#it's been a while since I worked on something properly

[supernotnatural2005]

Sexual Encounters with Dean Winchester - Edging

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Exploring new kinks with Dean. How far can you push him before he breaks?

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings/tags: SMUT! (18+ONLY!!!), edging, swearing, kinks, fluff

AN: So for one of my bingo submissions, I was given the prompt Wax Play < (Which you can read here). I had mentioned making it into an anthology, kink series, and this kinda just fell out of my head and onto paper. 😅 So, I thought it would work well as part of that universe? I'd say this is a bit of a prequel, another kink exploration. If you would like to see more of these, please let me know? 💕

Masterlist

Dean woke up to the feeling of you.

Soft, warm, draped across him like you belonged there—which, at this point, you damn well did. The first thing he felt was your fingers, featherlight as they traced over his stomach, dipping beneath the hem of his boxers, not quite touching where he already ached from the morning alone. The second thing he felt was your lips, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along his jaw, down his neck, nipping just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Morning,�� you murmured against his skin, voice still thick with sleep.

Dean groaned, blinking blearily as he reached for you, pulling you on top of him so he could kiss you properly.

Your mouth was warm, inviting, your lips moving against his in that way that made his entire body react instantly. The lazy slide of your tongue against his sent heat pooling in his stomach, and when you rocked against him — the feel of the warm dampness of your panties rubbing against him — he swore under his breath.

His hands roamed over your body, slipping under your shirt, fingers tracing the curves he knew so damn well. He needed you—needed you under him, around him, all of you — but you had other plans.

Your touch turned purposeful, teasing, your nails raking lightly over his chest, your fingers slipping lower, brushing over his cock through the fabric of his boxers.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his grip tightening on your hips as his head fell back against the pillow. His body was already strung tight, aching for more, and just when he thought you’d finally give it to him—

You stopped.

Dean let out a strangled noise as you rolled off him with a smirk, stretching like you hadn’t just left him hanging.

He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning as he ran a hand down his face. Right. He fucking agreed to this.

This wasn’t out of the blue—not with you.

From the start, you had met him toe-to-toe, not just in the hunt, but in everything else. Sex included. You matched him in ways no one else ever had—you enjoyed it just as much as he did, never shying away from what you wanted, and you had been giving him a run for his money since day one.

Recently, though, you had started pushing things further—both of you had. It wasn’t just about good sex anymore (though, damn, it was always good); it was about exploring, testing each other’s limits, finding new ways to unravel each other. Some things were new, things neither of you had done before, and some were things you’d just never done together.

And that was how, last night, wrapped up in bed with you, his body still buzzing from round two, you had propped yourself up on your elbow and given him that look.

"Let me edge you tomorrow."

At first, he had laughed, figuring you were just messing with him. But then your fingers had danced across his skin, your voice dipping into something sultry and teasing as you explained—

"I mean it, Dean. No touching yourself, no finishing until I say."

That had sobered him up real fast.

You had gone on to say you wanted to see him unravel under you, to see him desperate, begging—something you knew he wasn’t used to. And Dean, ever the cocky bastard, had just smirked.

"Sweetheart, you can try."

Yeah. Big fucking mistake.

Now, here he was, hard as a rock and throbbing — and it was only the start of the day — while you walked into the bathroom like you hadn’t just ruined his life.

“…You’re evil.”

You just winked at him before shutting the door.

Dean groaned, rolling onto his stomach to press his face into the pillow. He was in for a long fucking day.

Dean was still on edge by the time the three of you sat down at the diner for breakfast. He’d taken an ice-cold shower, drank half a pot of coffee, and tried not to think about how smug you looked every time he shifted uncomfortably.

The place was your standard roadside joint—checkered floors, peeling leather seats, the smell of grease and coffee thick in the air. It was the kind of place Dean loved, under any other circumstances. But right now, he was too distracted, too worked up. 

You sat right beside him, thigh pressed to his, radiating warmth. It shouldn’t have been a problem. Should’ve been normal. But it wasn’t—not after you’re little stunt this morning.

He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself as subtly as possible. Sam was talking, something about the case, and Dean forced himself to tune in.

"Mark White," Sam said, tapping away on the laptop in front of him. "Every witness we've talked to mentions him—he’s been spotted with all the missing girls. Seems to be using some kind of college chatroom, specifically targeting young girls. He lures them in, promises VIP access to this underground club, and then poof—they’re gone."

Dean nodded, trying to focus. “So, what, we thinking lone vamp, or is this a full nest situation?”

Before Sam could answer, Dean felt it—your hand, settling lightly on his thigh.

At first, it was nothing. Just a casual touch. He forced himself to ignore it, to listen as Sam continued.

"I say we divide and conquer," Sam said. "One of us monitors the chatrooms, see if he tries to bait another girl. The other two stake out the club tonight—see if we can confirm he's our guy and if he’s really working alone.”

Dean hummed in acknowledgment, willing his body to relax. But then your fingers started moving—just barely, a slow, absentminded stroke along the inside of his thigh. Innocent enough, but his whole body reacted, tightening with anticipation.

He swallowed thickly, staring down at his coffee cup, burning a hole in the black liquid as his forced himself to focus.

“I can set up an alert on the chatroom, see if he sends out any invites while you two are at the club,” Sam said, clicking and scrolling on the device. “Might give us an idea of who he’s targeting next.”

Dean nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Smart thinkin’.”

Then your fingers inched higher, and his breath hitched. 

Shit.

He felt your nails rake lightly over the denim of his jeans, deliberate this time, your touch lingering, teasing. His jaw clenched, his grip tightening on his coffee mug. He could feel himself hardening, already so on edge from the morning that even this—barely anything—was too much.

But Sam was still talking. Dean forced himself to stay in the conversation. He managed a nod, as he lifted the mug to his lips, and offer a gruff “right”, even as you slid your hand just a little higher, fingertips grazing the seam of his jeans.

He almost choked on his coffee.

"You good?" Sam asked, frowning at him.

Dean cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as you gave him an innocent glance, the corners of your mouth twitching. 

Fucking tease.

"Yeah, yeah. Just, uh—" He swallowed hard, scrambling for an excuse. “Dunno, maybe I’m coming down with something.”

Sam frowned. “You do look kinda flushed.”

Dean exhaled sharply, not daring to look at you. “Yeah, well—”

You squeezed.

Dean nearly doubled over.

"—shit," he muttered under his breath, gripping the edge of the table.

Sam’s frown deepened. “Maybe you should sit this one out.”

“No!” Dean said quickly, maybe too quickly. “No, I’m fine. Probably just something I ate.”

Sam shook his head and chuckled. “I mean, you do live off red meat fried in cheese and products only made with corn syrup.”

You snickered at that, your hand finally retreating. Dean gave you a look—one that said you’re gonna pay for that—but all you did was smile sweetly, fake concern in your eyes.

He was gonna kill you. If you didn’t kill him first.

By the time you and Dean were parked outside the club that night, he was barely holding it together.

The teasing hadn’t stopped at the diner. No, you had spent the entire goddamn day tormenting him.

At the precinct, you had worn that tight-ass FBI pencil skirt, the one that hugged your curves just right, riding up slightly whenever you bent over to grab something. And you’d made sure to bend extra slow, knowing his eyes would be on you.

You hadn’t even touched him, but it didn’t matter. You’d glance over your shoulder with that smug little smirk, bite the tip of your pen and look him dead in the eye as you wrapped your lips around it, and every single time, Dean had to force himself to look away before he made a scene.

And now here you were, alone in the Impala, the dim glow of the streetlights casting a soft glow over your features, that look in your eye and Dean already knew he was screwed.

“Sweetheart,” he half-heartedly warned, his voice already hoarse.

“What?” you asked innocently, reaching for his belt.

Dean groaned, his head thudding against the seat. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

You just grinned. “We’ve got time.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but then your hand was slipping inside his jeans, and whatever he was about to say turned into a strangled groan.

Your touch was slow, deliberate, your fingers wrapping around his cock with just the right amount of pressure. You stroked him to full mast, your lips trailing along his jaw, sucking at his pulse point making him twitch in your palm. 

“Fuck,” Dean drawled as you lowered onto your front on the bench seat, your mouth replacing your hand, wrapping around him like a warm hug. Your tongue teased the sensitive tip until his hands were gripping the seat, white-knuckled, and then you took him all the way.

“Holy—,” he choked on his own breath, his hips jerking as you hollowed your cheeks, sucking him deeper, faster, gagging slightly as you pushed him to the back of your throat.

It was too much. The whole day had been too much. He was right there, so close it hurt—

And then… 

You pulled away, and Dean actually whined.

You sat up and wiped at your mouth, giving him one last smirk as you settled back into your seat like nothing happened.

Dean slammed his head against the seat again, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

You hummed, pleased. “No, you don’t.”

Of course, you were right. 

The motel door had barely clicked shut before Dean was on you. His hands gripped your hips, lips crashing against yours in a desperate kiss—hot, messy, needy. He was shaking, breath ragged as he pressed you back against the door.

But you weren’t giving in that easy.

You smiled against his lips, teasing, and broke away just as he tried to deepen it. His frustrated groan sent a thrill through you.

"Strip," you ordered, voice honeyed but firm.

His pupils blew wide, his body thrumming with anticipation. He obeyed, yanking off his flannel and t-shirt, kicking off his boots as you stepped back toward the bed, sitting on the edge with an air of complete control.

By the time he was bare, standing in front of you, he was already rock-hard, the tip of his cock flushed deep red, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. He ached; every nerve raw from how you’d spent the entire day torturing him.

You spread your legs slightly, a silent invitation, and he stepped closer, but you placed a firm hand on his thigh, stopping him.

"On your knees," you murmured.

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening, but he obeyed. He sank to the floor, settling between your parted thighs, hands twitching at his sides, aching to touch—but he knew that wasn’t how this worked. Not tonight.

"You’ve been so good for me today," you praised, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. "Taking everything I’ve given you."

"Too much," he ground out, frustration darkening his eyes. "You—fuck, sweetheart, you ruined me today.”

You pouted in faux sympathy and leaned in to kiss him, slow and teasing. Dean chased after it instantly, deepening it with desperate hunger. You could feel the way his lips trembled, the barely contained need in every press of his mouth. He wanted more. Craved it. You smirked against his lips before pulling back, cupping his jaw when he tried to follow.

"You think you can last just a little longer, baby?" You cooed, trailing soft kisses along his cheek, down the sharp cut of his jaw, and then lower, pressing against the thick cord of his throat. His eyes shut tight, a shuddering sigh slipping from his lips at the feel of you.

His cock throbbed painfully, every nerve in his body screaming for relief, but your praise—fuck, your praise—was just as intoxicating as your touch. He needed to hear it as much as he needed to come.

So, he nodded.

"I want you to make me cum, baby," you whispered, your breath hot against his ear before you nipped at his lobe. Dean shivered. "And I promise, I’ll touch you."

A switch flipped.

He was on his feet in seconds, grabbing you, shoving you down onto the mattress with enough force to make you gasp. His movements were rough, desperate as he stripped you bare, tossing your clothes aside like they were in his way—because they were.

And then he saw you.

Laid out beneath him, glistening, perfect, drenched for him in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

"Fuck," he groaned, breath hitching.

"It’s all because of you, Dean," you told him, voice breathy, chest rising and falling faster. He watched your eyes flutter shut, your head tipping back as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the soft skin of your thighs.

"You have no idea how hot you are," you continued, voice unravelling, "how fucking beautiful. Watching you restrain yourself, the desperation to cum—"

Dean growled low in his throat and bit down, sucking a mark into the inside of your thigh. You gasped, back arching off the bed, and the sound shot straight through him, straight to his cock. He groaned, hips rolling into the mattress for any kind of relief, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

When his gaze met yours again, you were smirking. Of course you were. You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew how much he loved this—your taste, your praise, the way your body surrendered to him.

You reached down, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip. His lashes fluttered, eyes slipping shut at the contact, like he was savouring it. Then he opened them again, gaze burning.

"Make me cum with your perfect mouth, baby."

Dean let out a low, guttural noise and then—he was on you.

The first swipe of his tongue was slow, deliberate, and he groaned at the taste of you, his fingers digging into the plush flesh of your thighs as he spread you wider. He licked into you, drinking you in, his nose pressed against your clit, his stubble scraping the soft skin of your inner thighs.

"Jesus," he rasped, voice muffled against your cunt. "You taste so fucking good."

He couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t stop. He flicked his tongue over your clit, sucking it into his mouth, and the sound you made—needy, wrecked—made his cock twitch against the mattress. His hips rutted down, searching for friction, but it was secondary to this. To you.

"Dean—fuck—" You whimpered, thighs trembling around his head. "Just like that, baby—feels so good."

His groan vibrated against you.

Praises. You knew what they did to him. He ate them up as greedily as he devoured you.

Your fingers fisted in his hair, tugging him closer, and he moaned, tongue working you over with precision, like he was born to do this. The way you came apart in his mouth, the way your body clenched and shuddered beneath him—it was his fucking religion.

"Dean—" Your voice cracked, high and needy.

"You’re so good at this," you gasped, making his cock throb painfully at the praise. “Such a good boy for me, taking care of me first.”

Dean groaned into you, the vibrations sending another shockwave of pleasure through your body. His grip on your thighs tightened, his nails digging into your skin as he redoubled his efforts, desperate to hear more.

“Oh, God. Don’t stop," you whimpered, your breath hitching. “You’re so fucking perfect, so good.”

A deep, wrecked sound tore from his throat, his hips rutting against the mattress as if your words alone could get him off. He was lost in you, in the slick heat of your body, in the way you fell apart just for him.

"Come on, baby," you cooed, threading your fingers through his hair again, tugging just the way you knew he liked. "Make me cum."

Dean damn near growled, his tongue flicking and curling against you with a new sense of urgency, chasing that moment—chasing your pleasure like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

And then—

You shattered, back arching off the mattress as your release hit, pleasure rolling through you in waves. Dean groaned, gripping your thighs tighter as he licked you through it, savouring every pulse, every shudder.

And fuck, watching you like this—watching you lose yourself because of him—he can never get enough of it. Feeling it, the way you pulse against his tongue, knowing he’d done that, he’d unravelled you completely—it nearly wrecked him.

When you finally caught your breath, your fingers slid from his hair, caressing over his jaw, his cheek as Dean climbed up your body, and then you pulled him down, kissing him deep and thorough, humming at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

And fuck, was it hot.

He was so lost in the kiss, he barely had time to process it before you pushed him onto his back.

His head hit the pillows, his chest heaving, every muscle in his body tense with need.

Then you were kissing down his torso, slow and teasing, your lips tracing the ridges of his abs, the dips of his hips. His cock jerked against his stomach, swollen and aching. You dragged your lips along his length, your breath hot against his sensitive skin.

You kept him there, right on the edge, pushing him higher and higher, until every muscle in his body was trembling. His hips bucked slightly, chasing more, but you stayed just out of reach, dragging your tongue along his length, your touch too light, your pace too slow.

His head tipped back, throat exposed as he let out a ragged moan, chest heaving. "Fucking hell, sweetheart—"

You hummed against him, feeling the way he twitched, saw the way he clenched his jaw so tight it might crack.

Then you wrapped your lips around him—soft, slow, but not enough. Never enough.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he groaned, voice hoarse. "Please—"

But you didn’t give in.

You kept him there, right on the edge, holding him in that unbearable place of need.

And Dean realised, for the first time, that he actually couldn’t take it.

His head fell back against the pillows, his hands gripping the sheets so hard they might rip. "Impala."

You froze.

Dean’s entire body was shaking now, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. "Baby, please," he rasped. "I can’t—I need—"

You didn’t make him beg any further.

This time, when you wrapped your lips around him again, you didn’t tease. You didn’t hold back. You took him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him hard, your hand stroking the base in tight, relentless motions.

Dean choked on a curse, his hips jerking as his body locked up beneath you. His fingers twisted into the sheets, shaking, like he was barely holding himself together. "Oh, fuck—"

You didn’t stop. You wanted him to let go. Your tongue flicked over the sensitive tip, your pace never faltering as you worked him with everything you had—your mouth, your hands, all of it, pushing him higher and higher.

Dean let out a strangled groan, his abs clenching, his thighs trembling as his entire body tensed. And then, he shattered.

A guttural moan tore from his throat as pleasure slammed into him, so intense it stole his breath. His release hit him like a freight train, so hard and fast his vision blurred, white-hot euphoria crashing through him in waves. You milked him for all he was worth, working him through it, swallowing every, last drop until his body jerked beneath you, raw and oversensitive.

"Jesus Christ," he rasped, his voice wrecked and hoarse. His head lolled to the side; his arm flung weakly over his face as he tried to catch his breath.

You crawled up beside him, pressing a kiss to his damp skin, running your fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

"Did so good for me, Dean," you murmured.

He let out a breathless, exhausted laugh, still trying to regain control of his body. "I think you just killed me, sweetheart."

You smiled against his chest. "Worth it?"

Dean groaned, rolling onto his side to pull you flush against him, his grip still firm despite how completely spent he was. "Yeah," he admitted, voice rough. "Fucking worth it."

And as he drifted off, tangled with you in the aftermath, he was already wondering what the hell you’d come up with next time.

Because patience might not have been his strong suit.

But he’d suffer through it for you.

Every single time.

AN: Okay I hope y'all survived that one? 👀😅 i’m sorry i couldn’t resist with some Dean smut for Valentine’s day 😏🥵

If there are any other kinks you guys can think of or would like to see, I'd be happy to take requests! Who doesn't enjoy some kinky times with Dean? 🥵 As always thank you for reading. ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitandsee

[thatoneautisticshark]

You asked for... Asks (I don't know how to properly word this) a while back, I have one for you. Idk if you still want it but-

You did oral fixation!Ghost with Price but... Maybe Price is tired one day? Needs a nap, not in the mood, ect, so what does he do? I mean, he's got a pair of rowdy Sargents who are more than willing to help Simon out.

Doesn't matter if you write it or not, just wanted to say I really like your work! <3 u buby grill

This is absolutely a fabulous idea, I adore it. And yes I am adoring getting asks. So I give you technically the next part. Aka Baby boy Simon gets the spoiling he deserves

Simon sat curled up on the couch of his captain, in one of Price's oversized shirts, just resting, not asleep but not fully awake.

Everything was a bit much, all the paperwork and missions, he just needed a relax, to drop the reins and be ordered gently. And preferably have something in his mouth.

Unfortunately Price was just not up for it today, not in the headspace to Dom. Which was annoying but it was what it was. Simon wasn't gonna be a dick and push boundaries.

He was just curled on the couch, while Price was out looking for Gaz. Gaz had accidentally walked in on them twice and knew of their arrangement, and considering some things he had said, they reckoned he'd want to be involved.

Although Simon couldn't imagine the awkward convo that was going down. Because he doubted Price would just say “Hey Garrick, do you want your lieutenant sucking your dick? Cause he is wanting to sub, but I'm not in the mood.” As funny as it would be.

Simon blinked as he received a text, picking up his phone, to look at the message from Price.“Do you want Soap too? Gaz knows he has the hots for you”

He had to re-read it several times before answering. He knew he should say no, not turn the team into even more of a fuck group then it was becoming. But the thought of those hands in his hair, that Scottish voice praising him, had him sending a thumbs up.

It took maybe five minutes for the door to open and the three men to enter. Price at the front, the two sergeants at the back, and Soap paused, staring at Simon, and it took a minute for him to realise it was because soap had never seen his face.

“Bloody ‘ell LT, ye right Bonnie” and Simon immediately knew his face was flushing from the giggle from Gaz as the sergeants sat on the couch.

It took a minute of awkward silence before Gaz broke it. “Soo.. uh the cap said you're needing some stress relief?...And uh.. you have an.. oral fixation right?”

Simon nodded, having forgot how awkward first arrangements and sex discussions were, it having been years and years since anything was awkward with him and Price.

“Uhm… yeah.. just like …. Subbing …” He trailed off awkwardly. Rubbing the back off his neck, really wishing he had the mask to cover his flaming face.

Soap looked like he won the lottery, with a big grin. “So you like subbing? Like soft or hard Dom. Also are you a brat or like a soft sub” Well at least Soap knew actual terms that gave Simon some hope.

Price cut in before he could answer “He is very much a soft sub, very sweet. Gentle orders get him going, he likes having things in his mouth and praise.”

Simon flushed again, nodding, but was grateful he didn't have to actually say it himself.

Soap nodded. “Okay, easy done. Gaz, you want his mouth on you?”

The man in question nodded, as Soap moved to sit on the floor, before patting his lap for Simon to sit on.

He could already feel the pleasant buzz of dropping into subspace, the way he wanted to follow the ask without question, dropping and crawling to Soap's lap.

The Scot let his hands wander a minute before settling on the Brits hips. “Jesus I've dreamed o’ this, Ghost.”

Gaz sat on the couch, Simon on soaps' lap between his legs. His dark skin was slightly tinted pink, with his eyes eager.

Meanwhile, Price sat back on his bed, looking over the top of his book, at his boy being spoiled. He could already see the tension leaving Simons body.

Simon let his head be tilted up by Gaz, looking at at him through his lashes. “Oh Jesus. Price wasn't kidding, you are beautiful like this.” He murmured, stroking Simons cheeks. “Yeah, you just need to drop the reins a bit? Be cared for like the sweet boy you are.”

Simon gave a soft hum, almost a moan. He was a sweet boy, and deserved this. All stress, and thoughts of his paperwork slowly drifted away, leaving him settled in soaps' lap, and having Gaz’s thumb gently pushed into his mouth.

He sucked on it, hollowing his cheeks, licking the finger tip, prompting a swear from the man above him. Gaz groaned “Bloody hell, Ghost. Can't wait to get those soft lips around my cock”

The finger in Simon's mouth pulled away, as Gaz fumbled his belt undone. When he whined, Soap slipped on of his own rough fingers in, resting it on the tongue.

“Needy aren't you bon?” he murmered slipping his spare hand under the soft shirt, Ghosting fingers over the nipples peaking in the cold.

Simon moaned around the digit in his mouth, letting his head fall against the thigh of Gaz.

Gaz immediately, gently tugged his head up by the hair. “Your mouth all ready for this cock, baby?” He cooed, stroking himself, spreading the precum around the tip, before placing it on his Lieutenants tongue.

He was clearly being super careful, unsure of Simons ability, and that just wouldn't do. Simon moved forward, his nose burying in the soft curls at the base, as it hit the back of his throat. He heard the punched out breath from below him, and Gaz’s breathy swear as his head flopped against the couch.

But barely noticed, already so deep. His one track mind was simply on the warm weight in his mouth, the girth stretching his lips wonderfully, his gag reflex trying to react to the intrusion as he bobbed his head.

The hand on his hips gripped tighter, and he registered Soaps' hips bucking and grinding against his arse with soft moans. Gaz hands were still tugging his hair wonderfully.

He barely registered his vision getting fuzzy and black at the edges, until Price's voice from his bed rang out “Get him to breathe Gaz. He isn't breathing”

He heard an ever so slightly panicked squeak from the man above before his head was gently pulled back by the hair.

Soaps hands moving from his hips to tap his cheek. “Breathe Bonnie.”He coughed slightly, tears streaming his cheeks from gagging.

When he looked up, he met the worried deep brown eyes of Gaz. “You solid?”

Simon nodded, slightly moaning “Solid. We can keep going.” He dove back down, sucking Gaz's balls, using his hand to jerk the length while letting his throat rest a second.

Soaps hips slowly began moving against his arse again, as Gaz pulled him back down to the cock, nearing completion.

“Such a good fucking boy. You take my dick like you were made for it love.” Simons moan around the dick was the undoing of Gaz. The younger man tried to tug Simon off, because you don't just cum down a man's throat with no warning.

But Simon shook his head as Gaz tensed and came.

He pulled off with a vulgar pop, tilting his head back and kissing Soap, watching the mans face as he drank down Gaz's cum.

The hips against his arse stuttered as Soap rutted to completion, burying his face in Simon's shoulder with a moan.

Simon barely registered being picked up and moved to the bed, cleaned up and tucked in. When he really came too, and he was on Prices chest, Gaz's arm across them, and Soaps head on his thigh, he decided this was the best place to be.

[hardly-an-escape]

part two of this, originally inspired by @newtkelly's amazing art 🌹💕

The call is, blessedly, a very simple kitchen fire situation involving an aspiring but inattentive teenage cook and the charred remains of some former tacos. They clear the house, verify that there's no lasting damage and that all the smoke detectors are still working properly, and double-check the wiring on the stove just to be sure nothing drastically malfunctioned. Bobby gives the teen a friendly but compelling lecture on gas stoves and kitchen safety, and the cavalry rolls out.

The rest of the 118, to their credit, makes it a solid five minutes into the drive studiously not looking at Buck before the tension finally breaks.

"So," Chimney says.

"Flowers," Hen says.

"Lots of flowers," Eddie says.

"And a romantic ass speech," Hen says.

"In front of God and the captain and everybody," Chim adds.

"Shut up," Buck says, feeling his cheeks heat up, probably as pink as one of the carnations in the massive bouquet Tommy had given him.

Bobby says nothing, but his eyes in the rearview mirror are knowing and kind.

Tommy appears on the balcony as soon as the doors open and watches the engine back into the bay. His eyes seek out Buck's as soon as he hops off the rig, and Buck feels his heart leap in his chest. He changes out of his uniform in record time, and Tommy is waiting outside the locker room when he's done. He hands over the bouquet and takes Buck's duffel bag without a word, slinging it over one shoulder and wrapping the other arm tight around Buck's waist, and they walk out of the station like that, in lockstep with one another, out to Buck's car under the orangey-red Los Angeles sunset.

Buck is unusually warm when he wakes up on Friday morning.

It takes him half a second to realize why – that the extra heat is coming from the long, firm body wrapped around him from behind; that his bad leg is comfortably resting on a hairy thigh rather than the extra pillow he usually shoves between his knees; that the breath tickling his ear and the thumb stroking idly through his chest hair are both Tommy's.

God, he's missed this. They've barely been out of arm's reach of one another since Tuesday night, aside from when they'd both been scheduled to work, and yet all the time together isn't even a drop in the bucket of how much he's missed Tommy – missed his kisses and his voice and his dry laugh and his eyes and his body. He wriggles back against that body now, so naked and warm, and is rewarded by Tommy's arm tightening around his chest and Tommy's gentle laugh huffing in his ear.

"Oh, you awake now, sleepyhead?" he asks.

"No," Buck lies. "I'm fast asleep. I swear. You can keep watching me like a creep."

"If you insist," Tommy chuckles, dropping soft kisses along Buck's neck. "It's a shame, though. If you were awake I had some ideas for how we could spend the morning."

He grinds against Buck's bare ass, gentle and purposeful, and sucks an earlobe into his mouth, and Buck sighs happily and rolls in Tommy's arms so they're chest to chest and dick to dick, and kisses the laughter out of his mouth.

Some time later, Tommy's head is on Buck's chest and they're catching their breath, sweaty, the sheets kicked down around their ankles.

"Can I ask you something kind of silly?" Buck says.

"Mm. Go for it."

"How'd you know that I would be at work Tuesday evening?"

Tommy snorts. "Sneaked a peek at the citywide duty roster while Melton was in the john. I figured it was my best bet, instead of maybe missing you because you weren't home. And besides…"

"Besides what?"

"I felt like it was important to have an audience."

"An audience?" Buck parrots, confused.

Tommy nods against his chest. "I don't know, maybe that's not the right word. I wanted it to be witnessed. And I wanted you to know that everyone saw me come after you the way you deserved. Is that crazy?"

"I think you watch too many rom coms," Buck says. "But. It was also one of the best things that's ever happened to me, so I'll give you a pass."

"Nailed it." Tommy rubs his five o'clock shadow against Buck's chest and kisses the red patch it leaves behind. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"How come you didn't call, or anything? Afterwards? It felt – I know why I didn't. And maybe I don't have the right to ask. But is there a reason you didn't?"

Buck sighs. "I told myself a long time ago that I wasn't going to chase after people who weren't going to chase after me. And even with what you said that night, it didn't feel like you were chasing me. But I don't know, I kind of regret it now," he says, running a hand reflectively through Tommy's hair. "I missed you so much. I should've told you. Maybe we could've gotten back here quicker."

"I'm so sorry I made you feel that way, Evan," Tommy says quietly.

"It's okay."

"It's really not. But I meant what I said the other day. I'm going to do anything I can to make it better."

"This helps," Buck says, pulling Tommy a fraction of an inch closer.

"Then I'll keep doing this," Tommy says. He slings a leg over Buck's hip and kisses the patch of beard burn again.

Downstairs, three dozen roses overflow from the bowl of Buck's stand mixer – the only thing in his kitchen that had been big enough to hold them all. A couple of them are starting to look a little wilted, but most are still going strong almost three days later. He'll have replace the water today, pull out the spent blooms, rearrange the remaining flowers.

And he has to be at the station in a couple hours, and Tommy's shift starts an hour after that. It's Valentine's Day, but neither of them had bothered to request it off, so they'll have to get up soon; shower and dress and eat something and reenter the world once again.

But that's soon. This is now, in all its naked honesty: warm skin, and warm sheets, and kisses, and kindnesses, and the slightest scent of roses floating up to meet the morning light.

[reccyls]

The Robin Who Grazed the Reaper’s Secret Eagerly Awaits His Words (Part 1)

My translation of Victor's 2025 birthday story!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue (Victor's POV)

---

The middle of February was approaching.

(He asked me to come to a different room instead of the lounge, I wonder what this is about.)

William had called for me, so I made my way towards one of the castle’s rooms.

(It didn’t sound like anything serious, though.)

Arriving at the designated room, I knocked on the door.

Kate: William, it’s Kate.

William: Come in.

William was elegantly sipping some tea while seated as I entered.

Kate: Sorry to keep you waiting.

William: I haven’t been waiting for that long. Don’t worry about it.

I nervously sat on the chair opposite of William.

William: I’ve called you today to discuss none other than Victor.

Kate: Wait, do you mean–

Catching onto what he was implying, I sat up straighter.

William: That’s right, it’s about his birthday.

This coming 20th of February was Victor’s birthday.

(I couldn’t celebrate properly last year, because I only found out it was his birthday the day after.)

–flashback– Victor: Yesterday was my birthday. Kate: …Huh? Kate: HUH!?? –end flashback–

I’d resolved to celebrate his birthday on the actual day itself next year, and that day was quickly approaching.

William: I know you’ve been thinking hard about how to celebrate this year, so I thought we could work together.

Kate: William…

I was happy to have such a strong ally in my quest.

William: As we both know, our hardworking queen’s aide doesn’t take any time off. William: Not even for his own birthday.

With an amused smile, William put forth a proposal.

William: So why not force him to take a break?

Kate: What?

He passed me a stack of papers. Confused, I glanced over them, seeing that it was a mission report.

Kate: This is… the report from your investigation the other day, isn’t it? Kate: It says the mission was completed without any problems.

William: The mission is over, true. I just haven’t submitted the report yet.

Kate: But why–

William: I was thinking of adding a recommendation to this report. I think that the queen’s aide should go inspect this site personally.

Kate: So that means…

William: What a keen little robin.

With a satisfied, mischievous grin, William picked up a pen and scribbled in a line at the end of the report.

William: On Victor’s birthday, we’ll send him on a fake mission to force him to take some time off. William: However, if we left it at just that, he’d probably suspect something was going on. That’s where you come in.

Kate: Right.

William: Join him on this fake assignment and discreetly make sure he gets some rest. William: This is a mission only you can complete. Will you accept?

Seeing William’s sly smirk, I felt my own mouth quirking into a smile.

Kate: Leave it to me!

And so began the plan to get Victor to rest and relax for his birthday.

...

Victor: Kate, what’s the matter?

Kate: N-Nothing!

It was now the day of Victor’s birthday. I couldn’t help but fret about keeping the plan secret.

(I have to be really careful not to let anything show on my face.) (But how much can I really fool Victor… he’s really observant…)

We were in a small suburban town close to London. Walking side by side with Victor, I ran over William’s plan in my head.

(It’s good that we were able to plan together until the last minute.)

William wasn’t with us today, but he’d placed the order for the cake and food, along with helping out with a lot of other small details.

(He said, “I leave the rest to you,” so that means I need to do my best!)

I was filled with a renewed determination to carry out my part to get Victor to rest.

Victor: You look like you’re raring to go today.

Kate: Well, it’s been so long since we were on a mission together.

My heart began to pick up, and my next words left me in a rush.

(But, none of it is a lie.)

Kate: Even if it’s just for a mission, I’m really happy we can spend time together like this.

Victor was always so busy. So even being able to do something simple like this was enough to lift my mood.

Victor: I hardly ever get the chance to leave London. So even if it is just a mission, I’m glad for the opportunity. Victor: The fact that it’s with you just makes it all the better.

Stopping in the street, Victor extended a hand towards me while bowing his head slightly in my direction.

Victor: Shall we make the most of this chance?

Victor smiled happily.

Victor: For the whole day, as much as possible, I’d like it if you didn’t let go of my hand.

Equally surprised and pleased by Victor’s words, I felt my mouth curving into a smile. My own hand reached out.

Kate: Gladly.

Our hands overlapped, palm to palm.

Victor: Let’s set off, my dearest robin.

[evermoreness]

moonlight and mending | remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: since it's your seventh year at hogwarts, you have to choose a path for a future job, and you chose to be a healer and help madam pomfrey. you just didn't know remus lupin was a regular patient.

obs: i am thinking about turning this into a series, if you want to, please let me know

masterlist

The hospital wing was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the tall windows. You were already up, sleeves rolled to your elbows as you organized a tray of healing potions. You had been helping Madam Pomfrey for a while now, and despite the occasional sleepless night, you loved every second of it.

This was where you belonged.

Every student at Hogwarts had to choose their paths on future jobs by the seventh year. Some would go with the professors to learn a specific path, like aurors or politics and others would go with Hagrid (if they had interest in magical creatures). It was fun.

You would not spend all your days at the hospital wing, since there were other students helping around Madam Pomfrey. But sometimes you would ignore this fact and just stay around for more hours than needed.

You had just finished restocking the dittany when Madam Pomfrey entered, her expression tight with concern.

“Another patient?” you asked, reaching for a clean cloth and a basin of warm water.

She nodded, already moving toward one of the empty beds. “Yes, and he’s in rough shape. A regular of mine, unfortunately.”

Before you could ask what she meant, the doors swung open, and Madam Pomfrey levitated a limp figure onto the bed.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Remus Lupin.

He looked terrible—his school robes were torn, his face pale and slick with sweat. Bruises and scratches covered his arms, and there was a deep gash along his collarbone, seeping blood onto the sheets. His hair was messier than usual, strands sticking to his forehead.

You had seen Remus around, always in the company of his friends, always with a soft smile and warm eyes. He was quieter than the other Marauders, more reserved. But this—this was a side of him you had never seen before.

“Will he be alright?” you asked, stepping closer.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “He always is.”

She glanced at you, her sharp eyes softening slightly. “I’ll leave you to clean his wounds. Be gentle with him.”

You nodded, rolling up your sleeves further as she walked away.

Gently, you dipped the cloth into the warm water and pressed it against a cut on his cheek, dabbing away the dried blood. He stirred, a soft groan escaping his lips.

“Remus?” you said gently. “Can you hear me?”

He let out a breathy sound before his amber eyes fluttered open. They were hazy with exhaustion, unfocused at first, but as he blinked, they found yours.

“You’re awake,” you said with a small smile, hoping to reassure him.

His brows furrowed slightly. “Where…?”

“The hospital wing,” you answered, still carefully cleaning the wound on his cheek. “Madam Pomfrey brought you in.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he huffed a weak chuckle. “Must be bad if I don’t even remember getting here.”

“You look like you got into a fight with a troll,” you teased lightly.

He smiled faintly. “Did I win?”

“Hard to say. The troll might be in better condition.”

That earned a soft laugh from him, though it ended in a wince.

“Stay still,” you scolded gently. “I need to clean these properly, and that won’t happen if you keep moving.”

“Alright,” he muttered with a small smile, but he did as you said.

You continued working in silence, carefully dabbing at the scratches along his arms. His body tensed slightly under your touch, but he didn’t complain.

Then, your gaze landed on the wound on his chest—a nasty gash running diagonally across his ribs, partially covered by his torn shirt. You hesitated before clearing your throat.

“Um… I need to get to the wound on your chest,” you said, a little hesitant. “Can you…?”

His tired eyes widened slightly as he realized what you meant. “Oh. Right.”

There was an awkward pause before he weakly reached for the buttons of his shirt, his fingers trembling slightly.

You quickly stopped him, your hands gently brushing his. “Here, let me.”

He stiffened under your touch but didn’t protest as you carefully undid the buttons of his bloodstained shirt. As you pushed the fabric aside, your breath hitched.

His torso was littered with scars, old and new, crisscrossing his skin like a map of past battles. The fresh wound along his ribs was deep, still oozing.

You swallowed hard, trying to push aside the questions burning in your mind. What had done this to him?

Instead of asking, you dipped the cloth in the warm water again and gently pressed it to the wound.

He hissed through his teeth.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “I know it stings.”

“It’s alright,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re gentler than Pomfrey, at least.”

You smiled softly. “She believes in tough love.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he muttered, his voice slightly strained.

Wanting to distract him, you asked, “So, what do you usually do when you’re not getting yourself nearly killed?”

His lips twitched. “Read, mostly.”

You knew that the best way to distract the patients was by talking to them, about anything, so they could think about something else besides the pain.

“I could’ve guessed that,” you said with a small laugh. “Any favorites?”

He relaxed slightly at the question. “I like Defense Against the Dark Arts. And anything to do with magical creatures.”

“Magical creatures, huh?” You carefully applied the healing salve to his wound. “You don’t seem like the type to go wrestling with a dragon.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No, definitely not. But I like learning about them.”

You smiled, tying off the last bandage. “Well, you’re all patched up. Try not to move too much.”

Remus let out a long breath, his eyelids growing heavy. “You’re… really kind,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Get some rest, Remus.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before they finally closed.

And as you sat beside him, watching over him as he slept, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to Remus Lupin—something hidden beneath the scars and the quiet smiles.

You just didn’t know what it was yet.

The morning was long.

You didn't have any classes this morning, despite still being Tuesday.

You figured it was best to stay by his side.

At least, until lunch, because after that you would have some charms classes.

You sat beside Remus, watching over him as the hours crept by, the hospital wing bathed in moonlight and quiet. His breathing was shallow, his forehead damp with sweat. A fever had settled in not long after he had fallen asleep, and you had spent the past few hours placing cool cloths on his forehead, ensuring he didn’t overheat.

Madam Pomfrey had come in once to check on him, nodded approvingly at your dedication, and left you to it.

You didn’t mind.

There was something about watching over him—something that made you feel… protective. Maybe it was the way he had looked at you before drifting off, like he wasn’t used to someone being this kind to him.

Or maybe it was just that he seemed to carry too much weight for someone so young.

You sighed, dipping the cloth in cool water again and pressing it lightly to his forehead. He shifted slightly in his sleep, brow furrowing, but he didn’t wake.

A soft murmur left his lips—too quiet for you to catch.

You leaned closer. “Remus?”

He didn’t respond, just turned his head slightly, a faint crease between his brows. His fingers twitched where they rested by his side.

“Nightmare?” you whispered, watching his expression.

You wanted to reach for his hand, to soothe him, but you hesitated. Instead, you gently ran your fingers through his damp hair, hoping the touch might calm whatever dream he was trapped in.

Slowly, his features relaxed again.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

And so, you sat there, watching over him, making sure he didn’t shift too much in his sleep or try to tear off the bandages in unconscious discomfort.

You kept taking care of the other students there, it was almost lunch time when your eyes glanced toward Remus—only to find his amber eyes already on you.

You came closer, staying by his side on the bed. “You’re awake.”

His lips curled slightly. “Yeah, unfortunately” His voice was rough with sleep.

You gave him a small smile. “How do you feel?”

He hesitated, as if he was actually assessing himself. “Like I got into a fight with a brick wall and lost.”

You smiled. “Well, you look better than some hours ago”

His brows lifted slightly. “Was I that bad?”

You gave him a look. “You had a fever, you were shifting in your sleep, and I had to stop you from undoing your own bandages twice.”

His eyes widened slightly. “I… did that?”

You nodded. “You don’t remember?”

“Not at all.” He looked both embarrassed and surprised. His gaze flickered toward the bowl of water and the pile of damp cloths beside it. “You stayed all morning?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s part of the job.”

He studied you for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Madam Pomfrey would’ve done it if it was just ‘part of the job.’ You chose to stay.”

You hesitated. “…I didn’t want you to be alone.”

His breath hitched slightly. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at you as if trying to figure out how to respond.

Then, softly, “Thank you.”

Your heart warmed. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” he said, holding your gaze. “No one’s ever… done that for me before.”

The weight of his words settled between you.

You frowned slightly. “What about James? Sirius?”

“They’re great,” he said immediately, but then he hesitated. “…They don’t see this part of me. I don’t let them.”

Something in his voice made your chest tighten.

Carefully, you reached out, brushing your fingers over the bandage on his arm. “You don’t have to hide when you’re hurt, especially not from me or what else i won't know how to help.”

His breath caught, and for a long moment, he just stared at you, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

Finally, he smiled—small, but real. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You returned the smile. “Good. Now, do you think you can eat something, or do I need to force-feed you porridge?”

He chuckled. “I’ll eat. If only to avoid that fate.”

You grinned. “I’ll go get you something.”

As you walked away, you could still feel his gaze on you.

Remus was still staring at the doorway where you had disappeared when you returned, carrying a breakfast tray in both hands.

“Alright, hospital food isn’t exactly a feast, but it’s warm, and you need it,” you said as you placed the tray on his bedside table.

Remus sat up a little, wincing as he adjusted his position. He looked down at the tray—porridge, toast, and a steaming cup of tea.

You noticed his hesitation and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re picky.”

He smirked faintly. “No, just… hospital food isn’t usually something to look forward to.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just try a little bit, alright?”

With an amused chuckle, he picked up the spoon and took a tentative bite of the porridge. It wasn’t terrible, which was the best compliment he could give it.

As he ate, you had already moved on, fussing over the other students in the ward.

“Drink more water, Gabe, you’ll feel better faster.”

“Maggie, you’re supposed to rest, not reread your Transfiguration notes.”

“Barty, don’t poke at your stitches, I swear to Merlin—”

Remus found himself watching you, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You were different.

It wasn’t just that you were kind—you loved this. He could see it in the way you moved, the way you spoke to everyone, the way you cared. It was like second nature to you, tending to people, making sure they were comfortable.

And yet… you were also a normal student. That much was obvious.

It hit him suddenly—he’d seen you around before. Not just in passing, but in the places he liked best. The library, tucked away in the quietest corners, flipping through thick medical textbooks and advanced Potions guides. The Astronomy Tower, where the view was the clearest. The courtyard, always with a book in your hands.

You weren’t just here. You were everywhere.

How did you balance it all?

Remus was still lost in thought when a hand appeared in front of his face.

He blinked and looked up.

You were standing there, a familiar-looking chocolate bar in your hand.

“Madam Pomfrey sent this,” you said with a smile. “She said it would help you feel better.”

Something warm settled in his chest.

He took the chocolate from you, running his fingers over the wrapper before glancing up at you. “She actually let you give it to me instead of forcing it on me herself?”

“She’s busy,” you said, shrugging. “But I think she knows I’d make you eat it either way.”

Remus chuckled, unwrapping the chocolate and breaking off a piece. As soon as it melted on his tongue, he sighed.

“Better?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Much,” he admitted.

You smiled in satisfaction before sitting on the edge of his bed. “So… I have a question.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice like you were sharing a secret. “How do you do it?”

Remus blinked. “Do what?”

“Everything,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I mean, you’re top of the class, always reading, and somehow, you still have time to get into whatever mischief your friends drag you into.”

Remus smirked. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious.”

He considered you for a moment before shrugging. “I guess… I don’t really think about it. I just do what I need to do.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

There was a comfortable silence between you.

Then, Remus glanced down at the chocolate in his hand. “You know… I’ve never had someone take care of me like this before.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Not even your friends?”

He hesitated. “They try. But I don’t let them.”

“Why not?”

His fingers tightened slightly around the wrapper. “Because… I don’t want them to worry.”

You frowned. “That’s a terrible reason.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Maybe.”

You would say something else, but some other patient called. You smiled before turning around and going around to help others.

Hours later, the hospital wing was quieter. Most of the students had left, and Remus, finally feeling somewhat human again, was sitting on the edge of his bed, stretching his sore limbs.

You stood in front of him, holding a neatly folded set of fresh Hogwarts robes.

“Well, you look better,” you observed. “Still a bit pale, though.”

“I’m always pale,” he said dryly, though he smirked.

“Fair point,” you said, handing him the uniform. “Come on, get changed. You can’t walk around looking like you just wrestled a hippogriff.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully. “Just change, Lupin.”

He chuckled but stood, wincing slightly as he moved. You turned around, giving him privacy as he carefully removed the old ripped uniform he was using from earlier, and pulled on his new uniform. His movements were slow, careful not to aggravate his still-healing injuries.

After a few moments, he let out a small sigh. “Alright. You can turn around.”

You turned, scanning him critically before nodding in approval. “Much better.”

“You sound like Madam Pomfrey,” he said, amused.

You gasped in mock horror. “Take that back!”

“Never.”

You huffed but smiled, grabbing your bag from the chair. You had already changed into your uniform earlier, ready to head to class. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

Remus blinked in surprise. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “But I want to.”

His lips parted slightly, but no argument came.

He liked your company.

So, instead of protesting, he simply nodded. “Alright then. Lead the way, healer”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname but walked beside him as you both left the hospital wing.

The corridors were bustling with students heading to their next classes. You and Remus walked side by side, keeping a comfortable pace.

“So,” you started, adjusting the strap of your bag, “what’s your favorite class?”

Remus hummed. “That’s an easy one—Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

You grinned. “I should’ve guessed. You do always get top marks in it.”

He shrugged. “It’s practical. Useful.”

“Okay, but what about for fun?” you asked, tilting your head. “Not just what’s useful—what do you enjoy?”

He hesitated, then said, “I like Charms.”

You brightened. “Me too! It’s so satisfying when you finally get a spell just right.”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding. “And you?”

“Besides Charms? I love Potions,” you said. “It’s precise, methodical… and it helps with Healing. I like that.”

Remus smiled. “That makes sense. You’re really good at it.”

You looked at him, surprised. “You noticed?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… yeah. I mean, you’re always top of the class, and I have seen you brewing in the library before.”

You chuckled. “Guilty. I like experimenting.”

“What’s the best potion you’ve made?”

You thought for a moment. “Probably a modified Wiggenweld Potion. I adjusted it to work faster without causing side effects.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s incredible.”

You shrugged, but his praise made you warm inside.

“What about books?” you asked. “I know you’re a reader.”

He smirked. “What gave it away?”

You laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I always see you in the library with your nose buried in a book?”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. I like anything about magical creatures, honestly.”

You nodded. “I can see that. You seem like the type to befriend a werewolf or something.”

Remus nearly tripped.

You didn’t notice, continuing, “I love medical books, obviously. But for fun? I like Muggle literature.”

He recovered quickly, forcing himself to focus. “Muggle literature?”

“Yeah,” you said, grinning. “There’s this Muggle author—Stephen King. Have you heard of him?”

Remus’s eyes lit up. “I have! The shining is brilliant.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’ve read it?”

He smirked. “I grew up in a half-Muggle household. My mum had loads of Muggle books.”

“Oh, I love that,” you said excitedly. “Okay, tell me—what do you think of Jack Torrance?”

Remus chuckled. “Misunderstood, the man was literally being controlled by evil spirits”

You gasped dramatically. “Correct answer. I knew I liked you, Lupin.”

Remus blinked, caught off guard, but you just laughed, nudging him playfully.

He laughed too, shaking his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this light.

Before he knew it, you had reached your classroom.

You stopped at the door, turning to face him. “Well, this is me.”

He nodded, suddenly wishing you had a further walk.

“Thanks for walking with me,” you said with a smile. “And take care of yourself, okay?”

Something about the way you said it made his chest tighten.

He nodded. “You too.”

With a final smile, you turned and disappeared into the classroom.

Remus stood there for a moment before shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

Then, with thoughts of you still swirling in his mind, he dragged himself to his own class, already looking forward to the next time he saw you.

Getting closer.

The days passed, and somehow, without either of you truly realizing it, you and Remus had begun to gravitate toward each other.

It wasn’t a conscious decision—at least, that’s what Remus told himself.

At first, it was small things.

You’d see each other in the library, sitting a few tables apart, until one of you would move closer—always under the excuse of needing a book the other was using.

You’d pass each other in the halls, exchanging small smiles, sometimes stopping for a brief chat about classes, assignments, or whatever book you were reading that week.

Remus, always more reserved, didn’t say much in the beginning. He would listen as you talked, and surprisingly, he never got tired of hearing you speak. You had this way of filling the silence without overwhelming it.

And what fascinated him the most?

You never got bored of him.

Most people—besides his closest friends—didn’t have the patience for his quiet nature, for his habit of getting lost in thought, for the way he preferred books over crowds. But you never seemed to mind.

If anything, you enjoyed talking to him.

And Remus liked listening to you.

Slowly but surely, Remus began seeking you out.

If he saw you in the Great Hall, he’d wave you over. If you passed each other in the corridors, he’d slow his steps so you could walk together. If he spotted you alone in the common room, he’d sit beside you, pulling out a book without a word.

And you? You found yourself looking for him, too.

One evening, you sat at your usual table in the library, a thick Potions book open in front of you. You were muttering ingredients under your breath, trying to memorize an antidote recipe, when a familiar figure slid into the seat across from you.

“You talk to your books a lot,” Remus observed, setting his own book down.

You looked up, smirking. “And yet, you still sit with me. What does that say about you?”

He chuckled. “That I’m patient?”

“Or that you secretly enjoy my rambling.”

He shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe.”

You grinned, flipping a page. “What are you reading?”

“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,” he said, holding up the book.

You raised an eyebrow. “Planning on running off to become a Magizoologist?”

“Not quite,” he said, amused. “I just like creatures.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “If you could be any magical creature, what would you be?”

He hesitated for a second. “A werewolf.”

You blinked, surprised. “A werewolf?”

He nodded slowly, studying your face. “Yeah. They’re misunderstood. People assume they’re just mindless monsters, but… they’re not.”

You frowned slightly, considering his words. “You’re right. They don’t choose to be that way.”

Remus swallowed hard, watching you carefully. “You don’t think they’re evil?”

You shook your head. “Of course not. I think… I think most of them are probably just scared. And lonely.”

Something in Remus’s chest ached. He had never heard anyone say that before.

“You’re… different,” he said softly.

You gave him a curious look. “Different how?”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You just… are.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “That’s a very vague answer, Lupin.”

He chuckled. “It’s the best you’re getting.”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“I’m sure you will.”

You eyed him suspiciously but let it go. “Well, I’d be a phoenix.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“They heal people,” you said simply. “And they always come back.”

He stared at you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, quietly, “That suits you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his voice.

For a brief second, neither of you spoke.

Then, he cleared his throat, turning his attention back to his book. “You were mumbling potion ingredients earlier. Studying for something?”

You exhaled, shaking off the strange warmth in your chest. “Yes. Madam Pomfrey’s quizzing me tomorrow, and I cannot mix up the bezoar antidotes again.”

Remus smirked. “Do you want me to test you?”

Your eyes lit up. “Would you?”

He nodded, and for the next hour, he quizzed you, throwing in the occasional joke just to make you laugh.

The Marauders.

Of course, being friends with Remus meant that you were friends with the Marauders now.

One evening, you sat cross-legged on the Gryffindor common room floor, surrounded by parchment and books. Remus sat beside you, his own notes scattered around. Across from you, James Potter and Sirius Black were sprawled on the couch, watching you both with lazy amusement. Peter Pettigrew sat on the armrest, nibbling on a biscuit.

“So, let me get this straight,” James said, stretching his arms behind his head. “You spend your free time—voluntarily, I might add—working in the hospital wing?”

You looked up from your parchment, raising an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“And you enjoy it?”

“Yes.”

James exchanged a look with Sirius, who smirked. “Merlin’s beard, Moony, you’ve found your twin.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Because enjoying something that requires effort is such a crime?”

“No, but we just assumed no one else was as much of a workaholic as you,” Sirius teased.

You snorted. “I love what I do, thank you very much.”

Peter perked up. “Does that mean you’re good at Potions?”

“She’s brilliant,” Remus answered before you could, flipping a page in his book.

Sirius grinned. “Oh, that’s good to know.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why?”

James leaned forward, an eager look in his eyes. “Because we need a potioneer for our next prank.”

You stared at him. “You want me to help you prank people?”

“Yes,” Sirius said smoothly, “because you’re cool.”

Remus made a sound like he was choking on his own breath. “Cool?”

James ignored him. “Think about it. You brew us something—nothing harmful, just a little mischief—and we execute it.”

You tilted your head, considering. “Would this be used on everyone or just specific people?”

“Filch,” Peter answered immediately. “And Snivellus.”

You hummed. “No harm, no permanent damage?”

James put a hand over his heart. “On my honor.”

You smirked. “I could make an odorless dye potion that only reacts to moonlight.”

Sirius gasped in delight. “That’s genius.”

“Imagine Snape walking around, thinking nothing’s wrong, and then—BAM—his face turns green under the full moon,” James cackled.

You smiled sweetly. “You’ll owe me chocolate.”

Sirius clapped his hands together. “Deal.”

Remus sighed, looking at you with an exasperated but amused expression. “You do realize you’re enabling them?”

“Oh, I know,” you said innocently. “But it’s fun.”

James grinned. “She’s one of us now, Moony.”

Remus looked at you, then at them, then sighed again, rubbing his temple. “Merlin help us all.”

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Weekend Ramblings

Thame·Po Episode 10

Yeah, I'm late but my brain was not working properly on friday, so, now works. Congrats on the sex! I love this friend group so much. This episode was a lot. First of all Baifern needs to go touch grass. I did appreciate that the show went there, all things considering, but she made me mad. And not that I needed more proof, but Po is a better person than me. Also I hate Pemika and this whole thing around idols and dating. It's insane, but obviously eventually the company will come around, cause glass houses and all that. The PepperGam noble idiocy thing was a bit whatever, although still heartbreaking, but I'm hoping this means that our mains won't follow in their footsteps. This show is as close to perfection as I have seen from gmmtv in a while, so let's not ruin it. The best part was definitely seeing the group supporting each other. The hand holding at the press conference had me all emotional. I'm giving up on screaming at Thame. I guess since they were technically already caught, he's not bothered. Not that he acted like he ever was. Thame and Po continue to be them. I just love how even through all this, they keep checking in on each other.

GelBoys Episode 2

Never has a show made me feel so ancient. Also this show is a massive reminder of how much I absolutely hated all that love drama in high school. I had zero patience for it. Obsessively rereading messages, overanalysing every word to find some hidden meaning, wondering, Does he actually like me? Honestly, I’m exhausted just thinking about it. And on top of that, I’m beyond grateful that I didn’t have to deal with any of it in the era of smartphones, social media, selfies, apps, and so on. So much angst. I guess playlists are the new mixtapes. It's certainly easier. I continue to really like the atmosphere, it feels very grounded. And although I like Fou4Mod, I adore Baabin, so I'm not a huge fan of the way Fou4Mod is using him to make Chian jealous. Like since he's his bestie, he could've at least been honest. I'm sure he'd be on board. And I know he's gotta learn this for himself but, Fou4Mod, sweetie, this is a terrible idea. You are going to be crying a lot on that train in the future. But, I mean, who hasn't done that before?

Perfect 10 Liners Episode 17

I got YothaGun and PondSand. What a joy! I really could watch Perth do anything but seeing him being the biggest love sick puppy is a special treat. Faifa seems to have a bit of a savior complex, which we kinda knew but it's pretty obvious now. I love characters that hide their pain behind a smile, and he's so kind on top of that, so of course I love him. I also liked that he noticed Wine's overall mood and checked in with him about boundaries. I'm hoping Wine can break some of his walls and perhaps teach him the word 'NO.' I'm thinking maybe we won't get a side couple this time because we have enough couples to check in with, in between FaifaWine stuff, but we'll see.

The Boy Next World Episode 7

First of all, it was great to see Thorn/Tong again, I keep forgetting this is part of the TharnType Universe. As I said last week, BossNouel can bring it in those scenes, but I still feel like I'm watching RainPhayu. Now Cir, you had to see this coming, no? I mean you only had like a million chances to come clean. I feel bad for Phu, but I gotta say, last week I thought he might have an inkling about this, but maybe not?Now…for that ending and the preview. So not multiple universes, but something else is going on. He's dissociating. I'm intrigued and worried if they will land this part of the story. It seems we'll be getting our beloved amnesia trope and I'm so excited about it. Honestly I was thinking maybe he doesn't really have amnesia and he's faking, but wouldn't that be a bit much, all things considered? I mean, they’re going to end up together, so I’d really love to not completely despise Cir by then. The second half of the episode was strange though, pace wise. It felt a bit disconnected, and rushed. Part of it might be intentional, given Phu's state of mind, but it still felt weird to me. The sides are kinda cute, although I must admit, Wim gets on my nerves a bit. That dude must end each day with a tension headache. Like seriously, he's so tense it makes me stressed. And also, why is he so annoyed by Jin?, cause like he listed a bunch of stuff but honestly I don't see it. Wim needs to forget about Cir for 5 seconds and focus on something else. This animosity feels a bit forced.

Sangmin Dinneaw Episode 8 [Finale]

I honestly don’t even know where to start. I’ve come to expect a certain level of whiplash from this show, but this was on an entirely different level. We went from child abuse and murder plot straight into that cucumber scene. I can’t even begin to imagine the thought process behind it. This was a roller-coaster, and not in a good way. That said, at least we finally got a storyline where a guy gets revenge on his abusive parents, so that wasn’t terrible. But the fact that the hotel dude didn't get run over is unfortunate. Now that it’s over, I genuinely don’t know what to say. The main couple was cute enough, and the sides were decent, but overall, this whole thing was a mess. Honestly, the ending was the only part that felt even remotely normal. And still I'm not sure about the amnesia. But who cares? Most of this makes no sense and I'm not gonna waste any more time trying to figure it out.

[odo-apologist]

I first saw this response yesterday morning but wanted to wait for when I could properly respond to it, and it has been on my mind ever since. There is something very reassuring about seeing multiple points I'm making in my thesis and details I'm pointing out be brought up in this post by someone who has actually watched the show (unfortunately my director/second reader have not seen it and I was starting to wonder if maybe I was going a little crazy), but it's also fascinating to see where our different theoretical lenses lead us to different points of interest.

I've only read a few pieces of Kristeva's work and have come across other theorists extrapolating from her ideas, though abjection was definitely a concept I considered using- perhaps may still use as I continue to plan out further chapters- not only for the Lows, with their more animalistic, mechanical, queered bodies accentuating the excesses found in the main characters which put the status of their personhood into question (though with Camille, I had not thought about until reading your post- very interesting to think more about that), but also for Rimmer in general, playing a bit with the idea of the corpse as abject. Hologram as disabled, queer body definitely comes into play. (I also do keep passing by Lacan without fully interacting with his texts; using Cathy Caruth for my past thesis on DS9 led to some other brief encounters with his ideas). Side note, apologies if not, but does Kristeva's mother/daughter writing include the concept of women as keepers of culture/history? I believe it was her work Jack Halberstam was discussing in one text on that familial dynamic, though I'm not sure and I do not currently have a copy of that piece with me. New thoughts about Kochanski emerging from that concept, and sone ways it is subverted with Lister...

More related to the topic of Ouroboros, I look at it in a chapter in which I connect the concepts I'm using- primarily from queer and disability theory, particularly how they deal with temporality- with the symbol of the loop (the other chapters which I still need to flesh out and write are centered around the line and the break/gap). The loop, differing from the line- the family line, the linear trajectory of normative ideals of success, "straightened," non-queer and non-crip time with clear past, present, and future which haunts the Red Dearf crew despite their lack of future- still enacts a normalizing effect.

Lee Edelman's work includes the concept of The Child as a symbol of heteronormative reproductive futurity; political and cultural discourse centers around this symbol as a negation, one which ignores literal (queer) children in favor of an imagined ideal. Lister, as "holding pattern" for humanity- a phrase which also intrigues me!- is not merely a child but The Child (just as he is the ultimate abandoned child, as you said); his real self is neglected and destined to suffer for the ideal which he signifies. He is caught in a self-destructive loop for the preservation of the species (for the good of the race), even as adult Lister throughout the show is consistently aligned with as well as finds solidarity with nonhuman beings. It is so striking to me that Ouroboros comes immediately after Stoke Me a Clipper. While Lister and Rimmer both fail at achieving capitalist, cisheteronormative standards of success through more traditional means, they find themselves caught in cycles out of the desire to still meet these standards, even as they restrict and endanger them: the creature eating its own tail, the ring of countless corpses of "Aces."

Lauren Berlant's concept of cruel optimism- attaching oneself to an object even as it impedes one- is how I look at Lister's attachment to Kochanski. As you point out, she is unreachable, in the way that a return to pre-accident normalcy remains unattainable, though I am not as well-versed in gnostic thought so my lens for viewing this dynamic is different. However, I do think that Red Dwarf is rife with the opportunity to use a more theological framework when examining it. Just briefly looking into the Demiurge, I agree that viewing Lister in that role would go so hard. I personally have some deranged thoughts about Lister, Rimmer and Kochanski and Christian mythology- especially with regards to Milton- but that is a post for another day.

Regarding Beckett, though I don't need to elaborate on the choice, I must ramble a moment about it. The titular character of Molloy is in an odd Oedipal-esque loop himself; she calls him "Dan," his father's name- and a letter off from "Da"/"Dad"- while he refers to her as "Ma(g)," and he takes her place in her room when she dies. Though I won't likely get to use that in my paper, as I was already working with a bit too much to include it without it seeming like too much if a non sequitur, I think Camus and the basic tenets of Absurd thought are still something to bring up with an exploration of themes in Red Dwarf (also, interesting that you mention the filtering of Absurd/Existential ideology into pop culture because initially wanted to focus on that myself, starting with the early depiction of those concepts in the avant-garde and theater, then move to their appearance in genre/sci-fi literature- Vonnegut, Douglas Adams, etc.- then end with Red Dwarf, showing that development in genre but in medium (though it is, in a way, a return; Beckett did film some of his plays for television)). And the observation about Kochanski's existence as a linguistic trick is great, really must think more on that.

And the Foucauldian reading of Red Dwarf would be so rich, I wholeheartedly agree; that would be its own thesis. The creation and (self-)policing of identities, the biopolitical aspects of some of the implications of the show's canon, heterotopia!! Ooh, his theories work so well here. Red Dwarf deserves to be looked at in the context of so many different theories it is astounding.

I'm so troubled by Lister continuing to pursue Kochanski after learning she's his biological mother. That genuinely bothers me.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

they licensed his ass

my finished piece of the FWMS (official name definitely 100%) thing we started a few days ago! I had fun I hope folks had and/or continue to have fun with the sketch as well.

[crystalpallette]

little red riding hood but there's no hood and the big bad wolf is a cat and I don't think there's anything to ride in the forest and ringo could be littler so really it's just. red.

[ganondoodle]

so ... that stupid totk masterworks book has been out for a while hasnt it?

does anyone know if its possible to find a version somewhere you dont have to pay for? (especially the german version) so i can avoid that at all costs of course, i definitely totally plan to spend money on it

[hassianlovebot]

sorry i haven't posted much lately! tbh i've been feeling kind of burnt out and massively unmotivated with palia. don't get me wrong, i still really love the game (especially the characters and the worldbuilding) and i have tried to log in and play but tbh the game itself just isn't keeping my attention rn.

i don't blame the devs at all since i know they're going Through It rn what with the massive layoffs, california fires, and losing money. that being said, the little story progression, constant game breaking bugs every update, and Way too high prices for things,,, it got to me. it sucks because i do really love this game and i Want to devote more time to it but i've lost the motivation to do that.

i'm hoping that i'll gain at least some of it back with the elderwoods update but i also can't help but feel some trepidation at the thought of the release getting pushed back and what kind of bugs will inevitably come with it.

anyway, ik i don't have to explain myself or anything, but i just wanted to let you guys know i guess? i Do still love the game and i anticipate future updates (and hopefully getting sucked back into it) but for now, i'm not devoting a lot of time to it. i'm thinking of doing some art for the characters just so i don't lose interest completely but the game itself is taking a massive backseat :/

[diurnalcritters]

Day 449

[encrucijada]

i think it really is time to accept i have creative burnout.

[egg-emperor]

I think I'm gonna turn a long time precious concept of mine of going on a late night date with Eggman at his Interstellar Park and him telling me about all the beautiful dangerous and brutal things he's created there in great passionate detail and having silly fun there together 💜

[monsterbroth]

i woke up early today and am way too energised my brain is like spilling in circles but I still have not the right energy to be coherent or focus on actually doing anything with it

[seeminglyseph]

somehow seeing that post about people selling fanfic made my brain do the paranoia tango, I know it's like... the ultimate self indulgence because it's all old and like... moderately successful for its niche circles of interest. And also I have literally not written anything in like... years.

But I've never posted any of my writing on any of those for profit sites like kindle unlimited or... any of the other self-published sites you can make an income off of. I have my fics posted on AO3, and maybe random brainstorming posts here and like... those are the official places you should find like. "The Kids Aren't Alright" and I guess I had some Dragon Age stuff I fully abandoned because I ran out of inspiration. but TKAA is such a like. "Let's do a High School AU of some late stage villains and some side characters that basically become OCs since they were basically just some cool character designs in a completely different show in a different genre so the translation from space marine/mercenary to high school delinquent is so drastic and dramatic that unless you know to look you will not know the characters are based on each other"

So I have toyed with returning to the idea and refining it to like... a better polished finished story that probably wouldn't resemble the rough 'seat of my pants' fic I originally wrote. but also like. Someone could just barely need to replace the names in that bitch and have a stolen fic that people might not even fully be able to guess the source of the fic to publish as a novel. It's extreme vanity to assume someone would want to but like. I would really have no way of knowing. So it has not been me. I have not done that.