#so you can try your best and IT'S STILL NOT ENOUGH

[021894s]

thank god for the gym | psh x f!reader 18+

It’s a saturday morning, and the sunlight spills through the blinds just enough to make everything feel soft and golden. you're curled up on the couch, a mug of coffee warm in your hands, when you hear the familiar creak of the bathroom door.

sunghoon steps out, fresh from his shower, skin still damp, hair a little messy in that way that makes you want to run your hands through it. he's wearing a tank top, the tiny white one that looks like it shrank two sizes in the wash. the fabric doing nothing to cover his chest, clinging to every cut and curve of his torso, stretched tight over his shoulders and biceps.

he yawns, casually rubbing the back of his neck, muscles flexing with the movement. You don’t even try to hide how your eyes roam. his broad chest, thick arms, the deep cut of his v line disappearing beneath his grey sweatpants. every inch of him looks like it was carved out of marble and then wrapped in warm skin.

“morning pretty,” he says, voice still husky, walking into the kitchen like he doesn’t notice the way you're practically drooling into your mug. he opens the fridge, reaching up to grab a protein shake from the top shelf making the tank ride up just enough to flash a glimpse of his abs.

You bite your lip.

“did you get bigger?” you ask before you can stop yourself. sunghoon glances over his shoulder, quirking an eyebrow, amused. “bigger?”

you nod slowly, eyes fixed on his back as he twists the cap off his shake. “your arms. Your chest. I swear you weren’t this… massive last week.” he chuckles, low and cocky, walking over to where you sit. “i’ve been hitting arms and chest more. you like?”

you don’t even answer. You just look up at him, lips parted, eyes trailing the line of veins running down his forearms. He leans down, planting one palm on the back of the couch behind you, muscles flexed just inches from your face.

Your pulse quickens.

“are you getting all worked up right now?” he says, smirking as he tugs lightly at the hem of the tank. “maybe I should wear this more often. you roll your eyes, but it’s half hearted at best. “you act like you don’t know exactly what you're doing.”

he leans in closer, his arm still braced behind you, his face inches from yours now. You can smell his skin, clean and warm, with just a hint of his cologne clinging to his collarbone. your breath catches when his gaze shifts to your mouth.

“mmm,” he hums, his voice low and playful, “can’t help it when my baby stares at me like that.”

your stomach flips, heat crawling up your neck. the pet ame doing nothing to help the wetness pooling in your panties. but you don’t answer. you don’t need to, your eyes say everything. sunghoon closes the last inch of space between you and kisses you slow and deliverate. his lips move against yours with practiced ease, like he’s savoring the way you melt into him. one of his hands slides around the back of your neck, holding you there, while his body leans in, crowding yours, that heat radiating off his chest through the thin tank. You can feel every muscle pressing against you.

you lose yourself in the way he tastes, the low groan he lets out when your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging him closer. when he finally pulls back, just enough to look at you, his thumb brushes over your bottom lip.

“still think I got bigger, baby?” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. you nod, dazed. “way bigger.”

sunghoon grabs you by the waist and pushes you down onto the couch, your back sinking into  the cushions as he hovers over you. You bite your lip, heat swirling in your stomach at the way he's manhandling you so effortlessly. His gaze darkens as he watches you lick your lips in anticipation.

"let me show you just how big I've gotten, baby," he murmurs, voice low and full of promise.

he peels your tiny excuse of a top off, leaving a trail of hot kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your stomach; worshipping every inch of you with his mouth. when he reaches your tiny pj shorts he’s quick to discard of them. being thrown and forgetting somewhere across your living room.��

“so fucking pretty baby, so wet just f’me hm” he whispers, desperate and ready to feel you around him. your back arches at his words, your patience wearing thin. “mm j-just for you hoonie, n-need you s’bad.” he quickly rids himself of his sweats, pumping his thick cock in his hands a couple times before sliding in.

lips parting in a gasp as he fills you, the stretch making your eyes flutter shut. he hisses through his teeth, watching the way your body welcomes him, clenching around him like it’s been aching for this; aching for him. “fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “always so fucking  tight.”

his pace is slow at first, almost teasing, drawing out every roll of his hips like he wants to make you beg. his mouth never stops kissing at your neck, sucking just beneath your jaw until you're sure he’s leaving marks. his hand trails up your thigh, then between your legs, fingers finding your clit with practiced precision.

“look at you,” he smirks, voice thick with satisfaction. “so fucking needy. can’t even sit still for me, can you?” you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders as your hips buck up to meet his. he groans, grip tightening. “yeah? that’s it. take it, baby. take all of me.”

he starts moving faster and deeper, every thrust deliberate, hitting that spot that makes your breath catch and your body tremble. the couch rocks beneath you, but neither of you care. his name spills from your lips like a prayer, like a curse, like everything in between.

he leans down, foreheads pressed together, his breath warm against your mouth. “wanna feel you fall apart,” he whispers. “right here baby. all over me.” and with the way he’s touching you, moving inside you, claiming every inch of you like you’re his, there’s no way you’ll last much longer. “mm g-gonna cum baby,” you breathe out, his quickening, sloppy thrusts letting you know he’s close too. “let go for me pretty.”

Your body trembles beneath him as you come undone, moaning his name like it’s the only word you remember. sunghoon doesn’t stop, he rides it out with you, holding you tight, lips pressed to your shoulder, whispering praise in your ear like a quiet lullaby.

“ghat’s it, baby… i got you. so perfect for me.” he slows his thrusts, then finally stills inside you, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. for a moment, the only sound in the room is the soft hum of your breathing, the distant creak of the couch, and the pounding of both your hearts pressed against each other.

he doesn’t pull away right away just wraps his arms around you and buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“you okay?” he mumbles, voice rough but gentle, one hand brushing hair away from your face. you nod against him, your fingers tracing lazy circles over his back. “yeah…thank fucking god for the gym.” he let’s out a chuckle, his big arm holding you impossibly tighter. 

[girlyteengirlcore]

— first time for everything

abby anderson x fem!reader

cw: established relationship, porn w/ no plot, readers first time squirtingggggg, abby is so sweet, def soft!dom abby, fingering, nipple play, lots of making out, overstimulation, clit stim, she talks you thru it☺️, anal fingering

a/n: writing this with one hand omggg, she makes me so feral I can’t even think normally

wc: 1.3k

“Wait, hold on. What’d you just say, baby?” A slight teasing in her tone.

“Abby! Why are you laughing?”

“No! I’m- I’m not laughing. I’m just.. shocked? I don’t know, I just didn’t expect that.”

“No one’s ever made me, and I’ve just never tried. Are you like fucking.. sq- the squirting master or something?”

The laugh she lets out triggers your own laughing fit.

“The squirting master? Oh wow, that’s hilarious. But, apparently, I definitely am compared to you.”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

The silence settles between the both of you for a second. She doesn’t let it stay that way for long, though.

“You wanna try it?”

“Huh?”

“Do you want to try it out?”

“Oh- um Abby, I don’t even think I could. It’s oka-“

“Trust me, baby. You can squirt, you will.”

The confidence in her voice makes you believe her, but you’re still nervous.

“Okay, sure,” your unsureness was obvious.

“You’ll be fine, sweetheart. Promise.”

“Okay, yeah let’s do it then.”

—

So now, you’re sitting against her on the couch. You’re completely naked while she’s fully clothed. Back against her chest, she tweaks you bare nipples. Teasing them, making you whimper into her mouth, her tongue pushing past your lips.

She has your legs separated with her own, trapping you in her hold. Her other hand is making its way down your torso, but once she reaches where you need her most, she chooses to softly rub your thighs. Bucking your hips to meet her hand wasn’t even possible with the way she has you restrained, you just have to sit there. She won’t let you pull away from the kiss either, so you couldn’t even ask her to touch you anyway. You were dripping, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted, needed you desperate.

Instead, she gathered some of your slick and rubbed her finger against your tighter hole. Pushing past slowly, she feels you gasp against her mouth. Once she fully submerged her finger, she brings it back out again. Before pushing back in, a little faster than before. But that’s not where you need her, arousal is now pooling around her fingers. You pull away from her mouth as best as you could.

“Abs, ohhh fuck. Baby, ple- please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

“What’s up, baby? What d’you need?”

“You, please. I need you.”

“You have me, I’m right here.”

“No, I need you here.” You cup your pussy with your hand, running two fingers through your soaking slit.

“Can you ask a little better than that?”

“I want you to make me cum, please?”

“Thaaat’s better, you got it baby.”

She takes her finger out of your ass, rubbing her middle and ring finger up and down your cunt. From the top of your clit, alllll the way down to your entrance.

“Fuck you are wet baby, soaking my fingers.” She pushes both her fingers into you, filling you up. She isn’t touching your clit though, and that was a problem.

You decide to take initiative and do it yourself. So you cover a couple of your finger in your spit and bring them down to where you’re aching, but she grabs your hand before you even reach your clit.

“Nuh uh, baby. Let me do it, keep your hands to yourself, please.” You sighed out in disappointment, she kept a slightly playful tone but you could tell she wasn’t joking around. You bring your hands down to her sides, grabbing onto her pants instead.

“Thank you.”

“Abb-“

“I know, princess. I’ll get you there, just let me take my time.”

Everything was so much; her fingers playing with your nipples, squeezing them lightly, and her fingers inside of you. It felt so good but it wasn’t getting you anywhere and she knew it, she just needed you to be a little more patient.

When she finally focused on your clit, it was as if the world around you didn’t exist anymore and you were only put on earth only to take her fingers. She brings her other hand down to hold up the hood of your clit, and uses her pointer finger on her other hand to draw small, fast circles on your clit. You wanted to flinch away at the direct contact but it felt too good, instead choosing to relax all your muscles and loll your head back against her shoulder. She doesn’t pick up speed when you ask her to, opting to get you there slowly so that you don’t get too overwhelmed. And when she could tell you were finally about to cum, she still stayed at that pace.

“You gonna cum, princess?”

A string of mhm’s left your mouth. You were too focused on cumming and not focused on answering her properly, something she never took too kind to.

“Answer me, baby. C’mon, I can tell you’re close.”

“Yea- yeah, yes I’m gonna cu- I’m- oh my god I’m cumming- cumming!”

“There we goooo, let it all out.”

You were twitching in her arms by the time your orgasm had subsided, but she didn’t stop. She slowed down significantly, but she was still rubbing your clit softly.

“Breathe, princess. I’m gonna keep going yeah?” You nod, trying to regulate your breathing.

And with that, she goes back to the speed she was doing before. If her legs weren’t holding yours down, you surely would’ve made this a lot harder than it needs to be.

“Slow down!”

“Baby, breathe. It’ll be a lot for now, but after a little while you’ll be fine. Just take some big deep breaths.”

You listen to what she says, trying to calm yourself down so you stop involuntarily moving around.

Your second orgasm doesn’t take very long to build up, she can tell. You were struggling and holding your breath made it feel like you would cum quicker, but Abby didn’t approve of that approach at all.

“I said ‘breathe’, baby. So breathe.”

Her words right in your ear were making you clench around nothing, she was tickling the hairs on the back of your neck. That string at the bottom of your stomach stretched and pulled, the noises that were coming out of you were unholy.

“Oh, my god- Abs, I’m cumming ag- again!”

“Yeah, you are. Go on, princess.” You moan loudly as your second orgasm rips through you, your body is now trembling involuntarily. She finally lets up her abuse on your sensitive clit, pushing three of her fingers into you with ease.

Showing absolutely no mercy at all, she pumped her fingers in and out of you at an insane speed. Your mouth is stuck open in a silent scream, all of the muscles in your body are locked. Then suddenly, a new sensation filled your abdomen.

“Abs- wait, it fee-“

“Feels different, huh?”

“Mhm,” your lip finding its place between your lips as you look down at her fingers pummelling wet mess of a cunt.

“Yeah I bet, don’t fight it, baby. Let it happen, I’ve got you.”

Her words of encouragement were helping you to sprint faster towards the finish line.

Your legs are shaking under hers, signalling how close you really are.

“Rub your clit for me, princess.”

You bring your hand to your clit, shaking fingers rubbing it softly. It helped the speed of the process almost immediately. A clear steam of liquid pouring out of you, wetting the couch, your legs, and Abby’s hand. It doesn’t stop, so you take your hand away only for it to be replaced by your girlfriends. She uses four fingers to rub over your clit roughly, making even more squirt find its way out.

“Enough- enough please, I- I can’t.”

“Okay okay, I’m all done baby,” she looks down at your face, your glossed over eyes, mouth still hanging open, eyebrows still pinched together, “and I think you might be too, huh?”

[c4tluver02]

too tired

wc: 2.2k

summary: After a long day of the sun burning the top of your shoulders and the bridge of Steves nose, things turn sour quickly.

cw: hurt/ comfort, baby fight, Steves fault cuz i said so :P, happy ending

a/n: not a beach fic!!!! but also not not a beach fic..... im a lost cause!

It wasn't even enough to be considered a fight.

You, Steve, and the group were all at the beach. It was hot, possibly the hottest day of the year, and you were all tired. The sun beating down on you for the past few hours took all your energy. So when it was time to pack everything up it was silent, everyone doing their own chore, ready to head home. 

That's where Steve's comment on ‘covering up’ came about. You were gonna walk to the car in your bathing suit, the one that's been torturing Steve this whole time. And if he bothered to ask you, you’d tell him you did this on purpose. For him, of course, a new bikini that would hopefully land you a needy Steve that couldn't get his hands off of you. But instead he handed you the shorts and top you wore coming to the beach. You were half sand and still airing off the water from the sea, which didn't sound like a good pair with clothes that were laying in the sun this whole time. 

Instead of explaining this whole thing to Steve you just scrunch your nose and shook your head saying “too hot”. Not wanting to ruin your barely worn clothes. But to Steve it was just shorts and a tank top. And it’s one more thing he’ll have to carry along with the chairs and cooler. Your damp bathing suit could mess up the seats in his car, and if shorts could stop that why not wear them? 

While all this was going on in his head, something completely different came out of his mouth. 

“You’d rather let all these guys eye-fuck you? Just put it on.” 

You’re surprised your melted brain was even able to process the sentence correctly. Overstimulated by the kids fighting in front of the two of you, sweating with two chairs hurting your arms, and now Steve lecturing you. It was all too much and unfairly getting to you. 

“Steve, you don't even have a shirt on.” You scoff. “I’m not telling you to do shit about it am I?” 

Steve doesn't miss the eye roll you give as you turn your head. He knows his comment wasn't the nicest thing to say but really he doesn't have it in him to baby you about it. 

By the time the two of you get to the cars and everyone starts putting things away the tension is still there. Thick and unwavering, but goes completely missed by the rest of the group. The kids go with Jonathan and Nancy leaving you and Steve alone. No one has enough energy to see how tense you and Steve were. 

“You're still wet, can you at least put on your shorts so you don't ruin the seats?” He asks with a sigh. Like you simply can't do anything right and it's getting on his nerves. 

But he’s right and it makes you boil. Your wet bathing suit is bad for his already breaking down leather seats. You take a towel trying to dry off as much as you can, along with wiping away the sand that's not glued to you. Putting on your shirt and shorts before getting into the passenger seat of the car. 

If it weren't for the music, the car ride would be completely silent. Instead of his hand resting on your thigh like it did on the drive up, it’s stuck gripping the steering wheel. This isn't the biggest fight you two have had. You wouldn't even really consider it a fight. Just two tired and overheated people who let it get the best of them, but it still doesn't make the tone used or the words said go away. 

When you do reach Steve's place he’s quick to get the things out of the trunk. You go straight to the kitchen for water. The kids used all the water bottles you brought along with eating all the snacks. So maybe Steve should cut you some slack, you’re dehydrated and starving. But then again so was he. Which is why you're not terribly upset, you might even take a nap with him still. 

The water is felt through your body and it makes it feel like half of your brain is alive again. You’re sure with a shower and food you would be fully brought back to life. This makes you feel guilty that Steve is still outside putting things back in the garage. He’s probably sweating again and losing even more energy, something he barely had to begin with. 

You decide to bring him a bottle of nice cold water, maybe he’ll even say sorry and this whole thing can blow over. 

But when you walk out and he barely looks at you. Busy putting things away all he gets out is a mumbled “you can leave it there”. You’re not really sure what you did to deserve this attitude he’s giving you. He was the one who told you to cover up, he started the whole thing. If anything you should be the one giving him the cold shoulder. 

So that's what you do. You leave the bottled water on the counter by the door and walk back inside. You weren’t gonna get all sweaty again and deal with his bad mood. 

The next step to feeling better is a shower, one you were planning to have with Steve, but now opting for alone time. The shower is quick, not even warm water makes you feel refreshed, everything is still too hot. And when you get out of the shower and start lightly sweating again you think you might break down and cry. 

You can hear Steve open and close the fridge downstairs, he must be done with putting things away. The thought of him having to come up to his room that you're currently hiding away in makes you sigh. Fighting with Steve is never fun but the part you hate most is trying to avoid each other. This is partially your fault as in the beginning of your relationship you made a rule to not leave during a fight. Walking away doesn't solve anything and no one wants to go to bed upset with a situation. 

Once people walk away they get too scared to come back. Then thoughts start to form and it turns to something worse. Instead you take a break from each other and come back when you're ready. It’s worked so far for the two of you. 

But now he has to shower and you’re still really tired. Maybe too tired to continue this fight, ready to give up on it and talk about it in the morning when you both feel back to normal. 

When Steve comes up and sees a clean you laying on his bed he feels his guilt triple. He’s really not mad at you, just exhausted and wanting the feeling of sand in his hair to go away. 

“Are you gonna nap?” He asks leaning against the doorframe.

You open your eyes, you're kinda in a starfish position on his bed, trying to get cool. “I want to but I am so hot.” It comes out in a whimper and you roll over to groan into the mattress. 

Steve feels like he could do the exact same thing which is why he smiles at your dramatics. He also wishes he could tell you how good you looked in your bathing suit, or how much the kids annoyed him today. Basically missing the debrief you two normally have but too stoic to try anything. 

“I can change the AC to make it colder.” He says simply. “I’ll be back, ok?” 

The gesture of him letting you know he isnt leaving you is kind. Maybe the only kind thing he's done in the past few hours. You let out a small ‘thank you’ and Steve wishes he could be as mature as you in this situation. Unable to thank you for the water or for not going crazy when he stupidly told you to cover up. 

When he comes back he walks to the bathroom and turns the shower on. The frown that settles onto your face feels like it could be permanent at this point. But Steve comes back out before you could let your thoughts circle into a deep rabbit hole of what you’ve done wrong. 

“When I’m done, do you wanna take a nap?” What he means to ask is if you wanted to nap with him. Again too set in his ways to be a bigger person about this. 

“Okay sure.” You nod, your head is already on a pillow which squashes half your face. You look really cute and Steve is heartbroken that he can't kiss the frown off your face. Maybe when you both wake up from the nap he’ll be a grown up about it. 

The shower doesn't take long at all. He’s pretty quick which he should consider himself lucky because two more minutes and you would have been out. Sleep taking over your body before he could even get the chance to meet you there. 

His hair is damp and the way each strand of hair sticks in different directions tells you he didn't bother drying it a certain way. 

You can hear him walk over to you, it only takes a second of observation for him to notice you’re not actually asleep despite your eyes being closed. 

“Scootch.” It doesn't come out harsh, and the hand he rubs along your thigh helps. 

You move to the other side of the bed and he takes the spot you were just laying on. The tiredness could take you both in seconds but both of you want to say something and it shows. 

He lays his palm out against the mattress inviting you to grab onto it. When you do, fingers intertwining, he squeezes your hand. You feel like you haven't touched him all day, his warm hand burns your skin. 

Both of you are laying on top of the comforter, it being too hot for anything to be on you. When you move your leg to tangle with his, he doesn't move away. Steve radiates heat on a normal day so for him to be hot, it feels like you have a fire next to you. Still you don't move away from him, only a small distance separates you two. 

“Baby?” Steve asks, it comes out so small.

“Hmm?” You respond, your eyes are still closed and the ac is starting to actually cool you down. 

“I’m sorry for what I said.” 

His words make your eyes open, it’s getting darker outside now that the day is ending and there's not much light left in the room. 

“Why were you so upset with me?” 

Steve wonders if you still like him enough to bandage his broken heart. You sound so sad when you say it he thinks his heart might’ve just shattered. Completely useless and unfixable. 

“I'm not. I swear I’m not, I really wasn't trying to be a dick I was just really tired and overwhelmed. I dunno, it all just built up inside me and I lashed out on you.” 

“I was tired and overwhelmed too.” You don't say it to counter argue with him but you want to make sure he knows it. 

“I know, you handled everything so much better than me, angel. I really am sorry.” He pulls your hand that's intertwined with him and kisses it a few times. If only he would just give you a real kiss already. 

“It’s okay Steve, I forgive you.” You say with a few small nods like you really need him to believe you. 

“I shouldn't have told you what to do, that wasn't nice and obviously you can do whatever you want to do. I wasn't trying to demand things.” His rambling shows you he really has been torturing himself about it. 

“Steve. It’s all okay. I know you feel bad but I’m already over it, okay?” You give him a smile and slowly he scoots over to you. 

Laying his head on your chest, still hand in hand, as he lets out a deep breath he didn't really even know he was holding onto. 

“Do you still love me?” 

A laugh comes out of you before an answer. Steve can tell it's a real one because he can feel the vibrations on the side of his face. 

“Yes, Stevie, I still love you.” Your fingers gently run through his hair, it’s still drying but straight up. Maybe brushing it down will help it. 

“Do you still love me?” You ask back. It’s a dumb question because this whole thing was never that big but it’s always nice to hear after a day of no kisses or ‘i love yous’.

“Of course I love you, even when I’m hot, sticky, and tired. I promise.” 

“I know and I believe you. Kiss?” You ask puckering your lips making a little kiss noise. 

Finally he gives you a real kiss, along with one on your forehead, nose, and cheeks. It’s all to make up for the missed kisses that he didn't give because he was too busy being an ass. 

“Okay let’s sleep now.” He says settling down on your chest letting his head fall between your shoulder and neck. 

Another laugh comes out of you and you close your eyes. Both of you fall asleep with a smile stitched to your face and limbs tangled together.

[mydearzero]

The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader - Chapter 11 | Distance

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter. 

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader, therapy, depression, anxiety

Read it on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 10

WC: 2.4K

A/N: this took a little longer than the rest has, sorry! Very busy at my job currently. Will try to update more regularly!

Another week, another appointment with Dr. Sofen. You were becoming quite familiar with the waiting room by this point. Bob had insisted on going by himself, you had insisted on coming along. You won, of course. Bob proved to be an easy person to win over. 

You picked at the loose threads of the couch, scrolling through your phone for any news on what O.X.E. was up to. Valentina’s surprise visit a while back still hadn’t left your mind. What did she want with Bob? Hadn’t she done enough? 

You came up empty, again. Whatever Valentina was up to, she was doing it under the radar. She was a smart woman, you had to give her that.

The door opened very early into the session, revealing Dr. Sofen when you had expected Bob. She made eye contact and called you inside. Confused, you put your phone in your pocket and got off the couch, following the woman into the room where Bob was still seated in a comfy chair. He gave you an awkward smile as a greeting. You returned the smile, before turning to Dr. Sofen. 

“Please, sit,” she gestured to the empty armchair next to Bob’s. She sat across from you both, crossing her legs and picking up her clipboard to continue writing. 

“So, from what Robert explains, you’ve been tasked with taking care of him and keeping him company, correct?” She tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. She was pretty, you noted. 

“Correct…” You confirmed. What did his therapy sessions have to do with you? 

“I’ve discussed it with Robert and we think it’s best to keep you away, maybe for a little while, just to try it out. It’s not that I don’t think your presence is useful, it definitely has been, but I think we need to see what Robert can achieve on his own now that he has professional help. We thought it best to also discuss it with you, seeing as you’re the one who currently spends the most time with him. What do you think?” 

You were speechless. Sure, Bob was doing better. And she had a point, he was getting professional help now. Were you even necessary anymore?

“It feels a bit soon…” You winced. “It’s not that I think Bob can’t do this himself, he definitely can, I’m just not sure if the timing is exactly right. Maybe further along the process?” 

You turned to Bob, who seemed to be avoiding your gaze. He was biting at the skin of his lips and bouncing his leg. He was nervous. 

“Bob, what do you think?” You asked. His eyes snapped to you, mouth agape at being addressed. 

“Well– Like Dr. Sofen said… It could be good to, y’know, try… It’s not that I don’t want you around!” He sputtered. “It’s just… For my process… The being alone part– I’m gonna have to do it sometime. Why not now?” 

You slumped in your chair. You couldn’t exactly go against Bob’s wishes. Was it selfish of you to say you weren’t sure this was the right thing to do? Was it the money talking? No… It hadn’t been about the money for a while now. 

“Are you sure?” is all you managed to get out after thinking it over for a while. You thought Bob might’ve been unhealthily attached to you, but maybe, just maybe, the attachment was somewhat mutual. 

Bob looked to Dr. Sofen, who nodded, before he turned back to you, also nodding. “Just to try it out. A few days.” 

“Okay,” you sighed, rubbing your hands on your thighs. You were more nervous about this whole ordeal than you’d expected. Whether it was concern for Bob, for yourself or both, you weren’t sure. 

“Thank you,” Dr. Sofen smiled. “You may leave. I will continue the session with Robert and he will make his way back home by himself as a first trial. You can contact Ms. Belova if you have any concerns.” 

You got up off the armchair and walked to the door. You put your hand on the handle and gave Bob one last glance over your shoulder before leaving the room. He looked content, giving you a small, supportive smile. 

Everything in your mind was screaming at you to go back and go get Bob while you were on your way back to the tower. All your stuff was there, you’d have to go get it before being able to go home. It felt wrong to leave the therapist’s office without Bob. Anything to help him in the long run, I guess. 

Bucky looked surprised to see you get off the elevator alone. You gave him a small wave before retreating to your room to pack your bag. You’d leave some of your things. An excuse to come back? Maybe. Definitely. 

A knock came at your door, which you’d left open. You turned around to find the Winter Soldier standing in your doorway with a look of concern. “Everything alright? Where’s Bob?” 

“Everything’s fine,” you smiled tightly. You didn’t convince yourself, but hopefully it fooled him. “He’s still with Dr. Sofen. We’re doing a bit of a trial run to see how he does without me around. Nothing to worry about.” 

“Isn’t it a bit soon?” Bucky wondered. He sat on the chair in the corner of the room as you continued gathering your things. 

“That’s what I said! But it was a mutual decision between them and I’m inclined to trust the opinion of the professional. I’m sure they deal with stuff like this all the time.” You looked under the bed for your charger, but only found Bob’s pyjama pants. You scrunched them and threw them in the laundry hamper to Bucky’s side. 

“Oh I’m sure they deal with people with superhuman abilities and the capability to destroy the entirety of New York in a blink all the time, yes,” Bucky scoffed a laugh. 

“You’re not exactly making me feel any better about this, Barnes,” you sent him a lighthearted glare. 

He shrugged his shoulders. “‘M just saying… I’m not sure how I feel about this arrangement. Did you talk to Yelena about it?” 

“No, I came straight here to come get my stuff. Have you seen my charger?” You opened your bedside drawer for the third time. 

“Bob’s side,” Bucky pointed. “You should at least tell Yelena before you leave. I’m sure she has… opinions.” 

“It’s not Bob’s side! And besides, even– Oh you’re right, thanks.” You found the charger on the other side of YOUR bed, lying on the floor next to… Bob’s sweater. “I’ll talk to her, but I’m still leaving. Doctor’s orders.” 

Bucky got up wordlessly as you zipped your backpack closed, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Even when you’d packed all your essentials, the room was still littered with you. God, when was the last time you’d even been home? A week ago? Two? Maybe some distance would do you some good, as well. 

You walked to the elevator and pressed the button for one floor down, the training floor. Leftovers from the OG Avengers Tower. Thank you, Valentina, for being so damn lazy and stingy with renovations. It worked out in the team’s favour. 

It was on the floor below where you found Yelena, aggressively punching a dummy. The kicks she was performing were impressive, to say the least. You sometimes forgot these people were all trained assassins, killers, super soldiers. 

“Where’s Bob?” She questioned, without turning around. 

“How’d you know it was me?” 

“Footsteps. You start to recognize them after a while,” she finally turned around and spotted the bag flung over your shoulder. “You’re leaving?” 

“Yeah, just for a little bit. Bucky told me to come talk to you about it.” 

She grabbed a bottle of water from the floor and pointed at a towel hung over some other workout equipment by your side. You threw it to her and she wiped her forehead. She started unwrapping her hands and sat down on the bench. You took it as an invitation to join her. 

“Bob’s still at Dr. Sofen’s, by the way,” you mentioned, remembering the question she’d asked. You handed her the discarded protein bar that had been lying on the other side of the bench. She unwrapped it and took a generous bite. 

“Doesn’t explain why you’re here or why you’re leaving. Are we not paying enough? You’re a college student, I’m pretty sure there’s no job in New York that pays more than we pay you.” Always speaking with her mouth full. 

You laughed. “If I wanted more money I’d have to go rob a bank, or something. I’m pretty sure I can retire by the time I’m like… 40, if we continue at this rate.” 

“Not earlier? We pay a lot.” She offered you a bite of her protein bar, but you politely declined. 

“I calculated for inflation,” you joked. Yelena chuckled before turning serious again. 

“But seriously, why are you leaving?” 

“It’s on the advice of Dr. Sofen. I understand, to some extent. He needs to learn to be able to be alone,” you shrugged, kicking your shoes against the matted gym floor. 

“I’m not sure I’m a big fan of this,” Yelena shook her head. 

“You and me, both. But she said to contact you if I had any concerns. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s been doing okay recently.” You tried to make yourself feel better about it, but it still felt off. Were you a Bob addict? Were these the first signs of withdrawals? 

“I’ll talk to her,” Yelena got up off the bench and walked to the elevator. You joined her, only going up to say goodbye before intending to go back down to the lobby and go home. 

The elevator doors opened to reveal Bob. You must’ve taken longer than you thought if he was already done with his session and back home. 

“What are you still doing here?” He asked when he saw you. The question and his tone when asking it took you aback. It stung. 

“Just grabbing some of my stuff to go back home. Everything go okay with Dr. Sofen?” Yelena and you joined him in the elevator. A short ride, as they only had to go up the one floor. 

“Fine,” Bob dismissed. What had gotten into him? 

“Okay…” You replied. The doors opened and Bob and Yelena got off, leaving you behind. “See you later, guys.” 

“Later!” Yelena yelled as the doors closed. Bob didn’t respond. You grabbed your headphones and turned on some music on the ride down to the lobby, turning it up just a little louder than you usually would. You were feeling too conflicted about all of this and it was giving you a headache. 

You arrived home by dinnertime and for the first time in what felt like weeks, you ate alone. You’d gotten used to always eating with at least some of the members of the team. Usually just Yelena and Alexei, but oftentimes it was more lively. It felt oddly quiet by yourself. 

And not the kind of quiet you had when it was just you and Bob. That silence was comforting, homey. This silence was lonely and empty. 

When even watching your favourite show couldn’t settle the feeling in your stomach, you gave up and allowed yourself to wallow in self pity. He was probably doing just fine without you. It was only for a couple of days. Nothing to worry about. 

You mindlessly scrolled your phone with your show playing in the background when a text from Walker popped up. 

Where are you? 

You quickly typed a response. 

Didn’t Yelena tell you? 

Yeah she did, but it’s stupid. You don’t stop taking pain meds bc it’s working. 

Are you saying I’m Bob’s pain meds? lol

Not important. You don’t stop doing something the second it starts working. That’s dumb. Come back. I’m just following the Dr.’s advice, John.  Well maybe we need to find a different doctor. He’s sulking. That’s not good.  He’ll get over it.  Besides, it’s just a few days. I think we’ll live.  I’m calling a team meeting about this. Will keep you updated.  Whatever, Walker. Goodnight.  Goodnight. 

While you disagreed with him and tried to do your best to stand behind your words, you couldn’t. Yelena said she’d talk to Dr. Sofen. Just call Yelena tomorrow and wait for whatever comes out of the team meeting and everything will be alright. 

You got ready for bed and settled in under the blankets. You tossed and turned and tried to fall asleep but had to damn yourself after a while. You couldn’t sleep. You didn’t want to admit with your head what your heart already knew. You’d gotten used to sleeping with him in your bed. You couldn’t help but wonder whether back at the tower, a certain brown haired man was having the same problem. 

You didn’t sleep a wink that night. 

Neither did Bob.

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[satsugo]

୨୧ You tried to sneak out after a one-night stand. Gojo wakes up — calm, shirtless, and not okay with being left behind. What follows is possessive touches, quiet threats, and a reminder of who you belong to.

I wanted to write something that felt like a slow unravel — soft words, sharp intentions, and Gojo being terrifyingly calm in the way only he can be. just a lil treat for the yandere girlies ♡ hope it ruins you in the best way. mlist

gojo satoru x reader

minors do not interact. this piece is intended for 18+ audiences.

The floor was cold beneath your bare feet as you tiptoed across the suite.

Gojo’s apartment was too clean — pristine white walls, muted city lights pouring through wide windows, and expensive silence that made your breath feel too loud. Your dress from the night before was clutched in one hand, wrinkled and still smelling faintly like sweat and cologne. You hadn’t even put your shoes back on yet.

He was still in bed, you were sure of it. He’d been wrapped in those dark gray sheets when you slid out, dead silent. You hadn’t dared to glance back.

Until now.

“Y’know,” a voice drawled behind you — slow, amused, terrifyingly awake. “If you really wanted to leave quietly, you probably shouldn’t have stolen my shirt.”

You froze mid-step, breath caught like prey in a trap.

He was sitting up now. Hair messier than before. One long arm braced behind him, the other pushing the sheets off his bare torso. His blindfold was gone, tossed somewhere on the nightstand, and his icy blue eyes caught the dim light like sharpened crystal.

You swallowed.

“It was cold,” you offered, lamely.

“Oh, totally,” he said, voice light and sarcastic. “That’s why you’re sneaking out like you killed somebody.”

You turned slowly. “I didn’t think you'd care—”

Gojo laughed. Not loud — just sharp, like a knife sliding across glass.

“You didn’t think I’d care?” he repeated. “Sweetheart… I’ve had your name circling my brain since the second you touched me.”

He stood, bare feet whispering across the hardwood as he stalked toward you — tall, loose-limbed, terrifyingly calm.

You backed up.

Bad idea.

He moved faster, one hand pressing against the wall just beside your head, caging you without even touching you.

“That’s mine,” he said softly, flicking the hem of the shirt you were wearing. His shirt — white, oversized, the one that hung just a little too low on you and hit just high enough on your thighs to drive him insane.

“You mean the shirt?”

His head tilted. “I mean you.”

You went quiet, breath shaky. “We hooked up once.”

“So?” Gojo smiled, slow and bright — but his eyes didn’t match. They burned. “You don’t do that with someone like me and leave. That’s not how this works.”

You opened your mouth, maybe to argue. But the words died on your tongue the second his fingers hooked under the shirt’s hem and pushed up — slow, deliberate, warm palms skating along the skin of your thighs.

“W-Wait—” You shifted, but he just stepped closer, pressing the full heat of his body into yours.

“Don’t run,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear now. “You’ll only make me chase you. And you won’t like how that ends.”

Your breath hitched. His fingers kept moving — slipping higher, thumbs brushing over the crease of your hips, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

“I liked seeing you in my shirt,” he said softly. “But I like you better out of it.”

You shivered.

Then he tugged — not gently. The shirt lifted over your head, arms caught for a moment before he pulled it free and tossed it aside. You were bare beneath, breathless and pressed against the wall like you didn’t know what to say.

“Pretty little thing,” Gojo murmured, fingers trailing over your bare stomach. “You really thought you could disappear from me? After the way you moaned my name last night?”

You blushed — visibly. It made his eyes darken.

He kissed you. Rough, breath-stealing, like he was trying to taste every sound you’d ever made. You clutched at his shoulders — and it hit you all over again just how strong he was. How fast he could crush you. But he didn’t.

Not yet.

“Bed,” he said. “Now.”

He didn’t yell — didn’t need to. You obeyed without thinking, legs shaky as you moved. He followed like a storm.

The sheets were still warm when he pushed you down, straddling you easily. His hands roamed — over your breasts, down your sides, fingers memorizing every inch like he’d been given a test on it.

“You looked so cute sneaking out,” he murmured, lips grazing your skin as he moved lower. “But you’re not going anywhere now. You hear me?”

You nodded — breathless, wrecked, unsure if it was fear or desire curling low in your stomach.

Maybe both.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and lingering, before glancing up with those impossible blue eyes.

“I’m gonna remind you exactly who you belong to.”

And when he finally lowered his mouth to you — all heat, tongue, and expert cruelty — you forgot your own name.

But you remembered his.

Over and over and over again.

satsugo 2025 © all rights reserved; do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing.

[robinminustherichard]

Happy Bucktommy Positivity Bingo Week! For my "Buck Leaves the 118" Bingo Square

"Uh, h-hi I'm your new transfer. I'm looking for Captain De-"

"Buckley! My office!"

Buck gulps in a way he hopes wasn't completely audible and sends a tight smile in thanks to the firefighter he didn't quite get to talk to before making his way down the hallway of the 122 station toward Captain DeLuca's office. He steels himself with a deep breath before hitching his duffle higher on his shoulder and walking in.

"Captin DeLuca, it's good to be here. And, and good to meet you." Buck stutters out, feeling his face grow red.

DeLuca is stocky and serious where he sits behind his desk--its at odds with the explosion of hand drawn crayon pictures pinned to the cork board behind him.

"Buckley, Evan. Thirty-four, been at the 118 since finishing the academy, a bit of a hot head, danger magnet..." Captain DeLuca trails off then, observing Buck. Buck tries not to let the dread in his stomach physically pull him down in his seat. So much for making a good impression--"and coming to the 122 with glowing reviews from three of the best damn firefighters I know."

That gets Buck to look up from where his gaze was slowly dropping to the desk, meeting DeLuca's eyes in surprise.

"I-what?" Buck says intelligently, cringing in his mind at his own inability to come across even a bit confident.

"Anyone ever tell you that I started at the 118? Chim says you've got the most heart he's ever seen, and that the only reason he's letting you go is because he can't stand to see it keep bleeding everywhere. Hen tells me that you're gonna be a hell of a Captain someday--leaving us all in the dust."

Buck feels his eyes stinging, not quite knowing what to do with all of this, feeling just as overwhelmed as he did when he walked out of the 118 five days ago with a voice horse from arguing with the very people who seemed to have talked so positively about him to his new captain.

"A-and the third?" Buck asks, not sure who else would have known both Captain DeLuca and Buck well enough to supply another glowing reccomendation. Lucy, maybe?

Captian DeLuca smirks and looks up at the wall to the left of his desk. Buck follows his line of sight and feels a throb of complicated emotion pulse through him. There's a picture there, of Captain DeLuca--much younger but still clearly him, with an arm around a hauntingly familiar man.

"The third is, in my personal opinion, an idiot on many fronts. But I believe him when he says you're all courage, integrity, and helping people through and through."

"I don't--"

"Yeah, he didn't actually want me to tell you that he gushed about how 'amazingly competent' you are for seventeen minutes straight. And you know, how could I break my best friend's trust like that? Even when I think he made a hell of a mistake and just needs to stop being a damn chicken and talk to this supposedly fantastic firefighter who had put in for a transfer and that I needed to fist fight Mehta for?"

Buck is stunned, eyes still catching on Tommy's younger face in the picture, they way his smile looks genuine under his gelled down curls.

"You didn't actually fist fight Captain Mehta did you?" Is all Buck can say, stupidly, "I mean--no I didn't mean that. Um. I mean, thank you. For this opportunity, Captain DeLuca."

"I metaphorically fought Mehta, but don't you worry about that. Let's get you introduced to the crew first, and after shift's over we can hit the sandwhich shop across the street and plan out how we'll corner Tommy."

Captain DeLuca gets up then, a whirlwind of words and motion that Buck is hopelessly trying to comprehend. He walks out the door at a brisk pace and Buck's eyes travel back to that picture.

"Buckley! Let's go!"

Buck scrambles to follow, heart beating fast and grin cracking across his lips.

Fic tag list (reply to this post or DM to be added!)

@bucksaiga

@loulou-land

@lbltpsmspenguin

@connected-dots

[espressheauxs]

lazy sunday morning ||m. robinavitch

summary : you and robby are supposed to go somewhere but he wants to stay in

pairing : michael “robby” robinavitch x f!reader

words : 2 ish k

warnings/themes : MINORS DNI/DNR!!! , smut, pwp, breeding kink, mentions of making robby a daddy, somnophilia-y?, slight choking and drooling kink, nicknames (baby, honey), p in v, robby gives it to you good ™ and makes you feel small in the best way

Note : idk what possessed me (probably the five coffees I had today). I feel a little unhinged. The smut is probably not very good lmao idk

It’s the smell of the coffee and the coffee maker going off at seven am on the dot that tickles your senses enough to wake you up. You let out a tired groan, rolling over when you hear the sound of cups clattering in the kitchen. You reach out blindly, expecting to find Robby there, but you open your eyes at the obvious absence of him.

Why’s he awake so early on a day off?

You lean up on your elbows, eyes still heavy and thick with sleep, trying to make sense of your surroundings. The sun is much too bright for your liking, and you make a mental note while burying yourself under the covers again that you have to remind him to replace those stupid fucking blinds for black out ones.

You’ve just about managed to lull yourself into something between half awake and asleep when you hear the sound of Robby’s feet softly making his presence known.

The weight of him shifts the bed as he situates himself back into bed again, taking a sip of coffee before picking up where he left off in the book he was currently reading. He glances at you while he juggles reading and drinking coffee, chuckling to himself, thoroughly amused at how much you love to sleep.

He’s just about done with the coffee when he decides he’s done with his day off ritual, putting the book and empty mug aside so he can properly crawl back under the covers with you. He scoops you up in his arms, aligning you to him so that your back is to his chest and your limbs tangled together. You yawn, one eye open as you turn your head to look at him.

“Mornin’,” He rasps, voice thick with sleep.

“Mm.” You mumble, snuggling into him so your bodies fit together perfectly.

“Your feet are cold.” He teases, peppering a soft kiss on the side of your head, nuzzling his nose into your hair to breathe you in, holding you protectively.

“Fuck off.” You grumble, trying to get as close to him as possible to absorb the warmth his body is giving off. He doesn’t take it to heart. If anything, Robby loves the grumpy version of you in the mornings. He likes watching you warm up.

You bury your face into the pillow again, hugging the length of his arm that was available to you and placing a little kiss on it before holding that close, too.

He manages to support himself on the other arm so he can lean over you a little, wriggling the arm you were hugging to yourself free so his calloused fingers could trace the love bites that had developed. Some of them were particularly sensitive, and it made you shiver when he pressed down softly on some of them.

“Robby…”

The way you say his name like this, tired and needy and wanting him, never fails to make his heart bloom with pride.

Yeah, he still got it.

You were so warm and pliant around him. But he loves the slow moments with you, just getting to touch you. Getting to feel that you were real.

He squeezes your hip slightly, his chest rumbling with a groan when he remembers that night you both met, just as you scoot closer to him, feeling your softness on his growing hard on. He was sure the way you circle your butt on him was on purpose, especially when he could see how you were failing to hide the smirk on your lips even with eyes closed.

“Don’t start..” he warns half heartedly against your ear, making you shiver.

“Can we just stay in today, Robby ?” You coo, letting out a sigh as your legs easily open for him. The callousness of his fingers exploring and touching you everywhere but where you actually want are a delicious contradiction, ripping a low shudder from you. “Don’t wanna go nowhere…”

“You promised me, y’know. We’ve been planning this for months now.” He chided, nibbling on the spots across your shoulder that make you weak for him.

“We have time, right?” You mewl, moving your hips so his fingers would stop teasing you and finally give you some release. The satisfaction of feeling them inside you only came second to actually having him inside you, and the way he was softly coaxing the early morning arousal was already making you want to abandon today’s plans.

Robby quickly glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It’s seven fifteen, and neither of you had to be anywhere until at least noon.

He looks back to find your expression full of desire for him. He doesn’t fight the smile that blooms on his face. So he leans over, kisses you slowly, gently pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth, making the both of you moan.

“Yeah, we got time.” He replies, shaking his head when you make to turn your body and cups you between your legs to keep you from moving. “Stay like that for me.”

“Robby, I wanna touch you.” You whine, but he insists, again teasing you by stroking your folds teasingly, not quite yet sliding his fingers home.

“Shh, do you trust me?” He whispers, lips hovering just so over yours as his dark eyes sparkle with lascivious enthusiasm.

“With my life.” You whisper, voice laced with honeyed want.

Robby hums, satisfied with your answer. He runs his hand to the inside of your thigh, gently opening your legs for better access. You wiggle against him and it makes him groan.

“Your’re gonna be the death of me if you keep doin’ that.” He mumbles hot against your ear, indulging himself in rolling his hips into your backside.

His fingers softly stroke at the inside of your thigh, from your knee to your center, ghosting his fingers between your folds and thanking whatever he certainly didn’t believe in that you didn’t like to wear panties to bed.

Robby cages you securely to him, his chest to your back, with an arm around you, the other one haphazardly shoving his briefs down until he could kick them off. You can feel the way he’s already getting hard against your ass, making you sneakily grind yourself back against his growing hard on. You giggle when he swats your leg, the sting disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

“Be a good girl for me, huh?.” He growls into your shoulder, nibbling on the sun-warmed skin there, “You’re always trying to be naughty.”

“I can’t help it.” You giggle again, sighing as one hand plays with your nipple and the other starts playing with your pussy. He’s a teasing bastard, sliding in his thick and calloused fingers and then out agonizingly slow, drawing out your arousal. Your head drops back, exposing your throat to him, “You bring it out in me.”

Robby only hums, kissing the side of your face as he finally indulges you with his fingers. He holds you so close to him, spooning you perfectly as you grind into his hand while he slides his hardening cock between your legs teasingly. The more he fingers you, the more arousal drips out of you and onto him, coating him in your juices.

It’s like this for a little while, lazily grinding into each other like this until Robby curls his fingers into that soft spot inside of you that makes you gasp, waking you up a little more. He grunts, feeling how he strains against you.

“I swear to god if you don’t fuck me right–oh.”

The air is punched from your lungs as Robby slides himself into your warmth, drawing a sigh that shakes his bones at the feel of you. Your lips fall open in a silent gasp - you never quite got used to the thickness of him and the stretch was delicious every time.

He wraps an arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him as he starts to pull himself out slowly, and snap his hips against your cheeks with certainty. His other arm sneaks around your chest, his hand splayed around your neck. Not choking you, but grounding you – letting you know it was okay to lose yourself in this moment.

There’s a desperation that claws at you. Not because you feel restrained by him, but when he hits that spot inside of you that sends a delicious feeling zipping up your spine and settling low in your belly, you know what’s waiting for you at the drop.

“Robby , ba-baby, fu-I can’t-”

He grunts when he can feel your nails digging into his skin, one of your hands reaching behind you and grasping at where his thigh and cheek meet, the other hand’s nails digging into his muscular arm as you attempt to contain the noises he’s pulling from you with every thrust.

“Come on, honey. You gotta-fuck,” Robby has to fight himself to not blow his load when he feels the way you’re creaming around him, and your legs shaking so much he uses his own to keep you open to him. He’s always determined to make you come first, ideally twice. But the way you’re drooling on him in more ways than one is driving him insane. “You gotta breathe like I showed you, huh? You can do it f’me, baby.”

You try, you really try to breathe through your belly. He told you about it once after he read it somewhere, how belly breathing made orgasms more intense and long lasting. It didn’t always happen, since you two were always rushing out of the door. But on a day like this? You’d let him make you delirious as long as he never left you empty.

You feel Robby’s panting on the side of your face, and you whine as he starts insisting on his thrusts to get you to your release. The moment he feels you almost there, he expertly presses down on the softness of your throat to bring you over the edge.

Robby loves the way you sob as you come, and he does too with the way you squeeze around him, as if your body already knows to milk him dry. You can’t help the way you shake in his hold, shivering as you hear his gentle purrs of “you’re doing so good for me, honey.” and “That’s my girl..look at her perfect pussy doing exactly what I tell ‘er. I can’t stop com in’–fuck, I wish you could see what you do to me.”

You’re a little delirious, nearly blacked out after barely waking up. But you hum as Robby gently rocks against you, working both of you down from your highs. He’s peppering kisses along your shoulder and up your neck, pressing short and sweet kisses to the side of your brow bone until he’s sure you’ve come back to him again.

You whine at the loss of him, clenching around nothing after he leaves you, trying to keep the remnants of him inside you, hoping it takes this time.

Though your eyes are closed as you breathe in and out deeply, your ears pick up on the noise from the en-suite bathroom.

You let Robby slowly move your legs this way and that, as he gently wipes you with a warm cloth. He chuckles when he hears you moan out a small no, leaning over to place a kiss on your knee.

“You wanna have my baby, honey?”

“Mhm.” You nod lazily, opening an eye and giving him a sated, sleepy smile.

In another time, Robby would’ve been mortified at the idea. But lately, a small version of you and him together doesn’t seem so bad, especially when he thinks about the way you’d look even more irresistible with more softness to your curves.

He disappears to the bathroom again for another short moment, and he crawls back into bed with you, scooping you into his embrace in that way he knows you like.

Fuck those plans, Robby thinks to himself. And he knows you won’t mind either.

—

© espressheauxs, 2025

[rhiannonsknife]

lottie who catches you humping a pillow?

nsfw content, so mdni (what else is new…?)

oh it is mortifying when it happens!!

you hadn’t expected lottie to come home so early: she texted you that she’d be late, something about last-minute errands and long lines. enough time, you figured, to crawl into her sheets, bury your face in the pillow that still smelled like her and take the edge off the ache that had been blooming low in your belly all day.

your fingers weren’t enough, not like lottie’s mouth, so her pillow was the next best thing. at least it gave you something to grind against, to push your hips down onto, chasing friction.

you’d only meant to try it for a moment, just to see if it helped. after that first grind of your hips, though, all rational thought vanished.

you didn’t even bother getting undressed properly. instead, you simply tugged on one of lottie’s shirts and let your underwear twist out of place. the hem of her shirt rode up your thighs with every roll of your hips, fabric bunched under your stomach, the sleeves slipping off as you moved.

within minutes, your underwear is ruined, soaked from humping the pillow.

in your arousal-fogged brain, nothing but the steady rub against your clit and the phantom feel of lottie registers. your eyes fall shut, face buried in one of the remaining pillows, as you picture her mouth on your throat, her hands between your legs, her voice in your ear telling you to be good…

so lost in the fantasy of lottie, you don’t hear the front door open. you don’t hear the soft thud of her bag hitting the kitchen floor, or the pattern of her steps down the hallway. it’s only when the bedroom door creaks open and she says “baby?” that you freeze.

by then, lottie is in the doorway, blinking, then smiling. your whole body goes still, heat rushing to your face, thighs trembling where they bracket the pillow. you immediately scramble to cover yourself & explain.

“oh” she says. “is that what you do when i’m not here?”

“lot-”

lottie is crossing the room before you can speak, her hand finding your cheek, thumb swiping over your hot skin. her gaze dips to your hips, twitching like they miss the pressure.

“poor thing,” she coos. “couldn’t wait for me?”

you hide your face in her neck, mortified. lottie laughs as she cups the back of your head. “you’re so cute when you’re needy,” she whispers, nuzzling your temple. “so desperate to feel good, all on your own.”

you whimper, thighs clenching, and she kisses your forehead. “don’t be shy. i wanna see my pretty girl make herself feel good.”

[kenpachissluut]

the biggest „hear me out“ combined with daddy toji, a girls dream ‹𝟹𝟹

Venom!Toji who glides his slimy tentacles inside of your sticky pussy. He starts really slowly with teasing your entrance, until he pushes the slippery tentacle so deep that he reaches your most sensitive spot. It’s getting all sloppy and it feels a bit weird at first but he reaches spots no one has reached before, in response giving you the best fucking orgasm ever.

Venom!Toji who laps his massive tongue teasingly all over your face, even though he knows you hate it. Pulling you into a sloppy wet kiss with his big maw and delving his slimy tongue deep inside of your throat, making you almost choke on it.

Venom!Toji who uses his multiple alien tentacles to tie your body all together and holding you in place for his own twisted satisfaction. His massive slimy cock thrusting deeper & rougher, hitting all the right places to make you go crazy. It makes you feel all fuzzy with pleasure and even slight pain. Before you could even react, you gushed your release all over him and passed out the moment after.

Venom!Toji who transforms into his Venom form whenever a guy tries to hit on you. He does it secretly when you disappear in the bathroom, pulling the poor guy outside in an empty alley. Slowly but deadly transforming right before his eyes and relishing the fear emerging from the stupid fools face. Of course he also let’s Venom satisfy his hunger for once and rips his head off with pure satisfaction.

Venom!Toji whose slippery strong arms pulls you in the morning atop of his even more slimier huge black body. Letting his tentacles slide and roam all over your soft body, while you protest to him to transform back into his human form. He loves to rile you up because he knows how much the Slime irks you, but deep down turns you on.

Venom!Toji who let’s you suck his monstrous cock even though he has to stretch your mouth as much as he can. Thrusting it slowly into your mouth, tears running down your cheeks from the pain mixed with pleasure. You couldn’t deepthroat it even if you wanted to, cause only the tip is enough to stuff your mouth completely. You gotta work on his dick for a bit, jaw hurting but the pain is forgotten as soon as a massive wave of cum shoots into your mouth and face, covering you appearance completely in sticky black & white sperm.

Venom!Toji who doesn’t even realize how monstrous his slippery alien cock is. He‘s worked up 24/7 and doesn’t understand you also could need a break or rather your sore cunt. But as whiny as he is, eventually you gave in, making him stretch your pussy out again and trying his best to satisfy you and not rip your cunt apart.

Venom!Toji whose sperm is black and white colored. Human dna mixed with an alien symbiote dna means the sperm mingled together, giving this unique beautiful color. It’s also not as salty & bitter as usual cum but a bit more sweeter even. It has an slimy and thick consistency and could cover your whole body with one shot.

Venom!Toji whose sharp teeth graze lustfully over your delicious throat whenever he pounds your poor cunt in missionary. He‘s still an deadly alien symbiote and the mere thought that he could rip you apart in matter of seconds is horrifying but also extremely exciting.

Venom!Toji who wants you to ride his massive cock. It barely even fits when he‘s trying to pound your cunt and then he wants you to sit on him? Does he wants to break you? But you happily oblige, slowly trying to take him inch by inch but fail miserably. It ends like that, that he has to hold you up by the ass, slowly and gently bouncing you up and down on his monstrous length until he makes you and himself cum in under 2 fucking minutes.

Venom!Toji who let‘s his massive tongue lap out panting like a dog in heat while he pistons into you, on the way on destroying your cunt again. He grunts and growls rough & deep like the fucking animal he is and he loves to let his spit drool into your face and mouth from his monstrous tongue sticking out his huge maw.

Kenpachissluut writes ⋆. 𐙚 ̊

[agoraphobialt]

John Price and the sweet pet that sits in his office all day

You've been watching him: the way his fingers wrap around his too-expensive pen, the way his suits seem to fit him stupidly well in a way where you (and every other person who is lucky enough to see him) can appreciate his muscles flexing when he moves around the office, or the way his voice always gets softer when it comes to you.

He's been watching you—not because he's subtle about it (at least when it's just the two of you), but because he just appreciates a little too much the way the valley of your breasts plays peek-a-boo from inside your perfectly ironed blouse. He loves the way your eyes sparkle when he praises how perfect your work is, and he's not shy about giving you small trinkets when you do a perfect job.

Has he ever told you he loves the way that skirt looks on you? Or that he loves when you wear those pants that make your ass jiggle in a way that has him staring, almost counting how many small bounces they make from his desk to yours?

Of course not! That's not what a boss–employee relationship should be like. But he makes sure to make you walk around, doing some stupid assignments just so he can appreciate you.

Today is no exception; he has been keeping you busy with so many small and simple things that anyone could do, but he wants you to because "you're the only one who does a great job around here, sweetheart."

And it was fine... at least for the first couple of hours. But now? Now you're pissed because you'll have to stay in the office until late to finish a presentation for tomorrow's meeting.

And when he calls you to his office to get him a coffee because he'll also be staying late, you get a bit too mouthy—but you're just stressed! You didn't mean to be a bit of a brat.

Poor, sweet thing. You should've controlled yourself better—all he wanted you to do was make him a fucking coffee. And then, you could have gone back to sit pretty at your desk, with that little frown sitting between your brows as you try to finish your actual work.

So when you come back with his coffee in the mug that says "Boss #1," he doesn't even look at it, and instead walks up to you, looking you up and down before his hand makes contact with your chin, his thumb carving into the soft meat of your cheeks as he makes you look at him.

What are you going to do, go to HR? After he's been the best boss you could've ever asked for?

So now you're sitting down on his desk with your legs spread open and head thrown back, the coffee sitting there long forgotten. He is kneeling between your legs with both of his hands gripping your thighs to stop you from squirming away because "it's too much", and you can't keep still. Poor little sensitive thing. Should've thought better before acting like a spoilt brat who can't follow a simple order.

He's basically slurping every single drop of your wetness as your eyes roll back every time his beard brushes against your clit, and as the greedy man he is, he's definitely fucking you too with his fingers after he found that spot that automatically made you feel high.

And you're crying because he doesn't let you come; he stops every time you start clenching around his fingers, moving his face away from your cunt just to laugh at you, and if you try to move your hips to grind around something, anything really, he would slap your pussy a few times.

"She's a better girl than you, sweet thing."

He lets you go an hour later, saying "that presentation won't finish itself alone, darling".

But now you're motivated! he promised to finally help you cum if you did a good job as always!

[prettyiwa]

Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader | 539 words post-canon (takes place in 2025). fluff. established relationship. Hajime receives birthday love.

Hajime’s birthday spans over two days across three timezones.

The first comes with texts from his friends in Japan—exuberant and excitable, a short-lived time machine that takes him back to his high school days. Mattsun and Makki are always the first, turning it into a competition between each other to see who can get ahold of him first, who can be louder. It always makes his day, arriving at 8 A.M. the morning before, though it’s midnight in Japan.

His parents video call in the afternoon, always falling squarely between his lessons. It’s still the morning for them, just before they must leave for work, and it always makes him miss home more than anything. Their desire for a visit goes unspoken, but the way they talk about how much he’s grown and how happy they are that he found his passion pulls at something beneath the surface. These calls are always followed up with no less than a half-hour spent trying to plan a return visit, intermittently interrupted with trickling messages from the others starting their days in Japan—he responds to these after dinner without fail.

The second consists of a single person—Oikawa. On occasion, he’s been able to come out for the day, arriving at 8 P.M. as though still adhering to Argentina Time. It depends on the demands of the season, but regardless of where he is, Oikawa makes a day of it. Starting with a series of phone calls until Hajime answers, he gifts him an intentionally off-key happy birthday song (at least, you hope it’s intentional). Oikawa will launch into the same tale each year of two children who were destined to meet and become best friends—in the past, if Hajime objected to any of it, Oikawa’s embellishments would only grow, though Hajime’s since learned to let it happen. They catch up as if they don’t regularly talk to one another with Oikawa offering him a goodbye that calls to question your status in Hajime’s life. Unfortunately for you, the second call comes five minutes after Hajime’s first alarm in the morning, much too loud for either of you to process first thing in the morning, but it wouldn’t be his birthday without it.

The third—Hajime’s favorite, something known only between you two—comes at the strike of midnight in California. You wake him with kisses, feather light, enough to rouse him from his slumber with a sleepy smile. Your praise comes to you easily, thanking him for being born, for changing your life, for all the tiny little things he does throughout your shared lives that reflect his love for you. Love pours from you, filling him up until he’s overflowing. Each year, without fail, he’s convinced that holding you like this is the greatest gift he can receive. It goes unspoken, passed between languid kisses and soft touches, something threaded into the foundation of your marriage.

“Happy birthday, Hajime. I’m so very glad that you were born thirty-one years ago.”

His heart swells, your skin soft under his touch as he comes to cup your face. Your lips shape into his favorite smile and he hopes you know that he yearns for many more, just like this.

Haikyuu masterlist

[rainrot4me]

They're not exactly the optimal choice for comfort, but how would the creeps treat their partner during a depressive episode?

✦ . jeff the killer

Jeff isn’t emotionally articulate, but when he notices you’ve gone quiet—no sarcastic jabs, no fire in your eyes—he knows something’s wrong.

He handles it like a feral dog trying to help its wounded owner: awkward, growly, but loyal.

“You wanna smash something? I’ll get the plates.” He offers distraction first through mayhem, violence, even a fight with him if it wakes you up. Any reaction is a good reaction in his book it means you’ll stop drowning in your own feelings.

“I’ll kill whatever’s doing this to you. Even if it’s yourself… kidding.”

But when none of that works, he gets quiet. You’ll feel him lie next to you, not saying anything, just breathing with you. Eventually you’ll feel a hand slip into yours, calloused and warm, but firm.

✦ . ticci toby

Toby struggles with his own inner noise constantly, so he understands when yours gets too loud or too heavy. It’s not pity he feels, but understanding and compassion.

He doesn’t try to fix it, he just stays. He talks to fill the silence if you want, or matches your quiet if that’s better. He’s not there to problem solve, he knows that’s not what you need, he’s just there for you and only you.

He makes you tea even though it usually spills a bit from his tremors, offers you his hoodie like a bandage, and plays with your hair to take your mind off of things.

“You don’t gotta talk. I get it. Just… stay. I’m here. We c-can rot together for a bit.”

Tears start rolling down your face? He’s wiping them away before they can even fall.

✦ . eyeless jack

Jack notices the changes slowly at first—missed meals, unwashed clothes, blank stares. He knows how the human anatomy works up and down, but emotions are where he gets stumped sometimes. It takes a minute, but enough observing makes him realize.

It clicks: you’re drowning.

He sets a gentle routine: food you like, dimmed lights, warm baths he quietly prepares. He won’t push, but he’ll gently coddle you into doing the things he knows will get you back into your routine without overwhelming you.

“You’re not broken. You’re just tired. Let me carry you until you can stand again.”

He’ll read to you in a soft voice, cuddle you into his lap, and massage your hands. He may not be able to verbalize anything, but he’ll let his body language do the work.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Tim sees your mask slipping because he knows what it’s like to wear one. He understands the emotional strain that comes with excessive work-load and constant pressure, so it’s no question of whether he’ll help you or not, because he’s already on it.

He doesn’t smother you with comfort, he sits beside you, steady, anchoring. He doesn’t interrogate you or add any more strain to the situation, he just tries to silently evaluate how to handle where you’re at.

When you finally break and cry or lash out, he lets you. His voice stays low, steady, and real. If you’re angry, he listens, if you’re sad, he listens, if you don’t want him around, he still listens.

“I’ve been here. I’m not leaving. Even if all you do is sit and breathe.”

He’ll clean up the messes you forget about—laundry, dishes—all without a word. Just to help, just to lighten your load.

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

Brian’s comfort is quiet and intuitive. He knows how to take up space with you, not for you Talking is never his strong suit, he gets caught up on words and feelings and loses his track of thought, so he helps you the way he knows best.

He’ll write notes and stick them where you’ll see them:

“You’re still mine. You’re still worth it.”

“Bad days don’t cancel good love.”

When you spiral, he brings his laptop into bed and pulls you against him, lets you sleep in his hoodie while old movies play. He has a folder with your name on it, specifically full of your favorite movies he pirated off the internet.

“We’re allowed to be human. Even you.”

✦ . ben drowned

Ben is digital mesh in human wrapping, but when he senses your world is drooping, he becomes something oddly tender. When it comes to emotions, he’s the worst out of everyone, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to simmer down and offer comfort.

He’ll bring you into his world (games, stories, music) to distract you gently, but meaningfully. He knows all of your favorites, and makes it a point to show that you’ll always have the things you love to fall back on.

“Just take a minute, yeah? You don’t gotta prove nothing to nobody, just take it easy.”

If you disappear under the covers, he’ll slip his handheld console in beside you, loaded with Stardew Valley or Animal Crossing. He lets you talk through the characters if words are too hard. To make you laugh, he’ll slip into the game and mess with your avatar until you’re smiling again.

✦ . clockwork

Natalie tries so hard to be strong for you—but she’s scared of saying the wrong thing.

She’ll try tough love at first:

“You’re stronger than this. Come on.” She’s never been given love unless earned, so she doesn’t understand when she tries to motivate you to keep moving, why you keep sinking in on yourself.

But when she sees your lip tremble? It breaks her. She doesn’t mean it in a demeaning way, but loving someone means learning new perspectives, so she tries differently.

“Let me take care of you. Just for a bit. Please.”

She wraps her arms around you and just holds on. She’ll braid your hair or wash your face, little caring rituals with nervous hands. Being soft is foreign, but when the thing that seems to lighten you up the most is just laying in bed with her, she’ll get over herself.

✦ . laughing jack

At first, he’ll try to joke it off. Clown instincts, y’know. Anything to make you smile.

But when that fails, and you look at him with hollow eyes, he deflates. He’ll chew his lips and wrack his brain for anything, but finds that you don’t need him to entertain you, you just want him there. It’s surprising to him, but being with you in general is a new world of being wanted for more than performances.

He becomes surprisingly gentle, tucking you in under garish patchwork blankets and offering candy in your favorite flavors. He’ll offer to make you sleepy, waving his claws in your face until your eyes gently flutter closed on their own, singing soft lullabies as he drifts you to sleep.

“Ah… okay. No balloon animals today. That’s alright.”

He’ll tamper your dreams. Give you nothing but soft clouds, flower fields, sweet-smelling fruits, and everything you love. The dreamscape is where he works best, so he’ll make sure it’s the best for you, too.

✦ . slenderman

He doesn’t speak comfort—he emanates it. He’s a master manipulator of body and world, so why would he hold that power back when you obviously need it the most.

When your depression is heavy, world grows quieter, the temperature of your room warmer, the scents of your bedsheets sweeter. He adjusts the world around you, making everything as comfortable and relaxing as possible. It’s almost like being caught in a daydream.

He lifts your chin with long fingers, studying your face like scripture. Whatever you desire, he’ll grant it without a question, there’s nothing too-much.

“You are not a burden. You are human. It’s natural.”

You may wake to roses on your pillow, or find entire memories of pain erased and rewritten. It’s his way of giving you peace. Not human, but he tries. Somehow all the cruelness he holds slips away with you.

꩜ .ᐟ

[lou-struck]

Not me thinking about…. The sleepy sun peeking through the blinds into Katsuki’s bedroom, waking you just moments before your alarm does. The space next to you, empty, but it still retains a bit of the Explosion Hero’s warmth, which tells you that he slept in just a bit longer than normal before his morning patrol. 

From the window, you catch a glimpse of his car driving off. You appreciate how quietly he moves through his morning routine, but you do wish that you could’ve given him a proper goodbye. 

With him gone, you are slow to shower and dress. By the time you come downstairs, buttons in place and hair just so, you notice a still-warm mug of coffee sits on the edge of the counter where you guys keep your keys. 

You wonder if it’s Katsuki’s. 

The blond could’ve made it for himself and left it behind in his rush to get out the door today. You can’t even count the number of times you have gone through the trouble of making something to take on the go and forgetting to take it with you. 

Staring down at the steaming cup in front of you, you notice it is the very shade you prefer your coffee. It looks good, really good. 

So good that you would just hate to have to dump it out and let it go to waste after your boyfriend had gone out of the way to make himself a cup. Despite being in your own home, you do a quick little scan of the room before raising the mug to your lips and taking just a little sip. 

You know, just to try it.

WOW

This may be the best cup of coffee you have ever had. It's not too sweet and tastes better than what you would normally get during your commute. 

Without even thinking, you completely drain the cup. Your reflection stares up at you through the ceramic glaze. Accusing you of not savoring the beverage.

It’s then your phone begins to ring. Katsuki’s face flashes on the screen and your stomach twists with newfound guilt. “What if he is calling to ask you if you could stop by his agency with his coffee?”

Nervously you slide your finger along the ‘accept’ button. His gruff voice comes through the speakerphone. “Thought you’d be awake.”

“I drank your coffee.” you blurt out. Cheeks burning with shame.

“No you didn't” he responds “It was yours.”

“Really?” you ask, walking over to the kitchen sink. Sure enough, you spot another mug resting on the drying rack. “Wow, thank you Katsuki.

“Did ya like it?” he asks, over the sound of the static and the highway you notice a slight waver in the man's voice. “I didn't have any of that fancy shit the cafes have but I wanted to try it.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, bewildered by his sudden self-consciousness. “That was the best cup of coffee I have ever had in my life. What did you put in there?”

“Not telling,” you can feel his smirk through the phone. “You can guess again tomorrow.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” you murmur looking down at your empty cup. Mouth already watering at the thought of having another made fresh tomorrow.

Tagging- @pixelcafe-network @qardasngan @anjodedesgostoeerros @sleepyyshroom @isaacdaknight @dog55teeth @atigerandabear

[musingsofheaven]

SIT STILL, BE PRETTY.

Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Afab Girlfriend!Reader

fluff. sfw. kissing. flirtation. implied intimacy. ⠀ ⠀ suggestive dialogue. emotional intensity. ♡

You’d been sitting in front of the mirror for almost an hour now, too focused on what you’re doing. The light hit right through the blinds, warm and soft across your face. You also have your own light that will enhance the natural view of your face while you bend in closer, blending blush into your cheek. You were focused, quiet, and careful even. But most importantly, you are lost in your world of shimmer and pigment, dabbing on gloss with the tip of your pinky.

It’s not a new experience, actually. You’d done a hundred different looks before, always doing this before you shower. Pre-shower makeup, that’s what people call it. Now you’re practicing a new look that you’ll probably abuse until you want another look. It’s something clean. Dewy. Fresh, like you’d just come from sleep, but you still woke up like this vibes, not from three hours of swatching foundations on your forearm. Skin like glass, lashes barely curled. A soft, perfect pout, glossy and clear lips.

It’s funny how the palettes lay open like a battlefield behind you. Brushes crowded the edge of the table in neat little rows. You don’t really have the best clean table, but it’s not really worse. It’s actually tame this time since you are not doing the intense and full glam makeup.

While from the bed, there’s this menace. Half-wrapped in your sheets, that looks like he owns the bed. Tangled up in his shirt was the mood of a man who’d been very patient for a long time. Like it’s worse than every war he’s ever been to. Like he’d rather shoot heads than sit right through it like it’s bothering him.

And the menace is reacting now- Bucky groaned, which made you roll your eyes. He was sprawled across the middle of it, long and lazy. He’s been rolling around your bed with dog tags warm against his chest, resting into a navy shirt with the sleeves pushed just past his elbows. The collar stretched loose enough to show the edge of his collarbone. One arm was thrown behind his head, the other holding his phone, trying to get through your routine. The sunlight through the blinds hit him just right, striping down his jaw, making his lashes look darker, sharper. Made his boredom look expensive. He didn’t even try to hide it.

He didn’t say anything at first. Not really. But you can feel it by the sounds he’s making. Just sighed loud enough that you were supposed to hear it, like he’s guilt-tripping you into stopping. Maybe loud enough that he hoped you’d feel bad. Or maybe too desperate for your attention.

You didn’t. Not that you don’t care, you do. He just always do this shit. So here you are, reaching for your setting powder, puffing it in your hand, and pressing it gently beneath your eyes.

Another sigh, deeper this time. God. He’s insufferable. You caught the sound of the bed shifting- his feet dragging across the sheets, his elbow hitting the pillow with a soft thump. “You done yet?” He asked like a kid who was whining because he didn’t get candy.

“Nope,” you said, without turning around.

He grumbled something that sounded like betrayal, making you smile at your reflection before giggling.

He was quiet again for a moment. Then: “It’s taking so long, baby... You said it’s going to be fast.”

“I said it would be simple.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s not.”

You shake your head before you move to your other cheek, tapping soft layers of translucent powder along the high points. He let out a dramatic groan behind you, like he was being tortured.

“This is worse than what I experienced, you know?” he muttered. “You’re holding me hostage.” Such a drama queen. He’s exaggerating everything that will make him look like a little boy who deserves attention.

“You’re in my bed.”

“Exactly.”

You laughed under your breath, reaching for your brow gel.

“This doesn’t even count as makeup,” he went on, now flipping onto his stomach, chin dug into the mattress while he watched. “You’re basically not wearing anything, baby. Why are you doing it? It’s skin voodoo.”

“It’s clean girl makeup.”

“There’s nothing there.”

“It’s minimal,” you corrected.

“You’re just proving that every man thinks that this is what a no make-up or what natural make-up looks like,” you stated, basically baiting him.

He scoffed. “No, no, fuck. It just feels like an excessive experience from where I’m lying.”

“Then maybe stop watching.”

“I’m not watching,” he lied.

You caught his reflection in the mirror.

“Buck- ”

“I’m waiting,” he corrected, shifting slightly on the bed. Again. Moving as always. “Like a boyfriend who loves his girl. Patiently. Selflessly.”

“Patiently,” you repeated. “While sighing every five minutes.”

“I didn’t even sigh that time.”

“That was your fourth sigh.”

“Third,” he argued.

“Fourth,” you said, turning your head just enough to glance over your shoulder. “And besides- you promised.”

That stopped him, making him raise his eyebrow at that. Did he promise anything that he can’t remember? Is he fucked again? Did he forget someone’s birthday? Did he forget any celebration? He’s basically panicking inside.

He blinked. “What?”

“You promised me,” you said again, like it was apparent. “Said if you become whiny and insufferable again, you’d let me do your makeup.” Well, basically, a promise you forced into him.

“I didn’t mean today.”

“I did.”

He rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. “That’s not what I said.”

“You said, and I quote- ‘Fine, I won’t bother you again. If I do that again, I’ll let you paint my damn face.’ That sounds like you,” You said while putting quotations in the air using your fingers.

“That was hypothetical.”

“It was binding.”

“Not legally.”

“I made you snacks,” you start listing things.

“Let you do anything while you let me do my makeup.”

“There’s basically the TV where you can watch movies.”

“You have your phone.”

He let out a long, martyred sigh before shaking his head. “God, you’re evil.”

You tapped gloss across your lips.

He sat up just enough to glare at the back of your head. “You’re not even gonna argue?”

You capped your gloss and started gathering your things, fixing it to the way it was while ignoring his ass.

He groaned. “You’re gonna pout, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer because he already knew you would pout, so you just kept moving. The brushes were in their cases, the compact was closed, and the lip gloss was in the tray.

“Silent treatment,” he muttered. “Cool. Love that.” You can feel him rolling his eyes behind your back.

You gave him one look- flat, pouty, unimpressed.

He flopped back dramatically onto the bed. “Fine. Jesus. Come ruin my life.”

You raised a brow before lips forming into a smile. “Really?”

“C’mon, artist. Let’s make me hot.”

You smiled. Made your way over. Too eager, honestly. You almost run.

“But only,” he added, as you climbed onto the mattress, “if you do it from here.”

His hands caught your hips and guided you right into his lap. It made you yelp and jump a little. You straddled him, knees digging into the soft comforter, thighs bracketing his. He was warm beneath you, solid. You could feel his muscles in his body. His shirt bunched up against your calves.

You reached for the sponge again.

“This part wasn’t in the promise,” you said, a little argumentative.

“This is my condition,” he said, smug. He’s smirking with a glint of playfulness in his eyes. “It’s strategic. Don’t let them use you without getting something in return.”

“Strategic for what?”

He looked pointedly down at where you were sitting. “Morale.” Oh yeah, morale. Going to make him enjoy it instead of suffering, got it.

You rolled your eyes. Pressed the sponge against his cheek.

The primer was cold on his skin. He flinched slightly, but didn’t stop you, even though he’s not used to this feeling. You worked slowly, gently tapping across his cheekbones, forehead, and nose bridge. He was watching you again. His eyes were mostly focused on your face. Closely. Those little reactions. The way you scrunch your nose a little. The way you bite your lips. The way you pout. The way you stare at him.

“You’re really doing this,” he muttered.

“Mhm.”

“Even the eye stuff?” He asks, voice deep and annoyed, but letting you do your stuff.

“All of it.”

“You gonna make me pretty?”

“You already are.” Of course, you’ll say that, he’s a handsome, pretty man.

His mouth twitched. He looked away.

You smiled and chuckled.

The foundation went on light and smooth. You blended with practiced strokes, leaning in close every so often to angle your brush just right. You really like his skin. Surprisingly, it’s soft. His breathing slowed. Your chest brushed his more than once. His hands stayed on your hips.

You set everything in place. Added a flush of blush, just enough to make him look like he’s just naturally blushing. Highlighted his nose. Shimmer caught the light just beneath his eyes.

Then you reached for the gloss, and there was this reaction again. He narrowed his eyes before shaking his head.

“No.” He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head like the very idea was offensive, like he couldn’t believe you suggested that to him. To him. But his hands stayed firm on your hips like he’s not against from the idea you presented seconds ago.

“Yes.” You smiled, tilted your head, all innocent, sweet, twirling the gloss wand between your fingers like a weapon you knew he’d eventually surrender to. You pout while you wait for his answer.

“Don’t.” His voice dipped, quieter now, but not serious. Not angry. Just giving you the idea that he doesn’t like it. His thumb brushed your waist like he didn’t actually want you to stop.

“You’ll look good.” You leaned in, trying to persuade him. You were close enough that he could feel your breath, and your gloss-slick mouth tilted just enough to mock him.

“Please?” It slipped out like a tease, all soft and feels like a crocodile tears and unfair.

“I look good already.” He said it flat, smug, unbothered. Confident that he doesn’t need it, like it's not part of the look. But his gaze? His gaze lingered on your mouth when he said it, like he wanted you to prove it.

“Let me finish,” you whispered, and swiped it across his mouth- slow, gentle, sweet. Not too girly. Just enough to make it plumpy.

His lips parted slightly. Your breath caught.

He was soft. Warm. Glossy.

And then he kissed you.

Or tried to.

He leaned in with that slow, lazy confidence of someone who thought sitting still for long made him a winner like he earned that shit. It’s like a reward system for him. It made you lean back, eyes narrowing, finger pressed gently to his lips.

“Oh,” you murmured. “You think you earned that?” voice laced with playfulness.

He blinked. “I know I did.”

“You were groaning the whole time.”

“I was being emotionally supportive.”

You tilted your head, amused. “You said it was face voodoo.”

“And yet I endured it,” he said, catching your waist like he was about to speak. He’s caressing it a little, up and down, before squeezing each side. “For you. For beauty. For whatever the hell you did to my eyelids.”

“Shimmer.”

“Exactly. I shimmered. That deserves a prize.”

You smiled, letting your hand slide up, fingers toying with the chain around his neck until they closed over his dog tag. You tugged it, slowly, pulling it so he’ll be more closer to you, his chest pressing against you. Face inches close to your lips to touch. His breath hitched- not much, just enough.

“You want your prize,” you said.

“I do,” he murmured. His voice was low. Soft. Warm at the edges. “Something like kissing.”

You hummed, lips barely brushing his, not entirely kissing, more like a peck. But both of you know that it’s not a kiss in your vocabulary. “And what if it smudges the gloss?”

“Then you fix it,” he said. “While still in my lap.”

You laughed and kissed him.

It was soft, glossy, and a little breathless, like sugar, heat, and all the tension you pretended wasn’t there. His hands slid under the hem of your shirt, not high, not rushed- just enough to feel. Just enough to hold you there. His hands flatten there, and he’s feeling you like he’s been waiting for this the whole day.

When you finally pulled back, you were flushed. He was glowing.

“I hate you,” you whispered, a smile curling at your lips.

His eyes sparkled.

“You really love me,” he said.

And you do.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[ghostedgwen]

Hiii I adore ur James fic but we need more Moony! what if reader is Remus' childhood friend and they have been attached at the hip until he met the Marauders and once they've graduated she becomes a Potioneer and basically invents the Wolfsbane Potion and when he finds out it was invented by her they meet again and she admits she invented it for him could end up vaguely platonic but you can also make it full on Remus x reader up to you!! thanks!!xx!!!!

never too late | r.lupin

note : Hello anon, thank you for this lovely request!! Been thinking about this request a lot and finally got around to writing it while I was looking after my sick wife. Yall seem to enjoy my really long fics so here's 6k words for Remus <3

warnings : childhood friends drifting apart, some angst with comfort, mentions of Remus' werewolf struggles, Remus as a cane user, very very slow burn sorry

Remus was a childhood friend you slowly drifted apart with, he had the Marauders and you had Potion books. Years later, you did the impossible of inventing Wolfsbane Potion, he thought it was the best time to reach out.

You never thought Hogwarts would feel so far away from home.

The boat rocks gently under your legs as lanterns sway above the water, casting warm reflections across the lake. Around you, the other first years whisper excitedly, pointing at the silhouette of the castle glowing in the distance. But your eyes aren’t on the castle. They’re on the boy sitting across from you - Remus Lupin, your best friend since you were barely old enough to hold a wand.

He doesn’t speak. He rarely does when he's nervous. His fingers twist the sleeves of his robes, and the shadows under his eyes are darker than usual. Most people wouldn’t notice. But you do. You've always noticed things about Remus.

You grew up together in Whispermere, a quiet magical village tucked between a haunted wood and an old apothecary. The kind of place where magic hummed through the stones and gossip moved faster than broomsticks. There were never many children, so the two of you became a pair soinseparable, like a matched set of spellbooks.

When you were eight, you figured it out. The absences, the injuries, the nights when his house went silent and the air felt heavy with something unspoken. And one day, he finally admitted it.

“I’m a monster,” he whispered, curled on the floor of your room after the worst full moon you’d ever seen him return from.

You remember the rage that sparked in you. Not at him - never at him, but rather, at the world.

“You’re not a monster,” you said, voice steady even though your hands were shaking. “You’re just Remus. That’s enough.”

He didn’t believe it, not then. Maybe he still doesn’t, but you meant it.

You always have.

Now, as the boats drift toward the stone docks and the castle towers above you like a dream, your fingers brush against his. You squeeze gently, a silent reminder: I’m still here.

Inside, the Great Hall takes your breath away with its floating candles, enchanted ceiling, golden plates that shine even without food on them yet. It’s everything you imagined and more. Everything you have read paled in comparison.

Then names are called.

One by one, first years step forward, trembling under the Sorting Hat’s scrutiny.

And then -  “_______, _____”

You turn to Remus and try to smile, but your chest feels like it’s caving in.

“Wish me luck,” you whisper.

He nods. “You don’t need it.”

You sit on the stool. The Sorting Hat drops onto your head, and immediately a voice purrs in your ear.

“Well, aren’t you an interesting one… Clever, sharp, fiercely loyal. Curious about everything. You’d do well in Hufflepuff. Maybe even Gryffindor... but no, you don’t just want to be brave. You need answers. You want to understand the why behind everything. And that, dear one, means only one thing…”

A pause. You feel the Hat probing something deeper.

“You’re thinking about someone else… the Lupin boy. Hmm. Very protective, I see.”

“He’s my best friend,” you think fiercely. “I want to stay close to him.”

The Hat chuckles, deep and amused. “A noble thought. But you’ll both need to grow. Apart, if you must. Don’t fear it. You’ll find your way.”

Then, aloud, it shouts: “RAVENCLAW!”

You slide off the stool, applause ringing in your ears. The Ravenclaw table welcomes you with warm smiles and curious glances. But your eyes scan the room, following Remus as he soon takes his turn.

The Hat takes longer this time. You bite your lip.

Then - “GRYFFINDOR!”

He looks toward you, unsure. You give him a thumbs-up and a grin that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You’d promised to stick together, but Hogwarts, it seems, had its own plans.

Weeks pass. You find your place among the Ravenclaws, high in their airy tower. You answer riddles to get into your common room and lose yourself in books, ancient spells, and strange magical theories. It suits you, in its way.

But you miss him.

You make time where you can - which is between classes, after curfew, beside the Black Lake under starlight. He’s always tired after the full moon, always quiet. You notice the fresh scars even when he tries to hide them under long sleeves.

You’re always the first to notice, you doubt there’s a detail you’d miss when it came to him. 

Then he makes new friends. James Potter. Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew. Loud boys with loud laughs and even louder personalities. They’re always getting into trouble, always pulling Remus into it. And he lets them.

You don’t blame him. Not really. But sometimes, when you see him laughing with Sirius or whispering to James during class, something tightens in your chest.

They don’t know, not like you do, and they could never.

One evening, you meet him by the lake. You sit in silence, watching the ripples in the water. The moon is almost full.

“They don’t know, do they?” you ask, finally.

He flinches. “No.”

“Do you want them to?”

“No,” he says quickly. Then softer, “I don’t want them to look at me and be afraid they’re sleeping with a monster.”

You nod, lips pressed together. “You’re not a monster, Rem, you don’t have to pretend either when you’re with me.”

He sighs, shoulders slumping. “I’m not pretending. I’m just… trying.”

“You’re still you, Remus,” you say. “And I still see you. Even when no one else does.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Then, “Sometimes I think you see too much.”

“Someone has to.”

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment everything else fades - the Houses, the castle, the distance. He’s still the boy from Whispermere, hiding from the world in your attic, clutching your hand after the worst nights of his life.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You smile. “Always.”

And in that moment, you know: it doesn’t matter what the Hat said, or where you sleep, or what friends you make. You’re still his anchor, and he’s still yours.

Even if the world tries to pull you apart, even if the moon rises and falls and tries to make him something else - you’ll always be there, reminding him of who he is.

Not a monster. Just Remus, and that’s more than enough.

You knew things would never be the same the moment you got sorted into different houses, but you hadn’t expected it to happen right in second year. The first-year, he was stuck to you somehow his budding friendship with his dorm mates.

Only, this year, it’s different. It happens slowly, the way most changes do. A missed lunch here, a half-written letter there. The space between you and Remus doesn’t appear all at once. It drips in like rain under a cracked window, which is quiet, subtle, and easy to ignore at first.

You tell yourself it’s normal. You’re in different houses. You have different classes, different friends. He has James, Sirius, and Peter now - boys who’ve somehow wrapped themselves around his days like ivy on stone. You’re happy he’s laughing more. You want him to have people.

Still, there are times it stings.

You see them in the courtyard, shoulders pressed together as they whisper about some prank or plan or whatever mischief they’re always knee-deep in. Remus laughs at something James says, head thrown back, the sound real and full and bright.

It should make you happy. It does, but only to some extent. You supposed it was childish, because you are a child, but sometimes, you wish he’d laugh like that with you again.

You still have your moments. After all, some things don’t change.

Full moons still come. And Remus still suffers.

He tells them he’s visiting his “sick mother” or going home for the weekends, but on weekdays he’ll just be sick and staying in the hospital wing. The Marauders, to their credit, don’t press. Not yet.

But you know the truth, you knew it was only a matter of time before they found out. Before Remus shines a light on that he so badly wishes wasn’t true.

You sneak out on those nights, Invisibility Cloak or not. Madam Pomfrey has stopped scolding you when she finds you curled in the chair beside his bed in the hospital wing. You’ve been doing this for years now, long before Hogwarts.

Sometimes you stay awake all night, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint shimmer of silver scars healing across his arms. Sometimes you just hold his hand and wait for the shaking to stop.

You bring chocolate, potions from your own stash, and books he pretends to be too tired to read but always opens the second you leave.

There is no miracle potion yet. Nothing to make it easier. But there was you, so you stay.

Because love - whatever kind of love this is - means showing up. Especially when it’s hard.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he tells you one morning, voice hoarse and broken around the edges.

You hand him a warm compress and raise an eyebrow. “You say that every time.”

“And you ignore it every time.”

“Because it’s a stupid thing to say.”

He lets out a dry laugh that turns into a cough. “I mean it. You’ve got other friends. Classes. You don’t need to spend your nights watching me bleed all over the bed.”

You sit beside him, brushing his hair back gently. “No, I don’t need to. I want to. That’s different.”

He doesn’t look at you. He’s gotten good at that lately. He used to always meet your eyes, no shame in that now that you have seen everything he had to offer. Hogwarts seemed to have changed a lot between you and him.

After a while, you ask, “Why don’t you tell them?”

He stiffens. “Tell who?”

“You know who. Potter, Black and Pettigrew. Your little chaos club.”

“They’re not - ” He stops, then sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Because if they find out, they’ll look at me differently. Or worse, they’ll stop looking at me at all.”

“You don’t know that.”

He meets your eyes then. “You don’t know what it’s like. To be this. To be something people fear.”

“No,” you say gently. “But I know what it’s like to watch someone I care about tear themselves apart for being something they can’t control.”

That shuts him up. He hates how you know exactly which words to use, what to say, how to say it. He hates how he can’t resist the warmth you offer, even at the tender age of 13, Remus knew that craving you and your comfort was not good.

He couldn’t depend on you so much. You’ve been enduring full moons with him since you both were 8, it would be too unfair to demand you keep doing it forever. Hogwarts is a new era, a new start. 

You squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to tell them now. But you can’t keep carrying this alone forever.”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then, softly: “I’m not carrying it alone.”

You smile at that. It’s the first real smile you’ve had in days, and right then and there - wall has barely built.

Still, the distance continues.

You write him notes in class and find them folded carefully in his bag later, but he rarely writes back. You sit by him at meals when you can, but more often he’s wedged between Sirius’ smirks and James’ flying stories.

He doesn’t mean to leave you behind. That’s what makes it harder.

Because he’s not cruel. Just… busy. Distracted, even. Caught in the glow of something new and good and easy, and you? You’re the constant. The one who patches him up in secret, who carries the burden he’s still too scared to share with anyone else.

You wonder sometimes what would happen if you stopped showing up, but you already know the answer. You never would, you could never do that to him.

One night, weeks after a particularly brutal full moon, you find him on the Astronomy Tower, arms crossed against the wind, eyes trained on the stars like they might have answers.

You step up beside him.

“They asked again,” he says without turning.

“About the absences?”

He nods.

“What did you say?”

“That I get migraines. Bad ones. I said I needed quiet.”

You lean against the wall beside him. “You think they bought it?”

He shrugs. “James looked like he wanted to argue. Sirius just nodded.”

“They’re not stupid, Remus. They’re going to figure it out eventually.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I know.”

You glance at him. “What then?”

He doesn’t answer.

You rest your chin on your arms. “They’re your friends. They care about you. Maybe they’d surprise you.”

He gives you a look, half amused, half broken. “You always believe the best in people.”

“No,” you say. “Just in you.”

He turns away, blinking hard. He tries not to think too much about it and you try to act like it never held much weight than intended.

You know he’s scared. You also know that trust doesn’t come easy when your entire life has been a series of closed doors and hidden scars. So you keep showing up.

In the quiet moments. In the hospital wing. In the spaces between his laughter with the Marauders and the silences that follow the moon. You stay.

Because even if he doesn’t say it, even if he forgets sometimes, you know he needs you.

The Marauders became legends long before you realized you’d been left behind.

It started innocently with little tricks, charmed ink, floating teacups in the Great Hall. But by fourth year, it was chaos on demand. James and Sirius led the charge, Peter cheered from the sidelines, and Remus followed behind with that half-smile he wore when he was trying not to be complicit.

He was never the loudest. But he was always there and you had no doubt that a majority of the pranks were his ideas with that brilliant imagination of his.

And you? You were somewhere else entirely.

You’d fallen in love with Potions during your third year. You were completely taken by it, it was constant - it was measured and specific, you will only go wrong if you do it wrong, you liked the assurance in that. The discipline of it, the balance. The quiet language of simmering and stillness. The way ingredients interacted like people. Some enhanced each other. Some repelled. Some needed careful handling or they’d break.

You understood that. You didn't mind the solitude. Not at first.

You still saw him, of course. Shared looks across the Great Hall. A nod in passing between classes. He still sought you out during full moons - less often now, but enough to remind you that something tethered you together, even if the rope frayed more each year.

Then came fifth year.

It was a brutal moon. You knew it before the term started. You’d read the cycle and seen how close the eclipse would fall. Too long in wolf form. Too little recovery time.

You were already waiting when Madam Pomfrey carried him in, bleeding and half-conscious, his leg at a wrong angle and the smell of blood in his clothes. He was fevered for days. You didn’t leave.

But when he finally woke, cane leaning beside his bed and the weight of reality setting into his body like cold iron, something inside him snapped.

You remember it too clearly.

“Remus,” you said, gently wrapping the bandage around his hip. “You’re going to need to rest for a while. Let your body catch up.”

He looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t get to say that.”

Your hands froze. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t want your help,” he snapped, voice raw. “I don’t need you watching over me like some sad nursemaid waiting for the broken boy to fall apart. I don’t need your pity.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut bone.

You stood slowly, heart loud in your ears. “It’s not pity, Remus. It never was.”

He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t then, he was too drunk on his pain to really consider you and your words, as well as his own.

You left without another word.

He apologized two days later. He limped to where you sat in the library, cane in hand, eyes rimmed with sleepless regret.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, quietly. “I was angry, and scared. Not at you… never at you.”

You nodded, nudging the empty seat beside you, which he took.

“I know,” you said.

And you did. You forgave him. Of course you did, it was hard not to when it was Remus. But the wound between you stayed, despite you forgiving him. It might have been the first real crack in the relationship that never fully went away.

You passed each other in the corridors and shared tired smiles. Sometimes, you sat beside each other in the hospital wing in silence, both knowing you’d never quite find your way back to where you’d been.

Seventh year came faster than you expected. Your N.E.W.T.s consumed you - Potions, Transfiguration, Transfiguration. You poured yourself into your studies like they were the only things still within your control.

Remus, meanwhile, was surrounded by noise. Always someone beside him, always laughing, always planning something with parchment and ink-stained hands. He was loved, admired even. And you were happy for him.

Throughout the years he grew to be a Remus that was nowhere near the one you knew. He got tattoos, piercings too and you would even see him smoke in the Gryffindor common room parties you’d be dragged into attending.

You never really spoke there, just exchanged greetings and then off you were to mingle with your usual circle while he stuck close to his Gryffindor lot.

Outside of common room parties, you spoke now and then. Swapped books, and would even shared tea on a rainy afternoon near the end of spring term. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the attic in Whispermere. It wasn’t late-night confessions or moonlit truths. It was… polite.

But sometimes, he’d look at you like he was remembering something. Something he thought he lost, and you’d smile gently, pretending not to feel it.

Graduation came not so long after.

You stood in a sea of students in dress robes and polished shoes. The sky was too blue. Your throat too tight. All you could think was: This is the end of something we forgot to finish.

After the ceremony, he found you standing alone by the edge of the courtyard, clutching your acceptance letter from the Potions Guild. It was everything you worked so hard for, yet you didn’t feel as accomplished.

“So,” he said, softly. “St. Mungo’s or lab work?”

You looked up at him. The sun caught his hair. He still leaned on the cane sometimes, out of habit more than need now.

“Both,” you said. “They offered me a hybrid apprenticeship. Field work and brewing. It’s… everything I wanted.”

He smiled, and it was real. “You deserve that. You always did.”

“What about you?” you asked. “Still planning to be underpaid and overworked for the Ministry?”

“Sadly,” he said, smirking. “I think that’s the werewolf-friendly career track.”

You both laughed, and it almost felt normal again.

Then came the pause. The one that wrapped around everything you hadn’t said for years. Seven years ago, he was yours - in all the ways that mattered, and yet he couldn’t be farther from that now.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice quieter. “I never told you that enough.”

You blinked hard. “You didn’t have to. I always knew.”

Another silence. This one longer. More final. You allowed yourself to sit through it no matter how much it stings.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For pulling away. For ruining what we had.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” you whispered. “We just… grew differently. That’s not anyone’s fault.”

He nodded, eyes shining. “Still. I never forgot what you were to me.”

You stepped forward, brushing his sleeve gently. “I’ll always be here, Remus. Maybe not beside you, but… you’ll never be alone. Not really.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say a thousand things. Instead, he just said, “Thank you.”

And then he hugged you, arms around your shoulders, his chin in your hair. For a moment, you were kids again, hiding from storms, trading secrets, pretending the world couldn’t touch you.

Then you let go.

And you both walked into the rest of your lives.

Apart.

Not exactly best friends like you once were. But never strangers.

You hadn’t set out to cure werewolves. That was a lost cause.

In truth, you hadn’t even set out to be a name anyone outside a medical conference would know. All you ever wanted was to understand. To fix what broke, to ease what hurt.

Maybe it started with Remus - those early days at Hogwarts, when he’d stumble into the hospital wing torn apart by the moon. Maybe it was the way he tried to hide the pain, or the way he smiled like it cost him something. You’d sat beside his bed too many nights to count, watching him sleep with clenched fists and a furrowed brow.

You’d never forgotten the way he looked at you after his worst full moon - fifth year, cane by the bed, his voice sharp with shame.

"I don’t want your pity."

That stayed with you. Not as a wound, but a weight. A suffocating reminder.

So no, you hadn’t started out trying to change the world. You were just trying to make it a little easier for someone like him to live in it.

And somewhere along the way, you did.

St. Mungo’s had offered you an apprenticeship the summer after graduation. A split program which consisted of two days a week in the field and three in the Potions wing. You’d taken it eagerly, diving into your studies with the same quiet focus you’d had at Hogwarts.

But the moment you had freedom to choose your own research, you knew what your first project would be.

Lycanthropy.

The transformations. The injuries. The trauma.

The stigma.

There were no quick fixes, no clean solutions. The thing resisted almost everything. Existing treatments were garbage, if they were even treatments, almost none existed due to the image painted of werewolves in the wizarding society.

The werewolf's body changed, but the tragedy was in the mind. The slipping of identity. The violent erasure of the person inside.

So you studied. And you failed. And you studied more. And you kept failing.

You burned through ingredients, scorched cauldrons, collapsed more than one test dummy with unstable fumes. You didn’t care, you pushed on.

There were whispers around the lab. That you were obsessed. That you should focus on safer, more respectable branches of medicine. That lycanthropy was a curse and werewolves are scary creatures that kill without reason.

They said it wasn’t worth pursuing and their scrutiny almost drowned you.

But you remembered Remus. And that was reason enough too keep going, to keep fighting for a world that he won’t be pushing people away in fear that they’d see all the ugly and run away.

It took three years to get your first successful result.

By then you were twenty-one, exhausted, and running on tea and stubbornness. But the batch worked - just barely. It stabilized the subject’s mental state for nine full minutes during the transformation. Nine minutes of lucidity, control. Enough to test again.

You built from there.

Nine became fourteen. Fourteen became thirty. Eventually, you crossed the hour mark - and then something clicked.

It was monkshood. That had always been obvious. But it wasn’t the only key. It was how it mixed with valerian, how the infusion had to be added at exactly 74 degrees Celsius, how the brew had to be stirred counterclockwise before sunrise.

A thousand tiny details. None of them obvious. But together?

Together, they became the thing.

You cried when the final test subject looked up after the full moon and said, “I remember everything. I didn’t lose myself.”

It was a werewolf volunteer, a girl a bit older than you are named Lyka. She had short blonde hair that was curled in coils and her eyes were a piercing grey in colour, she was reserved and strong. She volunteered for the tests right away.

You think she also held out hope to see the future you had envisioned, so she endured the tests however dangerous they may be and you both pushed through and jumped over numerous hurdles.

She’s become somewhat of a friend to you all these years. You even trusted her with stories of Remus, of the boy who was behind everything you’ve been building towards.

And when the press finally got hold of the announcement, you didn’t hide. You didn’t let the hospital PR team bury your name in a headline. You stood in front of the flashbulbs and the questions and said clearly, proudly:

“My name is ______, and I created the Wolfsbane Potion.”

You didn’t stutter, nor did you blink once.

You just thought: Remus. I hope you see this.

He did.

Remus Lupin had not cried since he was seventeen.

Not when he’d graduated. Not when he’d buried his parents at the ripe age of 19. Not even when he’d broken up with someone who said she “couldn’t live with the risk.”

But he nearly cried in the Potter living room the moment he saw your face on the front page of The Daily Prophet.

It had been a peaceful morning. James and Lily’s home which happens to be Potter Manor was warm, lively with the sound of baby Harry’s hiccupy giggles and Sirius humming off-key in the kitchen. Remus had dropped by with a stack of paperwork and a worn copy of Beedle the Bard - a gift for Harry, who immediately drooled on it with affection.

They were laughing over tea when Peter stumbled in, windblown and pink-cheeked.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m late,” Peter said, shrugging off his cloak. “Weather’s foul. Couldn’t apparate in these weathers.”

He dropped a bundle of newspapers on the table, along with a bag of jam tarts. Remus reached for a tart without thinking, flipping the top newspaper toward him.

Peter, halfway through unwrapping a sweetroll, said casually, “Isn’t that your mate from school?”

Remus glanced down.

His hand stopped.

There you were - front and centre, smiling widely and proudly. Not some blurry byline photo or a profile sketch. A real picture, wand in one hand, flask of potion in the other, hair pulled back. Behind you was a cauldron bubbling away.

It was all too staged if he were being honest.

BREAKTHROUGH IN LYCANTHROPY TREATMENT: WOLFSBANE POTION CREATED BY FORMER HOGWARTS STUDENT

Remus’s heart kicked like it remembered how.

The article’s subhead read: ‘I wanted to create something that could preserve identity. Lycanthropy shouldn’t be a life sentence.’

He read your name, printed boldly beneath the headline. It was written in full. You had claimed it all.

Lily noticed first. “Remus?”

He didn’t look up.James tilted the paper so he could see. “Bloody hell. That’s _____, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Remus said. His voice was quiet.

Peter blinked. “Wait, you know her?” He barely remembers you from school.

“I grew up with her,” Remus replied. “We were friends. Best friends. For a long time.”

Sirius leaned against the table. “And now she’s apparently a genius.”

“She always was,” Remus murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He stepped outside soon after, briefly, to get some fresh air.

It had been four years. Four years since Hogwarts. Four years since you’d spoken beyond the occasional stiff letter or exchanged holiday greetings. You had gone and done the impossible.

You’d given people like him hope. You’d changed lives, and you’d done it without ever asking for praise or apology or permission. You had stood there, face lit by flashbulbs, and told the world that werewolves mattered.

That he mattered.

Remus laughed softly, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure whether to feel stunned or guilty. He hadn’t written in over a year. Hadn’t asked how you were. Hadn’t known the thing you were building in the dark would end up this… bright.

And still - he felt seen.

Even from across the silence.

He reread your quote at the bottom of the page, just above your signature:

“I don’t think we should be afraid to try  . Not when people are still suffering. Not when we can do better.”

You hadn’t named him. But Remus felt your words like they were spoken straight to him. Because he knew better, he knew you were speaking right to him.

Back inside, Sirius gave him a long look. “You alright, mate?”

Remus nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

He folded the paper carefully, tucking it beneath his arm. For a long time, he’d lived with the quiet grief of being forgotten. A side effect of his condition. Of fading away into the margins of other people’s stories.

But here you were, reshaping the narrative entirely.

You hadn’t just remembered him. You had remembered all of them - the ones who lived in the shadows, who never thought they’d be more than cautionary tales or footnotes in Ministry reports.

And maybe… just maybe… you’d done it for him. He stared down at your picture again, his smile quiet and unshakable.

“Godric’s beard,” James muttered behind him, reading the headline over his shoulder. “She really made a Wolfsbane Potion.”

Sirius let out a low whistle. “That’s going to change everything.”

Remus didn’t speak, but in his chest, something shifted. A pressure he’d carried for years lightened. And somewhere deep down, he knew this wasn’t the end of the story. You were out there. Living, thriving, blazing a trail.

And for the first time in a long time, he found himself wanting to reach out, outside of obligation and nostalgia. Because something real had reignited between you.

It didn’t take long for Remus to find you.

The moment he saw your name on the front page of the Prophet, he knew it wouldn’t be enough just to read the article ten times, to keep the paper folded on his night stand like some relic. He needed to see you.

For the ache in his chest that hadn’t gone away since fifth year. The one he thought he could outgrow, bury beneath the pages of law books and Ministry memos. But there it was, alive and sharp and hopeful again.

So he asked around.

He was discreet, as always. But not shy.

You were easy to trace once he learned about your position at St. Mungo’s. The Potioneering Department kept strict visiting hours, but Remus had never been one to blindly follow signs that read Authorized Personnel Only. He lingered until your shift ended, until he saw you push through the ward doors with your satchel slung across your shoulder, hair messily pinned back, a smudge of something silvery at your temple.

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

You stopped when you saw him.

The quiet stretched as you stared in disbelief. He took one step closer.

"Hi," he said.

Your breath hitched. "Remus."

He offered a careful smile, the kind that trembled at the edges. "I hope it’s alright. I didn’t want to owl. I thought maybe... maybe you wouldn’t answer."

You swallowed. You looked older, of course. Grown into yourself. But your eyes were still the same. He could see the traces of that little girl still as he watched your grown self scan him, he bet he must look different as well.

"I might not have," you admitted softly. "I’m glad you didn’t give me the choice."

That made him laugh. Not a loud one, but real. He looked down. "You really did it. You actually - "

"Yes."

"I don’t even know what to say."

You smiled faintly. "Then don’t. Let me."

He blinked as you stepped closer.

"I invented it for you," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "So you’d stop suffering the way you used to. That’s all it ever was. All I ever wanted."

Remus looked at you like you’d peeled the years back with a single sentence.

He didn’t hug you, despite desperately wanting to. He didn’t wanna offend you or cross boundaries.

He just said, very quietly, "Thank you."

And that was enough.

He started taking the Wolfsbane Potion a week later, full seven days leading up to the full moon.

You brewed it yourself, of course. There were still regulatory delays, red tape the Ministry insisted on. But you had your licence. You had your clearance. More importantly, you had him.

You gave it to him with a note attached: Sip slowly, or it’ll make your throat burn. Seven days, don’t miss it.

Remus made sure to drank every single day of the week leading up to the full moon. It was still painful. The bones still bent. The skin still pulled and tore and reshaped.

But he remained. He was still there.

He could remember the walls. The sounds. The feel of the floor. He didn’t thrash, didn’t bite himself raw, didn’t wake up choking on blood and dirt.

And when morning came, he cried.

You were there.

Sitting in the armchair beside the bed in his tiny flat, watching him with quiet concern and a cup of now-cold tea in your hand.

"You stayed," he rasped.

"Of course, I stayed."

He swallowed, throat dry. "You didn’t have to."

You raised an eyebrow. "Remus Lupin, I have stayed with you in worse states than this. Don’t be daft."

He huffed a weak laugh. Then he looked at you. His tired brown eyes meeting yours. You hadn’t slept. Your eyes were shadowed, your robe wrinkled. But you looked proud, and somewhat tender. And maybe a little scared.

"I always missed you," he said.

You stilled.

He continued, voice low. "Even when I didn’t say it. Even when we stopped writing. I never stopped thinking about you."

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

He sat up slowly, wincing. "I loved you, you know. Even back then."

"Remus - "

"I didn’t say anything because I was scared. Because I thought... if I ever hurt you, if I ever lost control, and it was you in the way - "

"I’ve known since we were eight."

He blinked.

You smiled sadly. "Of course I knew. I knew you loved me. I knew you were afraid. But if anyone was ever going to understand, Remus, it was always going to be me."

He looked down. His hands shook. "I just didn’t want to be the monster in your story."

You moved to sit beside him on the bed.

"You’ll never have to worry again," you whispered. "Because I found a way."

He looked at you, eyes glassy. "Thank you."

"You don’t have to thank me."

"I do. I don’t deserve it."

You snorted. "Remus Lupin, you deserve the bloody stars and the moon and the sun. But I can’t give you that. So instead... I give you the potion."

He stared at you, long and quiet. Then he reached out, cupped your face in one trembling hand, and kissed you.

It wasn’t perfect. It was cracked with tiredness and ache and too many lost years.

But it was real, so real that it undid all the distance that grew between you two all these years. You thought you had lost him 7 years ago, but he was still yours.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. "Thank you for giving me something I can never pay back."

You hummed. "Buying me a drink would do."

He laughed against your skin. "I’ll buy you all the drinks in the world."

end. masterlist

[robinminustherichard]

Happy Bucktommy Positivity Week!

For my "Texting" bingo square!

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: hi tommy

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: this is Evanbuck

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: your exboy

Hi, Evan. How are you?

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: HI. Uoure awake!!

I am. It's only midnight, I'm not that old.

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: no youre not that old you only have like 7 gray hairs I think

Oh? Have you counted?

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: yes bbut I think ther could be more nowbecause i have not ben there to count thm recently

The next time I look in a mirror I'll count and let you know.

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: WOW!!!!! THAT IS GOOD FORME

You're with people, right? Someone's watching your back while you're this drunk?

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: noope and i dont need anyone because I am an adlt who can handel hard things you know!!

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: and i do NOt like you insinununating that i cannt do that tommy

I never said you couldn't take care of yourself, Evan. I know you can.

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: of i was better at being evan could we still be boyfriends tommy?

I'm not sure what you mean, you're you through and through, and you’re plenty good at it.

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: no i think im not really good at being evan actlly

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: sometimes i am goof at being buck though. Not right now i think but so.etimes

No way, you're the best Evan ever. And the best Buck. I promise. How good you are had nothing to do with us breaking up. That was all on me being a bad Tommy who is a boyfriend.

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: no way you are the best boyfriend. You ar really relly good at it i promise also

Thank you, Evan, I appreciate that. You were a great boyfriend too.

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: can I tell u a secret tommy?

I'm not sure you'll be happy with yourself in the morning if you do, Evan.

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: morning evbuck will be coward again so I gotta say it fer him

[DO NOT TEXT HIM]: 1 New Message: I finally felt like me when we wre boyfs together. Like not evn or buck just evbuckly all in 1. Do u inderstand

I think so.

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: amd im tryin to be happy with the time that I had tht but I think its not fare how short it was tommy

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: I want to be evanbuvkly but. Im afraid thatt I cant wthout you there amd I thinj i messed it up bcos I was too mch buck and not enough eVan but its hard when theress 2 of you amd u haven't ben evan for a loooooong time

Evan, I think you're an amazing Evan Buckley. You don't need me to be there to be yourself--you'll always be Evan Buckley. Who is kind, and funny, and adorable, and cares so much about others. That's inside of you, and things are hard right now but you'll get back to being Evan Buckley even without me there.

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: but what if i want u there for it?

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: what if I really really want that? I can give u the Evan eyes

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] IMAGE

Oh, you know I can't resist the Evan eyes, huh?

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: ☺️

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: dont tell morning Evan im actually rlly scared right now!

You don't have to be scared, Evan. I don't ever want to scare you.

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: no nononoo im scared that im messing this up again I really want to try again

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: forget everything I've said

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: Hi tommy this is Evan!

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: what are yOu doing Saturday??

Hi Evan, its really good to hear from you. I'm free on Saturday. What did you have in mind?

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: oh wait i have a sbift on saturday

[DO NOT TEXT HIM] 1 New Message: Uh

How about I pick you up from your shift and we grab some food and talk? I'm really happy you reached out.

[EVAN] 1 New Message: Realllly?

[EVAN] 1 New Message: 😁

Really, I promise. So, what do you say? I pick you up from your shift and we maybe talk about things?

[EVAN] 1 New Message: I woulld love that! Thank you tommy!! But also I hav to send you my new statio address!!!

I'll see you then, Evan Buckley.

And, for morning Evan: I promise this is real. You're right, I can't resist the Evan Buckley eyes.

Wait. New station???

Evan???

Did you fall asleep??

Okay Morning Evan you also owe me some information it seems.

Goodnight, Evan. Sleep well.

Tommy sighed, setting his phone facedown on the side table next to his bed. Evan Buckley is going to be the death of him.

Tommy can't help but smile, chuckling at himself and picturing the blurry, red-faced selfie he got of a clearly drunk Evan trying his best to look pitiable against the pillows of his bed.

Evan had seemed so aloof the last time they had hooked up; he hadn't offered any indication that he had missed Tommy as much as Tommy had missed him. But maybe after a text exchange that Tommy probably should have shut down...maybe they could really talk this through on even ground.

Maybe there was still something there, something that he could stop running from.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed!)

@bucksaiga

@loulou-land

@lbltpsmspenguin

@connected-dots

@thecarrott

@chemistry66

@goodproductplacement

@dearqueend