#like it’s reasonable to table there too

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Men at Work!

Just a note, I know I mix phonetic and Cyrillic spellings of Russian in this. Mostly it's so that people can easily translate the more complex words directly.

Content: Masturbation, very mild protective/possessive behavior

It’s becoming a problem.

You think this from the overstuffed daybed recently purchased for the explicit purpose of feeding into aforementioned problem. Not that the porch is the problem, heavens no. If so much as a nail came loose, there’s a trio of men across the street all too eager to lend their hammers and bulging, glistening muscles to fix it.

Which, conveniently, is the problem.

Their muscles, that is. And how magnanimous they are with them.

Your house is nice. New. It took them three days to fix all the issues you’d been putting off for a day you were non-reclusive enough to schedule a handyman.

Your house is too nice and too new.

You’re feeding a Vegas buffet’s worth of appetites raised on old world sensibilities with no outlet for them to be expressed. There aren’t enough squeaky hinges, crooked cabinets, stuck windows, or leaky faucets in your two-bedroom for all that… chivalry. (Or whatever Krueger has that passes for chivalry’s surly cousin.)

They’ve taken to invading earlier in the evening for busy work before dinner. Cutting vegetables, tenderizing meat, cleaning dishes, setting the goddamn table.

Like, sirs, you’re a single woman with three cats and a sham of a personal life – the last time you saw a centerpiece on a domestic dining table was Christmas at your nana’s.

Until Konig shuffled in with a fistful of sunflowers and zinnias, promising that he double-checked that they’re non-toxic to cats. You didn’t have a vase, so you had to make do with an empty mason jar you were keeping for ostensible aesthetic reasons.

Now you’ve got an ongoing bouquet, kitschy salt-and-pepper shakers shaped like lemons that no one ever uses (as if your seasoning decisions are as good as god) and are contemplating cloth napkins like some kind of… of…

“Socialite?” you muse aloud. You glance at Rasputin. He blinks slowly. “Hostess? Woman of the night?”

You’re pretty sure Agatha didn’t mean that as a compliment when you overheard her gossiping to Margot yesterday. (She should really remember that if she can eavesdrop on you from her backyard, the same is true the other way around.)

You’re toying with an idea for a new series with your last one wrapping up and your solo-novel due for release come fall. Something about a rich young woman with a wild streak and her fantastically wealthy gentlemen callers…

“Scarlet woman,” you murmur aloud, eyes on the reason for your recent porch décor purchase.

Krueger is on the roof, cloth around his head to stave off the summer heat. Doing… something with shingles and a nail gun. Your face flushes with each flex of hard muscle, jump of thick tendons. The grip he has on that thing…

As inspiring as your neighbors are, they are also a huge (in many, many ways) distraction. Hence, they are a Problem.

And not just for you. On your right, you catch the flutter of curtains from your peripheral. Lisa taking another peek – to be properly scandalized, probably. (You’re not really sure what the neighborhood biddies tell themselves when they decide something is Simply Not Proper.)

“We’ll have to start charging admission,” you muse, sipping a strawberry mojito.

Curled up far too close for the weather, Little Guy chuffs and stretches. You smooth a fingertip up his little nose, between his eyes, and over the crest of his empty head.

“Jezebel,” you mumble. He yawns, tongue curling and pearly fangs gleaming. “Trollop.”

An annoyed grunt pulls your eyes forward again. Nikto is standing halfway up the porch, one foot planted on the last step like a sexy Russian Captain Morgan. His thighs stretch his workpants oh-so-nicely. There’s a smear of white paste across the material – caulking, maybe?

(You could do with a caulking too.)

“Has someone called you these?” he asks. “Who?”

You laugh. What would he even do if someone had?

“No – well, not to my face, anyway.”

He snorts, shoots a withering scowl at Agatha’s property anyway. You spin your pen around your fingers and try not to bite your lip at the way his shirt is clinging from sweat.

“Aren’t you hot?” you fuss. “You’re going to pass out.”

“Nyet, we have been in worse,” he replies, finishing the short journey up the porch. He pauses in front of you, taking in the sight of you and your cats. What does he think, seeing you lounging about all day while he and his friends(?) are working so hard? If it’s something negative, he’s never let on.

“Still,” you insist, “have you been hydrating?”

“Da, the water runs.”

You blink, put together pieces to assume he and the others are chugging tap water (probably right from the faucet) when necessary. Well, that just won’t do now, will it?

“No, no. Hold on. Rasputin, hold him hostage.”

And like the little angel he is, Ras gets up, stretches out, and begins rubbing his face all over Nikto’s pants. With him distracted, you hop to your feet and scurry inside. The house is almost uncomfortably cool after most of your morning spent outside, but you’ll only be a moment.

There’s a large ruby pitcher waiting in the fridge from last night, complete with various berries floating at the top. You use two hands to heft it out, set it on the counter, then flit to your cabinets for the travel cups you invested in for on-the-go wine sipping. Nice and insulated.

You pour a cup for each of them, stow the pitcher away again, and carry all three in triangle-formation back outside. (Maybe you should get a tray? The antique store in town probably has something pretty and lemon-themed to match the salt and pepper shakers…)

Nikto hurries to help as soon as he sees you, plucking the extra cup from your hands.

“I saw this recipe and wanted to try it since it’s been getting hotter.”

He blinks at you, then the juice.

“You don’t have to try it now, I just thought—”

Your voice abandons you as Nikto tugs his filtration mask down. The skin beneath is warped and scarred, discolored in some places. When he raises the edge of the cup to his mouth, the skin of one cheek stretches distressingly thin. You can see the individual indents of his back molars pressing against the flesh as he drinks.

You understand why he’s been hesitant to show you; it’s not easy to look at. Which makes you all the more determined to flick your eyes back to his and ask, eagerly, “What do you think? Too sweet?”

As he swallows, throat clicking, you think you hear him grunt something.

“Hm?”

“Nyet. Not too sweet. Is good, пчела.”

You grin even though you’re not sure what it means. All three of them have some nickname in their mother tongue that you can only hope is complimentary and not because they forgot your actual name.

“Good, then I can bring some to K and K while you help me with lunch. That’s why you came by, right?”

He nods. “Nearly noon.”

“That late already!” you say. Wow, staring at hot, sweaty men really makes time fly. “Alright, I was going to make chicken wraps and latkes. Could you start peeling potatoes? You know where everything is, da?”

“Da.” He clicks his tongue, luring Rasputin in and stirring Guy awake. “Come, малышу, before we leave you out here for vultures.”

“Nikto!” you scold. “Don’t threaten him.”

“I do not threaten. It is what will happen.”

You swat at his arm, but at least Little Guy has been lured into Nikto’s reach – if by nothing else than a hand has been offered and cats are helpless to resist a good sniff. Nikto scoops him up while you turn to flounce down the stairs.

“Make sure Susan doesn’t get out!” you call over your shoulder.

She was roused by your quick turnaround to get the juice cups and will certainly be stalking the door now.

Sure enough, you faintly hear him cursing in Russian as you reach the end of the yard. Luckily, you see him closing the door with all three of your demons inside, so you continue across the street.

Krueger hasn’t noticed your approach, his back to you, so you stop at the edge of the property to watch for a moment. Yep, just as good this close, too.

“Krueger!” you call. He doesn’t turn. You huff and try again. Nothing. Christ, you’re starting to think he’s ignoring you on purpose. “Sebastian!”

His head whips around alarmingly fast and finds you right there on the ground. No need to look around at all – sometimes they remind you of their profession in the oddest ways.

“Ja, ja, no need to shout,” he replies.

You open your mouth to do just that, but he’s already scaling down from the roof. You’re stunned into silence as he slides down to the edge of the roof, catches the edge, and swings down to the ground. Lands with barely more noise than one of your footsteps. It’s quick yet so graceful.

You stare (gawk, more accurately) as he saunters up, pants sinfully low on his narrow hips.

“What did you need, bienchen?” he asks. “It is too early for lunch.”

You stutter for a second before your brain reboots.

“What was that?!” you demand, a little shriller than necessary. If you don’t shriek about this, you’re going to shriek about that gorgeous chest and the tattoos and the everything else, and you absolutely cannot do that. “That was so dangerous! You’re going to break a leg!”

“You worry,” he scoffs. He shakes his head, but there’s a wicked, knowing grin at the corners of his mouth and his eyes are far too bright. “That was a little jump.”

“It was not!”

“It only seemed big because you are so little, but it was nothing for me.”

“You’re not that much taller!”

“It is sweet to worry,” he coos, “but it is too hot for it, yes?”

You scrunch your nose at him, not sure if you’re annoyed or turned on or both. (Probably both. It’s annoying how hot he is. And how hot he knows he is.)

“If it’s so hot, then here.”

You all but shove the cup at him. He takes it with a flicker of genuine surprise, sniffs at the liquid, then takes a sip. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest, raises the temperature another few degrees.

“My mother used to make something like this,” he muses, expression softening. You blink, lean in automatically for a peck to your cheek. “Danke schön.”

“Bitte,” you mumble, mouth drier than Reggie’s garden.

His eyes crinkle, mouth hidden by the edge of the cup as he proceeds to chug the rest of it. A droplet slips down his jaw and skips down to his collarbone. You force your eyes away before you’re driven to do something irreparable by thirst.

“Is Konig inside?” you ask. “I have a cup for him, too.”

He grunts confirmation, tongue curling around a blueberry to coax it into his mouth.

Yep, alright, that’s about as much as you can take.

“Scooch, before the punch goes warm.”

“Punch?” he repeats, arching an eyebrow at you.

“That’s what it’s called in English. Punch.”

“That seems like it would cause misunderstanding.” Except he’s grinning as he says it, like he cherishes the idea of someone confusing the two words and starting a fight. Considering how often you catch him and Konig smacking at each other, that’s probably not a stretch.

“Just please don’t swing on anyone, yeah?”

“Only because you ask so nicely,” he croons.

You click your tongue at him. “Wipe off before going in, I don’t want Shithead to stink after crawling on you.”

He barks out his usual sharp laugh and tugs the cloth – his own t-shirt – off his head to mop up his sweat. You make a mental note to tease him about sunburn later as you slip past him.

You can hear Konig singing off-key upstairs when you open the door. The house is sweltering, only mildly cooler than outside with none of the fresh air. You grimace as you pause at the bottom of the stairs; the boys have warned you that it’s dangerous up there and it’s best not to go wandering.

Thankfully, it doesn’t sound like he’s using power tools at the moment.

“Konig!” you call.

“Is that you, biene?” he calls back.

You grin. “Who else would it be, huh?”

You hear his footsteps right over your head, track his gait until the first heavy boot on the stairs. He meets you at the bottom with his usual ventilator on, but he tugs it down when he sees the cup in your hand.

“Is this for me?” he asks eagerly.

“Yep! Tell me what you think!”

With none of Nikto or Kreuger’s hesitation, he knocks back a big mouthful. Licks his full lips as he lowers it, eyes bright as they land on yours.

“This is perfect,” he chirps, “so refreshing! Thank you, biene!”

You beam right back, flushed with pride that all three of them liked the recipe you “happened to find” when you saw the temperature projections for today.

“There’s more back home,” you offer, “come out of the heat.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckles. “I will wipe off first.”

You hum agreeably, watching him slip back upstairs with great enthusiasm. Konig in a tank top and those tight cargos… summer really is delivering this year.

That evening, you sigh as you recline across your huge bed, naked and cooling off with the night breeze rolling through your window. Ras and Shithead are happily distracted wrestling each other in your forgotten towel, and Little Guy is snoozing on his personal pillow.

You stretch out, feeling a bit decadent and indulgent with moonlight spilling over your body, and let your hands wander. It’s not the high-efficiency sleep-oriented wank you usually rush through, not this time.

You unspool memories of the day with each brush of your fingertips over moisturized skin. You hum as your skin tingles, imagining Konig’s calloused palms in place of yours. He’d be so surprisingly gentle, you’re sure. Big, strong hands but he’d play with you like a precious toy. Plucking your nipples and scratching his blunt nails over the plush of your hips.

As your breathing picks up, you see Krueger’s broad shoulders flexing behind your eyelids. Imagine them bullying between your thighs, hooking your knees over. That bright glint in his eye as he smirks against your cunt. Can practically feel the curl of his tongue around your clit, eating you out messy and mean.

You’re already halfway there when you curl two fingers into your pussy. You’re so wet that your fingers slip and slide, squelch lewdly as you rock your hips, trying to find just the right angle.

You imagine Nikto clicking his tongue at your struggle. Almost hear his low, hoarse voice chiding you for doing his job while he takes over. His fingers are so much thicker than yours, you have to press a third in just to maintain the fantasy.

You want to lean back against his broad chest while he strokes your walls, listen to him and Krueger and Konig talk about you like you’re not even there, debating if you should come. Ignore you as you beg and whimper, big hands pinning you down while they draw it out.

Please, please, please…

You clap a hand over your mouth just in time, hips jerking so hard that it makes your wrist ache.

Whoops.

Well, you doubt anyone heard. It’s pretty late, and you’re on the second story anyway.

Already sleepy, you’re too lazy to close the window after a pre-bed stop in the restroom. It’s such a nice night, after all.

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

[thedensworld]

Marry A Rich Man | J. Ww

Genre: suggestive, angst, fwb au!, smut

Summary: every parent wanted their daughter to marry a rich man, Jeon Wonwoo. However, you are a rich man.

gif from @meowonhao (he's so fine i just physically and mentally can't (/□＼*))

No warn, just read and find it by yourself:)

You rolled your eyes at the mention of Jeon Wonwoo from Jeon Enterprise. His reputation as a notorious womanizer and all-around arrogant businessman was well known, and the thought of meeting him didn’t exactly excite you. So when your mother brought up the idea, you could hardly hide your disinterest.

“But it’s time for you to start thinking about marriage, Y/N. Don’t you know your younger sister has already been proposed to by her boyfriend?” she pressed, her tone a mix of encouragement and frustration.

“Good for her,” you mumbled with a shrug, not even bothering to meet her eyes.

“At least pretend you're interested. Wonwoo is quite the catch these days among the socialites,” your mother added with a resigned sigh, as if she was pleading more for her own sake than yours.

You stood up from the dinner table, glancing at your watch with a practiced smile. "I’m sorry, but I’ve got to run. There’s a business gathering I need to attend," you said, eager to make your exit.

Your father, who had been mostlydj silent, raised an eyebrow. “A business gathering? Will your friend Wonwoo be there? Say hello to him for me.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. "Father, you too?" you asked, feeling cornered.

He shrugged, a faint smile on his lips. “Just say hi. That’s all I’m asking. For me.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, shaking your head. “Fine. I’ll say hi.” The words came out reluctantly, but a small part of you wondered just what kind of person this infamous Jeon Wonwoo really was.

And here you were, sitting on a plush couch at a party teeming with young businessmen, most of whom had inherited their wealth rather than earned it. You sat alone at a table near where Jeon Wonwoo and his circle of friends lounged, their laughter loud and effortless. You had been invited by Kim Mingyu, the heir to Kim’s Group and the host of tonight’s extravagant affair. Mingyu and Wonwoo had been best friends since high school, along with familiar names like Seokmin and Junhui, who were part of their elite clique.

Jihoon, the doctor and heir to Seoul University Hospital, sat on a couch nearby with a can of Coke in hand, looking out of place among the champagne glasses and whiskey tumblers. “Too many people. My head hurts,” he muttered to you, rubbing his temple.

You chuckled softly. “That’s Mingyu for you. His social connections are endless. I wasn’t even surprised when I saw popular idols mingling here tonight.”

Jihoon nodded in agreement. “He’s a social butterfly. Sometimes I regret being friends with him,” he said with a wry smile, earning a genuine laugh from you. Jihoon had been your classmate in senior high school, and his deadpan humor was something you’d always appreciated.

Just then, Jihoon raised his hand, waving at someone behind you. You turned, and there he was—Jeon Wonwoo, making his way over, leaving Mingyu and the others behind at their table. He looked just as you had expected—sharp and composed, with an air of casual confidence.

“Can’t handle Mingyu?” Jihoon asked with a teasing grin as Wonwoo grabbed a glass of whiskey before settling into the couch across from you.

“Too much energy,” Wonwoo sighed, shaking his head, but his eyes quickly found yours.

“Nice to see you at a casual event for a change,” he said, his tone smooth, as if he were commenting on something extraordinary. You cursed internally, wishing Mingyu wasn’t your cousin and the reason you had to be here.

Jihoon chuckled. “Right? Y/N must be the hardest-working woman in this room. Always too busy building empires.” He leaned back, glancing at you with a teasing glint. “I saw your new building in Singapore last week, by the way. It looked incredible.”

You raised an eyebrow at both of them. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you asked, feigning offense, though their words had hit a nerve. Sure, you loved your work, but being painted as some workaholic who never had fun wasn’t exactly flattering.

Wonwoo smirked, swirling his whiskey. “It is. Not many people can pull off what you do. I’d say that’s impressive.”

Jihoon nodded, “Agreed. But don’t work too hard, Y/N. Some of us still need you to show up to these parties once in a while.”

You let out a soft laugh, but deep down, their remarks lingered. You were here, weren’t you? Yet somehow, you still felt worlds apart from them.

Jihoon glanced at his phone before letting out a soft sigh. "I should go. My shift starts in half an hour. It was nice seeing both of you here," he said, standing up and stretching slightly. Before leaving, he made a beeline for Mingyu to bid him goodbye.

As Jihoon walked away, Wonwoo turned to you, noticing your subtle discomfort. "Not a fan of parties?" he asked, his voice casual but his eyes sharp, clearly aware of your unease.

You cocked your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "Are you?"

Wonwoo shrugged with a mischievous grin. "I wouldn’t say I am, but Mingyu taught me a lot about how to survive them." He chuckled, the sound deep and warm, leaning a little closer as if sharing a secret.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but amused by his charm. "I see. The student surpasses the master, perhaps?"

He smirked, eyes glinting with playful interest. "Only in certain things," he said, the subtle flirtation unmistakable in his tone. He let the moment linger, his gaze never leaving yours.

You held his stare, calm and unfazed. "Lucky you, then."

Wonwoo chuckled again, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Why don’t we step outside for a bit?" he suggested, leaning in just enough to make it feel intimate. "I know a nice spot nearby. Somewhere quieter."

Intrigued, you glanced at the bustling party around you and nodded. "Lead the way."

He stood up and offered you his arm, which you took with a composed smile. Wonwoo led you out of the party and into the crisp night air. After walking a few blocks through the city’s lively streets, he guided you to an old, tucked-away bookstore. The warm glow from inside spilled onto the sidewalk, and an elderly man at the counter looked up as you entered, his face lighting up in recognition.

"Wonwoo!" the old man greeted with a smile. "Back again?"

Wonwoo nodded, grinning. "Couldn’t stay away for too long, Mr. Han."

The old man gave you a kind look, then returned to his book, leaving you and Wonwoo to browse. "Didn’t think you'd be the type to bring someone here," Mr. Han commented lightly.

Wonwoo chuckled, glancing at you. "Sometimes you just meet the right person."

You let out a soft laugh, strolling through the rows of worn books. "A bookstore at this hour? Unexpected," you remarked, impressed but keeping your composure.

Wonwoo shrugged, his voice low and smooth. "I thought you'd appreciate something different."

He wasn’t wrong. As you wandered through the cozy aisles, the noise of the outside world faded away, and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional shared glance.

As the clock struck midnight, Mr. Han locked up the bookstore and waved his goodbyes, leaving you and Wonwoo sitting on the bench just outside. The city had quieted down, and the soft glow of streetlights cast a warm, intimate ambiance around you. You had been talking for hours, the conversation flowing effortlessly as Wonwoo, intrigued by the way you thought, kept throwing different topics your way. Each one seemed to reveal a different layer of you, and he couldn't help but be fascinated.

At one point, the topic turned to wealth and power. You leaned back on the bench, crossing your arms. "When you give a rich man a little power, he thinks he rules the world," you stated, your tone casual but sharp. You had just finished explaining how much you despised the typical behavior of wealthy men—playboys who worked hard only to shower their side chicks with luxury.

Wonwoo paused for a moment, considering your words. Then, with a slight smirk, he responded, "I do feel like I rule the world." His voice was smooth, confident. "But I don’t act the way you think."

You chuckled, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Liar. You’re quite famous for your playboy reputation, Mr. Jeon. You’ve got a habit of having everything—including any woman you want."

Wonwoo was momentarily caught off guard by the nickname, but he quickly composed himself, flashing a teasing smile. "Playboy agenda? That’s news to me."

"But you can’t deny you have everything," you pointed out, tilting your head slightly as you studied him.

He didn’t even hesitate. "You’re right. I do have everything." His tone was laced with confidence, almost as if he was testing you, waiting to see how you would respond.

You narrowed your eyes, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Rich men like you think they own the world, when in reality, they don’t."

Wonwoo let out a genuine laugh, leaning in slightly as if to further draw you into the moment. "Alright then, tell me. What don’t I own?" His voice had dropped lower, almost daring you to challenge him.

You shrugged nonchalantly, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Me. You don’t own me."

The air between you shifted, the playful banter charged with a subtle tension. Wonwoo's eyes lingered on yours, his smirk softening as he took in your words. "Yet," he said, his voice teasing but with an edge of something deeper, something bolder.

*

"You didn’t say my hello to Wonwoo," your father remarked casually as you entered his office the next morning.

You paused mid-step, organizing the files in your hands before glancing over at him. "How do you know?"

Your father sat on the main sofa, picking up one of the files you brought for him to review. "I ran into him yesterday. I asked about you, and he mentioned you didn't pass along my greeting." He looked at you with a knowing smile.

You rolled your eyes lightly, pushing the file toward him, trying to keep your expression neutral. "And what else did he say?"

Your father raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your sudden curiosity. "Why? Did something happen between you two?"

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, but you quickly masked it, waving your hand dismissively. "No, I was just worried he might’ve said something bad. You know me—I’m not exactly known for being polite."

Your father chuckled, seemingly buying your excuse. "True. You’ve always been a bit like a debt collector in business—firm and straightforward. But it works for you. That said, Wonwoo did mention he’d like to see you again."

You nodded slowly, muttering under your breath, "I bet."

"What was that?" your father asked, but you waved it off, diverting the conversation back to the files. You weren’t going to entertain this topic any further, not now.

Later that day, as you continued working, your phone buzzed with a message from Mingyu.

Mingyu: Wonwoo asked for your personal contact. What did I miss?

You stared at the message for a moment, shaking your head in disbelief. The last thing you wanted was to discuss Wonwoo, especially after everything that had happened the night before.

Still, you went about your day as if nothing had changed. You ignored your father’s comments, brushed off Mingyu’s text, and mentally dodged every thought of Jeon Wonwoo. But then, as you drove home, your mother called. Of course, the conversation somehow found its way back to him. Jeon Wonwoo—this man you’d only met at Mingyu’s birthday, yet who seemed to be lingering in everyone’s thoughts.

You sighed as you politely listened to your mother, her voice bubbling with excitement as if Wonwoo were the best thing that had ever happened. Little did she know you had spent the night with him, and now you were trying to figure out what it all meant.

The next morning, you arrived at your office, only to be greeted by an overwhelming sight—buckets of flowers surrounding your desk. You stood there, arms crossed, brows furrowed. The overwhelming scent filled the room, making the normally neat and orderly space feel chaotic.

"Someone’s been sending these non-stop since early this morning," your assistant said, standing beside you. "I don’t think they’ll stop unless you tell them to."

You picked up one of the cards attached to a bouquet, reading the note: I don’t appreciate the way we parted. Let’s meet again and clear up any misunderstandings.

Your eyes narrowed, already knowing who the sender was. You walked briskly to your computer and began typing an email to the flower sender—Jeon Wonwoo himself. You kept the tone professional, telling him to stop flooding your office with flowers and that, perhaps, you could meet again to "clear things up."

You hit send, sitting back in your chair with a sigh. Part of you wondered if you’d regret agreeing to meet him again, but another part—the curious part—was already anticipating it.

*

Wonwoo waited in the hotel room, his thoughts racing as he paced around. The same room. The same place where everything had begun on Mingyu's birthday night, when you had opened up to him—at least he thought you had. But the next morning, you were gone, leaving behind only a note and a sting to his pride.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He didn't recognize himself lately. Since meeting you, he'd felt... off. Needy, even. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to wanting someone so much that it clouded his mind.

He remembered the note you left: It was nice. You’re experienced in this area. Along with it, you’d left some cash, as if he were some service you had paid for. That stung his ego more than he cared to admit. He should’ve been furious, but instead, all he could think about was craving you again—your skin against his, your presence.

The sound of the door opening snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned, watching as you casually entered the room. You kicked off your heels without care, tossed your expensive bag onto the couch, and sat down across from him with an air of confidence that was unmistakable.

"You’re late. Thirty minutes," Wonwoo said, his eyes following your every move.

You didn’t even bother with pleasantries. Instead, you massaged your leg, looking at him with a tired yet unfazed expression. "As if you had anything better to do after this," you replied, hitting on the fact that he had canceled all his plans for the evening the moment he received your email this morning.

He didn’t deny it. He had dropped everything, cleared his schedule, just to see you. Maybe to talk, maybe more. He wasn’t hoping for anything to happen tonight, but if it did... well, he wouldn't be complaining.

"So," you said, leaning back into the couch, confidence radiating from you. "What exactly do you want to clear up between us?"

Wonwoo mirrored your posture, uncrossing his legs as he leaned forward. "I don't appreciate you framing me as some playboy," he said, his voice calm but firm. He wasn’t used to being talked about like that, especially not by someone who clearly affected him more than he’d like to admit.

You raised an eyebrow, unbothered by his accusation. "You’re not?" you asked, your tone teasing, as if daring him to deny it.

"I’m a very noble person," he replied, almost defensively. "I don’t mess around with lots of women, if that’s what you were implying."

You chuckled, the sound light and dismissive. "And that bothers you?"

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, it silenced Wonwoo. Did it bother him? It shouldn’t. But coming from you, it did. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because, deep down, he didn’t want you to see him that way.

"It shouldn’t," he admitted after a beat, his gaze locking onto yours. "But with you, it does."

Your expression softened, just for a second, before you smirked. "Interesting." You leaned forward slightly, meeting his gaze head-on. "So, what are you going to do about it, Mr. Jeon?"

Wonwoo felt his pulse quicken, but he kept his composure. He didn’t know how this conversation would end, but he knew one thing: you had him wrapped around your finger, and you probably knew it too.

Wonwoo didn’t respond right away. It did bother him, more than it should. And he wasn’t sure why. Normally, he wouldn’t care what someone thought of him—especially not someone who seemed so determined to keep their distance. But with you, it was different. He didn’t like the way you saw him, the way you assumed he was just another rich man playing games.

But it wasn’t just that. You challenged him in a way that no one else had. You made him feel things he wasn’t used to feeling, and as much as he hated it, he couldn’t ignore it.

Wonwoo leaned forward, his gaze intense as he closed the distance between you. "I think you like pretending you’re the one in control," he said, his voice low and suggestive. "But I don’t think you mind letting me show you otherwise."

He watched you closely, waiting for a reaction. There was a flicker of something in your eyes—curiosity, maybe even desire—but you masked it quickly, crossing your legs slowly, as if to test his patience.

"Bold assumption, Mr. Jeon," you said, your tone light but your eyes never leaving his. "But I don’t hand over control easily."

Wonwoo’s lips curved into a smile, dark and full of intent. "Who said anything about easy?" He let his hand drift to your knee, his touch deliberate and slow, testing the waters. "I’m just suggesting we explore this... dynamic a little further. See where it takes us."

He moved closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as his breath brushed your ear. "Unless, of course, you’re afraid you might like what you find."

The tension between you thickened, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Wonwoo could feel his pulse quicken, the anticipation coiling inside him like a spring ready to snap. You were playing it cool, but he could tell you were thinking it over. There was something between you that neither of you could deny.

Finally, you leaned back into the couch, crossing your arms with that same infuriating confidence. "You seem so sure of yourself," you mused, your voice teasing. "But I don’t think you know what you’re getting into."

Wonwoo let out a soft chuckle, his hand sliding a little higher up your thigh, the touch now more intimate, more daring. "Then show me," he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

The tension between you was electric now, the pull irresistible. He had no intention of walking away from this without exploring whatever it was that had ignited between you since that first night.

And from the way your gaze darkened as you leaned in slightly, he knew you felt the same.

*

Wonwoo’s arms tightened gently around your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck as he whispered, "Stay..." You hesitated for a moment, your mind already on the exit, but the pull of his touch made you pause. There was something about his embrace that felt too inviting, too comfortable to resist.

The familiar warmth of his body pressed against yours, and without thinking, you leaned back into him. His fingers traced lazy circles on your skin, a slow and deliberate motion that sent a subtle shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure what it was that kept bringing you back here—to this very same room, to him—but the connection between the two of you was undeniable. It was never about love, but the chemistry was hard to ignore.

As his lips brushed your shoulder, you could feel the tension in the air, an unspoken invitation in the way his hand lingered on your waist. "I like this," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as if sharing a secret meant only for the two of you.

As you lay there, the memories of Seungcheol creeped back into your thoughts, despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. Your relationship with him had been all-consuming, something that once filled every corner of your heart and mind. It was hard to think about him without remembering how much he had demanded of you—emotionally, mentally, and even physically.

With Seungcheol, things had started out like a whirlwind. He was intense, driven, and passionate, and for a while, you were swept up in it. You thought that kind of intensity meant love, that his need for you, his constant presence, was a sign of something real and lasting. But slowly, the weight of it all became too much to bear. His passion turned into control, his love into expectations you couldn’t meet, and his presence became suffocating.

There were good times too, of course—moments where he made you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered to him. But those moments were always fleeting, overshadowed by his demands. He wanted more than you could give, and in the end, you had nothing left to offer him.

The break-up had been brutal. Seungcheol didn’t understand why you were pulling away, and you couldn’t find the words to explain how drained you felt. He had taken so much from you, and by the time you walked away, you weren’t sure if you even knew how to love anymore.

Now, with Wonwoo, he didn’t demand anything from you. He didn’t ask for your heart, your promises, or your future. There was no pressure to be more than you were capable of being. It was a relief, but at the same time, it left you feeling hollow in a way you hadn’t expected.

You glanced over at Wonwoo as he lay beside you, his breathing slow and steady. He was so different from Seungcheol—calm, relaxed, and never overbearing. Yet, there was something about the way you kept coming back to him, something that felt just a little too easy, as though you were using him to fill a space that Seungcheol had left behind.

Maybe you were both just trying to avoid the emptiness, finding comfort in each other because it was simple. But deep down, you wondered if you were really healing or just hiding from the scars Seungcheol had left on you. The thought lingered as you closed your eyes, choosing once again to stay in the moment, avoiding the pain that lay beneath the surface.

"Are you leaving already?" Wonwoo’s voice interrupted your thoughts, his hand resting gently on your arm.

You looked over at him, meeting his eyes. There was a question there, but it wasn’t the kind that demanded an answer. He understood that whatever you had together wasn’t complicated.

You shook your head slightly. "No, I’ll stay a bit longer."

*

You met Seungcheol again for the first time in five years. He now owned his own advertising label, just like the dream he'd talked about so many years ago. Today, he had come to your father’s company, probably without expecting that he'd be working with you. After all, Seungcheol had never fully believed in your competence back then, so he certainly wouldn’t have expected to see you sitting across from him as one of the company’s directors.

You steeled yourself with every ounce of professionalism you could muster, trying to suppress the erratic pulse that betrayed how unsettled you truly were. During the meeting, when your eyes met briefly across the table, memories flooded back. You were reminded of why you loved him so deeply when you were together. He was charismatic, driven, and had a presence that was still undeniably captivating.

But the love that once shone in his eyes was gone. He had moved on, you'd heard. And it was best for him—best for both of you, perhaps. You forced yourself to focus, nodding to your secretary, silently willing the meeting to end as quickly as possible.

The moment it was over, you gathered your things and hurried out of the meeting room, heading toward your office. Your footsteps quickened with each step, eager to put distance between you and the past. But just as you turned the corner, a familiar hand reached out and caught your arm. It was Seungcheol.

"Hi... How are you? I didn’t expect to see you here," he said, his voice softer than you remembered.

You bit your lip, fighting to keep your composure. "Great..." you replied, pulling your arm away from his gentle grip, the contact sending a wave of emotions you'd tried to bury long ago.

Seungcheol seemed to realize what he'd done and quickly took a step back, giving you space. "I’m sorry," he said, his expression unreadable. "You must be busy. It was... nice to see you again, Y/n."

His words were polite, but there was a weight to them, a shared history that couldn’t be erased. You nodded, offering a brief smile before turning away, your heart racing from the brief encounter. The man who had once held all your love was now just another face from your past—a past that felt closer than it should.

*

Once the climax hit both you and Wonwoo, you collapsed onto his chest, gasping for air as your body trembled above him. His hands remained firmly on your hips, steadying you while the waves of pleasure slowly subsided. For a moment, neither of you moved, the intensity of the moment still lingering in the air. Wonwoo’s chest rose and fell beneath you as he caught his breath, his fingers gently tracing patterns along your skin.

"It was the best yet," he finally murmured, a small smirk tugging at his lips, his voice low and satisfied. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your cheek as you lay against him, both of you basking in the aftermath of your shared experience.

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his words and the undeniable chemistry that always seemed to pull you back to him.

"You should ride me more next time," Wonwoo jested with a playful smirk, but his breath hitched slightly as you pulled away from him, the lingering sensation still sparking through him. He watched as you climbed out of bed without a word, fetching the bathrobe and slipping it over your bare skin.

As you walked to the couch and sat down, your eyes seemed distant, wandering as if lost in thought. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before. Wonwoo propped himself up on his elbows, watching you intently. This wasn’t like you—the usual confident, carefree attitude that had defined your time together seemed to falter for the first time.

"Something on your mind?" he asked, a hint of curiosity mixed with concern in his tone. He couldn’t help but notice the shift, the way you suddenly seemed disconnected. It was the first time he'd seen you like this—guarded, almost as if you were somewhere else entirely.

Wonwoo stood up, slipping into his pants before making his way toward you. He sat beside you, gently cupping your cheeks as his thumb brushed against your skin. He could sense something was weighing on you, something that perhaps had fueled the raw emotion in the way you'd been with him earlier.

"You look so beautiful like this," he whispered, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your lips. His eyes searched yours after the kiss, waiting for you to speak, to tell him what was really going on.

After a pause, you finally mumbled, "I realize... I'm changing so much." Your voice was soft, almost unsure.

Wonwoo didn’t say anything, letting the silence stretch as he waited for you to continue. He knew there was more you needed to say.

"I'm so different from who I used to be," you confessed, your words almost a whisper. "I used to be so... pure. So used to being taken care of. I was needy, clingy. I didn’t understand things. And now... I don't like how I’ve become, like I’ve had to figure everything out on my own."

Wonwoo let out a sigh, his eyes never leaving yours. "Is it about us? Is that what's bothering you?"

You hesitated before answering, "One of them."

His grip on your face softened, his touch reassuring as he waited for you to unravel more of what was inside you. The rawness in your voice, the vulnerability, was something new between the two of you, and he wanted to understand.

"I've never done this with anyone..." you confessed quietly, your eyes dropping for a moment. "It’s amazing to be with you, Wonwoo. But I feel so hollow afterward. I feel... really bad. That’s why I always leave."

Wonwoo took your hand gently, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. "Because you don’t want to show me this side of you?" he asked softly, his voice calm but full of understanding. You took a deep breath, nodding in response.

"Are you going to let me go, Wonwoo? Like everyone else?" you asked, your voice filled with uncertainty.

Wonwoo shook his head firmly, his gaze steady on yours. "I’m not going anywhere, even if you ask me to. I’m stubborn like that, Y/n."

Relief washed over you as you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "Thanks," you whispered, feeling a weight lift off your chest.

Wonwoo tossed his keys onto the counter, his thoughts still swirling. He leaned against the kitchen island, trying to shake the feeling that had settled in his chest since you’d opened up to him. The more he thought about it, the more it nagged at him.

He had always been good at keeping things casual, knowing the boundaries of a no-strings relationship. But something about the way you looked at him tonight—the way you confessed how hollow you felt—stirred something deeper inside him. He didn't like seeing you in pain. He didn't like that you were dealing with it alone.

But what could he do? He wasn’t supposed to care this much. You two were just... enjoying each other, right? No commitments, no expectations.

Yet, for the first time, he felt something beyond that, a pull he hadn’t anticipated. He wanted to be more than just your distraction, more than just someone to pass the time with. But at the same time, he knew crossing that line could complicate everything.

“Damn it,” Wonwoo muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t deny the truth anymore: he wanted to be there for you, to be the person you leaned on. But would you let him? And more importantly, was he even ready to be that person?

Just as his mind raced, his phone buzzed with an incoming call. His mother's name flashed across the screen, and he answered on the second ring, grateful for the distraction.

Their conversation flowed easily, as it always did, catching up on life, work, and updates on the family. But when she shifted to more personal matters, his stomach tightened.

"Every mother wants their daughter to meet you, Wonwoo. I had no idea my son was that popular." Her voice was filled with pride and a hint of amusement.

Wonwoo chuckled, deflecting with a light jest. “You raised an amazing man, mother.”

Her laugh came through the phone, warm and familiar. “Maybe it's time you meet one of them. A dinner wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

He paused, the suggestion hanging in the air. It was simple enough, really—meet someone new, go through the motions. And yet, it felt like a heavier decision than it should have been.

Maybe she was right. Maybe meeting someone else, taking a step back from you, would give him the clarity he needed. Maybe that was what he should do—slowly distance himself from this complicated entanglement.

But as he sat there, phone still pressed to his ear, something inside him hesitated.

*

Your presence was impossible for Wonwoo to ignore. You sat just a few tables away, speaking comfortably with a man whose face he vaguely recognized but couldn’t place. In front of him sat Sung Yubin, a girl his mother had been eager for him to meet.

“Is the food to your liking?” Yubin asked, her voice cutting through his thoughts. Wonwoo quickly shifted his gaze from your table back to her, realizing only then that he had stopped chewing his steak, distracted by your presence.

“It’s great. Please, help yourself,” he responded politely, though his attention wandered back to you again. He tensed when he caught you looking back at him, though you quickly resumed your conversation with the man sitting across from you.

“I’m glad we could have dinner,” Yubin continued, unaware of his distraction. “The school lunch today was weird, so I ended up skipping it.” She was a senior nursing student, and while her conversation topics should have interested him, Wonwoo found himself nodding absently to her remarks. She wasn’t exactly his type—always rolling her eyes at the waitstaff and focusing more on trivial complaints.

After the meal, Wonwoo excused himself, claiming he had another engagement when Yubin hinted at wanting him to drive her home. Though a flicker of disappointment crossed her face, she seemed satisfied when he hailed a cab for her. As she left, Wonwoo felt a wave of relief wash over him.

Then, just as he was about to leave, he spotted you stepping out of the restaurant with the man from earlier. A third person, a woman, approached, and after a brief handshake, the man walked away with her, leaving you standing alone.

A small smile tugged at Wonwoo’s lips as your eyes met his again.

“I thought you were on a date,” Wonwoo teased, stepping closer to you.

“Because yours was?” you shot back with a smirk, fully aware that you were right.

He chuckled, “Wanna grab a beer?”

You hesitated only for a second before nodding, a quiet acknowledgment that whatever was between you two wasn’t over just yet.

“Who was that girl?” you asked as soon as you were seated at the bar, curiosity lacing your voice.

“Someone my mother wanted me to meet,” Wonwoo replied casually, his eyes scanning the menu. He raised his hand to order an expensive bottle of liquor for the both of you.

“I thought we were just going to grab a beer?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at his choice.

Wonwoo shook his head with a small grin. “Gotta treat you to something good.”

“Oh, trying to show off that you’re rich?” you joked, and he nodded proudly.

“That’s my favorite thing to do around you,” he bantered back, making you chuckle.

When the drinks arrived, you both clinked glasses in an unspoken toast. Wonwoo took a sip of his drink, his gaze fixed on your reaction. He watched as you took a sip, your face lighting up with satisfaction, and a sense of relief washed over him. He’d made the right choice.

“So, that guy you were with earlier... do I know him?” Wonwoo asked, steering the conversation back.

“He’s Choi Seungcheol,” you said, a name that clicked in Wonwoo’s mind.

“From Ads Coups, right?” Wonwoo asked, recalling the name from some big industry moves. You nodded.

“Business dinner? Or a friend?” he pressed further.

You hesitated, and for a moment, it seemed like you were debating whether to tell him the truth. But then you took a breath and said it.

“Both.”

Wonwoo’s expression didn’t change. He sat quietly for a moment, absorbing what you said, before you finally added the last piece.

“An ex.”

“I see…” Wonwoo nodded, acknowledging your words with a calmness that surprised even him. He didn’t press further, but the air between you suddenly felt a little heavier, a little more complicated than it had just moments before.

“Almost married him,” you confessed, a hint of irony in your voice. “But here I am… still being pampered by my mom to find someone.”

Wonwoo chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat. “Don’t worry, you’re not alone in that.”

“At least you’re a good son,” you pointed out. “You actually meet the people your mom suggests. Meanwhile, I reject every single offer mine throws at me.”

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Tell me one name. Just one, that your mom wanted you to meet.”

Without missing a beat, you looked at him and said, “You.”

Wonwoo blinked, caught off guard. “Me?” he asked, incredulous.

You nodded, a smirk playing on your lips. “My mom, my dad. They’re big fans of yours.”

He grinned, clearly amused. “Well, I feel honored,” he said with mock pride.

“So, why’d you reject me?” he teased, leaning in slightly. “I mean, why reject the offer?”

You shrugged casually. “Same reason I reject all of them. I don’t see the point in meeting people just because my mom wants me to. Even if they’re rich. I’m rich too.”

Wonwoo smiled and raised his glass toward you. “Here’s to rich men,” he said, with a playful glint in his eyes, including both of you in the toast.

You laughed, clinking your glass against his. “To rich men,” you echoed with a grin, the shared joke lightening the mood as you both enjoyed the comfortable banter.

*

Wonwoo looked at you in surprise. You want him to stay?

Just like the other day, the two of you had returned to the same hotel room, indulging in each other’s company. Wonwoo was about to fetch his pants, thinking you’d want to leave as usual. But this time, you surprised him.

“Hm... stay,” you mumbled, eyes closed. Wonwoo didn’t hesitate; he slipped back into bed, pulling your bare body close to him.

As you relaxed into his warmth, you murmured, “Wanna go on a trip with me?”

Wonwoo glanced down at you, curious. “When?”

“Earliest flight today. I want to go to Tokyo.” Your voice was soft, almost sleepy, but the spontaneity in your words caught him off guard. You sounded ridiculous, but he couldn’t help but smile. Without a second thought, he grabbed his phone and texted his secretary to book the earliest flight to Tokyo for two.

“Let’s sleep. We still have a few hours,” he whispered, gently lulling you into rest.

The next morning, after landing in Tokyo, Wonwoo asked as you both walked out of the airport, “You’re okay with taking a sudden day off like this?”

“Using my my-dad-owns-the-company card for the first time won’t hurt anybody,” you replied with a casual shrug.

Wonwoo chuckled, amused by your carefree attitude. “So, where do you want to go after this?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned into his chest, your arms wrapping around his waist as the cab drove you to the hotel.

“Let’s see,” you finally murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo smiled to himself, feeling your comfortable presence against him. He liked this—being with you like this, without overthinking or complicating things. Just living in the moment.

"Yeah," he thought to himself, "I really like this."

*

Wonwoo watched you, eyebrows furrowed, as you spoke to your mother on the phone. He found the interaction between the two of you amusing, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

"At my office?" you said, trying to keep your tone calm as your mother inquired about your whereabouts.

"Don't lie to me. I'm at your office," your mother shot back, and Wonwoo stifled a laugh as you closed your eyes in frustration.

"I'm in Tokyo for business," you finally admitted with a sigh.

"And you didn’t bring Chan with you?" your mother asked, referring to your secretary still at the office.

"I like being by myself," you replied, your tone measured. "Besides, Chan has things to handle for me back home."

"That’s why you need to start meeting men. How about Jeon Wonwoo? I mentioned him before," your mother insisted.

Wonwoo’s ears perked up at the sound of his name, and he raised an eyebrow, curious.

"I’ll think about it," you said, trying to end the conversation without drawing it out.

As soon as you hung up, Wonwoo, still intrigued, asked, "What was that all about?"

You casually took a sip of your coffee. "Just my mom trying to set me up with you."

A smirk spread across Wonwoo’s face. "I wish she knew what we’ve already done in bed—"

"Shut up!" You quickly covered his mouth before he could finish, your eyes wide with embarrassment.

Wonwoo leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Why? Embarrassed to let anyone know how wild you were in the bedroom?"

Without missing a beat, you grabbed a spoonful of cheesecake and shoved it into his mouth to silence him, and he chuckled as he chewed, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You had spent the entire day together, enjoying the sights and sounds of Tokyo before deciding to fly back to Seoul the next morning. Wonwoo had taken you to all the places you’d been wanting to visit—arcades, restaurants, cafes, and even a clothing shop you had your eye on. By the time you both returned to the hotel, you collapsed on the bed, exhausted but satisfied.

When Wonwoo stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his neck, he chuckled at the sight of you still sprawled out in the same position he left you.

"Go take a shower, you stink," he teased, playfully slapping your leg, making you groan as you slowly got up.

"I'm so happy but so tired. Tired but happy," you said, smiling through the exhaustion as you made your way into the bathroom.

After you’d showered and freshened up, you stepped out to find Wonwoo waiting for you at the table, a spread of food laid out.

"I ordered something," he said, motioning toward the dishes with a proud smile. "Figured you’d need some fuel after today."

Your stomach growled in response, and you sat down with a grateful sigh. "You always know exactly what I need."

Wonwoo chuckled, "Of course. Gotta keep you happy, even when you're tired."

You shared a quiet meal together, the comfortable silence between you speaking volumes as you savored both the food and the company.

"Jeon Wonwoo," you called his name softly, pulling his attention away from his phone.

He shifted his gaze to you, curious. "What’s on your mind?"

"Don’t you feel like I’m using you?" you asked, your tone surprisingly serious.

Wonwoo furrowed his brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

You shrugged, trying to downplay the growing unease in your chest. "Because I only call you when I need you."

Wonwoo's expression softened, and he shook his head. "No, you're not using me. We’re both busy, me with my work, you with yours. That’s just how life is."

You looked down at your plate, not entirely convinced. "But don’t you feel like... like I'm taking advantage of you? Your ego—doesn’t it bother you?"

He paused, setting his utensil down carefully as he studied you. "Where's this coming from?" he asked gently.

You sighed. "I’ve just been thinking. Men are always talking about pride and ego. Doesn't it hurt yours?"

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he considered your words. "Is that why you've built up your own walls? To feel equal to men?" he asked thoughtfully.

"In business? Absolutely," you admitted. "It’s a constant power struggle, and I have to keep up."

He nodded, understanding. Then he smiled softly. "You know, my ego did take a hit when you left me cash that day. But today? Nah, I don’t feel anything but happy being with you. I’m not keeping score, Y/N."

You looked up at him, surprised. "Happy?"

"Yeah," he continued, leaning forward a little. "Being with you—it doesn’t feel like a game of who has more power. I’m just enjoying your company. So, no, I don’t feel used."

You smiled, finally letting yourself relax. "Thanks, Wonwoo."

He chuckled and raised his glass. "You overthink too much, you know that?"

As you clinked glasses with him, a thought crossed your mind. "What if... I told you I wasn’t looking for anything serious right now?"

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow but remained calm. "I’d say that’s fine. We don’t have to define anything right now. We can just be, you know?"

You nodded, comforted by his nonchalance. "That sounds... nice."

After a brief silence, Wonwoo leaned in again with a playful smirk. "But if you ever decide to make it serious, just know—I’ll still beat you in Mario Kart."

You laughed, the heaviness of the conversation finally lifting. "You wish."

For the rest of the night, the conversation stayed light, the tension between you fading away as easily as it had come.

*

Seungcheol had been everything to you when you first started. As an intern, you admired his dedication, his leadership, and the way he always seemed to know exactly what to do. He wasn’t just your manager; he became your mentor, teaching you the ropes in a way no one else had. You were eager to learn, even though you weren’t perfect—stumbling over presentations, sometimes missing the mark—but Seungcheol never made you feel small. Not at first.

He didn’t know who you really were. To him, you were just another intern, eager to climb the corporate ladder. It felt refreshing, in a way, to be seen for your efforts and not your last name. You soaked up everything he taught you, from strategic planning to how to carry yourself in high-stakes meetings. You admired him not just for his professional skills, but for the way he treated you—gently, yet firm when it came to work.

When he asked you out, it felt like everything was falling into place. You were growing in your career, and you had someone who believed in you by your side. Seungcheol was passionate about his own dreams too, talking endlessly about wanting to start his own advertisement company one day. You supported him, proud to see the ambition that had first drawn you to him. But then, things shifted.

After he resigned to pursue his dreams, something changed. He wanted you to leave the company and join him, to take a risk and build something together. But your responsibilities weighed on you, the expectations from your family were unavoidable. When you declined, Seungcheol didn’t take it well. He started subtly belittling your choice, acting as though staying in the company made you less bold, less ambitious.

The truth about your identity eventually came out, and that’s when the real cracks appeared. When Seungcheol found out you were the company heir, his pride took a hit. Your paychecks started outpacing his, your name held weight he could never match, and that, more than anything, stung him. He stopped seeing you as his equal, and instead, he saw you as a threat. He began making snide comments about your success, about how it wasn’t "earned" the way his was, how you had everything handed to you.

Your relationship with Seungcheol had changed you in ways you didn’t fully understand until much later. As the dynamic shifted, as his resentment grew, it left scars that ran deeper than you’d realized. You had loved him, truly, and for a while, you believed he loved you too. But the more success you found, the more he became a different person, someone who couldn't bear to see you surpass him.

It was like watching a man fall apart, piece by piece, under the weight of his own pride. He’d lash out, not always with words, but with the smallest gestures—a disapproving look, a dismissive comment. He stopped celebrating your wins, and instead, they seemed to remind him of his own perceived failures. The man you admired for his passion became someone who resented you for the very things that once made him proud. He had wanted you to be successful, but only as long as it didn’t eclipse him.

And you learned a painful truth from that relationship: that love, or at least the kind you’d experienced, was fragile. Men, as strong as they appeared when they were on top, could crumble when they felt they were losing control. It wasn’t just Seungcheol—it was the way he embodied this belief that men were only themselves when they were successful. When they stumbled, when they struggled, their pride and ego became brittle, breaking at the slightest challenge.

That relationship didn’t just end—it left you with a sense of distrust, of wariness. You’d given your heart to someone who couldn’t handle it when you started to grow beyond the version of yourself he was comfortable with. And that made you build walls, whether you intended to or not. You found yourself questioning every man’s intentions, wondering if they would also resent you when things didn’t go their way.

Seungcheol had stolen your capability to love freely. He’d left you with the belief that love was conditional, that it came with terms and conditions tied to power and success. Men, in your experience, wanted to be the center, to be the ones in control. And when they weren’t, they withered. They became smaller versions of themselves, unable to accept that you could be strong, capable, and successful without it taking anything away from them.

You stopped letting people in the way you once had. Sure, you dated, but it was different. Detached. You kept your guard up, unwilling to allow anyone the power to diminish you again. Every time you met someone, there was that lingering thought—what happens when they see the full extent of who I am? Will they shrink? Will they pull away like Seungcheol did?

Seungcheol hadn’t just hurt you—he’d left you with an image of men that was hard to shake. The ones who thrived when things were easy, but couldn’t handle the weight of your success. Men who were all pride and ego, fragile when the world stopped revolving around them. You didn’t want to think like that, but it was all you knew now.

*

"Your meeting with Jeon Wonwoo will be on Saturday. Make sure you actually come. And also, get dressed properly this time!" Your mother’s voice rang out as she adjusted her pearl necklace, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You stared at her, incredulous. "I haven't even said yes yet," you shot back, folding your arms defensively.

But your mother merely smiled, clearly pleased with herself. "I met his mother at a gathering yesterday. We talked for quite a while, and she mentioned the last girl he met wasn't his type. I showed her your picture, and she said you might be exactly what he’s looking for."

"But Wonwoo and Y/n are friends," your father interjected, his voice calm but firm from the other end of the dining room.

"I know," your mother replied smoothly, waving her hand as if the detail was inconsequential. "But that doesn’t matter. The impression we make on his mother is what's important."

Your brow furrowed, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. "What’s wrong with me exactly? I’m fine. I’m a great woman," you retorted, trying to keep your cool.

Your mother sighed dramatically, setting down her tea cup with a delicate clink. "I just wish I had raised you to be a more polite and less...brash woman." She shrugged, as though the issue was that simple.

"Polite?" You raised an eyebrow, sarcasm creeping into your voice. "I say please and thank you. What more do you want?"

Your father chuckled softly from behind his newspaper, causing your mother to give him a quick, disapproving glance. He always found humor in your back-and-forths.

Your mother’s words hung in the air, sharp yet laced with a familiar disappointment. You could sense her frustration, but it only made you roll your eyes in response.

“Y/N, dear, you are a great woman. But sometimes I wonder if you care about your future at all.” She sighed again, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not asking for much—just meet him. Wonwoo’s a good man, and you two already know each other. It wouldn’t hurt to see if there’s something more there.”

You crossed your arms, still feeling the weight of her expectations pressing down on you. “Wonwoo and I are friends. I don’t need you playing matchmaker with someone I already know.”

Your mother gave you a pointed look, as if she had already rehearsed her response to every argument you could throw her way. “Wonwoo’s mother agrees that it’s worth a shot. Besides, friendships can turn into something more. You’ll never know unless you try.”

Your father cleared his throat. “Maybe we should let Y/N make her own decisions about this. She’s capable of knowing what’s best for her.”

Your mother didn’t relent. “I just want the best for you. Wonwoo is successful, respectful, and comes from a good family. That’s a strong foundation, isn’t it?”

“Fine, I’ll go,” you finally said, more out of a desire to end the conversation than genuine interest. “But I’m not promising anything.”

Your mother beamed, already envisioning some grand future for you and Wonwoo. “That’s all I ask.”

As you excused yourself from the table, you couldn’t help but think about Wonwoo and how bizarre it would be to approach him under these new terms. Would he know about the setup? Or would this just be another awkward encounter orchestrated by your families? Either way, it was bound to be interesting.

*

Your walls clenched tightly around Wonwoo as he thrust into you with raw passion, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge. Your nails dug into his back, leaving streaks of red as he found just the right spot over and over again. Moans spilled from your lips, growing louder with each movement as his pace quickened.

"What do you think our moms would say if they knew what we're doing right now instead of having that proper dinner?" Wonwoo's voice was a breathless whisper against your ear, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as his rhythm deepened.

You could hardly think, let alone speak, but somehow you managed to find the breath to reply, "They'd be thrilled... their kids are trying to give them grandkids." You shot back, your voice hitching with every thrust.

Your words clearly hit him harder than you anticipated. Wonwoo's cock twitched inside you, the mere thought of you carrying his child driving him wild in ways he hadn’t expected. His eyes darkened with lust, and his pace became even more relentless, the idea of you pregnant with his baby stirring something primal within him.

"Do you want that?" Wonwoo growled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hips snapped against yours, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. "Tell me. Do you want it?"

The feeling of his cock hitting that sweet spot over and over again had your mind spinning, your body trembling as the orgasm started to build in your core. You could barely hold yourself together, your breath coming in shallow gasps. "Fuck, Wonwoo... Don’t you dare... I'm so close... I'm cumming!" you managed to cry out, your body tightening around him.

Wonwoo’s grip on your hips tightened as he groaned against your neck. "I got you, baby," he whispered, and with a few more deep, powerful thrusts, you both tumbled over the edge together, the pleasure washing over you in waves that left you breathless and shaking.

He stayed inside you for a moment longer, riding out the high, his forehead pressed against yours as you both panted heavily. The air between you was thick with the afterglow, the heat of your bodies mingling together in the quiet aftermath.

"My mother said she wants to see me with a woman like you," Wonwoo said softly during aftercare, his gentle hands carefully wiping your body clean with a warm towel.

You leaned against his shoulder, too tired to sit up straight, and replied, "Everyone wants their son to be with a woman like me." Your voice was teasing, lightening the mood in the quiet aftermath.

Wonwoo chuckled, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Sure, you're an amazing woman—with amazing tits," he added with a playful grin.

You laughed at his words, playfully slapping his arm in mock indignation. He scooped you up effortlessly and carried you from the bathroom to the bed, tucking you under the soft duvet with a tender smile. After quickly cleaning himself, he joined you, sinking into the warmth beside you.

"Have you ever imagined the two of us together? Like officially together?" You asked, your eyes fluttering open to meet his, curiosity shining in your gaze. Your hand instinctively found its way to his arm, linking with him as if seeking reassurance.

"Every time happiness comes to me while I'm with you," Wonwoo replied, his voice low and sincere, "I always think about how wonderful it would be to share that happiness with you forever."

You turned to face him, your surprise evident in your wide eyes. "Okay, that was deeper than I expected."

He pulled you closer, his lips brushing softly against your forehead in a sweet gesture. "I told you I'm a romantic man."

"You are," you replied, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as warmth blossomed in your chest.

As you nestled against him, a thought crossed your mind, and you mumbled, “What if we made this official? You know, like really official?”

Wonwoo’s eyes widened in surprise, and a grin broke across his face, lighting up his features. “Are you serious?” he asked, his excitement palpable. “You’re not just saying that?”

You felt a rush of warmth at his reaction and nodded, your heart racing. “Yeah, I mean… why not? We get along so well, and I like being with you. I think we could make a real go of it.”

His smile grew even wider, and he pulled you closer, almost lifting you off the bed with enthusiasm. “This is amazing! I’ve been hoping you’d say something like that. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

You chuckled softly, caught up in his excitement. “Really? I thought you had a whole parade of girls wanting to date you.”

“Maybe, but none of them are you,” he said, his voice serious now, making your heart flutter. “You’re special, Y/N. You make me happier than I ever expected.”

You smiled, feeling a mix of shyness and elation. “So, are we officially together then?”

“Absolutely!” Wonwoo exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with joy. “I can’t believe this is happening. You have no idea how happy this makes me.” He leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss, sealing the promise of your new relationship.

As he pulled back, he looked deep into your eyes. “I’m going to make you so happy, I swear. No more casual—it’s all in from here on out.” His excitement was contagious, and you felt a thrill of anticipation for what the future might hold for the two of you.

*

You walked with confidence in a beautiful dress that hugged your figure perfectly. Wonwoo’s hand rested comfortably around your waist as he strolled beside you, flashing charming smiles to everyone you both passed. You couldn’t help but feel proud of each other, relishing the chance to show off your blossoming relationship.

“Look at this power couple!” your mother exclaimed, her voice brimming with delight. You rolled your eyes playfully at her statement, knowing how thrilled she was about your relationship with Wonwoo after the so-called first meeting she had arranged a year ago. Now, you were here with him as his girlfriend at the company’s anniversary party.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ji. You look beautiful as always,” Wonwoo greeted your mother, bowing politely to both of your parents.

“Wonwoo, how are you? I hope Y/N isn’t being a pain in the ass, is she?” your father asked with a teasing tone, treating him differently now that he was your boyfriend.

“In no way could an amazing woman like me be a pain in the ass,” you mumbled loud enough for them to hear, a smirk on your face. Wonwoo chuckled at the light banter you shared with your parents before excusing himself to meet his friend, Kim Mingyu, who also happened to be your cousin.

“So, how’s the plan for tonight?” Mingyu asked Wonwoo, raising an eyebrow knowingly as he referred to his friend’s intentions to propose.

“I’m so nervous I could die,” Wonwoo confessed, running a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Mingyu laughed, clearly amused by the new layer of vulnerability that Wonwoo was showing. “Don’t worry, she’ll appreciate everything you do,” he reassured, clapping Wonwoo on the back.

“I hope so,” Wonwoo replied, glancing over at you with a soft smile. The anticipation was palpable, and you could feel the excitement in the air. With each passing moment, you were both drawing closer to an unforgettable evening that could change everything.

[blossomingmoonlight]

⭑ Better when you're here ⭑

Masterlist

Pairing: Sad!king!aegon x sister!reader

A/N: #needthat

Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, pure filth, aegon whines so much I lost count, heavy mommy kink, sub aegon, fingering, piv sex, slight handjob, titty sucking (yes again), sad aegon.

Summary: Sad and needy Aegon just needs mummy to make him feel better :((((

Word count: 2.2k (pretty short blurb)

The gardens were your favourite place in the Red Keep, it was often quiet. And not to mention the beautiful view of the sea. You sat at one of the table’s in an alcove, it was nice and tucked away, giving you your own private space.

You read some book for a while and enjoyed your wine and lemoncakes. Because you never knew when it would be the last time you could sit here. You had been of age for two years now, and even though you have avoided marriage for quite a while, you never knew what your grandsire Otto Hightower had in mind. 

Now you had at least some security since your eldest brother Aegon was now king and everyone was distracted by the war that loomed over Westeros like a black cloud. Only a few more drops of rain to form before the whole thing came crashing down. 

Frustration and anxiety filled everyone's hearts and it was hard to pretend nothing was wrong. But the person you feared most right now was Aemond, he seemed to lose control everyday and he shocked the realm when he killed his own fourteen year old nephew at Storm’s End. However he was now to marry too, to some Baratheon girl and you knew that soon they would use you too, to make alliances with houses. Binded by a meaningless marriage.

You felt like it was all you were good for, and you saw how it affected Helaena and Aegon. Your heart broke for her, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone and live in peace, yet she must be queen. Aegon was of course also affected by this, ever since he became king he drank more than ever before and had even grown a bit of a belly. Still he remained of a nice physique. 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you rode your dragons with him. He didn’t have much of a relationship with Helaena, seeing her more as his quiet sister than his wife and queen and for some reason it seemed better that way. She would be left alone more. 

But you and Aegon were a different story, you liked to sneak around and have fun with him. He might not be a great king or a good man but he was a good brother to you. And you saw things in him that no one else seemed to. The crown seemed to only stress him out and you knew that he just wanted to live out his days drinking wine and relaxing but your mother and grandsire had other plans. 

As of late you couldn’t see him much, council meetings took a great part of the day and he would always hide in his chambers afterwards. Your mother seemed to keep you away from him, for what reason you didn’t know. Your days went from watching Aemond train, flying around KIng’s Landing with Aegon and running around the Red Keep with friends to praying at the Sept, locked inside your chamber or helping Helaena with embroidery. That is why the gardens offered a nice escape.

Soon you would pay a visit to your elder sister and her twins. After a morning at the sept with your mother and sister you needed some alone time. But Helaena was always a calming and nice presence and it was good to keep her company.

After reading the last sentence of a chapter you closed the book, and decided it would be nice to sow with Helaena. As you walked through the halls of the red keep numerous ‘your grace’ and ‘princes’ surrounded you, staff getting out of your way. You ascended the stairs in the throne room, it was empty. Soon it would be supper time but there was enough time.

When you reached Helaena’s door you could already hear your niece and nephew playing, which put a smile on your face. You knocked twice and a handmaiden opened, letting you inside. Helaena was sitting on some blankets and pillows, already embroidering what looked like a blanket. She looked up and slightly smiled when you joined her side, children playing on their own blanket. 

Getting handed some thread, a needle and a new fabric, as was the routine, you began to work on something for Aegon and if you worked hard enough you could bring it to him tonight. When you were about finished, a servant came in to fetch you and Helaena for supper with the family.

But when you arrived only Aemond, Alicent and Otto were there, Aegon’s seat was empty. Silently you both joined them and began eating without him. Supper was tense and silent as it had been for about a month now. When you had finished, you excused yourself and fetched the doublet you had finished before supper, wanting to bring a gift to your brother. 

When you had fetched it you hurriedly made your way up to the king's bedchambers, you knew something was wrong with Aegon, all the stress had probably gotten to him. When you had almost reached the door Ser Criston Cole stood guard there. He bowed his head before he spoke; “Princess, the king does not wish to be disturbed right now.” He said politely. 

“I understand, but I have something to cheer him up, so please, let me enter.” Ser Criston seemed to think about it, before releasing a sigh and opening the door for you, very softly as to not disturb his grace. You stepped inside and Cole just as softly as he opened the door, closed it again. It was now dark and Aegon’s fire was lit as he sat in a chair in front of it, you could hear the sobs coming from him. It broke your heart. 

You quietly made your way towards him. “Aegon?” You called out. He didn’t lift his head. You walked around him so you were standing in front of him, he looked up with red stained cheeks, and red, tear filled eyes. “Oh Aeg- what happened?” You asked him, instead of answering he buried his head into your stomach, his hand gripping your dress as he sobbed into it. The doublet falling on the ground.

You caressed his messy short silver locks and he continued to sob for a while, in your embrace. Then he seemed to speak up; “They- don’t care about- me-” He choked against you in between sobs. “Who doesn’t care about you?” You were confused but he lifted his head from your now tear stained dress. “The- the- council- mother- my own hand- they don’t- care-!” He sobbed as he looked at you desperately. 

But to your surprise he pulled you in his lap as his hands were still clinging to your dress. You gasped as you landed on his thighs, he buried his face in your chest instead and continued to cry, the doublet on the ground, forgotten. “Aegon they do care, especially mother, they just want the best for you. To help guide you since they have knowledge of war-” “No! They all hate me- everyone of them!” His breath on your skin gave you goosebumps. His hand now rested on your hip, keeping you in place. 

“You’re the only one who loves me- I see that now- my beautiful smart sister.” He seemed to have exhausted his tears as they now stopped, he breathed heavily against your chest, nuzzling his face against your breasts. He must have had wine. “You love me? Right sister?” He mumbled against your breasts. “Of course I do, so incredibly much. I would do anything for you.” You soothed him, hand still grazing through his silver locks. His purple eyes stared up at you and he smiled slightly.

“Anything?” He asked softly. “Of course, you are not only my brother but my king.” You smiled, placing a kiss on his forehead. This stirred something in him and he breathed heavier again. His face and especially his nose grazed your neck and jaw, lips ghosting over the warm skin. Your own breath hitched in your throat at the feeling. “Aeg-” He ignored you and started to kiss and nip at the soft skin. You lightly gasped at the feeling, and then you felt something hard against your thigh. 

“Brother I don’t think we should-” He stopped and looked at you with teary eyes. “I need this- I need you. Please- just- just let me make you feel good. To thank you. Please mummy.” That last part was whined against your chest where he let his hand graze the low neckline of your dress. Since it was warm earlier, it was quite thin and loose. Your body felt hot at his words, your lower stomach filled with an ache you didn’t understand.

His hand started then at the bottom of your leg, underneath your dress, as he caressed your leg moving up and up where you didn’t know you needed him. “I’m so hard for you mummy. All because of you.” He whined. His hand had finally reached your core, two of his fingers rubbing over your smallclothes, which were already wet with your slick. “Aegon-” You moaned, sparks went off in your body at his touch, you had no idea what he was doing to you but seven hells did it feel good. You hoped he would never stop, but still it felt wrong and guilt consumed you. Yet you didn’t stop him.

His other hand that didn’t tease your clothed clit was still busy with your neckline. The dress was loose enough for him to pull it down so your tits would fall out. He wasted no time in sucking on them. The feeling of his warm wet tongue sucking on your nipple made you release a moan. It felt way too good, it had to be a sin. Aegon himself moaned around your breast, bucking his hips up in need for friction. All your will to stop him had left you. Desire clouding your mind. You moved so that both of your legs were now on either side of his lap, the chair was big and comfortable enough to allow this. 

Aegon released your nipple but never moved his hand from teasing you. But when you sat down, his hand trapped, he removed it and pulled at your dress, eager to remove it. You didn’t know why you did it, but you needed him. You helped him remove your dress and shimmied out of your small clothes as well. “Need to be inside you mummy.” You gasped at his fingers sliding through your now bare slit. His fingers then stimulating your clit. Your breath hitched when he put a finger inside you, going deeper until he found that spot that would make you see stars. He stretched you out a bit for a while until he got too impatient and grabbed your hand to place between you, over his bulge. 

You instinctively squeezed it making him gasp. He moved your hand and quickly undid his breeches himself. He then reached for your hand again and helped you stroke his thick veiny cock. Pre cum started to dribble out over both your hands. And Aegon groaned at the sight. When he was almost about to cum for your hand alone, he removed it, as he did, he removed his fingers inside your cunt as well. Grabbing your hips instead, his cock was so hard it hurt and the feeling of his tip hitting your warm slick entrance almost made him cry out. He used one hand to guide his cock better inside you and you winced in pain. “It’ll be better soon, I promise.” He said softly. 

You whispered okay and he buried himself deeper inside until he was fully sheathed inside you. Your clit hit his pelvic bone and a bolt of pleasure shot through you. You felt so sensitive and weak. When you felt like the pain went away you slowly started to grind and bounce on his cock, testing the waters. He whimpered in response, it just felt so good for him. He held on to your hips so you could start a steady rhythm and he knew he wouldn't last long. “So tight mummy- feels so good.” He sobbed. Squelching and slapping noises filled the room and you both forgot all about a certain guard outside. 

Both of your moans filled each other's mouths as you held on tight to each other. Lost in pleasure you chase your release and started riding him faster, Aegon started to fuck up into you in response chasing his own high. “Mummy- I-I’m close- please- gonna fill you so good.” Aegon whined. This only spurred you on and soon you clenched down on his cock, fire striking through you, you had never felt such insane pleasure in your life. Aegon did not stop fucking into you though and only moments later he cried out as his warm seed filled you. He squeezed you against him tightly to hold you in place. 

He came so much it started to drip out along his shaft, onto his balls and some drops even landed on the floor. You both caught your breath and Aegon didn’t let go of you. But after a few moments his grip loosened and you winced when his softening cock left you. He whined at your warm body getting up but you soothed him, just getting the rest of his clothes off and helping him to the bed. You laid down as well and he immediately crawled up against your chest. “Thank you mummy.”

[twilightkitkat]

I know people normally brand Wade as The Funny One, but can we talk about how they'd be as a comedic duo? While flirting? While fighting?

People oftentimes tend to stereotype Logan as The Straight Man, the guy who keeps a serious face no matter what. And while sometimes that can be true, if you look at his characterization in the movies and comics, that isn't always the case. I think that because his humor is more subtle and down-to-earth than Wade's they tend to overlook it entirely.

Wade's humor is more obnoxious and in-your-face. He uses a cheerful, dramatic tone to cue you in that he's trying to be funny. He makes pop culture references and rambles on and makes constant, non-stop commentary. He's meant to be entertaining and funny because it's his brand to be insane and nonchalant even in the face of danger.

Logan, on the other hand, has this very blunt, sarcastic humor. The type that requires you to think a second to get it. He'd make little quips and jabs, but either with a straight face or barely there grin, so it's harder to tell he's joking. His tone of voice is more deep and gruff, which we don't typically associate with being humorous, but he does tease enemies and joke and throw their lines back in his face and goad them.

These two together would drive everyone up the wall.

Everyone (the X-men, the enemies, Wade's friends) assumed that their interactions would be Wade making crude, obnoxious jokes and Logan telling him to shut up or acting annoyed but... that doesn't happen? Instead, Logan quietly laughs at Wade's antics or, even more shockingly, joins in.

Logan gets Wade's humor—relishes in it, even. He would find Wade funny when he makes stupid jokes at all the wrong times because he does it too but nobody pays attention because it flies over their head or he's too intimidating for them to really register his words.

(The only reason Logan was more serious in the movie was that he was a grieving, broken man who thought he was responsible for the deaths of his family. He felt completely alone. And yet, even then, he played along to some extent with Wade's jokes and acted baffled rather than genuinely annoyed unless it was a super inappropriate moment. And you could tell he found Wade funny and liked him talking by the end of the movie.)

These two would be sitting across the table and Wade would make some stupid joke and Logan would add onto it, straight-faced.

Wade would gasp and clutch his chest dramatically at someone taking the Ketchup from him before he was done and whine, "How could you!? The betrayal! I thought I could trust you, this is a crime of the highest degree! I should have you canceled on Twitter for the atrocities you just committed."

And Logan would shake his head, stoicly, and reply, "It isn't cool to steal, man. It feels good in the moment but you hurt other people."

And everyone would sit there like what the fuck? Did Logan just... play along with Wade?

(Logan was biting his cheek to not grin at their confused faces and Wade was practically cackling to himself.)

It'd be even funnier when they're fighting villains together.

"Watch out, babygirl! Daddy's going to save you!" Deadpool would scream, as he lunges in to stab the enemy as they have Logan pinned to the ground.

"Well, 'Daddy' needs to do a better fucking job at it," Logan would grunt as he threw the guy off himself.

Logan would be snarky, because that's his personality and sense of humor, but he'd play along. He'd commit to the bit so hard that the enemies would stop attacking for a second just to look at each other like, "Are you seeing this???"

"Wolvie, what did I tell you about your greasy tits? If you wanted to be a prostitute you could at least tell me so we could start an Onlyfans and monetize it," Wade would say after Logan's shirt got shredded in a fight.

"I'm not giving you a fucking cent of my Onlyfans money," Logan would grunt as he continues fighting.

"That's unfair! I'd be the best photographer out there, you need to pay me my fair share! This is a worker's rights violation!"

"Yeah, well, I'm the pornstar. I'm the one doing all the heavy lifting, you aren't entitled to shit."

And everyone would be like???? Did The Wolverine have an Onlyfans? Since when? And where could they find it—

It'd be funny to see them tear down the self-esteem of a villain together as they fought them.

"You look like Simon Cowell got dipped in a vat of acid and then grew out a mullet and got it cut by a 5-year-old on America's Got Talent just because their mom died of cancer," Wade would laugh and point at their appearance.

"That's being generous. At least Simon Cowell was attractive. More like a fucking muppet," Logan would add on.

And then they'd fight over whose interpretation was correct while the villain just stood there and took out a mirror to look at themselves because?? They didn't think it was that bad?? (It was.)

It'd actually give them the edge in fights because they'd baffle the villains so much. They'd either make them pissed off at not being taken seriously and therefore more sloppy, or just make them insanely self-conscious. Win-win.

Eventually, word on the street got around that Wolverine and Deadpool were a brutal duo. Verbally. There'd be villains telling stories about how they were disrespected and maybe an emotional support club "Fought Deadpool and Wolverine and survived on the outside but died on the inside."

They'd be a peak comedy duo that would become notorious for their chemistry (both in their fighting style and commentary).

[ethereangel222]

all yours (part ii)

© @usermonsters nicholas alexander chavez & cooper koch x reader (anyone can read!)

tap to read part i premise Three friends—Nicholas, Cooper, and the Y/N—find their casual friendship evolving into something deeper as playful competition for attention gives way to mutual attraction. (prequel)

cw no warnings. fluff, fluff and fluff. wc 3.7k a/n part 2 request from @urdreamgirl12! i'm very tempted to write some filthy smut for part iii. ugh, i love these two men sm.

Reblogs are highly appreciated.

PART II

You met Cooper during your second semester, in a philosophy class that felt endless with heavy readings and dense discussions. He sat a couple of seats away from you, friendly but reserved, always polite with a small nod when you arrived. He wasn’t the type to dominate conversations or draw attention to himself, but he was approachable, and something about his calm presence made you want to know him better.

One morning after class, you both ended up walking in the same direction, and that’s when it started. “Is it just me, or does Plato make everything sound five times more complicated than it needs to be?” you joked, glancing over at him.

Cooper smiled, a quiet laugh escaping him. “No, it’s not just you. Sometimes I feel like I understand less the more I read.”

That was it — the first real conversation, but it flowed so naturally that by the time you reached the café, you had fallen into an easy rhythm. You grabbed coffee together, and for the first time, you got to see more of him. He had this dry humor that came out when you least expected it, paired with a thoughtful way of speaking that made you want to listen.

As the weeks went on, meeting after class became a routine. You’d walk together, sometimes study or grab coffee. He wasn’t shy but more of an observer, preferring to listen before diving into a conversation. Cooper had a quiet confidence about him, and his steady presence quickly became something you looked forward to. He didn’t push, didn’t fill the silence unnecessarily, but when he spoke, it was always with intention.

Over time, though, you started noticing something more. The way his hand brushed against yours when you walked, the way his eyes lingered just a moment longer than usual. It wasn’t loud or obvious, but the tension was there, simmering quietly between you. Neither of you said anything about it, but it hung in the air during your coffee breaks and quiet study sessions, growing slowly, waiting for the right moment to be acknowledged.

You met Nicholas at a party, one of those loud, crowded events where you felt out of place. You were standing by the drinks table, considering an early exit, when he appeared next to you with a grin that immediately caught your attention.

“You look like you’re planning your escape,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, his eyes bright with amusement.

You smirked, surprised by how easily he picked up on your mood. “Maybe I am.”

Nicholas chuckled, pouring himself a drink. “Tell you what, stay a little longer. I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

From that moment, the night changed. Nicholas was magnetic, the kind of guy who drew everyone in with his confidence and energy. He kept you laughing, making the party feel less overwhelming and more fun, but it wasn’t just his charm that grabbed you. There was something more, a tension that simmered just beneath the surface. The way he stood close to you, his arm brushing against yours as he talked, the way his gaze would linger on your lips for a fraction too long.

At one point, he leaned in. “Still thinking about leaving?” he teases.

You felt the warmth of his breath against your skin, and it sent a shiver down your spine. His proximity made it hard to think straight, and for a moment, all you could do was look at him.

“Not anymore,” you replied softly, and Nicholas’ grin widened, satisfied.

As the night wore on, that tension only grew. Nicholas would find reasons to touch you, a hand on your shoulder or a brush of his fingers against your arm, each time lingering just long enough to make your pulse quicken. He wasn’t subtle about his interest, and by the time you left the party, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he made you feel, that electric pull between you, always on the verge of something more.

After that night, Nicholas started popping up in your life more often. He’d text you out of the blue, always with that same playful, flirty energy, and every time you hung out, the tension was there, hanging between you, building with every lingering touch and every teasing remark. It was undeniable, and you both knew it was only a matter of time before one of you acted on it.

The first time Nicholas and Cooper met wasn’t exactly planned. You were in the middle of one of your usual study sessions with Cooper at the campus library. It was the kind of comfortable, quiet work you’d come to expect with him, both of you buried in your notes, exchanging a few words now and then.

Then you received a text from Nicholas. Outside. Coming in.

Before you could even respond, Nicholas appeared, striding through the library. He caught your eye and grinned, waving. “Hey! Thought I’d find you here.”

You smiled, a little surprised, and glanced at Cooper, who looked up from his book, brow furrowing slightly as Nicholas dropped into the chair across from you. “How’s the study session going?”

“It’s going well,” you replied, a little unsure. “We’ve still got a lot to cover.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow at the stack of books, his face scrunching in mock horror. “Philosophy, huh? You guys need a break. How about I grab us some food? I saw a food truck outside.”

Cooper glanced up from his notes, his response calm but firm. “We’re kind of in the middle of things. Maybe later.”

There was a brief silence. Nicholas, not one to be brushed off easily, looked between you and Cooper, clearly not used to being put on hold. He leaned back in his chair, a playful smirk on his face, but you could sense something else behind it. “Ah, I see. Important stuff.”

Cooper didn’t rise to the bait, simply nodding and returning to his notes. But the tension wasn’t lost on you. Nicholas wasn’t used to being sidelined, and Cooper had this quiet confidence that made it clear he wasn’t going to be swayed by Nicholas’ usual charm.

But Nicholas, in his typical style, didn’t let it go. “Tell you what,” he said, standing up, “I’ll grab the food and bring it back. No distractions, I promise. Just sustenance. You keep doing your thing.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Nicholas flashed a wink and walked off, leaving you and Cooper in a moment of quiet. You looked over at Cooper, a little apologetic. “I didn’t think he was coming.”

Cooper smiled, a hint of amusement softening his features. “It’s fine. He seems... alright.”

When Nicholas came back, he laid out the food with a grin, true to his word about keeping things low-key. “Alright, food’s here. No distractions,” he said, though his tone carried the usual playful edge.

Cooper gave him a polite nod, accepting the food, though you noticed the dynamic was a bit different now. Nicholas didn’t press as hard this time. He didn’t dominate the conversation like he usually did. Instead, he leaned back, eating his food quietly, stealing occasional glances at Cooper, who seemed focused on his work but not entirely indifferent to Nicholas’ presence.

There was a shift, small but there. Nicholas vseemed to be sizing Cooper up but not in a competitive way anymore. More like he was curious. He was beginning to see that Cooper wasn’t just some guy who kept to himself. He was steady, thoughtful, and sure of himself in a way that Nicholas wasn’t used to. It seemed like Nicholas was… warming up to him.

As the three of you sat there, the tension seemed to ease. Nicholas leaned forward, making a casual comment about the food, and for the first time, Cooper cracked a small smile in response. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Nicholas to lean back, satisfied, a flicker of something like respect in his eyes.

And for the first time, you thought maybe Cooper was starting to grow on him.

It started innocently enough. You, Nicholas, and Cooper would occasionally run into each other between classes or grab coffee after a long day. At first, it was casual — just friends with overlapping schedules and shared interests. But somewhere along the way, the three of you fell into an unspoken rhythm, a routine that pulled you together more frequently, more naturally. What began as study sessions and movie nights turned into something else, though none of you would admit it just yet.

At first, it was Nicholas who was most obvious about vying for your attention. He’d flash that easy grin, leaning in just a little too close whenever he talked, as though he couldn’t resist testing the boundaries between friendship and something more. He was the type to drape his arm casually over your shoulders, always finding some excuse to be close, his presence hard to ignore.

"Don’t look so serious," he’d tease whenever he caught you focusing too hard during study sessions. "You’re gonna scare off all your brain cells."

You’d roll your eyes, but the warmth of his teasing made you smile every time. And you weren’t the only one who noticed. Cooper, who was more laid-back and less showy, started to subtly mirror Nicholas’ actions, not as overtly, but in his own way. He’d lean forward during conversations, his gaze lingering on you, his voice soft and steady when he spoke. His touches were fewer, but each one was deliberate. If Nicholas was the one to throw playful jabs, Cooper was the one whose quiet support always felt reassuring.

You started to notice it more during your meet-ups: the way they seemed to compete for your attention. Nicholas was always quick to crack a joke, to make you laugh, while Cooper played the calm counterbalance, offering a deeper, more thoughtful presence. If Nicholas made a playful comment, Cooper would find a way to steer the conversation back to something meaningful, as if they were both trying to prove who could hold your interest more.

At first, it felt like a game, like they were challenging each other for who could make you smile, who could capture your focus. There were subtle moments when Nicholas would lean in closer, resting his hand on your knee while Cooper’s eyes followed the movement, his jaw tightening slightly before he’d distract you with a clever remark. If you were caught between them, they seemed equally caught in the tug-of-war over who could win your attention first.

But then, something shifted.

It happened slowly, almost without you noticing. Nicholas and Cooper still vied for your attention, but there were moments when their competitiveness gave way to something more playful between them. You’d catch them exchanging glances when they thought you weren’t looking, a shared look of amusement when one of them made you laugh.

One evening, the three of you were sitting at the campus café after a long day of classes. Nicholas had shown up as usual, sliding into the booth next to you and draping his arm casually over the back of your seat. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered something teasing about the way you held your coffee.

"You’re gripping that cup like it’s about to run away," he murmured, smirking. "Relax a little."

Before you could respond, Cooper arrived, sliding into the seat across from you. He raised an eyebrow at Nicholas’ proximity, but instead of making a comment to you, he glanced at Nicholas. "You know, if you leaned in any closer, people might think you two are dating.”

Nicholas didn’t miss a beat. He leaned back slightly, shooting Cooper a playful look. "What, jealous?"

Cooper smirked, his eyes meeting Nicholas’ in a way that felt different from their usual banter. "Maybe."

It was subtle, the way the tension between them shifted in that moment. What used to feel like a competition for your attention started to feel like they were both enjoying the game, not just with you, but with each other.

Later, back at Nicholas’ apartment for one of your usual movie nights, the energy felt different. You were sandwiched between them on the couch, Nicholas on one side, his arm draped over your shoulders as usual, and Cooper on the other, his knee pressing lightly against yours. The playful banter between them continued, but now, there were small moments where they’d brush against each other, not entirely by accident.

Nicholas would reach over you to grab a drink from the coffee table, letting his arm graze Cooper’s shoulder in the process. Cooper, instead of pulling away, would give Nicholas a slight nudge back, the touch lingering for just a moment before he returned his focus to you. It was subtle, but the shift in their dynamic was unmistakable — they were no longer just competing for your attention. They were starting to acknowledge each other, too.

"You two always this competitive?" you asked, half-joking but genuinely curious as their banter intensified. It was hard to miss the way Nicholas had leaned closer to Cooper over the course of the night, his usual teasing now directed toward both of you.

Nicholas grinned. "Who says we’re competing?"

Cooper chuckled, his gaze flicking to Nicholas briefly before settling back on you. "Yeah, I think we’re just… focused."

You smirked, feeling the tension between them and the way it pulled you right into the center. "Focused on what, exactly?"

Nicholas’ hand brushed lightly against your arm, but then, just as quickly, it slid down, his fingers brushing against Cooper’s shoulder before pulling away. The touch was light, playful, but enough to send a charge through the air. "On making sure you don’t get bored, obviously."

Cooper’s knee nudged yours under the blanket. "We wouldn’t want that."

You could feel the heat rising between the three of you, the subtle flirting no longer so subtle. Their casual touches now lingered longer, their glances shared not just with you, but with each other. Nicholas would throw a teasing comment your way, but his eyes would flick to Cooper afterward, almost daring him to respond. And Cooper, no longer holding back, would meet Nicholas’ gaze head-on, a knowing smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

As the night went on, the dynamics between the three of you shifted even further. Nicholas and Cooper still vied for your attention, but now, there was a clear acknowledgment of the tension between them as well. The casual touches between them grew more frequent, their shared looks more deliberate. It was no longer just a competition for you — it was a slow, teasing flirtation between them, too.

You were still caught in the middle, but now it felt like you weren’t the only one they were trying to win over. They had started to notice each other, and with every touch, every lingering glance, it became clearer: the three of you were connected in a way none of you had fully realized before.

It was bound to come to a head eventually. You, Nicholas, and Cooper had been dancing around each other for weeks, the tension between the three of you growing more obvious with every lingering glance, every touch that stayed just a little too long. But no one had said anything. It was as if you were all waiting for the right moment — or maybe for someone else to break the silence first.

That moment came at a house party, one of those weekend gatherings where the music was too loud, and the rooms were crowded with people looking for an excuse to let loose. You had arrived together, as usual, slipping into the familiar pattern of moving through the party as a trio, but tonight was different. There was a lightness in the air, a sense of release that came with letting go after a long week. People were packed into every area of the house, the thump of music vibrating through the floor, the smell of beer and laughter filling the space.

You started the night casually enough, playing beer pong with a few others in the kitchen. where the competition quickly ramped up. Nicholas, predictably, was cocky as ever, making a show of his "perfect aim."

"Watch this," he said with a wink, aiming the ping-pong ball at the last cup. He missed completely, and the ball bounced off the counter, rolling under the table.

You burst out laughing, your head swimming with the alcohol and the absurdity of the night. "Perfect aim, huh?"

Nicholas shrugged, unbothered. "It’s all part of the strategy. Keep the competition guessing."

Cooper chuckled, shaking his head. "If that’s your strategy, it’s a terrible one."

The banter flowed easily between the three of you, as it always did, but tonight there was an extra layer of warmth, the kind that came from the alcohol already making its way into your system. Your head felt a little lighter, your movements a little slower, as the drinks started to settle in. Nicholas had been handing you drinks all night, always making sure your cup was full, and Cooper had been quietly keeping pace, his eyes flicking between you and Nicholas.

After a few rounds of beer games, you were feeling the full effects of the drinks. Your body was warm, your cheeks flushed, and everything seemed funnier, lighter. The three of you were leaning against each other, laughing at nothing in particular, your head resting against Nicholas’ shoulder as Cooper stood close by, his arm brushing against yours every so often.

It wasn’t long before you needed a break from the noise, the heat of the house starting to feel overwhelming. You slipped away from the crowd, wandering through the hallway until you found a quiet, secluded corner near the back of the house. The music was still loud, but it was muffled here, the chaos of the party fading into the background as you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment.

You hadn’t been there long when you felt someone approaching. You opened your eyes to see Nicholas standing in front of you, a lazy grin on his face as he leaned one hand against the wall next to you. "Escaping already?"

Before you could answer, Cooper appeared on your other side, his presence quieter but just as steady. His gaze was soft, but there was a heat behind his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. "You didn’t think we’d let you disappear on us, did you?"

You smiled, feeling a sudden rush of warmth at the sight of both of them, standing so close, their attention entirely focused on you. "Just needed a breather."

Nicholas chuckled, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm as he leaned in closer, his voice low. "You sure you weren’t trying to ditch us?"

The way his breath tickled your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but glance at Cooper, who was watching you closely. His hand found your waist, his touch gentle but deliberate, "We’ve been following you all night, you know."

Your heart thudded in your chest, the alcohol blurring the lines of everything but the tension that crackled between the three of you. It felt like the air had shifted, like this small corner of the house had become its own world — one where the only thing that mattered was what happened next.

Nicholas’ fingers slid up your arm, his touch light and teasing as he leaned in even closer. "So… what now?"

Cooper’s hand tightened slightly on your waist, his body heat pressing against you from the other side as he waited for your answer. The room felt like it was spinning, not from the alcohol, but from the way their presence wrapped around you, pulling you into a moment you knew had been building for weeks.

"I think… I think we need to talk about this. About us."

Nicholas’ eyes gleamed with a mixture of playfulness and something deeper. His hand lingered on your arm as he glanced over at Cooper. "Yeah, I think it’s about time we do."

Cooper’s fingers brushed softly against your side, his gaze steady but serious. "We’ve been dancing around this for a while, haven’t we?"

You nodded, feeling both of their attention on you, making your pulse race. "It feels like… more than just friendship. With both of you. And I know you’ve felt it too."

Nicholas chuckled softly, his hand slipping to the small of your back as he pulled you just a little closer. "Oh, we’ve felt it. We’ve definitely felt it."

Cooper’s hand tightened on your waist, his tone calm but clear. "But we need to be sure. We need to be on the same page."

You exhaled a shaky breath, glancing between them. "I don’t know exactly what this is yet, but… I want to figure it out. With both of you."

Nicholas’ grin softened, his thumb brushing against the small of your back. "Good. Because I’m all in."

Cooper’s hand slid from your waist to your hand, fingers intertwining with yours. "Me too," he said quietly, his eyes locking with yours, then flicking to Nicholas. "We’re in this together."

Nicholas’ hand slipped up to your jaw, gently turning your face toward his. The grin that was usually playful now softened, his eyes intense as they searched yours. Without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with everything that had gone unsaid between the three of you.

The kiss sent a wave of heat through your body, and for a moment, it was just you and Nicholas, the weight of his hand on your back, the warmth of his lips pulling you deeper into the moment.

When he pulled away, your breath caught, and before you could process the rush of emotions, you felt Cooper’s hand gently guiding your face toward him. His kiss was different — softer, more tentative, but no less charged. His lips moved against yours with a quiet intensity, as if he had been holding back for too long and now couldn’t stop himself.

The contrast between them was intoxicating, Nicholas’ fiery energy and Cooper’s gentle steadiness blending together, both of them focused entirely on you. When Cooper pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"So," Nicholas murmured, his voice low and teasing, "are we done pretending now?"

You smiled, breathless and caught between them, feeling like the missing pieces had finally clicked into place. "Yeah," you whispered, your heart pounding. "No more pretending."

[evanbi-ckley]

8x04 episode coda

“Hey,” Tommy said when Buck walked through the door, pulling him in and placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Hey.” Buck smiled, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder briefly. “What’s all this? It smells amazing,” he said, walking over to the stove to peek into one of the kettles.

Tommy slapped his hand away before he could lift the cover, Buck squawking in mock offense.

“It’s nothing big,” he said, picking up a wooden spoon to stir something in a sauce pot. “I thought you should have a nice homemade meal to come home to after the week you’ve had,” he added with a shrug. He was trying to seem nonchalant, but Buck wasn’t buying it, eyebrows shooting up.

“Uh huh. And what’s the actual reason for all this?”

Tommy huffed a laugh, not looking at Buck as he continued to give all of his concentration to the stovetop.

“Do I need a reason to cook a nice meal for you?”

“No, but - I don’t know, Tommy,” he started, moving over to lean against the counter next to his boyfriend. “This seems like - like too much.”

Tommy finally looked at him, setting down the spoon and placing his hands on Buck’s waist.

“Evan,” he said, his tone almost a reprimand, “there is no such thing as too much when it comes to you. I like doing things for you. I know you’ve had a hard time dealing with Gerrard at work and worrying about Hen and Karen and their daughter, but that’s all over now. Bobby’s back, and Mara is home, and I get to see you be happier again. So I wanted to celebrate a little. Okay?”

Buck ducked his head then looked shyly up at Tommy. He felt cared for in a way he hadn’t since his childhood.

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you, Tommy.” He placed a kiss next to Tommy’s mouth, right on one of the dimples he loved so much.

“You’re welcome. Now, can I get back to my sauce before it burns?” he asked, that smile tugging at his lips.

“Y-yeah, of course.” 

Tommy began stirring again, and Buck couldn’t help but watch the way Tommy’s muscles shifted beneath his henley. Muscles he would get to enjoy later, he knew.

“Would you drain the pasta for me?” Tommy asked, breaking into a smirk when he noticed Buck staring.

“Sure, I think I can manage that.”

Resting a palm on Tommy’s hip, he reached around to the other side to grab the colander, making Tommy chuckle. He drained the pot of pasta - “Did you make fresh spaghetti?” - he let Tommy take over, tossing the pasta in the sauce. Buck moved on to opening a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses before sitting at the table as Tommy walked over.

“Bon appetit,” he said, setting a heaping bowl in front of Buck. “Spaghetti all’Arrabbiata.”

“Wait,” Buck said, suddenly struck. “Is this your Nonna’s recipe? The one you made the first night we - ?”

“It is,” Tommy said, shrugging.

“Tommy, are you sure there’s nothing going on?”

“Why are you suspecting something?” Tommy asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“This all feels - I don’t know. Something feels different.”

Tommy sighed, dropping his head. When he looked up again, his eyes were glinting with something Buck couldn’t decipher at first glance.

“I was trying to be so subtle, but you never miss anything, do you?” Tommy asked, holding out a hand for Buck to take. It felt like Tommy wasn’t done speaking, so Buck waited him out for a few moments. “After dinner, I was going to sit you down and talk with you for a while. Catch up after not seeing each other for a few days. But you’re too smart, too perceptive.”

“Tommy -”

“Move in with me.” It wasn’t a question, but it was a request all the same.

Buck was speechless for a moment, processing the idea that Tommy wanted to live together.

“I - Tommy, it’s been six months. Are you sure you want me around all the time? Always in your space? All my things taking up residence here?”

“Yes, Evan. I want you around all the time. Every day. I want to go to sleep next to you every night and wake up to your snoring every morning.”

“I don’t sno-”

“And I want all of your things here,” Tommy pressed on. “I want your clothes in the closet and your dishes in the kitchen and your fancy bath towels in the linen closet.”

“Tommy, this is big.” 

“I know. But I know this is what I want. Every day I come home, and it feels like something’s missing. And I realized that that something is you. I want you, Evan. You’re home to me now.”

Buck couldn’t stop himself from surging forward, pulling Tommy into a searing kiss.

“You’re absolutely sure about this?” he asked. At Tommy’s insistent nod, he said, “Okay. Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Great.”

Neither of them could seem to stop smiling.

[angelshimaa]

𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 ;; 𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒

⤷ feat. bakugou & kirishima <3

✧ cw :: gn!reader, fluff, reader is shorter than them (height not specified), bkg calls you 'babe' and 'pretty', kiri calls you 'baby' and 'pretty', bkg's is a teensy bit suggestive (only if you squint), bkg swears twice, kissin in both 😍

✧ a/n :: hi y'all !! haven't written fanfic in a bit so i am a little rusty (sorreiii) but i couldn't get this out my mind, so here :D it's a little long and i feel there's repetition, but who cares? 😍

"katsu, have you seen my necklace? i swear i just had it—" you walk down the stairs, headed for the living room. the love of your life pauses his patient wait, looking up at your descending figure.

he's not sure he'll ever get used to how beautiful you are.

"s'on the table, babe," katsuki's used to your running about, finding bits and bobs to complete the look of the day because you misplace things quite easily. he places his phone on the table and stands to pick your beautiful necklace up himself.

you feel your lips quirk upwards at the sight of him, his suit smooth and matching your own attire. he's heartbreakingly handsome like this, suited up, and you don't think you'll ever tire from this.

"thank you." you watch bright red irises inch down your figure as you walk closer to him, taking in how good you look all dressed up. you're beaming so prettily at him, and for once katsuki finds a good reason for all these hero dinners. "put it on for me?"

you turn, back facing bakugou as he gently puts the necklace onto you. it's adorable how his fingers fumble a little with the clasp, his skin brushing up against the exposed skin at your neck as he tries to get it right.

the necklace is cool against your skin and his cologne smells too good. it's muted, yet its every note has you fighting back a blushing giggle— you'd be embarrassed for yourself if this wasn't your man. however, the giggle leaves your throat when he presses his lips against your neck, his hands dropping to hold onto your hips.

"thank you, katsu." you spin around to face him, and gosh does he wear that look he gives you so well. the softness of those features has you feeling like the only person in the world worth paying attention to. "you look so, so good."

your fingers fiddle lightly with the lapels of his blazer as you scan the admiration shaping his features. "'s that right?" amusement plays on his features, his hands sliding up to your waist, bringing you even closer to him. that grin of yours has every inch of him burning to kiss you, to show you just how perfect he thinks you are.

"mhm. got such a handsome man." your eyes sparkle up at him and he finds himself gifting you a half-smirk in return.

"'s all for you, pretty." his pretty eyes linger on your lips before looking back up to meet your eyes. "fuck, you're perfect." katsuki's so close it wouldn't take much to brush your lips against his. you laugh lightly at how intensely he's gazing at you.

finally, you meet each other halfway, pressing lingering kisses against each other. it's when your lips lock into a deeper, passion-seared kiss that you feel time threaten to slip away from your fingers. there's nothing else you'd much rather do with your time, than feel those soft lips against yours and against your skin, those warm hands trailing over every inch of you as though he would never get sick of mapping you out—

"we're gonna be late!" you're the one who breaks the kiss with a laugh, lightly hitting his chest.

"who gives a shit when you look this good?"

you laugh at the groan katsuki lets out when you get out of his grasp. "i do, kats. we'll never hear the end of it if we're late again. lemme find my phone, and we'll be off."

his eyeroll is practically audible, but he follows after you nonetheless. besides, he's sure such perfection will last long enough for him to praise it just right after this tedious dinner.

"pretty, could you please do my t—" eijirou's words die on his tongue when he catches the sight of you touching up your hair while looking into the mirror. you look so cute, all concentrated on fixing an error that wasn't even there.

"yes, eiji?" you fix your gaze into him with a smile. your eyes land to your boyfriend, his tie still very much undone and resting on his broad shoulders. "oh, your tie."

the giggle bubbles out your chest when kirishima wolf-whistles at you while you walk to him. "give us a spin, give us a spin!" laughing, you obey by twirling, earning a cheer from him that makes you laugh even more.

"you're such an idiot, eiji," your grin is wide and kirishima is so proud of being responsible for it. he has a grin wide enough to match your own and you reach out to hold his face for a little.

"and you're so, so pretty, baby. gosh, look at you." his eyes are as tender as his touch grazing the small of your back, his hands settling on your hips. "i'm the luckiest man ever, i swear."

you let go of his face, dropping your hands to do his tie. it wasn't that he didn't know how to do it himself, but there was so much magic in how lovely you looked doing it for him.

"and the manliest, most handsome man ever." you glance up at him with a smile. his red mane has grown a little longer than its usual length, so you suggested a low bun instead of his typical updo.

it's safe to say you're glad he listened.

"done!" you adjust his tie and smoothe it over his chest, beaming up at him.

eijirou dips his head down to give you a peck, and another because only one is just never enough. "thank you, baby." what a beautiful smile. "what else do you still need to do?"

"i think i'm done… wait, one last thing."

gently, you hold onto kirishima's tie, inching up its length as you eye him. as though he reads your mind, he dips down to meet you with a proper kiss. warmth settles into your stomach; it feels so unexplainably right to kiss him.

he hums as he feels his heart buzz, smiling into your kiss as he brings you in closer by your hips. it's instinct to wrap your arms around his neck and stay like that a while longer, but you catch yourself beforehand. you both had somewhere important to be.

"that's everything! time to go, traffic might worsen soon." kirishima watches you walk away with a smile before he follows, completely ready to look at nothing but you for the rest of the night.

✧ — thank you for reading !! rbs and feedback are greatly appreciated <3

taglist (complete this form if you'd like to join !) :: @maeby-cursed @katsukismrs @himikoslove @pasteldaze @afairywithacrown @moonshuuls-archive @https-spacekay @k0z3me @frannky @sweeteaas @niktwazny303 @justbepeace @bookcluberror @ur-local-simp @awkwardaardvarkforever @dreamcastgirl99

[bandgie]

Cats Galore | Ep. 3

MASTERLIST | Kink: Anal

🗝 The Other Neighbors downstairs hardly raise concern other than their weird fascinations with cats. You don't mind them playing with yours, but you're learning that things aren't as they seem.

4.6k words

warnings: MDNI18+, fem!reader, f!masturbation (brief), pussy play, fingering, 3some, anal, butt-play, PIV, no protection, cumming inside, creampie, finger sucking (m!), reader called kitty/slut, reader wears cat ears, minho is a bit of a mean dom, reader says she's gonna pee (doesn't), squirting, edging (brief), double penetration, boob sucking

notes: fuck, that's a lot of warnings, sorry. I was supposed to post this days ago but I was partying :( sorry, forgive me. hopefully the length makes up for it

“I almost fell down a well earlier, guys.”

The consistent clicking of their keyboard tells you they’re not listening. You’re staring out the kitchen window, watching the rain pour and the droplets race.

“Uh-huh.”

“I would have died.” Maybe that will catch their attention. Chan and Changbin have been nothing but busy-busy the moment they came home. Late. You had to mop the floors when their muddied shoes walked through the front.

“That’s nice.”

You wrinkle your nose, unsure if you should act upset or cordial. They’ve been home for hours, sitting at the tiny table typing away.

Editing to be exact. 

“So, how far are you in the album?”

“Very.” Chan takes off one side of his headphones. “I think we should be able to make the deadline if we stay up.” 

You try not to groan. Music is their everything. You get that. You’ve known that, but there are so many times you feel like you don’t even come second. If you bat your eyes prettily enough and cutely pout, they’d put it on hold. 

But then they wouldn’t get their work done. The stress they feel now would be nothing compared to scrambling last minute to put something together. 

And it would all be your fault because you don’t know how to stop being so clingy.

“That’s good.” You turn from the window and walk over to them, standing behind Changbin and looking at the DAW. You pretend you know what the different colors and lines mean, nodding and pecking his cheek encouragingly. “Looks good too.”

Changin’s already turning his head, pursing his lips so you could plant a kiss there instead, but Chan reaches over and flicks his forehead. “No. Babe, listen, we love you, but you’re distracting.”

“Distracting?”

“I mean, we won’t be able to do our work.” Chan is careful with his words. “Like, I bet Bin has a fucking boner from just you standing next to him.”

Changbin’s lips turn into an upside-down, sheepish smile, “Shut up.”

“Exactly. I promise you, at the end of the week, we’re all yours.” Chan smiles suddenly. His teeth look wolfish in the cutest way possible. “Was the first night not enough lovin’ for you?”

It was more than enough. You can feel Changbin buzzing with arousal just from the memory. It’s not often that your boys like to play rough, but when they do, they make sure to make it unforgettable.

Your dreamy button-boy helped significantly to make sure your lovin’ was sublime. 

“For now.” You shrug, but you grin knowingly. “I’ll leave you two alone then. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

Changbin purses his lips again when you lean down. This time, Chan doesn’t stop you two from kissing. It’s brief, but Changbin still hums with content in your mouth. Your lips disconnect with a gentle smack and you walk to the other side, doing the same to Chan.

“I’m serious. Go to bed at a reasonable time.” You narrow your eyes. “I don’t wanna deal with a grumpy Bin telling me Chan made him stay up all night.”

Chan presses another chaste kiss. “No promises.”

-

It’s when you want to sleep that it seems impossible. You want to get enough rest. The garden needs to be at least cleaned if you want it to blossom. But the only thing you can do in bed is toss and turn, replaying the events of the day until your mind wanders to Hyunjin.

There’s a small part of you that wants to dream about him again. Even if you have to see his buttons, it would be nothing compared to his cock dragging in your walls. 

He’s big. He has to be. You can remember how it felt against your cunt. The mere warmth from him had your clit throbbing, aching to feel his tip slide against you even if you had just finished in his mouth. 

And the kisses, his kisses. They felt so tender. So warm. You don’t think you’ll be able to recreate the sensation with your fingers, but you slide your hand down your panties anyway. But just when you make it past the dip, finger threading through your coarse hair, you hear the familiar sound. 

Squeak! Squeak!

Are you asleep already? Did so much time pass pretending that you actually did? You don’t know, and you don’t care to find out. The little mouse, just peeking through the crack of your door, is your only worry.

Seems like Hyunjin isn’t the one that didn’t get enough lovin’.

You fling the covers off and rush to the door. The mouse squeaks in panic, scurrying out and down the hallway to the stairs. You know it’s aiming for the little door. You don’t have to question the fact when it leaps over the steps and into the living room. 

Unlike the quiet mouse, your steps are loud, thudding down the stairs and tripping over the carpet. You regain your balance quickly, bumping into a wall and pushing off it for an extra boost into the dimly lit living room.

You don’t even see the mouse anymore, too consumed with prying your fingers through the crevasse and throwing it open. 

Like an old friend, the tunnel beams. It pulsates with life, with happiness, you think. The changing colors are like a beckoning finger that you listen to obediently. The passage feels exactly like it did the other night. Fuzzy, soft, warm, and everything right. 

The lights in the Other living room are just slightly different than last time. A little yellow, a little too pale. It hides the shadow of the couches that seem to glow with life, but you don’t dig too much into the aesthetic. You know there’s a note in the kitchen waiting for you.

This time, it’s not just a note on the table when you walk in, but a kitten headband next to it.

We’re downstairs.

We? You narrow your eyes and cock your head to the side. Who’s we? This isn’t Hyunjin’s handwriting. 

Another line of scribbles reads in a cuter, playful tone.

can’t wait to meet you! pleeasseee wear the kitty ears!!!!! (ㅅ •᷄ ₃•᷅ )

You’d laugh at the drawn emoticon if you weren’t confused. With one hand holding the letter and the other holding the headband, you think. 

Why are you dreaming of this? Who’s waiting for you? Why do they want you to wear a costume? 

It doesn’t matter how many times you ask yourself, those questions will never be answered. Not on this floor at least.

As beautiful as it is outside, you walk down the porch and turn right. There’s an opening with a small staircase leading down, the doorframe lit with pretty lights.

They flash inducingly; on and off in a way that makes it seem like the light is moving. 

They help with your jitters. You know that it won't be Hyunjin behind the door and sure as hell won’t be your boys. Still, you feel some exhilaration when you stop just a foot shy of the door.

It opens before you can knock a third time, revealing two men standing side-by-side. One has brown buttons for eyes, a beautiful complement to his freckled face and blonde hair. He smiles like it’s the easiest thing to do now that you’re here. His lips curve perfectly against his teeth, white and smooth. 

The other’s buttons are a deep burgundy, almost matching his chestnut hair. Only one side of his mouth quirks into a smile that’s closer to a grin. 

The blonde one shrieks with excitement. “Ah! You’re here! Minho, she’s here! Like, here here.”

You laugh, “Yeah. Here here. In the flesh.”

He lights up even more. The flashing bulbs on the doorframe dance on his face. “Yes! Come in. Hyunjin raved about you all day yesterday.” The blonde man opens the door wide enough for you to see the living room blocked by a curtain that he pushes back. It’s massive, adorned with cat sculptures and paintings. Even the couch has a fuzz that seems to resemble fur.

Minho chuckles. “Gosh. He wouldn’t shut up. He falls in love way too easily.”

Their conversation doesn’t click until you’re inside the apartment. You’re too busy deciding to be weirded out or impressed by the amount of cats perched on the wall.

Wait. Did Hyunjin tell them…

“What did he say about me?” You try to sound nonchalant, fingers grazing the soft sofa.

Minho flops on the other side of the couch. “Oh, nothing. Just that he wants to ask for your hand in marriage.” He snickers at his own joke, ignoring the disapproving shake of his friend’s head. 

“All good things, I promise.” The blonde man sits on the opposite side, patting the empty slot between them.

You sit gingerly, far enough that your thighs aren’t touching, but you can feel their bodies radiating warmth. You swear Minho eyes the way your thighs expand when you sit, tearing his buttons away to look at the kitten ears on your head.

“Very good things. He showed us some paintings he finished too, but he said it wasn’t enough to capture your beauty.” Minho smiles at your blush. “I should tell him to paint this too. The cat ears are a good touch.”

“Minho!”

“Felix!” Minho mimics his roommate's tone. “Am I doing something bad?” He looks at you, buttons gleaming with playfulness. “Am I?”

You shake your head. “N-no.”

The way his teeth are revealed is almost predatory. Almost as though he likes the hint of fear in your eyes. “Good. See? Hyunjin said you were a good girl too.” His hands reach behind your head, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The tips of his fingers barely graze you, but your skin feels on fire.

You know why you’re dreaming of them. Why you keep going through the tunnel. They must know too, but Minho plays with the ears on your head fondly. 

“I can tell you are. Wearing exactly what we asked you to.” He tilts his head. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but Felix and I have quite the…liking towards cats.”

You turn to the side, facing the differently posed statutes along the wall. “You don’t say.”

Minho giggles. “With you wearing the ears, well, let’s just say we’re seeing if you’d be a good addition to our collection.”

Felix chuckles beside you, scooting just enough so his leg rubs against yours. 

There’s so much you should be worried about. It’s all too familiar with how interesting Hyunjin was. To the underlying tones, the secretive glances they give each other, to the fact that they have you trapped between them. 

But when one of Felix’s hands goes to your inner thigh and Minho’s goes to your other, your heart drums for a different reason.

“I think we should look at your kitty down here to make sure you’ll fit in perfectly.” Felix’s voice is unbelievably smooth in your ear. His tone sends shivers down your spine and you visibly shake. 

He grins like he knows. “Would that be okay?”

You nod, but your ‘yes’ sounds more like a whimper than an actual voice. It’s easy for them to spread your legs, panties on display being that you don’t sleep with anything more than a shirt and underwear. They knead the softness of your inner thighs, cooing and laughing like they’ve got you right where they want you.

“This kitty listens so well.” Minho’s lips brush against your ear. He’s the first one to move towards your cunt, fingers sliding underneath your panties to pull it to the side.

“Ooo,” his breath gives you goosebumps. “And it’s a pretty one too.”

Your pussy feels cold now that it’s exposed. Felix pulls on your thigh so your pussy spread just slightly. He groans, deep and low. He’s quick to spread his fingers into a ‘v’ shape around your lips. 

Minho’s thumb grazes your flesh. It’s such a light touch, barely there if you hadn’t been paying close attention. The sensation makes you jolt off the couch just slightly, choking on a gasp. 

“Sensitive little thing, huh?” Miho smiles against your ear. “Barely even touching you.” His index finger trails along your slit, soon finding your clit. 

“Bet if I touch you here, you’ll get wet real fast.”

Felix does well in keeping your cunt spread while Minho flicks the pad of his finger against you. It takes everything in you not to buck off the couch again. To stop your pussy from clenching every time Minho presses down on your nub.

But just like he said, you can feel your slick sliding down your ass. The wetness must soil the plush couch underneath, but the men don’t seem to mind in the slightest. Instead, you feel Felix’s fingers mingle in the mix.

His digits are so much different from Minho’s. They’re small and much rougher, but the different textures make you find purchase on their thighs and squeeze. 

Felix giggles. “You were right, hyung. She did get wet.”

Even if it weren’t for the obvious sounds resonating in the room, it would be your moans and whines that gave away your arousal. 

“Of course I was right. Hyunjin told me all about you.” The way he says it, like a threat, it should scare you. But his ominous tone makes your eyes roll and toes curl instead.

“Told me you tasted good. He almost came his pants when his tongue was on you.”

Minho stops flicking your clit to maneuver lower. His soft fingers slide until they catch your entrance, prodding and rubbing before dipping in. 

You gasp when he enters you. You didn’t realize how desperate your cunt was to clench on something until it was pulsing around his digit. Your hips begin to rock immediately, trying to find a rhythm with his little finger wiggling inside you.

“F-fuck.” You lean on Felix’s shoulder. “Please.”

Even with your squelching and pleading, Minho slides out. His sadistic smile stays on his lips when you whine, tears in your eyes from an orgasm being pulled away. 

He raises his hand high enough for you three to see it glisten in the light. 

The slick is almost mesmerizing, their buttons locked on the sight. Minho brings the hand closer and you open with your mouth without being told to. 

“I wanna know if he was telling the truth about this too.” But instead of putting his finger on your tongue, he reaches over to Felix. 

His pink tongue is already waiting, a subtle blush on his face that makes his freckles stick out. You watch as Minho’s finger plays with his tongue, running over the smoothness of his teeth and the plushness of his lips.

Felix moans at your taste, hollowing his cheeks to suck diligently. His fingers on your cunt slow in concentration, but you’re too aroused to notice.

A string of spit and slick connects from Felix’s tongue to Minho’s finger when he pulls away. It stretches and breaks easily, causing Felix to lick his chin where it landed. 

His buttons are full of hunger. “Yeah, Min. He was telling the truth.”

Minho laughs with delight. His wet finger goes back to your cunt, rubbing harshly and quickly. 

The instant pleasure makes you mewl, drooly lips finding Felix’s is a spit-covered kiss.  You can taste yourself on him. His soft mouth makes the tangy, metallic taste sweet, tongues diving into each other’s throats.

Felix pulls away enough to speak, but your kisses attack the corners of his lips and throat as he says, “Do you wanna taste, hyung?”

Minho hums in thought, the pads of his fingers swirling over your clit torturously. Your kisses on Felix’s skin slow. You can still taste your arousal on your tongue, Minho won’t have any problem getting a taste if he kisses you now. But when his fingers dip past your hole to your rim, you know what he wants instead.

“I think I wanna play with something else.” Minho uses his free hand to pull you by your hair gently, making you face him. “How many fingers can you fit in here, kitty?”

He presses, harder and harder until the tip of his finger makes its way inside your ass. Your mouth drops at the feeling, unsure if it feels good because it’s vulnerable or because he’s touching something you know is only used for special occasions.

Minho forces them deeper, making you squeal. “How many?”

“I-I don’t know! Three? F-four?” Changbin’s cock is roughly that wide. You recall having him and Chan trying to fit both their cock in the same hole, but there wasn’t enough lube to accommodate their size. 

He moans, soft and pretty. His finger turns into two, and rather than just the tip, you feel him sink to the knuckle. All the while Felix makes sure to play with your pussy to keep your juices flowing to your ass. 

“You dirty slut. You’re perfect.” Minho doesn’t hesitate in fucking his fingers into you. They curl and rub as if it was your pussy, but with how full you are, it feels like it is. 

“Shit. Good fucking ass. You’ve taken a cock in there, haven't you?”

You nod, unable to speak. Your throat can’t do anything but moan. The sounds get even louder when Minho’s fingers slip out, opting to stand and untie his sweats. You only get a second to see his bulge before it springs out, flushed and leaking. He takes his place in front of you, holding you by the knees. 

Minho has a full view of your gaping ass, of Felix’s relentless fingers playing with your clit. You’d be shy in any other scenario, but with the taste of you still lingering on your tongue and the need in your stomach, it’s nonexistent. 

You drool when you see him stroke himself, the throbbing of his cock intensifying. You spread your legs more and let him guide his tip to your ass, holding your breath for the breach.

“You’ve never taken a dick like mine, baby. I’ll make you cum in seconds.”

Felix snorts beside you, but it sounds muffled with the blood rushing to your ears. His cock is warm entering you. Everything feels so much intensified when your ass is used. You can feel every curve and every vein inside. 

His rounded head slips in with ease, especially when Felix smears your dripping arousal down to Minho’s remaining shaft and your rim.

You choke on a sob when his pelvis is flush against you.

“Fuck yes.” Minho bares throat. His head falls back, red neck on display. “Knew you’d take it all.” Even with no eyes, his buttons seem crazed. That burgundy color turning redder by the second.

His pace is slow, still adjusting to how your walls squeeze unbelievably tight and warm. It’s easy to confuse the slick from your pussy coming from your ass instead, but it's hard not to ooze arousal with Felix rubbing you.

Your clit feels on fire. Even with nothing in your cunt, it feels like you’re stuffed beyond full. It’s puffy, swollen, and wet. Felix doesn’t stop rubbing for a second even when you let out a pleasurable scream when Minho picks up his pace.

“Oh my god.” You’re staring at the mess between your legs. “Ohmygod, ohmygod. Fuck! I’m gonna pee. Waitwaitwait.” 

You know it’s not piss, but it’s been so long since you squirted that you nearly forgot you could. The warmth in your stomach builds too fast, too overwhelming. Tipping over the edge never felt so close, yet so far. There’s nothing for your pussy to clench on. Felix’s fingers are moving too fast for your clit to throb and Minho’s cock is bruising into you at a pace that isn’t slow or quick enough.

You forgot how dreadfully good it feels to never come down from your high. To be stuck at the peak because they simply don’t care.

Chan and Changbin always made sure to have you cum over and over, but having your body spam from the lack thereof is a feeling you never want to forget again.

“Yeah?” Minho laughs. “Looks like kitty needs a little more training, huh, Felix?”

Felix yanks your shirt up, exposing your tits and making you bite the material. Saliva immediately begins to pool in the cotton, but then men are too distracted by your tits to care. 

Felix leans into your chest. “Try holding it in, yeah? Minho can be stern when he wants to be.” 

You feel his teeth clamp down on your nipple. How they think you can stop yourself from soiling the couch is laughable. Felix tugs on the peak of your breast and rubs your clit all while Minho pistons his cock in and out of your ass. 

You squirt within seconds. 

Since nothing is blocking your cunt, your arousal flows out freely. Felix’s digits only make your juices fly farther, splattering on Minho’s chest and your thighs. 

There’s a moment where you’re gasping so hard your head spins. All you can hear are the moans tumbling from your stuffed mouth and Minho’s psychotic laughter. Felix tries to help the fountain between your legs by slowing down, but his hyung doesn’t slow his thrusts at all.

“Bad fucking kitty! Now I have to cum in your ass.” His buttons lock on Felix’s. “Did I tell you to stop?”

The tiny fingers resume their harsh pace, but Felix pouts. “You’re gonna tire her out. My cock hurts too, ya know?”

Sanity glints in Minho’s buttons. It’s as if your ass was too good, making him completely forget about his roommates' needs.

He pulls out without hesitation. You groan when it slips from you, feeling like you can finally breathe. 

“Lixie. I’m such a bad hyung.” It’s the first time his voice is soft. Caring. “You want her ass?”

Felix’s fingers go to your hole, your cunt. You let out a drawled moan when his fingers wiggle their way inside. It feels so good to have your pussy filled right after squirting.

“I just want her pussy. You can still have her ass. I know that’s your favorite.”

The roommates share a laugh, talking about you like you’re nothing but a toy. All you can do is groan when they change your position. Your back aches from your legs being in the air for so long, but the pain subsides when they plant you on all fours on the couch, hovering over Felix with Minho behind you.

Felix��s cock is a little thing, so similar to Changbin’s. They don’t share the same thickness in the slightest, but you’re thankful for Felix’s size when they enter you at the same time.

Had he been any bigger, you don’t doubt that you would’ve split. The stretch is porno worthy. Your walls open easily for both of them, their cocks molding their shape inside you. Their pace is so different. Felix is getting used to the feel of your cunt for the first time whereas Minho is chasing his high. 

The thrusts from behind make you bounce on Felix’s dick. Your breasts jiggle in his face so tempting that it doesn’t take long for him to pop a nipple in his mouth.

Like before, his bites and licks encourage you to rock between them. 

Minho has a firm grip on your ass, spreading your cheeks to see his cock bury itself between them. “Your ass is so wet. Feels just like a pussy.” He stills, hips flush against you. He groans when you whimper. “Squeezes just like one too.”

This time, you know you’ll be able to cum properly. The orgasm builds in your stomach until it coils, clenching on the two cocks in warning. 

“Sh-shit.” Felix curses with your breast in his mouth. “I’mma cum already.”

“Mhm.” He grunts, fucking you earnestly. “Good set of holes.”

You choose to take that as a compliment. Your walls are gripping them so tight that it feels as though they’re fucking you in the same place. But when your chest burns and the warmth in your belly finally uncoils, you know it’s Felix’s cock you cum on.

Even though your body freezes to ooze with cream, Minho doesn’t stop. Not even as Felix howls with pleasure or you plead with overstimulation, his cock bullies into your ass until you flood with their seed.

You can’t tell whose cum is filling from where. It feels everywhere, outside and inside. You collapse on Felix’s chest, panting with exhaustion. Minho thrusts a few more times for good measure before pulling out, moaning in the process. 

Felix follows soon after, his softening cock between your and his pelvis’. The warm strings of cum pour from your holes and you feel Minho play with it. Whether or not he shoves it back into your gaping ass or cunt, you can’t tell. 

It all feels the same.

Ding. Ding.

You three jump at the sound of the doorbell. Felix and Minho share a confused look, the older grabbing his sweats and putting his legs through the pant holes. It seems that their visitor requires both of them, being that Felix slips from under you and pecks your forehead.

You suppose this is your cue to wake up.

But as they tuck their cocks away and close the curtains to the living room, you don’t wake.

Weird. 

You’re about to begin counting sheep when something black moves in the corner of your eye. It takes a few seconds for your hazy vision to focus on a cat, the only one moving sly and quickly. 

Unlike the other sculpted cats with buttons for eyes on the walls, this one has blue, normal eyes. Just like the one from the woods. 

“Hmm,” your voice is groggy. “Hannie’s got a cat like you back at home. You must be the Other cat.”

That cat narrows its eyes at you, nose up turning into a sneer. “No. I’m not the other anything. I’m me.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Your eyelids flutter in shock, but your mind is so fuzzy that you can’t be too surprised.

You’re still sleeping after all.

“I see you don’t have buttons for eyes, but if you’re the real cat, how can you speak?”

“Too many questions and not enough time,” his whiskers twitch. “They won’t be distracted for long. They don’t like me very much.”

You snort, “I find that hard to believe. They said they like cats.”

“They like things that listen. They want a pet. And I’m hardly one to behave.”

Talking takes a lot of effort. You can feel your eyelids drooping and your limbs relaxing on the couch, but you manage to peek at the kitty. “I don’t think I’d mind being their little pet every now and then.”

The cat does not laugh with you. Instead, he leaps from the shelves on the wall and quietly lands on the couch, mere inches from your tired face. 

“You probably think this world is a dream come true. But you’re wrong. If you come back here again, we won’t let you leave.”

We. A spark of anxiety lights in your chest. His piercing eyes, the only ones here besides yours, are full of truth. Something about his gaze and mannerisms screams human. “Are you really a cat?”

“I am as much as a cat as this is a dream.” His tail tickles your nose just enough to keep you awake for a few seconds. “Listen to me and do not go through the door again. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave the Pink Palace and not look back.”

Like any normal cat, he glares at you one last time. “Or don’t. Afterall, I’m just a stupid cat. Aren’t I?”

[occamstfs]

In The Rink: Woodie

Travelling up North to visit his friend at the behest of his new hockey captain, Remy's in for quite a surprise when his friend has become quite the brute. More surprises await as it seems some intimate time together may just help him become part of the team himself.

Part two of my story for HairyJockTf! Dunks' domination streak seems to affect him off the court as well, not that Remy minds! The story continues off from In The Rink: Dunks! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Remy really didn’t understand why Duncan was being so cagey? They used to be so close before he moved up here for work and now it’s been months since they texted. Thank God his teammate finally reached out and invited him up to visit! He even paid for a plane ticket which Remy thought was insane, but he’s not about to turn down the offer. He can’t wait to see the look on Duncan’s face when he surprises him haha! 

Shivering in the cold streets, Remy smiles as he sees his breath in the air. He can’t believe it’s already so cold up here, back home it won’t get this chilly for a couple more months! His mind keeps returning to Duncan and his excitement at their impending reunion. Remy wonders what Duncan told Matt about him to get him to reach out, though presumably in their correspondence he realized that their relationship is a little more complicated than just ‘friends’.

Finding Duncan’s apartment unlocked, just like Matt said he would, Remy enters and lays his stuff down on the coffee table. Immediately he struggles to not be too intrusive. It has been a while after all, he’d hate to learn something that Duncan wouldn’t want him to know. He pauses for a moment, like if he had a boyfriend. Remy chews on his lip as he realizes how stupid he was to come up at the insistence of some man he doesn’t know. Totally overstepping an unspoken boundary with Duncan. Matt must have told him. Duncan must know he’s here, right?

Overcoming his druthers, Remy sets about snooping through Duncan’s apartment. Promptly he’s floored at what a pigsty it is. Nothing like the prim and proper man he knew when they went to university together. Dirty dishes piled in the sink, pizza boxes and other to-go containers scattered around the kitchen, loads of unwashed clothes spilling out of a hamper. He was shocked when he heard his friend had gotten into hockey, but he never expected that he’d be so obsessed as to start living in filth? 

His phone goes off and he checks it to find an alarm he set as a five minute warning prior to when Matt said Duncan should be making it back to the apartment. Initially he set it so he’d have time to get in the mindset to see his ex, not ex, friend. But at the present moment nerves seem insurmountable so instead he decides to instead skip straight to preparing a gag that would diffuse tension. Eying a uniform laid out on the couch Remy smirks as he imagines how funny it would be if Duncan got home to see his oh so mousy friend ready to hit the rink himself!

This turned out to be foolhardy for a number of reasons. The first being that Remy was absolutely drowning in this jersey. He knew they were massive, what with the pads and all, but he can’t imagine Duncan would ever fit in this? It’s gotta be for a man at least a foot taller than he knows Duncan to be. Beyond that he isn’t sure if the coming in from the cold dulled his sense of smell or what, but as soon as he throws on that jersey he is bathed in the scent of a jersey that hasn’t been washed after months of heavy exercise.

Remy could barely stand as he’s overwhelmed by the scent of the uniform that now rests on his shoulders. His eyes water as a stink greater than that of every locker room he’s had the misfortune of spending time in combined blasts his sinuses. He races to plug his nose but the movement only wafts more of the musk baked into the crusty jersey towards his nose. Gagging similarly only increases his intake and in little time at all the musk of his friend has totally displaced air in his lungs. 

Growing shockingly lightheaded, the young man falls back onto the couch. While his mind is awash with Duncan’s b.o., the part of him that has long been the most preoccupied with his friend begins to stir. In no time at all his most precious cargo overrides rationality and cleanliness and asserts the upside to wearing Duncan’s sweat-stained uniform. After struggling to produce a hand from the oversized sleeves he promptly begins working his package through the thick material. Before he has nearly enough time to get off, but well enough for him to forget his friend is almost home. The door to the apartment cracks open and he jumps with a start and falls flat on his face, uncomfortably landing on the boner hidden beneath the jersey.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house.” Hesitating as he lies face down on the floor Remy is filled with fear as he realizes he does not recognize that voice. Far deeper than Duncan could muster with a head cold, duller than his sharp friend would ever care to present, and with an irritation so harsh it borders on rage. Remy slowly turns to look up at the man entering the space with a shy grin that immediately dissolves. Were he not already on the floor he would have doubled over from the shock.

That cannot be Duncan Worthy. Stumbling over words as his clumsy tongue tries to buy time to take in the behemoth standing over him, Remy squints his eyes and finds the faintest glimmer of familiarity in the brutish man, “D-Duncan?” His scowl harshens further as he closes the door and crosses arms that could knock Remy out with a flick, “Name’s Dunks, kid.” Squinting in return, he looks down as if they were having a competition; he moves to pick the mousy Remy up by the jersey. “‘N why are you wearing my shit punk?” 

Remy again stumbles over his words before trying to get a grip on the hem of the jersey almost hanging past his knees. Rolling his eyes and grimacing at the pathetic grunts of his home invader apparent as the small man is unable to get the jersey off over his head, Dunks steps in and wrenches it off, briefly holding Remy in the air as he slides out of the stained fabric. Looking at the blushing man, the few gears in Dunks’ struggling mind click into overdrive, “You a horny fan or what?” Remy balks, “What!? Duncan it’s me!”

Hearing himself referred to with his proper name once more brings a darkness into the athlete’s eyes, “Told you to call me Dunks. If you were a real fan you’d know that.” Remy pouts and stamps his foot, “I- Do you not recognize me Dunca- Dunks? It’s me, uhm, Remy? Remy Woods?” The brute scratches his beard and disrobes from the sweaty clothes he wore to the team’s practice. “Oh yeah uhhh, Kinger mentioned somethin’ about you bein’ in town.” Suddenly the look in his eyes grows even more clouded as he strides closer to Remy. 

Despite alarm bells going off at the sudden movement of this man that he can read about as well as a wild animal. Despite adrenaline suddenly coursing through him as he feels genuine fear. Despite the brusque man’s arms reaching to grab him, he is unable to act. Conflict between his mind’s knowing that he should retreat and his more primal, hornier id demanding he stay rooted to the spot. When his nose is hit with a fresh wave of Dunks’ musk his rational mind loses whatever thin grasp it held on the reins and Remy becomes putty in the beast’s hands

“Been a while Woods. Seems like you're still obsessed with me eh?” Remy grumbles something unintelligible in protest but he lacks the coherence or care to even dispute the assertion. Dunks’ smirk grows wide and wicked as he continues, “And now you’ve followed me all this way to join the team huh? Hope you’re ready for a first taste.” Awareness returns to Remy’s mind at this bizarre statement, join the team? What on Earth did King tell him? “Uhm I’m not so sUR-” Unfortunately for his barely reemergent reason, he is interrupted as Dunks forces his head into his pits. “Yeah get a nice good breath.”

Remy struggles in the clutches of his once-friend, unable to make any headway against biceps the size of his thighs. He pushes with all his meager might but with each struggled breath he loses the willpower to do anything but delight in the odor. His mouth was open when he was shoved in shouting in protest, but now his tongue lances out to join in the rapture of Dunks’ post-practice pits. 

“Yeah I bet you like that fucker, that’ll put some hair on your fuckin’ twink chest huh.” With that he removes Remy from his pit and tosses him back onto the couch. Mind foggy from being anesthetized by Dunks’ musk, Remy has little recourse than to grovel on the couch and await whatever else the man standing over him sees fit, the bulge struggling against his already strained underwear makes it more than clear what he desires.

Dunks falls on top of him, taking care not to truly crush the smaller man as he lies beneath, moaning mindlessly. For his part the athlete’s eyes are shut as he imagines the prone man hes grinding against to be wearing a uniform, “Bet you can’t even fuckin’ carry your pads huh bitch.” Remy’s arms grope at the massive man’s hairy back as he thrusts against his own still clothed chest, barely able to move at all he struggles to remove his top now stained in Dunks’ sweat.

Doing so he finds something impossible, Dunk’s words have struck true, as the man’s meaty chest pushes into his own he feels a smattering of thick curls begin to meet them, causing friction and unfamiliar scratching. Through bleary eyes he sees Dunks’ smile grow wider. The athlete’s own mouth suddenly desiring a taste of the man he’s grinding against, Dunks leans down and begins aggressively discovering what his prey tastes like. Dragging his tongue across Remy’s hitherto hairless jaw he laughs as he feels it scratch against the first sign of stubble as it begins to break ground that shall never be clean shaven again. 

Imagining the playoff beard his bro, his teammate, will grow sends a stabbing, hungered pain into Dunks’ chest. Gritting his teeth his head trails down to Remy’s neck as he tries to inhale the first heady breath of musk that his new goalie’s body will begin to produce any second now. Impatient as he smells nothing besides himself, he almost growls as his head remains tucked behind the smaller man’s neck. His teeth move across it as his mouth opens, canines grazing Remy’s neck as he struggles not to give the moaning man a hickey powerful enough to strike him unconscious.

Beard scratching against new stubble, Jungle of chest hair tangling itself with the new forest growing on Remy’s chest, his massive cock frotting against his new goalie’s burgeoning bulge, Dunks grunts and takes a quivering breath as he is on the precipice of release he has not been allowed since he first stepped onto the rink. Pausing his momentum to ensure he enjoys the moment he has so awaited, the goliath leans in close to whisper into the ear of Remy. “Welcome to the team Woodie.”  

At that both men lose control. Cum streaks across Woodie’s awaiting stomach and pollinates a new oasis of hair that is to flourish on his torso for the rest of his life. Thick curls spread to capture the width of his stomach as it bulges outward with strength enough to hastily throw himself to stop any rushing puck. His own cock still imprisoned in the pants he traveled in prevents his load from escaping, allowing it to soak into his own blooming garden of pubes as they grow thicker than the hair of head on either man.

His mind rearranges itself to lose the dead weight of a life he will never return to as it fills with new instinct and abilities to dominate on the ice rink. Countless pucks blocked, myriad hours standing overwatch at the net, working out with his Captain Kinger and his other half Dunks. The couch underneath the two men creaks as Woodie bloats larger, gut filling out as it is quickly patterned with dark hair, shoulders widening to support weighter arms that are to evermore hide an expansive patch of pit hair, and the gem of it all an explosive hockey player’s ass.

Both men laugh as the seams blast off Woodie’s underwear and this thick cock is finally exposed. His cock bursts larger, escaping from his dense pubes and standing high above hairy balls that make one wonder if he’ll be able to fit in normal pants. On the other side the sheer size of his ass and thighs that are destined to rub together spell an end to any jeans that are not custom made, sculpted to fit around his dedicated physique. 

Seeing his quarry become the perfect teammate, Dunks feels his eternal need to dominate begin to rise. His calloused hands claw into the meaty hocks that compromise Woodie’s lats and with a smirk the newest member of the team does likewise before pitching to toss both men off the couch. Still groaning and convulsing with a body continuing to stain hairier and surge larger, the men begin to wrestle.

Their cocks remain out in the fray, twitching with anticipation as the two men frot in between holds and grunting thrusts. Woodie’s new expanding thicket of  body hair is stuck to his body with sweat as the two men rapidly wrestle for supremacy. Dunks’ brute strength makes it clear that the newbie doesn’t stand a chance. Twitching in his other half’s grasp a headache sears his mind as memories of watching Dunks absolutely demolish people on the rink. 

But it’s not over yet, the goalie’s got more of a head on his thick shoulders. Tactfully exposing his pit to get the oaf’s attention, which instantly works as the oaf hungrily stares mouth agape. Remy stretches his foot towards the enforcer’s bulging equipment bag. Shaggy leg stretching longer, he hooks his foot on the bag and yanks it, causing Dunks’ equipment to spill everywhere.

Only, that looks an awful lot like his own stuff doesn’t it? Gasping as he sees goalie pads, lustful fog abates from Dunks eyes as he sucks up some drool and follows Woodie’s eyeline, “Oh yeah huhuh, Kinger wanted me to bring you your stuff since you skipped out on practice ya-” Woodie promptly pushes to escape from the burly defenders clutches and after a grumble at his not playing fair, he assuages.

Possessed with a desire to try on his new stuff, Woodie races to the bag. Throwing on pieces as soon as he drags them out he’s made giddy feeling a compression shirt hug his powerful new curves and constrict his dynamo biceps. Woodie feels almost as overwhelmed with delight as when he and Dunks get the chance to fuck. It just feels right. Rubbing his tight, compressed torso and feeling the thick jungle of hair pressing through it, his mind restructures itself to hold hockey above anything else, everything else. Plays replace birthdays, techniques eviscerate his schooling, honed skill ousts neat handwriting, cleanliness, and any other marks of Remy Woods’ once-prim self.

Scratching at his stubble as it begins to thicken into a playoff beard to be proud of he starts digging through the equipment bag as if it were Christmas day. Dunks sidles alongside and pouts with some jealousy, whether it's for Woodie getting treats or for his teammate paying more attention to goodies than himself is unclear. Though seeing his bro light up as he yanks out a helmet any ill will vacates as he too is filled with joy at the grin on Woodie’s face. His hands shake as he goes to put on the helmet, eyes almost crossed with the irrational need to wear his uniform. 

Hair shoots up his neck as soon as the helmet graces his head. Thick itchy strands paint the entirety of his nape as his uniform sends tendrils of growth through him that are to evermore leave him as hairy as wildman. The fur on his arms and legs may be hidden with pads but beneath his faceguard and inching up from his pelted back is hair thick enough to instantly clog a drain or render a razor unusable, not that he would know that. Why would he want to shave? 

Hunger returns to the eyes of Dunks as he struggles to control his breathing and hold back from pouncing as Woodie finally finishes his emergence as the perfect goalie, the perfect partner for himself. Mouth shut to prevent from gnashing his teeth in wanton abandon, he yanks Woodie close and rubs his face against Woodie’s permanently scratchy neck, causing him more pleasure than is reasonable. Taking deep panting breaths and smelling musk enough to rival his own emanating from Woodie, drool drips and his eyes fog up as he almost feels ferality rising within him. 

Hearing the shift into some primal consciousness within Dunks, and feeling his hands tighten their grasp on his jersey, Woodie struggles to imagine a better way to break in his uniform. His mind flickers with the countless hours spent in the locker room after practice doing just that, shouts of ‘get a room’ from Kinger and their other teammates and raised middle fingers in response as they continue to make out. Blush burns bright enough to be seen through his dense beard as he feels Dunks’ tongue against his neck as it begins to trail its way up to his mouth. Woodie discards his helmet and turns to join in the fun.

The only thing that matters more to either man than time on the rink is enjoying the presence of each other. Present, in reality, for the first time in their true powerful furry forms, the hockey players find their schedules unsurprisingly open. With just under a day until they need to return to the arena the two men intend to spend every second they can in each other arms, wrestling and fucking in equal measure. Strengthening their bond like soldiers, the two athletes become more than the sum of their parts and find as much sexual gratification in their other half as they will find success on the rink. 

Kinger couldn’t wish for more skillful, or masculine teammates. With a pair of teammates as dedicated as himself on the field it's only a matter of time before they win at all. They are sure to begin a new dynasty in the sport. If not, hey, Kinger could find as many all-star players as they need. The next teammate is just a uniform away.

[ejnaa]

𝗻estling in the stillness of night.

ϑ𐑞 in which you nestling with your lover after he dealt with overthinking.

• fluff , comfort , not rlly canon.

about me ⋆˙⟡

rules ⋆˙⟡

itoshi sae.

the clock on the table blinked 3:07 AM in the low light. you awoke gently by a sudden touch on your back, the weight of a forgotten dream still hanging. sae, your lover blinks at you sluggishly. you sighed once more, assuming he’s dwelling on the stress in his life so much that he can’t fall asleep. for a brief time, you just lay there, staring at him sleepily with your half-lidded eyes.

a brief silence falls before he draped his arm over you as you leaned back lazily against the headboard - sae crawled onto your chest, his favorite and coziest spot.

“can’t sleep again?” you murmur softly, breaking the quiet. half-sleepily, you run your fingers through his hair.

sae takes a moment before responding, his voice quiet and rough-edged, “yeah. overthinking too much. thought it wouldn't matter but...” he doesn’t finish, but you get it.

the rain’s chill outside makes you both shiver, enhancing the cozy atmosphere.

“i keep dreaming that i’ve let every team members down lately,” he confesses, his voice muffled against your skin. “it sucks.”

you sigh softly, acknowledging the weight behind his words. “sae, that’s not true. you’re the best player in the team. i always saw how cool you look on the field, you know? how you're so confident without being sweaty at all.”

silence.

you sigh softly, acknowledging his desire for silence. “how about i tell you a story instead? something amusing to distract you?”

he emits a soft huff of laughter, the sound comforting in the stillness of the room. “like what? one of your ridiculous moments?”

“um.. i guess? remember that time i attempted to bake chocolate cupcake for shidou’s new “girl” and accidentally set off the smoke alarm? i remember that i cried that day,” you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

“hey… my kitchen is a no-go zone for a reason,” he retorts playfully, eyes still closed. “if you ever need an actual chef, i'm your man.”

you roll your eyes dramatically.

a slight smile tugs at his lips as he glances at you, raising the corners just enough to brighten the mood. “and here i thought i was just an overly dramatic athlete.”

“i’m always up and will help for your next netflix dramas nor nightmares episodes. so, wake me up if you're feeling down.” you teased him. he can be such a big baby that always need you in the middle of night.

sae chuckles, the sound soothing to your ears. “i’ll try, but you know i’m not the best at asking for help.”

“then let me be your personal support line,” you suggest. “i have unlimited time just for my big baby.”

he laughs quietly, shaking his head. “you’re unbelievable.”

“yeah, but you love me,” you reply, pulling him in closer once more.

the tension in his shoulders begins to melt away as he relaxes into your embrace. “hey.. thanks for being here…,” he whispers, his voice a soft murmur against you.

“forever,” you promise, feeling the calm return to the room. you both sink into a comfortable silence, his breathing evening out as he drifts back to sleep, comforted by your presence.

⋆˙⟡ — ℯ𝒿𝓃𝒶 © 2024. strictly no plagiarism nor copying divider by @/cafekitsune!

[maximwtf]

“I would endure endless defeats before burdening you.”

Capitano x Reader

Words: 4200

Google Docs Pages: 7ish

Warnings: 5.1 spoilers but just about Capitano, established relationship but everything has to be horrible so it’s not established but kinda is but just when you think it is, it’s not. Angst/ kinda comfort? Idk you try to comfort an immortal man rotting from the inside and see how it goes. I guess like the tiniest amount of fluff but that’s sad too. Bad communication, emotional hurt. I imagine him with more real rot, maybe with some abyssal like Dain? Idk, but this is written based on that :) Rotten man, save us.

Opening: Does he have people to open up to about all the years he’s spent with his condition and the thoughts of regret he’s accumulated? Would he allow himself that comfort even if he did? Because that has been for you to figure out, bit by bit. 

AN// G/N reader. I don’t think yall understand how happy I was to get this lore drop on Capitano. Like wdym they have a suffering old man in the cast, and you kept him from me for this long?! Anyway, I feel like it was my duty to write something for him due to that. Enjoy.

If you have any fic ideas for him, feel free to request :)

“I would endure endless defeats before burdening you.”

The hallway outside was silent, matching the space behind the door at the very end of it. A faint light on a sturdy wooden table, a couple other lights scattered here and there. But no amount of warm candles nor a bigger fire could truly disperse the coldness in the room. The man inhabiting it, so stupefied by it by now that he barely noticed anymore. And the people who had before, dared not mention it anymore either.

The light outside had disappeared some time ago. The sun never truly rose in mid winter, or at the very least it didn’t seem like it did. Especially on the days when the snowfall was so thick it painted the horizon white. Covering the sun along with its soft blanket. And so it had done on this day as well, and by the look of it grown tired by the end. Yielding, and soon the snowflakes turned so small it looked more like powdered sugar from afar. Only a little too late for the sun to make any sort of appearance anymore, the chance for that long gone. 

Did the sun have regrets at the end of days such as this? Had it not tried hard enough to repel the heavy snowfall on this day? And now that it had failed, would the people who’d longed to see it shine once more at the end of the day be disappointed? Would they be blinded enough to not see that it had tried to save the end of the day with a few rays of its light, only to realise it was far too late for that? And that it would try again just as hard if another chance was given. 

Capitano stared outside through the window of his office. These seemingly eternal thoughts running through his mind yet again. At times hoping his mind would rot enough to be able to forget any sort of regret he may have still been holding on to. But a curse seemed to stay as such, unable to forget and let his mind rest. 

Not when small things around could be used to remind him, having to shut his mind from viewing these aspects around him on such a deep level. In truth having nothing to do with the past and the actions taken and left undone. All the more reason to try and forget any regret. 

His eyes gazed outside at the snowfall. It coming down in a straight line, placid as ever as it settled to its rightful place. To perhaps be blown to a new location the next day with a gush of wind. The weather was so calm it almost appeared warmer outside than in the uncomfortably chilly office of his. The cold that would have sent a shiver or two down his spine in the past.

Capitano’s eyes focused on his reflection against the window. A man he’d constructed his outer appearance to be, something to stay unchanging as everything else was torn from him bit by bit. That was a man with no regrets, someone powerful to look up to. Someone he’d once been fortunate enough to truly be and live as.

Not that he wasn’t that now as well. Enjoying the respect of his peers, troops and alliances. But each show of power reminded him of who he wasn’t anymore. The person he could no longer even become. A rare few amongst the people he met even being able to comprehend the status he’d held all those years ago. 

His head lowered, a careful pair of hands taking a hold of the carefully constructed mask. Removing it with a slow, almost dragging motion. Lowering it along with his hands, eyes having returned to peer at his reflection. The space dim enough to not allow his full appearance to truly show off. But he knew exactly what the blurry and darkened out parts looked like. What the mask so diligently hid behind it. 

What the outer man he’d built was concealing underneath. The commander he’d been and the person he’d turned into. Forced into being. Cursed with something others would spend their lives seeking, not understanding the cost of living beyond their years. How the flesh would deteriorate and rot. How even his soldier’s will and self respect wavered under the power this change had. How his mind had to come to terms with what used to be and what was now. Who he had to be and what he could now do in order to use what he’d been given to make a mark. Even if only to himself, he wanted to be able to to make this time count. He’d be a disgrace to his former homeland if he had given up all that time ago and frozen in place. The only option was to move on. Even if this curse was eating him alive. 

A part of him sighed in relief when the silence deep in the hallway was disturbed, releasing his mind of these thoughts. Focusing on figuring out who was nearing his door. There was no knock, steps that were silent as ever and that paused almost right after as the door behind this person closed once more. The silence, almost like a vicious entity, taking over the space like it was guarding it. And just before that Capitano had come to a conclusion, you. 

“Greetings,” he spoke with a surprisingly formal tone. Quick to adapt from his thoughts to the current situation. Not foolish enough to not have a guess as to what you were doing here at this hour, but hopeful enough a conversation might make you change the course. But the sound of your voice as you replied, ‘evening’, suggested there was a little chance you’d yield. 

There was much he could have done to try harder, yet he surrendered so soon. Who was he to resist your sheer will? The same will he’d tried to direct elsewhere in the past multiple times, yet it always returned to him. A seasoned warrior smart enough to recognize a losing battle when stumbling upon one, he would have known. 

Your eyes followed keenly as Capitano placed the mask from his hands onto the table. The man’s eyes looked piercing in the faint light of the room, no doubt even frightening to the less knowing. You couldn’t even see his face, only the broad frame of his back. Only the blue shine from the glistened against the reflection from the window, as if peering back at you. The sight overall something not seen every day, something most never saw.

There was no reason for your eyes to be the ones to be allowed to see, to watch and analyse. Or so you believed, if there was a reason neither of you dared to word it. As if doing so would unleash some sort of a spell neither of you wanted to see the aftermath of. There was only so much change a person could bare to their person, so whatever it was that Capitano refused to word, was good as it was. 

Of course, you hadn’t come here for simply the joy of visiting. That never seemed to have formed into a habit, but instead seeking him out when word of him rose from the troops. Anything alluding to his person, not the more usual reputation talk. If that ever changed was when it felt almost mandatory to see him. A difference in the behaviour of a person such as Capitano was sure to never go unnoticed. 

“How was your day?” You broke the silence, seemingly ignoring the reflection from the window. He wasn’t a man to hide himself from you, yet some part of you liked to imagine that respect made you not bring his condition up. Not so soon. 

Waiting for his response after a deep ‘hmp…’ felt like an eternity. Allowing you a chance to slip closer to his desk, eyes skipping mindlessly on the items he’d left there. His words had a deeper growl in them when he spoke so silently, “nothing out of the ordinary.” Which likely was true. Your eyes had scanned the papers on the table, a very few left there to linger. Nothing important ever left for the prying eyes to catch. Yet it proved his words correct, no straight lies ever told. He had no reason to lie to you, to hide anything. But the both of you knew the question had been intended for a deeper analysis of his day instead of an overall view. He hid things. Not out of malice, you knew better than to think such things. 

“That’s good,” you answered soon after. Straightening out a few of the papers, stacking them so the corners met each other in a straight line. The moment was so heavy and you’d only now started to realise as much. There was never much you could do if the murmurs around the troops turned out to be true. He felt so far away even when he was so close, merely on the other side of the desk.

You knew him, better than most, yet he’d seen more than any mortal could likely wrap their head around. So who were you to tell him that it would simply ‘be okay’ or that you were ‘there for him’ when you started to notice his gaze wander. He was not simply sad, he appeared melancholic. But at times even that seemed to be rooted so deep down within him that you couldn’t find a word to describe the emotion radiating from him. And he was unable to give you a word for it. Leaving the now physical distance between the two of you to form into a deeper pit of confusing aches. 

But there was also the root of the problem. This was by no means the first attempt of coming to him, seeking him out and attempting to figure out why his mind wandered. Where it was trying to get for it to be something he couldn’t word. What was the reason for the superficial answers, as if speaking to any one of his soldiers. Why let someone so close, but keep them at the threshold when they were willing to come in?

Though, thoughts like these felt ironic. Knowing you played along with this act of his, not only to entertain him but because it felt easy. How easy it was to allow him to care and dutifully take care of his tasks as he always had, and when it came time to actually connect with him to just let it slide each time. His actions never held any malice nor betrayal, there was no man more loyal to their own morals and comrades than him. So who were you to simply blame him for not letting you closer, when it was you who indulged in his way of communicating. 

“The men seemed to have lived a different day.” You commented after, hoping Capitano would pick up on what you meant. He was not foolish enough to be fully unaware of what his own men were doing and talking about when his back was turned. 

And you’d been correct, the comment made the man look down at you over his shoulder. The piercing eyes of his holding so much in them, it was hard to put to words, but you could tell he knew what you meant. And so you indulged in this way of communicating once more.

Seeing as he had nothing else to ‘say’, you continued. “Thankfully the snowfall gave in on the way here. It was an honest nuisance today…” Continuing to speak of the things you always did, the things you found slipping from your lips each time instead of the actual questions and words you wanted to say. But what use would that be when it felt as if there was no one who truly received those words. 

“Here’s to hope tomorrow will be better on that front,” you continued on alone but knowing full well he was listening, even if he knew exactly the topics you’d choose. The mantras you repeated. His attention on you while you slowly circled around the desk to his side, hand sliding against the smooth surface of the desk. The act as if a final cry to ask for him to reciprocate. 

The fabric of Capitano’s clothes rustled, the movement appearing heavier than they likely truly were. He gave you space near him, allowing you to join him near the window he’d been so keen on. “Hm, may it be so then.” He replied, leaving the end of his response hanging. As if there was more to be added, but left out due to the everlasting heaviness of the room and the air inside it. But you didn’t need more. Past a certain point the conversations you held as a coverup to attempt to communicate started being more tiring than standing in silence to try and understand him better. 

Your eyes gazed at the window, his reflection. Turning to peer at his face soon after. The rot, having consumed so much of the man he used to be, carved him into someone else. You had not seen how he’d looked all those years ago, but he’d insisted that even his comrades from then wouldn’t have been able to recognize him today. 

So how could you ever understand him truly? You weren’t sure what sort of explanation you were waiting to gain from him to make you understand, when there likely was none. He’d seemingly accepted his fate a long time ago, an eternal life ahead of him each morning he woke. Up until the day his body would falter at last. 

But in your eyes that was not a life worth leading on, not with the regrets you knew he held. How could a man rotting from the inside still yearn to fix something that hadn’t even been within his power to save in the first place?

You’d initially not even realised that was likely what he was thinking when his mind started to wander. Not when you’d first seen his face, seen the state he lived in each day. You’d initially feared he held some form of heaviness within him for the way he looked. For a human, losing everything you had and who you were would have been a fate worse than death. Losing the strength you held and the person you had been. Yet he held himself the same each day, seemingly no shame in his condition, if only a flickering light of anguish against the fate he’d been dealt. 

On top of that, he had seemingly never let himself fall to ruin. The person he’d been might have changed into something unrecognisable that could easily disturb the too comfortable. But this was a man of honour, a dignified soldier. For the sake of others, you’d concluded, he diligently kept himself clean. Kept the rot that bothered him not, from causing disturbances to the rest. 

So it was clear, by no means had he given up. He was in terms with who he was now, yet at times like these it seemed like his mind hadn’t. When you so clearly tried conversing, attempting to get him to speak his mind, he refused. Treating you gently, leading your conversation on for long enough to tire you and finally make you stop worrying for him. 

You gave the mask on the table a look, an attempt to lean back towards the topic. Neither of you had forgotten nor had it gone unnoticed by him either. Not now or earlier. 

Capitano followed your movements, eyes landing on the all too familiar mask. Not having to even gaze upon it to know what was being asked of him. And he wished, internally held up hopes that the rot was messing with his mind, feeding him thoughts that weren’t true. That you hadn’t come back to him out of sheer worry yet again.

He was ready to be moulded by you into any shape, ready to yield in front of you if that’s what you asked of him. He cared about what you thought, but in some sense wanted to keep you from worrying. The burdens he held within were self inflicted, he knew that much. A part of him knew the regrets he had were foolish, he couldn’t have done anything more than he had. So when he wasn’t driven mad by those thoughts, he had time to try and form a bond with you. A bond which he wished to not be based on a worry of him. 

He knew you were curious, that was only natural. That was why he’d been open about who he was now, what he could offer you anymore. But what would have been the point of going further into his thoughts, those were his burdens to bear. A fault in himself which he’d created. 

“Your cheek appears irritated?” You said silently, gazing at his face with keen eyes. Pausing for a moment as he turned to face you. “I’m sorry if that-” Backing away from what you’d said a little, cringing if it had come across mockingly. Capitano raised his hand slightly, pausing your rambling. “I know. No need to apologise, you’re fine,” he said after and watched as your expression softened back to normal. 

But you’d been honest, the irritation was no mere frostbite that’d got him. You’d seen it before when he hadn’t had the time to upkeep the condition. A neglect he didn’t participate willingly, but something his work on some occasions forced him to pick up. And which you’d find he let you take care of on those very certain occasions. The least you could do to ease your own worry and the yearning to communicate with him about himself. 

Your hand moved to brush some of his hair from his shoulder to a better position. Running your fingers through it gently so as to not tug him on accident. And he didn’t move, not even if you had. Watching you with the same fond expression he always seemed to. Following keenly when you turned your back to him, abandoning his hair and the caresses he’d grown fond of by that point. Rummaging through the upper drawer of his desk. 

The light in the room was rather dim, not allowing you to see what you were seeking for at first. But your hand knew the shape of the small jar containing a lotion you were familiar with. It was no match for something as detrimental as his condition, but seemingly if this world carried anything that did anything to combat it, it was worth it. 

You fiddled with the jar for a moment, turning it in your hands before daring to look back up at his towering form. He didn’t move an inch, even without the mask he appeared honourable as ever. To you, maybe even more so now. 

An old ache radiating from unsaid words and praises stung your chest at moments like these. An uncountable amount of exalted thoughts of him that you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him, to make him understand that you wanted to share his burdens. None of them would make you view him any differently. No matter how many regrets, scars or rotten flesh would face you, he’d still be the same honourable and respected man in your eyes. 

Your eyes gave him an asking look, almost automatic. The request yet again something you couldn’t put into words, and that would leave an awful ache into your chest for not saying. But you adored how he still always understood, hesitated like he’d always done and still ended up accepting. It was you, after all. 

Capitano sat down on the chair behind him. The old wooden thing let out a small noise under the added weight, the room not falling fully silent after. He watched as you undid the lid of the jar, placed it on the table and carefully leaned closer. Taking some of the product onto your finger and with the same tenderness spreading it on the irritated parts. Yet, even from so close up it felt as if some sort of unremovable distance stayed. Always. 

Capitano closed his eyes for a moment, a low breath escaping him as his form allowed his shoulders to ease ever so slightly. Your touch was always gentle and careful, no matter how far he kept you from his burdens and regrets. So who was he to completely refuse your care? He never wished to turn you down or push you away, but he’d also had the time to rot for 500 years. Building something like this was exceptionally hard, and he’d only now come to figure out what that meant truly. 

You made sure the salve was nicely spread before pulling back, watching as his eyes opened after. Feeling how they followed you when returning back to the lid to put it back on. With movements clearly familiar to the situation, you placed the jar back into its rightful place, closing the drawer with a faint thud. 

“Thank you,” his low voice called out with the familiar growl at the end of his words. Capitano leaned onto his knees, pushing himself up from the chair to return back to the window. His silhouette appeared more frail than when he had the thick cloak on, something that somehow still surprised you every now and then. He was by no means a small man to begin with, yet the cloak changed him so much. Making you wonder if that was why he preferred wearing it so. 

You watched him walk up to the window, this time clearly gazing out rather than at his reflection. Following the now faint snowfall outside in silence. Following along from the side, attention moving back to his reflection at what almost felt like force. Mind so occupied by him it felt impossible to focus on the weather outside. 

You felt almost on edge with how much you wanted to tell him, let him know of what you thought about him to get him to tell you more. It felt almost as if something in your chest stung each time a good moment like this was spent in silence. 

Which was why you almost jumped when he began to speak, not turning around to do so, but nevertheless. “I understand you have your fair share of curiosities about this. But allow me to be selfish, and have you without burdens. And if that by itself is a burden too heavy to carry, you’re not obligated to stay. Know, you are respected even then.” Capitano’s familiar voice spoke, this time for longer than you’d heard during this entire time. Leaving you slightly shaken for a moment, though for an odd reason the air didn’t feel heavy. As if air itself had paused to allow you this conversation. 

And it stayed that way as you walked behind him, hesitating for a moment before placing your forehead against his broad back. Arms sneaking gently around his waist, lose in their hold as your eyes closed. You took a deep breath, mind ticking to form a response. Feeling Capitano tense for a mere moment in the hold before his muscles eased once more. 

Normally, no matter how many walls of protection you shattered from around him, he didn’t seem to react to anything. No matter if he was wearing the helmet or not. A part of you wondering if the corrosion was a sort of a mask itself. 

“I’m not going anywhere. But I don’t want the way I see you to be written on your epitaph. Let me in, make this easier.” The words coming out in a whisper loud enough for him to hear, but not disturb the usual silence. 

A low chuckle escaped Capitano, a part of him amused by the plea. But nevertheless taking it seriously, knowing you’d meant it. “You’re more hopeful than I am,” he replied with a hum. Placing his hands over yours, against himself. Pressing them together lightly, as if hoping that was an answer enough. Aware that it wasn’t, but using it as a way to ask for more time. 

He feared he’d overstep a boundary of sorts, if he told you of his thoughts on a deeper level. He didn’t wish to put them on your shoulders, protecting you from himself in a way. If that was one of the only things he could do for you, not expecting anything from you in return, ever. 

The squeeze from his hands made you lean against him more heavily, a gentle sigh escaping. Not bothering to feel frustrated, not at him. The curse wasn’t his fault, what’d happened to him wasn't his fault and he was in no way obligated to ever let someone so close as he’d allowed you. So even the smallest of actions kept you close to being carefree, in the sense that you didn’t fear that there was no way to help him. There was, and you’d allow him to show that path to you on his own terms. 

[elixirfromthestars]

Tulip

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Florist!Reader

Summary: On a night when the past weighs heavy on Bucky, fate brings him to you.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning(s): established nickname -> tulip / fluff / mentions of grief

a/n: After seeing how much people loved Biker Bucky in Usual I decided to share more of their story with you all 💕 This is going to be a bigger collection of fics, so I will have an official taglist for it and there's more info on that here. That taglist in this fic is not related to the tags on here. The tags on here were for just for fun!! Hope you enjoy!! Likes, comments, & reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

next in their story ♡ // the whole collection ♡

It was one of those nights where Bucky was irritated without reason. His face was etched into an intimidating scowl as he looked at nothing in particular in his bar. The laughter was too loud, the clinking of glasses irked his eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, and his heart felt heavy. Almost as if one of the men in his bar were pressing down on it with their heavy boot. 

Bucky was getting tired of this. Of having these moments where his body thrummed with discomfort and his fingers found the familiar grooves in the wooden table he sat at—etching the oak with erratic lines until his nails were chipped and uneven. He could already hear the shit Sam would say as soon as he saw the added marks. 

Bucky was getting restless—reluctantly so.

“Hey, Buck, one of the—”

“‘m goin’ out for a ride.”

As soon as Steve came over to give Bucky an update on the business, Bucky stood up from the table and dismissed himself. Steve held back a sigh, his lips forming a tight line as his best friend blew him off. He didn’t take it personally, at least not tonight. More than anything Steve was worried for Bucky. It was never easy seeing him fall into this state once a year. 

Bucky always got like this around the anniversary of his father’s death. 

Steve and the rest of the crew exchanged wary glances as Bucky pushed through the bar in a rush. His hands at his sides flexed as he sought out the comfort of his bike. He took out his leather gloves from his jacket—dark and weathered from years of wear—and slipped them on before mounting his Harley. It thundered to life underneath him, the deep rumble easing the tension in his shoulders. 

He pulled out of his parking space, the blacked-out engine chrome gleaming under the streetlights. Bucky had no set destination, just a familiar path he had taken hundreds of times while on patrol. One that transgressed the entirety of the small town he lived in. 

The small town he and his gang protected. 

Bucky twisted the throttle, the Harley's roar echoing through the quiet streets as if warning the town of his presence. He drove down the roads at a steady speed, letting the breeze brush through his hair like a soothing balm. Hoping the night and his Harley would take away the hollow ache in his chest. 

He couldn’t keep thinking of his dad. Not right now. There was too much going on in his life. 

Bucky wouldn’t allow himself to be swept by the bittersweet memories. There were dozens of problems at the bar he needed to solve, rival gangs were stirring up trouble in neighboring towns so his people depended on him now more than ever, and his Ma and Becca relied on him as the sole provider.

Giving himself a moment to grieve—to feel—was a luxury he couldn’t afford. 

After a full loop around the town, Bucky decided to survey the downtown area once again. It was nearing ten at night and the majority of the businesses were closed, and yet he was still adamant about getting a good last look before he returned to the bar. 

He witnessed the usual: Yori and his son closing up their family-owned restaurant for the night, Mr. and Mrs. Fury bickering on their walk home, the savory aroma of Stark’s Pizzeria wafting through the air as he drove by, and a stack of wooden crates dancing in mid-air. 

Hold up. 

Wait a minute.

What?

Bucky had to do a double and then a triple take to make sure his eyes weren’t tricking him. He hadn’t had an ounce of alcohol tonight, and yet he began to gaslight himself into thinking maybe he had. 

That was until you appeared from behind the wooden crates. Huffing out in annoyance and setting them down on the bed of an old pickup truck. Glaring at them as if the fury behind your eyes would suddenly make them ten pounds lighter. 

Bucky stared at you from afar perplexed and yet with a ghost of a smile on his face. He had never seen you in town before, meaning you must have moved here not too long ago. A faint memory of Sam telling him a new shop owner was coming into town crosses his mind, but Bucky couldn’t remember all the details.

With a multitude of other things on his mind, he hadn’t been paying attention at the time. 

The Harley’s rumble softens until it comes to a still as Bucky parks it on the street opposite you. He sits on it for a moment watching you, searching his brain for the finer details of what Sam had mentioned, but nothing comes to him. He’s left to find out more about you in the here and now. 

Bucky suddenly catches the determined expression on your face as you go to pick up three of the wooden crates again. His eyes widen and before he even registers what he’s doing he swings off his bike and jogs over to you.

“Here let me help,” Bucky doesn’t ask or wait for a response as he easily takes the crates from your arms, lifting them as if they weighed nothing. You watch him in startled awe, wondering where this incredibly strong stranger had come from. Hand on your heart to calm yourself down from the sudden intrusion on your solitude. 

“Oh! Um…you really don’t have to—” 

“‘m already carrying ‘em, dollface. Jus’ tell me where to put ‘em.”

Bucky’s voice was calm and collected, but on the inside he wanted to ask you what the hell were in these crates. He’s used to carrying heavy boxes of supplies for his bar, but even then he’d use a hand truck to haul everything in. To think you were trying to carry all of this by yourself…he didn’t know whether to be impressed by your determination or laugh at your stubbornness. 

The wooden crates obstructed your view of each other—and he’d never admit it—but they covered enough of his eye sight to where he had to tilt his head to watch his step.

“Here, let me guide you,” you placed a tentative hand on his arm, trying to ignore the way his bicep flexed under it. There was fragile cargo in those crates and you needed to make sure they got into your shop safe and sound. Bucky showed no signs of rejecting your guidance. 

You carefully led him inside, sliding away any obstacles from his path with your feet. You were still adding the last touches to the decor so there were tools, supplies, and different sized cardboard boxes scattered across the floor. You were able to direct him to a spot in front of the main counter where he could put the crates down—the one area clear of anything.

He placed them down gently before turning to face you. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat the moment his eyes met yours. Your pretty irises glimmered with sincere appreciation coupled with a soft smile that caused an unfamiliar warmth to spread through his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that. His brain has gone fuzzy, words evading him. Almost like a part of him that had been dormant for far too long was yearning for him to not break this gentle moment with you.  

You on the other hand were enchanted by the color of his eyes. A rich blue you tried to pinpoint through the catalog of flowers in your mind. Could the color be matched to a morning glory? A harvestbell? A brunnera? Forget-me-nots? Delphiniums? Hydrangeas?

The longer you thought the more you concluded no flower seemed close enough to the particular shade of blue that was looking right at you.  

“Thank you,” your voice was far too quiet for your liking when you broke the silence. You brought Bucky back to the present, yet not from the trance you had him in. He was particularly invested in the curve of your lips when you spoke and the way your eyes held his like you had known him all your life. 

Bucky cleared his throat, propping his arm on the counter in a nonchalant manner, “Not a problem—looked like you could use the help.” He topped his cool reply with a casual shrug and smirk that made it seem like he did this all the time. 

“Was it that obvious?”

“For a second there I thought those things would crush you.” 

Your sheepishness melts away into a laugh. The sound leaving your lips before you could stop it. You imagine what you must have looked like struggling with those heavy crates. The mental image of it is enough to fill you with mortified mirth. 

Your laugh elicits a soft chuckle from him—the first proper laugh he’s had in about a week or two. 

“‘m gonna go get the rest for ya…” he pushes himself off from the counter, but his voice trails off by the end when he realizes he never asked for your name. A heartbeat passes and with one quick lookover your frame a nickname falls effortlessly from his lips. 

“Tulip.”

Your heart does a little flip in your chest. You know exactly why he called you that. You were wearing denim overalls self embroidered with a multitude of small tulips adorning it in a range of colors. As if that weren’t enough tulips, you had two small pink tulip hair clips on either side of your head, pinning your hair away from your face. 

“I-It’s Y/n, actually.”

“Pretty thing like you—Tulip suits ya.” 

The nickname already had your heart fluttering, but the wink that followed his compliment had you weak in the knees. This man was handsome—deadly handsome. You had sworn off men for a whole year and counting—and now this man presented himself into your life tempting you to throw that oath away until it was nonexistent. 

“Thank you, but you really don’t have to help with the rest um…”

“Bucky. The name's Bucky. And I don’t have to, but I want to, so don’t worry ‘bout it, Tulip.”

With an emphasis on the nickname he’s chosen for you, he makes a smooth exit, the smirk never leaving his face as he saunters back and forth from the pickup truck and carries in crate after crate for you. You distract yourself with miscellaneous tasks around your shop. Yet, your eyes drift to his form here and there greedily taking in his display of strength. 

When’s he’s all done—after ten crates in total—you’re behind the main counter, arranging a small basket of goods as he approaches you. 

“That’s all of ‘em. Mind me askin’ what’s in ‘em?” Bucky motions over to the crates at his feet with a nod of his head. You present him with a basket of sweet spreads encased in decorated mason jars—the covers all distinctly patterned with different florals. 

“They’re my homemade jams and honeys. As a thank you for helping me carry all those crates in here, I’m giving you one of each,” you hand him the basket and his features soften. His fingers hovering over the rim of the basket like he doesn’t believe he deserved such kindness.  

“Tulip, ya really don’t have to thank me for helpin’.” 

“I don’t have to, but I want to, so don’t worry about it, Bucky.”

When you echo his words from earlier and use them on him he lets out a breath of a laugh, a grin of disbelief on his face. He didn’t expect that. Having his words used against him in a good way. He was used to the opposite of that.

You were something else and Bucky liked that. He liked that a lot. Especially the way you said his name, it sounder sweeter falling from your lips. As if his name were made out of the same sugary sweetness the goods in the basket were. It caused a stutter within his chest he wasn’t used to. 

No one’s ever given Bucky butterflies this quickly–or maybe ever like this in his life.

For the next twenty minutes you both dove into small talk to get to know each other better. It started off as a pretext of a friendly conversation between two business owners, but it quickly became something more. You confirmed Bucky’s assumptions about you being a florist when you chatted away about your shop. Your outfit and the floral mosaic that decorated one of the walls—the one you told him your aunt had hand painted—was enough for him to put the pieces together. You learned that Bucky owned a bar a few blocks down, one that he ran with his childhood friends. He had served the military with a lot of them and even knew some of them since he was a young boy.

As if the leather jacket, the leather gloves, and the motorcycle parked outside wasn’t enough to tell you—he clearly was a biker. You knew as much when he had this passionate look in his eyes as he went on and on about him and his bestfriend Steve fixing up motorcycles since their high school years. He saw the same passion in your eyes when you told him the story of how your aunt had awakened your love for gardening. The very catalyst of events that led you to move into town and end up on this night here with him.

Both of you offered a part of yourselves in that conversation. An exchange that might seem small to others, but that to the both of you meant so much more. For you both had closed a part of yourselves off for quite some time. 

For entirely different reasons, but with a similar outcome nonetheless.

“Let’s make a deal. I get to keep callin’ ya Tulip and you can call me for help anytime ya need it,” Bucky offers this after you explain to him that your aunt had only been visiting you and left a few days ago. Leaving you to finish up the preparations for the grand opening of your shop in a few days time.

“Tempting offer…” you start, pretending to think about it and hiding your delight at the thought. In reality, you could use the help, and seeing more of Bucky was an added bonus that was hard to refuse. You wanted to get to know him better—you couldn’t deny that—and this seemed like a perfect place to start. 

Plus who were you kidding, you enjoyed being called Tulip. 

“Alright deal,” your smile matches his when you agree. Bucky was in the same boat as you. Not knowing where this could go, not dwelling on what the future may hold, but certain that he wanted to spend more time with you. 

Reluctantly, Bucky pulled away from the counter,“Well I gotta hit the road, the guys’ll be wonderin’ where I’ve been.” The vibrations in his pocket from his phone notifications told him as much. 

You hid your disappointment behind a grateful expression,“Of course. I won’t keep you any longer. Thanks again for the help, Bucky. Let me know what you think of the spreads!” 

Bucky grabbed a hold of the basket of sweets, and slowly walked backwards towards the exit as he wanted to keep his eyes on you for as long as he could. Every fiber of his being fighting to stay.

“Anytime, Tulip—and I’ll let ya know. Have a good night.”

“You too, Bucky. Drive safe!”

Bucky walked back to his Harley smiling like a teenager with a crush. His every step feeling lighter than earlier in the night. Whether he recognized it or not that day, it was all because of you. There was just something about you that was refreshing to Bucky, like the morning air after a night of heavy rain. The first rays of sunlight after a cold winter’s night. The cool breeze that brings you back to life on a hot summer’s day. 

That was you. 

You were the morning air, the sunlight, and the cool breeze. 

He didn’t know it yet, but in due time he would. 

In due time, you would be his Tulip. 

tagging some lovelies who asked to be tagged & others who seemed eager to read more ♡ ♡ ♡

@fanfictionreaderfan @nicksolemnlyswears @tilltheendofthelinebuckaroo @princessjellyfishlove @thewritergremlin-rae

(these tags were only for this fic and not for the full collection, so if you'd like to be tagged for the full thing let me know!!)

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, CH3 - Yan!SatoSugu x Fem!Reader [AO3]

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: non-con, lactation kink (with geto), cock warming (in both holes), fingering, rimming (fem. receiving), vibrator wands, anal (with dildo), groping, mentions of diet monitoring

Geto shows you a bit of mercy following… all of that. As he helps you settle in, he allows you to continue your graduate studies online via a heavily locked, proctored, and guarded computer, and under strict supervision by any of his devotees. You suppose you can’t complain in that regard; maybe he has some sense, knowing how expensive higher education already is, and you’re almost done, anyway. Once you graduate, he doesn’t have to worry about that, anymore, and he claims to be a patient, understanding man.

What a bucket of sheer bullshit.

There are other rules you have to follow. He puts you on certain medications, that he doesn’t discuss the purpose of at all. He makes you exercise, since he figures it best you maintain peak health. He plans to monitor your diet, but he’s not overly restrictive.

It’s crass, and it’s frankly unbelievable how quickly your life went to shit after working at that goddamn café. Funny how the most trivial decisions in your life can change the entire trajectory of it—for better or for worse. And this is so much worse than you have ever imagined. (And that imagination of yours doesn’t stretch very far, because you don’t want to entertain the possibility of just how much worse your situation can get. After all, you have bear witnessed to some unseen forces both Geto and Gojo are gifted with manipulating. You can’t even perceive it. So what the fuck?)

After submitting your assignments for the week—you’re thankful you can uphold at least one aspect of your life—you accompany the twins while Geto is off scamming his clients. You know very little of the cult he organizes, but apparently, it’s all just a big coverup. You don’t care to dig into the details, either. You have seen enough of what he is capable of doing, and that’s as much as you need to know.

Nanako shuffles the deck of cards for another round. The twins engage you in friendly games of Nines or B.S. It is actually sort of endearing they want to make you feel like you’re part of the family, and if you didn’t know any better, you might have fallen for it. But now that you know the reason Geto and Gojo targeted you in the first place is because they wanted you, you’re frightened of crossing them, as well.

Now you’re in the middle of a third round of B.S.  

“Okay, well, I’m putting down a 3—!” you lie through your teeth because all you have are Kings, Queens, and Aces, which Mimiko immediately calls you out on.

“B.S.! That’s a hefty hand of cards now!” she giggles with a little twinkle in her eyes that otherwise seem dull and lifeless.

You sigh in defeat, grinning as you swipe the hefty stack of cards in question and keep them steady in your hands. As long as the girls are enjoying themselves, you suppose.

“Well! I put down my only card which is a 4!!! I win!” Nanako laughs as she slams the card down on the low wooden table before doing a little victory dance.

“Wow, I haven’t played these card games since childhood. It brings back a lot of memories,” you comment, and Mimiko perks up at that.

“We hope you can make tons of new memories with us,” Mimiko replies. At that, you frown a bit.

“Girls,” you start, drumming your fingers along the table. “Forgive me if this is out of line to ask you, but why did you request me?”

“Because we like you,” Nanako answers quickly. She and Mimiko exchange a look.

“And we don’t want Master Geto to get lonely,” the twins say in unison.

Finally, Mimiko adds, as her eyes seem to understand more than she ever dares let on: “You seemed lonely, too, so we wanted you here with us.”

You are, you definitely concede to that, but this is not the remedy you had in mind.

“Master Geto is our hero,” Nanako babbles on with a fond smile. “He rescued us from a village when we were really small! The villagers were going to kill us because they thought we were heretics. But he killed them all before they could. So we owe him everything! We wouldn’t be alive without Geto!”

You freeze as you process the information. That’s a side to Geto you’re not sure you admire, because he still killed people as a means to an end. While to protect two girls who aren’t as innocent as they seem…you still aren’t wholly convinced of him being a hero in any sense of the word.

But maybe that doesn’t matter, because he’s a hero to these girls. It doesn’t seem to bother them what he does, because they blindly follow him.

“I see,” you mumble, handing your cards to Nanako as she shuffles the deck for a new game. You hear the opening door emit a slight creak and there enters Geto, smiling at the sight of you bonding with his girls who he holds dear to his heart. His heavy footsteps draw near, and your breath hitches. Instinctively, you rise to your feet to greet him.

“My little dove, I’m happy to see the twins enjoy your company so much already,” he drawls as he beckons you to come to him with a curl of his finger. You wordlessly obey. You don’t look into his eyes.

But then he tucks his bony fingers under your chin and lifts your head. Before bidding farewell to the girls,  

“Follow me,” he instructs, and you once again wordlessly obey, your feet already moving to follow him back to his bedroom.

At least you know the underground dungeon is a one-time thing…but that doesn’t make your situation any less difficult.

“I’m sorry I had to steal you away,” he sighs as he shuts the door before pinning you there. “I missed you too much.”

“I thought the girls were the only reason you chose me,” you retort, but there’s no true bite to your words. You know better than to try to fight back a force you don’t understand.

“True,” he concedes with a low hum, as he drags his finger along your jawline. You can’t stop yourself from wincing at his touch and he tuts at that. “But you must understand how much I desire you, too.”

“No, I don’t, I’m afraid,” you mumble and you hear him sigh once more, pressing a feathery light kiss to your forehead before pulling away.

“I merely took you away so we can further discuss this arrangement. As you know, you’re to remain with me. Satoru will make occasional visits here, and he plans on stopping by later in the week,” he rambles on. “I expect you already know what he expects. He has this thing about sharing, and he’s as fond of you as I am.”

“So what,” you stammer, as your timid eyes meet his. “Is this some kind of sick free use fantasy of his?”

Geto purses his lips. “Call it what you like. But if you knew what was best for you, you’d accept it. After all, I can’t have him be unfulfilled, hm? He’s dear to me, you know.”

A response dies on your tongue—how the hell are you supposed to react when you know you can’t speak your truth? Not unless you want to be scorched to death like those chefs and those customers. Yet even in spite of that you find yourself grinding your teeth, your response packing a lot more bite than you want it to as your blood simmers beneath your skin.

“Alright. Whatever,” you finally say. “I’m just glad you’re sensible enough to let me finish pursuing my education.”

“Of course,” he jives, in a tone that insinuates you’re the foolish one for expecting otherwise, folding his arms over his chest. “Under strict supervision. Not that there’s much you can do if you try to run or call for help. Satoru and I have eyes everywhere, my little dove.”

You nod grimly. “If that’s all you wanted to say, may I be excused?”

His eyebrows furrow. “You don’t have power over that.”

“Geto,” you sigh, daring to take a step closer to him, resting a gentle hand on his chest. “Please, have a heart. I know you must have one somewhere if you did what you did for the girls for the reasons they claimed.”

“So, they told you,” he mutters, as his eyes bore into yours, as if searching for some kind of reaction other than what you’re displaying which is sheer indifference. That’s what you ought to strive for in a situation like this, isn’t it? Because it’s not like you can ever expect to be happy in this arrangement. “The girls were vulnerable then.”

“Yes,” you respond, tone laden with disgust. “In an effort to convince me about you, I suppose.”

“Did it work?” he asks, casting a side glance at you. He sounds… hopeful. And you want to squash those dreams beneath your heel like it’s a nasty bug. He doesn’t deserve anything from you, not a single damn thing.

“You figure it out,” you retaliate, the venom still oozing in your tone unintended yet you can’t stop it from spewing everywhere.

You almost regret it as soon as those words slipped from your mouth. Something flashes in his violet eyes, but he holds himself back this time. Huh. Maybe you can have a voice somewhere. Not all hope is lost, perhaps?

Biting back a groan, he replies: “If it will take you a bit more convincing, then I suppose you would be delighted to know that within reason, you are still allowed to go out from the temple. As long as you’re with us. You’re part of the family, and we want you to be comfortable here with us. It’s only appropriate you behave as if you operate as one of us.”

Gosh, that guy really likes spewing a lot of bullshit, doesn’t he?

“Nothing is going to change, Geto,” you tell him, “Nothing you do to try to win me over is going to work.”

His hand constricting around your neck interrupts you, and you struggle to breathe as his nails dig into your sensitive flesh.

He pins you to the door behind you, your head colliding with a light thud. You grunt, gritting your teeth.

“Have you stupidly forgotten your place?” he sneers into your ear. “You’re alive because I want you to be. I can kill you in the blink of an eye. Yet you’re here for one reason—because I will it.

“Be a good girl, little dove, and I’ll be the perfect lover for you. But you try to cross me, or be a little brat? It won’t be good news for you. Do you understand?”

You curtly nod, struggling to speak. He relaxes his grip on your neck. His eyes soften.

“I don’t wish for things to be difficult between us, but you humans, you monkeys…you all think you’re holier-than-thou. Which can’t be further from the truth,” he snarls, “I want this to work out, my dear. Not just for the girls, but for me and for Satoru. Don’t you understand?”

He cups your face, thumbs brushing along your skin as his violet gaze bores into your eyes.

“You’re wanted here. Alive and well and thriving. We will leave you wanting for nothing as long as you cooperate,” Geto finishes, releasing his grip on you. He shuffles around the room and acquires you a robe similar to his. He tosses it to you. “Get dressed now. And don’t be shy. I’ve already seen everything so there’s no reason for you to hide.”

Something lodges in your throat; a protest dying on your tongue as you do as you’re instructed. Light wisps of the fabric fill your ears as you strip down, fold your clothes and set them aside, and arm yourself in the robe. It’s pure silk. Airy. Light. Comforting and breathable. Almost like you’re wearing nothing.

Geto tilts your head up by the chin again and latches something around your neck. A pure gold chain, skintight. The pendant in the middle is the cult’s insignia.

“I’d have used a collar if I didn’t find those so vulgar,” he whispers, as his finger brushes down your cheek. So light you can barely feel it. “Plus you’re far above such dehumanization. Consider it a compliment. I don’t say such words to monkeys, especially. You’re part of the family now. Soon, you’ll be acquainted with the rest of them.”

People actually follow this guy? …And why does he call humans ‘monkeys’? Is it some weird evolutionist crap?

You avert your gaze to your feet. You don’t know how all of this sits with you, but all you have to know is that you’re not okay with it. Dread coils in your stomach and heart. You can’t believe what’s become of you, and you’re not even fighting back—why not? Because you don’t know what you’re facing. How can you fight back when you’re not even fully aware of the world of which you unwittingly entered?

“Before we go,” he drawls, grasping your hands and dipping you slightly as he presses his lips to yours for a moment. He then scoops you into his arms princess style and carries you to his bed. “I want to enjoy some alone time with you.”

He leans in again, pressing his lips to yours. Soft, light at first. But then his kisses become hungrier. He pries apart a bit of the robe—the robe must be for easy access, huh?—tracing the outline of your lacy baby pink bra as he trails kisses along your collarbone.

“The medication might take a bit to work, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t…enjoy these,” he grunts, removing your bra to reveal your beautiful mounds; the tip of his tongue flicking at your perky nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You can’t fight back the low hiss from the contact that becomes a low moan. Your nipples are already oversensitive as it is.

He draws his tongue around your nipple, growling low and guttural. More experimental sucks and you swear you feel something. You gasp, your lips still parted as his eyes widen. Something hits his tongue. White liquid.

Is that what all of this is for..?

“B-but I’m not…” you whimper, chewing on your lip.

“The medication I put you on,” he explains as he removes your nipple with a pop, kissing around your mound. “Combined with your new nutrition plan. It aids in this.”

He pinches your nipple and more milk splatters onto his lips, which he eagerly licks clean with a pleased sigh before latching onto it again, suckling hard. More pitchy whines escape your parted, rosy lips. Instinctively your hands move to cradle his head in place.

He’s drinking your tit like his life is on the line, like he can’t live without it.

“Geto…?” you whimper, as a blush blooms on your cheeks.

“Suguru,” he corrects, his voice muffled slightly.

“Suguru, I…” your breath is caught in your throat before another moan leaves your lips. He continues to greedily nurse on your nipple, the slosh, slosh, sloshing of the liquid leaking from the tip so lewd and intimate.

He finally pulls back, tongue running over his lips as he catches any lingering droplets of your milk. He sighs, purely content for the moment. Before he adjusts your robe, he kisses along your breasts.

“Pull yourself together,” he commands, though his tone is softer—bordering on affectionate, even. “The girls want to go out to eat.”

Geto following through on his promises, being a man of his word and all, so you’re allowed to go out with them like a normal family. As normal as this family can appear, anyway.

The twins want to go to check out some new bakery since…considering what happened at the café you worked at, it’s probably best not to return. Besides, he also explains to you that to the public you’re just another member of the family. Your school doesn’t think you’re kidnapped, so there’s no reason for you to not be able to stretch your legd as long as you’re kept on a tight leash.

You may call it merciful, but it’s just basic human rights to you.

You halt in place as you take in the scenery of the park Geto and the twins take you on a stroll through. It’s a gorgeous, spacious botanical garden with duck ponds and various stone paths leading to different segments. It’s beautiful, yet your eyes rest on a particular couple having a picnic under a cherry blossom tree. It’s not in season. Ut the prospect alone is romantic enough. Yet another thing you have lost your chance at having.

Geto calls out your name, and you twist your head to meet his cold gaze.

“We must get a move on. The girls are very excited to try this place out. We don’t want to make them wait, don’t we?”

“May I request a quick break?” you mumble, your gaze flitting back to the couple grazing in their little corner. A longing sigh leaves your plump lips. Why has something like this happened to you? Why not some other unfortunate soul, someone who may actually benefit from this? (If anyone can benefit from such an absurd arrangement?)

Geto approaches you, his cold gaze melting into something almost tender. You wish you can spit in his face. You wish you can taunt him, mock him, beat him down. But you have no power over him and you know it. You have to play the long game. That’s fine. You can do that.

You may not have any power…yet.

“Is something troubling you?” He follows your gaze to the blissfully unaware couple, a frown stressing his features as he appears to be grappling with why they caught your attention.

“You took so many of my dreams away,” you mutter, tone sharper than intended but you get your point across, nevertheless. Your fingers dig into the fabric of the robe Geto gave you. You await punishment for any perceived defiance, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment as you wait to embrace a slap, or anything other physical blow. Yet nothing comes.

You pry your eyes back open. He’s drawn near you, his face contorted into a contemplative expression. As if he almost feels the weight of some guilt over his actions but you know that to be false. Just in your imagination. No one as heartless as he can feel a shred of remorse.

“That may still be a reality,” he assures you as he rests a firm hand on your shoulder, squeezing it. “Between us.”

You shake your head. “No. I’m more like your concubine. There is nothing between us.”

Geto’s body tensed, his nostrils flaring and his breath hitching in his throat. He glowers at you, and you know you’re about to face something terrible for calling him out on his bullshit.

“For that to be true, you would need to be living in a status below me, which clearly isn’t the case,” he explains as he attempts to regain his composure; he’s not one to lose patience but around you, that’s become a challenge for him. As if to prove his point, his finger traces along the gold chain of your neck. “You are…special, to me. I only hope you come to understand how much you matter here.”

You’re so fucking full of shit, you think to yourself, knowing better than to speak your truth.

He murmurs your name. “Let’s not cause a scene around the girls. They want to bond with you.”

You glance at Nanako and Mimiko, who seem absorbed in their own world, walking ahead of you and Geto, babbling to each other about some gossip magazine they read together.

“Fine, only for the girls,” you scoff as you attempt to maintain a neutral expression, brushing past him. You grimace as the gold chain hidden beneath the robe he forced you to wear jingles a bit—that’s just to reinforce the fact that you have no power over yourself anymore.

He may not think of you as a pet, but he treats you like one.

“Mr. Geto! Hurry up!!!” Nanako calls from over her shoulder as you approach her. You let out a little gasp as Nanako grasps your hand and squeezes it, like a child would with their mother.

“I’m coming, Nanako. Don’t worry,” he calls back as he catches up in a few strides. He tags behind you, his stare boring into the back of your skull as you keep holding Nanako’s hand. Between the girls, Nanako appears to be more openly trusting.

In spite of yourself, you smile at the idea. Even if the girls have set you up to live under Geto’s rules, you don’t mind being around them. You do wish it was under different circumstances…

Nanako calls your name and your eyes meet hers.

“What kind of video games do you like?” she asks, her eyes brimming with curiosity.

“Oh! Um…” You rack your mind for something. “I used to love playing Mario Kart back in the day! And Sonic Adventure 2. But I don’t think I ever strayed beyond that…”

“Oh! Then we can introduce you to cool stuff! Geto doesn’t like to play, so it’ll be awesome to have you be playing against us!”

Geto grumbles something to himself. “Video games are a waste of time.”

“Says you, Mr. Geto!” Nanako chides, “You just say that because monkeys make them!”

“Perhaps,” he concedes with a huff.

Monkeys? Again? Is that what he calls normies or something? Who does he think he is? Draco Malfoy?

“You’re not a monkey,” Nanako tells you with a cutesy grin. “You’re awesome! Geto thinks so too. He just won’t say it outright!”

You glance at him, eyes twinkling in curiosity. You’re far from flattered by the discovery, but you wonder what Geto really thinks of you.

He avoids your gaze, focused on his feet but he still tails close behind you.

“Geto,” you address him, but he interjects.

“Suguru,” he corrects you, yet again. “You don’t call me Geto.”

The slightest hint of irritation flashes in your eyes.

How about I call you Tweedledee and Gojo Tweedledum and we call it good? Oh how you wish you could say what you really thought.

“Suguru, I, um…” you start again, wincing at your own wavering tone. You make a face. You can’t believe yourself and what you’re about to do, but flashing Nanako an apologetic smile, you retract your hand and secure your arms around one of Geto’s. He tenses for a moment, likely from surprise, but eases into the touch. Nanako grins at the sight before turning to babble on about something with Mimiko.

“You don’t need to,” Geto murmurs to you, chin nuzzling into your hair.

“It’ll make them happy,” is all you say in response.

All you’re thinking of now is appeasing the girls. Your happiness doesn’t matter anymore. It seems as if it never did.

Geto only hums, securing his hold on you as you approach the new bakery the twins have been dying to try.

Per Geto’s command, you find yourself back underground. You know what’s coming next. While he hasn’t done all that much to you just yet, things are about to change. You shouldn’t get too comfortable.

Especially when you hear steps descending down there stairs. And in strides Tweedledum, adorned in casual clothes as opposed to the school uniform he had on last time. You can only wonder what kind of danger he puts his students in if he has this side to him.

He still wears those fancy Cartier sunglasses indoors and you don’t understand why—is it just symbolic of the fact that he’s richer than most people? It kind of seems it.

“Princess? Suguru? I’m baaaaaack,” Gojo announces in a singsong tone as he greets Geto with a quick smooch. You wince. Geto has kept his hands off of you for the most part in the first week. Perhaps in an effort to be hospitable and warm. But Gojo definitely has a lot in mind for you.

It’s a Friday evening. In another world, you’re probably helping yourself to a whole bottle of wine while binging terrible chick flicks until you pass out. But nope. Life has other cruel plans for you, and it’s all because of Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

Like Geto’s told you, he wants Gojo’s part of the deal fulfilled. You have to smile and bear it. You’re back in that underground dungeon but at least you’re a bit freer to move for the time being. This is where Geto arranges Gojo to meet for their ‘secret’ meetings that not even the girls know about, apparently. Gojo and Geto are supposedly playing on different sides of some war going on and you don’t care to dig into it all that much. It doesn’t involve you, anyway.

There’s a large, opulent, red velvet couch where you’re seated on, and Gojo slides in with you, yanking you into his lap as his hands are already all over your breasts just like before.

He whimpers into your ear; an unmistakable hardness rubs against your bottom. He smirks into your skin as he buries your face into your neck. A hand works to spring his cock free from his pants. Your eyes widen. Of course his cock is fucking huge.

“Suguru says we need to ease you into it, but I think you can handle it,” he mutters, removing your robe and pulling your panties aside. His finger drags down your folds, already a bit damp, and he sighs dreamily as he inspects the slick coating his fingers. “Hm. We need to slick you up just a bit more before I insert it, hm? Stretch you out with my fingers first?”

Through his endless babbling, you don’t notice he’s already slipped two fingers easily inside, cooing sweet nothings into your ear as your spongy walls are already squeezing around him. Geto soon accompanies you, settling onto the couch beside Gojo.

“Satoru,” he murmurs, “Completely lost patience, have you?”

They share a chaste kiss, and Gojo slips a third finger, making you keen from the wide stretch.

“Can’t help it, Suguru,” he pouts, keeping a gentle yet quick pace. “Been thinking about this pussy too long.”

Geto observes the scene unfold, his lips twitching into a smirk as his eyes fall to your pussy glistening in your building, soppy slick. Finally, he pulls them out, only to bring his fingers to Geto’s lips so he can suck them clean, groaning at your taste as Gojo lines the tip of his dick to your quivering entrance.

“Fuck, such a tight pussy, and the head’s not even all the way in,” Gojo chuckles, and you manage to shoot a glare which only seems to make him giddier as he inches more of his length inside. “Don’t worry, Princess. I won’t be moving. Just getting you used to it first. I promised Suguru we’d take things slow with you.”

Soon you’re fully seated on his cock, and God, his size stretches you so wide and fills you up to the brim. When he moves even fhe slightest bit you can feel his tip brush against that spot.

“Your tight little asshole must feel so empty,” Gojo coos in a condescending way, as he turns to Geto still slurping on his fingers for anything left of your essence before he retracts his hand. “Suguru?”

“She’ll need a bit more prep for mine in there, even if we’re not moving, don’t you think?” Geto muses as he drops to his knees, spitting into your back hole. You gasp in shock.

You can’t even fight it.

His tongue rims the ring of your ass before the tip catches. Geto lets out a low groan, his tongue laving around the rim a few more times before he plunges it inside.

“Su-Suguru…?”

“Oh, already on first name basis, are we? In that case, let me here you say mine,” Gojo purrs as he presses open mouthed kisses on your neck.

“S-Satoru…” you hate how weak and meek you sound, but you’re being assaulted on both ends.

“Fuck, my name sounds so good from you,” he growls, nipping at your supple skin, leaving behind deep marks.

Geto fucks his tongue deep inside your ass and you squirm a bit in Gojo’s hold. He’s the one tutting this time, gripping your waist.

“Go ahead, baby,” he taunts with a wide, manic grin. “The more you squirm, the tighter you feel. And fuck, do you fit my cock like the perfect little sleeve.”

Gojo whips out his phone, tapping record as Geto continues to twist his tongue deep inside and you can feel his wide smile as he performs for the camera. Luckily Gojo doesn’t record for long, slipping his phone back into his pocket, focusing on lounging as you’re warming up his cock with your twitching insides.

“Hey Princess, ever given a blowjob before?” Gojo asks as Geto pries his tongue out, only to soon replace it, teasing the ring of muscle with the girthy tip of his cock.

You shake your head. Gojo hums, tutting again as he pets your hair.

“No worries,” he laughs as Geto inches the head of himself inside of you, making you bite your cheek hard to avoid shrieking. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

Somuchsomuchtoomuch—!

Geto finally has his entire size inside of you. And you’re filled to the brim in both holes. You feel like such a slut.

Your breathing becomes more broken. It’s so full.

You deflate between the two men. Tweedledee and Tweedledum really isn’t that far off the mark from describing them, right?

“You’re taking us better than we expected,” Geto purrs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Like I said before, it must definitely feel good to get real cock in there.”

“Just how much of a slut are you if you’ve been wearing these sexy panties and bras when you’re single? Were you secretly hoping for something like this to happen to you?” Gojo teases, playfully smacking your ass a bit too hard, making you yelp. “Our Princess really is that lonely, hmmm?”

“Satoru,” Geto admonishes, but he doesn’t seem to be all that angry, rather just as entertained. “Remember what I said about picking on the helpless too much.”

“You’re seriously on about that again?” Gojo scoffs, playfully bucking his hips to brush against that spot and making you gasp again. “Fiiiiine. I’ll play nice.”

“Please, it’s too much,” you beg through a moan.

“Oh? Is it really? Are you sure? But your holes are practically begging to milk our cocks dry,”’Gojo jives, nipping at your bottom lip before laving his tongue along it to soothe the mark forming there.

“Yes, little dove. We have to train you a bit, you know,” Geto continues, a finger tracing down your arm. “We’re kind enough not to pull the cart before the horse. We could have chosen to be crueler but that would prove ineffective.”

“Yeah, besides,” Gojo murmurs into your lips before softly pecking them. “There’s no fun in breaking someone we would rather cherish and spoil.”

Are these pieces of shit out of their goddamn minds!?

“I…” you whisper, clenching your fists as Geto adjusts in his spot a bit. “Please it’s too much…” You repeat, hoping they show you mercy and relent.

Gojo and Geto share a glance. Sighing, Geto is the first to pull out, but he’s shuffling around the room to find something. Perhaps a compromise.

Gojo finally pulls out, but keeps you secured in his lap. He spreads your legs wide and rests his large, calloused hands on your inner thighs. His grip is firm, as if daring you to try to break free. You know better than to try. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, inhaling your fresh scent.

“Just got cleaned up and now we’re going to make a mess out of you again,” he chuckles darkly. Geto returns, a large vibrator wand and dildo in either hand. You pale at the sight. The very models you have used before…just how long have they been tracking you?

“While this goes here,” Geto announces in an authoritative tone, wriggling that long, slender pink dildo inside of your back hole without much an issue since it’s been stretched by his size a considerate amount. “This goes here…”

“Hold still, Princess,” Gojo purrs into your ear as you hear the click of Geto switching the vibrator wand on at a moderate setting. He pries your folds apart and rests it between them, and you shout in protest.

“No, no, no, please,” you weep, thrashing a bit in Gojo’s hold but with not much success. His grip on your thighs tighten, and it doesn’t even look like he’s putting much effort into holding you down yet here you are, struggling to break free. They’re not even bothering to use any real restraints because they can handle you on their own. You’re not sure what to make of that.

“I’m sorry, my love, but if this is going to work, you need to let us do this,” Geto commands as he massages the tip of the wand up and along your pussy. Already there’s the squelch, slorp, slick of your intimate juices. It’s so fucking humiliating and yet you find yourself inching yourself closer to the sensation. All the while Gojo’s fucking the dildo into your ass, sinking it all the way in and out. They work together like the perfect team of menaces, and that’s exactly what they are.

“Fuck, please, I can’t,” you whine as you feel your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave crashing over you. You shiver as your ass flutters around the dildo. Your pussy is pulsing against the vibrator and Geto decides to amp up the setting just a bit more.

“Yes you can,” Geto demands with a dangerous smile, pushing the vibrator to your circle your clit. “Let’s see if we can get a few more, hm? We know this isn’t your first rodeo with toys like these. I’m sure you’ve gotten carried away on your own.”

So what if you have?

He leans in, eyes locked on yours. “We won’t stop until we get five more out of you.”

“Damn,” Gojo laughs under his breath. “What happened to taking things slow?”

Geto gives him a non-committal hum. “Perhaps I lost patience, too.”

[uravitypng]

werewolf meguru bachira x (chubby) reader

KINKTOBER: knotting + dacryphilia + marking

word count: 1.3k words / mdni / 18+ i love writing for bachira <33

your roommate is really hot. applying to become roommates with someone who you didn't know led to unexpected problems- like falling for him. his cheerful and eccentric personality drew you in, his amber eyes and his black and yellow hair keeping you there. a very attractive man in every sense. a very attractive werewolf.

decades ago werewolves and other monsters would have to hide who they are but the times have changed and society has progressed. one of the reasons why you're glad you're born during this progressive age is now you can go into sex shops and buy sex toys... monster sex toys... werewolf toys.

you didn't go out of your way to buy a monster sex toy, you just wanted a new vibrator, maybe something a little quieter now you have a roommate but there was a whole section on monster toys. huge, thick, ribbed, knots, it was rather daunting to see all of them. your eyes were drawn to a particular dildo though, thick and with a knot, you guess around 9 inches. you read the label below it and it's a werewolf dildo. in the end you end up buying it but you tell yourself that you might not even use it, you're just buying it because it was cheap. it wasn't, you couldn't even afford to buy the vibrator you wanted as well.

when you get home you throw the dildo under the bedside table, sometimes your eyes drift over to it but it's been weeks and you haven't used it.

you make your way into the living room and turn on the television, throwing a blanket over you. you think about asking bachira if he wants to watch a movie with you, you hear the shower run and look for films while you wait to ask him. you don't hear the shower stop and you don't hear the door opening, already focused on your task of choosing a film. "oooh, what are you watching?"

"i haven't deci-" you turn to look at him and he's wearing his towel, and nothing else. it's definitely not the first time he's done this, it's pretty frequent but every time it floors you. it should be illegal for someone to look so good. "bachira put some clothes on!" you squeak and he laughs loudly at your reaction before leaving and coming back a couple minutes later this time with clothes on. you end up watching a film and that night your hand reaches under your bedside table. it was only fair that meguru touched himself to your muffled moans, it seems you forgot that werewolves have supernatural hearing and you're basically putting on a show for him. he can't hear any porn so he wonders what you're thinking about. little does he know it's about him.

it happens nearly everyday now, once you've started it's hard to stop. stripped down and turning your face against your pillow muffling your moans and making your wrist hurt as you repeatedly thrust the dildo into your pussy. however, unaware to you, your noises get louder, as you get closer you whine loudly and bachira can hear squelching noises and he imagines him getting you to make the noises. as you push the knot into you you whine "meguru" and he cums everywhere, all over his chest and pants loudly. he didn't imagine that. you definitely said his name.

immediately he leaves his room and he flings open your door and and you whelp trying to cover yourself with your hands. "bachira wha-" before you can finish what you were going to say he goes over to the bed and grabs your hands, forcing them away from your body.

"don't cover up. it's rude to tease," he grins and your eyes widen. he grips your wrists in his large hands and licks his lips as he drinks up your soft body with his eyes, making you shiver.

"tease? tease, i-i haven't done anything!" you don't know what he's talking about but you're hyperaware that you're naked and exposed with a knotted werewolf dildo currently in you with your werewolf roommate above you completely naked too, and you can feel his hard cock against you which you're trying not to look at it.

"oh, really, so calling my, whining, my name as you fill up your cunt isn't teasing?" he licks a tear that starts to fall down your face, 'you look so cute'.

your eyes widen and you try and wiggle out of his grasp, " 'm sorry! ' didn't mean to! just like you a lot meguru!"

bachira doesn't try to stifle giggles, making you cry more and he ruts against your chubby stomach. "awe why didn't you tell me? we could of been doing this for ages." he teases but you can hear that he's being genuine. you sniffle and look up at him in shock and awe at his 'confession'. "such a silly girl," he grins as he sees another tear and wipes it with his hand. "it's a good thing i like you too," he kisses your wet cheek. "never knew you were such a crybaby though." he never knew he would be so turned on by seeing you cry either.

"i'm not a crybaby." you mumble.

"oh please," bachira rolls his eyes and without any warning pulls the dildo out of you, making you screech, suddenly feeling so empty. when he sees it he grins wide, not only covered in your juices but very clearly knotted. "awe did you buy this because of me?" you turn your head to the side not wanting to look at him, embarrassed. 'cute'

"do you want my cock?" he asks cockily and you head snaps back to look at him. "i promise it's much better then that small piece of plastic you've been using." he grins and ruts against you again. your mind goes blank as he says 'small,' that toy is anything but small, how big is he?

you nod your head, "good girl." in one swoop he thrusts into you, not stopping as you scream and grab hold of his arms and hold him tightly to ground yourself. he laughs at your reaction as he keeps thrusting hard and fast. he wasn't lying when he said your toy was small. his cock feels thicker than your wrist and is longer than average too, you feel like you're feeling ripped apart but still he doesn't slow down, in fact as you cry more he gets even more feral. "you look so pretty crying for me," kissing your cheeks and soft jaw.

bachira grabs hold of your malleable hips and sinks his fingers into you groaning at the sight and the feeling, using them to pull you towards him and off him, aiding in his movements.

he doesn't even need to work hard for you to come. of course he doesn't you're his 'good little mate' meguru actually growls when he thinks that, shocking you in the process. it seems impossible but his thrusts get harder and it almost hurts but the slight pain is pleasurable. "fuck, fuck," he grabs hold of you so tightly he's going to leave bruises and pushes his knot into you and stuffing you full.

you scream, you cry more than double that you have been, your arms flail and your swear you're going to bleed. "sssh, shhhh, it's okay," he strokes your hair and wipes your eyes. you sniffle and he continues comforting.

" 'ts big," you say through tears.

"i know but you can take it. you're so good for me aren't you?" you nod your head and as you nod your head your neck gets exposed causing bachira to start breathing heavy and you worry that something's wrong. you don't have time to ask about it though because he's instincts are telling him to bite, bite, bite! and that's what he does, he turns your head and bites down hard, leaving a mating mark on you, making everyone know you're his. you gasp but the that blood drips down makes you wince, he licks your mark soothing any pain you have. you're his- forever.

[ryescapades]

maelstrom | kaiju no. 8

characters: narumi gen x gn!reader contents: angst, hurt no comfort, platoon leader!reader a/n: this is rather descriptive than anything hm 1.1k wc

this is the fifth time.

your leg continued to bounce under the table, eyes darting between the glass panel just beside the booth and the phone sitting on the table. the device’s screen remained dark, no notification coming in from a certain someone that you’ve been expecting to see.

the cafe you were at was bustling with life, waiters scurrying around with trays in their hands and customers going about their activities as they enjoyed their served orders. well, at least there were people who were enjoying their time here. sadly enough, you couldn’t say the same for yourself.

you’d been sitting at your assigned booth for almost an hour— or forty-five minutes to be exact, feeling out of your skin in the outfit that was carefully picked out for this particular day. it was supposed to be a simple outing, a simple date. one which you haven’t been on with your boyfriend for quite a while. you’d barely seen him at all the past few weeks either.

you’d fully understood what it means to date an important figure in the defense force, you really do. hell, you know how little free time you have in your hands as a platoon leader yourself, let alone a division captain.

you could never blame narumi for being busy with work but that doesn't mean it hurts any less when he misses another one of your dates or quick meetups. he’d agreed to meet up with you that day, and like a forlorn wife waiting for her dead husband to return from war, you held onto the miniscule chance that he’d arrive anytime soon.

all these times, the reason why it scrapes at your heart so painfully is not because of his absence, but rather his reasoning behind it. the lack of it, in fact. he always sounded so… dismissive whenever it happened. almost as if he didn’t give it any thought to rationalize why he decided to leave you hanging.

it has come to the point where you started to go along with his excuses, not bothering to pester him with the what and why because you know that’s not something he’d like to entertain repetitively. narumi gen is his own person, and you have no right to bind him down with your neediness.

but you were supposed to be his partner… is it such a bad thing to ask for just a fraction of his time?

a faint ping from your phone caught your attention, bringing your consciousness back to the flaking reality.

if this was a few weeks back, you would’ve lunged for the phone as soon as you’d heard the notification coming in, all excited and giddy. there would’ve been hearts in your eyes, jitters on the tip of your fingers and butterflies in your stomach.

but at that time, only dread and uncertainty settled in your mind. the voices of the customers around you rang in your ears, ice cubes clinking in the plastic cup of your drink as they started to melt and condense out at the side of the container. with slow fingers, you swiped across the screen and opened the new message you received.

a scoff (or is it a laugh? if so, it’s a self-mocking one at that) of deprecation, fraught and disappointment escaped from your mouth then. something ugly and sinister coiled deep in your gut, and you had to bite down on your lips to prevent the cry from coming out.

it was just a few words, but those few words made you feel like you’d just been slapped right across the face.

‘sorry, can’t come today. just remembered i had stuff to do with hasegawa.’ the text said.

maybe you were too ambitious, too hopeful; falling in love with a man such as narumi gen, someone so powerful and revered in the eyes of others, wishing for him to look at you the same way you do him. you couldn’t even remember when it first started, and at this point you don’t know what’s more devastating; the fact that you were spiraling down headfirst and blindly into this aphotic void, or that he was almost never there to catch you.

perhaps this had been a long time coming, and all the lonely, sorrowful nights you’ve spent pondering over the what ifs have calamitously accumulated in your brain, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel guilty of the way pettiness festered inside your ruptured mind.

because a few days after narumi had last stood you up, you’d unapologetically told him that you’re cutting things off. through text. and it wasn’t even a question; it was a statement. clear and straight to the point, just like how his excuses used to be.

life after that never came easy either. everything just feels exhausting, both physically and mentally. amidst the grueling tasks of training, reporting and subjugating kaiju, you’d always find yourself lost in thought, unconsciously pondering about your… ex-boyfriend.

god, how much you despise that label. especially now that he holds that very same title.

it’s funny, really; how tight of a chokehold the man has on you. ever since you broke things off, your days have been filled with this chest-hollowing pain. you haven’t been as well-rested as before, your baths haven’t felt as comforting, your meals haven’t been as fulfilling, and all the things you’d usually find joy in suddenly felt like such a hassle.

narumi's absence has been agonizingly loud.

and it hurts to see that he’s faring well without you; he oversees the division’s training as usual, he reviews your reports and talks to you like you were just acquaintances, he sends you off to missions like you were any other soldier in his troop, like nothing ever happened - like the two of you never happened.

does he not love you anymore? has he moved on already? how can he sleep at night knowing what he’d done to you? that soul-binding connection you used to have… was it not real? or was it just in your head all along?

sometimes you wonder how pitiful you would have to be for him to realize how badly he affected you, how crushing it feels to watch the world you’d built with him fall apart every time he’d neglected you.

one of japan’s pillars of defense, the country’s strongest anti-kaiju combatant. his burgeoning personage keeps drifting further away, overwhelmingly unreachable like the depth of a never-ending vortex.

you’d always been the one who loves harder, and now you’d have to live with what was left of your crumbling heart, for the rest of it has long sunken from the wreckage of his love.

once again i had a thought.

taglist @maruflix @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @yueliie @justwinginglife @lumiambrose @minasfwoopyponytail @17020 @bgyuus @moon-cakiie @stunies

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7 K Warnings: none. Prompt: Why is it that potions is always so problematic? This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Not proofread

Chapter 66: Hot Love

“Well, I certainly know who my partner will be thinking of,” Sirius said maliciously towards Severus, once he overheard the conversation you were having with Slughorn. 

“Yeah, well, I know exactly who you’ll be thinking of as well,” the other boy retorted viciously. “And it won’t be your stupid little girlfriend, will it?” 

Sirius seemed taken aback by his comment. Then he remembered what Severus had seen in the bathroom. “Watch your fucking mouth.” 

Severus tilted his head. “Mine? I’m not the one placing it on other lips. On men’s lips.” 

“Severus,” Sirius warned as he turned to him. The greasy-haired boy was speaking louder than normal on purpose. Thankfully, behind the two was only James and Lily, no longer Peter and his partner since they had reassigned seats.

“What?” Severus tilted his head. “You scared your little girlfriend might hear?” he added with a snide smirk. “What would you do if I told her?” 

“How about you mind your own fucking business?” 

“Touched a nerve?” he asked as he titled his head. “Hope I did. Because if you don’t do exactly what I fucking tell you to do for the rest of potions, then I will make fucking sure she figures out, and it won’t be in a kind way.” 

“What you think you saw–”

“Don’t even fucking bother to make excuses,” he added. “Is that the real reason they kicked you out of the family? Was Potter perhaps your first lover?” 

Sirius' eyes were icy as he stared at Severus, his teeth clashing against each other so tight that they almost hurt. The idea that he might have been cast out for liking men was both disheartening and enraging. Not because he hated that he had been cast out but because he knew it would have been a perfect excuse for his parents. Their heir being a fag? Could not possibly live with that!

In a way, he loved that he’d found yet another way to infuriate his mother, but there was still that strong pang in his heart that made him hate himself for having allowed Severus, of all people, to see how he was vulnerable. 

Not that he cared about being outed or about Severs telling you anything, you already knew. But he knew Moony didn’t want the world to know, and he knew you weren’t in love with the idea either. His weakness didn’t lay on him, let alone his own feelings, but in yours and Remus’, and it made it all the more discouraging, especially when he had betrayed your feelings more than once in the past.

“Count the rose petals shreds, would you? We need one hundred and seventy-three,” Severus commanded. 

Sirius breathed out, closed his eyes and bit the bullet. He pulled them out of the jar and laid them on the table before he started counting. We have to do something about him, he thought as he let out a quiet sigh. Severus was clearly enjoying Sirius’ submissiveness, already imagining all the things he’d force Sirius to do with his newfound influence. Although, even then, he wouldn’t drag it on too much. 

He hated Sirius, but there was something more he wanted. He wanted you to feel as bad as he had felt when he saw Lily and James together. He thought it was your fault they started dating, and you became the cause of this and all of his misfortunes. You, Sirius, James and perhaps the stupid werewolf as well. He’d disliked their little group for years, but he never expected Evans to actually fall for James, and it happened just as you joined the school. In his mind, there was no way around it, it was your fault he suffered a heartache, and he would make you miserable in retaliation. 

And while Sirius, feeling miserable, counted the petals, you and Remus were happily measuring your ingredients. “Rosebud petals?” you asked as you revised the small list you’d jotted down in your notebook. 

According to Slughorn, book versions of amorentia often left one or two ingredients out since they did not want students to fully recreate such a powerful potion. But he thought that you should be taught the real potion if any of you actually aspired to become a potioneer. He had a special, annotated book, and he had dictated the ingredients from his own ‘Tried and True’ version. 

“Ready,” Remus answered as he checked the ingredients on the pile you had made on the side. 

“300 grams of Ashwinder Eggs?” You asked and he nodded. “Moon pearl dust?”

“That was two teaspoons, right?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded and ticked the little box next to the ingredient. “Honey Water infused with a drop of mint extract?” 

“It’s here,” he said as he lifted a small beaker with the right amount of it. Honey water was of a very light, slightly luminescent amber tone, made of 4 parts magically distilled water and 1 part honeyblitz luminhoney. You had been taught how to extract luminhoney once in your older school, and while you’d managed to get out of it unscratched, others weren’t quite so lucky. Honeyblitz Bees were rather feisty, and they didn’t like people digging around their honeycomb. Thankfully, Hogwarts had a rather large stash of luminhoney, so you didn’t have to worry too much about harvesting. 

The beaker Remus held in his hand, however, was of a light purplish tone, changed by the drop of mint flower extract. 

You nodded and looked back at your list “Niffler’s Fancy?“

“5 dried leaves crushed in a mortar,” he responded.

“But we added half a leave to make up for what sticks on the sides, yeah?” 

Remus smiled as he heard you and nodded, that had been something he had taught you near the start of the year. It was better to add a little bit more of those ingredients that had to be crushed to dust and squeezed. “And about half a knut of root for potency,” he reassured. 

“Not on the list, I think it’s a brilliant idea,” you responded as you added it to your notes. Potions were no place for heedless improvisation, most required exact ingredients since it was the only way to guarantee that the potion would come out all right; a little bit of the wrong ingredient and you could poison the drinker. But a potioneer with knowledge of the ingredients and their properties –a good potioneer– could add or subtract small bits of certain ingredients to alter their potion’s results. 

When you and Remus got “Outstanding” on your veritaserum, you had actually decided to add an extra Jobberknoll Feather since the ones you got had been rather small. Jobberknol feathers helped both with the potion’s potency and with the durability of its effect. Your potion, according to Slugnorn, had been the longest-lasting, which accounted for an excellent success. You had thought Severus’ face had been hilarious when Slughorn said that and praised your team in front of the entire class.

“7 puffapods?” you asked after you finished scribbling.

“Yeah, we took an extra bean, in case they’re not ripe yet.” 

“We’re not missing anything besides that, are we?” 

“The moonstone extract,” he said as he checked his notes. “Did you write that one down?” 

“Oh no, I was gonna add it in the end but completely forgot,” you said as you did. “How much of that was it?” 

“Few drops,” he said with a frown. “Until the potion reaches a Pygmy Puff pink.” 

“That’s too broad,” you said with a shrug. 

“I thought so, too,” he responded. “I asked Slughorn if there was anything on Flamel’s Potion Hue Scale, and he said to go for FPHS-P63”.

You leaned down and pulled a small booklet, about the size of a chocolate bar, from your bag. At the top, it said FPHS in big letters, and on the inside, it was filled with different colours and their names, almost like a paint sampler. The one you had, had cost a small fortune, but your mother, who had been quite good at potions herself, insisted on getting the complete version instead of the Student one. Remus and you had used it plenty of times, and it had never failed you. Even back when you made polyjuice, getting the right shade of brown (apparently FPHS-B12) had been thanks to the hue scale. 

You placed the booklet on the table next to the ingredients. “That’s it, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded with a smile.

“At least it won’t take us days to brew this one,” you said as you pulled the cauldron out and placed it over the burner –still off, you didn’t need to heat this potion yet. 

“We have the thermometer?” 

“They’re all taken, I was thinking of borrowing one when we need it,” he said and then checked your notes. “Did you pick up some Scourgify Essence by any chance?” 

“Oh yeah, it said the cauldron had to be extremely clean…” you said as you picked the small flask out of your pocket and handed it over to him. 

He carefully picked out a pipet full of it and dropped the liquid onto the cauldron. He then swivelled the liquid inside of it and placed it back on the stand before he took his wand out and whispered, “Scourgify.” The liquid made a light sizzling sound, as if burning, and created a small stream of yellow smoke with a smell oddly reminiscent of marigolds. 

“From the calming drought?” 

He sniffed, “Definitely,” he agreed. “One more time?” 

“To make sure,” you nodded as you added another pipet of the concentrate to the cauldron, this time, you performed the spell. The fizzing sound was a little louder, and the smoke was first green and then white. 

“Green was from polyjuice,” he said as he scrunched his nose to the side, the smallest expression of disgust.

“Imagine how it tasted,” you said. Although you hadn’t smelled anything at all, you’d seen the colour, and you knew Remus had a far better sense of smell. 

“And you did it for the sake of James’ date.” 

“Well, they’re a thing now, aren’t they?” you said with a smile and a small tilt of your head. “When we’re all old, I’ll be able to remind James of the time I sacrificed my sanity and cleaned the men’s loos for the sake of his relationship.”  

“Oh, and you’ll probably remind Lily and their children about it all the time. I can already imagine a senile version of you saying something along the lines of ‘You know, you owe your existence to my sacrifice’”

“I won’t be senile! Old yes, but…”

“We’re all gonna be senile one day,” he said with a smile. “I don’t mind it, though. I won’t mind going insane if it’s beside you.” 

He’d said it so casually, as he poured some of the honey water into the cauldron, that he didn’t even notice how you had almost choked on your own spit at his words. And there he was, gently stirring the liquid inside the caldron as you stared at him. He’s right. Perhaps being senile won’t be as bad if I’m with the two of them. 

“Little Witch?” he asked, for the third time, now he was looking at you. “What were you thinking about?” 

“Bubbles,” you said before he had time to tease you about it, and then grabbed the rose petals and dropped them onto the mortar. 

“Bubbles?” 

“Slughorn said we need to stir lightly, to avoid bubbles,” you repeated, almost mechanically, as you furiously crushed the rose petals in the mortar, your hand was fast and hard onto the surface, a red paste. 

“Intention,” he said with a teasing smile. “Don’t forget your intention.” 

You looked up at him and narrowed your eyes. He had a know-it-all smile that would have been infuriating had he not looked so handsome. “Worry not, I’m definitely thinking of it,” you said as you crushed the petals a little harder. It was now a rather thick paste. You tried not to think much about growing old with the boys as you looked at the mortar. “Does it say anything about straining?” you asked. 

“Book says it’s recommended, Slughorn didn’t say anything,” he said as he turned to his notes, comparing them with the book’s recipe. 

“It’s kind of lumpy,” you said as you put a little bit more force on the mortar.

“Let me try,” he said as he carefully enveloped your hands with his and replaced their spot on the mortar. One arm tangled with yours as he gently pressed the pestle into the mortar. The paste was made only a little lighter, but it was still quite thick, even after being subjected to his werewolf strength. “Perhaps we should strain it. I’ve never seen a lumpy amortentia…” 

“Me neither,” you said as you grabbed a small ladle and poured two spoonfuls of the potion onto the mortar, he mixed the paste, now much more watery. “Another one?” 

“No, I think that’s enough,“ he retorted as he continued grinding. You were both unnecessarily close to one another. Even more, than you normally were, but it seemed natural for your arms to be entangled with one another, for the side of his chest to be so close that you could tell when he was exhaling and inhaling, as if it was meant to be. As if it had always been meant to be, only you hadn’t quite realised it. 

You grabbed a small straining cloth and placed it on top of the cauldron, stretching it just enough for him to pour the petal paste –now more like petal water- onto it. Most of it went through pretty smoothly, near the end, though he used the same ladle to push the paste towards the straining cloth, squeezing out as much of the liquid still in them as possible. 

When he was done, you pulled the cloth, bunched it up, and pressed your hands on the small lump at the bottom to squeeze out any remaining liquid. 

“Should be enough, right?” 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, revising the colour of the potion and comparing it to his notes. “Does it look peachy to you?” 

“Book says it should be FPHS-RY2, right?” you said as you took the Hue Scale booklet and looked for the colour. He hummed in response and leaned even closer to you, looking over your shoulder as you placed the small shit of paper next to the cauldron. 

“We need better light,” he said as he pulled out his wand with an unspoken lumos charm. “It’s a little transparent, but I think it’s the right shade.” 

You looked up at him; he was attentively looking at the chart, his brows slightly knotted from the attentive way he was looking at the colours. You smiled and bit your lip as you looked at him. Perhaps if you weren’t in such a public place, you would have stolen a kiss from him. 

“We need to add the puffapods next,” he said as he picked up the purplish leaves that contained them. “We need to use a dissolving spell once they’re inside.” 

You nodded, taking the leaves in your hand and using a knife to open it. Puffapods were these gooey, light purple balls that smelled rather disagreeably –at least to you– and apparently to Remus as well if the way he pulled back from your side was anything to go by. In potions, it was almost always you who took on the tasks of preparing the stronger-smelling ingredients. It’d started after you figured out he was a werewolf, and he didn’t notice you’d been doing it until after he knew about your discovery. He had been so thankful, he made sure to always carry chocolate around with him during potions to give you some after class. 

You used the knife to place the puffapods onto the cauldron and wiped your hands with a rag since some of the mucus had spread out onto your hands. “I think I’ll wash my hands instead,” you said as the smell didn’t subside. 

“I’ll work on the dissolving spell while you’re at it,” he said with a simple nod and you walked towards the end of the classroom where the faucets were. By the time you walked back, Remus was already working on cracking the ahwinder eggs. The liquid inside them was a pinkish and gooey slime, with no smell to it, but when they crashed onto the rest of the potion, the smell of puffapods was swallowed completely, leaving an oddly pleasant smell of something earthy, almost like wet grass or mint.

Remus seemed to notice the change as well. “Mint?” he asked. 

“And something leathery, I think…” you said. He nodded in agreement. The smell of your potion had been so strong that apparently even Tom, on the table behind you also noticed it.

“Does anybody else smell something like sandalwood and lavender cologne?” 

“No,” said Beth as she shrugged. “It does kind of smell kind of citrusy thought.” 

“Concentrate on your brews,” Slughorn said to no one in particular, although he had a faint smile on his face as if he too had smelled something pleasant. 

“Did we bring the distiller?”

“Yeah,” he said as he pulled the crystal vases and started accommodating them all, lighting the burner with a small incendio, as you busied yourself with cutting up the niffler’s fancy leaves. It was quite common for you and Remus to work like that. Almost as if you could read each other’s minds. With a set of instructions, the two of you could go step by step almost without saying a word, just knowing exactly what the other would do with the ingredients they took in their hands. 

By the time he was done accommodating, you’d already chopped all the leaves and placed them in a beaker with exactly 9 oz of Potioneer Water for distilling magical ingredients and a knut of root. He tilted the end of the flask, and you poured it onto the blown glass opening. The mixture started bubbling, and the smaller flask on the other side of the pipets started slowly being filled with drops of lightly blue-tinted water. 

Remus checked his watch. “I think we can start boiling the potion,” he said as he handed over the burner, and you accommodated it under the cauldron. “Low, green fire,” he said. 

“Right,” you said as you filled the small of the glass bottle with dragon’s breath alcohol and sprinkled it with verdant ember dust.

“You’ll need this one too,” Remus said as he handed over an emerald wick, while it wasn’t strictly necessary to use one  –they were more expensive than normal wicks– they did help with purer fire, and Slughorn allowed students to use them in some of the more complicated potions. 

“Brilliant,” you said as you accommodated the three wicks and tightened the top of the burner. You placed it underneath the cauldron and turned the fire on with your wand, rolling the small knob at the top to lower the intensity of the fire. The diopside flames crashed against the cast iron of the cauldron. “Temperature should stay under 65 °C,” you said as you checked your notes. 

Rem turned around, looking towards Beth and Tom. They seemed to be doing fine, although their potion was a little lumpy, they could always strain it in the end. “Do you guys have a thermometer?”  

“Yeah,” Tom said as he handed it over. They were still trying to peel the puffapods, one of them had blown up on Beth’s hand, and they were both busy trying to clean off the slime off their table. “Scourgify,” Remus said. The mucus disappeared from their table and from Beth’s robes. 

“Thanks,” she said with a smile as she looked up at him. Then she turned to look at Tom and handed him the pod leaf. “You try now.” 

“No problem,” Rem said and turned back towards your potion, carefully securing the thermometer onto the side of the cauldron, and allowing only the very tip to touch the potion. You had already pulled out a special crystal spoon that was meant for mixing delicate potions. “It’s three clockwise and six counters every 5 minutes, right?” 

“Yup,” you said as you pulled out the spoon, allowed it to drip and, with a gentle wave of your hand, caused the hourglass at the end of the table to turn around.

While the time passed, both you and Remus compared your notes, scribbled so fast after Slughorn dictation that some words were almost intelligible, but in between the two of you, you’d managed to get a very complete recipe, annotating all the changes, and moving the recipe to the compendium you had both created for the class. 

At the beginning of the year, Slughorn had suggested you start your own potion book. With whatever alterations you made, or got recommended by him, and a detailed memoir of your experience making each potion. You had both decided to add the memoir as a separately attached parchment and use the notebook as your personal recipe book. The sections on polyjuice, Veritaserum and Draught of Living Dеath were the longest and most detailed, since you had made a few modifications to them, and they were also the ones both you and Remus thought could be useful later. The plan was to use Gemino by the time it was ready so you both could keep your own copy. 

“We strained before adding the rose petals, instead of in the end, yeah?” 

He hummed in return and pointed at the straining cloth you’d used. “I think you used acromantula silk for that.” 

“Yeah, the finest available,” you said as you added that as a footnote. 

Then, there was a soft chime from the end of the table. “I’ll do the mixing,” Remus said softly as you looked towards the cauldron. “Focus on getting that thought down,” he added as he walked behind you and placed a hand on the back of your neck. He picked the spoon from the plate you’d left it on and dipped it into the potion, gently making the necessary turns and eyeing you as you wrote down some details of the peeling and adding of the puffapods. He smiled as he saw you gently biting your lower lip in concentration. He thought you looked absolutely adorable.

“I think I’m gonna add an extra clockwise stir.” 

“Okay,” you said as you scribbled that on the side of your parchment. Remus was brilliant at calculating the mixing process, so you never questioned his judgement regarding extra stirs. 

When he was done, you waved your hand again, restarting the clock and then focusing on the small drawing of the puffapods you’d decided to add to the side of the ingredients list. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautiful you look when you’re writing things down,” he said with a smile as he leaned a little closer to you. Taking a pencil from the end of the table as an excuse for leaning against you.

You could feel your cheeks heating up from how close he was and how terribly delightful he smelled. Or perhaps it was the entire classroom that smelled nice? No, that’s not it, you thought. There was still some of that Puffapod smell coming from somewhere near the back. Even then, his smell, or the smell around you at least, seemed to overpower your senses. The temptation to turn around and kiss him was almost too strong to resist. But you somehow managed to force your eyes back onto the paper. 

“Don’t be such a tease,” you murmured.

“It’s not teasing,” he insisted, drawing just a little closer. “It’s true.” 

You had to bite your cheeks not to let out a strangled sound. His presence was overwhelming to you at that moment. And you didn’t want to fight it, you wanted only to give in. 

“Keep in mind the sole smell of amorentia can cause havoc,” Slughorn said. “Be careful as you smell it, and remember that perhaps your thoughts are being affected by the brewing. Especially during the infusion period.” 

Remus turned to Slughorn and upon realising just how close he’d gotten to you, practically pressing his chest onto your back. He pulled back almost in an instant, taking a pencil with him and clearing his throat. “That’s the thing you needed?” he asked as he left an eraser on your notebook.

You knew he was only covering for his overly affectionate moment seconds ago, but you nodded. “Yeah,” you said. “Thanks, Luv.” 

He threw you a reproachful look since you rarely used that nickname with him. You simply smiled and sent a short wink his way. Then you turned towards the destination area you’d set up earlier. “I think it’s done,” you said. There was 3 oz of blueish liquid on the small crystal tube. “It’s probably very concentrated.” 

“Yeah,” Remus said as he turned off the fire on that burner and used his want to float the tube towards his face. The smell emanating from it was earthy and fresh, exactly like distilled niffler’s fancy should smell like. 

When the hourglass chimed again, he poured the liquid onto the potion and turned the fire off. The potion was now of a light lilac colour, thick slow bubbles seemed to start at the very top and face towards the bottom of the cauldron, the smell much more powerful now. There was a small hint of chocolate on it now too. At least for you, for Remus, it smelled a little like the perfume you’d worn to the slugparty. 

“Is that meant to happen?” you asked.

“Yeah, it’s actually a good sign,” he said as he took the crystal spoon and started stirring. “It’s four and then the pearl dust,” he said.

“Ready,” you said as you took the small recipient with the premeasured shimmery dust.

He turned his hands counterclockwise four times, and you started throwing the dust on the cauldron, gently tapping on the sides of the crystal recipient to make sure all of it fell where it was meant to. After three more stirs, the smell had become even more potent than before. Some students from the back of the class were even peeking through their own cauldrons, trying to figure out where the nice scents were coming from. 

“And now it’s the last ingredient,” he said as he pulled out the small dropper with the moonstone extract. Meanwhile, you took the FPHS and looked for the P63. You lit your wand up next to the potion, which was a silvery lilac colour and had a shimmering-like effect –caused by the pearl dust. 

He poured one drop, and the colour changed, becoming a little more warm. Rem added three more drops, and it already looked pink, just a very pale, almost rose-petal pink, not quite P63. He added two more drops, and the colour was already much closer to a match. Not to mention the smell of the potion had become even stronger, almost intoxicating from how much it drew you in, and towards each other. Even Sirius, who had been impossibly annoyed by Severus throughout his entire class, had turned around and started staring at the two of you working on the last steps of your potion. The smell drawing you and Remus in, seeming to work just the same on him.

 “One or two more?” Remus asked. 

You frowned and bit your lip, looking at the colour it was and thinking of the one you wanted to achieve. All the while also thinking of both Remus and Sirius and how potent the smell of them on the potion was by now. “Two,” you said confidently.

He poured two more drops and the potion finally matched P63, the smell became so strong for a moment that it flooded the entire classroom, everyone seemed to turn to look towards your table and you heard Severus curse under his breath. You wonder if his potion smelled like the Rosehoney of Lily’s perfume, or if perhaps it was the tropical smell of her muggle coconut shampoo she loved so much that he was perceiving.  

Slughorn walked towards your table, the smell was still strong, but he had used a spell to dissipate some of the smell outside of the classroom through the ventilator tubes on the sides of the walls. 

“It seems we have the first finished potion,” he said as he approached. “And the scent is quite strong, too. Perhaps some of the strongest amorentia I’ve smelled.”

“Thank you, Professor,” both you and Remus said at the same time. 

“Nothing to thank for,” he retorted with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Now, tell me, what do you smell?” 

You cleared your throat. “There’s a minty leathery smell, perhaps with some undertones of pine trees and fresh morning air,” you said. 

“And the next scent?” 

“Books,” you said, “and um… something sweet,” you didn’t want to say it was chocolate in case someone was listening in to the conversation. 

“The last one?” 

“It’s the smell of a forest at night,” you said. “Damp earth and moss, wild herbs, evergreen and dew. I also detect a bit of–” you stopped yourself. “Never mind, I don’t know what it is.” 

Slughorn looked at you with a bit of a suspicious air, but Remus was the one who had to bite his lips in order to stop a smile from spreading. He had a faint idea of what you might be smelling since he too had gotten that. 

“And you, Mr. Lupin?” 

“Books too,” he said. “A perfume, don’t know what it’s made of, and something musky and earthy.” 

Slughorn nodded thoughtfully as if he was considering the smells. “And?” 

“Ugh, I’m not sure what that is,” he lied. It was the same leathery scent you had smelled, except for him it smelled more of Sirius’ fancy citric soap –even after he got kicked out of his house, he still bought the same elegant soap, and whenever he left the bathroom the entire place was imprinted with that smell. That smell had not only imprinted itself on the bathroom but also on Remus’ mind. The things he had imagined weren’t something he had been proud of after he’d emptied himself out in the shower. “Perhaps some kind of soap,” he added in the end. 

“And the last smell?” 

“Can’t tell,” he lied again. It was the smell of his coat that night at the Potters. You and Sirius. As unmistakable as the sun, and as obvious as the Moon or the brightest star in the night’s sky.  

“Perhaps if you lean a little closer?” Slughorn said as he tilted his head. 

“I mean, I definitely smell something,” Remus corrected. “I just don’t know what the scent is.”

“Well, that’s rather interesting,” he said with a smile. You sensed he was about to ask something else. And you knew the tight spot Rem was in, so you decided to intervene. 

“What do you smell, Professor?” 

“What do I–” he asked, almost puzzled. “Well, I…” 

Got him, you thought as you saw his nervousness. “I mean not to pride, Professor. I just wanted to know if our potion was successful.” 

“Oh yes, excellently so,” he nodded as he composed himself. ”I smell flowers, evening flowers to be precise. A gardenia, evening primrose and  Abyssinian gladiolus,” he explained. “I think there’s some serpent musk and I believe that’s the very particular smell of giant squid ink and old books.” 

“Do you also feel a third smell?” you asked. The more he lost himself in his own thoughts, the further he’d be from asking Remus something else. Rem threw an almost nervous look your way and reached for your hand from under the table, you squeezed his reassuringly, not taking your gaze away from Slughorn. 

Slughorn hesitated, only now realising how intrusive he might have seemed as he asked you and Remus to describe the scents you perceived in the potion. “Yes,” he said. The smell was quite strong and clear for him. “Cold and crisp air. The kind of scent you get from standing on a cliff.” And there was also something of that coppery scent that dark magic carried mixed into it, but as you and Remus had done earlier, he decided not to elaborate further on the thing he smelled.

“Oh,” you said as you leaned towards the potion again. “Should we bottle this then?” 

“Please,” he said with a smile. “There are some clean bottles on my table. You may pick whichever you like,” he added before he walked towards a different table. 

“What was the thing you didn’t mention?” Remus asked as he leaned a little closer to you.

“Canine scent,” you said with a smile. “Moony and Pads. You?” 

“Your perfume,” he admitted. “And…” There was a hesitation there, an almost imperceptible gulp before he was brave enough to speak it aloud.  “My coat.” 

“Your coat?” you asked confused, and then it dawned on you. “By Merlin. Your coat!” 

“And Sirius’ soap.” 

“The one that smells kind of like tangerine and sandalwood?” He nodded. You hummed shortly in response. “I’ll get a bottle,” you said as you walked towards Slughorn’s desk. 

The assortment of bottles there was huge. From small bottles that could only be used to hold extremely powerful –or explosive-prone– potions, to the larger flask that would normally be used for potions with a longer shelf life or that were used quite frequently (like Pomfrey’s Skellegro). You sorted through the bottles and grabbed a medium-sized one.  About the size of a flattened apple, and with quite a similar shape as well. It was quite heart-shaped, but it was quilted,  hobnailed, or something in between, and it had the slightest pinkish hue that you thought could perhaps enhance the shimmering P63 of your potion.

It’s not that you cared so much about the presentation, but you knew Slughorn did, he had an eye for beautiful things. The way he stored his own potions was indicative enough, besides, every time he was giving a beautiful-looking potion, whoever had given it got either praise for it or a better grade. So once you’d chosen what you thought would be the right bottle, you moved over to find a cork that would fit. 

While you were walking back to your table you heard an explosion coming from a cauldron near the back. “Mr. Prewet, how on earth did you manage to blow something up in a potion with no explosive ingredients?” 

“I think I confused purple explosivepods with puffapods,” he said as he looked at the small gooey –much brighter– leaf in his hand… Sorry.” 

Slughorn sighted and quickly vanished all the ingredients from his table with a simple “evaneso.” Then he looked at the boy rather sternly. “You and your partner will write an essay on everything that went wrong in your potion to pass the assignment.” 

 “Can’t I do that too?” someone asked. It was Janice, one of Beth’s roommates. 

“No, Miss Stevenson. You must finish your potion.” 

“But it’s blue!” She complained as she stared at her cauldron. “It’s meant to be pink!” 

“Did you distil the niffler’s fancy leaves?” You asked.

“Distil?” she asked as she stared back at her book. “It’s not on the instructions.” 

“No,” Slughorn said. “But I mentioned it was much better to distil it, since sometimes niffler’s fancy leaves are inconsistent in concentrations.” 

“You did?” she asked with a frown to which Slughotn nodded. 

You gave her an apologetic smile and a shrug. “You could try adding a little bit more honeywater to even things out, but you’ll have to improvise with the stirring…” 

Remus, who was writing some stuff down on his parchment, turned to look at her as well. “I think you’d need 4 extra turns to the right and one to the left for it to work.” 

“It’s five to the right,” Severus said with an eye roll. “Or 6, depending on how much honey water they add.” 

Remus looked back at his notes with a small frown, scribbling something before scoffing. “Snape is right, 6 to be certain.” 

“Oh, thank you,” she said with a smile, looking both at you and Remus and then a much shyer, almost scared look towards Severus. “And you,” she added much more quietly. 

“I was just correcting Lupin, I don’t care about your potion,” he retorted and went back to his cauldron. 

She just swallowed and walked towards the ingredient cabinet to get the stuff she would need to, hopefully, fix her mess. 

You walked back towards Rem with the flask, he’d already picked out the crystal funnel, and you accommodated onto the opening of the flask while he used the ladle to slowly fill up the bottle. Once the bottle was filled, there was still about half as much potion left inside the cauldron. 

Normally whatever was left over (unbottled) became “Caput Mortuum” as Slughorn liked to call it, and he threw it down the drain. But before you had time to pick up the cauldron, Slughorn was back at your table. “Finished?” 

“Almost,” you said as you removed the funnel and passed the cork to Remus who had already picked out the label you’d be adding. 

“Excellent,” he said and moved his wand on top of your cauldron. “Potio Evanesco,” he said. The potion spiralled down until it completely disappeared. “Last time a strong potion like this one was poured down the drain, the school had quite a wild week,” he explained. “You may leave after your clean-up,” he said after revising his watch.” 

“Thank you,” Remus replied. Since the cauldron was already clean, you limited yourselves to just taking the leftover ingredient flasks and placing them back in their respective cabinets. 

As you were walking back to your place to pick your bag up, you decided to pay a small visit to Sirius, who looked absolutely miserable as he was writing some things down. 

“How’s the potion?” you asked him.

“Not sure,” he admitted. “I’ve only weighed the ingredients three times each.” 

You frowned and turned to look at Severus who looked uncomfortable by how close you were standing to Sirius. “Do you really think three times is absolutely necessary?” 

“Worry about your own brews,” he retorted without looking at you. Not that he was doing anything important. Just looking at his hourglass.

“Has he been like that all class?” Sirius nodded. “I’m sorry for you,” you told Severus. 

“I’m the one that’s sorry for you,” retorted Severus as he finally turned to you. 

“Beg your pardon?” 

He stared daggers at you for a second and opened his mouth as if he were about to say something and then stopped himself. If he was going to make you suffer, he was going to drag it on and end with a bang. Not here where Sirius could just tell you Severus had made it all up, and since you were so enamoured by him, you’d probably gobble all his lies. “Nothing,” he said haughtily. “You’re distracting my partner, please leave.” 

“But he wasn’t doing anything.” 

“He’s writing the log.” 

“And what is he going to write now? Severus looks at the hourglass while we wait for another 5 minutes? Severus looks at the hourglass while we wait another 4 minutes? Don’t be ridiculous!” 

“You are exhausting my patience, girl.” 

“And you’re exhausting mine,” you retorted. “If you treat people like shit all the time, then it makes sense nobody likes you. Heck even the portraits–” 

“The portraits? How do you even–” There was a second of silence before he looked back at you, with even more hatred than before. “It was you!” 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you retorted calmly. “I’m just saying I heard the portraits talk shit behind your back.” And after that, you added. “Severus Snail.” 

Severus stood up from his seat. “You don’t want to continue messing with me.” 

“You’re the one behaving like a child,” you retorted just as aggressively. 

“At least I didn’t get my friend and my mother kiIIed.” You were instantly taken aback by his words. Frozen in place as they sank in. When he knew he’d gotten his hand on a fresh wound, he decided to press even harder. “And that’s not even the only thing that’s breaking apart in your perfect little life, is it? What will you do when–” 

“That’s enough,” Sirius said as he stood in the middle. 

“No, no,” Severus said as he placed his hand on Sirius’ shoulder and gently placed him back on his seat. “You sit down if you don’t want me to go running my mouth about you-know-what.”

Sirius gave you a worried look, and it was your short nod that got him to yield. Severus smiled, clearly pleased about being the one with the power in the situation. “At least I have friends, when was the last time you talked to her?” 

Yeah, he might have known where to hurt you, but you also knew how to get back at him. “I have friends!” 

“Severus Snape has no friends,” you said, voice low. “Even the house elves whisper about it.” 

“I’ll make your life bloody miserable. Shatter your little dream house.”

“You’re welcome to try!” 

“Is everything all right?” Slughorn asked as he leaned closer to the three of you. 

“Just came to ask Sirius about some homework we’re working on,” you said as you patted your boyfriend on the back. “Good luck on your potion boys!” 

Remus had been looking at the whole confrontation from his spot, ready to jump in if it ever got to it. And when you walked back towards him, he’d already finished packing most of his, and your things. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you lied. The pang of your heart caused by Severus’ nasty words still echoing in your head. “Let’s get out of here,” you added as you slung your bag around your shoulder.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: Since we're getting close to the end, I'm planning to do a reread (10-15 chaps left) + heavy revision once we're done (still a few months from there but it's probably going to be done sometime this year) because I want to make my own printed version of it (probably on Lulu), and perhaps a cute epub file? It will probably contain pictures, fan art, and other bonus material. Either way, if you want to collaborate, either in the revision or in bonus content, please don't hesitate to hit me up.

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