking fucked-â
âWoah, slow down.â Sam moves across the room, running a hand through his hair. âJust, start from the top. Where were you-â
âRowena called me for help. Some sort of coven drama, she said she needed some backup because her magic was weakened.â You take a long, shaky breath, unable to look anywhere but the corner of Samâs carpet. âI told Cas, just in case it was a trap, and left. I owed her a favor-â
âWait, since when did you owe Rowena a favor-â
âMark of Cain.â You mumble. âI told her Iâd owe her if she helped Dean. One favor, cashable on anything.â
Sam says your name slowly. âYou didnât need to do that, we would have figured it out. I mean, Dean wouldnât want you to-â
âI know, I donât need you to-â You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. âCan we focus on one stupid choice at a time, please?â
âYeah, sorry, keep going. Why are you fucked.â
You chew on the inside of your cheek, and decide to skip most of the details. Sam did not need to know about how the case was indeed at trap, or how youâd known it was a trap, but the favor had been a blood oath, so you werenât able to run or call them. He didnât need to know how youâd mowed down about five witches with the carâthe sickening crunch still rattling around your skullâor how it wasnât just blood and sweat on your brow, but something from an animal youâd really hoped youâd mistranslated from Latin.Â
He just needs to know the reason you hadnât killed Rowena when youâd escaped and taken out the rest of the coven.Â
He just needs to know about the problem.
âIt went to shit. Really big shit, Sam. Iâm kind of⊠cursed.â
Thereâs a long moment of silence, and when you finally gather the confidence to look at Sam, heâs gaping at you, frozen in place.
âWhat do you mean,â his voice is low, every word slow and deliberate. âKind of cursed.â
âI mean very cursed.â You mumble. âReally fucking cursed.â
âShit.â He mutters, shaking his head. âI said you were probably fine, Deanâs gonna kill me-â
âNo!â You stand up frantically, your voice almost a squeak. âDonât tell Dean!â
âWhy the hell wouldnât I tell Dean?!â Sam snaps, looking at you like youâve gone insane. âIf youâre really cursed, we need all hands, and Dean-â
âHe canât know, Sam, please.â You might start crying, every word choked in your throat. âDonât tell him.â
âIâŠâ Sam trials off, his face dropping into a deep frown that seems to be mostly made of worry as he says your name. âWhat, exactly, is the curse?â
You sigh, hugging yourself as you speak. âIf I donât resolve my deepest secret, Iâll die.â
Sam blinks. âLike, die die? Death die?â
âYeah.â
âOh.â His eyes widen as the situation fully sinks in, his whole body going slack as he pulls the pieces together. âFuck.â
You hum a soft agreement. âFuck.â
âAnd why canât I tell Dean? I mean, heâll want to help-â
âYou know why.â You whisper. âPlease donât make me say it.â
âFuck.â Sam groans. âAnd youâd rather die than-â
âYes.â You lower yourself down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you stare ahead at nothing. âIâm sorry, Sam, I just. I canât. I donât-â You taste the sting of metal as you bite through your cheek. âI donât know what to do. Iâm going to d-â You cut yourself off with a choked sound, and hear the bed shift as Sam drops at your side and pulls you into a gentle hug.
âWeâll figure it out.â He mutters your name, and you make another weak, strangled noise. âI promise. Youâre going to be okay.â
Over your first, weak sob, you donât hear the door open. You only know it opens because Dean clears his throat, and your blood turns white-hot in your body, caught between embarrassment and nerves and a deep, soft and starved piece of your heart thatâs trying to climb into your limbs and rip your body away from Samâs to fly to Deanâs.
âSammy, she-â He cuts himself off as he sees you, and you die a little at how he says your name. Like he hates it. âYouâre in here.â
You nod, keeping your face angled down, and you hear Dean shift slightly in the doorway.Â
âWhy are you in Samâs room.â
Thereâs no good answer for that, and Sam doesnât seem to have one either. Thereâs no plausible lie for why youâre on the floor on Samâs room, why youâre sniffling, and why heâs hugging you that doesnât sound insane. Even the truth wouldnât exactly be an easy sell.
And it hurts. When Dean just sighs and grunts that he doesnât want to knowâthat you and Sam can go back to fucking braiding each otherâs hair or whateverâand stomps out of the room, itâs like a knife to your gut. But you canât tell him. Not the truth. Not any of it.
So this will only be the first knife. And youâd worry about what you would be telling him when this was overâhow you could possibly explain yourselfâif you had any faith you were going to get out of this.Â
But you donât. The week crawls on, and it all only gets so much worse. Vague illness starts to feel like youâre being mauled from inside, and Deanâs anger turns to bullets.
You spend most of your days in the library with Sam, combing through book after book, looking for anything about how you can fix this, and every time Dean walks in, he looks like he wants to punch someone. Like heâs disgusted by your very presence where he can see you, like youâre a spider thatâs crawled into his house and he canât even stand the sight of you.Â
âIâm getting dinner.â He snaps on the third night, and when you look up from your bookâSam standing behind you, having hunched over your body to read the passage youâd been pointing toâDeanâs jaw is clenched, his fists curled at his side. âNeither of you got groceries, so Iâm ordering. What do you want.â
His voice is flat. It makes your chest feel like itâs being run over by a train.
âIâll take whatever you get.â You offer him a small smile, because you canât help yourself, and it just makes him glare more. âBut can I please have a milkshake as well?â
Dean narrows his eyes at you. âYou donât know where the hell Iâm going.â
âYouâre going to the diner, Dean.â You shrug. âYou always go to the diner.â
He grunts, something hot flashing over his face that you donât understand. âFine. Milkshake.â
He doesnât bother to ask any follow-up questions. He doesnât bother to wait for Sam to say what he wants. Dean just marches up to the garage, vanishes for an hourâthe diner is ten minutes away, and you start to feel your stomach and heart twist the longer heâs goneâand returns with a slam of the door, throwing a salad at Sam and placing a burger and milkshake in front of you before stomping out of the library.
Dean got your favorite flavor. You hadnât told him to, but he had.
It tastes like chalk. And youâve never hated yourself more.
After that, he barely speaks to you. Just low grunts and glowers at you whenever you cross paths, his presence in the bunked suddenly scares. Heâd usually sit with you and Sam while you read, cracking unhelpful jokes that make Sam roll his eyes and you giggle, but heâs just gone. Locked in the Dean Cave or the garage, shuffling around the kitchen with a sullen expression, swallowing his dinner whole and refusing to really even look at you.
It hurts more than any anger could. Itâs lonely and cancerous the longer it goes on, because youâre still talking to and hanging out with Sam, but he doesnât count. Your whole heart isnât orbiting around Sam. The curse is completely indifferent to Sam. The curse doesnât care when Sam grumbles or frowns at you. It cares when Dean hates you. You think it can feel that this wonât be resolvedâbecause it wonât be, you grow more and more certain with every passing day that this is how you will dieâand takes the opportunity to root deeper into your body. Every sneer or glare Dean gives you sits under your nails to claw at your skin. It covers you in sweat in the dead of night, and chokes you when youâre in the shower and the waterâs burning your skin.
Sam keeps trying to convince you to just do it, just say the thing to Dean because the worst that can happen is that youâre heartbroken but alive.
âAnd I really donât think it would even come to that.â He tells you from across the table at 2am, because youâre running out of time and sleep isnât something you can even remember how to do anymore. âI mean, itâs Dean-â
âThatâs the problem, Samuel.â You hiss. The curse has started to make you mean, and if you make it out alive, youâll have to buy Sam a million bottles of hair gel to make up for what youâre putting him through. âItâs Dean. He already doesnât like me-â
Sam frowns. âWhy would you think that-â
âBecause Iâm a responsibility.â Youâre spitting, and it tastes like venom. âIâm your kid shadow, Iâm Deanâs kid shadow, Iâm a burden-â
âYouâre not a burden,â Sam says your name slowly. âTo either of us. I mean, if what you said about Rowena is true, you saved Dean from the Mark-â
âThat doesnât count. That was just a deal I made-â
âA deal you made for Dean.â Samâs pushing back. You wish heâd stop. âMost people in our lives wouldnât have done that for us. And Dean doesnât think youâre his kid shadow, by the way. I mean, Iâve only ever-â
âSam.â Your voice is flat. A little broken. âPlease donât. Even if he doesnât hate me, I- I just canât-â
âBut Dean-â
âPlease.â Youâre going to cry again. âYou wonât convince me.â
Sam sighs, shaking his head. âWell, we need to try something. Iâm not just going to let you die.â
You donât think thatâs up to Sam. You donât think itâs up to anyone anymore. You wonât tell Dean, because youâve scanned over book after book about spell phrasing, and decided that telling Dean wouldnât even help. You had to resolve your deepest secret. Rejection that burns your heart to ash, that clouds your lungs and makes you cower and falter wonât be resolving anything, and then youâll just die in more pain.
You let Sam convince you to try something. More for him than for you. You lock yourself in the bathroom and stare at your hideous reflection in the mirrorâyour skin a little sunken, your eyes lined with red, your lips raw from being chewed until they bledâand start speaking a whisper, because you canât stand the sound of your own voice.
âI love Dean Winchester.â You tell yourself, as if youâre not so deeply aware of how your love is tattooed onto your every breath and heartbeat. âI love him. I am going to die, and I love him, and I am very-â You choke slightly, your eyes stinging as the world blurs. âI am very, very sorry. Not for loving him, but for forcing him to be loved by me. Iâm sorry I donât know how to stop loving him. Iâm sorry Iâm leaving him. But I am not sorry for loving him. I⊠I spent a lifetime surrounded by cruel animals who called themselves angels, and heâs the only person Iâve ever- I could believe- I just-â You drop your head, turning up the faucet to drown out every weak sob and apology. âI love him. And he⊠heâs too good be obligated to love me. So I think Iâll justâŠâ
You trail off, and crumble onto the tile floor. When you dry your tears and yank yourself back together, Samâs waiting for you a little down the hall. You shake your head, his shoulders slump, and thatâs it. For Sam itâs notâhe turns around and marches right back to the libraryâbut for you, it is. Youâre done.Â
Youâll hole up in your room and die alone. Like howâd youâd been meant to all along, lent only a little bit of extra time by Dean saving you to begin with.
And that time had run out. So youâll just go die alone.
lay flat on your bed as your vision starts to dance with spots, and spend your time trying to image what a heaven youâre not allowed into will look like. Cas has told you every person gets their own, but you donât really want that. It sounds like more of your life, and itâs pointless to worry about because youâre headed nowhere but down, but youâd still rather spend eternity with someone.
One person. Youâd like to spend eternity with one person.Â
The same person who had somehow gotten into your locked room, and is snapping your name as he stands at the foot of your bed. Youâd be angrier heâd just barged in if you could remember how to be anything but in pain. Youâd snap back if your mouth knew how to be anything but numb.Â
âDean-â
âWhat the fuck are you doing.â Dean hisses, and you close your eyes, the light suddenly painfully bright. âWhat the hell is wrong with you.â
âNothing.â You whisper, and he scoffs.Â
âNice shot, sweetheart. Iâm not an idiot.â
âI donât think youâre an idiot, Dean, I just donât feel well.â
âThatâs fucking bullshit-â
You sigh. âItâs not. Iâm sick.âÂ
Thereâs a moment of silence, then, âhow sick.â
âFever.â You mumble. âStomach bug. Maybe the flu. You should probably leave-â
âNo,â he grunts, and you hear his steps. Heâs coming closer, and your skin might be boiling off your body. âIâm not leaving you-â
âItâs not leaving if I ask you to go.â You mumble, and you can feel the heat of his body off to the side, can hear his breathingâmaybe even his heartbeatâand itâs making everything worse-
âIâm not going.â
âDean, just, please-â
âNo, Iâm sick of you fucking ignoring me, and I- I donât even care whatâs going on with you and Sam-â
You frown. âNothingâs going on with me and Sam-â
âI have eyes,â Dean sneers your name, and thereâs a tone in his voice thatâs almost wounded. âYou were hugging in his room, youâre always fucking whispering and hanging out-â
âThatâs not-â You swallow, dragging your eyes open to find him glaring down at you. He looks wounded too. âItâs for a case.â
âWhat case? A case that Iâm not allowed to know about? Because thatâs not a case, sweetheart, thatâs a secret-â
You almost throw up, just from that word. âItâs- Iâm not keep any secrets, Dean, just please go-â
âNo!â Heâs almost shouting, and the sound is like a cannon into your gut. âI donât know what the hell is up with you, but youâre suddenly putting yourself in danger, and stuck to my brother, and youâre not talking to me anymore-â
âYouâre not talking to me, Dean.â You whisper, his gaze burning you right down to the cavity of your chest. âIâm always in the library-â
âYeah, I know, with Sam.â Dean scowls, and youâre too tired to think almost anything, but thatâs strange. Dean never says Sam like that. Like itâs a horrible word.Â
âItâs not a big deal,â you say, watching Dean carefully. âHeâs helping me with something-â
âSomething I canât help you with?â
You blink, ready to lie and say no, but your mush of a brain doesnât appear to be up to that task. âNo.â
Deanâs brow furrows slightly. âSo I could help you.â
âI-â You feel a stab in your intestine, and your voice grows hoarse. âPlease donât ask me that.â
âWhy-â
âBecause I- Just go away, Dean-â
He shakes his head, saying your name in a stern, unwavering voice. âCould I help you-â
âN-â You swallow a groan as your lungs contract, and this is dangerous. Youâre too far gone to lie anymore, and thatâs the only chance you have. If Dean keeps poking at you, youâll tell the truth. You canât tell the truth. âPlease just leave me alone-â
âIâm not leaving you alone.ïżœïżœïżœ He snaps, dropping onto the side of your bed to prove his point. âYou never left me alone, with the Mark-â
âThatâs not-â You canât swallow your next sound of pain, or the whine that leaves your throat when Deanâs hand grabs your thigh. âDean, please go-â
âDo you want me to go.â
âNo.â You say it before you can think, and hate that the pain over your muscles lessens when Dean stays, and when his hand starts to rub slow circles. âBut you- you have to-â
âI said Iâm staying.â He grunts. âAnd youâre not changing my mind, sweetheart. Tell me whatâs wrong with you.â
âI did.â You whisper, closing your eyes again. Looking at his handsome, annoyingly determined face isnât helping anyone. âIâm sick.â
âFine. Whatâs making you sick.â
âCurse.â
Fuck.
Deanâs silent for a long moment, then-
âWhat the fuck do you mean, curse.â
âMe.â You mumble. âCurse on me.â
âAnd how did a curse get on you-â
âRowena.â
âThat fucking bitch.â He mutters, and you feel his grip on you tighten slightly. Almost protectively. âWhy the hell didnât you tell me-â
That was probably a rhetorical question. Your sudden truth-telling streak doesnât seem to care at all. âI was worried youâd hate me.â
âI- what?â
âI was worried-â
âI heard you,â he grunts. âI just, why the hell would you ever think Iâd hate you-â
âBecause I suck.â You whisper. âAnd I canât- I donât deserve you.â
Deanâs silent again. You wish heâd stop doing that. âYou think you donât deserve me?â
You nod, barely a movement at all, and Dean groans. Youâre still not strong enough to look at him.
âSweetheart, you- Iâm not-â He cuts himself off, his hand resuming his circles, youâre not sure he knows heâs doing it. âIâm going to ask you something, and you need to tell me the truth. Got it?â
You hum. Like youâd even have a choice.
âWhat will cure the curse.â
âI need to,â you try to fight down the words, but youâre light-headed and faint and Deanâs hand is really warm, so you fail. âI need to resolve my deepest secret.â
âOh.â He pauses. âWhatâs your deepest secret?â
Youâre going to bite off your tongue. And when Dean says your name again, his voice a little rougher, it drags your eyes open to stare at him. Watching you with a focus you can feel in your bones, thatâs prying the truth out of you, and heâs just looking at you and you canât do this-
âDean, I-â You digs your nails into your skin, something flashes in his eyes, and you canât look away. But you canât stop yourself either, and if you have to watch Deanâs disgust, that might kill you right here. âPlease turn around.â
He frowns. âWhat?â
âI need you to turn around.â You whisper. âPlease.â
He nods slowly, twisting away from you, and itâs like a green light to your stupid, traitorous mouth. The words fall out of you like vomit, and if this is the end, at least it might be fast.Â
âI love you. Iâve loved you for years, and Iâm sorry, but I canât stop, and I donât want to stop, and I love you. Only you. Just you. Canât remember how to love anyone else, because I love you. I love your jokes and your grumpiness and how protective you are because you make me feel safe, and I love that youâre kind of a dork and a loser but youâre also so hot, I love your voice and your face and your hands, and I and I want you in a, um-â You squeeze your thighs together, staring at the suddenly rapid rise and fall of Deanâs back. âA way that I shouldnât talk about-â
âHow do you want me.â He grunts, his voice low and a little gruff, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks.
âOn me.â You whisper. âIn me. I want you on my face and in my hands and fuck, I want your inside of me. But I also want to wake up next to you and hold your hand and fall asleep in your lap, and fuck-â
You cut yourself off with a whine as something sharp hits your right in the heart, and Deanâs silent. Heâs not turning around, or leaving, or doing anything but sitting and breathing for so long, for too long-
âYou-â He shakes his head slightly, and you could swear heâs leaning slightly backward. âYou want me.â
âYeah, I- yes.â
âYou love me.â
âYes.â Too late to go back now. âI love you, Dean.â
âWhy- why didnât you tell me?â
He sounds broken. He sounds sad.
Youâre so confused. Itâs almost enough to distract from the pain racking your whole body.
âI- I didnât think youâd-â Not care. Dean couldnât not care. He cares too much. âI wasnât sure what-â
âWhat Iâd say?â
âWhat youâd do.â
âWhat would you-â Heâs definitely leaning back. Heâs closer, too. âWhat would you want me to do?â
âWhat would I want?âÂ
Dean nods.
âI- it doesnât matter-â
âYes it-â He sighs, twisting around to face you. You canât read the expression on his face. Itâs lost and itâs afraid and itâs⊠hopeful. Thereâs this small light thatâs so deep in his eyes that seems like real, true hope. âPlease,â he mutters your name, and you might be melting. âJust, entertain me. What would you want me to do?â
âIâd want to tell me you love me.â You whisper, and if this curse is going to kill you, you hope it does it now, right before you lose all your dignity forever. âLike I love you.â
Dean shakes his head slightly, and your heart might be splitting in half. âBut I- I tried to kill you-â
âThe demon tried to kill me. That wasnât really you-â
âYes, it was-â
âNo.â Your voice gains a little strength, and you push up on your elbows. âYou saved me, Dean. You rescued me from the angels-â
âAnyone wouldâve done that-â
âBut they didnât.â You snap. âYou did. And I donât love anyone, I love you.â
âThatâs-â He groans, his voice growing hoarse. âYou- why?â
âWhat do you mean, why-â
âWhy would you love me? I mean, unless this is some sick, fucked up prank-â
âItâs not a prank-â
âWell why?â He shouts your name, and he looks distressed. Like this is shredding him apart. âWhy the hell would you love me-â
âBecause I like loving you.â You grab his hand, his own panic starting to set into your own body, making this all the worse. âIt feels right. And I- I know you donât love me-â
Youâre not sure whatâs happening. Deanâs hands are cupping your face, and his mouth is on yours, and he tastes like whiskey and coffee and pecan, and you feel okay. You really feel okay. All the pain and sickness is dissolving from your body, and Dean is kissing you. Kissing you with an unforgiving, demanding desperation, his tongue down your throat and his body lowering down over yours, pinning you to the bed as he groans against your lips.
The sound jumpstarts something in you. Your arms wrap around Deanâs neck right before he can pull away or hesitate, and you throw everything heâs silently offering you back to him. Biting on his lower lip and wrapping your legs around his torso, grinding up into him as he makes a deep, satisfied noise and moves one hand to wrap around you waist, holding you steady against him as he rises up, moving you to stay in his lap.
âYouâre, shit.â Dean lets out a low chuckle, pressing a small, gentler kiss to the tip of your nose as you breathe in ragged time. âYouâre such a fucking idiot, sweetheart.â
You lean back to frown at him. âNo Iâm not-â
âYeah, you are. But I am too.â He sighs, dropping his head to the crook of your neck and speaking against your skin. âSeems like weâre made for each other, huh.â
âDean, I-â
âWait, just-â Dean kisses up the column of your throat, ending right behind your ear, and his voice a low sound that falls right down into your core. âGimme a second.â
âDean-â
âPlease,â he mutters, and when you pull back he looks nervous. Itâs strange, but adorable, and you nod. He needs a second, youâll give him a million. Anything to keep him here a little longer, to keep the ebb of the sickness going.Â
âOkay.â You whisper, andâtaking the biggest gamble of your lifeâlean forward to kiss him again. Just a light, almost innocent press of your lips to his. He tenses, his arms around you tightening, and youâd have panicked if it didnât seem like he was clinging to you. Like he was afraid you were going to vanish.Â
âI- uh,â Dean says your name slowly, and itâs odd. Youâve heard him say it exactly like that a million, but this feels deeper. Like a prayer. âI lo-â He cuts himself off, his brow drawing tightly together, and you can feel your heart in your throat. Set to either explode or move into Dean as you hold your breath. âYou. I- you- itâs- fuck.â He scowls, and you offer him your gentler smile, running a hand over the soft stubble on his jaw, even as you feel your blood start to go cold again.
âDean, you donât have to-â
âYeah. I do, I-â He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and speaking against them as if heâs trying to tell your body more than your mind. âI love you. A lot. So stop being cursed.â
You stare at him, your voice barely a breath. âYeah. Okay.â
âDid it work?â
It did. The curse seemed to vanish the moment Dean kissed youâlike it knew that what he was trying to tell you before he even said itâbut now the world is just color and light and Dean. Itâs enchanting. Heâs enchanting. Heâs all genuine and powerful focus on you, and. worry that makes you feel warm, and love you can suddenly see everywhere on him. You donât know how you missed it before, because itâs in his eyes and coating his lips and in every flex of his body around you. It would knock you down if he wasnât holding you.Â
âYeah.â You smile at Dean, and his own mouth tugs up slightly. âThank you.â
âNo problem.â He shrugs. âAny time. I, uh, sorry about getting pissed about you and Sam.â
âItâs fine, I-â You paused, frowning at him. âWere you jealous?â
He scowls, his cheeks turning a little red. âObviously.â
âOf Sam-â
âYou were really close with him all the time.â Dean snaps. âAnd I- you seemed pissed at me, and super stressed, and usually youâd come to me for that stuff, but you were hugging Sam and talking to him instead of me-â
âBecause I donât love Sam. I love you, thatâs why I told you-â
âI didnât fucking know that.â He grumbles. âI- Sam doesnât know everything about how I feel about you, but he knew enough, and I- I thought you were choosing him- And I- Youâre not my girl but you felt like my girl and I didnât-â
âYour girl?â Your face splits into a wide smile, and some of the tension seems to leave Dean as he nods.Â
âYeah. If you want.â
âYes.â You squeak, and Deanâs hand starts to run slowly down your thigh. âYes, please.â
âYou sure?â He raises his brows, and itâs really hard to think when heâs so close, and this is suddenly overwhelmingly real. Heâs really broad and warm against you, and heâs really touching you, and he said the thing but that doesnât mean-
âYeah, but are, are you sure-â
âBaby, Iâve never been more sure of anything in my life.â He drawls, and you swallow as he leans in closer, his nose bumping yours. âAnd Iâd be very happy to prove that.â
âProve it?â You whisper, your eyes trapped onto his glimmering, darkened ones. âI, um, that, how-â
âHowever youâd like,â he says your name with a smirk, and itâs amazing how any all insecurity he had only a minute ago seems to have vanished. âYou wanna tell me howâd you want me to prove it? Or do you need some suggestions?â
You might be drooling. âSuggestions, please.â
Dean hums, holding you carefully as he rises on his knees, bends you down onto the mattress, and starts to trace slow, taunting hands over your body.
âWe could start slow,â he mutters, playing with the hem of your shorts, broad fingers brushing over your skin. âI could take my time with you, sweetheart. Do the proper thing, take you out to dinner and movie, wait until the third date to give you everything-â
âNo!â You yelp. âNot slow-â
Deanâs hand slides under your shorts, his palm resting right over your already sore pussy, and he chuckles at your high gasp.Â
âAlright, baby, not slow.â He leans down to pull you into a long, slow kiss, smirking against your lips as you start to grind into his hand. âBut weâre going on a date. Iâve had years to plan it, wouldnât want all my hard work to go to waste.â
You nod a little stupidly, your nails digging into his arm braced near your head. âHow- what do you mean years-â
âYouâre not the only one who had that at first sight thing.â Dean mutters, shaking his head slightly. âIâve lost sleep over you, baby girl. Weâre going to do this right, no witches involved, but,â he drops his head to kiss right behind your ear, humming as a high moan escapes your lips. âIâve got a million things I want to do you, and fuck me if Iâm going waste time not doing them.â
âYeah, good, do that-â You gasp as Deanâs thumb finds your clothed clit, starting to draw firm, fast circles around it. âShit, Dean-â
âThatâs my name.â He growls in your ear, flicking against you and smirking at your high whine. âCâmon, sweetheart gotta get you ready for me-â
âI, Iâm ready-â
He chuckles. âNo, youâre not. Wanna make you feel good, not break you.â
âWhat if, fuck-â You feel a brief, sharp moment of cold air as Dean pulls your shorts and panties down, shoving two fingers into your cunt. Heâs watching you so carefully, like heâs studying your every hitched breath and blurred gaze, smirking as he begins to slowly move inside of you, scissoring and crooking and pushing in deeper every time-
âWhat if what, pretty girl?â He teases, his pace increasing slightly. âUse your words.â
Your back arches off the bed as Dean re-angles his hand, pressing his palm to your clit and starting to rub strong, sharp circles as his fingers reach a blissful, almost painfully good pace, but remain too shallow to hit that sensitive spot deep your cunt and send you over the edge. âWhat if I want you to break me?â You gasp, your arm wrapping around his neck as he groans, dropping his brow against yours. âPlease, Dean-â
âYou, fuck-â He grunts your name, and you feel something prodding at your inner thigh. âNot now, baby, need to be gentle-â
âNo you donât-â
âYeah, I do.â Deanâs movements still as he rises on his knees over you, and youâre pretty certain the authoritative thing is supposed to be stern and intimidating, but itâs mostly just making you grind on his hand and reach up for him pathetically.
âDean-â
âListen to me.â He snaps, grabbing your wrist and pinning it to the mattress, sighing as you moan again, squeezing around his fingers, still in your cunt. âFuck, you nearly just died-â
âIâm okay now.â You whisper. âI feel great. I feel, fuck Dean, I feel so good-â
He hisses as you spread your legs, writhing on the bed for anything, at this point youâll take anything Dean offers you-
âFuck yeah, you do.â He mutters, his fingers starting to pump slowly again, scanning over your body with an almost awestruck expression. âBet you feel like heaven, baby girl, but we need to go slow. I promise I can wreck you later, but today-â
âSlow.â You sigh, and he nods.
âSlow. But,â Deanâs free hand starts to trail under your shirt, palming at your breasts, rolling your nipples between calloused, strong fingers. âDoesnât mean we canât take care of you, sweetheart. Iâm going to fuck this tight little pussy, still going to get you fucking cockdrunk. Okay?â
You nod, your eyes slightly glazed over, and Dean bends his fingers deep inside you, right one that spot, letting out a low gasp as you whine.
âSay okay, sweetheart.â He grunts, his hand moving from your breast, over your neck, to your mouth, pressing his thumb on your lower lip until it parts. You moan against him, your eyes fluttering slightly, and youâre already too high, too needy, to do anything but listen.
âOkay.â
âGood girl.â He coos, slowly pushing his thumb between your lips, his nostrils flaring when you start to suck on him with an abandon. âFuck, so good, I canât wait to ruin you, baby, youâre never gonna even think about another cock-â
You havenât thought about another cock in years, and you havenât even seen it yet. But Deanâs thumb is bumping the back of your throat, so all you can do is moan, give him your best pleading look, and let your head fall back as Deanâs fingers finally move inside of you, pushing and playing on the spot until your orgasm washes over you in bright waves of good. So good. Just, fuck, heâs good-
Deanâs thumb pulls out of your mouth with a pop, and he wipes a little bit of spit off on your upper lip before lowering his mouth to yours, this kiss far too soft and gentle for how you think you might die if he doesnât fuck you now.
âLook so pretty, cumming on my hand.â Dean moves to the shell of your ear, his growling promise sending a shiver up your spine. âBet youâll look prettier fucking squeezing my cock.â
You barely have time to whimper when Dean yanks his fingers out of your cunt, rolls you over so youâre straddling his torso, and raises you up by your hips before pushing you right down onto his dick. You donât even remember when he took off his pants, or where your shirt went, but those are worries for someone who isnât being split open on Deanâs cock. Who doesnât have him drawing small circles on their inner thigh, or isnât being held up by his hand on their waist.
But you do. You have Dean everywhere, real and warm under your hands as you grip his shoulders, bumping deep against your cervix as he lets you adjust to the size of him, one broad finger reaching down to pressâlight and tauntingâon your clit, and groaning as you squeeze around him.
âShit,â Dean grunts your name, looking up at you under hooded eyes in a way you donât think anyoneâs ever looked at you before. As if youâre somewhere theyâd always expected to be, and theyâre still in awe that youâre there. âGotta be careful, want this to-â
Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you grind on him experientially, clenching again as he hits that electric spot deep inside you. He grabs you firm by your hips, stilling your every movement as he gives you a stern glower.Â
âYou need to listen.â His voice is gravely and lower than youâve ever heard it, and youâd do whatever he told you to, but that doesnât mean you canât whine and scratch lightly at his chest.Â
âDean, move-â
âYou gonna listen?â
âYes, just, fuck-â You gasp as he pulls you up with barely a grunt, slamming your right back down with a roll of your hips.Â
âWant you to feel good, baby girl, but you need to be careful,â Dean drags one had down to squeeze your ass, his hand still on your waist drawing light circles around your clit. âOr next time might be more than wrecking.â
Your moan is vulgar and shameless, and youâre more than ready to devote sleep to figuring out what more than wrecking will look like, but right now you just fucking need this.Â
âNeed more, Dean,â you whisper. âNeed it so bad-â
âI know, sweetheart.â He mutters, trailing his hand up your stomach to squeeze your breast, groaning when you squirm around him. âThink youâre ready to ride this cock? Think you can handle, shit-â
Youâd stared to move the movement heâd said ride, rolling your body and arching your back, dragging every bit of confidence you have to grind down onto Deanâs cock, your nails sinking into his abdomen.
âFuck, yeah.â Deanâs voice is a breath under you, and when you scan over him, he lookslike heâsa little wrecked himself.His eyes on yours are hooded and low, his voice dripping with that same dominating confidence, but something more delicate in the way heâs touching you. Not as if heâs afraid to break you, but afraid youâll shatter him.Â
And you did that. You wrecked Dean. And that lights a wildfire in your gut, running through your nerves until theyâre sensitive and bare, and into your brain until itâs all just Dean.
You start to move. Slowly at first to test the waters, butâwhen Dean just groans and ruts up into youâquickly picking up pace until youâre bouncing on Deanâs cock, your thighs squeezing his torso and your clit rubbing on his abdomen, his ever grunt and hiss and bruising grip just making your need grow bigger as you slam him onto that deep spot-
âShit, Iâm- Slow down-âÂ
Deanâs hiss is low, and you immediately obey, changing to long, slow movements as Dean hums.Â
âThere you go baby, such a good girl.â His hand moves from your ass to your lower back, rubbing soothing patterns as he praises you. âYouâre so hot baby, fucking ruined on my cock-â
You make a high, breathless sound you donât recognize, moving your hips in a circle to try and chase more friction, and Dean chuckles.
âYou alright up there-â
âGood,â you moan, your eyes fluttering shut to try and focus your all on Dean beneath you. âSo good, Dean, feels so good-â
âNeed a little more?â
âYes-â
âMore descriptive than that, sweet girl.â He teases, and when this is done, youâre going to kill him. âTell me who this pussy belongs to-â
âYou,â the word falls out without thought, because most of you belongs to Dean. âJust you, only need you-â
âYou love me?â Deanâs voice is low, and when you open your eyes to look at him, thereâs a small chink in his armor. You donât know if you pried it open, or if youâve just never noticed, but you can see right into him, and he still doesnât really believe that you love him.
And thatâs the only thing youâve ever really know. You loving Dean has been the only truly certain thing in your life, because Deanâs a given and loving him feels like breathing.
So you smile at him, reaching forward to cup his face, and tell him with everything you have, hoping he can hear how the words are in time with your heart.
âI love you,â you whisper. âAnd Iâm yours.â
He blinks at you, shaking his head slightly even as his dick twitches inside you. âYou donât need to be, itâs- you know, dirty talk-â
âI know.â You shrug. âIâm still yours.â
Deanâs nostrils flare, and you know youâre not getting control back from him for the rest of the night.
Youâre fine with that. Dean starts to rock you back and forth around him, letting you just fall into and around him, and your lost to any world that isnât Dean. Isnât his hand splayed on your lower back or his fingers digging into the skin of your hips and ass. Anything that isnât his cock hitting part of you that you didnât know existed and filling you up so much youâre not sure how youâre ever going to manage being empty again.
You donât think you will have to manage. Deanâs holding you like heâs trying to brand himself on your body, like he needs you feel him for the rest of your life. And you will. Youâll feel the bliss Deanâs drawing from your body thatâs better than any heaven you could have imagined, rising slowing below the surface, ready to burst at any moment.
Youâll hear him too. Hear every deep noise of his own pleasure, hear the slapping of his skin on yours, hear his low praise echo around your head and ribs for the rest of your life.
âYouâre mine, baby girl.â He growls, the sound rumbling in his chest and rolling right into your pussy, making you throw your head back with a breathy whimper. âFuck, youâre so hot riding me, feel so good around me, tight and warm-â
Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you reach behind your body, your hand finding his balls to squeeze lightly.Â
âGoddamnit, sweetheart-â He groans, jerking slightly inside of you. âFuck, keep doing that, so fucking needy for me, fucking soaking this cock-â
You grind around him, and his pace starts to lose rhythm. Even after he swats your hand away you know heâs lost his own self-control, and fuck he looks hot without it. Starting to rut up into you in uncontrolled movements, pulling you to pieces with a lustful, ardorous gaze and brutal pace and strong hands, moving back to your clit and rolling it between his fingers-
Your mouth falls open in a silent, needy cry of pleasure as your orgasm bursts over you. Itâs not sudden, but you couldnât never anticipated the power of itâlike someone had doused you in gasoline that smells like whiskey and fruit, lit a match, and turned to into a starâor how it rides on and on, never seeming to crest or crash as Dean slams home inside of you, warmth coating your pussy and running down your thighs as he moans your name.Â
Dean helps you float down to earth, leaving careful, deliberate touches on your skin and humming as his knees rising up to support you. You watch his gaze rakes down your body, lingering on where he can see himself spill out of your pussy, and moves to slowly drag through the mess, gathering some on two fingers before rising them up to your mouth. You open without hesitation and his throat bobs, his cock twitching inside you as you lick his release off his hand, your eyes never leaving his wide, reverent one.
âSon of a bitch.â He mutters. âHow the hell did I get so lucky?â
You let out a soft laugh. âYou stole my line.â
âNah.â He shrugs, tracing a hand over your cheek. âYou could have anyone you want, baby, but youâre here, with an asshole like me-â
âYouâre not an asshole.â
âYeah, I am.â He shrugs, like you canât see how his own words pierce him through that chink. âShit, I just accused you of sleeping with Sam-â
âAnd Iâve been lying to you for years.â You lean down, resting your chin on his chest, giving him your widest smile. âNeither of us are saints, Dean. And I happen to be the right kind of fucked up to let possessiveness hot.â You pause, giving him your best stern glare. âTo a degree. I will slap you the next time you accuse me of fucking Sam.âÂ
Dean laughs, his around wrappedâgentle and relaxedâaround you. âYes, maâam.â
You hum, resting your head to the side, and you might be here for a hundred years. Time blurs and slows until itâs just Deanâs heartbeat near your ear, his thumb tracing a pattern on your arm, and his face buried in your hair. The end of the world might have already come to pass when his hand moves to your chin and he angles your gaze to his, and you wouldnât really care. Youâre still where you need to be.
âWould you,â he lets out a slow breath, all his cocky arrogance gone, his eyes on yours nervous. The hope is back, but itâs wrapped in soft fear. âIâm not good at- shit-â
Heâs going to hurt himself, and you take pity on him. You lean does to press a sweet kiss to his mouth, letting your tongue trail over his lips, and rising back up with a small smile.
âCan we go on a date, Dean?âÂ
He chuckles, nodding. âYeah. Whatever you want, baby girl.â
Your smile strains at your cheeks, because you only want Dean.Â
And youâll have to write Rowena a thank you note, because you finally have him.
End Note: Me make a story with no prior lore challenge: impossible
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Taglist
@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24
@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr
@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1
@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused
@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007
#x reader#reader insert#romance#canon typical violence#jensen ackles#jensen ackles characters#godmadeaterribleerror#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#sam winchester#dean x reader#dean x you#dean fanfiction#dean if you want a hug I'm free saturday#love confessions#smut#p in v sex#secrets#truth curses#angst
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
How about some sub Oscar or Lando where the reader teases them by wearing sexy outfits or even going commando under a skirt đđđ
why not bothđ (though Oscarâs is so much longer)
Warnings for Lando: commando in public, use of âgood boyâ, sub!lando, cowgirl, unprotected piv, pet names
warnings for Oscar: lingerie, teasing, sub!oscar, tit job, use of âgood boyâ, unprotected piv, edging, begging, use of y/n & pet names

Commando for Lando
âIâm ready to go!â You smiled sweetly in a flowy little summer dress. âThis is okay, right? Itâs just brunch?â
âItâs perfect, baby.â His smile was strained, hiding his truth. The well of your breasts over the neckline was already getting him hot, and it would be in no time when he started getting bothered to.
Crossing the room to you, he ran his hands up yours sides, under your dress.
He paused. Breath hitched.
You were completely bare underneath.
Before he could protest, you were already skipping out of the flat.
Brunch was torture. His pants too tight. Brain too foggy. Too sweaty despite being in an air conditioned space.
You didnât even make it through the door before he was begging for you.
âIâve kept my hands to myself all brunch. Please. I need you so bad.â
Your smile was a false sense of security. âYeah? You think youâve been good? Think you deserve me?â Your words were feather light, as were your hands as they slipped under his shirt.
âYes,â he sighed, eyelashes fluttering.
A nod, then a wave of your hand. âGo get undressed for me. Iâll be there in a bit.â
Clothes were thrown hazardously around the room while he sat in the middle of the bed waiting for you.
When you entered the room, you paused. Tutted. âLando, whatâs this mess?â
Of course, how could he forget that you liked things neat? He was on his feet in an instant, folding his clothes neatly and placing them on his dresser. You undressed while he found a spot on the bed, sat up against the headboard.
âSo good for me.â You cooed, crawling up to where he sat. You stopped, hovering over him. His sea glass eyes pierced yours, needy, glazed over. You tilted your head. âWhat does my boy need?â
He whimpered. âNeed to be in you.â A beat. âPlease.â
Taking him in your hand, you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to ghost over your sobbing hole. You paused. Lando threw his head back. âFuck, please baby.â He panted.
Slowly, you took him a centimeter at a time. Agonizingly slow. His hips twitched, but he had the mind to not thrust into you. After all, he had to be your good boy.
He moaned as you slipped the last of him in, fully seated on him now.
Pausing to adjust to the size, you observed his face. Eyes half lidded and darting all around your body. His lips bitten and moist from the constant swipe of his tongue. Your nails scraped his chest, his abs. You gave an experimental roll of your hips, gasping at how deep he felt. Another roll, another gasp. Roll. Gasp. âYou fill me up so well,â you moaned into his mouth, lifting yourself halfway off his cock before impaling yourself again. âMake me feel so good.â
You were kissing all over his face, his neck, any exposed skin you could reach. His moans vibrated his throat vibrated under your lips with every bounce of your hips. He sat like your good boy, taking everything you were giving him. He only spoke to whimper a warning. ââM gonna cum,â it was quiet. Hardly coherent.
But you didnât need his words, not when his cock was twitching inside you.
âCome on then. Youâve been so good for me, made me feel so good. Come on.â You babbled, pecking his lips between thoughts.
He came with your name on his tongue. White, hot cum spilled inside of you. It triggered your own orgasm. You shuttered, slumping against him. Your lips pecked his chest while you came down from your highs.
âShower?â He offered, and you nodded against him.
Lingerie and the sim with Oscar
A brand new lingerie set hugged your skin. It was your color. Fit you in all the right places. Now the best pair in your collection.
Oscar had been on the sim all day. He brushed you off when you asked him if he wanted lunch. Didnât even flinch when you kissed his cheek. You were over it.
âOscar, baby,â you cooed, stepping into his sim room. âI was thinking of making some salmon for dinner.â Your hands found his hair and you ran your fingers through the messy strands. âWhat do you think?â
âThatâs fine.â He muttered.
You rounded the seat, standing next to him for a moment. He didnât even spare you a glance. Not a single twitch of his expression to indicate that heâd seen your choice of clothing.
Even when you climbed into his lap and straddled him, he looked right past you. You rolled your eyes and grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. âWhat else do you want with it? Asparagus? I can steam some broccoli?â
His eyes trailed down your body, focused on the swell of your breasts, his jaw gone slack. There was now something hard pressing against your inner thigh. It hadnât been there before. The wheel bounced behind you, angry that the car had found the wall. âYou-â was all he managed to get out.
A dry laugh. âOh now Iâm on your menu?â Too busy salivating over the treat you were presenting him, he didnât notice the cruel tone of your voice. âIâm feeling in the mood for asparagus.â You shrugged, removing yourself from his lap.
âNo- wait-â he tried to catch your waist, pull you back down to his lap and fix the raging problem in his shorts. His fingertips barely ghosted your thigh.
He met you in the kitchen, trailing like a lost puppy, whining like a wounded one. âWhere are your clothes?â
âThey were uncomfortable, so I took them off.â You shrugged, bending over to retrieve a skillet from the cupboard. Innocent, big eyes, you turned to him. âWill you open the windows for me? I donât want to set off the smoke detectors.â You smiled.
He didnât listen, coming up behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulled you into him, rubbed his hard dick against your ass.
You pushed him away. âGo open the windows.â
He stumbled back, but listened this time. Though not without a scoff. His hands found your body again, becoming more exploratory while you prepared the salmon.
âOscar, dear?â You called sweetly. He hummed, kissing your neck. âWill you go sit down?â He hummed again, a sound of protest. He kissed you again, and again, rubbing against your ass. âOscar.â You called again, more stern.
He huffed, pulled away. âDinner can wait ten minutes. Please?â You didnât even look at him before shaking your head. âYouâre walking around like this and you expect me to not need you?â He continued, tugging your arm gently.
âI will finish dinner, we can eat, and then maybe Iâll help you out. Okay?â You told him, a fabricated sweetness.
He spent all dinner staring you down, hardly enjoying his meal with how tightly wound he was. He finished his food in record time, and threw his plate in the sink. You were only halfway done with yours.
He whined your name, palming himself through his shorts.
You pouted, grabbing his face. âAw, poor boy. Need me so bad that youâre whining?â You tilted your head, clicked your tongue. âYou could always take care of yourself.â His face twisted at the idea. Seeing that, you hummedâlow and teasing. âI guess youâll wait then.â
So he did. Kneeled at your side, watching in anticipation and desperation as you sucked the juice from your asparagus. His cock twitched and he shuttered a breath. A drop landed on your tit, and all he could imagine was that it was him leaking onto your tits. âGod, baby please.â He groaned.
You blinked at him. âWhat happened to all that huffing you were doing earlier?â He didnât have an answer, just licked his lips. The chair squeaked against the floor as you stood up. He got to his feet just as quick. âGo get ready for me in the bedroom.â You waved him off, and when he didnât move, âIâll meet you in there after I clean up my plate.â
When you sauntered into the room, he was sat on the edge of the bed. Completely naked. Staring at you with big, brown puppy eyes. âYouâve been acting like a dog since I got you off that sim.â You laughed sweetly. âYou gonna be good like one, too? Take everything I give you?â His cock was angry and leaking all over, given that fact, he wasnât in a place to disagree. He nodded urgently.
You got to your knees in front of him and he twitched at the sight. âDo you know why Iâve been neglecting you for the past two hours?â
He shook his head.
âYouâve been on that sim all day. Ignoring me.â You frowned. âBut all I had to do to get your attention was show you a little boob.â You reached behind you and unclipped the bra.
Oscar shuttered a breath as it fell to the floor.
âWant me to fuck you with them?â
He groaned at the thought. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he nodded.
âDidnât you agree to be my good boy? Good boys use their words.â
âYes, fuck, shit, please, please fuck me with your tits.â His hands fisted the sheets.
âThatâs better.â You muttered, leaning forward with your tits cupped in your hands. You hadnât even squeezed them together, he was only sat between the valley of them and yet moans were filling the room.
He groaned loudly when you pushed your boobs together, hugging his cock tight. When you hadnât moved, he threw his head back. âPlease, I promise-â he panted.
âHm? Promise what?â You asked, tongue darting out to lick his tip.
âFuck!â He gasped. âTo- not ignore you- hm,â
âGood.â You smiled wickedly. You started to move, his pre-cum slicking your tits like lube. Needy moans filled the room, high in pitch and frequency.
Your tongue stuck out again, licking his tip every time it poked above your tits.
âFuck, shit, fuck.â He moaned, unable to tear his gaze away from where your tits swallowed him. âYouâre so hot,â he sighed. His fists flexed in the sheets. âClose! Fuck! Iâm gonna cum!â
You pulled away at that, earning a pained mewl. âIâm sorry! I said I was sorry!â He squeezed his eyes shut. âPlease just- ngh- please let me cum,â he panted, chest heaving.
Hand on his chest, you pushed him into his back. âScoot up the bed, osc,â you murmured, backing away from him. He did as you asked while you shed your panties.
You crawled up the bed. Hovered over him. Took his face in your hands. âGonna make me feel good?â
âYes! Yes, use me, please.â He moaned as you gripped his dick in your hand. His tip ghosted over your hole. âMake me cum, please. I need to cum.â He babbled, eyes half lidded.
You kissed him as you sunk down on him. Your moans melded into one sound, the both of you swallowing every noise you gave each other. âSo, fuck, youâre filling me so good.â You panted into his mouth.
He groaned in response. âSo tight around me.â
You shifted, lifting your hips. He shuttered as he slipped out of you. Almost all the way. âBeg me. Beg me to let you cum.â Your chest heaved as you spoke into his mouth.
His brows twisted. âPlease. Please. I need you so bad. Please let me cum.â
âHave you deserved it? After ignoring me all day?â Despite your cruel tone, you slowly sank onto him again.
âNo! Yes! Fuck, please Iâm sorry! Iâll never do it again,â he rambled, unsure of the answer you desired. âPlease, y/n, please please please ple- ah fuck!â He gasped when you took him fully, hips slapping together.
No more teasing, you started bouncing on his cock right away. Moans mingled with the squelching and the skin slapping. Sounds of pure sex. You could feel every inch of him, every ridge. You leaned forward and his tip hit your cervix at the new angle. You shouted at the feeling. âNghph, hah, Oscar.â You moaned, foreheads touching, âmakinâ me feel so good.â
He whimpered. âBaby, Iâm so close,â
âWait. Donât cum before I say.â
The pace of your hips sped up, riding him with purpose. âFuck, youâre so deep in me.â
âDonât- ngh- donât talk like thatâ
âWhy? Gonna make you cum too soon?â You grinned. You were close, your walls squeezing around him.
He moaned, the sound too close to a whine. His nails dug deep into your thighs as he panted into your mouth. He shook his head. âPlease, I canât hold it I-â
âYou said youâd be good.â You reminded him. âAnd you have been, letting me use you like this.â You kissed his face, slow, sloppy. âJust a little longer.â You promised.
The coil in your stomach was wounding tight now. The tension licked flames of pleasure up your spine. Oscar was licking your face, your neck, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses anywhere he could reach. Then he sucked on your tit, and you came with a gasp of his name.
âPlease can I- fuck, it hurts, please let me cum Iâve been so good for you.â
You nodded, already reaching the end of your high. âYou deserve it. Cum for me.â
But as soon as you gave the order, you slipped away. You heard his protests as you left for the bathroom.
When you came back, he was glaring at you. It wasnât very strong, though. Clouded by a ghost of pleasure and disappointment. âThat wasnât fair.â He muttered.
You hummed, cleaning him up with a wet washcloth. He twitched and groaned, sensitive. âWhat wasnât fair?â
He looked embarrassed. âYou didnât⊠you ruined it.â
You laughed dryly. âDid I?â You feigned innocence. The washcloth was thrown somewhere behind you as you got under the covers. âWell, I guess lesson learned, huh?â You smiled, curling into his chest.
âYeah.â He grumbled, but kissed the top of your head anyway.
#f1#formula 1#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#f1 blurb#f1 fluff#f1 x you#op81#f1 smut#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri blurb#oscar piastri x fem!reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri one shot#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri smut#lando norris x you#lando norris fluff#lando norris blurb#lando norris one shot#lando norris smut#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris
662 notes
·
View notes
Text
đž~The Saja Boys reaction to you finding out they're demons~đž

pairing: The Saja Boys x reader
warnings: None really, maybe some tension
Disclaimer: not my picture!
Jinu
The dressing room was darker than usual.
Dim blue lights glowed low along the walls, casting sharp shadows across the vanity mirrors. You shouldnât have come inâat least thatâs what your gut told youâbut Jinu had been missing since the end of rehearsal, and something wasnât right.
The minute you opened the door, you felt it: heat in the air, like static before a lightning strike. The scent of something ancient and unfamiliar.
And then you saw him.
Jinu stood shirtless in front of the full-length mirror, his back to you, but not quite human anymore. Shadowy veins crawled up his arms like ink in water. His reflection⊠it didnât match his movements. His eyes in the mirror were glowing red.
Your breath caught in your throat.
He froze.
For one heartbeat, neither of you moved.
Then slowlyâdeliberatelyâhe turned.
And for the first time since you met him, Jinu didnât smile.
âYou shouldnât be here, Y/N.â
His voice was low. Rough. It scraped your name like it hurt to say it.
You stumbled back a step, heart pounding, your voice barely working. âYouâre⊠Youâre not human.â
He stared at you, the red glow fading from his irises like embers dimmingâbut it was too late. Youâd seen the truth. The illusion was broken.
He didnât deny it.
Didnât try to lie.
âNo,â he murmured, voice barely audible. âIâm not.â
The silence that followed was heavier than anything youâd ever felt. It made your bones ache.
You could see it now: the too-perfect symmetry of his face. The unnatural stillness in the way he stood. The faint wisps of black mist curling at his fingertips, even though he tried to hide them behind his back.
And yet⊠he looked tired.
Not evil. Not monstrous.
Justâexhausted.
âI didnât want you to find out like this,â Jinu said finally, stepping forward. âI was going to tell you eventually. I was trying to protect you.â
âFrom what?â you demanded, your voice shaking. âFrom you?â
A muscle jumped in his jaw. His usual calm façade was cracking.
âFrom all of it. The war. The truth. The part of me that doesnât deserve to be near you.â
He was closer now. Only a few feet away.
Your back hit the wall.
His presence was overwhelmingânot because of his power, but because of the restraint in it. You could feel it in the air: how much effort it took him to stay still. Not to touch you. Not to pull you in.
âThen why keep me around at all?â you whispered.
His jaw clenched. His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back up. He exhaled sharply through his nose.
âBecause Iâm selfish.â
The admission hit you harder than any lie would have.
âBecause I thought if I just had a little more time⊠I could pretend.â
Your breath hitched. He was so close now you could smell himâincense, heat, and something darker. Not unpleasant. Just... ancient.
âYou pretended to care?â you asked, hating how your voice trembled.
His hand hit the wall beside your head, trapping you in. But not in threatâin confession.
âI never pretended to care about you.â
His words landed like a weight in your chest. His fingers grazed your arm, but stopped before holding you.
âI lied about everything else. But not that.â
You didnât know what scared you more: the fact that he was a demon⊠Or the fact that your pulse raced as he leaned in.
Your lips were inches apart. The heat between you was unbearable.
âSay something,â he whispered. âHate me. Scream. Run.â
You searched his face. And for a moment, all you saw was the boy who stood beside you during late-night dance practices⊠the one who teased you when you were nervous, who wiped sweat from your brow with his sleeve⊠who always looked like he knew something you didnât.
Now you knew.
âI should walk away,â you said breathlessly.
âThen why arenât you?â
You didnât have an answer.
He leaned in even closerâyour noses nearly brushingâand his voice dropped to a whisper that burned against your skin.
âI wonât touch you unless you ask me to.â
It wasnât a threat. It was a vow.
Your lips parted.
But before anything else could happenâ
A knock slammed against the dressing room door.
âJinu-hyung! Weâre needed on set!â
He flinched like the sound physically hurt him. Then slowlyâso painfully slowlyâhe stepped back.
The mask of the idol returned. The glow in his eyes vanished.
âYou shouldnât be here,â he repeated, softer now. Regretful. âBut now that you are⊠Iâll never lie to you again.â
And then he leftâleaving you breathless, confused, and burning.
Abby
You were looking for your phone. That was all.
You had left it somewhere backstage after the showcase, and the staff had cleared out hours ago. The corridors were silent, the lights dimmed to a sleepy blue. You didnât expect anyone to still be hereâespecially not in the auxiliary storage room behind the stage.
You heard a thud.
Then a hissâinhuman and guttural.
The sound made your skin crawl.
You cracked the door open just enough to peek inside. What you saw sent every nerve in your body into overdrive.
Abby was floating.
Not standing. Not crouching. Floatingâseveral feet off the ground, surrounded by jagged red runes etched into the air, glowing like coals.
His shirt was gone. His entire torso shimmered with black markings that pulsed like veins, crawling up his arms and across his chest. His hair whipped around his face as if moved by invisible wind, and his eyesâGod, his eyesâwere molten, not gold or brown but fire itself.
Then his head jerked toward the door.
Your heart stopped.
âY/N?â
You gasped.
He dropped out of the air and hit the ground with an impact that cracked the tiles, the glowing marks vanishing as if sucked back into his skin. You turned to runâpanic rising like bileâbut in a blur of movement, he was already there, slamming the door shut with one massive hand and stepping in front of you.
âWaitâwait. Donât freak out.â
You backed away. âYouâre⊠What the hell was that?!â
He winced. âI was gonna tell you eventually. Like⊠after I eased you in with snacks or something.â
âSnacks?! Are youâare you joking right now?!â
That made him grin, which only pissed you off more.
âYou always said I made jokes when I was nervous. So, uh⊠yeah. This is me panicking.â
But the humor died quickly.
His grin fell. His voice lowered.
âI didnât want you to find out like this.â
You were shaking, but you couldnât stop staring at himâbecause even now, there was something magnetic about him. His muscles flexed with tension, jaw clenched, breath ragged like heâd just come out of a fight. Or a nightmare.
âAre you a demon?â you asked quietly.
He hesitated. Then nodded.
âYeah. I am.â
Silence stretched between you like a chasm. He looked everywhere but at you. Then he stepped back, lifting his hands in surrender.
âIf you want to scream, I get it. Run, call the cops, throw holy waterâwhatever works.â
Despite the words, he looked⊠crushed.
You swallowed hard, staring at his chestâat the faint remnants of glowing lines still fading beneath his skin.
âHow long were you going to lie to me?â
âI wasnât lying,â he said immediately. âI just wasnât telling. Not because I donât trust you. But because Iââ He stopped. Rubbed the back of his neck, muttering under his breath, âGod, I suck at this.â
âTry,â you whispered.
His eyes finally met yours.
âBecause I like you,â he said, too fast, too loud. âOkay? I like you. A lot. And I knew that if I told you I was literally a soul-draining fire demon, youâd probably stop laughing at my jokes. And thatâd kill me.â
Your throat tightened.
The ridiculous part? He was serious.
You could see it in the way his brows furrowed and his posture slumpedâlike the strongest guy in the room was terrified of one personâs opinion.
âDo you⊠do you drain people?â you asked carefully.
He grimaced. âOnly when Iâm forced. Not for fun. Iâve fought it every damn day since the band started. Thatâs not who I want to be anymore.â
The room was hot. Uncomfortably so. Not just because of the fire magic heâd just unleashedâbut because of him. The way he looked at you now: desperate, unguarded, raw.
You werenât sure when your back hit the wall, but suddenly he was standing just a foot away, looming without meaning to.
âY/N,â he said lowly, âI know Iâm a lot. Loud. Crude. Definitely not boyfriend material. But Iâve never lied about how I feel about you.â
His voice dropped further, turning almost velvety.
âAnd Iâve never wanted to kiss someone this badly without actually doing it.â
You blinked. Your pulse roared in your ears.
He saw it. Felt the shift.
Then he leaned inâjust a fraction.
âSay the word,â he murmured. âTell me to back off, and I will. But if you donâtâŠâ
You couldnât breathe.
You shouldâve said something. Pushed him away. Demanded answers. Screamed.
Insteadâ
You tilted your chin up.
He paused, every muscle in his body taut with restraint. His lips were so close you could feel his breathâwarm, tinged with something smoky and sweet.
But he didnât kiss you.
He backed away first.
Just enough to make your knees weaken in frustration.
âYouâre shaking,â he whispered, his voice hoarse. âI donât want to scare you. Thatâs the last thing I ever want.â
You swallowed hard.
âIâm not scared,â you said, surprised at yourself.
His eyes darkened. âDonât say that unless you mean it.â
You stared at him. Let the silence speak for you.
He grinnedâbut this one was different. Not teasing. Not cocky.
Relieved. Grateful. And maybe a little dangerous.
âGod, you have no idea what that does to me.â
Another knock interrupted the moment.
âAbs! Come on, weâre rolling in ten!â
He groaned, head falling back. âThe universe hates me.â
Then he looked back at you, softer now.
âYou donât have to decide anything tonight. Just⊠donât run. Please.â
And before you could answer, he winked, pulled the door open, and disappeared into the hallwayâleaving the room smelling faintly of fire and adrenaline.
And you?
You were still leaning against the wall, skin burning from heat that had nothing to do with magic.
Mystery
It was nearing midnight when you stepped into the practice studio. The others had gone home hours ago, the building quiet save for the hum of electricity and your own footsteps on the floorboards.
You hadnât meant to follow him. But something about the way Mystery left the dressing roomâwithout a word, without a glance backâstirred something in your chest.
He always disappeared like that.
Like mist.
Like a secret begging to be chased.
The studio lights were off. Only the mirror along the far wall reflected the faint moonlight through the high windows. For a moment, you thought the room was emptyâuntil you saw him.
Mystery stood alone in the center, bathed in pale silver light.
And his reflection didnât match him.
Your breath caught.
In the mirror, his eyes were glowing a cold, icy violet. A black crown of shadow twisted around his head like smoke. His skin shimmered with symbolsâancient, eerie, almost regalâand two jagged, semi-transparent wings stretched behind him, ghost-like and pulsing.
But when you looked directly at himânone of it was there.
âMysteryâŠâ
You didnât mean to say his name. It just slipped from your lips.
His eyes opened.
In the mirrorâhis reflection smiled.
But the real him didnât move.
Didnât even blink.
He turned his head slowly to face you.
âYou see it now.â
The words werenât surprised. Or scared.
Just⊠inevitable.
âWhat is that?â you whispered, pointing to the reflection.
He didnât look at it.
âItâs what I am,â he said simply. âWhat Iâve always been.â
He took a step toward you.
âAnd what I didnât want you to see.â
You backed up instinctivelyâbut he didnât chase. He kept a careful distance, watching you with that unreadable gaze that made your skin heat in ways you didnât understand.
âYouâre a demon,â you breathed. âLike the others.â
His eyes flickered, unreadable. âNot like them. Iâm... different.â
Your voice cracked with disbelief. âThatâs supposed to make me feel better?â
Something flickered in his gazeâregret, maybe. Maybe guilt.
He stepped closer, and this time you didnât move.
âDo you remember the first time we met?â he asked softly.
You blinked. Caught off guard.
âI was sitting on the balcony,â he continued. âYou were late for your shift. You thought I was asleep.â
You remembered. You had tripped over a mic stand and cursed under your breath. You thought he hadnât heard.
âYou laughed at yourself,â he said, the tiniest curve touching his lips. âThatâs when I knew I was in trouble.â
Your breath stuttered. The air in the room felt thinner, tighter. He was standing only a few feet away nowâclose enough that you could see the faint shimmer of markings under his skin, like stardust pulsing beneath the surface.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â you asked, voice shaking.
âBecause I didnât want you to look at me the way youâre looking at me now.â
That stopped you.
âLike youâre afraid,â he added.
âIâm not afraid,â you whispered.
âThen what are you?â
His voice dropped lower, quieter, like velvet wrapping around your spine.
You didnât have an answer.
He stepped closer. The mirror behind him pulsed againâhis reflection still wrong, still monstrous, still somehow... beautiful.
âIâve seen a thousand versions of myself,â he murmured. âIn glass, in water, in peopleâs eyes. But when you looked at me, you saw something no one else did.â
He reached out, slowly, fingertips brushing yours. Cold. Electric.
âYou made me feel like I could be more than what I am.â
The room tilted.
âYouâre manipulating me,â you said, but even you didnât believe it.
His touch slid to your wrist, featherlight, his thumb tracing your pulse.
âI could,â he said. âBut I wonât.â
Your heart thundered.
He leaned inânot close enough to kiss, not quiteâbut just close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips.
âNot unless you ask me to.â
The words echoed exactly like Jinuâsâbut this time, they felt⊠dangerous. Like the edge of a blade held against your throat, but the blade was your own desire.
You hated that your body responded.
You hated that you wanted to say yes.
âMysteryâŠâ
He tilted his head, eyes burning into yours.
âSay it again.â
âMystery.â
âNo,â he whispered, brushing his lips just barely against your jawline. âSay my real name.â
You froze.
He was testing you.
He wanted you to fall. Wanted to see if you could love the demonânot the illusion.
You clenched your fists.
âI donât know your real name.â
âExactly,â he whispered, pulling back, face suddenly unreadable again. âWhich means itâs not time yet.â
A voice crackled through the hallway intercom.
âFive minutes until final check. Saja Boys to makeup.â
He stepped back fully now, the ghost of something haunted flickering in his expression.
âWhen youâre ready to really see me⊠look in the mirror.â
And just like that, he turned, leaving nothing but his reflection still staring at youâ
And it winked.
You stumbled backward, heart racing, unsure what shook you more:
That he was a demonâŠ
Or that he still somehow made your knees weak with a single look.
Romance
It started with a hunch.
Something had felt off about Romance lately. His smiles were still flawless, his flirting still constant, but his eyes⊠they lingered too long. His voice always dipped a little too low when he said your name.
And tonight, he hadnât gone home after rehearsal. You knew because you checked. You werenât even sure why you caredâwhy you followed the hallway past the sound studio and into the old, unused prop storage room.
But as soon as you opened the door, you knew youâd made a mistake.
The room was bathed in a low crimson light.
Candlesâdozens of themâflickered in a perfect circle around a makeshift shrine.
Your face stared back at you from the center.
Photos.
Candid ones.
Some from shows.
Some⊠that you didnât know had been taken at all.
There were rose petals arranged around your image, but they werenât soft. They were charred. Crumbling. Scorched black at the edges. A glass of something darkâthick like bloodâsat in front of the arrangement.
And thenâ
âYou werenât supposed to see that.â
You froze.
The voice came from behind you, low and calm and infuriatingly smooth.
You turned slowly.
Romance was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he had all the time in the world. His arms were crossed, lips curled into a smirkâbut it didnât reach his eyes.
âYou followed me,â he said simply. âDidnât peg you for the curious type.â
âWhat the hell is this?â you demanded.
âDevotion,â he said, stepping into the room. âBut I guess that sounds creepy when you say it out loud.â
He moved closer, deliberate. Unhurried.
You stood your ground, though your heart raced.
âAre you seriously stalking me?â
âNo,â he said, voice soft. âWorshipping you, maybe. Thereâs a difference.â
âThatâs not funny, Romance.â
He stopped a few feet from you, hands lowering to his sides. The playfulness in his tone faded, like a mask slowly slipping.
âI wasnât joking.â
You swallowed hard, searching his faceâdesperate to find some trace of the harmless flirt you thought you knew.
But the man in front of you?
His eyes were glowing faintly red.
Not bright like fireâdeep. Like embers buried under ash.
âYouâre one of them,â you whispered.
He tilted his head. âA demon? Guilty.â
The silence that followed was suffocating.
You backed up a step. âWhy me?â
That pulled a real reaction from him.
He looked at you like you'd asked something sacred.
âBecause you saw me.â
You shook your head. âI saw the version of you that you let me see.â
âNo,â he said. âYou smiled at me when I wasnât performing. You looked at me when I wasnât trying to be charming. You made me feel like I was more than the thing crawling under my skin.â
His voice droppedâintimate, fervent.
âI didnât plan this. I didnât mean to get addicted to you.â
He moved closer again.
This time, you didnât move.
Your back was already near the wall.
âRomance, this is wrong.â
âItâs real,â he said.
His hand reached outâslow, cautiousâand brushed your cheek.
The contact sent a shiver through your spine. His fingers were warm. Too warm.
Your body betrayed you. You didnât flinch.
âI think about you all the time,â he whispered. âNot just the way you laugh, or roll your eyes when I flirtâbut the way you see me. The way you say my name like you mean it.â
His thumb traced your jaw, then stilled just under your chin.
âYouâre the only thing that keeps the hunger from swallowing me whole.â
You stared at him, helpless.
âAre you feeding on me?â you asked quietly.
His eyes darkened. âNo.â
âHave you wanted to?â
His jaw clenched. âYes.â
His hand dropped, curling into a fist at his side.
âBut I havenât. Because some part of me still wants to deserve you.â
That confession cracked something in your chest.
He turned away suddenlyâlike showing too much scared him more than your anger.
âYou should run, Y/N.â
âWhy?â you whispered.
âBecause if you donâtâŠâ His voice broke. âI might finally cross the line.â
You took a step forward.
âAnd what happens if I donât run?â
His shoulders stiffened.
He turned back around slowly.
Something shifted between youâsomething sharp and electric and dangerous.
He crossed the distance in two strides.
You were against the wall before you could think, his hand planted beside your head. His face was inches from yours. Breath mingling. Heat blooming between you like wildfire.
âThen Iâll ruin you,â he whispered. âAnd Iâll thank you for letting me.â
The silence was deafening.
You were tremblingânot from fear.
From the war inside your own chest.
His eyes searched yours, one final time, for resistance.
But you didnât move.
Didnât speak.
Didnât stop him when he leaned in, brushing the ghost of a kiss against your cheek, then your jawline, then just barely grazing your lips.
But he didnât kiss you.
âNot tonight,â he breathed. âYou still have time to run.â
And then he vanishedâ
A swirl of black mist where his body had been.
Leaving behind a room full of dying candles and your own thundering heartbeat.
Baby
It had been a long day. Too long.
The studio was empty. The hallways were dark. You werenât even sure why you were still here. Maybe it was instinctâsomething gnawing in the back of your mind.
Something⊠wrong.
You passed Babyâs dressing room and paused.
The door was open.
The light was off.
And something inside was moving.
Your fingers wrapped around the handle. You pushed it openâ
And froze.
He was crouched in the corner, curled in on himself, back heaving like he couldnât catch his breath. His hoodie was bunched at his elbows, revealing arms glowing faintly with silver runes that pulsed like veins of light beneath his skin.
Wingsânot fully formed, just shadows of wingsâtrembled behind him, twitching violently. Horns curled from his head, half-faded and jagged like they were still growing. His eyes⊠they were wide and glowing a pale, eerie blue.
âBabyâŠ?â
He flinched like youâd shot him.
âNo. No, no, noââ He clutched at his head, shrinking further back into the corner. âYou werenât supposed to see this.â
You hesitated, stepping in slowly. âWhatâs happening to you?â
âI lost control.â
His voice crackedâraw, panicked, not the cheeky, playful tone you were used to. This wasnât the boy who threw popcorn at you during movie nights or pouted until you shared your snack.
This was something else entirely.
âAre you hurt?â
He looked up at you, and it broke your heart.
Tears clung to his lashes, glowing faintly in the dark.
âYouâre scared of me now.â
Your stomach twisted. âIâm notââ
âDonât lie.â He laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and broken. âEveryone is. Eventually.â
âIâm not everyone.â
You moved toward him carefully, like approaching a wild animal. One wrong move and heâd boltâor worse, explode.
He stared at you like he couldnât decide if you were real.
âYou shouldnât be here.â
âAnd yet I am.â
You knelt a few feet from him, trying to keep your voice soft. âWhy didnât you tell me?â
His wings twitched again, like the tension in him had nowhere to go.
âBecause I didnât want to see that look on your face.â
âWhat look?â
âLike Iâm a mistake.â
That shattered something in you.
âYouâre not a mistake,â you said fiercely. âYouâre just⊠you.â
His gaze darted to you, unblinking.
âIâm not just anything. Iâm dangerous. Broken. I was created for destruction, Y/N. And I like it sometimes. Thatâs the worst part.â
You reached out, placing your hand on the floor between you both. Not touching himâjust offering closeness.
âThen why do you always pull back when you get angry?â
He blinked.
âWhy do you always leave the room instead of lashing out? Why do you let the others tease you? Why do you laugh with me even when your hands are shaking?â
He didnât answer.
âBecause youâre trying. Every day.â
You moved closer.
He didnât stop you.
You sat in front of him now, knees nearly touching.
Slowly, shakily, he raised his handâand hesitantly brushed your fingertips.
âMy control isnât always perfect,â he said, voice barely a breath. âI feel things too much. And sometimes I want toâŠâ
His voice trailed off.
âWant to what?â you whispered.
âTouch you,â he said. âHold you. Kiss you until everything else disappears.â
Your breath hitched.
His eyes darkenedâshadows pulsing in his irises.
âBut if I lose control while Iâm that close to youâŠâ
You reached out slowly, resting your hand over his trembling one.
âThen Iâll help you find your way back.â
That made him shake.
Not from fearâbut relief.
Overwhelming, bone-deep relief.
âWhy arenât you running?â he asked, voice cracking.
âBecause youâre not scaring me.â
âEven like this?â
He looked down at himselfâhorns half-grown, wings flickering like broken shadows. His demon form wasnât elegant or regal like Mysteryâs or fire-forged like Abbyâs.
It was chaotic. Raw. Vulnerable.
And yet, you cupped his face gently, tilting it up.
âEven like this.â
He stared at you like you were light in a world that had never known warmth.
And thenâ
He leaned forward.
Your lips brushedâsoft, searching, full of unshed fear and aching restraint. It wasnât deep. It wasnât hungry. It was trembling and fragile and real.
When he pulled back, his eyes were wide. Disbelieving.
âThat was real,â he whispered.
âYeah,â you breathed. âIt was.â
A voice crackled from the hallway speaker.
âSaja Boys â final call. Last scene of the night.â
Baby swallowed.
His wings flickered once more before disappearing. The runes faded. The glow in his eyes dimmed.
He looked like your Baby again.
Just⊠quieter.
He stood slowly, then offered you a hand.
âYou coming with me?â
You took it.
âAlways.â
695 notes
·
View notes
Text
soft spot



summary jiminâs favorite place has always been the crook of y/nâs neckâand even after they start dating, thatâs where she feels safest.
genre fluff / childhood bestfriends to lovers
pairing yu jimin x fem!reader
masterlist.
youâve known jimin since before either of you had a proper grip on language. first day of daycare, you offered her half of your snackâshe didnât even like carrots, but she took it and declared you her best friend forever anyway.
since then, it's always been the two of you. scraped knees, dumb fights over crayons, accidentally calling each other by pet names your moms used, falling asleep on calls with face masks on⊠all of it. you grew up like puzzle piecesâdifferent shapes, but somehow always fitting.
jimin had this habit.
every time she was sad or sleepy or just too damn overwhelmed by the world, she'd curl up into you like a cat and press her face into the crook of your neck. didnât matter where you were. didnât matter if your arm was asleep or your shirt was damp from her tearsâsheâd find her spot, right there beneath your jaw, and everything would go quiet.
ânot romantic,â she used to mumble when the others teased. âitâs just⊠safe.â
and it was. it always was.
then one night, under a million fairy lights at some rooftop party neither of you wanted to go to, you kissed her.
she kissed back.
you think it was the softest yes youâve ever felt.
fast forward three weeks into dating, and nothing really changedâexcept everything did.
you still finished each otherâs sentences. still shared snacks and watched trashy dramas. still bickered over whether pineapple belonged on pizza (it didnât, jimin argued, with a dramatic flair that deserved an oscar). but now there were kisses. sleepy back hugs. her hand holding yours under the table when no one was looking.
one night, youâre laying on the couch, the room dim with nothing but the TV playing reruns of some old variety show. your fingers are carding through her hair absentmindedly, and jimin sighs before crawling into your lap and doing exactly what sheâs always doneânuzzling into your neck like she belongs there.
you smile, warm and fond. âyou still do this, huh?â
âwhat?â
âthis.â you gesture slightly, chin brushing her head. âthe whole burrowing-into-my-neck-like-iâm-a-human-pillow thing.â
she doesnât look up. just hums. âmm. makes me feel calm.â
âyouâve always done it, even beforeââ you pause. âbefore you liked me.â
she snorts, finally lifting her head a bit. âwho said i didnât like you back then?â
you blink.
âyouâwhat.â
âbaby,â she laughs, eyes sleepy but sparkling. âyou were the love of my life since you let me copy your homework in 4th grade.â
you melt. audibly. your brain goes completely static. she tucks herself back into your neck, smug as hell, while your heart goes off like a fire alarm.
ââŠyouâre so embarrassing,â you mutter weakly, though you wrap your arms tighter around her.
âand youâre warm. shut up and let me nap.â
you let her.
because sheâs jimin. and sheâs in her spot. and youâre the luckiest girl in the world.
#kpop x reader#yu jimin#karina#aespa#yu jimin x reader#yu jimin x fem reader#karina x reader#karina x fem reader#aespa x reader#aespa x fem reader#gxg#x reader#kpop x fem reader#oneshot#fluff#aespa karina#aespa karina x reader#fem reader#female reader#karina x female reader#yu jimin x female reader#aespa x female reader
807 notes
·
View notes
Text



+ I'M HERE
in which he finds his girlfriend all beaten up in an alley.
YEON SI EUN X READER
hurt/comfort
The alley was quiet except for the soft dripping of leftover rain, water trailing from gutters like veins down the brick walls. The sky was bruised purple with the fading of daylight, the city already pulling on its night cloak.
Yeon Si Eun didnât mean to walk down this way.
He was heading home, earbuds in, half-listening to a lecture heâd already memorized. His mind was elsewhereâmaybe on the pop quiz scheduled for next week, maybe on the way her voice had sounded this morning when she told him she'd be fine walking alone. Dismissive. But kind.
He hadnât liked it.
He shouldâve insisted. Shouldâve gone with her.
It wasnât guilt that made him look down the alley. It was instinct. A flicker of movement at the edge of his visionâlike something out of place. His feet stopped before his mind caught up.
There was someone curled near the dumpster. Slumped. A shape far too still. Then he saw the flash of a white sneakerâone he knew.
Then the hoodie.
Then the hair.
Thenâher.
His body moved before his thoughts. The world narrowed into sharp lines and cold metal panic.
âY/N?â he breathed.
No response.
The moment he knelt beside her, everything inside him sank. Her skin was scraped raw, one side of her face swollen, a thin trail of dried blood lining her lip. Her knuckles were cut, knees scuffed like sheâd tried to run or fight or crawl away. Her hands were trembling.
Her breath caught. She flinched.
And Si Eun? He froze.
âItâs me,â he said, gentler now. âSi Eun. Youâre okay. Youâre not alone.â
Her head turned slightly. âSi⊠EunâŠ?â
The second her eyes found his, he couldnât breathe. Not because she looked hurt. But because she looked so small. So unlike her usual selfâbright, sharp, confident in ways he could never put into words.
Someone had taken that from her. And they were still walking around.
He blinked, and his hand reached out carefully, brushing damp strands from her forehead. She was cold. Shaking.
âCome here,â he whispered.
---
He wasnât sure how he got her home. He remembered carrying her out of the alley, flagging a cab with a voice he barely recognized as his own. He remembered her weight pressed into his side, her grip tight around his sleeve like she thought heâd disappear. He remembered promising the driver money he didnât even have if he just drove faster.
And nowâ
Now she was in his room.
She sat hunched in his desk chair, hoodie still clinging to her shoulders, legs drawn in. Her breathing was shallow, and her eyes were distantâlike she was still back there.
Si Eun stared at her for a beat too long before forcing himself to move.
The first-aid kit felt heavier than usual in his hands.
When he knelt in front of her again, she looked startled. âYou donât have toââ
âI do,â he interrupted. Quiet. Steady. Deadly calm. âBecause I shouldâve been there.â
Her lip trembled. âItâs not your faultââ
âI told you Iâd protect you,â he said, unwrapping an alcohol pad. âAnd I didnât.â
The pad hit the scrape on her cheek. She winced. His hand instantly slowed.
âI wasnât strong enough,â he murmured, not looking at her.
She stared down at him, voice barely a whisper. âYouâre the strongest person I know.â
âThat doesnât matter if Iâm not there when it counts.â
He said it too fast. Too bitter. It wasnât about guiltâit was about the fear. The kind that creeps in only after the worst has already happened.
His hands were shaking. Just a little. Just enough for her to see it.
She reached up, fingers brushing his wristâgingerly, because everything hurt.
âYouâre here now.â
The bandage slipped from his fingers.
He looked up. Into her eyes. And for a secondâjust a secondâhe let it show.
The fear.
The helplessness.
The anger.
The love.
He stood up without a word, then wrapped his arms around herâtightly, protectively, like a shield made of trembling limbs and silent apologies.
Her arms wrapped around his waist. She tucked her face into his chest and cried, and Si Eun just held her. Not as the top student. Not as the unbreakable boy everyone feared.
Just as her boyfriend.
Just as someone who failed, and wanted to fix it.
âIâve got you,â he whispered into her hair. âNo oneâs going to touch you again.â
And he meant it.
Later That Night
She fell asleep on his bed. Curled up in a hoodie three sizes too big. The bandages on her wrist looked too white in the dim lamplight.
Si Eun sat at his desk, phone in hand.
The girls hadnât been careful. They thought no one would care. Theyâd laughed as they walked away, one of them even snapping a photo to brag to her friend group.
He found their socials in under twenty minutes.
Their names, their classes, their addresses.
He wasnât impulsive.
He was precise.
The next day, he disappeared during lunch. Didnât say a word. He didnât need fists to make a pointâbut he used them anyway. Just once. Just enough.
One had a dislocated shoulder. Another couldnât open her right eye. The last oneâwhoâd kicked Y/N while she was downâwould need stitches in her lip. She cried when Si Eun let go of her collar and walked away.
He said nothing.
Didnât threaten them.
Didnât tell them why.
Because they knew.
And that was the punishment: knowing it was him. Knowing heâd watched. Known. Calculated. And chosen.
---
She found the bruises on his knuckles that night.
âYou did it, didnât you?â
Si Eun looked up from where he was folding a clean towel. âWhat?â
âYou donât lie very well,â she said softly.
He hesitated. Then: âI didnât kill them.â
Her lips curved up slightly. It hurt, but she smiled anyway.
âGood.â
âYouâre not mad?â
âNo,â she whispered. âI just wish you didnât have to.â
He paused. Set the towel down.
Then walked over and sank to the floor in front of her again. Just like the night before.
âI was so scared,â he said. Finally. âWhen I found you. I didnât know if youâd wake up. I thoughtâI thought Iâd have to carry you back in pieces.â
She reached for his hand. Took it in hers. Pressed it to her heart.
âI woke up because you found me.â
He exhaled like something inside him had loosened for the first time in hours.
âIâm sorry I wasnât there.â
âYou are now.â
Silence.
Then she leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. Gentle. Grateful. Painful in the way quiet love always is.
âIâm here too,â she whispered.
And this time, Si Eun didnât pull away.
---
AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST
I hope you enjoyed it <33
TAGLIST
@yeon103 @hikaerys @mizxuqii @jihooneyluv @l5byrinth @inom17 @sunnyophelia @dna-black-and-blue @cayrelyra @maxinehufflepuffprincess @intoanothermind @mariii-0001 @eijizwrld @mishh2728 @coffee-ii
723 notes
·
View notes
Text
Yandere Animal Town (2) | Only Human
Part 1, Part 3
You awake from your midday nap to the sounds of shouts from a man and a woman. Sounding like the latter is in distress you immediately run for your bat opening up the door facing the road. To find a billy goat man pulling a cow woman towards your doorstep; similar to their animal counterparts the man is short and wide sporting a dirtied tank top sleek with sweat. The female cow being pulled by tiny horns on her head is bent awkwardly wearing a revealing top with underwear and a jockstrap. Before you need to say anything the billy goat man is gruffing in your direction.
âOh, so this is where the rumored human is. Well, arenât you pretty?â
You donât bother answering that. âWhat are you doing to here and what are you doing to her?â
Your question has him looking at the crying girl and spitefully pulling her closer as her knees buckle to the ground. All the while sheâs crying and pleading incoherently. None of that seems to bother the goat man though as he spits in disgust.
âIâm showing this heifer ainât nobody gonna want her! Dry as the Sahara this cow is she ainât give make me any money for the food she eats.â
For emphasis he throws her to the ground, waiting for her to crawl back to him. When she opens her mouth to continue pleading he kicks the sandy dirt in her face. It makes you sick.Â
âIâll take her.â
They both look up at you in surprise. The billy goat man belts out in laughter as a disgusting smirk spreads on his face.Â
âOh, I see! Looking for another kind of milk, huh? Good luck with that!â He kicks at her again as he turns back to his truck. âEnjoy it Heifer you might actually be of worth for once.â
As he speeds off in his rickety, rusted truck she cries out making a desperate attempt to follow. Tripping over the dirt, barely a couple steps in; scraping her knees in her unconventional wardrobe. She crumples into herself crying with her hoarse voice, you let her go on for awhile before lifting her up and into the house.
You donât know the ethics or the inner workings of farming when it comes to hybrids. Only barely catching the surface of the unregulated and often cruel practices that ensue because itâs a market for hybrids to be typically successful. With this in mind your careful to be gentle to not take it personally when she refuses to speak to you. You canât imagine what sheâs gone through.
âHereâs a towel and some soap and a washcloth. I ran a bath for you.â
â.....â
âIâll come check on you in a bit. Take your time.â
She only wordlessly follows your commands with a sullen look on her face. Even when Titan comes around poking and prodding at the new face, she hardly reacts.Â
âHey, you! Whatâs your problem, huh? Why arenât you smiling, huh? Why are you wearing (Y/n)âs clothes? Itâs not fair!â
âHey Titan give her space sheâs having a rough day!â
âWell when Iâm sad I just go to you. Why canât she do that?â
âSometimes I just donât make everybody happy, Titan. And thatâs okay.â
âThatâs stupid.â
â.....Waaaaaaaaaâ
âTitan!â
âSorry!â
After canceling your dinners with the neighbors for the week much to their displeasure you settle her into a bedroom close to yours. Just in case. It isnât until the next morning that you wake to tears on your face. Sitting above you her bust taking up most of your vision is the cow woman silently crying as she pulls at her teats only for nothing to come out.Â
âIâm useless. I canât even do this for you!â
You spend the day comforting the cow woman whoâs drenching herself in endless tears. With lots of assurance that you ask for nothing from her and talk to her about her âjobâ she finally opens up.
â...Itâs Eudora.â
âEudoraâŠthatâs a beautiful name.â
âIt was what they called my mother beforeâŠheâŠtook over. She never officially bequeathed it to meâŠbecause she never got to retire.âÂ
Lots of hugs and praise are what fills your days with Eudora. Breaking the unhealthy practices regarding eating and what she did throughout the day. Instead of letting her lay in bed and stew in her dark thoughts, you invite her to your picnics and follow after Titan as he explores the groves of your property. Without the fear of not producing milk or verbal abuse she finally starts to smile and actually taking your advice.Â
âYou are a queen Eudora, just like the others at that farm.â
âHahaha me? A queen?â
âYes!â
âIs this some city thing you guys call people?â
âKind of but the point is, is that you barely realize how gorgeous and desirable you are just because. Itâs a way to remind you of that.â
â....WowâŠthatâs really sweet, (Y/n)....â
âJust being honestââ
âThatâs not fair if sheâs your queen I wanna be your king!â
âTitan, sheâs not mine. Sheâs nobodyâs but her own.â
âđâ
âGross. Can I still be your king (Y/n)!?â
She really starts to settle in as your roommate, helping you with your growing list of chores. Learning alongside to cook with you as you entertain the neighbors that continue to visit so eagerly. Despite letting herself get pushed to the side when they come around sheâs really come into herself. Taking the clothes youâve given her and styling it into something that works for her. Spending time and your money into her appearance. And if that wasnât great enough she woke up to a curious surprise.Â
âAAAAAhhhh!â
âW-whatâs wrong!?â
âMilk spots!â
âWhat?â
âIâve got milk spots! Iâm leaking!â
Turns out all her body needed was a little TLC and it felt the need to lactate better than sheâs ever had before. Days in the past spent blissfully walking through your fields are spent milking herself into whatever glasses you have. As it continues it gets worse better enough so that she eventually has to call on you to help. Itâs a tad awkward for her to fling the maternity breast pump you bought for her as she demands you do it for her.Â
âE-eudora câmon Iâve never done anything like this Iâm not going toââ
âNO!! I NEED YOU TO DO THIS! Otherwise itâs going to take all day!â
So there goes an hour in the morning to help her release the gallons of milk her happy body produces. Constantly hearing the wanton moans of the cow woman youâre doing such a big favor. When you're finished, you have Tank frantically sniffing you both for some odd reason as he comments about the suspicious noises he was hearing.....from miles away. Eudora doesnât bother clearing up the misunderstanding you just arenât picking up on.
âSo I believe you too were awfully loud this morningâ
âOh, you heard us, did you? Lucky dog, Iâm sure you wish you were in my position.â
âUhm I donât know why Tank would want to do what you were doing.â
Tank is whining. âIt doesnât smell like what I think it was.â
âHa just because you canât smell it doesnât mean it didnât happen.â
âWell if youâre smelling milk then thatâs accurate. Eudora made way more than we can cook with so weâre going to take it to the market today.âÂ
âohâŠmilkâŠ.The kind that comes from-?â
âHer? Yeah. What kind of milk could I be talking about?â
âCome on, (Y/n)! Weâre going to lose daylight talking to him.â
âIâIâwanna come too!â
With all the publicity from the suddenly amazing milk from the odd human thatâs recently moved in floats around. Of course, the sweaty gross billy goat is circling back to your place. Spitting and pointing when you finally come out to the enraged short man. The cow woman and the dog boys on your property at the time are all on guard.
âI want âem back! You cheated me you hairless skank!!!â
âYou canât have her if she doesnât want to go!â
âWhy youââ
âGrrrr!â
âWait (Y/n)...Iâll handle this.â
She agrees to go with him. Kissing you on the cheek as she promises sheâll return by tonight. It feels like youâve failed as she walks into the passenger seat with her now confident strut and proud smile in an outfit she feels comfortable in. It feels like youâve lost that is until that rickety truck pulls up again in the dead of night. Tiffany staying up with you after attempting to put you to sleep and joining you as you run to see if your friend truly had returned.Â
âIâm back~!âÂ
âEudora!âÂ
The hug is your victory and itâs also a little off center.Â
âUh, heels?â
âA gift from the girls back home. Turns out the ownership of the farm was recently called into question and Iâve recently been included in a new business venture. An opening was recently made.âÂ
âDoes this mean youâll be moving in back there?â
Eudora hates how eager Mama Tiffany sounds with her speeding tail.
Eudora delights in the wagging slowing down with her next words
âNo, I just figure Iâll be contributing a bit more to the home. Is that alright (Y/n)?â
âOf course, Iâm so proud of you Eudora!â
Mama Tiff is livid along with her sons as she watches the cow-woman move in with designer bags and start paying to reinforce the fence on your property starting with the flap Titan loves sneaking in through. From then on she too comes with you when you head into town, not afraid to pull down her designer pink glasses to verbally put down anyone still brave enough to talk down to you. But by now it isnât all hateful talks, sheâs still chasing off anyone with mildly too positive intentions.
âLook feline if you donât back off now I might be convinced not to starve your family.â
âYou canât do that!â
âAh, but I can. Would you like to see?â
Sheâs sure she doesnât need the extra help from your puppy neighbors but sheâll take it. If only to keep her nails clean, sheâll stick to her own strengths. Happily pulling you behind your market stalls because she desperately needs to be milked. She only trusts youâher human to do such a thing. No one else in this town is worthy of squeezing the liquid magic she can create than youâ her dear one and only human.
âCome (Y/n) I need you. You are my special humanâthe only human I trust to help me fuel my empire. You wonât refuse me, right?â
Part 3: Here
Taglist: @midnight-nightmares @xrenka @candlesworlds-blog @00hellohello00 @lem-hhn @kawaii-cakes
#yandere x reader#yandere x you#lovelyyandereaddictionpoint#yanderexrea#yandere#yanderes#yandere harem#yandere hybrid x reader#yandere hybrid#yandere hybrids x reader#yandere hybrid town x reader#yandere dog hybrid#yandere dog hybrid family#yandere dog#yandere cow#yandere cow hybrid#yandere x gn reader#yandere x gender neutral reader#yandere cow hybrid x reader#female yandere#yandere cow girl hybrid
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
NSFW
warning: teasing, prey and predator play
A/N: this is a kofi request~
As if being mated to a kitsune wasnât hard enough, he had recently started playing tricks on you almost daily. Before you could handle the occasionally missing sock or jumpscare, but now he was practically bullying you.
When your kitsune wanted something, he always lowered his head and settled his nose on your knee, looking up through his eyelashes. Even though you were getting irritated with his mischievous behavior, you still loved the guy.
âAre you upset with me?â he asked, nosing your knee gently. âIâm just playing around⊠itâs boring being cooped up in hereâŠâ
You sighed, knowing he wasnât wrong. There had been a sudden blizzard, leaving the two of you trapped in your small cabin by the woods for the time being.
â⊠I know. Itâs just⊠it gets a bit annoying being nipped at and chased. I know you have a lot of energy, but-â
His attention was suddenly drawn away from the conversation, and he nearly leaped towards the window. There was a bird outside, and now thatâs all he could think about.
You huffed, whining at him as he bolted to the window to scratch at it, his orange tail swaying behind him.
âYouâre impossibleâŠâ
Though some would assume your mate was scatterbrained, he was actually quite clever. The tricks he played on you required him to be cunning and intelligent, and oftentimes you could never guess what he was going to do next.
Sometimes he enjoyed chasing you. He got the zoomies often, nearly bouncing off the walls as he gave chase. It was scary, yet strangely arousing to see him treat you like prey.
âLittle bunny~â
He often called you that when he was feeling mischievous. Deciding to get it over with, you rolled your eyes and walked towards the bedroom.
He was completely bare, cock erect and twitching slightly as he nearly purred at the sight of you.
âIâve missed youâŠâ
âY-you just saw me- wait, why are you naked!?â
He chuckled, crawling across the comforter, his tail swaying behind him as he reached you at the foot of the bed.
âAll these questions⊠arenât you pent up? You know, us kitsunes know a lot about the human bodyâŠâ
He ran a finger down your side, making you shiver. His claw barely scraped your sensitive skin. âMmm⊠you know, if I didnât love you so much Iâd just⊠devour you whole~â
He leaned forward to brush his sharp teeth against your neck. You could feel his cock press against your belly, the tip dripping precum. â⊠teasing meâŠâ
A smile stretched out across his face, his fingers playing with the waistband of your panties. âAm I? Mmm, I donât think I am. Maybe youâre just⊠a sensitive little thing. Most humans areâŠâ
He bit down on your neck, causing you let let out a yelp of pain. His tongue lapped up your blood, his eyes narrowed as he groaned. âGod⊠you make it so difficult, darling. Every woman Iâve ever met has ended up eaten by me⊠but now Iâve formed a mating bond with youâŠâ
His fox ears twitched as he purred, pulling you into his lap so his tip could rub against your clothed cunt. âPretty thing, making me so soft for you⊠oh, how excited I get when I chase youâŠâ
Suddenly, he was pinning you down, letting out a yip as you struggled and squirmed. He loved watching you struggle like a helpless bunny beneath him.
Like prey.
âThatâs itâŠâ he murmured, keeping your wrists pinned above you with one hand as the other pulled off your panties.
âKeep strugglingâŠâ
He pumped his fingers in and out of you, cooing in a teasing manner as you whined. âSomeone is being a needy little thing. You want more, hmm?â
You lip wobbled, and you lifted your hips to press into his hand, desperate for him. âPleaseâŠâ
He purred at the sight of your desperation, pushing his cock into you without warning. His thrusts were fast and unforgiving, his fluffy orange tail swaying behind him.
You could only whimper and moan, squirming beneath him.
âIsnât this what you wanted, princess? You wanted to be fucked like the helpless little prey you are, didnât you? Canât even talkâŠâ
He pressed kisses into your neck as you came around him, milking his cock. The kitsune quite enjoyed teasing you, but after planting his seed in your belly, he always became incredibly soft.
âSweet thingâŠâ he murmured, kissing at the bites he left along your neck and shoulders. âYou know Iâd never eat you, right? You may be sweet, but I prefer to enjoy your taste through⊠different meansâŠâ
To repay all the reading, he dipped his head between your legs to lap up your juices and his cum. It all mixed together, and watching him taste his own cum was pretty hot.
âââââââ
NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko
#kitsune x reader#kitsune x human#kitsune smut#fox hybrid x reader#fox x reader#fox hybrid#monster fucker#monster lover#monster fudger#monster boyfriend#monster fic#chubby!reader#chubby reader#x reader#terato#monster fucking#monster oc#monster bf#teratophillia#terat0philliac#teraphilia#exophelia#fat reader#plus size reader#fem reader#female reader#monster smut#monster boy oc#monster imagine#monster x human
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
so, uh... i've always thought about how logan is a thigh person and i haven't really written about it 'till i saw this post. and last night i just sat down and wrote this in one go because i was inspired. it's also a different style from what i normally do, but i hope y'all like it!
warnings/tags: fem!reader, thick thighs, fluff, thigh fucking, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving), slight overstimulation
Logan loves every part of you, no matter who you are or how you look. But if you have thick thighs? Heâs a goner.
He loves it when you wear leggings or anything that accentuates them.
If you choose to wear shorts or a skirt you always complain about them riding up and chafing, so he always has lotion and an extra pair of shorts (that are longer) even if you never wear them.
Loganâs hand will never leave your thigh if youâre sitting next to him. At dinner? Hand on thigh. In the common room? Hand on thigh. In the car? Hand. On. Thigh.
You were embarrassed at first when you wore skinny jeansâor anything pair of pants that made that awful swooshing sound.
Logan only noticed it because you would slow down in the hallway before resuming your normal pace before doing it all over again. Multiple times.
Logan doesnât say anything at first, just watches you do that little shuffle-stop thing over and over. Then, after the fifth or sixth time, he huffs. "Darlin', what the hell are you doinâ?"
You freeze mid-step, feeling heat crawl up your neck. "Nothing."
"Uh-huh." His gaze drops to your thighs, eyes narrowing. "Sâyer jeans, ainât it?"
You groan, throwing your head back. "They make that stupid noise!"
Logan smirks. "Yeah, I noticed. Cute."
You glare at him. "It's not cute. Itâs annoying."
"Nah," he says, stepping closer, his voice dropping. "But know what is? The way those jeans hug ya." His handsâwarm, rough, possessiveâfind your hips. "Donât gotta be self-conscious, sugar. Just means I get tâhear ya cominâ."
18+
Logan isnât afraid to try something new in the bedroom, and youâre okay with experimenting. So when his cock brushed your already wet cunt but didnât push in, you just thought he was going to tease you (again).
When his cock slides between your thighs, hot and hard, Logan lets out a low, satisfied growl. "Damn, sweetheart⊠told ya I love these thighs."
Your legs are over his shoulders, the muscles flexing as he moves, the slick glide of his cock between them making everything feel impossibly intimate. You can feel every pulse, every twitch, the heat of him pressing in close but not quite where you expected.
You let out a whine, shifting beneath him. "Loganâ"
"Shh," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your knee. "Just relax, darlinâ. Lemme enjoy this."
His rough hands grip your thighs, squeezing, kneadingâappreciative, greedy. He loves the way they frame him, the way his cock slides through the tight press of your skin, the friction enough to drive him wild.
"Youâre so warm," he mutters, voice thick with need. His thumbs stroke over your soft flesh, then press in, urging your thighs to tighten around him. "Fuck, thatâs it."
You whimper when the tip of his cock drags over your clit with each slow thrust, the teasing, rhythmic pressure enough to have your toes curling.
"You feel that?" Logan smirks, eyes heavy-lidded as he watches your face. "Bet you love it, huh?"
Your breath hitches. "Y-yeahâ"
"Good." His voice is rough, gravelly, dripping with satisfaction. "âCause I could do this all night."
One hand slips down to cup the back of your knee, keeping your legs in place as he speeds up just enough to have you gasping.
"Loganâ" Your fingers dig into the sheets, nails biting deep. "Please."
He groans, pressing forward until your thighs are flush against his abs, his cock still gliding between them, slick with both of you. "Fuck, youâre squeezinâ me so good, sweetheart."
And thenâhis lips on your skin, his teeth scraping, the sharp bite of them against your inner thigh making you jerk beneath him. He soothes the sting with his tongue, then chuckles at your reaction.
"Sensitive?" He smirks against your skin. "Gotta remember that."
Youâre gasping now, fingers tangling in his hair as he mouths at your thigh, his breath hot and heavy. Every thrust of his hips sends sparks through you, your thighs slick and trembling against him.
And when he finally pulls back to look at you, pupils blown wide, breath ragged, he grinsâslow, lazy, devastating.
"Youâre gonna let me do this again," he murmurs, dragging his cock against you one last time before pulling back just enough to position himself. "Ainâtcha?"
You canât even form wordsâyou just nod, desperate, whimpering, thighs still trembling.
"Good girl," he growls, sinking into you at last.
And when he does fuck you, Logan's got you where he wants youâon your side, one leg hooked over his shoulder, the other pressed into the mattress beneath his weight. His hands grip the meat of your thigh, fingers sinking in as he uses it for leverage, each slow, deliberate thrust pressing you deeper into the sheets.
His breath is ragged, his voice rough against your skin. "Fuck, sugar⊠feel so damn good like this." His fingers tighten, spreading your leg just a little wider, just enough to make the drag of his cock that much deeper.
You let out a gasp, nails biting into his forearm. "Loganâ"
He hums, lips brushing the soft inside of your knee. "Yeah, darlinâ?" Like he doesn't know exactly what you want. Like he isn't already giving it to you.
The angle has you feeling everythingâevery thick inch of him sliding deep, every twitch, every pulse. You canât do much more than whimper, thighs shaking as the pressure builds.
"Sâwhat I thought." He smirks, dropping his head to nip at the tender skin of your thigh. "Youâre all fuckinâ talk âtil Iâve gotcha like this."
His thrusts pick up, the steady push and pull making the bed creak beneath you. His grip is bruising, his body all heat and muscle as he keeps you exactly where he wants you.
"Fuck, look atcha," he mutters, dragging his gaze over your body. "Spread open fâme, takinâ it so fuckinâ good." His hand drags over your thigh, palm rough, possessive, before squeezing. "Made for this, huh?"
Your breath hitches, the pleasure twisting tight in your belly.
Logan grinsâslow, wicked. "Yeah, you are."
He fucks you like that for what feels like forever, keeping you right on the edge, dragging it out just to watch you squirm. The smirk on his face is nothing short of smug when your fingers tangle in his hair, desperate, needy.
"Logan, pleaseâ"
He groans, shifting his grip, his fingers pressing deep as he pulls your thigh up higher, pushing in until thereâs no space left between you. "Thatâs it," he rasps. "Let me hear you, darlinâ."
You whimper, arching beneath him, the new angle hitting something that makes your vision blur.
His voice drops lower, gravelly. "Mmm, bet thatâs real good, huh?"
You donât answerâcanât answerânot when heâs got you like this, not when every thrust has you unraveling beneath him.
When he finds himself between your legs, whether itâs you on your back or you sitting on his face, he canât help but think that this is exactly where he wants to be.
If youâre on your back, Loganâs got your thighs pinned apart, hands pressing into the soft flesh like heâs got no intention of letting go. His grip is firm, possessive, like heâs staking his claim right then and there. "Fuckinâ perfect," he mutters, dragging his lips along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "Could stay down here forever, darlinâ."
Heâs got a habit of teasing, dragging things out just to watch you squirm, but the second you thread your fingers through his hair and give the slightest tug? Thatâs itâheâs gone. He groans against you, rough and low, and then his tongue is on you, hot and unrelenting.
His stubble scratches against your skin, leaving the perfect mix of rough and soft, and when he catches the way your thighs start to tremble, he just tightens his grip. "Nah, sweetheart," he murmurs between slow, wet strokes. "Ainât lettinâ you run from this."
And if you try to close your thighs around his head? Oh, he loves that. Growls into you, lets his fingers dig deeper into your flesh, holding you open despite the way youâre shaking. "Thatâs it," he groans, voice muffled against you. "Fuckinâ take it."
But when youâre on top of him? Thatâs a whole different kind of feral. Heâs lying back, arms hooked around your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wants you. His gaze is heavy, dark with hunger as he watches you hover over him, breath hitching when you lower yourself down.
The second you settle against his mouth, Logan groans like heâs been starving for this. His grip tightens, fingers flexing against your thighs before dragging you down even further. "Câmon, sweetheart," he rasps against you, "lemme have it."
He lets you move at your own paceâat first. But it doesnât take long before he gets impatient, before his hands tighten and his tongue flicks just right and suddenly, heâs guiding your hips, making you ride his mouth the way he wants.
The sounds he makesâfuck, theyâre sinful. The low growls, the groans vibrating against you, the sharp inhales when you tug on his hair. Heâs fucking obsessed, and he doesnât care if you know it.
"Taste so damn good," he mutters between deep, deliberate strokes of his tongue. "Could do this all night, darlinâ."
And if you try to pull awayâtoo much, too intenseâLogan just growls, arms tightening around your thighs to keep you exactly where you are. "Nope," he grits out. "You stay right there, sugar."
Heâs relentless. Keeps going until youâre shaking, gasping, fingers tangling in his hair as you lose yourself against him. And even then, even after youâve come undone, he presses a few more slow, teasing kisses against your sensitive skin, smirking when you whimper at the overstimulation.
"Mmm," he hums, finally pulling back just enough to look up at you, lips slick, eyes full of mischief. "Think I might be addicted."
don't ask what happened or why it's so long, 'cause i don't have an answerđ
i was on a roll (and possibly ovulating - what? who said that?)
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#wolverine x reader#wolverine x you#james howlett x reader#james howlett x you#logan howlett#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett x fem!reader#logan howlett fic#logan howlett smut#wolverine smut#logan ⟠â*ïŸ:â*ïŸ
725 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi, can you do a Seongje fic where he goes home and finds his partner bruised and covered in blood, crying and trembling while trying to treat their injuries and he finds out some of the Union members beat her up after failing to do other things (iykyk) with her. And she asks him to stay the night, afraid of being left alone
âIâll Burn It All Downâ
Seongje x Reader | ~500 words | Complete
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You didnât scream when it happened.
You tried to fight â clawed at arms too strong, shouted through the back alley with no light and no witnesses. Your throat was raw. Your breath burned. You only remembered the laughter. One of them had said you were "asking for it."
You spat blood at his face.
Thatâs what made him hit you. Over and over again. When his friend laughed, he tried to grab your shirt â said you should smile more. You didnât remember the rest. Only the sound of footsteps that sent them running. Only the sting of gravel in your palms as you crawled away, not daring to look back.
It took you nearly an hour to walk home, blood smearing down your wrist, skirt torn, knees scraped. You unlocked the door with trembling fingers and locked it three times behind you. Only when you saw yourself in the bathroom mirror did you collapse.
Your hands wouldnât stop shaking.
You were still shaking when Seongje found you.
"Y/N?"
His voice was so soft. Too soft. Like he already knew something was wrong the moment he stepped inside.
You didnât answer.
"Where are you?"
The bathroom door was cracked open. You couldnât find the strength to call out, but your small sob â the one you thought was quiet â mustâve been loud enough. He appeared in the doorway a moment later, and the look on his face when he saw youâŠ
Youâd never forget it.
"Y/Nâ" He dropped to his knees beside you, arms reaching out but not touching. "Baby, whatâwhat happened?"
You couldnât look at him. Your lip trembled. You were trying to stop the bleeding on your side, but your hands wouldnât work.
"It was the Union," you whispered. "They found me."
His entire body went still.
"Theyâ" You swallowed hard. "They said they were gonna âleave a message.â One of them tried to touch me. Said you couldnât protect me forever. That I was just a warm-up."
Seongjeâs fists clenched. His voice dropped an octave. "Did theyâ?"
"No," you whispered. "Someone passed by. Scared them off. They just⊠hit me. A lot." A pause. "They said they'd finish it next time."
Your voice cracked.
"Iâm scared, Seongje. I thought I was going to die."
That was the moment he touched you â really touched you â cupping your face so carefully like he was afraid to break you. You leaned into him instantly, shaking like a leaf.
"They're not gonna hurt you again," he said. "Iâll kill them first."
You didnât know if it was a promise or a vow.
He didnât leave your side for the rest of the night.
He carried you from the bathroom to the bed, cleaned your wounds with shaking hands. His jaw was locked the whole time, gaze lingering on every bruise like he was memorizing them â not to pity you, but to avenge you.
When he pulled your torn shirt away and saw the red handprint on your collarbone, he froze.
Then he exhaled. "Thatâs the last thing heâll ever touch."
You let him help you change, holding your arms out like a child, letting him button one of his shirts over your bandaged skin. You didnât want to be alone â not even for a second â so he stayed in your bed, wrapping his arms around you like a fortress.
You hadnât stopped shaking.
"Will you stay the night?" you whispered, voice small.
He didnât even answer. He just held you tighter.
You woke in the middle of the night from a nightmare â sweaty, panicked, your heartbeat racing. Seongje was already awake, his arms tightening around you the moment you whimpered.
"Iâm here. Iâm right here," he murmured into your hair.
You were crying before you could stop it. He let you. He didnât tell you to quiet down. Just kissed your forehead and let the storm come out.
You hadnât even realized what you were saying until the words slipped out.
"Donât leave me. Please."
He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. "I wonât. Not now. Not ever."
Then his voice turned darker.
"But I have to make them pay."
You nodded.
"Not tonight," he said, kissing your knuckles. "Tonight, Iâm staying with you."
Two Days Later
You hadnât left the apartment. Seongje made sure you had everything. Food, blankets, clothes â his voice always low and calm with you, even when his phone rang and his tone turned sharp the second he stepped into the other room.
He hadnât told you what he was planning.
You didnât ask.
But you knew the rage in him had only grown colder. Focused. His smile never reached his eyes now. His fists were bruised. His hoodie sleeves stained with blood he didnât try to wash out.
When you asked if he was okay, heâd only answer:
"I'm getting there."
that night
He came home later than usual.
There was blood on his knuckles again. A small cut on his cheek. His hoodie smelled like sweat and rain and smoke.
You rushed to him immediately. "Seongjeâwhat happened?"
He pulled you into his arms before answering.
"They wonât be coming back."
You froze.
His voice was steady. Hollow. "One of them's in the hospital. The other twoâŠ" He didnât finish the sentence. "They got the message. They won't breathe your name again."
You didnât cry this time. You just leaned into him. "Did it help?"
His silence spoke volumes.
"Not enough," he whispered. "But itâs a start."
You guided him to the bathroom. Cleaned his wounds this time. You kissed the cut on his cheek and he closed his eyes.
"They shouldâve never touched you."
"They didnât get what they wanted," you said softly. "But they still took something. I donât know if Iâll ever feel safe again."
"You will." He cupped your face. "Iâll make sure of it. Iâll never let anyone hurt you like that again."
You nodded, voice trembling. "Will you stay? Not just tonight⊠but always?"
"Iâm already yours," he said.
And he meant it.
That night, when you pulled him into bed again, he was hesitant to touch you â like he thought you were still too fragile. So you kissed him first. You took his hands and placed them on your hips. You whispered: "Itâs okay. You donât have to be afraid of breaking me."
His lips were gentle. His hands traced every inch of you like you were sacred. He didnât rush. Just held you through it all.
There was no sex â not yet. But there was intimacy.
You laid there wrapped in his arms, head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.
For the first time in days, you werenât afraid.
Later, Seongje stood on the balcony in the dark, a cigarette between his fingers, staring down at the city.
Heâd buried his fists in someoneâs face for every bruise you came home with.
But the rage didnât leave him. It sat heavy in his chest like lead.
When he came back inside, you were asleep â curled in the blankets, wearing his hoodie, breathing softly.
He kissed your forehead again, whispering:
"If they ever touch you again, Iâll burn this entire city down."
And he meant that, too.
end
author's note: kinda did this at ike 6 am so idk if i showed that the union tried to do stuff with her like enough idk so im sorry i need.more cofee after this T_T ok ilysm
#weak hero kdrama#weak hero x reader#geum seong je#geum seong je x reader#lee jun young#geum seongje scenario#weak hero class 2#weak hero class 2 x reader#wolf keum#weak hero#weak hero class 1#geum seongjae scenarios#geum seongje#whc2#whc2 x reader#weak hero class 1 x reader#whc1#geum seongjae smut
456 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey darling! Lovely to see you back, your writings were a part of my daily routine as it serves me some comfort for the day! đđ
Was wondering if I may request a katsuki bakugou x reader (long term relationship) where the relationship kinda hit a plateau and everything irritated him a lot, however, reader takes in all the (uncalled and unnecessary) mean words said by katsuki whilst trying not to get mean with him either until one day, reader just silently cried and he noticed it, just pause and reflected on his actions and how he has been treating reader lately (ending with some comfort if possible, thank you!)
I noticed you do titles for your writings, if I may suggest; âHavenât I given enough?â Of course, if you have an alternate title better suited for this, by all means do use it! âșïž
Havenât I Given Enough?
The days had blurred into routine. Wake up, train, eat, work, sleepârepeat. Somewhere along the way, your relationship with Katsuki had settled into a monotonous rhythm, neither moving forward nor back. It wasnât like you werenât happy. You loved him, and you knew he loved you. But lately⊠lately, everything seemed to set him off.
âThe hell are you staring at?â he snapped one evening as you looked at him across the dinner table.
You blinked, startled. âNothing, I was justââ
âTch. Then quit lookinâ at me like I did somethinâ wrong.â He shoved a bite of food into his mouth aggressively, shoulders tense.
You exhaled softly, looking down at your own plate. He had been like this for weeksâshort-tempered, irritable, lashing out over the smallest things. You had chalked it up to stress. He had always been intense, but this was different.
At first, you tried to brush it off, meet his frustration with patience. You told yourself he wasnât truly mad at you, just taking his exhaustion out on the person closest to him. But no matter how much understanding you offered, his words still cut.
âCan you stop hovering? I can do my own shit.â
âDamn it, Y/N, do you ever stop talking?â
âFuckâs sake, do you have to be so damn sensitive about everything?â
Each one was a tiny wound, adding up until they felt like bruises beneath your skin. You swallowed the hurt each time, refusing to snap back, even when his words stung. But tonight, as you sat across from him in silence, something inside you cracked.
You didnât even realize the tears had started falling until you saw his gaze shift, his chewing slowing as his eyes locked onto your face.
You werenât sobbing, werenât making a soundâjust sitting there, staring at your untouched plate, tears slipping down your cheeks no matter how much you willed them to stop.
For the first time in weeks, the air between you stilled.
ââŠThe fuck,â Katsuki muttered, his voice quiet, almost bewildered. His brows furrowed, like he couldnât quite believe what he was seeing. âAre you⊠cryinâ?â
You pressed your lips together, hating how weak you must have looked. You shook your head slightly, but another tear slipped free, betraying you.
Katsuki put his fork down with a sharp clatter. You didnât move. Didnât speak.
And that was when it hit him.
The way you just sat there, silent, shoulders slightly hunchedânot arguing back, not calling him out, not pushing him awayâjust⊠taking it. The weight of every harsh word, every frustrated sigh, every unfair remark.
His stomach twisted.
ââŠShit.â
He ran a rough hand through his hair, guilt crawling up his throat. When the hell had he become this person? The kind who made you cry? The kind who took his bad days out on the one person who never deserved it?
His chair scraped against the floor as he pushed back from the table. You stiffened slightly when he moved, but before you could say anything, Katsuki was kneeling beside your seat, one of his calloused hands reaching up to cup your cheek.
ââŠBaby.â His voice was softer now, strained with something raw. âIâm sorry.â
You closed your eyes at the warmth of his palm, inhaling shakily. He had said a lot of mean things lately, but thisâthis felt genuine.
âI didnât mean toâŠâ Katsuki swallowed hard, his thumb brushing a stray tear away. âDidnât mean to be a fuckinâ asshole. I justââ He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. âI donât know what the hellâs wrong with me lately. Workâs been⊠I dunno, shit. But thatâs no excuse. Youââ His grip on your cheek tightened, just slightly, like he needed you to hear him. âYou donât deserve that. Any of it.â
Your lip trembled. You wanted to say it was okay, that you understood, but the truth was⊠it hurt.
ââŠI know you donât mean to,â you whispered, finally speaking, voice fragile. âBut it still hurts, Katsuki.â
The way his whole body tensed at your words was almost heartbreaking. Like he hadnât fully realized just how much he had been hurting you.
âFuck,â he muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before meeting your gaze again. âIâm sorry, Y/N. Iââ He hesitated, frustration flickering in his eyesânot at you, but at himself. âI love you,â he said, voice firm but filled with something vulnerable. âI donât say it enough, but I do. And I swear, Iâll do better.â
A shaky breath left your lips, the tension in your chest easing slightly. Slowly, you reached up, covering his hand with yours.
ââŠI love you too,â you murmured, voice thick. âJust⊠donât push me away like that again.â
His throat bobbed as he nodded. âYeah. I wonât.â
And for the first time in weeks, Katsuki didnât just hear youâhe listened.
#bakugou katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#katsuki x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou x you#bakugou x reader#bnha x reader#mha x reader#x reader#bakugo x reader#bakugo x you#bakugo x y/n#bnha#mha#mha fanfiction#my hero academia#boku no hero academia
583 notes
·
View notes
Text
I've kept my promise and returned with dino smut. Switch it to a dinosaur hybrid if you're too afraid of the full package. Content: gender neutral reader, NSFW (gangbang), monster dinosaur smut
"You've got to be kidding me."
You kick the wheel and walk away, trying to steady your breathing. This canât be happening. Behind you, the guide continues to tinker with the car engine. He has a reassuring smile plastered on his face, but you can tell from the cold beads of sweat that heâs just as terrified.
You are stranded in a desert filled with dinosaurs. Scientific miracle? Sure. Presently your death sentence, too.
âDonât walk too far from the vehicle, (Y/N), otherwise I canât reach you in time if something happens.â
âWhat, you have a black belt in dinosaur fighting or something?â you scoff at the man.
âNow listen, do you think we didnât anticipate these scenarios? I am equipped with this little guy hereâ, he says, pulling out a small, electric device. âHas enough juice in it to shock a T-Rex.â
Maybe he has a point. The Jurassic Park proudly dons a reputation of flawless service and guaranteed safety. Surely they must be equipped to deal with something as insignificant as a car breaking down in the middle of a guided tour.
You attempt to smile back, gathering some courage. In your newfound peace you didnât really notice that the massive rock behind the car has moved, or that it was never a rock to begin with.
A wide row of razor teeth engulfs your official tour guide, and the enormous mandible closes with a loud snap. The upper half of the man detaches in a surreal, surgical cleanliness. You stare, mouth agape. It takes you a second to process the execution youâve just witnessed, but the ear-shattering screech swiftly wakes you out of your trance.
Escaping from an entire pack of ancient predators feels rather futile, but that doesn't stop you from crawling up the steep hill, hoping the damned creatures can't follow. Had you known your comfortable car ride required survival skills, you would've worn a different pair of pants.
What's even more ridiculous is the nature of your perpetrator. Of course, you tell yourself, you had to trust a company that can't differentiate between the Cretaceous and the Jurassic. What's one or two million years? What's one or two dead humans in the grand statistics of their park?
You finally reach the top of the hill, and trip over some overgrown roots. Your collapse is cushioned by the scarce bushes patching the ground. Suddenly, you feel the branches vibrating against your burnt cheeks. Dear Lord, futile indeed. The heavy, bulky legs of the Carnotaurus approach you in a chaotic trample, nonchalantly stepping over your last bits of hope.
Knees scraping against the rocks, you close your eyes and shield your face, bent over like some beggar awaiting punishment. You're petrified. Did the guide feel anything when his innards stretched and tore under the unforgiving mouth?
The rough, scaly skin of the monster brushes against the back of your thighs. There it is! Flesh coming undone, bones giving in to the...wait. What are they doing, exactly? You subtly tilt your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the strange event.
It seems that your resigned position has given them different ideas. The horned beasts investigate your scent with peculiar interest. A brief altercation ensues, in which they lock their horns together and their tails swing around threateningly, nearly crushing you in their blind aggression. You cry out and try to distance yourself from the thundering scene, but a clawed foot pins you back into the ground.
You suspect your present captor is the winner of the conflict, standing above you triumphantly as the others wait aside. Is this the part where you become a grand meal? Its enormous teeth graze your clothing, and the threads come undone.
In a most unexpected turn of events, it's you who ends up stuffed. You don't know what pain to focus on: your back hurts from the rhythmic swaying, bare skin grating against the parched earth; your privacy is burning from the sudden, invasive stretch, as the creature buries itself deeper with each hungry pound.
Eventually, a familiar knot begins to form in the pit of your stomach. The thrusts become smoother, your legs weaker. Shameless moans begin to roll out of your drooling mouth, and you hold onto the Carnotaurus' rugged hips. Its mouth is slightly open, panting and groaning, blowing hot air against your already feverish body.
Your own high is interrupted by a thick, hot wave of fluid abruptly crashing against your inner walls. The beast detaches itself from you, leaving you heaving, dripping and sighing in disappointment. The least you could've gotten from this erotic absurdity was a decent orgasm.
Your naked body is suddenly shrouded in shadow. You look up to see a different member of the pack positioning itself between your legs. Glancing at the others, a horrifying, perverted thought occurs to you: they're taking turns, fucking you relentlessly.
Perhaps you will get your chance, after all. Or multiple.
#monster imagine#monster x reader#monster x human#carnotaurus x reader#monster romance#monster smut#terato#teratophillia#monster fucker
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
â© bruised and bandaged đ©č
pairing: oscar piastri x reader
cw: mentions of blood, violence, etc.
wc: 3.2k words
an: wrote this like 2 weeks ago, and yes this is completely indulgent i wrote this for me and coincidentally you all get to read it <3



When Oscar told Y/N he was going out, she didnât think much of it. It wasnât often he got to meet up with his friends, and they had been eager to take him out for a couple of drinks.
As soon as he left, she changed into her favorite pyjamas; the soft, oversized ones covered in little Snoopy heads, slathered on her salicylic acid face mask, and tied her hair into two loose braids. Nothing was going to stop her from having the ultimate night of relaxation.
To be fair, Oscar had asked if she wanted to come along, but she had absolutely no interest. Going bar hopping on a weekend did nothing for her, and she much preferred spending her evening curled up on the couch, binge-watching Sex and the City while their cat, Sylvia, snoozed in her lap.
She was halfway through her third episode of season four, having just paused the TV to reheat some leftover pizza from lunch, when the doorbell rang.
She groaned, taking a bite. âYou have got to be kidding me.â
Dragging herself to the door, she peeked through the eyehole. The figure on the other side was shadowed, but she could tell it was a man. Immediately, every nerve in her body went on high alert.
âWho is it?â she called through the intercom, her voice cautious.
âItâs me, you goose.â
She frowned. âWhoâs me?â
A heavy sigh. âItâs Oscar. Your boyfriend.â
Oh right. Her boyfriend. The very boyfriend who was supposed to be out right now, doing whatever it was that boys did for fun. Instead, he was here, rudely disrupting her peaceful evening.
He was so lucky she liked him.
She unlocked the door, swinging it open. âWhy didnât you just use your keys, disturbingâOH MY GOD!â
The sight in front of her nearly made her fall down.
đȘ»đȘ»đȘ»
Oscar looked like he had been through it.
His right arm was bleeding, a deep gash cutting through the skin. His jeans were ripped, his knees scraped raw. A small cut sat just below his left eye, on the apple of his cheek. His hair was a mess, tousled in a way that wasnât even remotely cute, and his usually composed expression was replaced with something between exhaustion and pain.
âWHAT HAPPENED?â Y/N shrieked, yanking him inside as she noticed the way he hobbled through the doorway.
Oscar sighed as he lowered himself onto the couch, wincing slightly. âHad a bit of a tussle with this one bloke,â he muttered, waving his good hand dismissively. âNo big deal.â
"NO BIG DEAL?!" she repeated, eyes practically bulging out of her head. "YOU LOOK LIKE YOU FELL OFF A MOVING TRAIN!â
She scrambled to find the first aid kit, muttering to herself as she dug through the cabinets.
Sylvia, now wide awake from all the noise, flicked her tail in irritation before giving Oscar a pointed glare. With the level of disdain only a cat could manage, she stretched, harrumphed, and strutted off to find a quieter place to sleep.
Oscar watched her go, sighing dramatically. âOnce again, my own cat betrays me.â
He immediately regretted the action, his body protesting the movement with a sharp pang of pain.
Y/N rushed back into the room, first aid kit in hand, her face set in determination.
âAlright,â she huffed, setting the kit down on the coffee table. âOff with the shirt.â
Oscar groaned as he leaned back against the couch, his head tipping against the cushion. âAt least buy me dinner first,â he quipped, shooting Y/N a tired smirk despite looking like he had just crawled out of a bar fight.
Y/N glared at him, yanking open the first aid kit with a little too much force. âOscar, shut up,â she snapped, pressing a hand to his chest to keep him still as she assessed the damage. âYouâre literally bleeding all over our couch.â
Oscar winced, glancing down at himself like he was only just realizing how much of a mess he was. His right arm had the worst of it, a deep gash trailing down his forearm, but his ribs were bruised, his jeans torn at the knees, and there was a cut sitting just under his left eye. He looked wrecked.
Y/N grabbed the antiseptic, soaking a cotton pad. Oscar groaned as she pressed the antiseptic-soaked cotton pad firmly against his wound, his jaw clenching as a sharp sting shot through his arm.
âBloody hell babe, go easy, would ya?â he hissed, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.
Y/N, entirely unimpressed, pressed harder. âGo easy? Go easy?â she repeated, eyes narrowing. âYou show up at our door looking like this, bleeding, bruised, barely able to walk, and you want me to go easy?â
Oscar winced, his good hand coming up in surrender. âAlright, alright, message received.â
She exhaled sharply, clearly holding back from launching into a full-blown rant as she carefully cleaned the cut on his cheek. He tilted his head slightly, making it easier for her, but after a moment, she sighed in frustration.
âThis isnât working,â she muttered.
Before Oscar could ask what she meant, she grabbed his shoulders and shifted, settling onto his lap so she could get a better angle.
His hands instinctively came up to steady her, fingers gripping her thighs as she adjusted herself, straddling him without a second thought.
Well. She didnât give it a second thought.
Oscar, on the other hand, definitely did.
Y/N pretended not to notice. Pretended not to feel the way his grip tightened slightly. Pretended not to hear the way his breath hitched for just a fraction of a second before he exhaled through his nose.
Instead, she kept her focus on his face, tilting it gently with her free hand before dabbing at the cut again.
âHow the hell did this even happen?â she demanded.
Oscar blinked, his brain still catching up with the fact that his very attractive and very angry girlfriend was now seated firmly on his lap, her thighs warm beneath his hands.
He cleared his throat. âSaw some dickhead hassling a girl outside the pub.â
Y/Nâs hand paused for a split second before continuing.
Oscar felt her tense slightly, but she didnât say anything, just pressed the antiseptic a little more firmly than necessary.
âShit!â he jerked, sucking in a sharp breath. âWarn me next time, Jesusââ
Y/N was completely unimpressed. âKeep talking.â
Oscar exhaled through his nose, trying to focus. âSo, yeah, this guy was a proper maggot, Iâm talking absolutely off his face and he was getting real weird with this girl. Like, full-on grabbing her when she was trying to walk away. So I told him to rack off.â
Y/N narrowed her eyes, pressing the pad against another cut with no warning.
Oscar hissed. âBabeâ!â
âGo on,â she said, her voice deceptively calm.
Oscar sighed. âAnd then he gets all stroppy, the fucking cunt.â
Y/N blinked. âAll what?â
âStroppy.â
She stared. âOscar, I canât understand you when you speak full Aussie.â
Oscar huffed. âStroppy, babe. Like annoyed, pissed. Anyway, he tries to swing at me, and obviously, I wasnât just gonna stand there, so I dodged it, but then his mates jumped in too, and thenââ
Y/Nâs jaw dropped. âHis mates jumped in?â
âYeah.â Oscar scratched the back of his head sheepishly, his grip on her thighs tightening slightly. âI mean, it wasnât, like, a full-on punch-on, but there were a few swings, andââ
âA few swings?â Y/N repeated, horrified.
Oscar gave her a look, lips twitching. âYouâre just repeating everything Iâm saying now.â
âBecause I literally donât understand half of it!â she threw her hands up. âI swear, you need subtitles when you get like this.â
Oscar smirked, his thumbs rubbing absentminded circles into her thighs. âYou love it.â
She did not react. Would not react.
âNo,â she deadpanned, grabbing a fresh bandage. âWhat I love is my boyfriend not getting into fights with drunk idiots outside pubs.â
Oscar hummed, watching her work. âYou also love me in a bloodied-up t-shirt.â
Y/N shot him a glare before taping the bandage down with a little too much force.
Oscar winced, then had the audacity to smirk. âOw, babe. I know you love me all shirtless, but come on.
Y/N swore she saw red. She out a long, slow breath through her nose as she soaked another cotton pad in antiseptic.
âI cannot believe you,â she muttered, shaking her head as she dabbed at the cut on Oscarâs cheek.
Oscar sucked in a sharp breath, scrunching his nose. âBabe, warningââ
She ignored him, pressing the pad firmly to his skin. âYou really thought it was a good idea to go up against a bunch of drunk guys outside a pub? What, were you just itching for a fight?â
Oscar tilted his head, watching her carefully. âWhat was I supposed to do? Just walk away?â
âYes!â Y/N snapped, reaching for a fresh bandage. âThatâs exactly what you were supposed to do!â
Oscar scoffed. âNot a chance.â
She let out a groan, rolling her eyes as she gently smoothed the bandage over his cheek. âYouâre infuriating, you know that?â
Oscar smirked. âYou shouldâve seen the other guys.â
Y/N froze, staring at him in disbelief. âAre you proud of yourself?â
Oscar shrugged, wincing when the movement tugged at his bruised ribs. âNot proud, per seâbut, I mean, I held my own.â
Y/N sat back, gripping the first aid kit like she was two seconds away from throwing it at his thick head. âYou got jumped, Oscar! Jumped! How exactly is that holding your own?â
âOkay, technicallyââ he started, and Y/N immediately cut him off.
âNo. I donât want to hear it.â
Oscar sighed, running a hand through his messy curls. âI just, I couldnât walk away, babe. That guy was being a prick. I wasnât about to let him get away with that. Who knows. if I hadnât stepped in the girl couldâve been in real trouble.â
Y/N stayed silent at that, thinking the situation through. Being a woman herself, she knew how scared that girl mightâve felt in that moment.
âIâd have done that for anyone getting harassed, but in that moment it felt like Iâd be even more of an ass if I didnât help that poor girl.â Oscar firmly said, finally getting serious for the first time that night.
âCould you imagine being in a similar position? And people walking by but nobody helping you? Itâs probably how she felt before I stepped in. So I wonât be made to feel guilty about it.â
âIâm not trying to make you feel guilty for it, love, you did a noble thing. But you canât just fight people! They already managed to nick you!â
She swallowed, her frustration shifting into something else entirely, something that felt a lot like fear. Her hands trembled as she reached for his arm, carefully inspecting the gash running down his forearm.
He couldâve been seriously hurt.
He was seriously hurt.
And it hit her all at once, just how much she hated seeing him like this, all bruised and bloodied, because he felt the need to stand up for someone else.
âJesus, Os,â she whispered, her voice small now. âWhat if theyâd had a gun? What ifââ
Oscar softened instantly, his teasing demeanor fading. âHey,â he murmured, reaching for her wrist with his good hand. âIâm okay, Goose. Just a couple scrapes. Nothing I havenât had before.â
Y/N clenched her jaw, trying to hold back the lump forming in her throat. âThatâs not the point.â
Oscarâs thumb traced soothing circles against her skin. âI know.â
She huffed, blinking rapidly as she focused on cleaning the gash on his arm. âYou canât just throw yourself into fights, Oscar. What if someone recorded it? Itâd be in the headlines tomorrow, âFormula 1 Star Oscar Piastri Caught Beating Up Group Of Drunk Men!â
Oscar tried to interrupt, but she was on a rampage.
âThis is completely reckless. Not to mention you tried taking all of them on your own! I swear, one dayââ
Oscar lifted his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. âOne day what?â
Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers trembling as she finished bandaging his arm. She didnât answer. She couldnât answer.
Oscar exhaled, tilting his head as he studied her. âYou were worried about me.â
Y/N scoffed, sitting back. âObviously.â
His lips quirked. âLike, really worried.â
âShut up.â
Oscar grinned, but it was softer now, warmer. âI mean, I like it,â he admitted, tugging her closer. âItâs cute.â
Y/N let out a long breath, glaring at him even as she allowed herself to lean into his touch. âNext time, just call the cops instead of getting yourself beat up.â
Oscar smirked, squeezing her hand. âDeal.â
She eyed him suspiciously. âI mean it, Oscar.â
âI know, babe.â He lifted her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. âI know.â
đȘ»đȘ»đȘ»
Oscar had been quiet for a few minutes, curled up against her, his breathing even and steady. Y/N had assumed he was dozing off, until he shifted slightly, nuzzling into her neck with a soft sigh.
âBaaaabe,â he murmured, voice dripping with exhaustion and something dangerously close to a whine.
Y/N smirked, running her fingers through his curls. âYes, love?â
âIâm sore.â
She snorted. âOh, really? I never would have guessed.â
Oscar groaned dramatically, lifting his head just enough to pout at her. âI think you need to take care of me more.â
Y/N raised an eyebrow. âI just patched you up.â
âYeah, but now I need, like⊠comfort care,â he said, blinking at her like an actual baby.
Y/N sighed, already feeling herself softening against her will. âYou are so needy.â
Oscar hummed, leaning fully into her again. âLuckily, I only need you.â
Y/N rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she carefully maneuvered herself out of his hold.
âAlright, fine,â she muttered, standing up. âIf you want to be babied, Iâll baby you.â
Oscar perked up immediately, watching her as she walked towards their bedroom. âWait, seriously?â
She didnât answer, already in their shared bathroom.
Oscar watched her with big, expectant eyes, his bottom lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout as she rummaged through the cabinets. His fingers twitched where they rested on the couch, itching to pull her back down beside him.
She came back out, in one hand a pair of comfy pyjamas, and one of her favourite face masks she never let him use. But today was a rare moment.
He hummed in satisfaction as she tore open the face mask and started smoothing it over his skin, his eyes fluttering shut as he all but melted into her touch.
âThis is nice,â he admitted sleepily.
âI told you.â She grinned, rubbing the last bit of serum into his jawline. âNow, letâs do something about this.â She tugged lightly at his soft curls.
Oscar barely reacted, just letting out another lazy hum. âWhatever you want, babe.â
She worked carefully, combing through his hair with her fingers, smoothing down the wild strands until he looked a little less like someone who had just survived a street fight. By the time she was done, he was completely boneless against her.
Y/N grabbed his pajamas off the coffee table, holding them out. âAlright, clothes.â
Oscar pouted but reached for them anyway, hesitating. âToo tired.â
Y/N raised an eyebrow. âDo you need me to help you?â
He grinned, entirely unashamed. âObviously.â
She rolled her eyes, but she still helped him, carefully maneuvering his arms through his pajama top, making sure not to irritate his bruises or bandages.
As soon as she was done, he collapsed against her again, arms wrapping around her waist as he all but melted into her.
âBetter,â he murmured against her neck.
Y/N snorted. âYou are so spoiled.â
Oscar smirked against her skin. âYeah, but you love spoiling me.â
His contentment only lasted a couple of seconds, before he made another demand.
âCâmere.â
She huffed a laugh, placing a plate on the coffee table. âI am here.â
âNo, likeââ He pawed at her waist, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her legs, and practically her entire lower half, onto his lap.
âHere here.â
âOscar,â she scolded, but her voice held no real bite. âYouâre injured, you cannot be pulling me around like this.â
âDonât care,â he mumbled, face buried in the crook of her neck. âNeed you close.â
Y/N sighed, pretending to be put out, even as her heart melted. âYou are so dramatic when youâre hurt.â
âYou love me,â he countered, voice muffled against her skin.
She did. God, she really did.
Y/N pressed a kiss to the top of his head. âNow, can we eat our pizza and watch my show?â
âOnly if I get to be the little spoon.â
âYou are always the little spoon.â
Oscar grinned against her skin. âYeah, but I like hearing you say it.â
Y/N groaned, but she couldnât stop the fond smile tugging at her lips.
âFine, you big baby.â
Oscar hummed, squeezing her just a little tighter. âThatâs more like it.â
She rolled her eyes but didnât argue. Instead, she reached for the remote, pulling the blanket over both of them as she restarted Sex and the City.
Just as the episode started playing, Sylvia, who had been observing from a distance; finally stretched out of her spot on the armchair and padded over.
Y/N froze, watching in shock as their usually standoffish cat sniffed at Oscar before hopping up onto the couch beside him.
Oscar blinked, looking just as stunned as she was. âNo way.â
âNo way,â Y/N whispered, watching as Sylvia curled up against Oscarâs side.
Sylvia let out a soft huff, pressing herself into his ribs as if she actually cared about his well-being.
Y/N let out a dramatic gasp. âOh my God.â
Oscar grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. âI knew she loved me.â
âShe feels bad for you,â Y/N cooed, reaching over to stroke Sylviaâs fur. âShe pities you.â
Oscar scoffed. âOr maybe she recognizes that Iâm the superior owner.â
âPlease,â Y/N snorted. âIâm the one who feeds her. You just exist near her and hope sheâll acknowledge you.â
âWell, clearly it worked.â
Y/N pouted as Sylvia burrowed deeper against him. âI canât believe this. All it took was you nearly getting beat up for her to show some love?â
Oscar smirked. âGuess she knows Iâm a fighter.â
Y/Nâs face dropped.
âOh, absolutely not,â she muttered, turning to face him fully.
Oscar blinked at her. âWhat?â
Y/N placed a hand on her hip. âYou are never fighting someone again unless I explicitly allow it.â
Oscar looked amused. âYouâre giving me a permission system now?â
âYes.â She folded her arms. âI will be your fight manager. You do not throw a punch unless I say so.â
Oscar huffed out a laugh, clearly trying not to smile. âAnd what if I see some bloke being a melt again?â
âThen you call me and ask for permission,â she said sternly. âI will assess the situation and then decide if youâre allowed to get involved.â
Oscar chuckled, tightening his arms around her waist and pulling her back into his chest. âYou really donât want me fighting, huh?â
Y/N sighed, her hands resting against his chest. âOf course I donât, Oscar. Look at you.â Her voice softened slightly. âYou came home all bruised and bleeding, and Iââ She swallowed. âI hated it.â
Oscarâs smirk faded instantly. His fingers traced slow, soothing circles against her back as he murmured, âIâm okay, love.â
âYou better be.â Y/N sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. âBecause if you ever come home looking like this again, I might actually fight you too.â
Oscar grinned, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. âYes maâam. No more fights unless I have official clearance from my very strict, very beautiful manager.â
Y/N smiled despite herself. âThatâs more like it.â
Oscar sighed happily, settling into the couch. âLove you, Goose.â
She hummed, curling into him. âLove you too, idiot.â
what can i say, i love a sappy plot. again i have no shame in saying i giggled maniacally writing this, so hopefully u lot feel the same while reading this ;D! and i am open for requests so pls send as many as u would like :p
#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x y/n#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri f1#oscar piastri fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fluff#oscar piastri fluff#f1 x reader#op81#op81 x reader#f1 driver x reader#f1 driver x you
781 notes
·
View notes