#(SHE'S MY BEST FRIEND AND SHE IS SO COOL! ^^)

[trashdorito]

I feel like this is relevant again

BITING. "Well in Linked Universe" "Well in the LU fandom" Shut up! Stop! Its a *fan comic*. Its a Good fancomic, but its not canon and its not mine either! Get off me! Legend of zelda is almost 40 years old and has so much stuff please just LOOK at it! Im Tired!

[outromoonyy]

Imagine Wolfstar both getting the flu at the same time and accidentally confessing their feelings for each other over fever, meds, and soup.

They’re stuck in the infirmary together, which is already dangerous because people do stupid things when they’re sick and delusional and fifteen and in love with their best friend.

Poppy gives them each their own bed but not even ten minutes after she leaves them alone Sirius is crawling into Remus’s bed because, “Shut up, Moony, I have fever chills and you’re warm.” And Remus lets him, because he always does.

So now they’re two feverish, emotionally repressed idiots, stuck in bed, sharing a blanket, high on Pepper-Up Potion and poorly made soup.

At first, it’s just grumbling and sneezing and fighting over blankets. Sirius complains like he’s dying. Remus actually is dying but refuses to admit it.

And at some point, Sirius half-whispers, voice hoarse, “Do you ever think about kissing me or is that just a me thing?”

Remus doesn’t even blink. Just goes, “Only every single day of my life, thanks.”

They both freeze.

Then Sirius, congested and blinking slowly, mumbles, “Oh. Cool.”

And Remus nods, dead serious: “Very cool.”

They fall asleep like that.

Remus spends the next day silently spiraling because Sirius said, “I’ve been in love with you since third year, I think, but don’t worry about it.”

And Sirius is busy panicking because Remus said, “Don’t tell anyone I kissed you, I want it to be just ours,” but Sirius hadn't even known if that kiss had been real or just part of the fever hallucinations.

A week later, they’re back in the common room, fully recovered, sitting ten inches apart like absolutely nothing happened.

Except it did.

And every time their hands brush, every time one of them coughs, they both remember the soup and the fever and the quiet, sleepy I love yous they’re pretending never happened.

But they both know.

[gargamelldansen]

part of the reason I made this post was because my best friend started at the same time I did and she LOVES dinosaurs so every commander game she has a cool new deck aimed at capturing the spirit of either a real dinosaur or one from the Jurassic Park franchise

I've only barely started playing MTG but I am so far baffled as to how the community doesn't have some IRL equivalent of Pokemon gyms. People put so much effort into creating decks with unique theming, and while plenty of people are trying to optimize their decks to be flawlessly unbeatable, even more just seem to really like decks with cool themes surrounding particular creature types or mechanics.

I just think Magic would lend itself really well to a type of semi-competitive scene where you and your buddies can hop on the bus to the next town over to go fight Crab Guy (guy who likes crabs) at the Crab Gym (room at the back of a game store with paper crabs on the walls) to get your Crab Badge (small pin with a crab on it) by defeating his Crab Deck (deck whose only creature cards are crabs)

[motherismotheringggg]

slow burn blues 🎸

summary: the very stubborn and independent reader met the SmokeStack twins in Chicago, along with their friend Bo Chow, who left quite the impression on her, so when she came down to Delta it wasn’t a new start she had to look forward to

type: plus sized black fem! reader x my best eater bo chow (single ofc)

warnings/tags: oral (f! receiving), talks of violence, blood but not in a sexual way

author’s note: mamas got a new fixation and it’s this man right here 😭😭 huge shoutout to ryan coogler for making every man in this movie an eater and/or a pleaser

The back office stank of old whiskey, gun oil, and panic.

You shoved bills into the canvas satchel, fingers trembling as you counted under your breath — twenties, tens, a crumpled five. The single bulb overhead swung in its chain, throwing long shadows over the filing cabinet and the stained wallpaper. Your heels clicked against the scuffed wood floors, pacing fast and tight between the desk and the back exit.

"Didn't I tell y'all to keep it quiet?" you snapped, eyes flashing at Stack. "Lord have mercy, I said lay low. What happened to layin’ low?"

Stack shrugged, leaning against the filing cabinet like it was just another Friday night. "Ain’t nothin’ but a little ruckus, folk get hot, that’s all." His smiled beamed as his grilled accessorized his cockiness.

You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. "Ain’t no such thing as just a ‘little ruckus’ when you Black in this city, Stack. Them Irish boys and dago types don’t come to just talk when they get stirred up."

Smoke stood by the door, tall and still, hand resting over the butt of his pistol, eyes scanning through the cracked glass pane. His jaw clenched tight, the way it always did when he was choosing silence over rage.

Outside, the night was thick with smoke and anticipation. The bar lights were off, the windows boarded. Somewhere down the block, tires screeched, and you all froze, just for a second, before you zipped the bag closed.

“They gon’ burn this place down tryin’ to get to y’all,” you muttered, thrusting the satchel into Stack’s chest. “Train rolls south at a quarter to midnight. You catch the last car, y’hear? Get on and don’t look back.”

Stack’s cocky grin minorly faltered for the first time that night. He took the bag slow, hands brushing yours. “Always lookin’ out for us,” he said, voice lower than usual. “Even when you oughta leave us to the wolves.”

“I oughta, but I ain’t that cruel,” you said, voice cracking on the edge of tears.

Smoke turned and hugged you first; firm, full-bodied, but still reserved. Just one arm wrapping around you. You smelled the tobacco smoke on his coat, the cologne he always wore, too and felt the hard edge of a revolver at his waist.

Then Stack stepped close, all heat and hesitation. He didn’t hug you right away. Just looked at you, real soft. “If it turns mean up here,” he said, thumb grazing your wrist, “you come find us. Down in the Delta. You got no business lettin’ this city chew you up.”

You stared back at him, heart hammering. His lips twitched like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He just disappeared out the door, melting into the night behind Smoke.

The last thing you heard before they vanished down the alley was Stack’s voice, faint in the wind: “We’ll be waitin’, darlin’.”

The train car rattled beneath you, a steady, hypnotic clatter as the tracks stretched out like an endless, silver thread. You pressed your forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the Chicago skyline shrink into a haze of smoke and brick until it was nothing but a jagged memory. Your fingers traced circles in the fog your breath left behind, the chill from the glass seeping into your skin.

It’d been a week since that knife fight in the alley behind the bar. One of the Irish came at you fast, but you were faster. Didn’t mean you got out clean, though. The gash on your thigh still ached, wrapped tight beneath layers of wool and gauze. You’d fought him off and left him bloodied on the pavement, but the message had been clear — they weren’t lettin’ you stay. Not after you protected the twins.

You took what was left of the bar’s cash drawer and everything you’d managed to save. Bought a one-way ticket south with a gashed leg, a heavy heart, and no real plan beyond Stack’s promise: We’ll be waitin’.

You had no clue how you were supposed to find them — Stack always said they were big-time down in the Delta, and if that was true, maybe the wind would carry your name to the right ear. Or maybe you’d just follow the smoke and music and hope for the best.

The station platform was buzzing when you stepped off the train, warm air thick with dust, fried batter, and sweat. You were still dragging your suitcase down the steps when you heard it: the sound of a harmonica that was so rich, so full of ache and fire, it nearly stopped you where you stood.

The crowd pulled you in before you could think. You pressed through bodies, Black folks in Sunday hats, little boys barefoot and wild-eyed, travelers fresh off the train and made your way to the front.

There he was: Delta Slim.

The man bent low over his harmonica, rocking with each note like the music was being dragged out of him. The sound wound through your ribs and pulled at something soft in your belly. The kind of playing that carried ghosts. The kind that made you forget you were tired, that you had no place to stay.

And suddenly, you were a little girl again, standing in your grandmother’s hot kitchen while she fried catfish and hummed songs older than the house itself. Blues tunes with names you never learned but could hum in your sleep.

When Slim finally stopped, the crowd clapped and whooped, some tossing coins into the open case by his boots. You stepped forward, dropped in a few bills. “God bless you,” he said without looking up.

You opened your mouth to thank him, but froze.

Somewhere behind you, a voice cut through the crowd: “Smoke said he’d be done ‘round sundown.”

Your head snapped around.

It was a dark-skinned woman in a plaid navy blue dress, carrying a market basket. She had cheekbones sharp enough to slice air and eyes that didn’t miss a thing. She looked just like the woman Smoke used to talk about in low, rare moments — like she wasn’t just anyone, like she was sacred.

“Annie?” you asked, stepping closer, unsure.

She stopped, instantly guarded. “Who’s askin’?” Her voice was soft, but it carried steel.

You lifted your hands, palms up, no threat. “Name’s Y/N. I knew Smoke and Stack back in Chicago. Helped ‘em get out when things turned bad. I… I came down after the Irish and Italians ran me out. Figured I’d find ‘em if I could.”

She stared long and hard. Then something shifted in her face — the tightness melted a little, and her lips curled just slightly.

“Heard plenty about you,” she said. “More from Stack than Smoke, naturally. But still.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the Delta. “We settin’ up the juke joint for tonight. I gotta make a stop first, but they’ll be awful glad to see you.”

You nodded, heart picking up pace. For the first time in weeks, you let yourself believe you might actually be safe.

————

The car groaned as it skidded around another bend in the dirt road, gravel popping under the tires like gunfire. You gripped the door with one hand and braced your good leg against the seat in front of you, praying the back axle wouldn’t snap clean off from the way Delta Slim was pushing it. The wind screamed through the open windows, whipping your scarf into your face, and the sun hung low in the sky, bleeding gold across your lap.

Slim drove like he was being chased by every ghost he ever crossed — fast, erratic, and with a bottle tucked between his knees that he sipped from like it held the secrets of the universe. The smell of corn liquor was thick in the cab, sweet and sharp enough to make your nose sting.

You hadn’t said much. Between the pain in your leg and the way Slim was flirting with death at every turn, there wasn’t much breath left for conversation.

Annie, sitting on the passenger side turned and looked over her shoulder. Her expression was calm, like she’d seen this a thousand times. “Don’t worry,” she said, tapping a small leather pouch that hung just above her chest. It bounced lightly against her sternum with the movement.

You blinked. That pouch.

You’d seen it before. Smoke wore one just like it; dark leather, worn smooth from years of wear. He kept it tucked under his shirt, said it was “for protection,” though he never explained what it was from. Seeing it now, on Annie, made something settle in your stomach.

Slim cackled then, throwing a lazy arm out the window to flick ashes off the stub of a cigarette. “Girl sittin’ back there like she expect me to drive us into the river.” His voice was scratchy, coated with booze and heat. “You scared o’ me, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer, just glanced sideways at Annie, who smirked like she was used to this foolishness.

He twisted around in his seat, one bloodshot eye squinting at you. “So how you know them twins anyhow?” He offered you his cigarette.

You obliged and leaned forward to take it, the effort tugging at the self-done stitches in your thigh. “Back in Chicago. Ran my family’s bar. Smoke and Stack used to come in all the time. They eventually became suppliers until a few weeks ago, I helped get ‘em out when things turned bad.”

“Bad?” Slim echoed.

You nodded. “Knife fights. Bomb threats. The Irish tried to burn the place down. I caught one in the thigh, but I gave as good as I got.” You took a final drag of the cigarette before handing it back to Delta, whose eyes were wide with awe.

That laugh again — loud and ugly and amused. “Lord, girl! You ain’t tell me you was a brawler. I’m gon’ have to put some respect on your name. Might be more scared o’ you than them boys.”

You let your head fall back against the seat, lips curling slightly. The pain in your leg throbbed with every bump, but you couldn’t help the pride that bloomed warm and fierce in your chest.

The landscape started to shift as the road flattened — less forest now, more clearing. Sunlight pooled like honey between the buildings, and the air carried the heavy scent of river water, fried fish, and the faintest trace of honeysuckle.

Children darted between storefronts barefoot and wild-eyed, chasing marbles, tossing sticks. A woman stepped out of a seamstress shop holding a bolt of fabric to her chest, her laughter rising over the whir of cicadas. The whole town breathed like it had a heartbeat.

Then you saw the sign.

Chow’s Groceries.

Your breath caught mid-inhale. The letters were hand-painted, a little faded, but clear as day.

Bo.

It couldn’t be.

You hadn’t thought about him in months, not properly — but now it all came rushing back.

————

He’d come to Chicago once, maybe 6 or 7 months ago. The twins said he was gonna help them with a deal so he just needed a quiet place to sleep for a few nights. You gave him the back room of the bar, didn’t think much of it. Figured he’d keep to himself.

But Bo... watched.

Not the way most men do. Not with that slow-lidded hunger that made your skin crawl. No, he watched like he was reading you — like every move you made behind that bar meant something. He’d sit at the end stool, drink barely touched, just following you with those steady eyes.

And that night, well you remembered it like it was pressed in amber.

The bar had been full, the floor sticky with old beer, the air thick with sweat and cigarette smoke. A regular, one who’d had too much, reached for you when you passed. Grabbed your hip like he’d paid for it and pulled you down on his lap.

You squirmed free and went to grab your switchblade knife from your pocket. You hand grazed the handle but before you could fully draw it, Bo was behind you. Quiet. Calm.

“Baby,” he’d said, voice like warm molasses, “everything alright here?”

His hand slid to your hip — not rough, but firm. Protective. Present. The drunk’s hands went up in defense, and he muttered an apology before slinking away.

You didn’t say anything then, just kept moving.

But later, when the lights were low and you were wiping down the counter, he came out from the back. Started stacking chairs like he worked there. You paused but you didn’t stop him.

“Thanks for earlier,” you said, going back to wiping.

He kept working. “Didn’t sit right, lettin’ that slide. You hold your own. I seen it. But still...”

You tilted your head at him, teasing. “So you been watchin’ me?”

Bo smiled as he met your gaze with something quiet and serious. “How could I not?”

He came closer — close enough that the scent of sandalwood and clean cotton filled your lungs. His arms were bare, veins rising like rivers down his forearms as he placed a chair upside-down on the table beside you.

You were perched on a barstool by then, thighs aching from the long shift, apron wrinkled, hair pulled back. He stepped between your knees, eyes locked on yours. One hand drifted up your leg, slow, fingers grazing the inside of your thigh.

He reached for your hem.

Then—

Bang bang bang.

A knock at the door. Heavy. Familiar.

The twins.

You both froze like your thoughts had been read aloud. Bo stepped back, jaw tight. You fixed your skirt, heart pounding.

Nothing else was said.

————

But now, staring at the sign for Chow’s Groceries, you felt it all at once: the heat of his hand, the weight of his stare, the possibility that had lived for one long moment and never got to grow.

You stood outside caught in a trance so deep you didn’t realize Annie and Delta Slim had already gone inside. The porch boards creaked under your heels, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the hand-painted sign.

The Delta air wrapped around you like a shawl—thick, warm, and humming with life—but your thoughts were tangled up in memory. The way Bo looked at you that night in the bar, the way he made you feel seen without saying much at all. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been standing there until—

“Y/N?”

That voice—gritty, familiar, a little more worn than before.

You turned just in time to see Stack walking up, grin wide and arms already open. He pulled you into a hug that squeezed the breath out of you.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured. “Didn’t think you’d really come down.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Yeah, I ran into, Annie, Smoke’s wife at the station. Figured the Delta might do me some good.”

He draped an arm over your shoulder, guiding you through the screen door into the store. The cool air was a welcome shift, carrying scents of lemon oil, tobacco, and flour dust. The sound of laughter rolled from the back of the store where Smoke, Delta, and Annie were gathered around a woman you didn’t recognize—dark-skinned, with a narrow waist and wide hips, cheekbones like razors and eyes that missed nothing.

“That’s Pearline,” Stack whispered. “And that fool next to her is our cousin Sammy.”

Sammy tipped his hat. Pearline’s gaze lingered a little longer before her mouth tugged into a polite smile.

Then the group shifted slightly.

And there he was.

Bo Chow.

You could’ve sworn the floor tilted. His sleeves were rolled up over strong forearms, hands dusted with flour as he sorted through a ledger. His hair was still parted neat, his face still quiet and kind, but those eyes—those dark, steady eyes—lit up the second they landed on you.

And then he smiled.

Your breath hitched.

He crossed the room in just a few strides, pulled you in like no time had passed. His arms were solid, the kind that made you feel safe whether you wanted to or not. He leaned in close enough for his lips to brush your ear.

“Still fine as ever,” he said low, that slow, careful drawl curling around your spine.

You didn’t even hear the rest of it—blood roared in your ears, your heart thudding against your ribs like it was trying to break out.

Smoke clapped his hands once—sharp, loud, enough to cut through the noise.

“Alright. With Y/N here, she’ll be good to keep the bar running. Annie, I’m movin’ you to the floor. I want eyes everywhere, and I want 'em sharp. Ain’t no slip-ups tonight. Everybody bring your best or don’t bring nothin’ at all.”

The group talked more and then started filing out, talking plans and logistics. You followed them out onto the porch, ready to head toward Delta Slim’s rusted-out ride. Your bags were still in his trunk, and you started toward them on instinct.

But then—

“Where your bags at?” Bo asked, already coming up beside you.

You pointed with your chin. “Back of Slim’s car. I got it.”

You moved quick, hands already reaching for the straps, but Bo was faster. His hand came down over yours, firm but gentle.

“I said I got it,” you repeated, trying to shoulder one of the heavier bags.

He stepped in front of you and took the strap clean out of your hand. “No, you don’t.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Bo—”

He cut you off with a quiet look, already lifting both bags like they weighed nothing. “You been carryin’ enough,” he said. “Not today.”

You paused, caught off-guard—not by the help, but by the certainty of it. You weren’t used to that. You were used to men saying one thing, meaning another. Used to them letting you do the heavy lifting ‘cause it was easier for them to stay out the way.

But Bo didn’t move like a man who wanted to stay out your way. He moved like he wanted to make space for you to rest.

Stack passed behind you and tossed a look over his shoulder. His gold tooth flashed as he smirked. “I knew somethin’ happened.”

You swatted at his arm. “Ain’t nothin’ happened,” you muttered, but your face was already hot.

Bo opened the passenger door for you without saying a word. Just stood there, waiting. You hesitated a second, then put your hand in his. His grip was warm and steady, guiding you into the seat like you were something precious.

He slid into the driver’s side, lit a cigarette with one hand, then passed it to you after a slow drag. You took it between your fingers, felt the heat through your fingers, inhaled.

The smoke tasted of cloves and pine.

————

The car rumbled to life and bumped down the dirt road, dust kicking up behind the tires. For a long moment, you didn’t speak. You weren’t scared, but you were out of your element. Most men you knew were loud, demanding, rough in the ways they loved or claimed to. Bo didn’t press. He didn’t rush.

He just drove, eyes on the road, the silence stretching out like something sacred.

Then finally, he said it—quiet, plain.

“I missed you.”

You looked at him, sharp. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Ain’t stopped thinkin’ about you since Chicago. Swear I almost caught a train up myself a few months back. Store kept me tied up. Always somethin’ needs fixin’ or orderin’. You know how it is.”

You nodded, listening to the slow melody of his voice, the way it filled the cab like music—low and familiar.

“I was worried,” he added. “Heard what happened with the Italians and the Irish. Stack said you handled it, but still. I hated not bein’ there.”

You took another drag, eyes narrowed at the road ahead. “Held my own. Like you’d expect.”

He smiled, proud and quiet. “Course you did.”

There was a beat of silence before you added, softer, “But there’s a reason I’m back.”

That made the smile fade.

“What happened?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you reached over and gently brushed your fingers along the back of his head, where his hair gathered soft at the nape of his neck. He leaned into it just barely—like he wasn’t used to being touched so kindly.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, thumb dragging slow across his skin. “I handled it.”

“As always” he completed your sentence with a dry smile, like he didn’t like his own response.

————

The juke joint was jumpin’.

Floorboards creaked and groaned under the rhythm of feet—heels stompin', bodies grindin’, skirts twirlin’ like the hem was on fire. Heat rose off the crowd in waves, thick with sweat, perfume, and the sharp bite of corn liquor. Every inch of that room was alive with bottles clinking, laughter breaking like thunder, and voices lifted in song.

Up on the makeshift stage, Pearline and Sammy were singin’ like the Devil himself was in the crowd and they meant to save every soul in it. Her voice was honey dipped in iron, his the low rumble of a storm rollin’ over the river. The two of ’em tangled their harmonies like vines, and the people hollered, clapped, swayed—caught in it.

Stack was out on the floor, two-steppin’ with a girl in a red dress, the kind of pale that made you double take. She laughed with her whole body, and Stack twirled her like he had something to prove. You had to remind yourself she wasn’t white—her curls thick and coarse under that hat, her smile quick but knowing. Still, you clocked every eye that lingered on them too long, just in case.

Smoke was up on the rafters, leanin’ over the rail, watchin’ the whole scene like a man used to puttin’ out fires before they started. He didn’t drink, didn’t dance, didn’t smile much—but his presence settled folks. Like the room itself calmed a little when he laid eyes on it.

You were where you always felt strongest—behind the bar.

Sweat beaded at your temples, and your thigh was barkin’, but your hands moved fast. You flipped a bottle, poured two at once, wiped down the counter, grinned at whoever cracked a joke—all muscle memory. Folks leaned in and said things like, “Lawd, I ain’t never got a drink this fast down here,” and “Where you been hidin’, sugar? We needed you weeks ago.”

You gave ‘em a wink, passed the jars, and kept it movin’. If your leg wasn’t actin’ up, you’d have been damn near flyin’.

Bo was somewhere across the room, duckin’ between folks, noddin’ to the band, checkin’ on tables. He moved quiet, like a shadow with good intentions. And every time your eyes searched for him, you found him already watching you—chin tilted, lips curled into that half-smile that made your stomach dip low. He even blew you kiss at one point and you had to fight off the smirk creeping on your face.

He had on his work shirt rolled up to the elbows, slick black hair pushed back neat, a cigarette tucked behind his ear. That man looked like the kind of sin folks wrote sermons about.

You bit your lip and leaned into the counter.

Your thoughts drifted back to Chicago. That night. The way he stood over you, big and careful. The way his voice wrapped around you like a warm coat. The way his fingers started slidin’ up your thigh slow, reverent like church hands.

Lord help you, if the twins hadn’t knocked when they did…

You blinked yourself back into the present, only to feel it—warm and wet against your leg. You looked down.

Damn. That cut had started bleedin’ again. The fabric of your skirt had gone dark, stickin’ to your skin. You shifted, wincing.

“Ain’t no need to look like that.”

You turned, and there was Annie, slidin’ in behind the bar with a look that saw everything.

She nodded down. “Go on. Closet in the back. I keep bandages and clean rags in there just in case. You don’t need to be pourin’ whiskey with blood on your hem.”

You hesitated, but her face brooked no argument.

You grabbed a damp rag, limped through the wall of sweat and song to the back. The closet was little more of a pantry—narrow, hot, and full of stale air and mop buckets. You sat on a crate and pulled your dress up. The gash wasn’t terrible, but it was mad. You hissed and pressed the rag to it, biting the inside of your cheek.

A knock hit the door just as you reached for the gauze.

“Give me a minute!” you called, but the knob jiggled.

“Anybody decent?” a voice came—low, deep, unmistakable.

“Bo, wait—!”

Too late.

The door creaked open and in he stepped. He took one look at you—skirt bunched, thigh bleeding, breath caught—and his whole body shifted.

“Hell,” he muttered. Then louder, “Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

“I was handlin’ it,” you muttered.

But he was already movin’. The door clicked shut behind him and he reached out a hand to help you up. You grabbed it and he hoisted you onto the table so he could help you. He dropped to his knees in front of you. His hands were steady as he took the rag from you and started cleaning.

You bristled. “Bo. I said I got it.”

“And I heard you.” He dipped the cloth in a bowl of clean water and wrung it out. “But I ain’t leavin’ you to patch yourself up in a broom closet like some stray.”

You rolled your eyes but your breath hitched when his fingers grazed your skin—tender but sure. He wrapped the bandage slow, careful not to tug, his thumb brushing your inner thigh to smooth the gauze.

“You always this bossy?” you asked, voice softer now.

He glanced up, a smile ghostin’ his lips. “Only when I care.”

When he was done wrapping you up he looked up at you like you were some rare bloom he wasn’t sure he deserved to see twice.

“Thank you,” he said, voice rough like gravel but sweet on the edges.

You huffed a laugh. “For what? I’m the one leakin’ all over the bar.”

He chuckled, but didn’t move.

“For lettin’ me tend to you,” he said. “Ain’t a thing I know you take lightly.”

That settled in your chest like something dangerous.

“I should be thankin’ you,” you said.

And in that little hush, that pause where everything else in the world pulled back, you weren’t in a closet anymore. You were somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. Somewhere that made you believe, just maybe, you could let your guard down for longer than a moment.

You meant to move.

Meant to hop off that table, tug your skirt down, and march back out there like nothing happened. But Bo was still kneeling, still starin’ at you like you were somethin’ to be held tender and tasted slow.

His thumbs brushed the outsides of your thighs, slow as molasses, not bold yet, just curious. Testing. Seeking permission.

“You always look at folks like that?” you asked, your voice low but steady. “Cause it’s powerful rude.”

His smile ticked up, crooked and warm. “Ain’t lookin’ at folks,” he murmured. “Lookin’ at you.”

And then he stood — easy, unhurried, like a man who’d already decided where this was going. He filled the space in front of you, hand coming up to trace your jawline, rough fingers gliding soft over your cheek. You didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Not when he leaned in slow enough for you to change your mind, but you didn’t.

His lips touched yours — soft, like a question. And you answered it.

You kissed him back, mouth parting, your hands gripping his forearms as you tilted up into him. He kissed like he fixed things — patient, exact, but sure. Like he wasn’t about to rush a damn thing unless you begged him to.

Then he kissed your jaw, trailing the heat down, down, until his lips were ghostin’ your neck.

“Bo—” you whispered.

“Mm?” he hummed against your skin. His breath was warm, his voice thick.

His teeth grazed your neck — slow, deliberate. Then he bit. Just enough to pull a gasp from you. A wince, sharp and involuntary. Your thighs twitched around him.

“S-sweet Lord—” you hissed, half scolding, half desperate.

He pulled back, eyes dark with something that made your heart knock against your ribs.

“Didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, not sorry in the slightest. “But I can make it better.”

He dropped again to his knees — the same place he’d been moments ago, only now his hands didn’t hesitate. He gripped your thighs and eased them apart like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You always gotta be the strong one, huh?” he said, voice low and reverent. “Always takin’ care of folks. Lettin’ ‘em lean on you.”

You swallowed, already breathless. “Somebody’s gotta.”

“Maybe,” he said, inchin’ your skirt up again, kissin’ the inside of your thigh like a prayer. “But tonight, let me carry some of it.”

Then his mouth found you — slow, open, tender. And you stopped thinkin’ about the juke joint. About the blood. About Chicago. About anything but Bo, and the way he worshipped with his tongue like he’d waited his whole damn life to learn your taste.

Bo’s hands were warm, steady as they parted your thighs—one guiding you gently, the other firm at the back of your knee, coaxing it over his shoulder like it belonged there. And maybe it did. Maybe this whole moment had been waitin’ on you both to catch up to it.

“Relax f’me,” he murmured, voice honeyed and low, almost like a song. “Ain’t gon’ rush. Let me taste what I been missin’.”

He leaned in slow, breath warm against your bare skin, and kissed the inside of your thigh again—closer now. You gripped the edge of the table with both hands, eyes flutterin’ shut as his mouth ghosted over your center, not touchin’ yet, just breathin’ you in. That alone made your hips twitch, made your breath catch in your throat.

Then he licked you.

Soft, slow, and low—just one long drag of his tongue, like he was learnin’ you. Worshippin’. You let out a broken little sigh and felt his hum vibrate against you, pleased and hungry all at once.

“Sweet,” he muttered, barely liftin’ his head. “Goddamn, you sweet.”

His tongue circled your clit, gentle at first—just a tease, just enough to make you melt further into the heat risin’ off your own skin. Then he flattened his mouth and sucked, slow and full, and your legs clamped around his shoulders before you could stop yourself.

He liked that. You could tell. His grip tightened on your hips, holdin’ you right where he wanted you while he worked—firm strokes, deep licks, his tongue movin’ like he meant to undo you one breath at a time.

“Bo,” you whispered, not even sure if it was a warning or a prayer.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed against you, the sound rumblin’ right through your core. His tongue flicked faster now, more deliberate, and you felt yourself unravelin’—little by little, tension leavin’ your shoulders, your chest, your hands. All of it leakin’ out through the way he kissed you.

And Lord, he kissed you there—like he’d missed your mouth and settled on the next best thing. Like it was a favor to him, not a gift for you.

He paused for a moment, just to look—his mouth slick, his eyes dark as syrup, lips swollen from the work. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he said, voice rough and reverent. “You deserve to be looked at. Tasted. Taken care of.”

You could barely speak. You just nodded and leaned back, and when his mouth returned, he wrapped both arms under your thighs to hold you open—locked in now. No runnin’.

He went slower this time—steady, rhythmic, pulsin’ against you like the bassline of a blues song. Your stomach tightened. Your back arched. You felt it coiling deep and low, that pressure threatenin’ to split you in half.

“Bo—Bo, I’m—” you gasped.

“I know, baby,” he whispered, lips grazin’ you. “Give it to me. Let go.”

And you did. Right there in that closet, dress hiked up, sweat on your skin, hands buried in his hair. You let go with a cry you couldn’t bite back—and Bo held you through it, mouth never leavin’, like he needed every last bit of you to stay alive.

When you finally sagged back, chest heaving, thighs trembling, he pulled back and kissed your inner thigh like he was thankin’ it.

Then, voice soft and hoarse, he asked, “I told you I missed you.”

[starburstsamo]

think we're alone now; beating of our heart is the only sound

pairing: sammy bryant x f!reader

warnings: ben's little sister!reader, so like... brother's best friend!au vibe, but it's brother's partner!au... you know what i mean?; smut - oral (m and f!receiving), fingering, soft dom!sammy, unprotected sex, a little bit of choking, praise kink i guess, cum eating; secret relationship, a pinch of angst, and fluffffff

summary: for certain reasons, you have always avoided dating cops. but one time, you make an exception, and this exception so happens to be your brother's partner.

w/c: around 11k

a/n: another love letter from: me, to: sammy bryant.

You moved back to Los Angeles after you got tired of the cool and wet city of Seattle. Not only did you miss the weather, you also missed the things that came with it – the beach, the surfer community, the colors and fewer depressing days, chilling in the car when you were stuck in traffic… And you would never admit it to him, but you missed your brother too. Just a little.

You also loved this. Standing in the middle of a coffee shop and studying the new promo drinks, even though you knew you were going to end up getting your usual. Well, you supposed you could do that in Seattle too, but it didn’t make you so giddy there.

“I hear their white chocolate mocha is pretty good.”

You jumped a little at the voice before you turned to the source. Your eyes were met with a dark-haired man sporting a police uniform and a drink of his own.

“Is that what you got?” you asked, pointing at the to-go cup.

“No way,” he said, waving the cup in the air as he chuckled, “I’m too boring for that. I’m a regular, black coffee kinda guy.”

You nodded with a smile, turning your head back to the menu board. “You and me both.”

The officer’s brows furrowed, one of his fingers lifting from the surface of his cup and pointing it at you. “You must be the prettiest regular, black coffee kinda guy, then.”

You bit your cheek, side-eyeing him as you tried to stifle the smile that was creeping up on you. There was no way this guy was making your cheeks flush.

“I’m Sammy,” he introduced himself, passing his coffee from his right hand to the left, offering his palm to you. You shook it and told him your name. “Are you new to the area?”

“No. Well, yeah.” Sammy’s brows shot up at the contrasting words. “Kinda both. I just moved here from Seattle, but I grew up in LA,” you explained and Sammy gave you a nod.

“So, would it be too bold to ask for your number?”

You bounced on your feet, considering it. He was cute. And he was funny. But he was a police officer, for God’s sake. You only trusted a handful of those.

“I’m sorry,” you said apologetically, scrunching your face, “I don’t date cops. No offence.”

Sammy’s confident smile was replaced by a defeated one, the wrinkles around his eyes staying in place, although the spark disappeared.

“Okay, that’s fair. May I ask why? If it’s the uniform, I promise I never bring it on a date. Or home. Unless I need to wash it, of course.”

You chuckled, tipping your head down for a split second and Sammy followed your eyes with a tilt of his head.

“My brother is a cop. So it’s just… You know.”

Sammy didn’t know, not really, but he nodded anyway. He didn’t have any right to pry. You surely had your reasons. But…

“Well,” Sammy took out his notepad and scribbled down his number, “if there’s any type of emergency,” he tore the paper out and handed it to you, “or if you change your mind about dating cops, this is where you can reach me. One cop is enough, actually.”

Shit. He was charming. You took the paper and folded it in half, stuffing it in your pocket and thanking him.

“Enjoy your coffee,” he said and then he was on his way.

“No, I’m telling you, she liked me,” Sammy attempted to convince Ben, bouncing his thumb against the steering wheel.

“Sammy. 'I don’t date cops, because my brother’s one of them'? That’s the lamest excuse I have ever heard. She probably just wanted to let you down easily.”

The corner of Sammy’s mouth quirked upwards, frowning as he tried not to let Ben get to him.

“Whatever, man. She took my number, alright? I’m keeping my hopes up.”

As much as it pained you, you honestly couldn’t stop thinking about the police officer you met at the coffee shop.

You hated it when people made you reconsider your values, especially men. You felt like a hypocrite. But Sammy didn’t seem cocky, didn’t really use his rank to pick you up. Didn’t push when you told him no. And he was handsome. The truth is, you'd probably say yes right away if he wasn't wearing the uniform. So maybe you shouldn’t be so uptight and pigeonhole him.

You searched your pants for the piece of paper he gave you, taking your phone into your other hand as you held the items side by side, typing in the number. Then you pressed dial.

Beep.

Beep.

“Bryant,” sounded from the other side, the voice deeper than you remembered.

“Um, hi. Is this Sammy? We met at the coffee shop the other day,” you said, reminding him of your name.

“Oh, yeah! Hi. Did something happen?”

“Well, yes. I’m in the middle of changing my mind about dating cops. You think you can help with that?”

You heard a soft laugh over the line.

“I don’t know. What does it entail?”

“I’m about to go for a stroll along the beach. Maybe get something to drink from one of those beach bars. So, I thought you could join me if you’d like and tell me about the pros and cons.”

Sammy agreed and one and a half hour later, you were walking on the pier with slushies in your hands. To be honest, your preconceptions were building up anticipation inside of you that made you tense almost throughout the whole date. You were just waiting for the moment he’d say something that would repulse you. And with your bias, just a small slip would be enough. But it never really came, or you just missed it and didn't care, because Sammy seemed genuine, confident but humble, and respectful.

He told you about all about him voluntarily stepping down as a detective after his partner had been killed. He didn’t try to hide that it still made him sad to this day, and it tugged at your heart.

The conversation felt natural, and you didn’t even realize it was so late when you circled back to the spot where you met up.

“Let me walk you to your car,” Sammy offered, figuring that you were parked somewhere close.

“Oh, I walked.”

Sammy paused, his eyes meeting yours. “You live nearby?”

“Yeah, like thirty minutes by foot.”

He huffed, his eyes went comically wide as he put a hand on the small of your back and steered you in the direction of his car. “Yeah, okay. I’m driving you home, then.”

“Thank you, but that’s not really necessary.”

“I’m not letting you walk fifteen blocks all by yourself,” Sammy said incredulously.

“Don’t worry, I have my pepper spray. I’m not an amateur.”

“Yeah,” he snorted, “I’m not even gonna tell you how well those things work. Please, let me do this. You don’t really have a choice, because even if you do talk me into letting you walk, I’m just gonna drive next to you until you decide to get your butt inside the car.”

“Is that a threat, Officer? I smell some elements of stalking too.”

“Yeah, well, we should have that nose checked because it seems to miss the real danger,” he said as he opened the passenger door of his car, rising his eyebrows expectantly.

With a roll of your eyes, you got in the car and Sammy carefully closed the door once you were seated.

The ride was short at this time of night. You caught yourself shamefully admiring Sammy’s face a few times, making him rotate his head in your direction when he felt your gaze. He didn’t say anything, though, sparing you any further embarrassment. But you felt the heat in your cheeks, and the butterflies in your stomach were restless too.

“Yeah, this is me.”

Sammy put the car in park and unbuckled his seat belt, leaning his head against the headrest.

“Thanks. I actually enjoyed spending time with you,” you smiled.

“Well, don’t sound too surprised,” he said sarcastically. “So, did you change your mind?”

Sammy’s head was tilted towards you, enough to be inviting, but not enough to invade your space. You glanced out of the passenger window, smiling to yourself before you turned back to him. His eyes flickered to your lips, so quick you’d almost miss it

God, he made you fuzzy for no apparent reason. You wanted to kiss him, to let yourself be pulled in. His front teeth were poking out of his mouth, and it made him look so imperfectly perfect.

“I’m getting there…” you said, thanking him again before getting out of the car.

God. You were actually killing him. But Sammy is nothing if not patient, and he definitely wasn’t counting on getting this far. But you did make his heart beat a bit faster when you glanced at his lips and bit your lip.

As much as you wanted him, this wasn’t you. You didn’t want to act impulsively and make any rash decisions. The date felt good, and you chose to leave it at that for the time being.

“You’re in a good mood today. D’you get laid or something?” Ben smirked at Sammy as they entered the briefing room.

“Or something,” Sammy said with a puffed up chest, sending a smile full of pride in Ben's direction.

“Yeah? Sooo, did the chick from the coffee shop text you?”

Sammy shot him a glance, his cheeks dimpling as his smile grew wider.

“Oh, man,” Ben laughed, patting his partner on the back. “Alright, I stand corrected. Congrats, bro. So, you takin' her out on a date?”

Sammy didn’t tell him that you’d already been on a date, because Ben would be busting his chops about not getting you into bed and he was in a too good of a mood to discuss that with him.

He did tell him that you were going to get some coffee later today and then head to the beach again, because apparently, you preferred spending time outside, which he respected.

Sammy liked spending time with you and didn't care where it was, he liked talking to you. You were sweet, but you didn’t suck up to him, didn’t try to act like you were perfect, didn't hold back, sometimes making his eyes go wide at whatever you said. But in those wide eyes of his, you were kind of flawless.

Actually, he loved going to the beach with you, because your hair shone under the beams and your eyes twinkled every time you looked at him.

Sammy didn’t know that you admired his eyes and his freckles just as much.

He made it a habit to drop you off at your apartment at the end of every date, and he let you set the pace. He was down bad and you must have known that he was dying to kiss you, because he felt like his eyes transformed into beating hearts when he looked at you. And he looked at you a lot.

And one night, when he parked his car in front if your building, you finally let yourself be pulled by them.

Reaching for his face, you leaned over the console and pressed your lips against his, your hand sliding to the nape of his neck and pulling him closer to you so you didn’t have to lean so far.

Sammy kissed you back immediately, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair and angling your head, his seatbelt digging into his chest.

When you scraped your fingernails against his scalp, he groaned, disconnecting your lips while keeping his forehead pressed against yours.

“Do you wanna come in?”

You pressed him against the door as soon as it closed, pulling his jacket off with you following it, sliding down his body and to your knees, impishly putting the jacket under your shins.

Your hands reached for his belt, clinking sounds echoing through the hallway as you unbuckled it before yanking both his pants and boxers down his legs.

Sammy’s hand reached down to your face, stroking his thumb over your cheek when you took his cock into your hands, his thickness stopping your fingers from creating a full circle.

And when you gave the first tug, his head fell against the door with a thud as he exhaled, relishing in the feeling of your soft hands pumping his cock while you let your thumb slide against his slit occasionally.

A moan escaped him when he felt the flat of your tongue drag itself from the base of his cock to the head where you wrapped your lips around him and slid back down as far as you could.

“Shit, you’re such a good girl,” he hissed through clenched teeth as he looked down, and then he felt his cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag, all teary-eyed.

The praise made you moan around him, sending vibrations through his body as you slid off of him, and when you freed his cock from the warmth of your mouth, strings of mixed saliva and precum connected you to his cock. He bent over and grabbed you under your chin, the need to kiss the fluids away overtaking him.

Sammy kissed you hard, manoeuvring your head as he pleased before he pulled you up, grunting out a deep come here.

He stepped out of the clothes that pooled around his feet and picked you up, his arms flexing with the added weight. Sammy didn’t break the kiss, not once, carrying you to your bedroom according to your instructions.

He put you down on your feet in front of your bed, breaking the kiss only to pull his shirt over his head. He smiled at you then, biting his lip when he reached for the hem of your dress and tugged upwards, leaving you in nothing but your black panties.

“So fucking beautiful,” he praised, cupping your breasts with his hands as he kissed you again, his lips traveling over your jaw, down your neck, until he was bent in an uncomfortable position just to latch his lips around your nipple.

He closed his teeth around you, nipping at the stiffened bud and forcing an abrupt moan from your throat, your fingers pulling on his hair and elicitng a groan from him, too.

Sammy stood to his full height again, one arm wrapping around your waist just to pick you up and lay you on the bed. Falling right over you, his hand reached down blindly, tugging on the band of your underwear for too long as he realized that it was impossible to rid you off it from this position, so he knelt up.

Once your panties were successfully discarded, he stayed on his knees and spread yours gently, his chest rising with shallow breaths.

“Already out of breath, Officer?” You had the audacity to tease. “I thought stamina was kind of a requirement in your field of work.”

Sammy scoffed, a smug smile playing on his lips as tugged you by your ankles closer to him, the undersides of your thighs pressed against his strong quads. Pressing his body against your front, he slipped an arm between the small of your back and the mattress and you let your hands fall to his wide shoulders, tracing the freckles there as his eyes raked over your face.

“Don’t poke the bear, sweetheart.”

Before you could retort, you were being flipped over onto your stomach, a gasp escaping your lungs. Sammy removed the pillows that were clearly in his way and instructed you to hold onto the bars of the headboard, situating you into a kneeling position, your back arched.

“Spread your legs wider,” he ordered as he knelt at your side, and you did as he asked. He shuffled on his knees closer to your body, dragging his fingertips down your spine until he reached your tailbone, goosebumps sizzling all over your skin. Then his fingers detoured to the globe of your ass and gave it a firm squeeze.

Your hips tilted on their own, chasing his hand as it ghosted over your skin. Sammy brought his other hand to your neck, wrapping his fingers around your throat and squeezing his thumb against your artery. His nose brushed your temple before he kissed over your cheek, angling your face towards him and kissing your pout away.

He released your lips with a soft smack and shifted on his knees an inch, straightening his posture and adjusting the hold he had on your neck.

Sammy’s other set of fingers finally touched you, lightly brushing over the wetness of your cunt. A shuddering breath released from your mouth when you felt his thumb being pressed into your hole while the rest of his fingers laid flat against your clit, cupping your whole cunt.

“Jesus, how long have you been this wet, hm?”

You whimpered at his words and you were glad that Sammy didn’t wait for an answer. He slipped his thumb out, circling the pond of slickness that was your entrance before he pushed back in and wiggled the finger against your walls.

The pressure was euphoric, the pad of his finger pushing all the right buttons inside of you to make your whole body buzz. His meaty thumb alone was stretching you out so good, and it made you wonder how you were going to take his cock.

You moaned out loud at the thought and let go of one of the bars, bringing your palm to the wrist at your neck, needing to touch him. To feel him. But Sammy, wasn’t having it and as soon as he felt your hand cover his, his movements stopped, his gaze switching from your ass to your face, eyes squinting.

“Put your hand back onto the headboard, or I’ll stop, and you bet your sweet ass that I won’t touch you again.”

Your whole body trembled and you did as he said. He turned your head to him before continuing.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice becoming softer which only made you wetter.

“Yes.”

Sammy gave you a nod and then he shifted again, the hold on your neck disappearing. You felt his palm splayed on your lower back as he pressed down until the back of his other hand hit the softness of your sheets and you were basically sitting on it.

“Fuck yourself on my finger.”

Your head snapped to him. Was he serious?

“What?”

“What? What’s not to understand, sweetheart? Ride my hand. Make yourself cum.”

You blinked, swallowing and returning your gaze to the wall in front of you as you started lifting your hips.

“Thaat’s it. Fuck, you’re swallowing my finger so fucking good.”

You felt awkward in this position, your hips faltering as you tried to pick up the pace. It didn’t help that all that Sammy did was curl his thumb every time you slid all the way down, before lifting your hips again, repeating the motion over and over again.

The next time his thumb was fully sheathed inside of you, you circled your hips, grinding against his fingers and creating a delicious stimulation against your throbbing clit.

“Yeaah, just like that. Look at you, a fucking natural.”

His praises spurred you on, but your movements weren’t enough to make you come. You didn’t have the strength, the speed, nor the leverage to fuck yourself on him, to use him like you really wanted to. You needed more.

“Sammy, please,” you whimpered, stopping your hips. Giving up.

“What? What do you need?”

“I need to cum,” you mewled, wiggling against his hand to relieve some of the ache from your clit.

“Then why did you stop?”

You were speechless. This was the first time your sexual partner was this communicative during sex. This controlling. You didn’t know how to act, and Sammy must have figured it out.

“Aww, does my babygirl need some help? Hm?” Sammy cooed, cupping your face with his free hand, his thumb soothing over your flushed skin as you looked at him with wide eyes. “Is that it? Do you want me to make you cum instead?”

“Mhm.” You nodded and Sammy smiled, all entitled and condescending.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

Your heart beat faster as you tried not to feel humiliated.

“I want you to make me cum.”

“Good girl.” He brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers, pinching your chin before he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear and sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll let it slide this time, but next time you have some smart-ass comments, I won’t be so nice. Understood?”

Jesus Christ. You actually wondered for a split second what he was capable of doing. You got the urge to test it, but you chose to fight it down.

“Yes.”

And with that, Sammy manhandled you into a position with your ass up, snaking his arm over your back and under your stomach, holding your hips up as he started ramming into your pussy with his thumb, while simultaneously rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves with the four of his fingers.

You still kept your hold on the bars, only now your face was squished against the mattress. Your moans got louder with every glide of his thumb, occasionally slipping it down to your clit and flicking over it before he buried his finger back into your pussy.

Your walls fluttered around him, each stroke against that spongy spot was making your toes curl and soon, you started bucking your hips against his palm.

Sammy worked you up, and with a few more bumps and wiggles against your G-spot, you fell over the edge, orgasm rippling through you as he fingered you until you were reaching behind you and clasping your hand around his wrist with small no more’s.

Sammy took mercy on you, pulling his hand away from your sensitive pussy as he admired your shivering body. He dragged his nails softly against your skin, his cock twitching at the purrs leaving your mouth.

You brought your hips down, lying on your stomach, while Sammy positioned his body on his side, using his forearm to prop himself up. He traced his fingers over your back, drawing random patterns on your skin.

“I’m glad I changed my mind.”

Sammy laughed, his smile forming dimples in his cheeks making him look younger than he was.

“Yeah. Me too.”

When you finally caught your breath, you lifted yourself up, smashing your lips against Sammy’s and crawling over him. You forced him on his back as you threw your leg over his hips, straddling him and rubbing yourself over his hard cock. His hands ran up your thighs, thumbs creating temporary dents from how they dug into the softness of your skin.

He drew in a sharp breath as you kissed him, his eyes half open because he simply couldn’t stop looking at you. You snuck your tongue into his mouth, your fingers grasping his hair when he deepened the kiss by lifting his head from the pillow, trying to assert dominance. But then you angled your lips just right, the head of his cock barely slipping into the warmth of your cunt, but still causing him to moan and throw his head back into the mattress.

“Fuck,” he cursed and then you reached down, straightening your back and positioning him against your entrance properly. Sammy couldn’t tear his eyes off you as you struggled to take him all at once, hissing at the way your tight walls squeezed the shit out of the head of his cock. “Shit, I should have stretched you out first. You’re so fucking tight.” Yeah, his thumb definitely wasn’t enough.

You didn’t respond, too focused on sliding down his cock as painlessly as possible. You were so sexy like this, all desperate to fuck him, with that small crease between your brows and bitten lip. And as much as he was enjoying the view, he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Lie on your back, sweetheart,” he said, ready to flip you over, but you stopped him.

“No! I can do it. I just need a second.”

God, he would slam right up into you if he weren’t scared that he’d break you.

“Christ, you’re being such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

Sammy at least brought his thumb to your clit, massaging it in small circles.

“Yeah,” you agreed mindlessly, making Sammy’s eyes snap to your face. You were so gone already. Only air in your head.

“Yeah,” he sighed, and sucked in his lips as you slid down another inch down, splitting yourself on his cock.

Sammy swore he couldn’t control it when his hips lifted themselves off the bed, just about a millimetre, but it made you mewl anyway.

Your palms braced themselves against his chest, your nails digging into his muscles. He had to remind you to breathe, and the stinging pressure only amplified when you finally slid all the way down, seating yourself against his hips.

Sammy moaned at the feeling, his eyes rolling back as he suppressed the need to buck up into you.

“Good job,” he commended and it was enough for you to lift your hips up, albeit painfully slow. It was easier for you to slide back down this time, your arousal combining with Sammy’s precum and creating a sticky mixture at the base of his cock. “You feel so fucking good. So hot.”

You finally looked away from where you were joined, locking eyes with Sammy’s. They were dark, blown out and full of lust. You lowered your upper body, your breasts pressing against his chest as you kissed him. You circled your hips, and this time, Sammy didn’t hold back, squeezing your hips before gently pressing upwards.

It made you hum into the kiss and he took it as a permission to do it again. Grabbing the flesh of your ass, he bent his knees and planted his feet against the mattress to give himself some leverage. Then he bucked up more forcefully, your body jolting against his and causing your lips to disconnect as you moaned.

He watched your face as he did it again, biting his lip when he saw your eyes roll back. He set a gradual pace, each thrust of his hips sharper than the last, your clit bumping against his pubic bone and applying dizzying pressure against the nub.

The lewd sounds of the slapping skin echoed through the room, combined with the gasps escaping your mouth. Sammy wrapped his arms around the small of your back, keeping you in place as he sped up his movements.

Your cheeks bounced against his snapping hips, and you had to brace yourself on your hands next to his ear, your fingers clutching the sheets.

This position left your breasts hanging close to his face and Sammy took the opportunity to lift his head, catching your nipple into his mouth. He sucked and nibbled as he drove into you, the bedsprings creaking under your bouncing bodies. He felt you spasm around him, your pussy sucking him in with every drag of his cock against your walls. Your cries got louder and his name was falling from your lips like prayer. It almost made him feel like a god.

You arched your back, your belly pressing against the firm muscles of his stomach and with three more thrusts, the coil in your stomach snapped, sending you over the edge.

Sammy started chasing his own orgasm as you shattered around him, riding you through your high with stammering hips. Once he was close, he flipped you on your back and let his cock slip out of your sensitive center, kneeling between your thighs while he pumped himself until he spilled over your stomach. He could’t hold in the moans that escaped him as he watched you getting covered in his cum.

Once his breaths went from shallow to deep again and his cock softened, he lowered himself on his heels.

“Shit, sorry.”

His words made you giggle, partly because of the oxytocin running through your body. A lazy grin appeared on your face. “What are you apologizing for?”

He jerked his head to the side, a knowing look on his face, because it was kind of obvious.

“Where’s your bathroom? Do you have something I can clean you up with?”

“Out the door to the left, there’s a washcloth hanging in the shower.”

Nodding, Sammy got to his feet with an exaggerated groan and it made you giggle again. He glanced at you over his shoulder with a what are you laughing at? look. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face when you watched him trot butt-naked to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of the birthmark on his cheek.

When he came back, he was already in his boxers, washcloth in one hand and his pants in the other which he threw on the armchair you had in your bedroom. He also returned the pillows to where they belonged under your head, before he wiped away his spent, warmth spreading through you at the gentle touch.

When he came back again, after returning the towel into the bathroom, he threw himself on the bed, his body bouncing next to you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, bringing his hand to cup your face, his fingers playing with the hair by your ear and thumb swiping over your nose.

“Better than,” you smiled and he returned it, looking down in almost a bashful way, before he pecked your lips, releasing them with a gentle pop.

Gazing at each other then, you admired the color of his eyes and the small nose adorned by freckles. He truly was beautiful.

“I gotta go,” he said in a low voice, slurring the words out.

“You gotta?”

“Well…,” he began, the teasing tone returning, but still soft and a little high-pitched. “It really depends on the woman of the house. She has this rule about cops…” he rasped out with a playful roll of his eyes.

“I think she can make an exception.”

“Yeah?” He smiled, moving his face closer to yours and you nodded, repeating the word before he kissed you again. Sammy just couldn’t get enough of you.

Your dates became more frequent and eventually, you started seeing each other on daily basis. Sometimes you went to your place, sometimes you ended up at his. You started going on runs together and planned other activities if you both had free weekends.

Sammy was great, sweet and good-hearted, funny and sometimes fucking annoying. But you ate it all up.

Not to mention that the sex was amazing.

One morning, he had to borrow your brother’s old shirt, because he used his to wipe his cum off your ass and didn’t bring any change of clothes. It was a little tight, but it would suffice for the drive to work.

“I see you finally got style. Your coffee shop girl have something to do with it?” Ben teased when Sammy met him in the locker room, confusion flooding his face. “The shirt, bro. I think I even had the same one. A little out of fashion, but for you–“ Ben clicked his tongue and winked, making an OK sign with his fingers. “Kudos for the tighter fit, too. What’s next? Your hair?”

Normally, Sammy would come up with his own remarks, but all he could do this time was to watch Ben with careful eyes as he put on the white Underarmor shirt, wheels turning in Sammy’s head.

There’s no way.

Sammy changed quickly, throwing the borrowed shirt into his locker with more force than he intended. They did their usual routine, equipping the car with firearms and ammunition and searching for any leftover items from previous shift.

As they rolled out into the streets, Sammy couldn’t stop thinking about it. He should probably text you as soon as he had some time, otherwise his mind wouldn’t give him any rest. On the other hand, what if he found something he didn’t really wish to find out? Would that really help his case? Fuck.

Well, Sammy was restless, too impatient to wait as they cruised through the neighbourhood after responding to a help call.

“So… My sister is still on my ass about basically demoting myself from detective to patrol. It’s been years, and she’s driving me nuts,” Sammy set the bait, and Ben took it immediately.

“Yeah, sisters, man. As if managing their own life wasn’t enough.”

“You have a sister?”

Ben snorted.

“Yeah, man. Three,” he specified. And before Sammy could prod any further, Ben continued. “Actually, one of them just moved back from Seattle. Getting to re-know the city as we speak.”

Sammy’s head snapped to Ben, something close to a scowl pulling the muscles of his face as he stared at his partner over his shades

He forgot he was driving for a second– well, for more than a second, because the next thing he knew, Ben was yelling out his name and reaching for the wheel, steering the car around a cyclist.

“What the fuck, man? You alright?”

Sammy recovered quickly then.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Ben made a note to keep a close eye on his partner for the rest of the shift, but brushed it off for now, going on a rant about wanting to become a detective too and asking Sammy for advice.

Sammy could not wait for the shift to be over. He was panicking and he needed someone to panic with. Except, he doubted that his partner would provide that service since Sammy was sleeping with his little sister. Oh, he was going to dramatically storm into your apartment, he knew it. He should probably give you a heads up.

Well, he didn’t have to.

You were perched on the bench in front of the police station, and when you saw Ben, followed by Sammy, your epiglottis closed up. No way.

When Sammy spotted you, you saw him tip his head back and roll his eyes towards the sky, as if asking some higher power to give him the strength, before he met your gaze again and shook his head subtly.

You didn’t even know what he meant by that, but instead of dwelling on that, you smiled at your brother as he greeted you with a half-hug.

“Alright, Ben, see you tomorrow,” Sammy said, trying to make his escape, but Ben stopped him.

“Sammy, wait.”

Sammy stopped reluctantly, the tip of his tongue prodding at his molars as his eyes flickered to you for a split second. “This is my sister I was telling you about. And this is Sammy Bryant, my partner.”

Sammy stuck out his hand and you took it, his lips quirked up and brows pinched together at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Nice to meet you, Officer Bryant.”

“Likewise.”

Sammy had to give it to you, you definitely looked calmer than he felt. His hand lingered on yours, and Ben was the one to break you up with a nervous laugh.

Sammy was quick to say goodbye, desperate to get out of there, and while you went out for a coffee with your brother, Sammy decided to drive to your place, parking far enough so Ben wouldn’t see his car in case he was taking you home.

With Ben living in Castaic now, too, Sammy didn’t want to risk the chance of him appearing at his doorstep with you on his couch. He was proven today that fate had funny plans for him. Or for you, he wasn’t sure.

He sent you a text of course, informing you he was waiting for you near your apartment. And while stakeouts weren’t his favorite thing about his job, this made them seem like a piece of cake.

“So, now you see why I don’t date cops?” you asked him when you finally arrived home, and all Sammy could do was shrug.

“So, what do we do?”

“Well… We should tell him. I mean, the sooner the better. Like ripping off a band-aid,” you said, studying his face as Sammy chewed on his lips, seemingly on the fence about it. “Unless you want to end it…?”

Sammy met your eyes then, scowling at the idea.

“No, of course not." You felt relief wash over you. "It’s just… God, how did we not figure it out sooner? Where did my detective skills go?”

“Maybe the sex had something to do with it.”

Well, it was all easier said than done. It had been weeks since you discussed the ways of how to tell your brother. Should you speak to him together? Probably. But then it would seem like you were ganging up on him. Maybe you should tell him, you could calm him down in case he freaked. But that would seem like Sammy was just purposefully going behind his back, like he was’t even willing to face him. So maybe Sammy should tell him. He knew how to communicate worse things than this, so he could sit Ben down in his favorite restaurant, butter him up a bit and just get it out.

Shit. There was no good way to go about this.

You mentioned to Ben that you were seeing someone but didn’t give him any more details. And that was it, the conversation kind of ended there. You knew then that you weren’t able to tell him on your own. So, together it was.

However, both you and Sammy were stalling, and you often forgot about this whole mess of a situation when you were together, losing yourselves in each other’s presence. It was probably also because it was kind of exciting. To have this kind of secret, to be in this shared bubble with Sammy.

But it was harder on him, because he had to look Ben in the eye every single day and lie. Well, not lie per se, because the topic never really came up, but he still wasn’t truthful.

“My sister is actually seeing some guy. Wouldn’t even tell me his name or what he does,” Ben said one day, and it instantly made Sammy squirm in his seat, paranoia taking over him and making him think that Ben had found out somehow. I mean, he wasn’t stupid.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I mean, it’s her life, she knows what she’s doing. But I’m a little worried for her,” Ben said, causing Sammy to frown. “She never really had a serious relationship, you know. No doubt our deadbeat father had something to do with that, but...”

“So, you mean she’s like you? Changing her men like she changes her socks? Runs in the family?” Sammy tried to sound nonchalant, but Ben only put him on edge.

Ben chuckled at that.

“No, not like that. I think she just got so used to being on her own that she doesn’t want to put the energy into a relationship. To share her space. Or, she gets bored. I don’t know, man.” The car was now quiet, with Ben still pondering on his sister’s life choices while Sammy felt a lump in his throat. And to make it worse, Ben continued. “I mean, look at her, she couldn’t even settle down in a city for once. I’m just waiting for her to move back to Seattle or wherever the hell she chooses.”

Sammy was going to be sick.

“Right.”

Ben managed to numb Sammy’s head with all the crap he'd said and it made him feel scared all of a sudden. Was that what he was to you? Just a toy you’d throw away once you'd had your fill? After Tammi, he didn’t know what to think. He trusted her so many times and she let him down over and over again, and he wasn’t going to let you do the same.

“So, Ben told me an interesting thing today,” Sammy said, seated in your kitchen chair.

“Yeah? What’s that?” you asked, munching on a cookie as you came over to him and sat yourself sideways on his thigh, hooking your arm around his neck.

“He told me you’d never had a serious relationship,” Sammy said bluntly, watching your expression change to confusion.

“And? I never would’ve thought that would be a problem for you.” You took another bite, fully believing that Sammy wasn't going to make a scene about you never having a serious relationship.

“Well, he said that you either get bored or you don’t want to put up with the guys. Eventually. So I would like to know which group I’ll fall into.”

You clenched your jaw, studying his face with squinted eyes, trying to figure out if he was joking or not.

“Right now, you’re falling into a group of jerks, Sam. Are you serious?”

He chewed on his cheek, lifting an eyebrow as he shrugged. That expression finally made you get off his lap, turning away from him as you crossed your arms over your chest, thinking about what to say. Should you explain yourself? Wouldn’t that come across as defensive? What exactly would you be explaining anyway? Should you yell at him and kick him out? What were you supposed to do?

“I’ve never had a serious relationship, because the guys were either assholes or we just didn’t click.”

“And how do you decide that exactly?” Sammy stood up, stepping towards you in a swift motion. “Is every guy an asshole when it comes to you, then? You think you're too good for them?”

Your body span around, scoffing as you faced him. Unbelievable.

“Apparently, yeah. Look at yourself. Sammy, what the fuck did Ben tell you?” You tried to stop the tears from welling up in the corners of your eyes. “We’ve been seeing each other for months, because I actually like you. And what– would you expect me to settle for the first guy that throws me a smile and calls me kitten?” The tears slipped down, tickling your cheeks and it made you press the heels of your palms against your eye sockets. “Fuck!” you cursed through clenched teeth, frustrated. You seriously had no idea what he wanted from you.

Shaking your head, you turned away, wiping at your face on your walk to the bathroom. Once there, you sat down on the plush rug and leaned your back against the shower door, letting yourself weep.

In the kitchen, Sammy closed his eyes and let himself breathe. He needed to chill out. Needed to relax his fists.

All he wanted to do was to settle down, to finally meet the love of his life and spend the rest of his life with her. He had thought Tammi was it. And maybe you were right when you said that he expected you to settle for the first guy you’d dated, because that’s exactly what Sammy did with Tammi. And it was the stupidest thing he could have done, he had realized that a while ago, so he didn’t really know why his perspective changed back all of a sudden. You just made him fucking crazy.

A few minutes passed and Sammy headed to the bathroom, hoping you didn't lock yourself. He was greeted by the sight of you chewing on your lip and your jaw clenching, probably holding yourself from punching the fuck out of him. Your foot jumped up and down and your eyes rolled when you saw him. Yeah. You definitely wanted to deck him.

“I’m sorry,” Sammy said as he kneeled in front of you, but you avoided his gaze. “Can you look at me? Please?"

You only shook your head, another wave of tears rolling out. Sammy sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to make you.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, “I screwed up. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. But Ben said you couldn’t settle down, because of your father. That you’d move away again. And my ego just plummeted, while my insecurities skyrocketed.” Sammy watched another tear escape your eye, and his hand itched to swipe it away, but you were faster. “Because I want to be enough for you. I want to make you happy and I don’t want you to leave.”

Your eyes finally darted towards him and you sniffled, pinching the collar of your shirt and using the material to wipe your eyes.

“Next time, don’t listen to my fucking brother. Especially when he mentions our father,” you said, your tone weak as you still fought the lump in your throat, but it still had a warning bite to it. “And don’t you come fucking accusing me like that ever again. I know you’re not an asshole, but you sure were acting like one.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, closing your eyes as you huffed. Swallowing, you shifted to your knees and extended your arms, wrapping them around his neck. He welcomed your hug with a relieved sigh, burying his nose into your neck and taking in your smell. Your cheek was squished against his shoulder, creating a wet spot on the soft material of his tactical, long-sleeve shirt, soaking it through. He rocked your body back and forth as he kissed the skin of your neck before pulling away and taking in your puffy face.

Sammy wiped the remaining wetness from your cheeks with his sleeve, even getting the snot under your nose which made you jerk away and a smile creep up on your face. “You’re disgusting.”

“What?” he watched you get up and stop in front of the mirror. “Just cleaning my mess.”

“You don’t have to kiss my ass. I forgave you.” You splashed your face with cold water before wiping it with your towel.

Normally, Sammy would make a lewd comment about kissing your ass, but now was really not the time. So he just settled for, “Can I stay?”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile still playing on your lips as they breathed out a quiet of course. You turned away from him then and exited the bathroom without another word.

Sammy knew you were trying to act indifferent. Pretending like this hadn’t somehow altered your relationship, and to be fair, you probably did want to sweep it under the rug. But he knew he’d hurt you, and just because you’d forgiven him didn’t mean he would act like nothing happened.

So, he cooked you dinner. Put on your favorite show with that actor that made you giggle and kick your feet. Let you think that the the attack you made with your piece during a chess game wasn’t against the rules. Traced shapes on your back for you to guess until you fell asleep. And the next morning, he made your favorite breakfast for you. Right after he made love to you.

Sammy realized soon that he shouldn’t have gotten pissed at what Ben said. He should have gotten selfishly proud about the fact that he was in your life unlike the assholes that couldn’t keep you, but instead, he almost fucked it up like them, letting his failed marriage with Tammi get the better of him.

But he couldn’t even compare his previous relationship to this one. Tammi had more than one screw loose, making their relationship doomed from the start. He just hadn’t realized it then, since his mind had been fogged by all the weed they smoked together.

Either way, Sammy was sure his mom would smack his head for the way he’d acted. She taught him better than this, not to mention she would’ve been pissed if he’d screwed it up before she got to meet the girl her son was always gushing about.

“We need to tell him,” you said after you cleaned the kitchen, your tone definitive, making Sammy pause as he rinsed his mouth with the mouthwash. He saw your reflection in the mirror, your arms crossed over your chest. He spat out the liquid and you continued, “I’m not really interested in letting any more misunderstandings ruin this relationship.”

“Okay,” Sammy agreed, wrinkles appearing on his forehead as he turned towards you, studying your face. “Are we good?”

Rolling your eyes, you came closer to him as he leaned against the sink, bracing himself with his palms against the edge. You circled both of his wrists with your fingers before sliding them up his forerarms, feeling the veins through his skin. You stood on your tiptoes to peck his lip. “No. We’re not good. That’s why I want to tell Ben, so he can kick your ass.”

“Ha. You’re so fucking funny,” Sammy mumbled, a teasing smile spreading on his face as he bobbed his head, catching your wrists and tugging, making you crash against his chest. “You know that? Know how hilarious you are? I should sell you to a fucking circus.”

You grinned at him and before you knew it, he was pinching your sides, making you cackle as you tried to escape his hold, but his forearm against your stomach trapped you to his body, and you fell victim to his torture.

Later that morning, you headed to work, leaving Sammy in your apartment since he had the day off anyway. You gave him your spare key and told him to lock the door once he left.

You agreed to drive to his place right after work, because you planned to spend the rest of the week at his house since Sammy actually had the whole weekend off, and you didn’t want to cramp up at your apartment.

Besides that, it was a great hiking area, and you already mapped out some trails which you were looking forward to, as well as getting some fresh air and spending time with Sammy.

You were balancing a bowl of ice-cream topped by a few M&M’s in your lap, your legs stretched over Sammy’s thighs as you lounged on his couch.

“Maybe we should like… pretend that we all bumped into each other at some café. That way it won’t feel like an intervention or something,” you proposed but before Sammy could reply, you interrupted by a knock on the door.

You both frowned, Sammy's tongue poking into his cheek as he lifted your legs off his lap before gently putting them down on the cushions. He headed to the door and when he opened it, he immediately braced his arm against the doorframe to block the view inside as he saw Ben standing on his porch.

“Hey, man. What are you doing here?” Sammy laughed nervously.

“Well, you were supposed to help with the detective exam questions, right?”

…

Shit. He was right. Sammy promised Ben to go over it with him and he totally fucking forgot.

“But seeing my sister’s car in your driveway, I’m here to ask, what the fuck is she doing here?”

Ben didn’t wait for an answer, shoving past Sammy and storming right into the living room.

“Ben, wait,” Sammy tried to stop him, but he wasn’t hearing it. You were, though, your eyes widening at the sound of your brother’s name followed by heavy stomps, and it made you straighten up as you prepared for the worst. Ben only scoffed when he came into view, pacing behind the couch.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, dragging his hands down his face before extending them in front of him with palms up. “I mean, what the fuck, Sammy?”

“Ben, calm down,” you said, standing up and coming closer to him.

“Are you screwing my sister?”

“Ben!” you tried to get him to talk to you instead, but his focus was solely on Sammy.

“We’re dating,” Sammy corrected, but that really didn’t help anything.

“Oh! Oh, you’re dating. Well then, that explains everything, doesn’t it?” Ben fake-laughed, his hands on his hips now as he faced Sammy. “How long have you been dating?”

“A few months.”

Ben shook his head, sneering at his supposed friend. “So, you’ve been lying to my face for a few months?” Ben closed up on Sammy, their noses inches apart as if they were having a face-off. “You’re so full of shit, Sammy. All that bullshit about trusting your partner? You’re such a fucking hypocrite.”

“Ben, we didn’t know that–” you tried to reason, but Ben just hissed a save it at you. And you did.

“Listen to her, man,” Sammy continued, as calmly as possible. “I didn’t know you were her brother until recently.”

Ben shook his head again, snorting at the poor explanation, the sound followed by a painful silence. It was when Sammy met your gaze over Ben’s shoulder that your borther’s fingers grasped the front of Sammy’s shirt, and his fist connected with Sammy’s face, making him groan at the impact and his body twist away as his hand shot up to his face.

“What the fuck, Ben?” you screamed, but your brother was already storming out of the house. You didn’t follow him. Letting him cool off was the best choice for now.

Your feet carried you to Sammy, your hand coming to his back as he braced himself on the back of the couch with one arm.

“Let me see,” you said gently, willing his hand away with yours. You already saw his palm stained with blood, some of it even dripping on the floor. “Wait, you know what, let’s go to the bathroom, come on.”

“I’m fine,” he rasped out.

“Yeah, well, your couch won’t be if you stay here, and it’s not gonna be easy to get the bloody stains out. But you know that, don’t you? So, come on.”

Sammy groaned again, and you let him go ahead, getting some tissues first because you weren’t sure if he had any in the first-aid kit right now.

Meanwhile, Sammy washed his face only to have it covered in blood again as it trickled out of his nose. As soon as you brought the tissues, he used one to give his nose a good pinch, squeezing his eyes shut as he bent over the sink.

You were frowning next to him, gently petting his hair and tracing your fingers along his ear.

“Should I bring you an ice-pack?”

Sammy shook his head, his voice congested when he spoke. “Nah, I’m good.”

After a while, he sniffled, removing the bloody tissues before looking at his reflection. It seemed that the bleeding had stopped, but his nose was a dark shade of pink, a little swollen. Not broken though, hopefully. Some of the discoloration reached the skin under his eye too. He splashed some water on his face once again, cleaning himself up.

“I’m sorry,” you said from your place next to him, guilt washing over you. “I never thought he would react like this.”

“Yeah, well,” Sammy stood to his full height, facing you. “I deserved it. And it’s not your fault. He was right, anyway. I’m always saying that your partner is supposed to have your back, not go behind.”

“But you do have his back. He was never going to get killed because we were seeing each other.”

“It’s not just about getting killed… I just shouldn’t have lied,” Sammy bit his cheek, his eyes darting sideways.

You wrapped your arms around his ribcage, slotting yourself against him. You were relieved when you felt his arms wrap around you, his cheek landing itself on the crown of your head. You felt his chest expand as he took in a deep inhale.

You explained that it was probably Ben’s general overprotectiveness of women that made him lash out. That it wasn’t just them hiding their relationship. Several things came together at once.

“He’ll get over it. He looks up to you, Sam. He knows you’re a good man and this was just a lapse in judgement. From both of us.”

“Yeah. I think we’ll have to change our Sunday plans, though. I should pay him a visit before we go to work on Monday.”

“Of course. I’ll come with you.”

“Okay.”

Sammy proved to you again and again that he truly had his heart in the right place. And while he had his flaws, he was always trying to do good by people.

Ben was still angry when you arrived at his place. Or maybe more like annoyed. But he did let you both in, which you supposed was a good sign.

He was still throwing daggers in Sammy’s direction, but as you explained the whole situation, swearing that you had never meant to lie, Ben’s stares softened and his fists eventually unclenched. He even asked Sammy about his nose.

When you got up to leave, the two men shook hands, patting each other on their shoulders before Ben walked you out.

“Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Sammy said, pushing you softly with his fingers as he handed you the keys to his car.

Once you were out of earshot, Sammy faced Ben.

“I’m sorry you found out this way, Ben. But I promise you that I’m not going to hurt her. You can… shoot me in the leg if I do,” Sammy said, only half-joking.

Ben huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I know. Now, get out of my face. Don’t keep my sister waiting.”

Sammy gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded. “See ya tomorrow.”

Ben watched your smile grow when Sammy got inside the car. The only reason he got over it so soon was because he knew Sammy was a good guy and if anyone could treat you right, it was him.

“So, now we’re like.. official.”

Sammy caged you against his kitchen counter, pressing himself to your front while you clasped your wrist with your hand behind his neck.

“I guess so.”

“Like, girlfriend-boyfriend official.”

You snorted at how ridiculous he sounded, but nodded anyway.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at.”

“You sound like a thirteen-year-old.”

Sammy leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a slow kiss, sucking on your lower lip before giving it a small nip, pulling a soft moan out of you.

“That felt like a thirteen-year-old to you?”

“Are you trying to get me to incriminate myself?”

Sammy tipped his head back, inhaling with an open mouth as he pretended to think about it, his eyes darting between random objects.

“Maybe I should bring the cuffs home sometime. See if you’re still runnin' your mouth when I have you tied to the bed. All helpless. Nowhere to run.”

“Or, I should tie you up. Torture you until you’re screaming for mercy.”

Sammy nearly burst out laughing, wrinkles appearing around his eyes, and you bit your cheek as he laughed at you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He flicked at your chin with his index finger, still smiling from ear to ear. “It’s just cute when you say it like that. I almost called my lawyer.”

“You’re an asshole,” you said, ready to pass around him, but he stopped by grabbing your hands and pressing you back into the counter with his hips, the edge digging into your ass.

“Wait, wait. I’ll let you cuff me up. Whatever you want.”

He brought your hands back behind his head and you played with the hair at the nape of his neck as he kissed you again.

He snaked his tongue between your lips, and without breaking the kiss, Sammy bent in his knees, grabbing you by the undersides of your thighs and lifting you up on the counter.

He spread your legs, situating himself between them as he leaned into you, your head gently thudding against the kitchen cabinet behind you.

Sammy’s fingers skimmed against your bare knees and up your thighs, teasingly slipping under the hem of your shorts until they reached for the band and started tugging.

“Wait.” You broke the kiss and his hands paused. “I don’t want to make a mess in your kitchen.”

“Why?”

“Well… I don’t know. You’re okay with it?”

He huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he yanked on your shorts with all the strength he had, making your body jerk forward a little. “I want to fuck you right here, so I have something to reminisce about every time I make us dinner.” He tugged again and this time your shorts came free along with your panties.

Sammy got down on his knees, and as soon as his face was in front of your center, he inhaled, taking in your scent. You still couldn’t get used to how shameless he was about it. And not only that, but sex in general.

He kissed along your thigh first, opening his mouth wide and sinking his teeth into the flesh. It made you yelp, and all he could do was unlatch himself from you and admire the dents in your skin. He brought his head closer to your center then, letting his forehead rest against your abdomen and his curls tickle your skin as he stuck his tongue out, licking you from your hole all the way up to your clit.

Your legs snapped close around his head, but he was quick to spread them apart with his hands circling your ankles and keeping you from closing them again, all while sucking on your throbbing clit.

Your hand came down to the back of his head, grasping his hairr and trying not to tug too hard as he grazed his teeth against the sensitive nub.

Sammy was watching you as you threw your head back, revelling in the was his tongue massaged your slit, kissing and slurping sloppily at your cunt. You moaned above him and it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

Your nails scraped against the nape of his neck when his tongue plunged into you, and he had to flex his arms as your legs threatened to close once again.

He fucked you with the wet muscle, and when he felt you spasm around him, he withdrew it, returning his focus to your puffy clit. He sucked on you while drawing figure eights against the bundle, making your hips twitch against him as you neared the end.

It all came crashing down when he freed one of your legs and pushed two of his fingers into your cunt, hooking them inside and massaging the spongy spot.

Your hand tightened behind his neck, nails digging into his skin and creating small crescents, while your other arm shot up, palm slamming against the cupboard as your orgasm rippled through you.

He fingered you through it, and usually, he would stop once you started shoving at his head or his hand, but this time, he was glued to you, sucking on you like a leech.

You cried out a few stop's, and no more's, but to no avail.

You felt like you were on a roller coaster, coming down the railway track only to ascend again.

You were panting above him, and he quickened the pace of his fingers, slamming them into you as he kept his lips clasped around your sensitive clit, shaking his head from side to side, making you scream his name.

You hit him with your free knee as you came for the second time, trying to escape his working mouth and fingers in any way you could, but Sammy didn’t care. He let your heel dig into his back, to scrunch up his shirt as your thigh slapped itself against his ear.

When Sammy finally removed himself, he grabbed your leg again and you felt your wetness against your calf. He stayed on his knees watching your stomach move up and down, before his eyes drifted to your twitching cunt.

Sammy watched your cum dribble down onto the countertop, and he could’t help but ghost his fingers over the length of your pussy, making your hips jerk, before dipping them in the pool of your wetness decorating the marble surface. He brought his fingers to your mouth, and you licked at them, cleaning them with your tongue as you tasted yourself.

Sammy took you off the counter then, turning you around and bending you over as he unbuckled the belt of his jeans.

The clasps bit into your skin as he fucked you against the counter, your brains dissolving to the extent that you didn’t even think twice when he asked you to clean the mess you made. You licked it off with your tongue, some of it getting onto your nose before he grabbed you by your neck and yanked you upwards, your body arching against him. He kissed your cum-covered lips, tasting you one last time, before he made you cum around in cock, with Sammy following shortly after.

Your legs almost gave up on you, and if it wasn’t for Sammy holding you up, you would have probably toppled to the ground.

When you were able to stand on your own, you went to take a shower while Sammy really cleaned the countertop, only because you shot him a look when he half-joked that he wouldn’t mind to let it get dry and you know… 'leave it like that'.

He took a shower right after you before joining you on the couch only in his shorts. You snuggled into his bare chest, your cheek against his collar bone as you looked up at him, letting yourself admire him again, his cheeks still a little pink, his lips curled into a soft smile while his eyes looked so warm and loving.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you glanced down before looking back up.

“I love you,” you said, and Sammy leaned down to kiss your nose.

“Are you saying that because of the sex?”

You knew he was teasing, your cheeks cramping from the widened smile as you slowly swung your from side to side.

“You’re horrible. You can’t be serious for even just one second.”

“Yeah, because you wouldn’t even like me if I tried to play out a rom-com scene with you.”

And he was right. It was his loud, annoying ass that you loved about him. Among other things.

“But,” he said as he pinched your chin between his thumb and index, making you look at him, “I love you, too.”

fin.

[conelluwrites]

She Numbed My Dream (Never Leave)

Thanos/Choi Su-bong x F!Reader

Also on AO3

Rating: Explicit

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Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Thanos loved nothing more than eating your cunt out on his broken down couch and then splitting you open on his cock. The only thing that makes the experience better is when he's taken one of those pills his dealer slipped him.

Warnings: Drug use (Thanos, not user), unprotected/raw/creampie, takes place outside the games, Thanos and reader are friends, he's a bit of a fucking loser lol

Other: Thought my first fic back woulda been Nam-gyu but I got hit HARD with insp for this idiot

Thanos rarely questioned his dealer when it came to trying new shit.  A promise of a new experience, a promise of feeling numb, a promise, a promise, a prom-  The newest thing he took made him a little sweaty, a little more sensitive to the way his boxers held his cock, made his thoughts jump around more than the usual drugs he took.  They all focused on her though, nothing too unusual, especially when she’s sitting right beside him.

Has his friend always been so pretty?  Probably, he didn’t associate with people his cock wasn’t interested in for the most part.  But something about the way she looks now- her eyes glued to the television watching whatever dumb shit he picked out, the way she leans forward slightly as if she’s hanging on every word that pours out, and the way she gripped the sides of the couch.  Fuck, that’s the best part, makes his cock so damn happy to see.  It makes him remember the countless other times her fingers dug into the stained couch cushions in complete euphoria as he fucked deep inside her tight heat.

“Hey, you good?”

Her voice cuts through the nonsense of his thoughts and makes him jump back slightly.  Her eyes are focused on him, she’s not on anything and that makes him even harder.  The way her eyes look about his face to make sure he’s okay.  It’s the sweetest damn thing he’s experienced, or at least in the top ten, and he can’t seem to get enough of that concerned look on her face.  He has to answer her, but it takes a minute for him to find his voice.  It’s not easy, not when all he can think about is seeing those eyes of her roll back and brows furrow together in pleasure only he can grant her.

“Yeah, I’m good.  Totally good, baby girl, no sweat.”  Smooth, he tells himself, no way she’ll pick up on the slight rasp of his voice or the way his hand twitches on his lap as if itching to touch his cock just to the sweet image of her.  If he were in a better state of mind he might feel a bit perverted for just wanting to jerk off to his friend’s pretty, sweet face, but fuck… She’s perfect.  His eyes are glued onto her in a way that’s slightly unnerving, but she’s used to it.

“You sure, dude?  You’re sweating like crazy.”  She asks, her brows knitting together.  It’s not unusual, many of the pills he pops make him sweat.  It’s gross, truly, the way his purple hair sticks slightly to his forehead and it’s visible through his colorful shirt.  The air conditioning makes the room cool, almost too cool on her skin, but Thanos’ body doesn’t seem to care.

“You’re so sexy when you’re worried about me.” He mentally high fives himself- nice one Su-bong, that’ll get her wanting your cock.  Shiiit, his cock twitches in his shorts at the idea.  He has to bite back a needy whine at the sensation of his tip moving against his boxers.

She rolls her eyes at his comment, grinning and moving closer to him.  He’s not hiding the way he thinks he just dropped a hot line, the cocky sideways grin on his lips and the way he nudges his shoulder against hers.  “Yeah, yeah.  I’m the sexiest damn thing you’ve ever seen, I know.”

“Fuck yeah you are, cariño.” He would sound sincere if not the profanity and the way he leans in as if expecting a kiss from his favorite friend.  She smells so pretty, his cock straining now eagerly.  He leans in a bit more, brushing his nose against her jawline. “Sexiest thing in this universe.  Can’t wait to get my hands on you, sweet thing.  Gonna make you feel so good.”

“Careful, Thanos.”  She says, though there’s no real warning in her voice.  It’s more just a playful tease as he hand moves to his thigh.  She loves the way his thigh tenses and then he bounces his leg.  He’s not nervous, the idea is laughable, he’s just so damn excited like a dog.  He can’t sit still when such a pretty thing is touching him.  “You’re gonna paint your pants.”

“You’d clean me up though, sweet thing- you always do.” He kisses her jaw after that sick line, but the way she giggles afterward and cups his face shows she actually likes that one.  “I wanna taste you first before anything, cariño.”  His voice is rough now, his hands on her hips as his thumbs rub circles.  “Can I do that?  Get that sweet pussy ready for me?”

The roughness of his voice and gentleness of his touch makes her lips part as she nods.  It’s not worth it to drag it out- as much fun as it is to make him beg to eat her cunt, she doubts he has the self control tonight to not cream his pants before either of them gets touched properly.  She can feel him grin against her skin and it only serves to make her pussy ache.  Is he an idiot, of fucking course, but he gets her off easier than anyone else ever has.  If it weren’t for his commitment issues, she’d lock this man down ASAP.

“Good girl, settle back for me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, pulling away from his warmth to settle back against his broken down couch.  It reeks of cigarettes and weed, it disgusted her at first but he’s been pavlov’d into enjoying the smell.  She lifts her hips up eagerly for him to tug her shorts off.  He tosses them to the corner carelessly, a soft thump against the wall before falling in the pile of clothes he already had there.  He kisses up her inner thighs before nuzzling her damp spot.

“All this for me already?”  He doesn’t need a verbal response, the way she slicks back his sweat damp hair tells him all he needs to know.  He smirks wickedly and holds her thighs apart before kissing and nuzzling her sweet pussy through her slick panties.  He’s leaking in his boxers, but he chooses to ignore it despite the way his hips twitch upwards into an imaginary hand.  “Sweet girl…”

She steadily humps his face, her eyes glazing over in pure lust as he glances up at her.  His pupils blown wide, looking into her eyes as she pants out gentle coos of his name.  It’s hard for her to not pull her panties to the side and feel his lips against her needy clit, but she knows that trying to move with his hands on her thighs is a no-no.  “More…?  More please.”  She decides to whimper out instead.

Fuck, that sweet sound in his ears.  A cute lil more please is enough to make him groan against her clothed cunt.  One of his hands dips down to his shorts to tug them off, kicking them to the side as he palms his cock while the other hand moves to slide her panties to the side.  Yesss…  She’s so fucking wet and it’s just for him, score to Thanos.  He buries his face against her and inhales deeply, moaning as his hand tightens against his bulge.  He licks a few stripes up her pretty slit, grinning as her back arches and her fingers curl into his sweaty hair.  Good girl, good girl, good girl, his good girl.  Her pussy clenches eagerly as he pushes two fingers into her, practically suctioning them deeper and deeper.  It takes no time for him to curl his fingers perfectly, drawing out a sweet whine of his name from her pretty parted lips.

“T-There.”  She breathes out.  She knows he doesn’t need direction, the way her sweet slick arousal coats not only his tongue but chin and her pussy works his fingers tells him he’s doing good.  “Right there.”  She mumbles out, groaning.  Her hips work his face as he begins to scissors his fingers.

“Yeah?  You like that, cariño?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes.”

She can feel herself already preparing to come, his ability to make her come easily is second only to her own fingers- hell, sometimes he may even outpace her.  He kisses up her body, sliding the hand that was pleasuring himself up her shirt to cup her breast and rub a thumb over her pebbled nipple.  His lips find hers and she breathes out a simple demand of open and she indulges immediately.  His lips and tongue meets her own in a sloppy kiss, groaning as she tastes her own arousal.  She rubs her g-spot, milking it until her fingers are digging near painfully into his shoulders and she pulls away to cry out weakly.

“Give me what I need, baby girl.  Come on and coat my fingers.”  He purrs, his eyes locked onto her own as she squirms beneath him and then her hips twitch once, twice, three times and---

“Su-bong!”

There it is, he grins and kisses her lips, cheek, jawline, and neck.  Peppering her lovingly as she whimpers his name again while he works her through her orgasm.  It’s enough to make him pump pre-cum in his boxers while he rocks his hips against the cushion beneath him.

“Good girl, you ready for the main event?  You ready for me?”  He barely gives her a chance to catch her breath before freeing his cock and covering his cock in her slick by rubbing his fingers along his shaft and then moving his tip against her slit.  “Come on and tell me, cariño, tell me what’s going through that pretty mind of yours.”  He knows he should slow down, should give her a moment to collect herself, but fuck.  He can’t. Not when he’s already so desperate for her clutching heat and ready to cum like a dumbass teenager just from the feeling of her wetness spreading along his sensitive tip.

She gives him a gentle nod, one hand on his chest and the other on the back of his neck.  She’s still so sensitive from her orgasm, but she feels utterly empty- she always does when it’s like this.  Her pussy is practically molded to his cock at this point, she needs his cock and she needs it now.

He buries his face into her neck and bites down gently as if to keep her in her place as he slowly pushes into her.  He groans deeply, eyes rolling back as his hips twitch with the control it takes to not immediately bottom out in such a sweet, perfect cunt.  It’s not that he thinks she deserves better or anything like that, he just loves how it feels for her to slowly give way to him.  He’ll never tire of the feeling, he’s addicted to it.  When his hips meet hers, he pulls away from her neck and kisses the slight red mark before looking into her eyes.  He searches hers, making sure she’s okay, and then he shoots her a grin.  They’re in a silent conversation and he loves it-  the only noises in the room are their panting breaths, that dumbass show he put on, and the soft noises of their hips hitting each other.

“Faster, Thanos.”

“Anything for you, sweet thing.”

He cradles her head as he fucks into her faster.  He moans out her name, grunting afterwards as he tucks her face into his neck.  It feels so fucking perfect, it’s what he loves, it’s what he needs all the damn time.  If he could, he would constantly be buried in her sweet pussy.

“You’re so good for me, baby girl.  Lift your hips.” 

She obeys, her hips raising up so he can push just a bit deeper, a bit harder, a bit faster.  It makes her cry out deliciously, her toes curling up and thighs trembling almost instantly.

“Dont-”  She starts to say, but her own moan cuts her off before she tries again, “don’t stop!”

“Why would I stop when your cunt is taking me so fucking well?  Huh, why would I?”  She can’t see him, but can hear the shiteating grin on his lips.  “You want me to keep fucking this cunt?  Say it’s mine.  Say it now.  You know you want to.”

“It- It’s yours!  Fuck, it’s yours!”  She claws into his neck while the hand on his chest curls up into his vibrant shirt.  “This pussy is yours!  Fuck this pussy, it’s all yours, claim it!” She cries out, her second orgasm quickly rushing to the forefront.

“Damn straight it is, good girl.”  He slides a hand down her sweat slicked body until he finds her clit and he rubs it in time with his thrusts.  “Gonna come for me again already?  Needy girl…”  He teases, but he means no harm by his words.  He loves feeling her starting to come undone.  The way her pussy massages his cock, the way she quakes beneath his, fuck it’s so damn perfect.

“Can I?  Can I come for you?  Please let me come.”

“Begging so prettily, cariño?  You want to finish that ba-”

“Fuck, just let me cum!”

He laughs, patting her head.  “Do it then, sweet thing.  Milk this thick cock as you soak me.”

That’s all the encouragement she needs, even with it being minimal.  Her clutching heat tightens rapidly and relaxes in quick succession.  She can feel her slick coating his shaft and balls as they slap against her ass.  She chokes out his name, whimpering and whining loudly as she reaches her peak.

“Fuck, good, yes!”  Thanos moans, his cock throbbing hard in her.  “Wanna fill this cunt up.”  He manages to get out before he groans deeply and his hips stutter.  He grinds himself hard against her, pump after pump of his thick, hot cum filling her up.  He laughs softly, panting hard as she claws at his chest.

When he pulls out after riding out his orgasm, she looks away from him as she feels his essence leak from her cunt.

“Don’t go gettin’ shy on me now, sweet thing.  I know you loved that.”  he coos sweetly, peppering her cheeks and neck with kisses and then leaning back on his knees.  “C’mon, c’mere…”

She looks at him as he lies back on the couch on the opposite end and pats his chest, his eyes half lidded.  She sits up with a grunt, smearing his seed on the cushion and then curling up against his side and resting her head on his chest.  He tucks an arm around her, pulling the blanket from the back of the couch to cover both of them up and she puts an arm behind his head. He kisses the top of her head, lips lingering for a second before he sighs and closes his eyes.

“I’ll buy ya some plan B in the morning, not my fault you got a cunt that makes a guy wanna bust a fat one in you.”  He says tiredly, not caring how dismissive he sounds or the fact that ‘bust a fat one’ makes her cringe.  He chuckles when she hits his side lightly.  “What?  It’s just the truth, baby girl.”

[retireddaddyric]

RUINED CANVAS

(PAINTING PALETTE part II)

Synopsis: (part 2 of 4) Fem reader discovers a heartbreaking truth about Daniel and she grows cold. Reader’s brother starts suspecting, the breaking point hits.

Warnings: overhearing, cold behavior, rage, heartbreak, pain, pride.

Notes: this is all fiction. english is not my first language, there will be more parts, share thoughts and comments, even in private if you’re shy!

The second the front door clicks open, my heart drops.

Not metaphorically, like, I feel it. Like gravity just remembered it owed me something and came back to collect.

Daniel’s still tangled to me.

We’re still in my brother’s sheets.

And I can hear the keys hit the ceramic bowl by the door like this is just a regular night.

It isn’t.

“Shit,” I whisper, breath catching in my throat. “Daniel—get off—”

“I know, I know—fuck—” He get out of bed fast, too fast, and I almost whimper from the loss. He looks around wildly, grabs his boxers from the floor. “Where’s my—your sweater—god, where the fuck—”

I don’t answer. I’m already crawling out from under him, legs wobbling. I spot my underwear halfway across the room, curse under my breath, and settle for grabbing Mick’s hoodie from the chair instead. It swallows me whole.

We look at each other, half-dressed, breathless, like idiots caught doing something we never should’ve started.

Then we hear him.

“Dan man? That you?”

Of course it is.

Daniel’s the first out of the bedroom. He walks into the hallway trying to look casual, voice thick but calm. “Yeah, man. Just me.”

“Oh shit,” Mick calls from the kitchen. “Didn’t know you were still here. I thought you went out.”

I stand in the hallway like a ghost. Not sure if I should follow or disappear through the drywall. My thighs are still sticky. My heart’s still racing. I can smell Daniel on my skin.

“Didn’t end up going,” Daniel says. “Got a little sidetracked.”

He looks over at me briefly, just once, and I know exactly what he’s remembering.

I pull the hoodie tighter around my body and walk into the kitchen like I didn’t just have the best sex of my life with my brother’s best friend in my brother’s bed.

“Hey,” I say, voice tight.

Mick looks up from the fridge and frowns slightly. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah. I—uh. Crashed. Got in late.” I clear my throat. “Hope that’s okay.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure. We’ve got enough space.”

There’s a beat of silence. Daniel opens the cabinet too hard and pretends to be interested in the tea selection.

“Actually,” Mick says, “I was gonna grab ramen with Lisa tonight, but she bailed, so I’m just gonna crash here. You cool with that?”

Crash here.

He means his apartment.

With both of us.

At the same time.

“Totally,” I lie. “I’ve got some work to finish anyway.”

I feel Daniel’s eyes on me. I don’t look back.

It’s awkward. Of course it is.

We all sit on the couch, way too sober, with a random movie playing in the background that none of us are actually watching. Mick is halfway through some shitty noodle cup and Daniel is trying not to look like he wants to touch me again. I want him to. I want to pretend it’s just us again. But that window closed the moment the door opened.

The next morning, I’m alone in the kitchen when Mick walks in, rubbing sleep from his eyes, yawning like it’s any normal day. He grabs the coffee pot, pours, and leans on the counter next to me. “You and Daniel catch up last night?”

My hand tightens around the mug. “Yeah. A bit.”

“Haven’t seen him this chill in a while,” he says. “Kinda surprised he’s even around. Last time we talked, he said he was flying in to maybe meet up with Emilia.”

The name hits me like a slap. I blink. “Emilia?”

He nods, completely unaware of the way my chest cracks wide open. “His ex. They’ve been talking again, I think. Old flame or whatever.”

I nod slowly. Swallow. “Oh,” I say, like it means nothing.

Like I didn’t let him inside me just hours ago.

Like I didn’t think, even for a second, that this might’ve meant something more.

“Guess he’s still figuring things out,” Mick adds with a shrug. “You know how he is.”

I do. God, I do.

But what I don’t know, what I suddenly can’t breathe around, is why he touched me like that if someone else is still in his head.

If maybe I was just a warm body, a comfort, a one-night detour before the real thing he came for.

I stare into my coffee until it goes cold.

And for the first time in a long time, I wish I’d kept the door closed last night.

And so I out on my steel armor: the key is to act unbothered. Unbothered girls don’t flinch when they hear footsteps behind them.They don’t turn when deep voices say their name like it means something.

They definitely don’t think about the fact that he was supposed to meet someone else.

I sip my coffee and dip the brush in ochre.

“Morning,” I say, without looking up.

I know exactly how I look right now.

Long shirt, technically a nightgown, if anyone cares about labels. Sheer. Loose. Bare underneath.One strap falling off my shoulder like an accident I didn’t fix.

I don’t care if it’s obvious. I’m not playing subtle anymore. I’m painting in the living room, legs folded on the floor, tits barely covered, and acting like it’s a normal Tuesday.

Because pretending is easier than asking questions I don’t want answers to.

After a bit Daniel stands in the doorway.

I can feel it. That silence that weighs more than words.

Like he’s trying to decide if he should say something or just go back to bed.

“Didn’t think you were up,” he finally says.

I drag the brush across the canvas. Slow. Fluid. Not looking at him.

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

He doesn’t reply. Good.

The painting isn’t even that good.

But I make it look effortless. Colors bleeding into skin tones, curves implied, the sweep of a spine against sunlight.

It’s nothing, but it’s honest. Which is more than I can say for whatever the hell last night was.

He walks past me to the kitchen. Doesn’t touch me, doesn’t ask.

I keep painting. Mick comes in a few minutes later, shirtless and still drying his hair. He stops when he sees me, eyes flicking down. Then he glances at Daniel.

“Didn’t realize we were doing naked painting mornings now,” he says dryly.

I smile. “Just needed some light. The bedroom’s too dark.”

Mick narrows his eyes slightly.

Not angry, just… thoughtful, like he’s starting to see something he shouldn’t.

Daniel keeps his back to us, pretending to read the cereal box like it holds national secrets.

No one talks. No one breathes.

Later that afternoon, I hear them talking in the kitchen.

I’m not trying to eavesdrop, not really, but I catch it anyway.

A low voice. Daniel’s. “…not seeing her. I canceled.”

My breath hitches.

“You sure?” Mick asks, careful. “Thought you were flying in for that.”

“I thought so too. Changed my mind.”

A beat.

“She here?”

He doesn’t answer right away. I close my sketchbook before I hear the rest.

That night, Daniel knocks on my door. Quiet. Barely there. I don’t answer. I’m not ready to be looked at like that again, like I’m everything and nothing all at once. So I crawl under Mick’s hoodie, turn off the light, and pretend I’m asleep.

And let him wonder.

The apartment shrinks with each day that passes. We don’t talk about that night.

We don’t talk at all.

Daniel goes out most evenings now. Never says where. Never asks if I’m coming.

He leaves behind cologne and silence, and I pretend I don’t watch the door after it closes.

I paint in the living room when he’s gone. Nothing full. Just pieces. A curve of a shoulder. A hand without a body. A neck turned away.

I don’t name them. I don’t have to.

Sometimes I find him watching me, when he thinks I don’t see. His eyes linger on my brush strokes, on my bare thighs folded under oversized shirts, on the pink smudge of paint on my jaw. But he never says anything, never comes closer. Just tension. Like lightning that never strikes.

Mick notices, of course he does.

One morning he pushes a cup of coffee toward me without looking up from his phone and says, too casually:

“So… you and Daniel. Did something happen?”

I lift the mug. “What?”

He shrugs. “You’re weird. He’s weird. The air feels like a bad group chat no one wants to leave.”

I snort. “We just haven’t seen each other in years.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “But people don’t just get quiet like that unless they’re trying not to feel something.”

I take a long sip and change the subject.

I don’t know how to answer.

Or maybe I do, and I just don’t want to say it out loud.

By day four, the silence is unbearable.

By day six, I want to scream.

But I don’t.

Not yet.

I’ve started leaving my paintings around the apartment.

Not for show. Not for anyone.

It’s just… I don’t finish them lately.

They hang half-dry on chairs and windowsills, edges curling, shadows waiting for color that never comes.

There’s one leaning against the bookshelf: a close-up of someone’s jaw, the sweep of a beard I pretended wasn’t inspired by him.

Another one on the table: hands gripping fabric, knuckles white.

I think Daniel knows they’re about him.

I think Mick is starting to suspect it too.

It happens over something stupid.

Mick’s trying to cook. Daniel’s teasing him about the way he cuts onions. I’m rinsing brushes in the sink, already tense from the way Daniel looked at one of the drying canvases that morning, long, lingering, and unreadable.

“You know, not every brush in this place needs to be in the sink,” Daniel says suddenly, glancing over at me. “There’s, like… no water pressure left.”

I don’t look up. “Didn’t know you were the brush police now.”

Mick snorts. “Oh no. Please don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Daniel presses, a little too hard. “If you’re gonna paint half-naked in every room, maybe don’t leave turpentine in the damn coffee mugs.”

I freeze.

That lands wrong.

It lands like judgment. Like bitterness.

I turn to him, voice clipped. “Sorry. Didn’t realize the artist lifestyle offended your delicate sensibilities.”

Mick looks between us, eyes narrowing.

“It doesn’t offend me,” Daniel says, arms crossing. “It’s just… chaotic.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m not tidy enough for you. Or maybe you’d prefer if I cleaned up and kept quiet, like I used to.”

Daniel’s mouth tightens. “Don’t do that.”

“What, talk?” I spit. “Or remind you that you only care when no one else is watching?”

Mick stops stirring. The room goes dead quiet.

Daniel steps forward. Just slightly. But the tension pulls like wire between us.

“This isn’t about brushes,” Mick says slowly.

“No shit,” I mutter, turning back to the sink.

Daniel exhales sharply, jaw clenched. “You always do this—”

“Do what?” I snap. “Speak?”

“No, deflect. You act like you don’t care and then throw a fit when someone tries to say something real.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is real what you were doing last night before your date with Emilia?”

Mick says my name. Quiet, warning. But I don’t stop.

“Or is this just your thing? You flirt, you fuck, and then you pretend it didn’t mean anything when someone else calls?”

Daniel’s face hardens. “I canceled that. You think I would’ve.. after you—”

“After me what?” I challenge. “Tell me, Daniel. What am I to you?”

Mick drops the spoon in the pot with a loud clang. “Okay,” he mutters. “That’s enough.”

But neither of us look at him. Daniel’s eyes are burning into me, and for once, I don’t look away. Daniel looks at me, jaw tight, mouth open like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. Or can’t. And that’s worse.

That silence. That hesitation.

That’s the answer I didn’t want.

I feel the rage before I feel the hurt.

It starts in my chest, then floods my limbs, hot and wild and impossible to cage.

I look around the apartment and all I can see is him.

His stubble in a half-drawn profile.

His fingers, painted in shadow and blue oil.

His mouth, unfinished on a canvas that never dried.

They’re all him. Every last one of them.

I grab the closest one, the one with his hands tangled in sheets, and slam it face-down on the floor. The frame cracks.

Daniel flinches. “Don’t—”

But I’m already reaching for another. A half-finished portrait of just his back, shoulders bare, light hitting the curve of his spine like I memorized it. Rip. Paint splits like skin.

Mick steps forward. “Hey—hey. What are you—”

But I’m not listening. I can’t. I grab one off the windowsill, toss it into the sink, smear it with my palm, water and turpentine ruining every careful stroke.

The one with his lips — I punch straight through the middle of the canvas.

The one with his eyes — I don’t even look at.

I tear them. I gut them.

If I could burn them with my bare hands, I would.

Because they were stupid.

Because I was stupid.

Because loving him, seeing him, putting him into every line — it didn’t make him stay.

It never would.

When it’s done, I’m breathing like I ran a marathon. My hands are covered in paint. My face is wet — I don’t remember crying.

Daniel is frozen in place. Eyes wide. Pain everywhere on his face.

Mick doesn’t say a word. Just looks between us like something finally clicked.

I walk to the door, pull it open.

“I’m done,” I say, voice hollow. “Don’t follow me.”

And I leave.

(Part three here)

[raven-dor]

do you get deja vu? pt.2

in which sirius black finally finds peace...

PAIRING: sirius black x fem!reader, platonic!marauders x fem!reader

WARNINGS: angst, Walburga Black, yearning, loser boyfriend (not Sirius), fluff, pregnancy, very very slight allusion to NSFW, crying, kissing!!

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

🎶 : deja vu - olivia rodrigo

AN: ♥️💗 - enjoy!!

Grimmauld Place, 1994

Grimmauld Place was just as Sirius had left it: dark, gloomy, and void of love. He’d been staring at the family tree for hours, at the burned mark that was once his face. Andromeda had had the same done when she married Ted, so he told himself he couldn’t feel too special. His uncle Alpharad was also burned off, which Sirius found hilarious, since said uncle was the Head of House Black until his untimely death. 

He felt some semblance of sadness while he stared at the tree. As much as he hated his family, he wished that you could’ve been there beside him, Vivian, too. 

Instead, it would be forever stuck in 1975.

Kreacher haunted the dingy halls, talking to himself like Sirius’s mother was still there, ordering him around. 

If Sirius were kinder, he would have tried to comfort the house elf, but Kreacher had never been kind to him, and Sirius didn’t feel particularly charitable. He roamed the upper floor, settling in the library. Regulus could always be found here, tucked in a large chair with several books beside him. Sirius had always teased his brother for his actions, which he now regretted. Now, he wished he could go back and keep his younger brother company. 

His bedroom had been the last place he’d visited, growing painfully nostalgic as he stared at the pictures he’d permanently glued to the otherwise grey walls. One photo in particular pulled him back: him lying leisurely on your lap as you braided his hair, grinning wildly. James had taken the picture, saying that one day you would show your children this photo. Sirius had grown bright pink, and you’d laughed it off, like it hadn’t even bothered you. 

Hogwarts, 1974

“Must you drape yourself over my legs like a dog?” You groaned. “Your animagus may be a dog, Sirius, but that doesn’t mean you have to act like one.” 

“I disagree.” He smiled, content. “Besides, you’ve never complained before.” 

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as you tried to find some semblance of comfort. “Well, I’m complaining now.” 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, Sirius.” You glared at the back of his head. “Do you mind if I plait your hair?” 

“By all means.” He leaned his head back, humming as you ran your fingers through it. “You should do this more often.” 

You smacked his arm playfully. “Behave yourself.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Reaching for his bag, he pulled out his brush. “Here, for tangles.” 

You cackled, throwing your head back. “Only you would have a brush in your book bag.” 

Sirius reveled in your laughter; he always did. Making you laugh was better than any trophy, better than any House Cup (not that he would tell James that.) “Is it gold crusted as well?” 

“Oh, shut it and do my hair, woman.” You raised an eyebrow, and he crumbled. “I mean gorgeous, perfect in every way-” 

“Stop talking before you say something you regret, Sirius.” 

It was beautiful outside, the sun shining on the Black Lake looked like something out of one of those Muggle films Remus raved on about. The breeze was perfect, cooling you off from the sun but not so cold you needed a jumper. “I wish we could stay here forever.” 

You hummed, carefully brushing through his hair, two elastics between your lips. “Me too, Siri.” 

“Do we have to go home?” 

You frowned, halting your process momentarily. “You can come home with me if you want. I don’t want you to-” Your throat began to close, becoming emotional at the thought of your best friend having to put up with what could only be explained as torture. “You don’t deserve that, Sirius.” 

“Aw.” His bottom lip jutted out. “I didn’t know you cared about me so much.” 

“Of course I do, you daft dimbo.” You resumed your job, separating his hair into sections. “You’re my best friend.” 

His once joyful face faltered, like you’d smacked him. “You’re mine too, you know.” He whispered. “Don’t tell James.” 

“Too late.” The Quidditch star clutched his heart like he’d been attacked. “I’ll never recover.” 

You smiled, gesturing toward the spot next to you. “James! Join us, will you?” 

He sat beside you, smirking at the sight before him. “Why do you think I’m here?” 

“Because you can’t be without Sirius for more than two minutes.” You raised an eyebrow at his mischievous expression. “What’s on your mind, Potter?” 

“Never thought I’d see the day.” He shook his head at Sirius. “You’re whipped, my friend.” 

Sirius glared. “Shut it, Prongs.” 

“You know how he is.” You whispered as if Sirius couldn’t hear you. “He needs constant pampering.” 

James nodded, laughing. “Constant pampering indeed. Although it seems like it’s only when it comes to you.” 

“James…” Sirius warned. 

“How about a photo?” James was feeling particularly mischievous today, and Sirius vowed to make his life a living hell later. “I have a camera.” 

“Wizard or Muggle?” You questioned. “Lily told me you bought a Muggle camera. Is there any specific reason you did that?” 

His cheeks flushed, but he denied your accusation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He raised the camera to his eye, waiting until it focused on the two of you. “Smile!” 

At the very last second, Sirius looked up at you, catching your eye, and you grinned, cheeks growing hot (which you would later say was because of the sun.)

James sighed, handing you the photograph when it had developed. “One day, you’re going to show you’re children this photo.” 

Sirius sounded like he was choking, but you just laughed, shoving your friend. “Quiet, James.” 

Grimmauld Place, 1994

He hoped you were happy now, as happy as you were twenty years ago. It hurt his heart to think about then, before you had any responsibility, before you had to fight in a war you never asked for. 

His fingers grazed over his Gryffindor banner, something his mother had detested almost as much as him. 

He’d had one in his dormitory, identical to the one that hung here. You’d had a Ravenclaw banner as well, one that you had hung up in your apartment after graduation. Sirius had said it was ugly, that it clashed with your aesthetic when you’d brought it up. You’d glared at him before moving on, begging him to join you for one last late-night kitchen visit. How could he say no to you? 

Hogwarts, 1978

You’d fallen asleep on the Gryffindor Common room couch, Sirius carried you bridal style up to his dorm, tucking you in gently.

“You love her, don’t you?” James whispered, watching his best friend stare at the girl like she was everything. “You're looking at her like I look at Lily.” 

“You know I do.” His gaze never left your face, smiling to himself. “I’ll be brave enough to tell her eventually.” 

And so, James decided to help his friend by pranking her horrible boyfriend. He honestly didn’t think the blame would fall on Sirius. 

“Sirius Black!” You’re voice echoed throughout the Great Hall, but not one head turned toward it. Everyone was used to it at this point, and no one bothered to complain. Complaining today of all days was not something even the bitterest of Slytherins felt like doing. 

Graduation was a day for camaraderie, for putting aside past grudges, for laughing at the Marauders' antics one last time. 

Sirius winced at the yell. “Yes, love?” 

“Would you mind fessing up?” You crossed your arms, and your hip jutted ever so slightly to the side. His jaw went slack, admiring the woman in front of him. You were gorgeous, your hair was perfect, face was glowing in the midday sun. “Hello?” 

“I-” The Marauders laughed behind his back. They’d all known about his crush on her for years, and enjoyed it when he stumbled over his words. It was very uncharacteristic of him. “I beg your pardon?” 

“You doused Marcus in green goo.” You glared. “Again.” 

“Did I?” He tapped his chin, feigning innocence. “I don’t recall-” 

“Sirius.” You tapped your foot. “He’s coming over here in just a moment, and you are going to apologize.” 

“I will do no such thing.” He scoffed. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t me.” 

“Why do I not believe you?” You sighed. “His parents are here, Sirius. I can’t have their first impression of me be-” You grew impatient. “Please, just fix this.”

His heart twisted at the very mention of your useless boyfriend. Not only was he helpless, he was a right git, undeserving of you. His crush, if he was being honest with himself, had evolved into heart-stopping, painful longing. Or, in layman’s terms, love. He’d loved you as long as he’d known you, and you were oblivious to it. Either that, or you were choosing to ignore his blatant displays of affection. “I-I swear I didn’t-” 

“It was me.” James stepped up, bravely facing your anger. “Sorry, Monroe, but he’s a right git. That was nothing compared to what I should do.” 

“James.” You frowned. “I appreciate your concern, but in the future, leave the handling of things to me.” 

He nodded, pointing his wand toward his fellow student and reversing the spell. “There. Happy Graduation.” 

“Thank you, Jamie.” You hugged him quickly. “I have to-” 

“We should take a picture!” Sirius blurted, eyes wide. “Euphemia asked me to get a picture of the six of us.” 

“Alright.” You nodded. “But make it quick. I have to-” 

“Get back to Marcus,” Sirius grumbled, swinging his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “We get it, love.” 

“Don’t be such a Negative Nancy, Siri.” You smiled, kissing his cheek as the flash went off. “It doesn’t suit you.” 

Grimmauld Place, 1994

He sat on his bed, lying back and staring at the ceiling. He’d done the same thing thousands of times before, but now it felt foreign, almost wrong. The last time he’d been here was the night before he had been kicked out. You’d been at Potter Manor when he arrived, your family kicking you out months ago. 

You’d moved out after graduation, feeling that you overstayed your welcome. The Potters never stopped behaving as if you lived there, even inviting you to Christmas the following year. 

Potter Manor, 1979

“Sirius, come down here!” Euphemia called out. “We’re taking a photo.” 

“I’m right here.”

You jumped, clutching your chest. “Merlin, Siri. You scared me.” 

“Sorry, love,” He wrapped an arm around your waist, standing alongside the Potters as they waited for their photo to be taken. “Didn’t mean to.” His eyes darted to your stomach, and you shook your head, smiling at his concern. It was endearing to see him so worried. 

“It’s alright.” You smiled. “Really.” 

“Alright, lovebirds,” James called out, charming the camera to take the photo by itself. “Break it up.” 

Sirius glared, scoffing as James kissed Lily’s cheek. “You’re a hypocrite, Potter.” 

“That’s enough out of both of you.” Euphemia scolded, leaning her head on her husband’s shoulder. “Smile.” 

The camera flashed, and James dramatically groaned. “Thank Merlin. I don’t think I could smile any longer.” 

You scoffed, following the crowd into the kitchen. “Says the man who's constantly smiling.” 

“Shut it, Monroe.” He stuck his tongue out rather childlessly before addressing his parents. “I propose a toast.”

“Alright.” Fleamont grinned, and you realized how alike he and his son looked. It was like Euphemia’s genes had given up entirely. Your hand drifted down to your stomach, now fearful that your child would look just like its father. “What are we toasting to?” 

“Sirius, Monroe, and I are passing the Auror entrance exams, Lily getting an internship at St.Mungos. Our engagement.” He kissed the ginger on the cheek. “Take your pick, really.” 

Fleamont laughed, pouring six flutes of champagne. “To a prosperous year, then.” 

“Well said.” Euphemia smiled, kissing her husband's cheek as she passed out the drinks. “Here, dear.” 

“Thank you-” 

“You can’t drink, love,” Sirius whispered, eyes wide when he realized what he’d just admitted. The room stilled, everyone’s eyes drifting to your stomach. Your cheeks felt hot, staring at Sirius, who was trying to play it off. “It’s just that you get so-” 

“Sirius Black.” Euphemia looked livid. “Have you impregnated the girl?” 

“Phemia!” You gasped, wishing you could go back in time and escape this horrible nightmare. “He-” 

James was clenching his wand. “Sirius, what’s going on?” 

Lily’s eyes were trained on your stomach, jaw agape. “I can’t believe it.” 

Fleamont looked positively shocked. “Sirius. I thought we talked-” 

“Everyone, hold on.” Sirius held his hands up defensively. “Let me explain.” 

“You have two minutes.” James crossed his arms. “I love you, Sirius, you know I do. You’re like a brother to me. But Monroe is like a sister to me, and I swear to Merlin-” 

“With that logic, James…” You whispered, desperately trying to break the tension. “You’re saying that-” 

Sirius coughed, cheeks bright pink. “Relax, Jamie.” He looked down, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Do you want to tell them love, or should I?” 

“I can do it.” You smiled, kissing his still-pink cheek. “As you all have correctly gathered, I’m pregnant.” 

“Congratulations,” Lily whispered. 

“Thank you, Lils.” You nodded gratefully. “I found out in late September.” 

James tilted his head. “But you and Sirius started dating in October.” 

“Yes. Thank you, James.” You felt more and more embarrassed the more you spoke, Fleamont and Euphemia’s eyes trained on you. “I told Marcus I was pregnant, and he left in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, it isn’t Sirius’s.” You looked up, his heart breaking from the sadness your beautiful eyes held. “I wish it were.” 

“Don’t cry, love,” Sirius whispered, wiping the tears that fell from your eyes. “He’s an ass.”

James still looked livid, but it wasn’t trained toward his best friend. “I’m going to kill him.” 

“Now hold on-” 

Sirius smiled. “I’m right behind you, Jamie.” 

“Alright-”

“No one is killing anyone.” Euphemia stopped their pipe dream, stepping forward and taking your hands in hers. “I’m so sorry, my darling girl.” 

“It’s alright.” You shrugged. “I’m excited, honest.” 

“I’m glad.” She hugged you carefully. “You’ll be a wonderful mother, I know it.” 

Sirius clenched his jaw, muttering under his breath. “Don’t squeeze her too tight-” 

“Sirius.” You looked unimpressed. “I’m not made of glass.” 

“I know-” 

Grimmauld Place, 1994

He sat up, straightening his jacket. It was odd, wearing these clothes again. 

This whole situation was odd. The way he’d escaped, the way he’d seen Harry and Vivian fully grown. The way he was now wearing the clothes he’d gotten arrested in, too big thanks to the many years of malnourishment Azkaban punished him with. 

The jacket, which till held his most prized photo, his last peaceful memory captured. The last moment he was truly happy, before he learned the truth, and derailed his entire life to seek out revenge. 

To kill the man who killed his brother. 

He pulled the photo out of his pocket, smiling to himself. There you were, proudly displaying your daughter in her black cat costume to the camera. Vivian was a little over a year old, completely oblivious to the war and world around her. 

Godric’s Hollow, 1981

“Vivi!” You giggled, chasing her around the living room. “Come here, you rascal!” 

The little girl squealed, her stubby legs moving as fast as they could. Sirius scooped her up in his arms, peppering her face with kisses. “Dada-” 

You smiled, kissing Sirius on the cheek. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” 

“She’s precious.” He stared at the little girl who was desperately trying to escape. “The spitting image of you.” 

“Thank Merlin.” You leaned your head on his arm, perfectly content. “Do you like the whiskers?” 

He nodded. “Nice touch. Really pulls the whole black cat costume together.” 

You glared, shoving him playfully. “Don’t tease.” You walked across the living room, picking up the discarded toys that littered the floor. “I wonder what Harry’s going as.” 

Sirius grumbled, setting Vivian down, laughing when she raced over to you, clinging to your leg. “Probably nothing, since Dumbledore’s got them under lock and key.” 

“It’s for their protection, Siri.” You hid the toys before Vivian could make a mess again. “Do you- you ever think about trying again?” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Trying again? Trying what?” 

You shrugged, cheeks growing hotter by the minute. “We are engaged. And after we get married-” 

“Soon.” 

You nodded, tracing patterns in his chest. “Soon. What do you think about children?” 

“I adore Viv, you know I do.” 

“I know.” Was he being obtuse on purpose, or did you have to put it bluntly? “Sirius, I want to have a child with you.” 

His eyes practically bulged out of their sockets, mouth agape. You panicked, backing away. “We don’t have to-” 

“Merlin, love. Of course I do.” He grinned. “We could start right-”

You slapped a hand over his mouth, gesturing to your daughter, still clinging to your leg. “There’s a child present.” 

“Could be two.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and you scoffed, walking away. 

“Forget I said anything.” 

“Hold on a moment.” He grabbed your wrist, spinning you back toward him. His eyes were eager, sincere. “I want a million children with you.” 

“I could settle for one.” 

“We’ll see about that.” He murmured, kissing your lips gently. “How about a photo?” 

“Alright.” You smiled, picking Vivian up off the floor, holding her proudly. “Say cheese, Vivi.” 

Grimmauld Place, 1994

“So much for that, huh?” A tear fell down his cheek, carefully placing the picture back in his pocket. 

“So much for what, exactly?” 

His heart dropped, looking up to see you in his doorway, like an angel. You looked almost the same, a little weathered from the years, your eyes dulled down from years of mourning a man still alive. “Are you real?” 

Your eyes welled, stepping into the room. “I’m here, Siri.” 

“I-” He stood up, reaching out to touch your cheek. You leaned into his hold, eyes fluttering shut as you savored this moment. “It’s really you.” 

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you. “I missed you.” 

His head fell to the crook of your neck, his voice causing chills to run down your spine. “I thought about you every second, love.” He pulled his head back, holding your face in his hands. “Every second.” 

“You said you’d be right back.” You sobbed. 

“I’m sorry.” He leaned down, kissing your lips desperately. It was messy, uncoordinated, but you didn’t care. You pulled him closer, clinging to him like it was the last thing you would do. It couldn’t be some figment of imagination in your head, not again. “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t ever leave me again.” You cried, kissing him once more. “Ever.” 

“I swear.” He nodded, a horribly mischievous smirk painting his chapped lips. “I solemnly swear.” 

You scoffed, gently pushing a stray hair behind his ear. “Shut it.”

taglist: @beebeechaos @milesdrift @rorywright @maryjaneeeee @dalmationsanddasies

[gildedsilk]

Punishment ๑

• Huening Kai x Reader | Wc: 1K+ | Smut | MINORS DNI ༻

𝜗𝜚 Gildie's Note ៹ Thank you to @bamtor1sss for opening my eyes to sub Taehyun, which inevitably led me to thoughts of sub Kai 🙏🏽.

TW : Reader is a little older than Kai, Kai calls reader mommy one time, reader is Beomgyu’s sister, creampie (pls use protection), cussing, panty theft, dom!reader x sub!hyuka, bathroom sex

༺ Masterlist

You didn’t even remember how you ended up on top of such a cute, supposedly innocent boy.

Well—maybe not that innocent, considering he’d been stealing your panties every time he came over, under the guise of being best friends with your brother, Beomgyu.

He apologized—he did. But not because he felt guilty. Because he got caught. Because his little angel act shattered the second you walked into the bathroom and found your lacy pink underwear wrapped around his cock.

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” he stammered, caught red-handed—literally.

You weren’t having it.

“What the fuck, Huening? You’re jerking off with my panties?” you snapped, voice loud on purpose. Beomgyu was still home, and you wanted Kai to squirm.

His face went sheet white, shame and panic mixing like oil and fire. “P-Please, not so loud!”

You scoffed and snatched the fabric away. It was damp with pre-cum.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Uh… four months…?” he squeaked.

“Dude!” you barked, unable to believe it.

Kai stepped forward and quickly shut the bathroom door behind him. “Please, Y/N, I’m really sorry.” Click—the lock slid into place.

“I don’t care. You’re a fucking pervert.”

“C-Can you blame me???” His face was flushed, lips trembling.

“What?”

“You’re always prancing around like some kind of pornstar—crop tops, miniskirts… What do you expect? I’ve had a crush on you since high school, Y/N. What was I supposed to do?”

You blinked. That—wasn’t the confession you expected.

Before your brain caught up, your body was already moving, pushing Kai down onto the closed lid of the toilet. He looked up at you—guilt in his eyes, yes—but lust, too. Bare and burning.

“I guess I can forgive you…” Your gaze flicked down. His cock was still hard—thick, flushed, twitching. “If you can fuck me better than you fuck my panties.”

Kai’s eyes widened. His pulse surged visibly in his neck. Was this a dream? His long-time crush—his best friend’s sister—was about to let him inside her?

He didn’t dare look too eager. He just nodded, voice cracking as he tried to play it cool. “Okay… I-I can.”

You braced yourself on the sink, slipping your panties off beneath your skirt. Kai’s breath hitched when he saw how soaked they were.

He swallowed hard.

Was she turned on, too? God, he hoped so.

You tossed the underwear aside and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. You didn’t lower yourself yet. Instead, you kissed him—slowly, deliberately.

His muffled moan was soft, startled. Then he melted into it, kissing back messily, lips greedy, breath ragged.

You hadn’t expected Kai, of all people, to be such a good kisser. You could only imagine how good he’d be with his mouth elsewhere.

But not today.

Today, he was getting punished.

You pulled back, ignoring the wet smear of drool he left behind, and reached between your bodies to line him up. He bit his lip, eyes fluttering, every muscle tense.

You teased him first, dragging the head of his cock along your slick folds. His tip bumped your clit—he whimpered like it hurt.

“Please…” His hands hovered at your waist. He wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you—until you didn’t stop him. Then he gripped tight.

“Please what?”

He breathed out, trembling. “Please let me fuck you… I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want. Just—please.”

You smirked. His desperation was delicious.

Then you sank down.

Both of you moaned—his, higher-pitched and helpless. You felt every inch stretch you open, fill you up. Angel Hyuka had a sinner’s cock.

You stayed still for a moment, letting yourself adjust to the stretch before you started rocking—slowly, lazily—just enough to make him squirm.

Kai gripped your hips, thrusting up carefully to match your rhythm. His eyes rolled back. Every breath came out like a gasp, stunned and reverent.

“Oh my god…” he whimpered, hands roaming up your torso, down your thighs, as if trying to memorize every inch.

You leaned close, panting. “Be quiet. Unless you want my brother to catch us.”

He shook his head fast, obedient.

You kissed him again to shut him up, but you also picked up the pace. His dick dragged along your walls in just the right way, and your moans tangled with his.

Kai’s tongue slid into your mouth, eager and messy—maybe a little too confident. You moaned softly anyway, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently at the nape.

He groaned—hips stuttering. Close.

You slowed just in time.

A knock hit the door.

“Kai!” Beomgyu’s voice, loud and annoyed. “You said you had to piss—what’s taking so long?!”

You broke the kiss, wiping his drool-slick lips with your thumb. “It’s okay,” you whispered.

Kai nodded, trying to sound normal. “S-Sorry, man! Be out in a sec!”

Beomgyu didn’t seem to care. “Okay! Hurry up—I wanna kick your ass in League!”

You waited for his footsteps to fade before you started moving again—harder this time, riding Kai in long, hungry strokes.

Kai whimpered. “Y/N… I’m gonna cum…”

You ran your fingers through his damp, black hair and hummed. “Yeah?”

He nodded frantically. “Y-Yeah… yes. It feels so good…”

“How good?”

“B-Better than the smell of a freshly opened pack of Ernie Ball strings… and the first perfect bend on a new set of 10s…”

You raised a brow. What a dork.

But it was kind of adorable.

You sped up.

Kai’s legs shook. “I… I’m gonna cum,” he whispered, almost apologetic.

You’d planned to edge him—to make him earn it. But how could you say no to that flushed face? His eyes rolled back, his forehead slick with sweat, lips kiss-swollen and desperate.

You let him.

He came with a full-body shudder, a breathless cry, hips jerking uncontrollably.

“A-Ah! Mommy—thank you… t-thank you so much. Feels so good…” He was crying now, babbling. “I love your pussy so much… I love you s-so much…”

You hushed him gently and kissed him once more before rising off his lap. His cum leaked down your thighs as you slipped your panties back on.

“I’ll leave first. Give you a minute to… recover,” you said with a soft smile.

Kai reached for you, instinctively—but stopped himself.

This was a punishment.

And the best damn punishment of his life.

[addythecow]

(NOT MY ART, CREDITS TO THE ARTIST.)

Chapter 1: The Spark Ignites

Warnings: Y/N will be used, no cursed energy AU, College Au!, Nerd Gojo and Bad boy Sukuna, Fluff, they bicker over you, Sukuna x Gojo x you.

The autumn leaves crunched underfoot as Y/N adjusted the strap of her backpack, hurrying across the bustling campus of Tokyo University. The crisp air carried the faint scent of coffee from the nearby café, where she’d spent the last hour cramming for her literature exam. At 6:30 PM, the sky was a blend of orange and purple, casting a warm glow over the students milling about. Little did she know, her quiet evening was about to take an unexpected turn.

Leaning against a lamppost, Satoru Gojo tall, lanky, and effortlessly cool tapped away on his phone, his silver hair catching the fading light. Dressed in a loose “New York” hoodie adorned with quirky pins and baggy jeans, he exuded a laid-back confidence that turned heads wherever he went. A natural charmer, Gojo was the kind of guy who could ace a class with minimal effort and still have time to flirt with half the campus. His sharp blue eyes flicked up as Y/N approached, and a sly grin spread across his face.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Y/N,” he called out, pushing off the lamppost with a casual swagger. “Need a study buddy? I’m told I’m excellent at… distracting.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Gojo, I’m trying to pass this exam, not fail it because of your ‘distractions.’”

Before he could retort, a shadow loomed beside her. Ryomen Sukuna stepped into view, his presence commanding attention. With his spiky red hair and a black graphic tee layered with a tactical vest, he looked like he’d just walked off a streetwear runway or a fight club. His tattooed arm flexed as he crossed it over his chest, a silver chain glinting at his wrist. Known for his intense demeanor and a reputation for bending rules, Sukuna was the campus enigma brilliant but dangerous, with a smirk that promised trouble.

“Leave her alone, Gojo,” Sukuna said, his voice low and edged with a challenge. “Some of us actually respect her time.”

Gojo’s grin didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed. “Oh, look who’s playing the hero now. Last I checked, Sukuna, you were too busy intimidating freshmen to care about anyone’s schedule.”

Y/N glanced between them, sensing the tension crackling in the air. She’d seen them trade barbs before Gojo with his playful jabs, Sukuna with his cutting retorts but tonight felt different. Their gazes locked, a silent battle brewing, and to her surprise, it seemed to center on her.

“Guys, seriously, I’m fine,” she interjected, stepping back. “I just want to get home—”

“Not so fast,” Sukuna cut in, stepping closer. His dark eyes softened slightly as they met hers. “Let me walk you. It’s getting late, and I’d hate for anything to happen.”

Gojo laughed, a sound that was equal parts amusement and irritation. “Oh, please. I’ll walk her. I’ve got better stories to keep her entertained anyway.” He slung an arm around Y/N’s shoulders, earning a glare from Sukuna that could’ve melted steel.

The two stood toe-to-toe, their rivalry igniting like a spark in dry grass. Y/N, caught in the middle, felt her heart race not just from the unexpected attention, but from the realization that these two larger-than-life personalities were vying for her affection. In a world without curse energy, where their powers were replaced by charisma and grit, the fight for her heart was about to become the most intense showdown Tokyo University had ever seen.

(This is my first post! I’m sorry if it isn’t the greatest I did try my best it’s been awhile since I’ve wrote anything. This will be ongoing if I can get more ideas. Hope it’s okay!)

[bright-hope-spot-19]

So, time for some Kankuro hcs I have. Some are partly based on canon, and some aren't. These are long, so they'll be under a read more. These are some of the ideas I have bout my favorite puppet boy. With all that said, here are my

KANKURO HEADCANONS

1- He was the one being groomed to become Kazekage after his dad. I choose to believe both Rasa and the council chose him over Temari in their classic mysoginistic fashion, just cause he was a boy. As we can imagine, he never liked or agreed with that decision.

2- As a result of that, I believe Rasa would've tried to convince him to not specialize in puppetry and choose another field. I like to think Rasa also developed a negative opinion on puppetry after Sasori defected and Chiyo also decided to leave the council, turning her back on the village. Kankuro, of course, wouldn't budge on his love of puppets.

3- Due to him having been the one chosen to precede his father as Kazekage, he was taught about politics and history. He's way more knowledgeable than he lets on, he just likes acting goofy and aloof so people won't ask him for favors or expect much of him, at least in his younger years.

4- Due to him not wanting to leave his puppets, Rasa would see to it that the boy was at least taught some other jutsu he could rely on, in case his puppets ever got destroyed in battle. As a result, Kankuro is very proficient with Earth jutsu, he just rarely needs to use them.

5- He's also the best of the three siblings at taijutsu. Nobody can change my mind about that. I don't care that the novels (Gaara hidden) try to sell us that Gaara is good at close combat and that the fandom like to imagine Temari as the punchy one. Kankuro's the best of the three throwing straight up hands. He's taller, bulkier, and heavier than his siblings, there's no way they can punch harder than him.

6- Kankuro is actually also very good at math. All three of the sibs are, Kankuro is just the obnoxious brat who likes pointing out decimals. Like, him and Temari are on a mission seizing up their enemies, and Temari would calculate that the distance between them is of 10 meters or smth. Kankuro would be the type to point out it's actually 10 meters and 55 cm. In a modern students au he'd be the classical stereotype of glasses wearing nerd nobody dares mess with because he also likes spending his free time at the gym.

7- This one is more regarding the whole family, but I hc that the sand sibs are related to Chiyo and Sasori. Sas and Gaara are the only two redheads we see in all of Suna, and they look kinda similar? I like to imagine they're related on Rasa's side of the family. Like, Chiyo would be Rasa's aunt or great-aunt or smth.

8- Kankuro didn't have many friends growing up, cause most kids his age were terrified of him. Not only for being Gaara's brother, but because of how unfazed he was by death and blood, even at a young age. There'd only be two boys in his class brave enough to approach and befriend him, because they thought he was super cool. Kankuro would be aware of this reputation he has, so he'd try and keep up the coolness and tough guy facade. But deep down he likes both his friends deeply.

9- One of his friends would end up dying during Gaara's first Shukaku rampage on the village, right after Yashamaru's failed murder attempt. That would cause the other one to distance himself from Kankuro, and he'd become truly friendless. This is also what would cause him to start talking to his puppets with time because he knows they're the only ones who'd never abandon him. And is also why he's actually very introverted, even if he's very good at putting a friendly guy appearance in public.

10- Kankuro is very good at applying makeup, and he'd be the one to do Temari's for very important occasions. I imagine he'd also be the one to teach her about makeup once she and Maru started seriously dating, and she wanted to learn, to look good for her man. Kankuro would tease her about it but would teach her everything he knows.

11- I can also see Kankuro being queer. I'm not sure what he'd be exactly, and I imagine neither would he. He wouldn't understand it at first, when he enters puberty, and starts noticing how good-looking his male peers are. He would shrug his shoulders and still act aloof whenever other guys would call him slurs for painting his lips, and looking at other guys' bodies the same way he looks at girls' curves. He doesn't see what's wrong with it. Historically, many puppet users were queer too. There's still tales about Chiyo having had plenty of female lovers in her youth, and about Sasori being aroace. He'd only ever tell Temari too, because he knows Rasa would never approve. She'd give him a hug and tell him she's proud of him, even if Rasa isn't.

12- He's also a very passable doctor. And I mean doctor, not healer. While I've always been fond of the idea of him performing medical jutsu the same way Sakura and Ino do, it recently came to my mind, that you actually need a Ying/Yang nature to do that, smth Kankuro doesn't have. It's my hc that most puppet users are taught deeper and more extensive first aid skills to act as medics in an emergency cause they're usually the most knowledgeable about the human body if a real doctor isn't available. All that means, is he knows how to patch up a wound decently enough, until the injured person can get to a hospital.

13- He'd first inherit Crow from Chiyo herself at 11 years old. Before that, he'd practice with a standard puppet provided to all aspiring puppet users, that he'd be constantly making modifications to. His skills would catch her interest because he'd master the body substitution technique (switching places with his puppet) way sooner than his peers. Chiyo would challenge him to test his abilities, and he'd obviously get his ass handed to him (Chiyo would fight with one arm tied to her back, manipulating only one puppet with one finger, and with an eyepatch covering her good eye since I hc she's half blind in the other). Kankuro would still manage to land one singular hit on her, that wouldn't deal any real damage but would be enough to snap her hair tie and cut one strand of her hair. That would be enough to make her consider him as a potential heir for Sasori's puppets that hadn't been used in years.

14- As he grew up, Kankuro would become more popular amongst the villagers, especially after the chunin exams arc, where he'd also change to become less of an ass. I hc that he also has his own club of fans, similar to Gaara's. I imagine though, that while Gaara's fangirls love him more because of his appearance and the mystique surrounding him, Kank is more loved due to his easy-going personality and ability to crack jokes. Also, Kank would have more male admirers than Gaara.

15- Kankuro of course, is not a virgin, and I refuse to believe he is. An idea I've always had, is that he'd lose his virginity with Matsuri's friend (The girl with long dark hair. I don't remember if her name was Yukata or if it was Sari). Ofc, that girl is a Gaara simp, but I'd imagine, that they'd try at a party or smth, and she'd find out she actually really likes Kankuro. She'd become his first fangirl shortly after that.

16- Kankuro has actually had sex with both men and women. Usually, tho, if he's gonna do it, he does it when he's on missions away from the village, so they can't catch feelings for each other or get attached. Especially when it comes to sex with guys. I'd imagine, tho he'd only ever feel comfortable having sex with his squad mates if he's not their leader. If he's assigned as their squad leader, he wouldn't be comfortable doing it with any of them, as it'd feel like he's taking advantage of his rank to do so.

17- Talking of feelings, I imagine he would develop feelings for some of the Konoha folk. Mainly, Shino and Ino (lol). Kankuro is one of very few people who actually find Shino attractive. Once they're young adults, Kank would challenge him to a rematch, and it'd end up in a draw. They'd go for food to get to know each other more, and it'd end up with them in bed. None of them talk about it, but Kankuro actually takes secret pride in having been the only person to have seen Shino Aburame naked. With Ino, it'd be due to her and Temari spending more time together, so Kankuro would become more acquainted with her as a result. He mainly thinks she's hot and smart af. Ino would give him one chance to surprise her in bed cause she's that confident. Needless to say she'd be leaving that bed satisfied.

18- Funnily enough tho, I like to think both Sai and Omoi would develop slight crushes on Kankuro as well, after the war. Sai thinks Kankuro is one of the coolest guys he's ever met, and Omoi would just stare at him with stars in his eyes every time they'd meet at a Kage meeting. They'd be a lot more casual about it. Even while dating Ino, I can imagine Sai, having no filter, would tell her he thinks Kankuro is pretty good-looking. She'd encourage him like 'I've slept with him once. Maybe you'd like to try too, the guy is surprisingly good in bed.' He wouldn't take things that far with Kankuro tho, but would appreciate Ino's support nonetheless.

19- Kankuro would install potent flamethrowers in all of his puppets, in addition to chakra shields. He'd study the ones in the Sasori puppet and work on installing improved, stronger flamethrowers to his other ones, especially with how advanced technology would become. Needless to say, if anyone ever gets caught in their blast, they'd be left with terrible 3rd degree burns. If they manage to survive, that is.

20- Kankuro would keep working on improving his skills, and finally reach the top of puppetry, that is, manipulating 10 at a time, one per finger, once he's in his late 20s. So yeah, I like to imagine that by Boruto, he'd be around Chiyo's level of mastery.

21- Last one here. I imagine that he always loved Gaara, but the reason his relationship with him wasn't as strong at first (during chunin exams). Would be because he'd also notice Temari trying way harder than him to get closer to Gaara, so Kankuro would step aside to let her do her elder sister role. From then on, he'd only try and keep things between himself and Gaara bearable and casual enough so Gaara wouldn't kill him, but would let Temari be the one who's more emotional with him. It's all the same, tho, as we know, the two brothers would become inseparable in Shippuden, with Kank becoming Gaara's biggest confidant.

That would be all. These are some of my kank hcs that I can think of off the top of my head. Idk if anyone agrees with them, but oh well.

[mvxiie]

jealous (?) guy bestfriend x male reader

pt. 1

what has gotten into you lately? kian stood there, thinking. his internal question still lingering as he watched you, sitting on the couch, giggling like a little school girl while texting away on your phone.

he knew the reason as to why you were soo.. giddy.

you met a girl, started talking, late nights sending memes and gifs to each other, went on a couple dates.. boom. you're dating. .. but why did it bother your best friend so much? you didn't notice his off behavior. how he's been more distant, he's been calling less, not many frequent visits to each other's place anymore. that means no more taco tuesdays, you're doing that with HER now.. no more random late night drives, no more bar hopping, no more.. anything.

why is kian being soooo distant all of a sudden? we're still bros, nothings gonna change that!

right?

[ name ].

of course you don't answer.

[ name ].

ah- yeah? hol on holon-- sar is telling me something, lemme finish reading this text from her

bro, do you even care anymore?

kian sat on the couch next to him, sighing heavily. this is unbelievable.. you're at his house- HIS HOUSE. and you're seriously pulling this shit? you can't put the fucking phone down for more than a literal minute, this is so suffocating.

he thought of something, his lips curling up into a smile. hey, [ name ]. you know that new game that just came out? you wanna go out and get it before its gone---

oh, dude, are you talkin about gta 6? sarah bought it for us last week, we've been playing it since. it's seriously so fucking addicting, the plot is a lot more interesting this time than the last gta. you should buy it and see for yourself.

bro, what the fuck. it's-- it's like

is he invisible?

kian, your friend of 8 years, was fucking replaced by a girl. a girl?? a girl. your girlfriend.

it's like you completely forgot he was ever even in your life. everything you guys have ever done, it's all being replaced by her. her. fucking sarah. what kinda name is sarah anyway? so basic, sucha basic stupid fucking name for a gir---

hey dude, i'm gonna bounce. sarah has her period right now and she's got like reeaally bad cramps.

oh yeah, no, that's cool. are we still on to go to the movi--

kay, thanks! you're a good friend. you get my situation so much. later loser.

'you get my situation so much, later loser'?

..

WHAT THE FUCK??

anger and jealousy rising, bubbling inside of him. he grabbed the end of the coffee table and flipped it over, throwing it to the other side of the room.

SARAH AND HER STUPID FUCKING CRAMPS?? REALLY? IS THAT SUCH AN EXCUSE? YOU CAN'T BE AWAY FROM HIM FOR A FUCKING HOUR YOU STUPID- BITCH!

yelling out into the void of his home, plopping himself onto the couch again, his fingers grabbing and yanking at his hair, eyes watering slightly, tears threatening to pour.

why won't you fucking notice me? i'm your best friend, me! kian! i've been with you since we were thirteen!! and now she comes strolling in your life, you completely forget 8 years of your life, just like that??

enraged. the jealousy is too much to handle.

he has to make a stand somehow. show you that he's here too and that she isn't the only person in your pathetic fucking life.

he has to make you understand. understand where he's coming from.

maybe he should follow you back home? yeah, that sounds good. maybe he could yell some sense into that dumb blonde girl too while he's at it.

he grabbed his keys off the countertop, yanking his coat off the hanger and shoving himself out the door.

he's gonna learn that i'm the only person he should be paying attention to.

[otherone12]

HELLO!! I’m a super big fan of your works and I was wondering if you could make a Gerard x Reader where gerard is comforting a reader during a hard time?

Thank you!!! - lili <3

Don't Worry, I'm Here.

Gerard Way x Reader

-> Masterlist

A/N: Heyy! Thank u so much!! 💕 So since you didnt told me what "hard time" were we talking about, i made it about family issues, i turned this kinda of personal for me... Hope this don't get so distant from what you wanted. Also, hope you like it! (If it turned out too different from what you imagined, let me know and I'll try to fix it :) ).

Summary: You have problems with your mom at home, but your best friend is there to suport you (and become something more than that).

- Word Count: 1.490

- Warnings: Family Issues!

- Ps: I'll not use y/n…

- Ps2: I'm brazilian, so english is not my first language... sorry if i wrote something wrong.

___________________________________________

Reader's 1sr Person POV

Sometimes my life just… gets complicated.  I live with my mom, just the two of us. She’s beautiful, loud, and terrifying in a way that makes every guy she dates run for the hills. And when that happens, when things explode like they always do, I have nowhere to go.

Well… almost nowhere.

There’s always the basement at my best friend’s house.

Gerard’s been the only person who really gets me right now. He might not understand everything I’m feeling, I don’t expect him to. but he tries. And God, that means more than I can say. He never makes me feel stupid, or dramatic, or like a burden. Just… seen. Less like shit.

The best part of my day is seeing him. That crooked little smile, the way he pulls me into a hug like I’m something breakable, the soft “hey” he says, like he’s been waiting for this moment all day too.

We do this every day, and somehow, I still manage to miss him in between.

He always has some story about his band to tell me, a new riff, a weird lyric, some drama between Frank and Ray over a pedal. I love it. Even if I never stay for the rehearsals.

Don’t get me wrong, his friends are cool, and they’ve always been nice to me, but some stuff feels too personal to share with people I don’t fully trust.

And my mom? That mess? That’s mine to deal with. I don’t want them looking at me with pity. That’s the worst feeling in the world.

Today was one of those days. The kind that leaves you feeling like your skin doesn’t fit right, like every word spoken at home came with a knife underneath it. I couldn’t handle staying there any longer. So, like always, I ended up here. Where it’s quiet, where he is.

The basement door creaked open, and I barely had time to wipe my face before Gerard poked his head in.

- Hey, Gee,- I said, trying to force a smile.

- Hey… - he stepped down the stairs slowly, eyes scanning my face. - You look… down. Something happened?

- My mom… - I shrugged, curling my knees tighter to my chest on the old couch. 

He didn’t even have to ask. His shoulders sagged as he dropped his bag to the floor. 

- Again?

- Yeah. She just… you know how she is-

- Narcissist? - he said it with a half-smirk, half-apology, like he already knew he was calling it out too bluntly.

- Something like that, - I muttered, staring at the frayed threads of the blanket on my lap. - I just don’t get it. Why is it always with me?! What did I do wrong?

My voice cracked on the last word. I hated that it did.

Gerard didn’t answer right away. He sat beside me, close enough for our knees to touch, then slowly reached over and brushed a piece of hair from my cheek. His fingers were cold, but gentle.

- You didn’t do anything wrong,- he said softly. - That’s just… who she is. Not who you are.

I swallowed hard, staring at the floor. The silence stretched for a second too long, and I could feel the heat building behind my eyes again. It was always like this: keep it in, keep it in, then fall apart the second someone was kind.

- I shouldn’t even be here,- I mumbled.

- Why the hell not?

- Because… -I cut myself off, jaw tightening. My fingers were shaking. I could feel it. I took a breath, then let it out slowly. - She said I make everything harder for her. That I ruin everything.

I didn’t look up, couldn’t. I just pulled my sleeves down. Or tried to.

Gerard noticed the movement. He noticed everything.

- Hey, - he said gently. - Let me see.

- It’s nothing.

- My ass.

His voice was different now. Low. Steady. Not demanding, just there.

I hesitated. But then, slowly, I rolled my sleeve up. Just enough to show the bruise blooming across my upper arm. Ugly, purple, with a sickly yellow edge already forming.

- She grabbed me, - I whispered. - a bit harder than usual.

His jaw clenched. I saw it. I felt it in the way the air shifted between us.

- She didn’t mean to - She just… lost it… was kinda of my fault too… 

- No, - he said firmly. - Don’t do that. Don’t make excuses for her.

I blinked, caught off guard by the fire in his tone.

- She doesn’t get to put her hands on you and pretend it’s okay, - he went on, his voice softening just a little. - That’s not normal. That's not love.

I didn’t know what to say. No one had ever said it like that before, not without blaming me, or telling me to just be more patient.

- I didn’t know where else to go, - I admitted.

- I’m glad you came here.

He looked at me then, really looked, like he was taking in every part of me. The way my hoodie hung too loose, the way my hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting, the way my eyes were red-rimmed from holding it all in.

Without another word, he reached out and pulled me gently into his chest.

I froze for a second, then melted.

His arms wrapped around me tight, one hand at the back of my head, the other rubbing slow circles on my back. I felt his heartbeat. I felt safe.

- You’re staying here tonight,- he said into my hair. - No arguing.

- Gee…

- Nope. Not up for discussion. 

- You sound like someone’s dad.- I laughed, wet and shaky.

- Nah, I'm not a dad. - He said, smirking - I’m Batman.

That made me smile. Just a little.

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. 

- Seriously. You’re staying. I’ll make up the cot, or- hell, you can have the bed. I’ll sleep in the corner like a sad little ghost.

- I’m not kicking you out of your bed.

- Then we’ll share it. - His eyes flicked away for a second, almost shy. -If you’re okay with that.

I nodded. My chest hurt in that warm, aching way.

- You’re really okay with me being here?

- I want you here, - he said. - I want to take care of you. You don’t have to go through this alone.

Something in me cracked open then. Not broken, just... opened. Like all the walls I kept up had finally decided to fall apart in the right place.

I leaned my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.

- Thank you, I whispered.

He rested his cheek against my hair. 

- You never have to thank me for that. Never.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, it was warm. Like a blanket we both sat under without speaking. His arm stayed around me, my head still resting on his shoulder. I could hear his heartbeat, steady and real. A few minutes passed like that. Just breathing. Just being.

Then he shifted slightly, just enough to turn toward me.

- You know... you’re not her. - His eyes met mine, even if I tried to avoid - And you don’t need to worry, okay?

- It’s easy to say - I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head.

- It’s easy to do, too. - I felt his cold sticky hand reach for mine, his voice was steady, low. -I’ll be here with you. No matter what. Okay?

- Gee, you don’t have to - Giving him a weak smile, closing my eyes longer.

- I want to.

Then he leaned in. His lips tasted exactly how I’d imagined they would, coffee, cigarettes, maybe Cheetos... and something else. Something his.

His lips lingered on mine, pressing softly. No tongue, no rush. Just the quiet, steady kind of kiss that says I’m here.

When we pulled apart, our eyes met. His tired hazel ones, smudged in eyeliner, somehow sparked.

- Gee…

- I wanna be more than your best friend, - he said, voice rough but certain. - Let me be your person. I want to take care of you... make you feel seen. The way you deserve. Please?

- Fuck, Gerard,- I whispered, a laugh shaking through me. - I was waiting for you to ask.

- Is that a yes?

- Of course it is.

I kissed him again, cupping his face in both hands and pulling him in. This kiss wasn’t shy or tentative. It was messy, full of craving, needed, but still as tender as the first. And in that moment, I knew. No matter what came next… This boy was my whole world. And I was his.

___________________________________________

So... That's it! hope u like it! feedbacks are always welcome!

- Taglist: @bossiestbitch @mimilovesnumetal @tw1nk4emoboys @f4wnfangz @g0ddnessshad0ws @itschaboijoe

[mobberswashere]

Kinda love nerd ocs every time people make them ❤️

Interested to know what Maya would think of Crow? He has beef with Earnest so he doesn't much like nerds but he mostly just tolerates the rest of the clique. I feel like he probably wouldn't pay Maya much mind, but he does hang with the greasers and Maya wants to befriend the greasers so they could meet like that. Also if she wanted to buy anything from him for whatever reason. He'd probably just smile and nod kinda awkwardly once she starts being awkward and too eager etc.

(I linked his profile on my pinned post and also I use the #crow for him)

AAA THEY’RE SO FUN TO MAKE and thank you sm for asking! I love OC interactions and this being my first one was really fun :))

I really loved Crow’s design and personality so I decided to make some doodles of them too! (also so sorry if the writing sounds weird or if there are any typos, i’m still learning how to make words sound good 🙏)

——————————————————————————

<< Maya would think that Crow was a part of the greasers at first glance and would occasionally stare at him when he’s not looking. >>

“He probably owns motorcycle…wish I was cool enough to do that.” :( - Maya to herself

But, then will be told by the other members that he brings in alcohol and cigarettes to school which in turn would intrigue her even more since she wants test out using alcoholic beverages in her own secret chemical experiments.

And If she sees him talking to one of the greasers?? She’d immediately try to befriend so that she could meet the greasers. It is kinda iffy to befriend someone just so you could meet another group of people and Maya didn’t think that it’s a bad thing to do at first. Who knows? Maybe she’d like spending time with Crow instead of the greasers!

Maya is also a bit intimidated by Earnest. Never got close to him and never tried talking to him, so Crow says anything about him to her, she’d just hesitantly chuckle with no comment whatsoever. (vro thinks Earnest is the boogieman or something/j)

———————————————————————————

<< Mustering up courage to talk to Crow >>

“Youcantalktopeopleyoucantalktopeopleyoucantal—“

Maya sees first introductions to be the most impactful part of a conversation and this certain one is what she thinks would make her one step closer to talk to the greasers, so she tries out many different approaches on how she should greet him until she finds the best one, which is—having hands in her skirt pockets and having an “I don’t care” attitude, thinking it made her look cooler. (In case you are wondering, no, She in fact did not look cool and instead was acting more like Ignacio from Nacho Libre in the “where’s your robe, Ignacio?” scene. I love that movie sm)

She had everything already planned in her head before she goes to ask for alcohol…but dude, life isn’t some video game that already has pre-written dialogue, She had to brace herself for things that were unplanned (which she was not ready for at all). She’d think that whole interaction is gonna be a some sort of big deal for her to get a friend who wasn’t a part of the clique she’s in. Their first meet up is awkward since Maya made it awkward by taking pauses as she thinks in her head about what to say, but Crow being the top dawg he is, kept a smile on his face while she rambles.

Their first meet up is awkward since Maya made it awkward by taking pauses as she thinks in her head about what to say, but Crow being the top dawg he is, kept a smile on his face while she rambles. —————————————————————————— A year later: Maya’s out of the Nerd Clique(for reasons I shall tell you after I figure it out!1!!)

<< Why so distant maya?! 💔 >>

“No one gets me like you do Steven Patrick Morrissey.” (MAYA NOOO DON’T GET PULLED INTO THE SMITHS PIPELINE NOOO—)

After She’s out of the clique, Maya began to feel incredibly lonelier than before. She still had one friend, but honestly that soon just changed to acquaintance. She begins to believe that being alone might be the best thing for her. No one to bother and no one to bother her. It was like a win-win situation! (does she know?)

She’d most likely talk to Crow only for when she needs alcohol from him, or help from him in art since that’s the only subject she has a D in and she desperately needs someone who’s doing good to help her out + she’d def be jealous over Crow’s grades and would try to ask him to tutor her!

PLEASE GO CHECK OUT @sergeantcowboy their art is amazing and Crow is just as awesome :’D

[sincericida]

ANDREW GARFIELD and FLORENCE PUGH for Bustle.

“'Ultimately, it’s a story about choosing the life we want for ourselves and making the most of the time we have." Bustle cover stars Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh on their once-in-a-lifetime love story ‘We Live In Time’ - in theaters NY/LA today, nationwide October 18.”

(X)

[wizardshark]

Okay fine. The first 500 words, hastily written, of "Paintball Shounen" below the cut.

Hi! I’m Caroline. Grade 6, blue eyes, blonde hair, and the best fucking paintballer in this god damned school. I’ve been splatting (that’s what we call it here at Paintball University, ‘splatting’) since before I even knew how to read. At Paintball University, the more you splat, the cooler you are. And you know what, bitch? I’m the coolest there is. I spend my school time splattin’, I spend my home time studying up on splattin’, and you KNOW I spend my night time dreaming of splattin’. Everyone adores me.

Everyone, that is… except Horse. Yeah, Horse. She chose ‘Equestrian’, but we all just call her Horse. It’s a crazy name, but we all have crazy names here at Paintball University. I’m an outlier cause I kept my birth name, but I’m also the only one who can since I’m the best there is. You need a certain amount of clout, a certain type of style, to pull off a name like “Caroline”.

Horse is the only one at this school who won’t give me the time of day. She thinks she’s so cool just because she’s so beautiful. Her big adorable glasses, her bookish personality, the way she laughs… well listen, it doesn’t matter. What does matter, is that I’m going to win Horse’s praise, or die trying.

This is my first year at Paintball University, and I’m going for gold. That’s right, the International Splat Invitational is this year. It only happens once every 100 years, when all the greatest splatters there ever were gather in one place to splat each other like no one’s business. If I can get my way in— invite or no invite— then I’m sure that I can win and earn Horse’s affection. I mean attention. I meant attention. Stop being weird and reading into things.

Today, on the first day of Spring, I’m at the shooting range here at Paintball University. My aim has been off all winter cause of a broken wrist, and I’m struggling— what? I struggle too sometimes— to get myself back together. My best friend Grampa is here with me, tsk’ing his head off at every bullseye I miss. He used to be the best of the best, until he got put in a wheelchair in a tragic accident by our rival school, Dodgeball College, or as we call it, Dodgebollege’s tour bus and was held back a year. Now, though I know that he can still keep up with the GOATs, he has relegated himself to my training.

I’m just about to tear ‘em a new one when our third friend, Froggy Hopper shows up with some ice cold Chugg for us— the sweetest soda a girl can get here at Paintball University. I crack the can and take a long slurp. Aah! "Now you're feeling quenched!" as the commercials say!

had a dream about a genuinely deranged new WIP idea with the starting line:

"Hi! I'm Caroline, grade 6, and I'm the best fucking paintball player in this school"

I guess... it's like kill la kill school but for paint ball? I don't write contemporary but it's so deranged I just might do this