#you've had enough heavy comics back to back

[malavera]

Cosplay (18+) — Hugh Jackman One Shot

pairing: hugh jackman x female reader

summary: Your hubby came home after filming one of the scenes for Deadpool & Wolverine with his costume on to surprise you

warning: SMUT! MDNI. PWP. Wolverine cosplay sex, unprotected sex, fingering, squirting, daddy kink, praise kink, the use of pet name bub (bubby / bubba)

a/n: i had this scenario every time i went to bed

"Bub, I'm home! Where are you?"

"In the kitchen!" Your voice echoes through the house, a playful lilt in your tone as you rinse the last plate under the warm, soapy water. The clatter of dishes is almost soothing, a rhythm you've come to appreciate in the quiet moments.

But then, without warning, a pair of strong arms snake around your waist, pulling you into a firm, familiar embrace. The unexpected touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you can feel the roughness of his stubble grazing against the soft skin of your shoulder blade. His warmth envelops you, seeping through your clothes, and suddenly the kitchen feels too small, too intimate.

"You’ve eaten without me?" His voice is a low, teasing rumble against your ear, and you can’t help but smile, even as your heart races.

"Well, I figured you'd be late, so..." You trail off, your voice faltering as you quickly dry your hands on a nearby towel. But when you turn around, the air catches in your throat.

Standing before you, with that trademark smirk you know all too well, is your lover. But tonight, he’s not just himself—he’s transformed. Draped in the iconic yellow and blue, his muscles defined by the snug fabric of Wolverine's original suit, he embodies the fierce, feral energy of the comic book legend. His eyes flash with mischief, and the scowl he wears—so perfectly in character—sends a thrill through you.

You stare, wide-eyed, your breath hitching as the reality of the moment sets in. The air feels heavy, charged with anticipation, and your mouth goes dry as you try to swallow, your body betraying you. He steps closer, the leather of his costume creaking ever so slightly, and you know—this night is far from over.

"H-Hugh..." The name slips from your lips, barely a whisper, as you stare, utterly transfixed.

His grin widens, the mischievous glint in his eyes sharpening. "What's the matter, bub? Cat got your tongue?" His voice is a low, teasing growl, sending a jolt of excitement through you.

You stumble back, the cool edge of the kitchen counter pressing against your spine as he advances, his presence overwhelming, magnetic. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can't tear your eyes away from him—this man, your lover, transformed into something untamed, almost primal.

A nervous laugh escapes you, breathless and trembling. "You look... incredible." The words come out in a rush, your voice barely steady. He’s so close now, the scent of leather and cologne filling your senses, and you know there’s no turning back.

"C'mere.." He muttered, an arm snatching to hug your waist pulling you close to him before he tilted his head, enough so the pointy nose of the scowl wouldn't poke you, to pull you in for a hungry kiss. You gasp, trying to follow his rhythm.

Hugh grabs a handful of your hair, tugging it, earning a loud moan from you. As your mouth went agape that's his moment to shove his tongue deeper. The heated make out session sent you to heaven without realizing everything around you as you are now being seated on top of the kitchen counter, legs spread wide for him to stand in between them.

"You miss me bub?" Hugh asks in between the kiss.

"S'much, daddy." You mewled and he groaned.

"Please, daddy. Do something.. to me." You moaned.

"Yeah? What do you want daddy to do huh? Tell me." He's teasing you. He knows exactly what you need, it's your second favorite thing about him; his fingers. He's so good with it. The way he would put one in, and then shove the other, thrusting in and out of your glistening cunt. Your favorite part is when he curls them inside you before he repeatedly flicks them.

"Want your fingers, daddy."

"These fingers, baby?" He tilted his head, acting dumbfounded, as the tips of his finger made a circle against your clothed pussy. "Yeah?" He pressed the pad of his fingers right against your clothed clit.

"Ah.. Yes." You gasp, smiling.

"You're soaked already, bub. What's gotten you so eager for me? Is this the suit? Huh? You love seeing your daddy in his costume?" He taunted.

You can only nod as you enjoy the way his fingers rubbing your, still clothed, cunt. "Daddy, please. I've been good. I deserve this."

"Of course you do, baby." You gasp once you felt one of his fingers enter your throbbing cunt. You shrieked when you felt his other hand make a handful of your hair and tugged your head back, making you watch him.

"Look at me when I'm making you feel this good, bub." There goes the second finger, entering. And he does your favorite thing, finger-fucking you.

You whimpered, closing your eyes briefly. "Urgh.. Daddy you're so good.. You're so good with my pussy." Between the two of you here, you both have the praise kink. He's an actor, of course he loves being praised for his skills and performances. You both are a master at this department, though only your words can get him going.

"Yeah? Like that bub? Tell daddy how it feels... So good yeah?" He coo’ed.

"Yeah.. Yeah.. so good daddy, deeper.. OH!" You gasped out a loud moan at the end once you feel him pushing in his fingers deep into your cunt.

"Only my fingers can play with this cunt, right bub? My cunt." He grunted.

"Yes, yes daddy! It's your cunt!" You whimpered, feeling as you're about to reach your high; You gasp once more when he harshly tug his fingers out of your cunt, jolting your body forward.

"W-what.." You breathlessly said.

"You're gonna have to cum on my cock, bub." He hastily spoke as he tries to take his heavy cock out of his pants. Swallowing down your saliva, you watch as he give himself a couple of jerks before tapping his heavy cock against your pussy, indicating he’s about to go in. Not that he’d need your permission to.

Your mouth fell agape watching the big tip of his cock, slowly entering your soaked folds, feeling every inch of his cock going in even the raging veins felt like they’re scratching the insides of your warm cunt. Hugh roughly grabs you by your neck, forcing you to look him in the eyes that are covered with the wolverine scowl.

“Look at me when i’m fucking you, bub.” He harshly spoke as he starts to move his hips back and forth, gently at first before he picks up the pace, turning the peaceful atmosphere filled with your moaning mess.

You’d never imagine you’d see the night filled with Hugh fucking you on top of the kitchen island with his super hot wolverine costume on. All you could think about is how this costume would be the one where people all around the world would see later in the movie theater once it’s coming out. And the fact that he has fucked you in it, makes your pussy flutters as he is not stopping anytime soon. The nasty sound of your pussy milking his heavy cock that is formed from the mixed of your fluid fills the entire kitchen. And you wished you could watch yourself being fucked by the wolverine in third person’s point of view.

“What are you thinking about bub?” Hugh piston his hips to a certain angle which caused you to loudly moan. “You’re thinking about how good i’m fucking you right, bub? You never want me to stop right, honey?” Hugh coo’ed.

“N-no, daddy. I never want you to stop. I want you to make me cum, please it feels so good!” You cried, your hands went up to play with your tits.

“Oh yes, play with those tits bub. My tits. Fuck, this cunt is so good I can never get enough.” Hugh grunted. He pulls you closer to him making your hips lying at the edge of the counter.

All you wanted is to get him to cum deep inside you. You could feel the brush of his pubic hair from every stroke, his heavy balls slapping against your ass. You’re going to cum anytime soon. But something is growing inside you and it’s inching closer, any seconds now.

“W-wait, Daddy, stop, something’s wrong!” You shrieked.

And you know better from stoping your beloved from fucking you hard, he will never listen. But instead, he gripped your hips harder and thrusts his cock in and out of you with a godly fast pace.

“Fuck, fuck, Daddy!” You screamed as you forcefully pushing yourself away from him before you feel yourself reaching your high. You couldn’t contain it, it sprayed everywhere, even to his costume. Your thighs are shaking, your chest heaves up and down.

Hugh stood there groaning as he just witnessed his baby squirted out. “Fffuckk… Bub, that was amazing.” He muttered, but he’s not stopping there. He grabbed his cock, aiming the tip against your entrance, softly rubbing it against your hole first.

“W-wait, I don’t think I-..”

“Shut up, Bub. Daddy hasn’t cum yet.” He hissed as he pushed the tip of his cock into your entrance.

Your pussy purred, “Oh.” You gasped, feeling a little bit embarrassed. But, Hugh loved it.

“Do you think you can give it to me one more time bub? This time, squirt on my cock?”

[eddiemunsons-missingnipple]

LISTEN. HEAR ME OUT. eddie and Best friend!reader petty arguing, right, so reader says 'ooh you wanna kiss me soooo bad' and he does.

Hear ME OUT!!

What about we sprinkle in some jealous!Eddie too give it the ol'razzle dazzle.

Jealous! Eddie Munson x Bestfriend!reader

Warnings: fluff, some cursing, kissing that's about it.

Not proofread ignore mistakes.

Eddie has been in a pissy mood all damn week. He was short with you. He was snappy and just passive all around. The bottom line is that he was being a real asshole to you. You couldn't pinpoint exactly what made him this way. You chalked it up to him, barely getting any sleep. Maybe he cut back on smoking and is dealing with those withdrawals.

Doesn't matter at this point he was a dick and taking it out on you specifically. Ever since you went out on that date with his friend, Eddie has been insufferable. Little did you know that's the exact reason he's been moody with you.

He was jealous. You were his, and he had to watch his friend pick you up for a date. He sat in his room thinking about his friend kissing you. His friend holding your hand, and God knows what else you two did on your date together.

But you've had about enough of his attitude. You were sitting on his bed flipping through his heavy metal magazine while he tuned up his guitar.

"Hey, eddie, can you turn on the tv?" You looked before turning another page. You weren't even reading the comic. You were more interested in the artwork than anything the plot.

"Turn it on your damn self." He already sounded aggravated with you. "And stop turning those damn pages like that you'll rip them."

He rolled his eyes and turned his chair to face more away from you.

You huffed immediately, getting fed with him now." Alright, what hell is your problem?"

You slammed down his magazine, crossing your arms over your chest. You felt your face heating from the anger rising inside of you. You've dealt with his mood swings before, but that's because they were never directly pointed at you. Not until recently.

"I don't have a problem." He shrugged, still refusing to face you.

"Oh yes, you do. You've been a complete douche all week."

He smirked and finally turned around. "I've been a douche? Me? Maybe I wouldn't be such a douche if you weren't so fucking annoying."

"I'm not annoying!" You defended yourself, raising your voice slightly.

"Oh, but yes, you are. All you do is yap all day long, and I gotta listen to it." Eddie, let out a condescending laugh after you argued back with him.

You squinted your eyes, "Yeah, well, at least I'm not walking around with a stick up my ass."

You could hear him growl something under his breath. His lips were pressed in a tight line.

"You're right. I do have a stick up my ass. How about you get your ass up and turn on the TV because my ass is currently busy with a stick rammed up it." His voice was dripping with sarcasm while bickering back and forth with you.

You rolled your eyes and got up off his bed to turn on the TV. You messed with the volume until it was as high as it could go. You were purposely trying to press his buttons. You wanted a reaction out of him. You wanted that last word, and you were going to get it. He couldn't hear himself think or focus on what he was currently doing.

Eddie jumps up from his chair and turns down the TV. You just stay standing there, twisting the nob to it turn back up. You're both staring each other down in the process.

"You're bein- he went to speak, but you raised the volume up again, cutting him off.

Eddie let a deep breath and turned the tv back down once more. His face is all red, and sets his guitar back against his dresser. "You're being reeeeeally petty right now. I'm trying to tune up my guitar."

"Yeah?...so?" You slowly turn the TV up again with your eyes locked onto his.

His jaw tightens, and his nostrils flare. You decided to mess with him. You wanted to rile him up some more. He rubbed his hands down his face.

You watched him closely, and a little idea sparked in your head. You don't know what really came over you. Probably, his attitude with you has finally made you lose your mind or something.

"Ooh, you wanna kiss me sooo bad right now, huh?" You taunted him.

There was always this unspoken crush between the two of you that was mutual. You were being mean, and you didn't care. You were past your limit right now. You wanted to get under his skin, and it was working.

He doesn't say anything he just looks at you. He steps closer, leaving very little room between the two of you. Without any warning, his lips came crashing down into yours. His hands go up to hold both sides of your face gently. His soft lips locked with yours as his tongue slipped past them.

The kiss was sloppy but passionate. He didn't care if your teeth clashed a little bit. He needed to do this. You felt light-headed while your tongues fought for dominance. Your face felt all tingly, and your hands moved up to grip onto his forearms. Only a few seconds have passed, but it felt like hours. Time stood still as you made out with your best friend in his bedroom.

He let go of your face and moved his lips slowly away from you. He had a smug expression on his face. Your eyes flutter back open, and you swallow. You're breathing heavy, and you don't know if it's from the kiss or from the fight you and Eddie were getting into. Or a combination of both.

"Why have you been so mean to me all week?" You whispered your fingers, move up to trace over your own lips. You could still feel traces of him on your mouth.

Eddie looked at you and with a sad smile. "I couldn't get over the fact that you went on date with my friend Cody."

Your eyebrows raised. "You-- You were jealous of Cody?" You were in disbelief. Here you thought he was just annoyed being around you.

You couldn't believe he would be so irritated over that date. It was one date, and you were miserable. Plus, it's not like you haven't seen him take home his fare share of women from the bar.

Those nights where he would be out with a made you feel sick to your stomach. But you never once took it out on him like this. You shake those thoughts and try to listen and understand where he is coming from. Right now, it's about him, not you. He was never good at expressing his feelings, and because of that, he was more prone to lashing out.

"Well, yeah, just the mere thought of him being so close to you really upset me. I know I've been a dick but I just couldn't help it." He plopped back down in his chair.

You moved to sit at the edge of his bed. Your legs felt like they were going to give out after kissing him.

"Why didn't you say something?" You sighed and picked at your chipped nail polish.

"I don't know.. I don't want to mess up what we have." He gestured between the two of you. His voice was a lot softer now than is has been all week.

You nodded and understood why he felt like he couldn't express his feelings. "Can you kiss me again?"

Eddie's eyes dart up, and he looks a little surprised. "Can i?"

You couldn't have actually wanted to kiss him again? He thought to himself. He was already feeling guilty for just happened. He felt his heart start to race again.

You smiled and nodded, "I wish you would have kissed me sooner."

[randomshyperson]

I Put A Spell on You - Wanda Maximoff Kinktober #03

Summary: After a tense week and a training session, Wanda finally had enough of your attitude.

Warnings: (+18), heavy smut with power dynamics,  brat tamer!Wanda and sub!Reader, edging, orgasm denial, slapping, a lot of teasing, blindfold and magical restrictions, enchanted strap, kind of rough,  implied enemies to lovers, some cursing | Words: 3.559k

A/N-> This is almost late. I totally forgot I had to post the stories.

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

It was Natasha's idea, or at least it was a Black Widow kind of thing.

Most of what Wanda knew about it came from Steve's official report on the training, and the rest of the story came from Sam gossiping around the tower.

But in a nutshell: You had your vision temporarily impaired on the last mission, you were knocked out by it and it almost fucked everything up. Wanda would have thought that this was all it took to diminish your ego a bit, but instead, you and Nat had a weird widow's agreement about eliminating weaknesses or whatever, and this was adapted to your training.

The whole story was the reason you were training with a blindfold on. 

And don't let Natasha hear this, but you were an impressive fighter, even more than the older widow. Somehow you were more agile and stronger than Nat, and it was the kind of thing that made Clint remark worriedly about how much harder your widow training could have been and secretly made Wanda's heart beat faster.

But back to the point: Wanda shared very few training shifts with you. Steve and Nat found peaceful interaction between team members advantageous, so as you didn't get on so well, she had fewer training sessions in your company.

Well, that changed because you seemed determined to prove that you could block blows without seeing them.

"Wow, you're still here." It came out more ironic than she wanted, but Wanda was actually almost impressed. It had been nearly a month since the whole thing had started, and this training was coming after a particularly exhausting mission. She was just going for a quick session - so that the muscles wouldn't lose habit as Steve liked to say - when she found you in the empty tower gym. 

The eyes covered by a black cloth were an almost comical sight, or at least, Wanda assumed that finding it funny was what she was feeling, every time she saw your serious and concentrated form, sweating in the gym.

"Good evening, Wanda." You greeted her without looking at her, your head down. You were listening to her movement she assumed. 

Wanda muttered the greeting back, busy leaving her belongings on the bench and looking for a treadmill. But you cleared your throat. "Don't you want a real challenge?"

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Oh, and that would be you, of course."

You smile, your hands behind your body. Wanda thinks she likes the blindfold, it allows her to stare you brazenly, without you even knowing.

"I'm a legendary fighter, yes."

She has to laugh at how naturally you say that. She takes a quick look at the treadmill, and well, smashing your ass really does sound more interesting.

"Okay, real challenge, show me what you've got."

Wanda positions herself on the opposite side of the mat from you, and clears her throat when you remain static.

" Won't you take your shoes off?"

She grimaces softly. Yeah, your hearing was starting to impress. Sighing begrudgingly, she uses magic to make the shoes come off and float away, and before she even has a chance to speak, you do.

"No magic tricks." It sounds like a serious warning, rather than a request, and Wanda doesn't miss a chance to torment you.

"Oh, is that too much for a legendary fighter?" She mocks, but all she gets back is an easy chuckle that she isn't able to reciprocate because you adjust your training gloves and the movement is distracting enough.

After a moment, you get into position. "I'm ready."

"At last." She scoffs, stepping forward. 

Ultimately, she's impressed. And she almost begins to believe that maybe the cloth is fake - there's no chance that you can dodge absolutely all the blows she's so exhaustively learned with such ease. 

It doesn't take long for Wanda to start getting impatient, and for you to start smiling at her, in that smug way that makes her skin itch.

She makes a mistake, and it's enough for you to knock her to the ground.

"Again." You say, standing next to her, equally out of breath but without a scratch. Wanda huffs.

"How the fuck are you doing this?" She asks, getting to her feet with a magical push. You swallow dry, taking a step back, very alert.

"Practice, of course." You mutter. "Are you ready to continue?"

But Wanda narrows her eyes, her head tilting slightly at your sudden alertness. She decides to test a theory, and red sparks appear in the air near your head.

The leap you make in the other direction makes her giggle playfully. 

"Something wrong, darling?"

You grumble, raising a hand in warning, irritably hitting exactly the right spot to point it at her. "Stop this. I told you, no magic."

But Wanda is tired, and she's feeling naughty tonight. Something about your vulnerability makes her body heat up.

She chuckles darkly, taking steps away that only make you swallow dry. "Someone's scared." She sighs, and the sparks appear again. You gasp, clearly anxious and not knowing where to strike.

It's Wanda's fault, there are too many of those and magic is much harder to defend against.

She chuckles at your state, and you snap back almost immediately."That's not funny, Maximoff." 

A magical tug pushes under your knee, behind your elbows, near your foot. Everything makes you jump with fright and sends Wanda into a fit of giggles.

"You're not so cocky when you're scared."

In a desperate attempt, you try to attack the magic, which only disappears into thin air against your skin. Wanda just stands back, watching the scene with amusement.

With an impatient grunt, you raise a finger at her. "Stop this shit, I'm warning you-"

"Don't be rude, darling. I like you best when you're polite." Wanda interrupts, and your exclamation of indignation turns into a grunt of pain when a magical tug forces you to your knees on the mat.

"What the hell?" You gasp, raising your hand to remove the blindfold. 

But the sensation that follows is like ropes grabbing your wrists and pinning your fists behind your back. Your heart is racing at the same moment. "Wanda, what the actual fuck you're doing?"

Although you can't see her, you hear her very well. Her slow steps towards you, until she makes you jump gently when she touches your cheek. You swallow dry. "Stop this bullshit, Wanda, I'm serious."

She pushes her tongue into the roof of her mouth, a clicking sound that makes you swallow dry again. Her fingers caress your cheek, and the lack of visibility makes everything all too vivid.

"You have a very dirty mouth, kotenok (kitten)." She retorts in a tone that makes you shudder from head to toe. With a dry throat, you look up, even though you can't actually see her.

It must be a good thing for your sanity, though. God knows what you would have done if you could have seen the way Wanda's eyes darkened with hunger when she saw you on your knees, looking up at her.

Licking your lips, you say calmly: "Be very careful with your next action, Wanda. It will be definitive for our future interactions."

She bites back a smile, and her hand leaves your cheek for your hair, the motion in the strands at the nape of your neck drawing a stubborn sigh from your lips.

"See, it's much better when you're polite." She says softly, letting her fingers slide between the strands, stroking your hair gently. "That's how it goes. You behave nicely, and you're rewarded. Behave badly, and well..."

To illustrate, she moves her free fingers. You hear the magic before you feel it - right under your blouse, like a rough tug on your left nipple that makes you grunt in pain.

"Fuck, you little shit-" But swearing at her makes it worse. The sensation is repeated on the other nipple, not real enough to hurt the flesh, but enough to cause pain. And in the current scenario, on your knees and blindfolded, just the right amount for a wave of pleasure to wet your panties. 

It takes you by surprise, so much so that instead of grunting in pain, you practically moan. And that makes Wanda smile, especially as she can see the blush rising on your face.

"You need to improve that attitude." She starts again, adjusting the grip on your hair to force your face in her direction again. You bite the inside of your cheek hard, certain that this time, you would have whimpered. "You've been acting like this for too long, you've gotten comfortable in your naughtiness. I can fix that."

"Wanda..."

"Shush, darling, now you don't talk. You listen. Isn't that what you were hoping to train yourself to do?" She teases, and the grip loosens. You don't have to obey, but you're desperate to do so.

With a lump in your throat, you nod and remain silent. And the next second, when the sound of a zipper fills the room, you grow restless and alert.

You're ready to question when Wanda sighs.

"Shit, honey, that's been working for me too." She panted and you were dying to understand what the hell she was talking about when, along with her shortened breaths, you heard a sound that shook your body to its core. 

Was it really possible that Wanda Maximoff was fingering herself right in front of you?

"W-wanda-"

The slap isn't magical - nor is it weak. Your cheek burns, but Wanda grabs your face anyway.

"I told you to be quiet." She grunts, and in a way, the affected voice is confirmation enough of your suspicions. You can feel your underwear starting to feel uncomfortable with the dampness gathering. "You've talked a lot of shit since I joined the team, now you listen, you brat."

Not only do you hear it, but as the movements continue, you can smell it. Her sweet, intoxicating essence is enough to make you moan for the first time in the night.

Wanda let that one slide, because the sound is too good to punish you for it.

And because you've held still long enough for her fingers not to be enough anymore, she's decided that you deserve a reward.

"Open your mouth, darling, I've got a little treat for you." She sighs, and you obey almost immediately, even though your face is burning.

Wanda removes her fingers from inside herself, sighing softly as she does so. Unhurried, she presses them against your tongue and has to bite down hard on her own when you buckle forward, sucking on her fingers with enthusiasm.

"Look at you, who knew you were such an eager little thing?" She taunts, although the sensation of your tongue on her fingers is almost making her lose her train of thought. She can only imagine how deliciously warm you must feel elsewhere.

You just keep moaning, sucking all her wet pleasure from her fingerprints, and Wanda has to reach down and grab your hair once more to regain some of her sense of grounding.

Her voice is hoarse when she speaks again, but you don't seem to mind. "Did you like your treat, darling?"

You open your mouth to reply but hesitate before doing so. And Wanda smiles proudly when she realizes. "Oh, dear, you can speak if it's to answer my questions. Tell me how much you appreciated your treat."

Swallowing dryly, you lower your head. "I loved it, Wanda. And I would love to taste it from the source."

She bites back a giggle, using one hand to lift your chin. "You didn't even thank me."

"Th-"

The magic squeeze comes directly to your clit now. You let out a little yelp, but Wanda's hand doesn't let you lower your head. 

"I didn't tell you to thank me. Rather, I was reprimanding you because good manners don't come to you naturally." She clarifies, and with tears of pain and pleasure in your covered eyes, you nod in understanding. Wanda sighs. "I'm going to make a good girl out of you, even if I have to keep you on edge all night for it."

The whimper that escapes your throat is humiliating, Wanda loves the sound. 

The next sensation on your skin is that of a chain, wrapping itself around your neck. 

"We need to continue this in a more private place, darling. Where no one will interrupt us." Wanda guides, and the chain gives a gentle tug, the hint caught just in time by you, who are on your feet almost immediately. Wanda bites back a smile. "Fuck, I could get used to this."

She manages to lead you quietly and obediently through the empty corridors, but your anxiety overcomes you at the door to her room.

You stop walking, gulping. Wanda smiles because you're waiting for permission to ask a question, even when you're dying to have it answered.

"It's my room." She clarifies, but you shake your head, signaling that it wasn't your doubt. She shouldn't be impressed that you've already become able to memorize the sound of the way to the rooms, but she is. Smiling, Wanda brings a hand up to your face again. "What do you wish to ask, darling?"

You sigh at the permission granted. "Are you... are you sure? About this..." Wanda is taken aback. Your hands are still bound, you're still blindfolded, at her mercy, and yet you're worried about how sure and comfortable she is. You take a deep breath as if trying to find the right words. "This is important, Wanda. We can't go back to how things were before if I come in. And if you're not sure, send me away, and I swear we won't talk about this again and-"

Wanda moves in, it's quick and less hungry than she thought your first kiss would be, considering recent events and frankly, the way she's been craving you.

Your lips are soft and kind of addictive. Your mouth kisses her with real confidence as if you've done it a dozen times, and Wanda has no idea how often you've done it in your dreams. 

But reality is superior to any of those.

You grunt against her mouth, impatiently, and Wanda knows it's because of your trapped hands. But all she can do is smile mischievously, using hers to pull you by the shirt into the room.

The door is magically closed behind the two of you.

You're not surprised to be put on your knees again - even if a moan of protest escapes you. Wanda smiled, feeling a wave of excitement at your vulnerable anxiety, your eyes blindfolded and your head moving gently as if you expected to hear what she was up to.

Wanda bit her lip, working on her own clothes without magic, so that you could hear the motions. It brought a shiver to watch you squirm gently, swallowing dry as if you could picture her naked. And your pleading sigh, practically meowing her name, made Wanda lose her mind.

Now wearing only her underwear, she grabbed your face again and kissed you with everything she had - teeth and tongue - and swallowed every throaty moan until she needed to breathe again. When she pulled away, a line of saliva connected your lips.

"We need a system, darling..." She murmured, her fingers working to open the belt loop of your sweatpants. "You know the color one? Green for go, and red for stop?"

"Y-yes, Wanda, please, just keep going-" She interrupted with a kiss mixed with a giggle at your desperate response, the hands that had opened your pants helping you to the bed, laying you down. The magical chains had adapted, and your hands were attached to the headboard now, holding you open for Wanda. Your arousal grew so intense that Wanda could see your muscles twitching.

She sighed contentedly as she sat on your hips, watching your curious and expectant movements. Magic did the work of removing your pants, but Wanda was taking her time teasing your skin under your blouse, having the best time in the world watching you squirm and gasp.

"Tell me what you want." 

You swallowed dryly, forcing your voice out: "Anything you want to give me."

Wanda bit back a giggle, her fingers tracing your torso. "Good answer, darling." She sighs, and in one tug, rips off your shirt. The remaining pieces are swept away as you try to keep your breathing under control. Wanda adjusts herself and sits on your stomach, her wetness and warmth against your skin making you wince. "I have an idea, you let me use you and I might consider letting you touch me, what do you think?"

"Fuck." You moan, and Wanda can't let that one slide, though the slap on your cheek is light, and much more of a teasing warning than a punishment. It makes you throb inside.

"Language." She warns, and you sigh.

"I'm sorry."

Wanda strokes the soft red on your cheek, leaning in in a way that makes her wetness slide down your abdomen. The involuntary contraction of your muscles draws a gasp from both of you.

"Behave yourself." She warns, and it seems to be as much about the language as your slight movements, and although you nod, you repeat the gesture. Wanda gasps and grips your cheeks tightly. But you force your body upwards, and her grip loosens as she begins to grind against your stomach, giving in to the sensation. 

It brings some kind of pride to know that she's just as affected by this as you are, but even as she's drenching your skin with her hot pleasure, Wanda lowers herself to wrap her hands around your throat and as she uses your tense abdomen to reach her own orgasm, her grip warns you who's in charge. She doesn't take long to come - all the teasing outside has gotten under her skin - and it's the hottest thing that's ever occurred to you, even if you can't see it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." She gasps through the last waves of her orgasm, her hips thrusting hard into you, who pants beneath her. Her juices run down your belly and you squirm impatiently.

"Please, Wanda. Let me touch you." You beg breathlessly, but she kisses you hungrily, her hands going down to your waist. At first, you think she's going to give you what you want, but Wanda gropes you in an unusual way, and you hear her magic before you feel a new volume between your legs. It takes you by surprise, the enchanted item and your tense body makes Wanda break the kiss.

With her forehead pressed against yours, she asks: "Red or green, darling?" As if to encourage an answer, Wanda grabs the conjured fake cock in her hand. It's really enchanted because you feel everything and the pleasure of the moment's stimulation brings a gasp. You move your hips, in the same direction as her without realizing what you're doing, and Wanda giggles. "I still need words."

"Fuck, green, yes." You moan and Wanda gives you a warning bite on the lips for cursing, but your head is spinning with pleasure from the movements that continue between the two of you.

Toys are nothing new - but a magic strap-on that you can feel as an extension of you certainly is. And Wanda seems willing to drive you to the brink of insanity when she simply adjusts the toy at her entrance and sinks in all at once.

You whimper, almost coming at once. She rocks gently against your lap without caring.

It's hard to breathe, especially when Wanda picks up speed and practically jumps on your cock, her warm walls clenching around you, trying to stop you from pulling out. Everything is too hot and just when you're ready to come, Wanda grabs your throat.

"Hold it." It's an order, almost impossible to obey when she rides your lap with such determination. You choke, struggling against the chains, the hot knot in your belly begging to break.

You almost sob. "I-I can't... please-"

She lets out a wicked giggle and doesn't stop moving. "Don't worry, babe, you're not coming. No matter how much you want to."

Wanda moans, and suddenly her movements stop. She groans heavily, gets impossibly tight and you think you're going to come, but something holds you back. Almost like a force of strength, and when Wanda falls limp against you, and her body continues to tremble from the intensity of the orgasm in contrast to yours, burning with more frustration, you understand what she's done.

"Wanda, what the fuck?" you gasped in a mixture of disbelief and irritation. And instead of losing her temper, she giggles mischievously at you.

"That's why you don't deserve to cum, baby. You're a foul-mouthed brat." She bites your jaw as she sits up, and you gasp, feeling her clench around you. "You're not coming until you improve this attitude."

She thrusts into you as a warning and although you feel as if you could come, your body simply won't obey. Because of the blindfold, you can't see her red irises either. 

"You're so mean, Wanda." You groan, sighing at the sensation of her pulling out. 

"Oh, darling, we have barely started."

[pretty-little-mind33]

Kraven The Hunter x fem!reader

Summary: You meet a dangerous stranger in the woods...

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: kinda dark but still tame, cheating (reader), unprotected sex (pls use contraceptives in real life!), oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, degradation kink, rough sex, riding, he spits in reader's mouth 👀, kissing (duh), fingering, light misogyny, ik he has a name but i use Kraven in this, bad russian google translate maybe (I AM SO SORRY I DID MY BEST—if you speak Russian and have any suggestions… please 🙏 ) LISTEN…I'M SORRY LIKE I COULD NOT RESIST WRITING FOR HIM…HAVE YOU SEEN HIM? Probably NOT comic accurate…

SERGEI KRAVINOFF MASTERLIST

You don't know what you hate more at the moment—your boyfriend or the continuous sweat forming on your hairline from the dampness and heat. It's becoming dark outside, which should cool the air and help with the heat but not as much with how pissed you are at Chris. 

With a small squeal, you stumble on the roots of a tree, gasping as your ankle twists awkwardly in your hiking shoes and the buzz of an insect flies around your ear. You swat your hand near your cheekbone. You're holding the branches you'd found in one arm now as the stickiness of the air makes your skin feel heavy. 

Screw you bugs! 

Screw you woods!

And most of all screw you Chris!

You're too immersed in your hatred that you don't realize you've fallen into an animal trap until it's too late. You scream, the branches falling from your arm as your body folds and the net wraps around you, pulling you up into the air. The rope burns your exposed skin as you squirm. This had to be a nightmare, some sick cruel joke Chris is playing on you. You half hope he'll jump out from behind the bushes and laugh in your face. 

You wait in silence for a moment but your boyfriend doesn't show up. 

"Help!" You scream out helplessly, "Is anyone there? Please, I-I'm trapped," you call. 

"Hmm, yes, that is the point of one of those," a deep voice drawls from behind you and you wince. You try to strain your neck to look at the newcomer but you can't move enough to see who it is. It certainly isn't Chris. Chris doesn't sound like that.

"Please, can you help me?" you plead shamelessly now. 

Your heart is beating so hard. You hear the creak of leaves and dirt as whoever stands behind you walks closer to you. You feel them turn the entire net around and soon you're face to face with dark piercing golden eyes. A color you can only describe as supernatural. 

"Now why would I help you? You stumbled into my trap—that makes you my prize."

The man is tall and strong. His shoulders are broad and his hair curls messily across his forehead. He's wearing an open vest made of brown leather and adorned with fur, thick leather bracers, and a necklace where three animal teeth hang.

You concentrate on the sharpness of the teeth for a while, ignoring how very much shirtless the man is against them, but eventually you lose focus as with a swift motion, he uses a knife he'd taken from his belt to cut the net and you crash to the ground. 

Immediately, the dirt sticks to your sweaty skin as you scramble up onto your feet. You brush hair from your face and stumble back, almost falling again until the man's large, calloused hand finds your forearm and he holds you still. "Calm down," he says hoarsely, his eyes narrowing and his grip tightening.

"You don't wanna run from me, gorgeous. Clearly, you don't know your left and right around here but I do. So, stay still for me so I can think about what I'm gonna do with you."

He has a thick accent and you find yourself nodding. He drops your arm and you don't move. You look up at him as he looks around, rubbing his hand over his jaw like he's debating his next moves. You can see his knife, which he has secured into his belt again, glistens with blood and your stomach churns. 

"Please don't hurt me," you whisper.

The man stares at you blankly, his eyebrows crease as he looks you up and down. After a moment, the corners of his lips curl upwards and he moves closer. You squeeze your eyes shut, scared, and you gasp inaudibly as a tear escapes you. 

The man's thumb wipes it away, his hand cupping your cheek and he speaks a language you don't understand—russian you assume—"Я бы никогда не подумал причинить тебе боль, (I would never dream of hurting you)," His tone seems sweeter than how he'd spoken before but all hopes of him translating what he'd said disappear when he asks:

"Why are you out here all alone?"

You recover from his touch as it leaves you and you try and explain, "I'm not alone. My boyfriend," you turn to look behind you but all you see is the trees and hear the rustling of animals in the shadows, "is around here somewhere," you finish.  

"He left you? Alone? Now? It's almost dark," the man accuses as if it had been your choice.

"I- I was supposed to bring branches for the fire," you say quickly, gesturing to the branches that had fallen from your arms. The man looks where you're pointing and chuckles darkly. 

"Oh, милый (darling), those aren't branches. Those aren't even twigs."

You glare at him, not finding it funny at all, "Well, I couldn't carry the heavier ones," you defend and the man interrupts with another chuckle.

"Ah," he smirks, "so why was it you who went out? Can your man not care for you properly?"

You scrunch your nose, "What's that supposed to mean?"

The man's smirk turns into a smile, his teeth showing, and you can't help but feel butterflies in your stomach as he smiles. He's handsome—almost too handsome for someone who looks like they live in the woods.

"I mean," he drawls, leaning in even closer, "what kind of man allows his woman to do all his labor, leaving her on her lonesome and vulnerable to bad men like me?" Your breath hitches and your eyes widen when he finishes, "Your man is a pathetic little boy who doesn't deserve a woman like you."

Your mind races. You want to defend Chris, tell this man that Chirs is an amazing, loving, boyfriend—but another part of you can't deny Chris had basically coerced you onto this hike, on your birthday nonetheless, and then promptly abandoned you to fend for yourself.

However, those details weren't what your mind latched onto. No. As you stare at the handsome stranger, his words ring in your ears; "bad men like me"

The man can tell and he chuckles, "Don't look so scared. I like you. You're the most entertainment I've had in a while. Come," he beckons you over, turning around and gathering his net over his shoulder. When you don't follow instantly he calls out, "I can offer you shelter and food, and a fire," he adds with a glance over his shoulder, "Unless you'd rather find your way back to your boyfriend. Your choice, милый (darling)."

So, you end up in the man's home. The man—who had finally introduced himself as Kraven— lives in a small cabin that's obviously been worn out by time and weather. All the furniture looks barely used—as if there hasn't been life inside this cabin for a long time. 

Kraven's hospitality is coarse and oddly demanding as he pours you some honey tea he made himself and hands you some bread. You don't complain, you're starving. As Kraven makes a fire, he mumbles things in Russian and occasionally he'll look over at you, sending a shiver up your spine. Your hair is wet from the shower you just had and the strands stick to your cheeks.

Your mind wanders to Chris. Is he okay? It is a warmer night—so he really shouldn't freeze to death. You feel guilty for having accepted Kraven's offer but your thoughts are interrupted by the fire starting and Kraven stands. He runs a hand in his curls and drops his vest on the couch near you. You look up, suddenly extra aware of how shirtless and toned he is. 

"Продолжай смотреть на меня так, и у меня не будет другого выбора, кроме как трахнуть тебя прямо здесь и сейчас, милый, (Keep looking at me like that and I'll have no choice but to fuck you right here and now, darling)," Kraven says in a growl and the only word you recognize is the last one since he's used it a few times.

"What does милый mean?" you ask, attempting to pronounce the word but fumbling it. Kraven smirks and tilts his head as he walks closer until he's sitting next to you. 

"It's a term of endearment," he chuckles, "like darling—or honey."

You feel your cheeks burn. It's almost worse to hear him explain the term rather than just using it. You look down at your hands, feeling Kraven's warmth next to you. He smells like pine-wood and ashes and the scent is invading. You feel safer near him then you'd ever felt in Chris's arms. Guilt settles in your stomach again. 

"Ты так сладко пахнешь. (you smell so sweet)," Kraven says again and his hand comes up to move some stray hairs behind your ear. The air shifts and sexual tension settles around you and the feeling dances across your skin with fervor. 

You don't dare turn your head to look at him, afraid of how he's staring. "What does that all mean? The Russian?" you mutter.

"It means I want to kiss you, doll," Kraven chuckles and his hand cups your chin and he turns your head so you're staring at him. Your eyes are round and he chuckles, "what do you say милый (darling)? Will you indulge me? I wanna see if you taste as good as I think you do."

Your heart jumps in your throat and suddenly you feel very small compared to him. Your eyes flicker to his lips and then up to look into his eyes. They sparkle darkly and you wonder if anyone has ever been able to say no to those eyes. You surely won't be the first. You nod. 

Kraven leans in and captures your lips with passion so fierce you're afraid your lips will bruise. Still, they slide across his easily and it's as if you've been molded for one another. Kraven's hands tighten in your hair, bunching up the strands so he can control your head movements. Control. His entire demeanor screams control.

"Good girl," he mutters with a smirk against your lips and his hands move to grip your hips. You're wearing some shorts and a shirt you found in the bedroom when you changed from your shower.

You gasp as he helps you up and you straddle him now. With a humph, he lifts up his hips and slides his knife holster to the side so it isn't digging into your thigh or his. He grins wolfishly, continuing to kiss you. His lips trail up your neck and near your ear. 

It never felt like this with Chris. Sure, it had been fine—it had been good even in the beginning—but this? No, nothing could compare to this. 

Kraven's hands are large and strong against your skin as he kneads your waist and ass. "Ты такая хорошая девушка для меня (You're such a good girl for me)," he whispers, his voice hoarse, and as attractive as it is, you whine and furrow your brows.

"Please, don't talk in Russian anymore. I can't understand you," you pout, pulling him closer as you unconsciously grind your hips into his for more friction. "I wanna understand you," 

Kraven grips your hips harder and rolls them onto him, earning him a soft moan that falls from your lips. "Alright, darling, alright," he smiles and kisses you again. "Tell me, do'you want more from me? Seems like you do," he grinds your hips again, punctuating his words as he teases you mercilessly. 

You are at loss for words. This is wrong. You're cheating on your boyfriend, you try to remind yourself, with a man you met in the woods. But if this is so wrong, why does it feel so good? You moan. You desperately want to slide your shorts and panties down to allow even more friction on your clit. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you must look so needy. 

Kraven hooks his fingers in your waistband, running his thumb over your hip, reading your mind, "Is this what you want, darling? You wanna rub yourself on me like a little slut?" 

The insult shouldn't be as hot as it is, but when it's followed by a searing kiss, the word is honey on his tongue. You moan and drop your head in the crook of his neck, grasping onto his shoulders as you lift your hips so he can easily slide your panties and shorts down. "Please," you whisper, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders. 

Kraven smirks and, as he holds your nape with one hand, he uses the other and finds your pussy. He explores your folds, wanting to make sure you're wet and ready for him. He rubs your clit, earning him smaller, more high pitched sounds from your parted lips as your wetness seeps over his hand. 

Kraven teases you for a little while longer, murmuring praises in your ear until he suddenly spreads his legs and you fall to your knees in front of the couch. You gasp, looking up at him from the ground. 

He looks majestic, sitting there, as if the couch was his throne and he was a King. 

Kraven's smirk widens as he fists one hand in your hair, using his other hand to lick his fingers clean of your arousal and then swiftly unbuckle his belt. He stares at you as he does this and tilts his head. "D'you do this for your boyfriend, gorgeous?" Kraven seems amused by the word boyfriend, as if it's some game to him. 

You nod, sinking onto your heels as you watch Kraven pull out his cock. He's big and hard and your eyes widen. "D'you like doing this?" he asks, his voice low. You catch his eye and shake your head honestly. You didn't like giving Chris head—but Chris's dick didn't look like this. Your eyes snap up to Kraven's cock. 

"You'll like it with me," he adds, smirking, and guides your head to his cock. You let him, having no complaints as you take him in your mouth. You're nervous at first, unsure of what to do, but soon you gain more confidence as you try and take him even deeper. 

You gag a little and Kraven just tightens his hand in your hair. 

"You can take it. I know you can, doll. There," he coos, clearly enjoying your work as you adjust your mouth around him. "There, yeah. That's my good girl." Kraven grunts out the word "my" and warmth pools in your stomach. You moan around his cock, sucking faster as if to respond yes, I am yours.

With a pop, he pulls your head away and tilts your chin. He helps you up to straddle him again, keeping you eye level as he positions his cock at your entrance. He squeezes your cheeks, opening your lips, and then spits into your mouth before claiming your lips again. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel him against you and he sinks you down onto him. 

"Can you feel me, милый (darling)?" he grunts, moving you on his cock slowly, torturing you. He chuckles darkly when you whine. 

"Mmh," is the only sound you make as he fills you up. It feels so good. 

"You feel full, hm?" Kraven taunts, moving your hips a little faster as his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise. He pulls one away a moment and rips your shirt, attaching his lips to your hardened nipples as you squeal. 

"Yes, oh, I feel so full," you whimper, bouncing up on him, helping him so you can go even faster and deeper. "Shit, you're so big."

"Шлюха (slut)," he groans, the word slipping past his lips in ecstasy as he kisses and sucks across your chest. You whine, wanting him to tell you what the word means so you can understand him but Kraven smirks. He kisses your collarbone and then, using his strength, he easily flips you over so you're laying on the couch and he's on top of you now. 

Kraven sinks his cock back into you as he snaps his hips hard. You gasp, wrapping your arms around him and your nails slide up and down his back, and he groans with pleasure at the sting. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck please," you plead, eyes rolling as your body shivers.

"You're so tight around me. As if you were made just for me," he says as he continues to fuck into you. "Does your boyfriend fuck you this good?" Kraven asks, his accent thicker as he loses himself in the pleasure. His hand comes to wrap around your jaw as he holds you in place under him. 

You shake your head. 

"Слова (Words)," he growls but then curses and says, "Words, darling. Tell me."

"N-no. He doesn't fuck me this good," you whisper as Kraven's cock slides into you. You're so wet and he's so hard and this is so so wrong. 

"Yeah? You gonna run back to him now, bunny?" he snarls and nips as your earlobe. He thrusts harder and smirks at the pet name. "Hmm. run little bunny, back to your poor excuse of a boyfriend? No," Kraven grunts, as if he's made a decision, "I'm keeping you, doll. I can take care of you better than he can."

You moan at this and nod, "Please," you whisper, feeling your thighs clench around him as you can feel your orgasm approaching. 

Kraven feels it too. "You're squeezing around me, Шлюха (slut), do you wanna come?" Kraven teases and his thrusts slow. You whine and look at him, your eyes becoming teary from need. You nod.

He laughs and kisses your lips with a grin, "Alright, you can come. Go on, let yourself come all over my cock," he smirks against your skin as his sharp teeth nip at your neck. 

 You whine, letting your body finally relax as you come. You gasp, your eyes rolling from pleasure as your legs feel like jello. Kraven finishes inside you with a grunt and you whimper at the feeling.

He smiles as you sink into the cushions and your eyes flutter. His large hand comes to hold behind your head as he pulls you up and leans you against his chest. 

While Kraven's touch is comforting, it's also possessive and claiming. His thumb strokes over your hair and his lips kiss your head. He's holding you so close you're almost afraid he'll never let you go. You sigh when he slides out and picks you up in his arms as he stands.

"Good girl," he mutters as he walks you to the bathroom and adds, "You did so well for me." You let yourself relax in his arms as he promises he'll be here from now on. You're his now. 

You're so blissed out from your orgasm that your mind doesn't understand what that truly means. Instead, you shut your eyes and let him take care of you and, with a small smile, you think,

Happy. Fucking. Birthday. To. Me.

[chiabeanz]

Ice Packs and Peachy Delights

PAIRING: logan howlett x reader (she/her pronouns are used) SUMMARY: reader just got her wisdom teeth out and isn’t feeling very well, wade and logan are here to help | pure fluff, some tension and some swearing, PG-13 at most. WORD COUNT: 3k

-

The clinic's fluorescent lights flickered as the receptionist handed you a small slip of paper. “You’re all set,” she said, her tone a mix of sympathy and professionalism. You nodded, barely registering her words, and tried to say thank you through the gauze, probably sounding like something else completely but the receptionists understood. The local anesthesia had worn off just enough for you to feel the ache in your jaw, and the pain was starting to get worse by the minute.

Your face was a mix of soreness and the strange feeling of having no back molars. The dentist had handed you a small bag, its contents a bizarre souvenir from the day’s adventure—your wisdom teeth. You clutched the bag tightly, half-dismayed, half-amused at the thought of carrying around bits of yourself like a twisted memento, before carefully placing it into your tote bag.

You stumbled out into the waiting area, where Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool, was leaning against the wall, casually flipping through a comic book. His eyes lit up when he saw you, and he pushed himself off the wall with a flourish. “Look at you! Alive and… well, mostly intact.”

“I feel like shit,” you muttered, attempting a weak smile. Your face was still numb, but you could definitely feel the throbbing pain settling in. The gauze stuffed in your mouth made you talk with a muffled drawl.

"Well, I can promise you that you don’t look as bad as you feel." Wade tried to cheer you up, but you shot it down with a deadpan reply. "With blood pouring out of my mouth?" You say into the piece of tissue you've taken out of your bag to put over your mouth to at least save the eyes of the passerby, both of you walking towards the parking lot in front of the dentist after picking up the meds that were prescribed.

"Still a friendlier look than when you tried to throw that chair at me two months ago." He points out. "It was a joke, Wade." You reply trying to speak without messing with what feels like a crime scene in your mouth.

He replies in a softer tone, using an uncommon quieter voice he rarely used while sticking the keys into the ignition. "Still, it wasn’t very funny. Vanessa gave me that chair." You felt a pang in your chest, you didn’t mean for the conversation to shift like this, especially since he insisted from the day on that you mentioned that you had to get an appointment to get your wisdom teeth out because the pain and discomfort just kept coming and going to the point where you just did not want to procrastinate anymore, that he was going to pick you up from the dentist.

You replied, a bit more pronounced than you wanted to especially with the two pieces of gauze still sitting in the same spot that you, somehow, forgot in this second "I told you I didn’t knooooow and I already said I was SORRY- OW!" The gums didn’t like that, so you were reminded. You carefully moved your hand to cup your cheek which was slowly but surely becoming more swollen.

"Ok that one's on me," Wade replied, smiling again. "For what it's worth, I forgave you for that long ago, I know you didn't know. And I'll shut up now, for the sake of your squirell-hiding-a-fuck-ton-of-nuts cheeks." You could only throw him a heavy case of side-eye because was he wrong? The reflection of yourself glancing back at you on your phone screen would say no. Your eyes moved from the phone in your hands to a shiny piece of plastic reflecting the sunlight, picking it up from the opened bag sitting on your lap.

As Wade drove, he glanced over at you and noticed the bag you held. “What’s in the bag?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

With a smirk, you lifted it up. “My wisdom teeth.”

Wade’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Oh, that’s just wrong! You’re bringing home your wisdom like a trophy? How’s that for bragging rights?”

You chuckled, despite the pain. “Yeah, well, I figured I’d keep them as a reminder of how much I’ve endured for the sake of dental hygiene.”

Wade shook his head, laughing. “You’re braver than I am. I’d have left those suckers in the dumpster. I wanted to make a joke about your loss of wisdom but I guess you're still holding onto it after all."

You both shared a laugh, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics as Wade maneuvered through traffic. The absurdity of the situation made the discomfort more bearable, and the humor helped in forgetting, if only momentarily, the throbbing pain in your jaw.

---

By the time you reached your apartment, you were a picture of post-surgical misery: bloodstained gauze, swollen cheeks, and a general air of crankiness.

Wade was rummaging through your cabinets and muttering curses under his breath. “So, what you need is... Well you actually prepped everything here, I see ice packs, painkillers, and baby food- Look at this! We have 'Applesauce,' 'Carrot Puree,' and 'Peachy Delight.' If you have some left by the end of this let me know some of these actually sound kinda good-.” "Fuck…" You sighed when the realization hit.

You forgot the one thing that honestly feels like the most important thing right now with the presence of the blood and saliva mixture in your mouth. "I forgot to buy gauze and the clinic only gave one spare pair. Shiiiit."

You leaned back onto the couch before sitting up straighter again, reminded of what your dentist had said: "Try to sit up the first few hours after the surgery until the bleeding stops." You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

He turned to you “I’ll  make a run to the store then." You grimaced, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.

"Please don't." You replied. "You already went all the way to pick me up, I'm not gonna let you go grocery shopping too."

He smirked and said "What are you gonna do? Stop me by challenging me to a chubby cheeks duel?" If only looks could kill, he would've been six feet under.

"Besides I'm not gonna leave you here all alone. You know what would make this whole recovery thing a lot better? Logan. He’s just around the corner. I could get him to swing by and keep you company.”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice muffled by the gauze. “I look like crap. I don’t want him seeing me like this.”

Wade raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You sure? He’s a big softie. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind seeing you like this.”

You shook your head, wincing at the pain. “No way. I’m fine. I don’t need him to—”

“Okay, okay. I hear you,” Wade said, though his grin suggested he wasn’t taking you seriously. He fished out his phone and started typing a message, not giving you a chance to protest further.

"Wade, I swear to god if you-" You speak after him as he closes the cabinets and grabs the car keys that were just recently plopped down onto the counter, making his way to the front door.

"Sorry can’t hear you through all the gauze byeeee." With that he slams the door behind him, leaving you to fume silently. The thought of Logan seeing you in such a state was mortifying. The last thing you wanted was to be seen like this by ANYONE, let alone HIM.

---

A short while later, the doorbell rang, and you shuffled to answer it, barely managing to pull yourself together. Logan stood on the other side, looking both bewildered and amused. “Wade said you needed some help?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over your flushed face and the half-empty bag of ice clutched to your cheek. Thank god the ice chips hack worked, you don’t think you would've opened the door if you still had to bite down on the gauze. Pretending to be dead would've been the better alternative. Maybe.

You tried to muster a smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. “Yeah, well... Wade insisted. I didn’t ask for this.”

Logan’s expression softened as he stepped inside, a soft chuckle escaping him. “I see. Well, let’s make sure you’re comfortable, yeah?” You caught him glancing around the room, probably noting the slight disarray as you tried to make yourself comfortable.

As he made his way to the couch, you watched him with a mix of relief and embarrassment. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of it.”

 “No trouble at all. Wade can be a bit pushy, but he’s got a good heart.” He replied and sat down on the couch next to you. The minutes ticked by, with Logan asking gentle questions and helping you adjust the ice pack. He didn’t push you to talk much, which you appreciated more than you could say.

In a moment of comfortable silence, Logan notices you shifting the ice pack in your hands. "You alright with that?" he raises his brow.

"Yeah, just a bit cold, hands are a bit frostbitey but it's fine." You reply smiling sheepishly, waving your other hand to help signify that it really is not as bad, because honestly, nothing can feel worse than your bottom jaw right now.

With that, he reaches over the couch, automatically scooting closer to you. "Give me that." He gestures towards the ice pack, making your hands a bit tingly, whether it's the cold, the nerves from the procedure, or him, you couldn't tell anymore.

"No, it's alright really. I'm serious." You reply, only for him to shut your attempt down with a short, stoic, yet sweet: "So am I." You stare into his eyes for a split second too long before you defeatedly hand the ice pack over to him.

Logan had taken to holding the ice pack for you, his touch surprisingly gentle. At first, you’d insisted you could manage it yourself. "I can do it myself, you know." You say, your voice now only a tiny bit above a whisper with how close his face has gotten to yours, his touch truly careful, becoming even softer when he doesn't miss the tiny wince that you tried to suppress when the ice pack met your cheek. You could feel the warmth of his body with how close he was to you at this point, contrasting the coldness of the ice.

“I know you can,” he said softly, “but I want you to know that you don’t always have to.”

You really hoped that he didn't see your eyes falling to his lips for a millisecond before you forcefully pulled them back to his eyes, but by the way his gaze softened and one corner of his lips shifted up ever so slightly, you couldn't be so sure anymore.

The comfortable silence settled back in again, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of your ice pack. The shift within the air, while small, was quite hard to ignore, existing like a floating invisible thread drawing you closer and closer. Logan’s presence was soothing. The way he moved, the way he breathed, the way his eyes crinkled with quiet amusement—it all made you feel oddly safe despite the pain you were in.

Just as that thread pulls you two closer than ever before, a pair of red scissors and way too fucking many grocery bags bursts through the door and cuts it straight down the middle. How he managed to unlock the door so quietly, and how the door remained in one piece, still attached to its hinges will forever remain a mystery.

“Guess who’s back with your very important gauze and baby food, and yes, I managed to avoid all the worst of the baby food aisle!”

Wade burst through the door, balancing a collection of grocery bags and a mischievous grin.

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, and you couldn’t help but laugh despite the throbbing in your mouth.

Wade set the bags down with a dramatic flourish. “I see Logan has managed to make himself comfortable. Good job, buddy. I knew you’d be the perfect substitute for me.”

Logan rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips as he held the ice pack in a way like he was offering it to you but also hoping that you'd let him hold it for you a bit longer. “He certainly knows how to make an entrance.”

You take the ice pack from his hand whispering a soft thank you.

Wade’s gaze turned back to you, his grin softening. “So, how’s our patient holding up? I got you a mountain of gauze because you can never have too much gauze. And some top-of-the-line baby food, most of this is for me but that's not the point."

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Thanks, Wade. You really didn't have to.”

He shrugged, winking at you. “Hey, you’re the one who got her wisdom teeth yanked out. It’s practically my duty to be overly dramatic about it…Wait, don't tell me you don't need gauze anymore." He adds as he notices the lack of gauze-ness in your speech.

"I'm afraid so since you chose to take your fucking time," Logan adds as he gets up to put the now almost room-temperature ice pack back in the freezer, switching it with a new one.

You couldn’t help but smile at the friendly banter. “I appreciate it. Both of you.”

Your gaze lingered on his hands which, thank god, he didn't pick up on. Turning to Wade, however, confirmed that your eyes weren't as secretive as you hoped they were, as he wiggled his eyebrows at you before winking, earning a subtle middle finger from you while you pretended to move a strand off from your face.

Logan walks towards the couch and hands you a neatly wrapped icy cool ice pack which you take from his hands, fingertips brushing, but pulling yourself together pretending that that didn't happen because you've let yourself slip one too many times already today. You lean back against the couch and softly put the ice pack back on your cheek, feeling a bit sleepy after the entire ordeal today. Wade turns the TV on to see if anything interesting is on, settling on the armchair next to the couch while Logan takes the gauze out of the bags.

"Do you store these in your bathroom or the kitchen?" He asks looking at you, whose eyes are closed, trying not to think about the pain. Ibuprofen WILL be taken after the next meal you promised yourself.

"Both are fine but you can leave it in the bathroom, on the shelf under the mirror maybe." You reply.

"Yes ma'am," Logan replies causing you to take a subtle but deeper breath. Why was that so attractive, c’mon he's just trying to help you out what is wrong with you, you thought?

You could only say "Thank you." in return, trying to keep your voice as unaffected by whatever that was.

As Logan comes back into the living area he gestures to Wade and says "You bought so much baby food, do you know that?"

"Do you have something that you want to tell us about?" You open your eyes and jokingly raise your brow at him.

"Not in the way that you think, no, but this baby right here-" he holds his stomach. "Loves to explore all types of cuisines and he's been lustin' after 'Peachy Delight' from the second he laid his eyes on her."

"Your stomach has eyes?" You and Logan deadpan at the same time making you look at each other in amusement. You add a quick great minds think alike, narrowing your eyes in a tone of semi-seriousness but also lighthearted comment before tuning back into Wade's culinary rant. That rant then turned into a dinner party of three, taste-testing of the best of the best jars of baby food, according to the now culinary master apparently. Before the conversation moves to the couch and armchair in front of the TV.

A few more hours in, the ibuprofen after dinner has kicked in, and the comfort of the fluffy blanket you have draped over your thighs has returned, no longer being drowned out by the throbbing pain in your jaw, which is subsiding bit by bit. This return to coziness has made your eyelids feel rather heavy, something Logan noticed when he sensed your breathing become more calm and even. Wade was too glued to the TV to notice anything really. Logan’s gaze falls on your slightly flushed face caused by the ice packs that have been held against your face for most parts of the day before his gaze drifts from your cheeks to your lashes.

“You’re starting to fall asleep,” Logan said softly, adjusting the ice pack gently. He has to fight to tear his eyes away and redirect them back to the TV. “We should let you get some rest.”

You blinked sleepily, nodding in agreement. “I think this is the first time it doesn’t feel like I'm being screamed at by my own jaw since this morning.”

Logan offered a reassuring smile, carefully standing up from the couch to not disturb you, and stretched slightly. “If you need anything, just knock on the wall. We’re right next door.”

You managed a small smile, feeling a sense of comfort in his words. “Thanks, Logan. I’ll do that.”

Wade, now standing by the door with a grocery bag of baby food in hand, gave a dramatic sigh. “Alright, alright. I guess we’ll leave you to your rest. But don’t be shy about knocking. Seriously, I’ve got more baby food than any one person should ever need.”

Logan smiles at you while he grabs the doorknob. “Let’s give her some space. You know where we are if anything comes up.”

You watched them with sleepy eyes, feeling a mix of warmth and gratitude. Logan’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, a hint of something unspoken in his eyes.

“Rest well,” he said softly, heading towards the door with Wade in tow.

As the door clicked shut behind them, you settled into the couch, feeling the soothing quiet of the apartment around you. The soft murmurs of their conversation through the thin wall were a comforting reminder of their presence. With a contented sigh, you allowed yourself to slip into sleep.

-

A/N: just got all my wisdom teeth out this morning so this is how i cope with the pain y'all, i also usually don't write stuff so i'm sorry if this was shite oops (edit: there were so many typos and mistakes i missed last night i’m so sorry to everyone who read that version omg)

[catcze]

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 ### : 」 Modern AU ish !! GN Reader gets drunk at the club !! But Navia and Clorinde stay with you through it tho, because they're your good friends !! This is literally just humor and reader not recognizing Wrio but gushing over your husband so so much !! Reader swears when drunk bc same lmao

Had a vision. No editing. Feast on this while I feast on my Nissin Bulalo cup noodles.

The moment Wriotheseley steps into the club, he immediately spots you. Even over the painful strobing lights, the sea of dancing bodies, he can single you out a mile away— regardless of the fact that you're slumped over the bar, drunk out of your mind.

"Navia, Clorinde," he greets with a wave, hurrying over. His voice has to be almost a yell to be heard over the loud music.

They sit on either barstool beside you, bracketing you between them. When he approaches, Clorinde hands him your phone, and he knows who he has to thank for the 'come pick your bae up' text. The moment he's close enough, he's already looking you over, making sure you're alright.

"Sweetheart," Wriothesley tries to rouse you, but you just mumble and splay out further on the bar. Your hand knocks into a mostly-emptied glass of what he can only assume was tonight's poison of choice.

"How many—"

"More than five," Navia tells him, grinning sheepishly, just as Clorinde says, "Nine."

Your husband shakes his head fondly, sighing, and turns back to you. "Sweetheart," he tries again, voice a bit louder. He places a heavy hand on your waist, coaxing you up. "Let's g—"

But at the touch, your eyes —still hazy and unfocused on account of the nine drinks you've had— shoot open, and you whirl on him in your seat. If not for the hold he still keeps on your hip, you may have just toppled over. There's a look of unbridled, drunken rage on your face, more comical than actually terrifying.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" you hiss, slurring, as you wrench his hand off of you and fling it away with such contempt that he has to stifle a laugh. "Keep your hands off of the masterpieces, bucko."

Not even giving him a moment to breathe, you shove your left hand in his face, vehemently pointing at the ring that sits on your fourth finger. "I! Am! Married! If I tell my husband that you're out here getting handsy, he's gonna come and kick your ass sooo hard. He's gonna rock your shit, you trick ass bitch, if i don't do it myself!"

Wriothesley shouldn't find this funny— he shouldn't. But Navia and Clorinde and fighting smiles behind their palms themselves, and he can't help the grin that breaks across his face.

"Oh? Is your husband that strong?" He can't help but ask, and you scoff.

"Is he that strong— you wanna find out for yourself? Huh? Wriothesley could— could—" you hiccup, and he has to fight the urge to coo. "He could knock you out with just a flick of his fingers, you know!"

"And is your Wriothesley more handsome than me?"

You turn your nose up at him, scowling. Once, twice, you try to cross your arms in contempt as you drunkenly look him up and down.

"You're alright," you begrudge, "but my Wriothesley is the— the most handsomest man in the world! The fucking prettiest! No one holds a candle to my husband and his broad shoulders and his thick thighs and his... and his adorable smile."

Wriothesley has to bite his lip to control his grin. Navia is fighting for her life to stifle her giggles, and Clorinde hides her amused smile behind a cough.

It's like that loosened your tongue though, and you continue on, oblivious to the embarrassment you'd face the next morning.

"And he— he'll be very upset when he finds out that you're here, hitting on someone who is very happily married to one of the best men on this side of the fucking galaxy, so— so you can fuck off!"

He really, really tries his best to not laugh.

You huff, patting down your pockets and grumbling incoherently about your phone, not even questioning it when Wriothesley hands it back to you himself. It takes only a second of you furiously tapping your screen before his own phone buzzes in his pants.

[Sweetheart ♡]

babe pookie pick e ip plrase im drunk and i wanna go homd snd yhere's this assholr hitting o me love yoy [location attached]

As soon as the texts go out though, you yawn and the energy leaves you in one fell swoop. Wriothesley manages to catch you before you face plant back on the bar and break your nose, maneuvering you to lean into his chest. The fight escaping you, you nuzzle into his black button up, rubbing your face against him like a big cat.

"Mmm. I know that cologne." Blearily, you look up and make eye contact with those pretty, pretty blue eyes, and your face immediately lights up in the most delighted grin. "Wrio!" you gasp, arms coming to wrap around his waist and pull him towards you. You're still drunk, still pretty out of it, but it melts his heart how overjoyed you are to see him.

"Hi sweetheart," he says fondly, running a hand through your hair. Happily, you lean into his touch. "Have a fun time with Navia and Clorinde?"

"Mhm. Missed you though." Then, your eyes pop open and you sit up, looking around furiously as if you're looking for someone. When you don't find this person, you lean in to whisper conspiratorially in his ear— "There was this guy who tried to make the moves on me, you know! But I told him that I'm super duper married and with the bestest husband ever— if you wanna double team him, I'm sure the guy's around here somewhere."

But your husband just chuckles, pulling you back into his embrace. Smoothly, Wriothesley has you wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist so he can easily pick you up and into his arms.

"You two need a ride home?" He asks the two, but they shake their heads.

"Appreciated, but we only split a drink between us," Clorinde says, already standing up alongside Navia. "We'll be fine."

"Get home safe, you two!" The blonde says, waving you off, and that's that.

Wriothesley easily maneuvers the two of you out of the club, you having already fallen asleep on his shoulder. He can hear your soft breaths in his ear and feel the way you cling to him even in your sleep. No doubt you'd have a raging hangover tomorrow, but that's okay— because you'll have him to take care of you, too.

Bonus!!

You wake up to hands down the worst fucking headache in your whole life. Your temple hurts so hard that you swear your head's gonna crack open like an egg. Groaning, you pull the covers over your head and roll over, blotting out the mid-day sunlight as best as you can.

There's a chuckle from the other side of the bed, then weight moving across the sheets— then your husband's face appears in front of you, under the blankets too.

"So, darling sweetheart of mine" he starts, voice soft as to not aggravate your headache, and you're grateful. "What were you saying about my broad shoulders and my thick thighs?"

You're suddenly not as grateful.

Promptly, you kick him out of your blanket cave, and he goes with a laugh. He leaves you grumbling on the bed, cursing out all the drinks you had last night and swearing to never ever ever drink again.

Wriothesley grins, shutting the curtains of your bedroom as he ambles out the door, dead set on getting you water, advil, and something to eat.

Maybe by the end of the day, you'd add 'endlessly doting' to the list.

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

When they misunderstand and kiss your cheek - svt 96z

💋Who; Seventeen 96z (individually) x reader 💋What; lil fluff reactions 💋Wordcount; 1.7ish altogether 💋Warnings; Nothing, I don't think

Read the other versions here; 95z - 97z - Maknae3

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- I wrote Jihoon's one maybe 2 weeks ago so that's why his is longer, it's not a favouritism thing or anything lol, just happened that way.

💋Junhui💋 Your relationship with Junhui has always been very playful. Of course, you can both be serious when you need to be but you like the carefree atmosphere between you, it's brought you closer quicker than you've ever experienced with anyone before.

At any given time you two can be found playing around together. Today is no different. You're both seated on the floor and you can't even remember why anymore, all you know is you have Jun's pretty face in your hands as you playfully squeeze his cheeks and smoosh his skin around while he lets you, giggling along to your teasing babytalk.

"Look at your handsome face Junnie," You coo, pressing his cheeks in a way that pouts out his lips comically. "Kissy kissy," You make a kiss sound with your own mouth then lower your arms. You've been playing with his face for long enough that your arms are genuinely starting to ache.

But Jun thinks you're playfully making a move, he's aware there's something between you and has been thinking about making a move himself but just hasn't figured out how. So he takes a quick breath in to gather his nerve then leans in, fully intending to press his lips to yours yet you've turned your head to the side to locate your phone so his lips land on your cheek.

"Oh, you moved," He realises, instantly leaning back a little. You look at him in shock yet he doesn't notice, already gently cupping your face to make sure you don't move as he leans in this time. The kiss is very soft, very sweet and lasts only a second or two before he leans back to look into your eyes. He doesn't even notice you're shocked.

It's not until much further into your relationship that this situation comes up in conversation and he learns that you hadn't been making a move at all. Though you make certain to point out that you are very glad he had misunderstood and kissed you.

💋Soonyoung💋 Lately, Soonyoung has been working longer harder hours so when it comes to hanging out you invite him to your place to just relax with some home-cooked food, instead of one of your usual little adventures wandering around and finding new places to shop, eat and explore.

After eating, you move over to the couch and you're not surprised by how close Soonyoung chooses to sit, he's affectionate enough normally so when he's sleepy, it's even more intense. But you don't mind, it's cute. He's cute.

Something in the movie you've been watching reminds you that you need to order some new items for your home so you start to scroll through your usual sites on your phone while Soonyoung fights to stay awake to watch the film.

To try and force himself more alert, Soonyoung lifts his heavy head up from the back of the couch and looks at you. What he sees it you mindlessly tapping and poking your cheek as you scroll and add things to your basket.

Normally, Soonyoung would be very aware that it's pretty common behaviour for you, he's witnessed it so much that he doesn't even really notice it anymore. But today, the poor guy is far too sleepy to recall that information.

A soft little pleased and interested sound leaves his parted lips and then he leans over before you can question the sound and plants the sweetest kiss against the apple of your cheek. And then immediately settles his head on your shoulder to happily curl up and finally give in to his body begging for slumber.

You can't see his face from this angle, but he has a content little smile on his lips and after a moment of registering what had happened, you wear the same one.

💋Wonwoo💋 It's a given that being close to Wonwoo means that at some point, you will wind up playing video games with him, whether or not you're all that into them.

Although he won't go easy on most people, he does you, or at least he used to because these days after playing together so much, you've improved a hell of a lot. He's still better than you in this particular game you two always play together but you can more than hold your own now and he trusts you as his teammate to back him up without constantly glancing over at your screen to make sure you're playing right. He knows you are.

During a break after winning one level and waiting for the next one to be ready, Wonwoo looks over at you and finds you cutely pouting and poking your cheek. He doesn't realise you're practising a trend that your friend wants to record with you later.

He just thinks you're asking for a kiss so he leans over with his heart racing and presses his lips to your cheek gentle, barely a brush of his lips against your skin really before leaning back.

You look at him with wide eyes. "What was that for?" You whisper dumbstruck.

"You were being cute and pointing to your cheek like you want a kiss." He shyly copies the action you had been doing in explanation.

"It's a trend."

"Oh," He blushes darker and looks away as he adjusts his seating position and tries to pretend the whole thing never happened.

"I guess it's a good thing I was poking my cheek and not my lips." You joke, trying to break the tension that's appeared.

"Why?" He returns, sounding and looking offended as he frowns at you a little. "Is that such a bad thought?"

Your response comes out in a mumble. "You kissing me?"

"Yeah."

You stare at him for a few seconds then lower your gaze to his lips shortly before locking your eyes with his own, your cheeks now pinkening to match his own. "No."

Wonwoo is clearly surprised by your answer, he inhales with a soft little almost gasp as his eyes widen slightly. And then he leans over the arm of his gaming chair to gently touch his fingers to your jaw and lead you to meet his lips. "This isn't a prank thing, is it?" He checks when he suddenly pulls back to look into your eyes.

"I wouldn't do that to you."

And he knows that really, but he just wanted to double-check so he doesn't make a fool of himself again. Wonwoo smiles at you softly and then he's kissing you again with the game entirely forgotten.

💋Jihoon💋 It's one of the rare times you manage to actually get Jihoon to leave his apartment on his day off. You even managed to convince him to go for a walk through the park, though you've now been sat side by side under the shade of a tree people watching for at least an hour as you make up stories about the strangers that stumble into view.

"What?" Jihoon asks confused when you cut off mid-sentence about the elderly couple on the bench by the path being secret supervillains. "Did they kill someone?" He jokes, looking over at the couple yet he just finds them sitting cutely, hands clasped together on their pressed-together thighs and smiling at one another utterly enamoured. Jihoon can't deny it, it's a heartwarming sight. His lips even twitch up a little when the husband kisses his wife's cheek sweetly making her giggle bashfully.

"I don't remember the last time someone kissed my cheek." You admit with a sigh. Seeing the couple had made you feel a little sad and like you're missing out, all because you saw the husband kiss his wife, twice now. It was sweet and made you crave that yourself.

Jihoon stares at you for a moment, he knows you have a habit of not outright saying what you want so he regularly has to put the pieces together himself, not that he minds. And that's what he assumes is happening here, you're indirectly telling him to kiss you. It's not exactly something you two do but he can never turn you down.

So with pink cheeks, he leans over and softly touches his pursed lips to your cheek. He lingers for a second before settling back against the tree behind you both while looking back over to the bench. The couple are now walking off arm in arm and still smiling adoringly at each other.

Jihoon can feel your gaze on him so when his cheeks aren't quite so flushed, he bravely turns his head to look at you. You're staring at him wide-eyed with your fingers delicately touching where his lips had been less than a minute ago.

And this is where he realises he entirely misunderstood. "I thought you were hinting!" He explains quickly as his blush darkens rapidly, even spreading over the back of his neck and ears, though luckily his hair covers those areas from your view. "You're always saying things and I have to read between the lines to understand what you want! I thought this was that!"

For a few long seconds, you say nothing, just stare at his panicked expression, and then you grin slyly. "I don't remember the last time someone bought me dinner."

It has the intended effect and Jihoon immediately relaxes with an incredulous laugh while vaguely throwing up one arm a little. "Yah! You brat! I bought you dinner last week,"

"Did you?" You sigh dramatically and flop over to cutely rest your head on his shoulder while batting your eyelashes at him. "I can't remember, it was so long ago, Jihoonie."

He stares at you for a moment then, like always, he gives in with a sigh. "What do you want?"

"For you to know that I love you endlessly." You coo and poke at where his cheeks are warming all over again at your words. The tone may be joking but he knows you're being sincere, he knows you well enough to at least know that much.

"Shut up and pick somewhere to go." He huffs, gently shoving you off of him so that he can get up. He pulls you up a second later and lets you take hold of his arm as you walk off together.

You may not be smiling adoringly at one another like the elderly couple and the love in both of your eyes may be shyly directed elsewhere, but it's a start.

[prettyboykatsuki]

The am can not come faster because I need elaboration on Isagi reading fanfic over your shoulder and just fingering you

all the things you're thinking of | i. yoichi

✮ tags ; fem + afab!reader, established relationship, aged-up characters (they're in their early twenties), teasing, fingering, doggy-style, isagi is the slightest bit mean, reader like. masturbates in bed next to isagi but not indepth, mention of rough sex, the petname beautiful

✮ wc ; 3k (idk either)

✮ a/n ; isagi...hicc...sniff...i want ur dick so bad... wuh

✮ synopsis ; isagi thinks the porn comics you read on your phone are too interesting to ignore.

Isagi thinks your hobbies are cute.

He can't really follow along with them, though he does try his best. When Nagi comes over and the two of you have in-depth conversations about powers systems or scaling - most of it goes in one ear and out the other. He knows what things you like. Well enough, at least, to buy things for you overseas.

But he can't tell studios apart, and he doesn't know why you hate that one cat villager on your island so much apart from the fact he doesn't fit the vibe. All the same, he still follows along with you. He clumsily joins you when you watch things together and he's picked up a handful of series from your roster to talk about when it comes up in conversation.

Most of all, Isagi knows you like to read.

You never tell him what you're reading. He catches glimpses. You and Niko share interests in webcomics. But he knows there's other things that you're not too keen on sharing. And maybe he's too nosy for his own good, but you're always seem so glued to the screen. Always scrambling to put it away, ask him about his work.

It's cute, really. Whatever it is, he's not going to judge you.

Finding out you're reading graphically sexual content, however, does something to him he isn't all the way sure how to explain.

He knows it now. The face you make, though he doesn't think you know you're making it. You hide it well, it's almost impossible for him to gauge - except your breath hitches just a little and you fold in on yourself. You're engaged and sometimes, you chew the inside of your mouth before it gets to the end.

You always go back to talking to him like it's nothing. You'd probably insist it's nothing too. It's just something you like to look at from time to time.

But you read it so often. He'll wake up and catch you when you're not sleeping soundly next to him, eyes on the screen and legs held so tight together. You get tense. You toss and turn like you're debating it.

You've only ever masturbated about it once that Isagi knows. Did it quietly with your teeth in a pillow - a broken sigh leaving your mouth with relief. You washed your hands and went straight to sleep. Isagi stared at the ceiling with the worst hard-on he's ever had to endure in his life.

He's never brought it up to you because he's sure you'll be embarrassed. Until now, he didn't want to make you feel humiliated. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and he's not so inconsiderate to make you feel that.

But, it's been a busy week and he's pent up. You look cute laying in your shared bed, with your hair put up and your skin clean- phone away from him so he can't see the screen. He should be a little nicer to you about this.

Knowing that doesn't stop him. He stares at you from the doorway.

You put your phone down and he has to stop himself from smiling.

"Oh," Your voice is heavy with lust but it softens immediately "You ready for bed?"

"Mm," He yawns, coming around towards you. Lifting the sheets, he slides in bed next to you, immediately wrapping an arm around your waist with a deep sigh "Not feeling very tired today."

"Really? Practice normally sucks up all your energy."

He presses his nose to your neck and kisses the skin on your nape. "I got out of running the last round of drills 'cause I scored a bunch during practice matches."

You reach around behind him, softly petting his hair "Yeah? Good job, baby."

He could just initiate like this. You wouldn't turn him away. He feels bad for what he wants - particularly that he's wanting to humiliate you a bit.

Still. Just a little teasing shouldn't hurt.

"You can keep reading, you know." Isagi offers, forcing himself to relax "I don't mind."

You stiffen. Stutter as you open your mouth to say something.

"O-oh uh, no, it's fine."

"You sure? I don't wanna interrupt to you," He acts sincere. It's unkind to be like this towards you. "Plus, I'm curious what you're always reading."

"...It's nothing interesting." You assure. He hums.

"You always look so invested though." He pouts a little to cement it in. The heat crawls up your skin, and you squirm and Isagi can't help but goad you "Makes me curious. Is it something you can't show me?"

You freeze completely. He tightens the arm around your waist.

"Did I get that right?"

You seem like you catch on. Isagi has to keep himself form smiling as you squirm, turning just barely to look at him.

"Yoichi." You say, stern and shy and oh-so cute "Why're you..."

"I can't be curious?"

"Yoichi," You say again, whisper all soft and sweet. It's music to his ears, a tinge of embarrassment wrapped up neatly in a silent plea "When'd you find out?"

"That you read porn? A while ago." He tells you. You let out a noise of indignance, even try to crawl away. You fuss, and it's so lovely Isagi has a hard time controlling himself. He catches you before you can run away "I didn't say it was bad."

"It's embarassing. You should've pretend not to know."

"But it piqued my interest," He insists, whispering against the shell of your ear "Doesn't it bother you being left out to dry?"

"It's just fun to read, okay. Don't do this to me."

"Then you can keep reading it," He hums as slips an arm underneath you "Keep reading it."

"You're scheming."

"A little."

You pout, and turn your head to look at him. Isagi offers nothing but a pleasant grin. He kisses your temple first, then reaches to kiss your cheek - turns your head to kiss you soft and tender.

"Keep reading. I'll read with you."

Isagi nudges you and you sigh, but you pick up your phone. He sits quietly, chin over your shoulder - comfortably spooning you as you pick your phone back up and shuffle through Safari. You open up a website and do some scrolling before pulling up whatever you were just reading.

You're aware of him. Every few minutes, you'll glance at him over your shoulder but he keeps his eyes glued to your phone. It's a smut comic this time - not a story. It doesn't start as just porn, there's something going on in the plot that Isagi pays attention too.

It gets there though. Isagi watches as it plays out, looking at your expression in the white reflection of your phone. You're fixed to it. He laughs to himself. You were so shy a minute ago, but you're sucked in. The girl in the comics is getting groped. So he hums, sliding his palm against your hips before reaching up under your shirt.

He slides both hands under you as he touches you - fingers reaching up to squeeze the fat of your tits. They're soft and warm, and you react to him but not enough to stop reading. He rolls your nipples with his thumb and forefinger, listening to you whimper. You're still focused on it, almost even more than you were a minute ago.

But you look like you're seconds away from having your eyes crossed - so Isagi doesn't bother moving on. He likes the way you feel in his hands. Round curves that fit so perfectly for him. He squeezes and pushes them together, pinching. You whine pleasantly, scrolling a little slower than before.

"Yoichi," You huff, rubbing your cheek against the sheets "C'mon."

"You want more? We're not there yet, though?"

You keep reading instead of protesting, and he follows in pace. Mimics what happens on screen by letting his hand past the waistband of your shorts. He slides his fingers against and through your folds - rubs gently around where you need to be touched until you're pushing back into him. You still haven't fixed your mouth to whine, still being diligent.

You both read as it happens. The girl in the story gets teased, so Isagi teases you.

"You're soaking wet," He says, unscripted and sincere "Didn't know you were so lewd."

"I'm not. You're touching me, so obviously"

"You'd be wet even if I wasn't touching you though, right?" He hums, a smugness even he can hear as he toys with you "Is this what you like reading? He's being so forceful."

"I-it's other stuff too. I read other, hnggh."

Ah, he's being mean isn't he? He can't help it though. Your eyes are fluttery, and you react so well. He lets his middle finger slide along your clit, rubbing soft and slow and delicate. He takes you apart with ease and you succumb to it even easier. He doesn't get to do this often. Catch you off guard and overwhelm you so easily. You don't waver like this almost ever.

But he kind of wishes you did. You look so good when you're like this. Embarrassed and on edge and needy. He likes to the way you can't help it.

"Don't hold it in, you can be honest with me." He insists, because some part of him really is curious "What other stuff? You read lovey-dovey stuff too?"

You don't reply. He shakes his head.

"I'll stop if you don't tell me."

"You're being awful."

He would say sorry but he doesn't mean it. He sucks on your neck, teeth grazing the skin as he rubs your clit - just barely there. Not enough to get you where you want, but enough to make you want more.

"Tell me."

So you yield "T-that stuff too. Doesn't matter, I just—"

"You just like seeing cute girls get fucked and thinking about it being you?"

"You're saying too much." You warn, but it doesn't feel meaningful. You say it through a broken moan, a sweet little plea. His dick is twitching so hard it almost hurts. You're insides are soft and melty and your voice is thick and you're so fucking cute. "It's not l-like that."

"It's okay if it is," He offers, not really listening. You're still holding the phone but you're eyes are closed "But you should tell me, hm? I'm your boyfriend, it's what I'm good for."

"Why're you bein' like this?" You sound sniffly. He's a terrible guy. Really. He grins.

"I think you're cute. It's nothing bad." He insists, thoughtfully. He rubs your clit a little harder, a little more sharp and you open your mouth wide and shake "You get turned on all by yourself, so I'm punishing you? Something like that."

"You're so cunning."

"You like that about me."

He smiles when you smile begrudgingly.

"Only sometimes."

"Keep reading. I'm interested in the story."

He's not lying completely. But he's more interested in the fact you get so into it. You listen well when he touches you and he rewards you for your compliance. He'll stop if you're too unfocused and you're too needy to do that to yourself. So you try to go slow enough so it seems like you're reading, but your hand keeps trembling when you hold the phone.

You're wound tight, and Isagi wonders if you might cry like this. A part of him wants to see if he can make you. He shouldn't do that though. He should be kind the whole way through.

He slips his hand down lower, middle finger prodding at your entrance. They're moving onto penetration in the comic you're reading, plenty of lewd and well-shaded shots mixed with different sounds typed out. You're getting all doe-eyed again, almost voracious as you consume. He lets his middle finger slip inside of you slow, pushing in so he reaches the base of his knuckle before pulling back out.

When you're loose like that, he gives you another. This much he's used to. He knows how much he needs to prep you before he can fuck you, but today he's taking his time. Stretching you out slowly and carefully, deliberately as you watch with anticipation.

Two fingers deep, he curls his fingers up and caresses slowly. They're doing it from behind on the screen. Isagi hums.

"Should we do it like that? From behind?"

"Hngh, I d-dont know. I dunno."

"She's liking it. You like being fucked like that too, right?"

"Yoichi,"

It's not nice. He keeps reminding himself. But he can't help but fuck his fingers into you deeper, just like this. You're gripping your phone so tight but he almost wants to slip just so he can tease you about it. So horny you can't control yourself, can you? You can't even think straight. Can't keep it together enough to do something so simple.

It's not like Isagi is particular to needless bullying. Unless he's playing soccer, he's always a good guy. A nice boyfriend if nothing else. It's not something he even has to try at.

But watching you like this makes him wonder if maybe he's less of a good guy than he though. Each little reaction he pulls out of you makes him want to tease you more. You'd look cute getting fucked face-down, too. Anything you do endears him so much he can't stand it.

Your pussy, soft and supple, is almost begging for him. He likes that you can get like that.

"Is that you what you want? You have to tell me, okay? I can't read your mind. That'd be nice."

"Stop talking and do it already."

"Do what?"

"Fuck me."

He grins, really feeling sorry as he pulls his fingers away from you.

"Yeah, yeah. Took too long right? My bad. C'mon. Bend over for me,"

Watching you listen is cute too. Your shirt is half up as you position yourself, rolling over on your stomach before pushing up on your knees - arms out in front of you and perched over your perfectly. Isagi thinks it's a miracle only possible through some higher power to be dating you. It's driving him insane, the soft arch of your back and the curve of your ass - skin peeking through the bottom of your shorts. Soft tits pushed into the mattress below you, cheek against the pillow.

He swallows, positioning himself behind you before pulling your ass to his pelvis. You shudder.

"You make me so hard." He says, earnest.

"You're really turned on by this?"

He laughs, rutting into you as he holds your hips. The view of your ass like this is almost too much.

"Most guys would be turned on by this. It's cute."

"You're extra annoying today." You say. Isagi leans over to kiss you as gently as he can before you really get angry at him.

"Sorry. Maybe I'm hanging out with Bachira too much."

You don't exchange any more words. Isagi slides your shorts off just enough to get access, slipping his fingers to make sure you're still loose. He spits into the palm of his hand, rubbing his shaft until it's wet before grabbing hold you by your hips. He lets the tip rest against your folds before pushing in so slowly.

No matter how many times you do this, this part always makes him want to cum right away. Pushing into something so soft and so pliant makes his brain feel like it'll pour right out of him. He shudders, nails digging into your hips as you swallow his cock so eagerly. He groans, resting his head on your shoulder.

"So wet. Ngh, so tight. You're so sexy."

"You've teased me enough today. Fuck me or I'm gonna get mad."

"Anything for you my love."

Per your request, he pulls out in one swift motion before forcing himself back in. You groan as you fall forward, face buried in the sheets. He can feel how close you are like this. It's warm inside you. He steadies himself by holding you before setting a pace - a little faster and a little deeper than usual. After all the teasing he thinks he owes you this much and you take him so well, he's mesmerized.

The way you stretch around him, the soft drag of his tip against your walls. "This what you wanted?" He says, adding a little venom to his voice just to mess with you "Wanted me to fuck you nice and deep?"

You whimper his name and he feels his spine tingle, adrenaline rushing through his whole body. It feels like you're made for him like this, your whole body reacting to his. He reaches around your waist, fingers teasing your clit. That makes you cry out, ragged with need.

"That's it, there you go. Isn't it nice getting what you want? Instead of letting your head fill with it all day."

"Uh-uh, uh - 's good. Feels good, Yoichi."

Your response almost makes him stumble. He lets out a huff of air through his teeth.

"Unfair."

You laugh lightly, peeking at him over your shoulder as he fucks you.

"You started it."

Something in his chest squeezes as he bends over you, focusing all of his energy into fucking you just how you need. He can feel your insides start to tremble, a grin breaking out on his face.

"Need you to cum for me. Cum for me, beautiful, c'mon."

The warning comes out spliced before you push all the way back on Isagi and cum. He can feel you pulse around his cock and he only gets a few thrusts in before joining you. He paints your insides white, leaving himself buried as he fucks you through your high and the two of you fall flat on the bed

He pulls out softly, before you turn back down and lay next to him like before. You face him this time, grabbing his face in your hands and kissing him hard. It catches him by surprised.

"I'm forgiving you this time because it was hot but if you ever embarrass me like that again, I'll kill you."

He laughs, returning the gesture.

"No promises."

[sweetsweetjellybean]

A night out with friends turns into a surprise welcome home party for the man who broke your heart, Eddie Munson.

Masterlist Listen to Scar Tissue Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago, with flashbacks at the beginning of each chapter.  Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:5162. Beta'd by @superblysubpar

“Have a good day,” your mother calls out as you shut the front door to the gray clapboard-sided home that your parents had fallen in love with the moment they laid eyes on it. You hadn’t even gotten past the front steps before she appears in the doorway, pulling her purple terry-cloth robe tighter around her shoulders as she calls you back. “You don’t have to come right home after school,” she tells you, pressing a few folded bills into your hand, “Go out with your friends. Have some fun.”

“Thanks, Mom.” You muster up a smile, shoving the bills into the front pocket of your Levi's, certain they will end up in the ceramic pink elephant bank that sits atop your dresser, just like the money she gave you last week. She watches you walk down the steps, giving you a wave before she turns away, shutting the door behind her. 

She tries her best, but she doesn't understand that friendships in the seventh grade aren't made as easily as they were in kindergarten, and you can't tell her that in the six weeks you've been enrolled at Hawkins Middle School, not a soul has spoken to you unless asked to by a teacher. 

This was the life that your parents had chosen, a career that demanded constant relocation and upheaval. "It's an adventure," they'd tell you as your things were being packed into boxes. But the older you got, it felt less like an adventure and more like a test. A test to prove yourself over and over. There’s a phrase your mom has uttered so often over the years, that it's surprising it's not embroidered on the throw pillows. Bloom where you're planted. But here, in this town, you're only a weed in the garden.

Hawkins isn't any worse or better than any of the other ten places you've lived in the last seven years, but these kids have been together since birth and aren't eager to welcome newcomers into the flock. Pouring your efforts into being confident and friendly, projecting a cool and unbothered facade, the constant exposure has left you empty. The mask is too heavy, and you’ve been wearing it far too long. If this were one of the comics you kept in the box under your bed, you'd be discovering your superpower–Invisibility. They don't see you here, and maybe they never would. 

The edges of folded bills in your pocket press into the meat of your thigh. Adding them to your total should give you enough for the new Elastica CD.  With a bit of luck, you might be able to talk your dad into driving you to Tower Records in Indianapolis this weekend. A few houses away, the battered front door of a small yellow cape opens with a click and thud, drawing your attention. The house was more run-down than the others on this street. The grass was left to grow a little longer before being mowed, and a few nights a week, you could hear the yelling coming from inside before seeing the slow flash of lights of a cruiser parked in front. 

A boy with curly shoulder-length hair bounds out from inside the house, slinging on his worn backpack as he hits the sidewalk.

Right on time this morning. 

The scuff of your white Doc Martens falls in step with the crunch of his black Converse hitting the pavement. The chain running from his back pocket to his hip sways with his movements. It’s more of a determined bounce than a walk. Your eyes stay trained on the frayed holes of his Jansport, corners of textbooks and papers pushing through. You keep waiting for physics to kick in and the thing to give way entirely.

“Quit following me.” 

His voice floats over his shoulder, shattering the quiet of the morning. Your head swivels from side to side, looking for whoever he is speaking to. His body turns until he’s walking backward, both hands gripping the straps of his backpack, casting his expectant brown eyes on you. 

“Me?” You ask, touching your chipped painted fingernails to your chest.

“You’ve been following me for weeks, and it’s creepy.”

“I’m not following you,” you say incredulously, “We’re just going to the same place.”

“Well, walk on the other side of the street or something,” he says, turning back around, continuing on his way like he assumes you’ll comply.

“No.” 

Your defiance comes out flat and solid, drawing a line, sick of him and this whole town.

“Yes,” the word comes back without a glance, utterly unbothered by your show of determination.

“No,” you repeat louder, your eyebrows pulling together in a scowl, “If you don’t like it, you walk over there.”

“I was here first.”

“Seriously?” The anger in your chest turns to heat, rising up your neck and settling in your face. Your mouth opens, ready to unleash the venom sitting on the tip of your tongue when he stops walking.

“Might as well walk beside me then.”

Surprise melts the words in your mouth as your feet carry you forward until you’re close enough to see the freckles covering his nose. His eyes stay forward as his stride lines up with yours, moving forward at a more relaxed pace. A light breeze rustles the leaves of the Maples lining the street. The sound of your footsteps is interrupted by the occasional passing car. 

“You’re in seventh, right? You got Schnider?” He asks, his eyes darting to your face.

“Yeah.” You nod, looking down at your boots.

"Bad luck. She's a real bitch. I had her last year."

Answering with a shrug, you risk a look back at him. Long eyelashes framing big doe eyes, a sweet face he tries to hide with a hard shell. He wears a mask, too. 

Your brain’s on overload for the rest of the day—thoughts of the boy coloring away the hours like a secret, overanalyzing every bit of your interaction. When the shrill sound of the final bell rings, you join the current of students, gathering your belongings and exiting the building in a wave.

The fresh air is a welcome escape from the stuffy classroom as you cross behind the school past the football field, heading toward the path through the woods where the boy is lingering just beyond the gate, digging through his pack but coming up with nothing like maybe he had been waiting. Without a word, he falls into step beside you. When you look at him, this time, he meets your eyes. The sunlight flickers through the swaying leaves as your footsteps resonate through the trees as you continue together.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," his voice cuts the quiet air when you reach the front steps of his house, his tone revealing a hint of uncertainty. 

"I'll be headed the same way," you answer.

He turns away from you, pausing with his foot on the top step, looking up at his house before looking back at you. 

"I'm Eddie, by the way," he offers, his cheeks pinking at the vulnerability his words carry.

"I know," you respond, a small smile gracing your lips as you continue home.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," you mutter, tucking your phone into your clutch and bolting up the marble steps to the second floor of the Kimpton Grey Hotel. Composing yourself as you pass through the lobby and open the double doors into Vol.39. The bar exudes timeless elegance with its dim, warm light shining on the dark-wood accents. Vintage jazz playing through hidden speakers, sounding like smoke and liquor. Everything here is steeped in leather, old money, and sophistication. It's no surprise that Nancy chose it. 

"You're late," Nancy says flatly, no amusement in the blue eyes framed by the blunt cut of her black, sleek hair as she glances at her watch with disapproval.

"Sorry." You slide into the open seat on the tufted couch across from her, adjusting the material of your dark emerald midi skirt so the slit wouldn't be showing off too much thigh, "There was traffic." It definitely wasn’t the extra half hour you spent with your feet up on your desk at Stax listening to the new release from Band of Horses.

"This is Chicago. There's always traffic," she counters, keeping her voice low enough that it doesn't travel past the lit bookshelves lined with leather-bound encyclopedias framing the seating area that your friends are currently occupying. "That's why I gave you a time a week ago. So you could plan ahead."

"She’s in a mood," Argyle says from the corner of his mouth, his hair falling around him like a curtain as he leans closer from the velvet upholstered club chair beside you. 

"Where's Steve?" Nancy demands, setting down her crystal tumbler on the gray marble table in the center of the space.

"He's not here?" you ask, scanning the bar. "It was Robin’s turn to watch him."

"Me?" Robin exhales from the other end of the couch she shares with Nancy.

"You're his best friend," you point out with a quirk of your brow.

"Yeah, but you're his–"

"I don't know why I bother to organize nights out for all of us if no one is going to be on time," Nancy cuts off Robin, huffing as she crosses her slender arms over her chest.

"It will be fine, Nance," Johnathan reassures, coming back from the bar carrying a flight of martinis he sets down in the center of the table. "Just relax. Everyone's going to be here in plenty of time." He takes the seat beside her, comforting her with his arm around her shoulder. 

Nancy and Johnathan have been on again-off again since she left Hawkins for school in Boston. Rekindling their relationship when she moved to Chicago and accepted a position at Spectrum Media, where she still works as their vice-president of content strategy. 

"Plenty of time for what?" You ask, leaning forward to choose a martini, picking the Astoria with a knot of lemon. 

"There's a mystery guest," Robin says, wriggling her brows and hooking her thumb towards Nancy. “Full of surprises, isn't she?”

"Where's Flora tonight?" You ask Robin, noticing she is without an escort. 

"Flora?" She asks, picking up a drink for herself, "That was over a week ago." She dismisses her with a wave of the hand before running it through her wavy blonde streaked locks, "Sadly, she left for a goat herding commune in Sacramento. I've been seeing someone new, a painter named Taylor. She's on exhibit at Magnolia. Her florals are really dreamy." She bites an olive off the end of her toothpick, sighing. 

Smiling around the lip of your glass, you shake your head. Robin works as an exhibit coordinator for Magnolia Gallery in Wicker Park, falling in and out of love with artists as quickly as she sells their pieces. You give her credit, she's having fun. 

"Did you text him?" Nancy asks, her lips twisting with impatience. The tense clench of her jaw has you setting down your drink and reaching for your clutch with no arguments. "Do you know how hard it was to get this reservation?"

"Then why are we here?" Argyle complains, gesturing around the room while he slumps back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass with the other. "You know I own like six bars, right? No reservations required."

"But then you'd be working," Nancy explains, as Argyle smoothes out his handlebar mustache.

"I'm always working, babe," Argyle says with a smirk, looking the part of a restaurateur and music promoter in his shiny flat-front trousers and short-sleeved silk shirt. 

Argyle is a new friend - meaning not from Hawkins. The California transplant, whose family owns a chain of successful pizza restaurants, has breathed new life into the Chicago music scene. Booking up-and-coming acts as well as big names into his bars and venues all across the city. He's a good friend to have, especially in your line of work–a music journalist for Stax the city's premiere music, arts, and culture magazine.

“He’s on his way,” you inform them, setting your phone face down on the table before settling back on the couch.

“On his way or leaving now?” Nancy shakes her head, knowing with Steve it’s probably the latter. “Why didn’t you ride with him?” She asks, turning toward Jonathan.

“I wasn’t in the office today. I was on a shoot,” he says, pulling his arm away from her and setting his drink down harder than necessary, his patience with her at an end. 

Jonathan, like you and Steve, works for the conglomerate Second City Media. Nancy likes to think that she permits the three of you to work for her competitor, but Steve had already gotten his foot in the door, securing himself an entry-level position at Metro Sports division before she was even out of grad school. Jonathan had been doing alright freelancing as a photographer, but when Nancy started at Spectrum, Second City recognized their competitor would wind up with an edge and hired him on as full-time staff. Everyone knows it's better for their relationship not to be working in the same place, especially with Nancy as his boss.

“Give us some clues about this mystery guest,” Robin interjects to lower the temperature between the couple, which is ready to boil over.

"Okay, I'm here." Steve comes from behind you, his voice alerting you to his arrival before you see him. His tie is already missing, the first three buttons of his starched shirt undone beneath his midnight blue suit, and his hair tousled from a day of running his hands through.

"Really, Steve? You couldn't be on time just this once?" Nancy scolds him, rolling her eyes.

"Meeting ran late. You know how it is," he leans down to kiss her cheek,"Or maybe you don't. I heard things are a bit slow over there at Spectrum," he teases, earning a smirk from Johnathan. 

Steve worked his way up from the sports division to chief content officer for Second City Media. The position puts him just shy of the power Nancy holds at Spectrum, fueling the pair's competitive and ambitious nature until their bickering often drives everyone else crazy.

"Steve," Robin draws his attention before Nancy gets the chance to respond, "About tomorrow–"

"Just a minute, Robin. I haven't gotten to kiss my beautiful wife hello." He steps over Argyle's legs and gives the man a quick handshake in greeting before sitting next to you on the sofa.

"I'm not your wife yet, handsome," you tell him as his strong hands cup your cheeks, tipping your head up toward him. 

"But it sounds good, doesn't it?" He asks before soft lips close over yours, his thumb pressing on your chin, asking for access to deepen the kiss beyond the line that's appropriate in front of company. 

"Niiiice," Argyle hums as the others snicker. Steve takes a hand off your cheek, holding it in front of you to block some of their views as his mouth moves hotly over yours. 

"God, you two are sickening," Nancy's remark is probably accompanied by an eye roll, but you're too occupied to notice as you tighten your grip on the front of Steve's shirt, drawing him nearer.

Four of his fingers curl down, giving Nance a one-fingered message as he continues to kiss you until he's had his fill. Breaking away with a gentle peck. "How was your day today, Ace? Did you write me a Pulitzer?" 

"You ask me that every day."

Despite teasing you, he wouldn't be surprised if you had what it takes. That's how much he believes in you. He takes your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips to place a kiss next to the glittering diamond he put on your hand a little over two years ago. 

"Excuse you." Robin climbs over Argyle's legs that are still stretched out in front of him, taking up all the space between the chairs and the table, and walks over to the couch, squeezing her way onto the sofa between you and Steve, "Best friend privileges." She winks before launching into a conversation about the next exhibit she's putting together.

"You two crazy kids set a date yet?" Argyle asks at a volume higher than you'd prefer. Raising your index finger to your lips, eyebrows drawing together as your eyes flick over to Steve.

"I'm just making sure my invite didn't get lost in the mail," he says, sipping his drink. "I love weddings, man—all those tiny little versions of regular-sized food. Maybe I should open a restaurant like that, where everything is tiny. Tiny little kebabs and tiki drinks with tiny little umbrellas. I don't know what's taking you so long. You need to make an honest man out of him." His voice grows louder at the end of his sentence, earning him another look from you, a distraction that diverts Steve's attention from his conversation.

The waitress chooses that moment to appear, saving you from another conversation about setting a wedding date. It's not that you don't want to marry him–you do. Someday. Decisiveness has never been your strong suit, along with dressing up in big puffy dresses that look like frosting and being on display for everyone you have ever known and their plus ones. 

While Steve squints down at the drink menu, fondness warms you like the opening notes of your favorite song. Reaching across Robin, you tap his chest. He looks over at you as he pulls a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and slides them on his nose.

Your lips move without sound–I love you.

You too, he mouths back. His mossy eyes softening as he smiles just for you. 

You're happy. Why change a thing?

“I’ll have an old-fashioned. Top shelf. Please,” Steve tells the waitress after she had gone around taking orders for small plates to share and more cocktails from the others. “Another Martini?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yes, please. An Astoria,” you tell her as she finishes scribbling everything down on her pad and heads off toward the bar to put in your orders. 

“The ladies?” You tip your head at Robin, who nods, getting up to follow you. Steve squeezes your hand as you walk by as he continues his conversation with Nancy about the effectiveness of paywalls on digital content.

“God, she’s in rare form,” Robin comments as you enter the empty ladies' room, each of you closing yourself into a stall.

“Are she and Jonathan fighting again?” You ask once you’ve finished up and moved to the sink to wash your hands. The echo of your voices bouncing off the black and white hexagon tiles.

“When aren’t they fighting?” She pulls a few paper towels from the machine bolted to the wall and drys her hands. “It’s like foreplay for them at this point.”

You laugh, checking under your eyes for make-up smears. “Any ideas about this mystery guest?”

“No idea.” She tugs the brass handle of the door open, and you follow her back into the bar. “Maybe her brother?” 

“That would be nice,” you say, your boot heels tapping on the dark chevron floors, “He just got married, right?”

“So young, practically still a baby,” she tuts, her head shaking from side to side.

“Robin, he’s not that-”

Robin's hand clamps onto your forearm, a squeal escaping her mouth as excitement radiates through her. She bounces on her toes, leaving you in her wake. Whoever elicited such a reaction is being blocked by Steve and Jonathan. When she gracefully maneuvers past them, you catch a fleeting glimpse of dark curls before the two men shift back into place, obscuring your view once more. The clinking of glasses and chatter from the other patrons swells in your ears. Your feet carry you forward, curiosity resonating like the reverb of a guitar. Steve feels you coming up behind him and shifts to the side. Without warning, rich chocolate eyes are locked onto yours. Eyes you haven’t seen in eleven years when he left you a mixtape instead of a goodbye. The eyes of the man that shattered your heart into so many pieces, all the edges are still sharp. 

“Hey, doll.”

The breath trapped in your lungs forms a suffocating bubble, its dull, aching pressure stifling any movement in or out, causing your body to lock in protest. You're tugged forward, unable to fight it, until your body collides with his. The faint but familiar scent of him embraces you, lingering beneath the spicy notes of expensive cologne. Triggering a flood of a hundred painful memories, like songs you’ve overplayed and can’t bear to hear again. They jar your instincts into overriding the shock, compelling you to push him away. Eddie's solid frame absorbs the force. To your relief, the others haven't noticed as you retreat to your seat. Your trembling hand raises your martini to your lips, taking larger swallows than you normally would, but nothing with this situation is normal. 

"Desperate times," you mutter under your breath, tipping back your glass. By the time everyone has settled back into their seats, your martini glass stands drained, the lingering taste of its contents  bittersweet on your tongue.

Steve directs the waitress to bring another drink for you and a double Mescal for Eddie. The others' voices are a distant buzz in your ears, but their words don't breach the barrier of your thoughts. The chords playing in your mind are more discernible now. Their lyrics printed onto the faded photographs of a boy that you struggle to reconcile as the man before you. He's older, but you are too. His long hair is much shorter, the dark curls a richer brown pushed away from his face. A few lines grace the corners of his eyes and forehead–a reminder of the life he's lived without you. 

Steve's comforting hand wraps around your shoulders while the other finds a home sliding between the soft skin where your legs are crossed, exposed by the high slit of your skirt. Eddie's eyes are on you, his stare focused on Steve's big hand covering half your thigh. Your left hand moves on top of Steve's, adjusting to make sure the sparkling rock on your finger gleams with brilliance in the soft, ambient light.

"Well, this is a blast from the past," Robin notes, her voice full of whimsy as she dangles her cocktail glass between two fingers, swaying it gently like a pendulum.

"Aren't you all glad I forced you to come out?" Nancy quips, much more relaxed now that her plan has come to fruition.

"You did good, love," Johnathan murmurs. His fingers tangling with hers before giving her a quick peck. 

"Absolutely. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this," Steve agrees, "How long has it been, dude? Three, four years?"

"Yeah, I think that was the last time you were in L.A." Eddie scratches at his chin, covered with just enough scruff to almost be a beard. 

Steve keeps in touch with Eddie? Had he told you when you hadn't been paying attention to him, your mind wandering with the words you would write for other people's songs?

"Now, I know that I told you only old friends," Nancy says, angling herself towards the plaid upholstered chair that Eddie occupies. "But Argyle knows all the local talent, and I thought he'd be a good connection to have since you're moving here."

"What?" You ask, as if a sudden vacuum has just sucked the air from the room.

"You're moving here?" Robin's eyes light up with excitement at the prospect of all her friends in the same city. She was the original connection that brought you together all those years ago. 

"When you say here. You mean Hawkins, right? You're moving back to Hawkins," you clarify.

"No. I mean here. I'm moving to Chicago," Eddie says, leaning back into his chair, his long legs spread in his tailored black suit, the black v-neck underneath giving off a laid-back California vibe. "I told those corporate studio fucks I was done. I'm opening my own place to record music that's actually good, not just the kind that will sell. I'm surprised you don't know all this, doll. Isn't it supposed to be your job or something?"

“Fu–”

"Why Chicago?" Jonathan asks, cutting you off before you let loose a very appropriate response to his question, "Why not stay in L.A. or New York. Aren't there music scenes bigger than here?"

Eddie tips his head to the side, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "You know, L.A.'s lost its charm for me. Too many fake people made out of plastic. And, well, Wayne's not getting any younger. Thought it's about time to be closer, you know?"

“You'd be much closer in Hawkins. Bet you could find a place downtown real cheap. You should go look there.” You cross your arms over your chest, drawing a line in the sand. 

“Hawkins doesn’t really scream rock ‘n’ roll, and I already got a place, but thanks,” he says, unconcerned as ever by your tone.

“Look at you two,” Robin says, clapping her hands, “Just like old times, back to your usual banter." Her mischievous grin widens, "Remember when she had that massive crush on you, Eddie? You’d stroll into Musicland during our shift, and she’d follow you around with those big heart eyes.”

Your ears ring as heat rushes up to your neck to your cheeks,the whole world spinning. Eddie looks down, swirling the remnants of gold liquid in his crystal-cut glass.

“You’re exaggerating, Robin,” you sputter, reaching for your drink, hiding behind the lip of the glass, “We were just friends. And it couldn’t have been too major. I don’t even remember it.”

“Oh, come on,” she protests, “Everybody knew.”

"I didn't," Steve's voice cuts through her teasing, leaving an awkward stillness in its wake. The distant sounds of high-pitched laughter and the faint scrape of utensils against plates fill the void. Your friends exchange uncomfortable glances, even though there was no malice in his tone.

“Hey, it’s no big deal, though,” his smile puts everyone at ease. “Right, Ace?” His head dips, brushing your lips in confirmation. You nod as he continues, “Robin, remember when we both went on dates with the same girl. What was her name? Brenda.” His fingers snap with the recollection.

“That’s right, Brenda! Brenda Mackenzie!” Robin laughs and begins to regale the group with the story.

When you lift your eyes, Eddie’s stare remains fixed on you, amusement replaced with an intensity you can’t read. An unfinished sentence or lyric. Words hanging between you like a question that you can't answer—one that you don’t want to.

“I’m going for another drink,” you say to Steve, picking up your empty glass. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asks, brows drawing together.

“No, I’m okay,” you tell him with a plastered-on smile, “You want anything?”

He shakes his head no. “I let my car service go early. I’ll drive us home in your car.”

With gentle fingers, you sweep aside a stray lock of hair that's draped across his forehead, planting a tender kiss on his lips before making your way to the bar. 

There is a soft creak of the leather as you seat yourself on a high stool in front of the polished wood bar. A bartender with an easy smile takes your order and leaves, giving you a much needed moment alone. Your lungs expand and contract without releasing any tension. You study your reflection in the mirror behind the rows of brightly lit bottles. If you could rewind the tape to a few hours ago, you'd have happily stayed in your office. Calling Nancy tomorrow to grovel for forgiveness for messing up her plans. But you can’t and the song plays on. It’s always the music that hurts the worst.

You release an audible sigh, your breath escaping through parted lips, as he settles onto the stool beside you. With a casual tap of his rings against the bar, he signals for the bartender, raising a single finger, his tongue peeks out, grazing his bottom lip as he gestures toward his empty glass.

"What’s the matter, doll? You really that unhappy to see me?" Eddie drawls, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"It’s been eleven years, Eddie. Sorry I’m not organizing a parade." You settle back into your seat, glancing around as if you're bored.

The bartender lowers his eyes as they deliver your drinks and wisely retreats to the far end of the establishment.

"I didn’t come here to fight," Eddie replies, his tone softening. He shifts his weight slightly on the stool, one arm resting casually on the counter, the glint of a gold chain around his neck catching the dim light.

"Then why are you here?" Your eyes narrow as your fingers trace the condensation on the side of the full glass.

"A fresh start. To build something of my own." He looks at you with determination, his dark eyes reflecting the soft glow of the bar lights.

"Then build it somewhere else," you respond curtly, your words laced with frustration. You pick up your drink and down half of it in one go, the chilled liquid leaving a slight burn as it slides down your throat. Setting the glass back down, you turn to leave.

He stops you with a gentle hand wrapping around your wrist, his touch causing your pulse to quicken beneath his fingertips. "There are some things I want to say to you. Let me take you to lunch unless Harrington has got you on too short of a leash."

You pull your wrist back, the feel of his touch lingering like smoke in the air. "Whatever you have to say has waited this long, try again in another decade. Unless you're dying."

"Would it make a difference if I was?" He meets your gaze with amusement playing on his lips.

"Let me think about it… nope." Your reply is quick and sharp, meant to cut.

"I know you're mad–" 

"No. Mad would imply some kind of emotional attachment. What I feel is indifference. In case you don't know the definition, that means nothing at all." Your voice stays cool and detached as you hop off the stool. "It's a big city, Eddie. There's no reason we have to see each other again." 

"We'll have to see about that," he smirks. 

"Have a nice life," you say a final goodbye to your past and turn away, walking in the direction of Steve when he stops you with one more question.

"Did you listen to it? The tape, did you ever listen?" 

The lie comes without hesitation. 

“No.”

Follow @tornupdates & turn on notifications

Read Song 2. here

AN: I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it. If you have a song that you think Eddie would have recorded on the mixtape send it to me in an ask and it might be included. Anything before 2001. I'd love to hear from you. Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated.

[dukku-of-catempty]

Linking my translation of Red Candle's interview yesterday here, also typed out below. I didn't translate everything, but hopefully it's enough for fans to get a glimpse of their game dev process. Interview vod here.

Ninesols was delayed twice. As their first try at a metroidvania, they found out there's a lot more to be done. Their first game play video was actually an accident. Someone clicked the wrong button on the obs and it became a live stream.

For the interview today, we have 2 of the 6 co-founders of redcandlegames, Henry and Vincent/4wei, plus the game play designer Lighty and Art designer Pege/XiaoHe.

Game Dev Process

Back then Yi was a head shorter, pretty close to Hollow Knight. Devs call it the "Hollow Cat era". It took them 1-2 years to progress from Hollow Cat to 2D Sekiro.

Q: You've already set such a high bar for game play (hollow knight, sekiro), why did you have the same high standard for art and story as well?

Henry:(points at Vincent) this is all him. I said, just focus on the game play! Then he decided to throw in the story

Vincent: I didn't set it out to be so dialogue heavy. But simple gameplay doesn't keep gamers playing, they have to be invested in the world to want to play more.

Vincent: I wanted to save budget so I thought, comics, they're simple enough. Turned out they were costly too. Pege got the other end of that. She drew all the in-game comics.

Pege: Comic works in that you can get up close to the characters and see the details, their expressions.

Their initial inspo for the artstyle was Akira... really reaching for the heights of everything

On the designing process:

Vincent: pacing comes first, whether it's story, combat, or the gaming experience

About 35mins in: Lighty explains the initial concept of TaoPunk

Vincent come up with keywords and Pege designs the character. For example, Goumang was "princess, tsundere", Lady Ethereal was based on "Zhuangzi and the butterfly dream".

40min, Pege explains the character designing process

Pege had the hardest time designing JieQuan. Girls are easier.

Vincent: he's the typical straight macho dude

MCs: what do you mean straight? All I see is 🌈

Vincent wanted there to be a low point for the gamer, since the first 3 bosses were relatively easy. He drew inspiration from Bloodborne and MGS, and JieQuan was born as Yi's tormentor.

Pege's favorite character is Ji, based on his character design and gender.

Vincent: I said Ji can be a they, but Pege insisted on him being male.

MC: So we can actually see stuff under his skirt

Henry: Yi had to struggle to not get flashed during the fight

Lighty also likes Ji best, because of his character. He likes his views as an immortal.

Henry also likes Ji best, because of his combat pattern. Out of all the bosses, his combat pattern is the only one thats entirely original. He wanted to make a 3rd stage.

Since all the characters came from Vincent, he doesn't have a favorite, but is impressed by how popular some of them are. Lady Ethereal's fight was actually the least costly. The platforming was a budget choice. Including the jumpscare, Ethereal was the easiest stage to make.

Vincent: Even the bgm. For Lady Ethereal, I didn't need to tell the composer what I want, they finished it perfectly.

Henry: This is a collaboration where everyone provides their expertise, and Lady Ethereal is an example of us working extremely in sync.

They ran out of time and funds at the research center, and were not entirely satisfied with it even when the game launched.

Solarian was based on Middle Chinese. Old Chinese sounds close to Vietnamese and is too hard for the VAs to pronounce. Vincent thinks since the game is sci-fi in ancient times, a new language is needed for immersion.

Everyone's stressed at the end of the project: it's been five years, and the game hadn't been tested by the mass public, so they weren't sure how it'd be received

Solarian language and Voiceover

Vincent: in Taiwanese we have checked tones, libiodentals, we digged deeper into these traits and referenced Taiwanese/Hokkien, Hakka, Cantonese and Middle Chinese for the Solarian language. Our Solarian expert, Sheng-Han Lin worked on it for 3 months. He even wrote a program where it converts a word into Solarian automatically, complete with KK phonetic symbols.

Basic Solarian words/phrases:

(Making these up, tone numbers are mandarin)

Bi³ Suen² = big brother

Shuai² In³ = Hello Friend

Why⁴ Song⁴ = Stop right there

Uen Zai² Chok = got it (I think?)

Ket Do³ = thank you

Vincent: first thing I said to the VAs was "sorry". Even after the recording process they still weren't sure what they were saying 😂

Many thanks to our voice director Neven Chang. It's the VAs performance that convinced me that Solarian is an actual language.

The Solarian characters came out of the need for there to be inscriptions on the background architectures, but modern Chinese characters breaks the immersion, so the art team came up with the idea to use the CangJie input method.

Vincent: initially we wanted to use the oracle bone script, but it's too time consuming, we needed something systemized. We do have our own Solarian font tho.

Solarian font has been dicephered here

Fan made font

Q&A section!

First question: are there plans for future nine sols DLCs?

Vincent: we still have a lot of work, like console ports and adding more languages, plus the crowndfund reawards... so currently we're looking to finish these first.

Vincent: as you know, we are a bunch of overachievers, so if there is a DLC, there's no telling how long we'll work on it... but atleast for me, I do hope to tell more stories in this world. That's all I'll say for now.

Q: will there be merch?

A: Yes, all the crowdfund rewards will also be sold as merch, like the art book and physical game pack, but at a higher price. Not the figure though, they're already finished, to make more we'll go bankrupt.

Unless, there's a really high demand for it 👀

Q: were there any additional plot you had to cut due to lack of resources?

.

*SPOILERS

.

.

.

.

A: Chien's boss fight, Ji's 3rd phase, Yi fighting himself in Eigong's soul sanctum, a TianHuo last boss, Abacus was supposed to be Yi from the past, Kanghui, the dragon... we cut a lot

Vincent: There are two plotlines I stood my ground on: the revenge plot, and the relationship between Yi and Heng.

We actually changed Shuanshuan's story a lot. Initially he was supposed to be super energetic and run around all of New Kunlun.

Q: there are a lot of ways the player can fight in #ninesols, were you worried about it being too hard?

A: Yes. It's very parry focused, so if you can't parry, you're dead. The Story Mode was made out of this fear. But from the response we've got so far, it seems to be ok.

Vincent: the real problem is gamers having false expectations. Souls fans get frustrated with the parrying and combat fans get frustrated with the dialouges. So we have to let the gamers know, this isn't hollow knight, isn't Sekiro, this is Nine Sols.

Q: what do the lyrics in the bgm mean?

A: they are all really simple. Like "heroes are forged in agony". For Fuxi and Nuwa, their keyword was "Peony Pavilion", opera related, so the composer incorporated 牧虎關 into their battle bgm.

All #ninesols boss music was composed by @/FFXX_sound. 4-5 of the songs were recomposed after betaing. The boss fight in plumblossom village wasn't supposed to be this hard, but the bgm was too fire, so the team adjusted it.

Vincent: the composer could choose whether to use Solarian or Mandarin lyrics. I was there during recording. We got a talented Taiwanese men's choir to sing for us. Four professional singers singing "Huh! Hah! Heroes are forged in agony!" It looked ridiculous.

For the ending song, redcandle wanted to connect to the international audience, and Collage fit that perfectly. Plus our fans kept recommending them to us. Communication was smooth, apparently Natsuko is a gamer and really liked us.

Taopunk was a mix of Eastern and Western cultures, so it was decided early on that there would be English lyrics in the ED.

There was an ARG on discord where fans can uncover the ED bit by bit.

There are also plans for future interactive games like that

Q: what are some challenges for the EN locoalizatuon?

A: It was pretty smooth, we had a lot of help from our discrod server, including JP proofreading. Both EN and JP TL was actually done in a month before release. We just posted our beta dialougues and everyone came to help us.

Lady Ethereal used to be FuDie, but it sounds terrible in English, so she was renamed.

KangHui used to be GongGong, but it's too confusing to non mandarin speakers.

Eigong too, she used to be Yigong, Yi as in change, but players may mistake her to be related to Yi.

Solarian society trivia:

-they are a matriarchal society

-the average age of death is 140

-cats are evolved from Solarians

They are working on more languages, all of them EU ones. MC asked if there are plans for SEA languages. They say that'll require ppl fluent in these languages, since the other TL are mostly done by community members/fans.

2-3days after release, their text file was hacked. It's a Google doc, Lighty went on there and found someone typing Italian text there, all correct dialougues. They kicked them out then emailed the Italian.

The Italian : I'm just a player, I just want to help.

They translated pages of text, the team was terrified. Security breach!

the Italian said thank you to the team for being patient with them, cause they did the same thing with other games and got severe responses.

RedCandle: thanks but please don't ever do it again.

Q: are you satisfied with the response from non CN speaking players?

A: Yes. Most of the reviews we got were English. It's our goal anyway, to break the culture barrier.

There are of course some surprises.

MC: you mean the furries?

A: the amount of fanart was unexpected

Vincent: I was also surprised by the response we got on reddit. We actually realized our goal, so I was pretty happy with that.

Q: any plans for a new game?

they've worked on nine sols for 5 years already, pretty drained right now, so (as a team) theres no new content planned yet

And here comes the funniest part lol (clip)

Q: any plans for a new game?

Vincent: Having ideas for a new game is one thing, but we still--

(Thunder claps)

Vincent: 😱 Did I say the wrong thing? I'm sorry! OK? We'll start working on it!

Discussing the ending...

Devs consider the true ending a good ending. Its ok if life has no meaning, having lived is enough and all that.

And ED is Collage's take on the ending.

I'll end the thread here, though there are 30mins more to go. Many thank to Wenlobong for hosting the interview, and Red Candle for making the game! Really hope #ninesols will get more recognition

[vanessamooney]

The Age of Us Pt. 2 - Draco x Reader

Prompt: Glimpses into your lives through the years

Pairing: Draco x Slytherin!Reader

Part 1. Part 3 coming soon!

In Second Year you're starting to stand on your feet properly. You've come to Diagon Alley with Draco and his father just before the semester has started to collect the year's new spell books and props. The list sent out by Hogwarts was longer than last years and you'd become increasingly worried about being able to keep up between 'Gadding with Ghouls' and 'Holidays with Hags', all written by Gilderoy Lockhart no less.

The alley streets were bustling with witches and wizards of all sorts, pointed hats bouncing around comically and brooms alike. You had already run into fellow classmates from Hogwarts and stopped a plethora of times for polite conversation and familial introductions. Lucius has now excused himself from the two of you, trusting Draco with a satchel filled to the brim with gold galleons, instructing you two to meet him in front of Flourish and Botts with the books ready in exactly thirty minutes. 

'I trust you'll be on time, Draco,' he sneered at his son, tapping his back with the serpentine cane he never parted ways with. When he turned to give you a polite nod and pat on the head with a heavy hand, he did so with a strange upturn of the corners of his lips. He had always liked you. 

You weren't sure what Lucius had gone off to do or where he was doing whatever exactly, but you relished in the freedom because you'd been eyeing Magical Menagerie the second you all floo-powdered into the shopping district and had been scheming to convince Lucius and Draco to take you there.

Glancing at Draco with softened eyes, he's looking a little bit low-spirited and the weight of the galleons makes one of his arms hang lower than the other, so you pull him along by his shorter hand and shoot him a smile that lights up your entire face and makes his heart oddly skip a beat.

'Come on, Draco,' You egg him on, scratching the inside of his palm with your nails because you know he is ticklish there, and you know it will cheer him up, even if only momentarily.

He lets out a giggle only you can hear but you don't pay much attention because when you arrive outside Magical Menagerie you're bewitched by the sight before you: a grey kitten small enough to fit into your hands locked in a cage at the storefront. You coo at it, immediately forgetting about the blonde boy awkwardly trailing behind you. 

'Wolfcat,' you read aloud the silver tag on the front of the rusted iron bars, 'female, 10 galleons,' 

You whip around to your best friend and grab his free hand, squeezing it in excitement for all that you've got. 

'Draco, how incredibly adorable she is!' you squeal, watching his stormy eyes soften at the sight before him.

He walks up to the front of the cage, poking a wiggling finger in through the bars to antagonise the creature and he is pleasantly surprised to find it rub its head against him, her yellow eyes big and glaring. 

'I suppose she is,' He shrugs his shoulders, pulling a sulking Y/N along to Flourish and Botts in spite of your silent protests in the form of your pouts and glances off into the distance.

You had spent the entire time shopping for school books talking Draco's ears off about the kitten from earlier, so much so he was having to double check you were picking up the right copies of the books as you had placed the wrong ones in the basket too many times.

'Oh Draco, she was the sweetest thing' you went on, lazily dropping a copy of 'Intermediate Transfiguration' into the basket you tasked Draco with carrying.

When the two of you waited patiently out of the front of Flourish and Botts just as you'd agreed prior, you continued chatting as Draco seemingly zoned out, a heavy head in his hand. He thought about a peculiar bit of conversation he had overheard in your family's manor just a mere few weeks before first year began: 'The family owl is enough trouble,' your father would groan, his fingers squeezing the top of his nose bridge.

Draco himself didn't bring one of the three permitted animals to Hogwarts because he himself thought it was all too much effort for a companion and he already had his hands full with Crabbe, Goyle and you, not that he minded having his hands full with the latter.

With a sudden thought, he handed you the pile of textbooks that mere moments ago sat in his lap, practically shoving them into your hands.

'Ow, Draco, that's heavy, what are you…' you trailed off, watching his retreating form as he ran in the opposite direction of the meeting point. 

'I'll be back soon!' he yelled back, but you were left all alone, confused and surrounded by hoards of strange witches and wizards.

Lucius finds you sitting on the stairs outside Flourish and Botts with a puffy pout on your lips, the stack of new books placed carelessly to your side. You've got your chin resting comfortably in your palms just as Draco did and you look to be in deep and confusing thought. He's got with him his own leather-bound book now clutched hard in his hands and he scans the rest of the crowd, but his son is no where to be seen. Pah. Of course. 

'Y/N, where is Draco?' He askes, lending you a firm hand to help you up off the steps and you carefully slip your hand in his and jolt up, dusting off your robes with a sheepish smile.

"I'm not sure, he left some minutes ago and went that w…' you trail off when you glance in the direction Draco ran, gasping as you see the devil himself running towards you, eyes wide as dinner plates when they land on his father whom by now has turned to see his son making a fool of himself. He is clutching in his arms something that appears to be squirming and you squint to try and make out what it is.

A grey wolfkitten lands into your arms and Draco is so out of breath from running when he looks at your dazed expression but he still manages a smirk as you press a well-earnt kiss to his rosy cheeks.

Lucius taps his son on his back softly with his walking cane, raising an eyebrow and managing his own twinge of a smile tantalising the corners of his lips. He watches his son proudly as he is watching you.

The blurs of the everyday witches and wizards spinning around you don't catch your eye because you're mesmerised by the creature in your arms; mesmerised by your best friend, too. You catch a glimpse of the blue sky and see within it the night. 

'I think I'll name her Cassiopeia,' your eyes twinkle like the constellation that falls from your lips and Draco watches the stars swirl within you.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

You're running through the hallways, Draco's hand in yours as you lead him to the Clocktower Courtyard. You are giggling and glancing back to him to make sure he's still keeping up with you and the opulent perfume in your hair blinds his senses. You shiver into him from the bitter winter breeze that stalks you through the castle and he grips your hand harder when he feels your vibrations.

You come to a stop when you're surrounded by greenery taking over archways, absorbing the glory of the courtyard with your eyes closed, taking in its sweet earthy aroma. An old water fountain lays in the middle of it all, guarded by four magnificent stone gargoyles on each corner. Moss and water has stained them a muddy grey, but your eyes are still enchanted from the view; you always liked coming here. 

'Why are we here at this dingy old fountain, Y/N?' Draco groans, stretching a gloved hand to lean on a gargoyle. You gasp as his disrespect and you click your tongue, making him flail his arms as he tries to regain his balance. 

'A dingy fountain?' You're scolding him like his mother usually does, repeating back his absurd view of the world around him. 'This isn't just any fountain,' you say, slithering around it, dancing your fingers from stone to stone, your gaze never leaving Draco's. 'Legend has it if you flick a knut into it while making a wish, it'll come true,'

 The plush rabbit earmuffs on your head rises slightly as you speak, and with a gentle sigh Draco tenderly adjusts your earmuffs back down while anxiously avoiding your eyes as he tenderly touches you.

'Is that so?' he mumbles. 

You nod eagerly at him, presenting two knuts in your gloved palm that you'd been saving in your pockets. He reluctantly takes one, giving you a strange look but you beam in elation anyway, enchanted by the glistening promises of the fountain. Draco holds the knut in his hand, his expression a mix of scepticism and curiosity. He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of his wish on his heart.

With a mischievous grin, you look into Draco's stormy eyes and say, 'Alright, on the count of three. One… two… three!' 

Simultaneously you both flick your knuts into the fountain, watching as they disappear beneath the surface with a small splash. You pat your flushed face with an awkward flutter of fingers, seeing if you feel any different, inspecting the grass below your feet just a little closer. The moment stretches, filled with anticipation and hope from the both of you. 

'What did you wish for?' your voice is barely above a croaky whisper but you're unable to contain your excitement and ask anyway.

Draco hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and the fountain. He doesn't dare to admit he wished for you and the weight of his silence crushes you.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

Gilderoy Lockhart's charm filled the air like a sweet perfume, ensnaring the hearts of the young Gryffindor girls who hung on his every word. With a flick of his cape, he shed the garment, letting it fall carelessly into the eager crowd below, who scrambled to catch a piece of the famed hero.

You, however, had never been taken by Lockhart's facade. Even in the best of times, you found his antics grating, feigning ignorance whenever your dorm-mates gushed over his supposed heroic feats. One night, out of curiosity, you had reluctantly flipped through his autographed autobiography, but each boastful comment and exaggerated deed only served to deepen your disdain. Despite your love for reading, you couldn't bring yourself to admire a story painted in lies and arrogance.

But as Draco Malfoy was summoned to the stage by Snape to duel Harry, you found yourself eagerly pushing through the crowd of Slytherins to get a better view. You cheered when Draco sent Harry flying across the stage and winced when the tables turned, but it was when Draco summoned the snake that your heart skipped a beat. Watching in horror as Potter seemingly controlled the creature with a strange tongue, you were pulled away from the midst of the chaos by Draco's urgent grip, and he whisked you into the safety of the Slytherin common room.

"That Potter is downright evil, I'm telling you!" Draco seethed, his frustration palpable as he slammed his fists onto the desk. He was a hurricane when he wanted to be, pacing around with a heavy energy, turning from a constellation into a supernova. Potter did this often to him, and although the others insisted he was masterfully exaggerating, you never seemed to think so - something wasn't right with Harry, and now this.

Motioning for him to join you on the worn leather couch, Draco sank down beside you, his head falling heavily into your lap as he let out a weary sigh. You gazed down at him with wide eyes, offering silent comfort as you gently traced circles on the back of his hand. You were always there to trace circles on the back of his hand.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

When Draco tells you he has made the Slytherin Quidditch Team you're sat on the banks of the black lake. The sun is dancing upon the surface of the water, casting reflections within it that didn't quite seem to match with the gentle surroundings you're enveloped in but you pay it no attention because as Draco's words sink in, the world around you fades into insignificance. 

The muggle book he despised that was grasped within your fingertips moments before hits the ground with a soft thump and the paper warps, staining with the green and brown of the ground. There is no room for a pregnant pause because before you can think of a congratulations worthy of Draco's achievements, you've already tackled him in a hug and twigs and dandelions have already intertwined in your hair and clothes; you're already grinning with glee, your faces already inches away and Draco has already licked his lips in anticipation but you press an adoring kiss to the side of his cheek and whisper to him how proud you are of him, in a way intended only for him to hear.

You don't notice the flash of disappointment in his eyes when your lips miss his, or how awkward his movements become. Nothing else matters, because your best friend is Slytherin's brand new Seeker and you can't possibly think of anything else.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

Christmas morning brings with it a myriad of thoughtfully wrapped packages from your family and friends, appearing under an evergreen pine decorated with baubles and ribbons in the Slytherin common room. You yawn audibly, rushing to flatten the wrinkles out of your Christmas pyjamas before you run down the stairs from your dorm. Draco is already waiting for you in the common room, leaning patiently against the oak table, his hair slicked back and his own pyjamas ironed completely straight. When he spots you paused at the top of the stairs, his eyes soften and he stretches his arms out in anticipation of feeling you nuzzled into his chest.

The decision to spend Christmas at Hogwarts this year didn't come easy, and you recall with a smile how you and Draco were making fun of students who did just a mere few weeks ago - after all, what else shows your parents love you other than stuffing you away in school over the holidays? But between the entertainment from the Chamber of Secrets being opened and the winter travels your parents embarked on without you, you and Draco both agreed to spend winter this year together at Hogwarts - despite Narcissa and Lucius' best wishes. 

Crabbe and Goyle had also decided to stay the festive winter season to keep Draco and you company - despite your best wishes -  and they now watched with narrow eyes from the couch as your petite figure floated down the girl's staircase and straight into Draco's arms. When he twirled you around the room they audibly wretched in disgust, but you felt like a princess anyway and they became TV static in the background of your mind.

To find a gift for Draco did not come easy. The lead up to Winter break was spent with hours of frustration and punctilious reading in the castle library as you diligently worked to fabricate from the thin Yule air a charmed snow globe containing a singular, shared memory: 

Perched atop the dew-kissed grass surrounding the grandeur Malfoy Manor, air heavy with the scent of blooming night-flowers, the myriad of stars scattered across the heavens blinked like diamonds strewn upon midnight velvet. You saw within the stars a constellation that bore his name, the boy laying so arrantly next to you: Draco. And with a quiet reverence, you pointed upwards in awe, seeing within the stars him, and within him the very stars he had been named after. 

With a soft smile tugging on your lips, you direct Draco to the pine, breaking your gaze buoyantly when you lean down to cradle the parchment wrapped globe that sat so patiently beneath the tree, a swirl of memories replaying in it persistently under its cover. 

'For you,' you hand the package to him, biting your lip in anticipation, and you feel within you a twinge of constraint but your eyes gleam anyway, 'Merry Christmas, Draco.'

Draco couldn't break his gaze from your glowing face. As he tore the parchment away he did so neatly, mesmerised by the mere existence of you. The background of Christmas morning occupied by the calamities swirling in the black lake just outside the common room windows and the intrusive nature of his friends meant nothing to him because in that moment when his eyes found the memory you so tenderly illustrated within the snow globe, he could think of nothing else - and he didn’t want to.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

You're standing in the castle's greenhouse, its windows fogged up with humidity cut through by the slow paths of common snails as they journey into the unknown. The air outside is cool, Winter has started to take its course and the frost of its greedy air snaps; but inside the safe haven of the greenhouse the air is warm and pungent with earthly aromas. 

The vastness of the greenhouse is filled with magical plants and fungi alike stretched out before you but you're humming as you tend to a healthy collective of starthistle, mushing its millets between your fingers to release the powder contained within them. You carefully collected the fine dust in tiny cork bottles and placed them neatly in organised lines on the gardener's desk, just as tentatively asked by Madam Sprout. 

With a flick of your quill, you've checked off another task on the consciously written list and you whip around to work on the next task: watering the asphodel and pruning their tender leaves as needed. You'd been under the instructions of Madam Sprout for the last few weeks, working diligently in the greenhouse and taking care of the housekeeping for the hoards of students taking herbology. 

You couldn't quite put into words why the greenery drew you in, perhaps 

it was the sense of tranquility that enveloped you as you worked among the plants, or maybe it was the reward of nurturing life and watching it thrive under your care. Whatever the reason, the greenhouse had become your sanctuary, a place where you felt truly at peace and you'd often visited to escape the chaos of the castle.

As you carefully watered the asphodel and delicately pruned their leaves, you couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of nature. Each plant seemed to have its own unique personality, its own story to tell. Some were robust and hearty, while others were delicate and fragile, requiring extra care and attention.

Lost in a swirl of thoughts, you didn't notice the approach of another or the creak of the greenhouse doors until a familiar voice broke through the silence of the mist.

'Slaving away to pass herbology?' Draco coaxed, his tone teasing yet warm as he stepped into view from behind swarms of the alihotsy tree foliage.

You glanced up, offering him a smile as your hands continued to prune. Draco had taken to visiting you in the greenhouse whenever he could steal a moment away from his studies or Quidditch practice. Though he often teased you about your love for plants, you could've sworn to see genuine fondness nestled in-between the specks of blue in his eyes.

'Someone has to keep these plants in line,' you replied playfully, gesturing to the lush greenery around you.

Draco chuckled, stepping closer to inspect the asphodel with interest. 'I must admit, I would much rather attend Sprouts lessons than McGonagall's,'

'They're all the same anyway,' Draco grumbles, reaching to absentmindedly mush a leaf between the pads of his fingers.

'Are they?' You beckon, giving him a knowing stare as you pat the soil around the asphodel a little harder than before. 

'Potter,' he sneers, gaze lowering. Something must've happened. 

But instead of delving deeper into the matter, you decide to shift the conversation to something lighter, knowing it is best to not scratch at fresh wounds. 

"Well, since you're here, how about lending me a hand with the watering?" you suggest, flashing Draco a mischievous grin, your eyes sparkling as they always do.

Draco raises an eyebrow, but a playful smirk dances across his lips. "I suppose I could manage that," he concedes, rolling up his sleeves as he joins you at the watering cans.

╺╺╺╺╺╺╺

Draco entered the Slytherin common room cursing the puffing lady in the painting, his steps quiet against the plush carpeting. Crabbe and Goyle had snuck out in the middle of the night to threaten house elves for leftovers again, despite Draco's orders. In spite of his best efforts, Snape had already caught his cronies, muttering scolding admonitions, and sending the trio back to the dorms; but not before confiscating a pile of blueberry muffins nestled into Crabbe and Goyle's arms.

The dim light of the flickering fire cast a warm glow over the room, and the henchmen were ordered upstairs, their heavy footsteps shaking the dungeons. But as Draco made his way upstairs after them, he couldn't help but notice a figure slumped over one of the tables, surrounded by a scattering of books and parchment.

Curiosity piqued, Draco approached, recognizing you, nestled amidst your study materials. Your head rested on your arms, your breathing steady and deep as sleep claimed you in the midst of your studies. Draco couldn't help but smile softly at the sight, finding a certain charm in your dedication to your studies, even if it meant falling asleep in the common room and spending less time with him.

With gentle hands, Draco carefully gathered your belongings, setting aside your books and parchment before lifting you into his arms. 'A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' he scoffed gently and to this you stirred slightly, murmuring soft nothings in your sleep, but didn't wake as Draco cradled you against his chest, your head nestling against his shoulder.

With practiced ease, Draco made his way through the common room towards the staircase leading to the girls dormitories, your soft purrs of sleep tickling his chest in a way that shortened his breathing and sent a flutter through his heart.

As he reached your dormitory door, Draco hesitated for a moment, admiring the peaceful expression on your sleeping face. Gently, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, carefully laying you down on your emerald bed and tucking the blankets around you.

For a moment, Draco lingered, watching you sleep with a soft smile before quietly slipping out of the room, leaving you to rest peacefully in the warmth of your bed.

Unbeknownst to him, Pansy lay awake in her own bed, observing the scene with narrowed eyes, her mind already scheming with endless possibilities. 

[joonsytip]

Coffee, Tea or just more of Me? || Vernon

Pairings: Vernon x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Crack, Strangers to Friends to Lovers au, Barista!Reader au, Jock!Vernon au, University au

Synopsis: Vernon thinks life has given him another chance when sees the new barista of the café he is a regular at. You think the popular jock of the university is weird for always zoning out on you. It's the same everyday, until you to decide it's enough.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: nothing heavy just mentions of staring a lot, mention of murder as a joke once, kissing, mentions of lots of beverages, dramatic Seungkwan and Junhui but equally wholesome (lmk if I missed any)

Banner credits to my baby @hoeforhao <3

A/N: Please Like, Comment and Reblog, it would really help me keep going ♡

Please send an ask or comment under the Masterlist post to get added to my permanent taglist or SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist.

[SVT Main Masterlist] [SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist]

He is staring at you again.

An exaggerated huff stirs out of your chest and you turn to the customer who looks like he'd would faint if deprived of his iced tea one more second.

You have recently started working as a part timer at the café which is a block down from your university, no genius for guessing, to add some cash to your wallet for covering some of your expenses.

The café jostles as an extremely busy hub at afternoons. Mornings doesn't attract much of a crowd except for the zombie like students who basically live on caffeine, would undoubtedly bleed in dark brownish through veins.

You work in evening shifts and evenings attract bunch of loud and shout guys.

Today's no exception, the familiar faces flood into the place, some continuous screeching of chairs or calls of name, some hearty laughs or snarky remarks that follows before all of it simmers down.

Junhui nudges at your arm and before your questioning gaze falls on him, it lands on that one face with prominent and sharpest features, hair dyed in shades of brown those stick on his sweat glistening forehead.

His eyes are not glued on you. Finally.

You look at your shiftmate, "What?"

"I thought you finally got a break.", Junhui comments while pouring coffee powder in the brewing machine.

"A break?", you echo in confusion, "I don't recollect--"

"A break from being stared at.", Junhui cuts you off when you fail catch his humour.

The eye roll that he gets as a response has him worried that they would really roll to the back of your head someday.

"Oh my god, he's coming here", Junhui squeals, "I'll fleet inside so he thinks you're alone at the counter but I'd be peaking from behind okay?", and next he's making an abrupt run to the backside.

You breathe in, breathe out and strech your lips in a smile as you walk back to the order section.

"Hi Vernon", you greet, "Can I please know your order?"

Vernon's eyes blow wide, as he whips his head from the menu card he's holding to meet your eyes.

"H-Hi...", he's shocked, so panicked right now, "Do you know me?"

Yes, you're the one who always stares at me.

Ofcourse you know him. Everybody knows him.

The star forward of the varsity soccer team.

Chwe Vernon Hansol.

You have a motive today and that's to ask him what's his deal. The only reason for which you had purposefully spilled out his name.

"You're quite popular.", you give him a smile, "And we share the Graphical Engi--"

"We share the Graphical Engineering lecture?", he spurts out comically, as if he's hearing the most amusing or the most non sensical thing in the world and the next question confirms it, "We both go to the same uni?"

"Yeah we do.", you say somewhat dejected and your thumb hovers over the computer screen, "Your order please."

"Do we seriously share the GE lecture?", he asks one more time and you simply nod.

Not something unobvious, the times you've noticed him after entering the lecture hall, you have always found his head propped on his bag which is loaded on the desk and he's soundly sleeping.

Something obvious that he doesn't know because the two of you don't even fall into the category of acquaintances.

You know him because everyone knows him because as said he's popular.

He mouths a 'wow' and goes back to ogling the same menu card. With only you being behind the counter and no one being behind him to place orders you know he's gonna take long time just to order his regular, a Latte Macchiato.

"A Latte Macchiato please.", he says and you nod robotically.

"Anything else?", you ask out of habit and your thumb is almost pressing the confirm button for billing, knowing he never has any add ons.

"Would you like to suggest something?"

You gape at him amused.

Vernon has his expectant eyes on you and you have your comical ones on him.

"Y/N?", he asked with concern and your eyes blow wider.

Your gaze immediately drops on your uniform, no there isn't any tag of your name pinned on you.

He's not reading your name, he knows your name.

"How do you know my name?", you ask him stunned. No you are not over reacting, not when you have seen who and how hard people are trying to woo him.

Oh well, his nicknames include Geek God and DiCaprio.

Vernon thinks he has caused an accidental slip up and thinks of ways to cover it up.

"Your co-workers call you by your name, I've heard it many times.", he blurts out.

You don't buy it but you don't peer further.

It's been two weeks since you are working in the café and you hadn't even noticed him until Junhui decided to knock over your obliviousness.

It was your third shift and you were seated on the tool leisurely when Junhui came over saying.

"Vernon keeps on looking at you. I have been noticing."

"Vernon? The Geek God VERNON? Looking at me? Sure, I look funny."

That was your comment before you waved him off instantly.

Day four and you decide to observe the varsity star just to confirm the genuineness of Junhui's comments.

"He's staring at you again."

This time you pull out your pocket mirror and Junhui, the genius angles it perfectly so no one was suspecting anything and you confirmed that Vernon was really staring at you.

You didn't what to make out of his blank expression.

The next week rolled in and you were having a casual conversation with Junhui and your best friend, the best gossip pal Seungkwan.

"Oh my god, you're planning to bag Vernon--"

Seungkwan's dramatic quip stopped abruptly when you slapped your hand on his mouth.

"Nothing adds up, Kwan. He definitely stares but with the most neutral expression I have ever seen on anyone. Like he could be plotting my murder but again he could also be looking at me and thinking about Teletubbies in his head."

Junhui was almost rolling on the floor which he was supposed to mop after those words left your mouth.

"But he lingers longer when Y/N is at counter.", Junhui managed to add, "The time he spends there holding that same menu card, if it had been me, I'd have had it memorized."

Two curious pair of eyes landed on the blonde haired boy and he took his position on one of the tools as he crossed his legs and leaned back at the wall behind.

"I have been working here for over a year and trust me, Vernon never made orders. Their group have a guy called Chan, who mostly places the collective order. I think I have taken orders from almost everyone but Vernon. He never did until Y/N came."

Seungkwan was suddenly wolf whistling and doing some questionable dancing with Junhui.

But you were still concerned.

Did you anyhow do something to offend him?

Vernon likes you, a lot.

It's not sudden, it's not prolated.

His liking towards you leads back to Cheshire, a stray cat he has been sheltering for some time.

The first time he saw you was when he decided to visit Cheshire before heading towards home after a game. You were already feeding her a can of tuna, unaware of his presence.

He watched you petting her, making funny sounds to entertain her to you sitting on the ground so that she could lay on your lap and take a nap.

Though his heart swelled and chest tinged, he watched it all with a straight face. Often misunderstood by people because of his blank stares he's tired of convincing them that it's never intentional, rather a habit by birth. He's just a bit lesser expressive that's all.

This continued for days, he would watch you play with Cheshire and waited until you left so that Cheshire could get her dose of SeroVertonin for the day.

Unknowingly, he develops a bond with you, solely from his side.

Vernon is also so grateful to you. Once Cheshire had gone missing for two days and Vernon could feel his heart plummeting to stomach, a fear creeping within him when he couldn't find her in all the places he searched.

He had given up but still visited the place in hopes of seeing her. He could vividly remember the pang in his chest when he saw her again inside the shelter with a note stuck on one of the bricks.

Hi,

I found her by an alleyway that's really far from here. She's safe so don't worry. Thanks for providing her a shelter.

Vernon still keeps the note in his wallet.

The day he decided to introduce himself to you was the day you stopped showing up. And he had no way to reach up to you except for waiting.

He gradually gave up with lots of regret and longing until he saw you again at the café.

Always been asked out, never have asked someone out person Vernon was at loss of words and actions. With no idea how to approach you, he sorted back to his same old habit.

While you indulged in different activities, he indulged himself in watching you, unaware that you have caught onto it.

Next day during GE lecture, you are scribbling down the notes in a questionable handwriting knowing you won't be able to decipher a word out of it later.

When the professor excuses himself out of the hall for some sudden priority work you could sense someone's gaze on you.

Quickly whipping your head and sweeping glances across the hall makes your gaze meets with Vernon's.

Oh, how could you not guess it.

He's flustered when he looks away and next he's grabbing his bag and skipping down the stairs to fleet out of the class.

But your sprint to catch him is faster than the Cheetahs.

"Vernon!"

You call out at the corridor and now every living object in the area is looking at you, waiting for another proposal - rejection episode.

Suddenly you feel small, having those curious eyes, mocking smiles pivoted at you.

Vernon notices your flickering gaze and he doesn't like the creases between your brows.

In three large strides, he covers the distance between two of you and before you could comprehend the situation, his loud voice reaches your ears.

"You didn't have to run so hard for returning my pen.", he's eyeing the pen in your hand, "But I'll take it because you have a habit of loosing them."

The murmurs are loud as others try hard to understand the dynamics you both share.

A glare in sweeping gaze from the jock causes the whispers to simmer down and the crowd regain it's mobility again.

"Thanks",you peer ar him, "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Vernon thinks he should be run away. His heels are hot and his mind is calculating precs for a run but his heart wants to listen to you.

This time the heart prevails.

As Vernon follows you to the emptier section of the corridor, you think you'd get indigestion from the venomous glares you are accumulating throughout.

"Have I done something to upset you?"

Your question catches him off guard.

When he doesn't respond you throw a follow up, "I'm sorry if I'm wrong but I have seen you staring at me for past days."

Vernon cheeks blush up in pink tint as his gaze falls down. He's biting his lip and shaking his head.

You know his having a conversation in his head but right now you want to be a part of it.

"I won't be judging you if that's what you're worried about.", you assure him, "I just want to know if I have ever unintentionally caused you trouble in any possible way."

Time is elapsing but you wait with all the patience. Vernon seems distressed and you feel bad for this sudden counter you have roped him into.

"I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable.", he says in a calm and assuring voice, "That wasn't my intention. It's just, I always have this poker face on and people feel, well, how you're feeling right now.", he laughs but you could feel the strain behind the words.

"I have been searching for you so long and now that I've found you, as cheesy as it sounds", his lips curl up the slightest almost making no difference to the previous neutral expression but this time you notice the gleam in his eyes as he says, "I can't take my eyes of you."

Your heart skips a beat. Damn Vernon for being so smooth.

"Cheshire misses you.", and he adds suddenly so now nothing is making sense to you.

"What do you mean by that? Do we know each other from before? Who's Cheshire?"

Vernon chuckles and he's pulling out his phone to show you his device wallpaper.

Your hand fly to your mouth in shock when you recognise whom Vernon is refering to.

"I also miss her.", You say with a stain of longing in your voice and look at him expectantly, "I can take a guess at some parts but you'll have to fill up the rest for me."

Vernon agrees instantly.

"But for now if you're free, would you mind taking me to her?"

"Ofcourse! Let's go.", he offers and he's relieved, "I'll explain everything on the way."

You are miserable without Junhui as the later takes a day off to perform at another gig. The café is not as busy so you're bored.

"Can I place my order?"

Your voice perks up at the familiar voice and your gaze lifts to see Vernon standing at the queue lane.

"Sure Sir", and you're laughing at the face he makes, "Latte macchiato is it?"

"Yes--"

"No.", you cut him off, "Let me serve you my special today, up for it?"

Vernon nods in delight and he goes back to take his seat and you go to the kitchen, asking your coworker to manage the counter for some time.

When you come back with a glass of Peach Tranquility on the tray, Vernon salivates at the beverage because of the fruity smell and vibrant colours.

"I never knew a Herbal Tea could taste this good.", Vernon compliments you, "Or is the magic in the hands of the one making it?"

Your cheeks warm up, meeting his gaze seems to be difficult so you scurry away making an excuse of getting to the counter.

Does he make your heart flutter as much as you do to his, Vernon ponders over.

Jealousy is a disease and you have it.

It's been weeks since you introduced Vernon to two of your treasured friends. You still remember the first encounter.

"Should I leave? They don't like me it seems."

Vernon whispered in your ear and you held his arm on an instinct, a gesture meaning no stay.

After some awkward glances and formal talks you were successful in stirring the fluidity between the three.

And now, Seungkwan and Junhui are more Vernon's friends then they are yours.

You are really content, though sometimes you get jealous how close they seem but it's funny how perfectly Vernon slots himself in your life.

What's funnier? It's the way your heart has been constricting whenever you're around Vernon. The air around get harder to breath in when he's too close to you. You know what it means, you're not dumb.

And because you're not dumb you know that harbouring a crush on Vernon is ridiculous because, well, he's handsome, he's a popular and he has the whole town lined up for him.

Everytime it occurs to you, a wistful sigh comes out and you end up waving the thoughts away.

Your memories of the past weeks makes you realise how Vernon clogs in each one of them.

"If I'm failing this class, it's on you."

Your GE lectures are similar expect nowadays you are occupying one of the chairs at back and Vernon's bag is of no use as he always lays his head on your shoulder quoting it gives him the best sleep.

"Stop being dramatic, take notes and let me sleep Y/N."

Instead of taking notes, you always end up counting his lashes, admire his sharp nose or linger your gaze on his lush lips.

"Don't you have a match tomorrow?"

You couldn't pinpoint since when you had started taking notes of his session calenders for the soccer matches.

"Will you come?"

It was kind off ritual to Vernon, asking you to attend the matches and getting a no everytime. Not that he minded, knowing you had no interest or knowledge in the sports, plus the extra classes you attended was taking much of your time and he would never want to add another baggage to your counter.

"Here, I made you porridge since you still have fever but decided to work your shift.", Vernon places the carrier on the counter sounding disappointed, "I got you some medicines as well."

After your shift ended, you found Vernon waiting for you by one of the tables. You took the carrier and pushed it to him, taking the seat adjacent to his.

"You want me to feed you?"

You didn't even have to answer him and he was opening the lids while holding the spoon in his hands.

The red tints on your cheeks were not from fever burns but because of the guy who was feeding you, even letting you use his other arm as a pillow but he didn't need to know that.

Seungkwan takes a sip of his Iced Americano in silence. Junhui is unusually quiet, he's the one spacing out today.

"You have done nothing except for sipping on that never ending drink", Vernon points to Seungkwan in an accusatory tone and turns to the one sitting beside him, "And you, are you awake? Are you sleeping? Are you even listening?"

Seungkwan lets out a hum, a poised one which makes Vernon anxious.

"So you admit to liking Y/N?"

Vernon cocks his brow, "Is this a court session? Am I being charged?"

"Just answer in Yes or No."

"Yes. I like her, a lot. I think I love her.", Vernon says it again, with sincerity and emphasis.

Junhui chimes in with a grin, "We know. You're damn obvious but", the grin is wipped off and seriousness ghosts over as he continues, "It's not that we don't trust you but we want to be sure that this is not some kind of prank or a bet which general goes on between the group of jocks. We have seen that a lot and everytime the one on recieving end gets heartbroken, mocked and it becomes their pain to bear."

"The one causing it is termed cool or passed as if it's obvious. It never effects the popular person. They go on as if nothing ever happened and their popularity remains the same.", Seungkwan picks up, "To be honest, your other circle is good, I have never seen or heard anything problematic which comes as a surprise but I hope you understand where we both are coming from."

"No one would want to see their friend suffer", Vernon says with stark seriousness, "I swear on Cheshire and Soccer that I really love Y/N and I want to court her."

Seungkwan gasps before closing the palms over his mouth.

Junhui stands on his feet wide eyed, the chair making the loudest screech because of the abrupt movement.

And Vernon thinks he had said something wrong. Incredibly wrong.

"Oh my god, did you hear him?", Seungkwan asks Junhui.

"He's totally smitten, gosh!", comes the other's response.

Vernon groans, heart pulsating a little lesser than before. He's at fault for forgetting how dramatic these two idiots can be.

They exchange a knowing glance before looking Vernon.

"Confess to her.", both of them say in unison.

Vernon is however unfazed, "Trust me I want to. If I could do it right now--"

"Do it as soon as you can.", Seungkwan encourages him.

"It's not easy when I know I'll get awkward around her", Vernon knows he's gonna spend some sleepless nights, "But I need to one up."

You are confused when you reach the shelter to see no signs of Vernon when he was the one to call you up to meet him here.

Cheshire meows at you, circling around your feet when you notice a note tied to her tail.

Turn left and walk past the tree if you wanna a play a game with me.

-Vernon

Your eyes squint searching for the creator of the note that you're holding as you turn around. You start walking towards the instructed place while Cheshire follows you.

Vernon is so nervous that if now someone asks him which team he plays for he'd mix up the names, his jersey number, even the position he plays in.

He almost jolts when he sees you approaching but Goodness Gracious his calming pill, Cheshire is also with you.

"What's the meaning of this note?"

"I want to send a code to you.", Vernon explains, "Answer three questions to get a slot each time and put it as a whole to decode my message."

You have never been this confused in your entire existence but you comply.

"First question,", Vernon says, his nervousness swaying away a bit, "Which jersey number is generally assigned to a team's first choice goalkeeper?"

The gears in your head don't need to turn at all.

You immediately respond, "When I said, I intake everything you speak about your passion including facts, I mean it.", your lips curl up, "The answer is 1."

Everytime he thinks his heart couldn't swell more you prove it wrong.

"Correct!", he is grinning, being so proud of you.

You mirror his grin

"Next question is... it's the easiest of all", his brows cocks at you, "What's the only self-enumerating number in English?"

You scoff and speak nonchalantly, "4. What am I, a four year old trying to memorize numbers?"

Vernon chuckles, "You got that correct too. Now time for the last question."

You brace yourself for the last one. Cheshire is seated on the ground, in between you two, her gaze moving from you to Vernon and vice versa.

"I am usually found with a couple of friends, Quarter a dozen, and you'll find me again. What am I?", he asks with a underlying tone, "Even though it's a riddle, you'll have to take the words as it is to crack this."

It's time you have use your brain. Riddles are meant to make you think about everything expect for the actual answer which most of times are present in the question itself.

Vernon watches you intently as you bite your nail, a habit of yours when you're thinking too hard. He crouches to pet Cheshire and the later purrs in content.

Some time passes by and you're still thinking of everything and anything unaware of the amused looks you're getting from both Vernon and Cheshire.

"Got it!", your sudden yell startles him, "The answer is 3!"

Vernon is instantly up on his heels as he smiles, "Congratulations for getting all the no-brainers correct.", he laughs when you scowl, "Now the last part, put the answers together and you'll get the code. Decode it and that'll be the message I'm trying to send you."

"Okay, let me put it together.", you mumble, "In order right? Then it's 1 4 3--"

You tongue gets tied and you look at Vernon with wide eyes. The nervousness that had simmered down comes back to him tenfold. He could feel his legs giving up when he meets your gaze.

None of you speak.

Both of you are frozen.

His heart might burst out of his chest if you prolong your answer one minute more. You only hope that what's Vernon trying to say is the only meaning to 143 that you know.

Cheshire, the cute little bean could also sense the tension between her adoptive parents. So she meows to stir some mobility.

Vernon thinks it's time he asks for his sake. He's about to open to his mouth when he hears you.

"I love you too.", you say so timidly and look away that Vernon has to close the gap between you two.

"Can you say it again?", he asks in desperation, "Do you really mean it?"

The index hooked under your chin, forces you to look at him.

"I love you, Vernon."

Comes your affirmation and the words that he needed to hear.

His head dips down to plant his lips on yours. Your arms circle around his neck and his settles on your waist.

He has his eyes opened while you have them closed. That's definitely a sight he'd love to see everyday, he's sure. You're loving the plush of his lips against yours and you don't miss how gentle his grip is on you. This feeling is so new yet so satisfactory that you'd need to have it everyday, you're sure.

"I love you, Y/N.", he whispers against your lips and you pull him back to have the touch of his lips again.

It's intoxicating.

You are kissing under the stars, moonlight being the only illumination on you both. The birds are chirping something soothing faraway and the cold breeze is doing nothing to cool you because it's Vernon, the only other you can feel on yourself.

You both break the kiss giggling when you hear another mewl from Cheshire. You immediately lift up the feline in your arms and Vernon is hugging you from back as you both pet her.

"You could have just confessed directly you know?", you crane your neck to tease him, "What if I got the answers wrong?"

Vernon pecks your forehead and says, "I had a lot of alternatives ready. I wouldn't have let you go until I got the correct answers from you."

You gaped at him in disbelief.

"Such a dork."

"But your dork", he laughs making you smile as well.

"How about we rename Cheshire to Cupid?"

"The shop is closed, we won't be taking anymore orders Sir.", you are half leaning on the counter and as you joke around with the man standing infront of you.

Your boyfriend.

Vernon is unfazed, "I was in a mood good, would have tipped you well."

You snort at his response and you're undoing the ties of your apron, "Well in that case, along with our regular menu I can provide you an exclusive item."

"Sounds good, can I know what it entails?"

You keep the apron inside the case and walk out from behind the counter. When you do so, Vernon is instantly pulling you to him as he entwines his fingers with yours.

"Would you prefer Coffee, Tea", you grin tightening your grip on him, "or just more of Me?"

Vernon feigns to ponder, even rubbing his chin for a good measure, "The last one sounds appealing. I'd always like to have you, love."

"You're so corny.", you're pinching the bridge of his nose, "Good that I love you."

Vernon just smiles and the warmth he's radiates is enough for you to thrive longer, to love stronger.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

[riddle-me-ri]

a/n: *gasp* a fanfic in 2024?? and it's not batman rogues?? Well..atleast it's...somewhat kinda sorta was DC comics?? I really wanna make this blog more..multi-verse based. So here's my shot at a "The Wolf Among Us" one-shot with Bigby Wolf and a female reader. This was a combination of re-reading the comics and watching way too many Tex Avery cartoons rip and despite all the other stuff I wanna work on I just had to get this story written and out there lmao who doesn't love the typical club singer openly flirting with the main character?? It's a classic right?

Content Warning: slightly suggestive heavy touching and flirting, but nothing explicit.

Word Count: 1.1 k

Bigby Wolf x F!Reader - Zeroing In

You push back the curtain just enough to see a tiny slit into the crowd beyond the stage.

You tried to focus your vision to pierce through the smoky haze that filtered the room and the figures in the audience. 

You kept your eyes peeled for a certain gentleman in particular…

You've been trying to get Bigby Wolf to come to your shows for a while, but he declined. Always too busy or preoccupied somehow but he always mentioned “maybe some other time.”  

You only managed to reel him in tonight because you mentioned how a possible suspect of his often frequented the club you performed at.

Knowing his persistence for answers, he couldn't deny the invitation…

And maybe…just maybe you could entice him to keep coming back for you.

You inhaled softly when you finally managed to make out his rich brown slicked back locks and warm brown eyes. 

Some muffled giggles left your lips as you saw him look around with a look of indifference but also on alert for who could possibly be the suspect you informed him about.

“All right, you almost ready, girlie? You gotta full house tonight, looks like even the sheriff swung by…dunno what the hell he wants but I’ma need you to put the customers at ease…lighten them up the best way you know how ‘k gorgeous?” 

“Yes ma'am!” You replied over your shoulder. 

“Who are ya lookin’ out for anyway?” Your boss, Carol asked, her head tilted in a curious angle. 

You giggled fondly to yourself as you stole one last glance at Bigby before you had to put on a straight sultry face. 

“A lady has her secrets…” You teased as you backed away from behind the curtain and straightened out your dress. 

Carol shook her head with a smile. “Eh, sure keep your secrets, girlie.” 

You winked at your boss before taking your position in front of the curtain. 

As the curtain slowly pulled back, you began your sexy saunter across the stage in time to the smooth jazz number that started playing. 

Cheers, whistles, and soft applauds welcomed you as patrons took delight in the bits of skin your dress revealed as you began singing your seductive tune.

You tried not to immediately lock eyes with Bigby, even as tiny shocks of excitement coursed through you from feeling his eyes on you.

Mid-way into your song, you began to slowly make your way down the stage and into the audience. 

You began teasing some of the audience members as you strutted around the floor. You'd let your hand glide across one man's shoulders, another you'd pat his cheek.

You couldn't help but notice Bigby shifting in his seat out of the corner of your eye. 

You giggled inwardly, you weren't about to leave him out. 

As you slowly approached the sheriff, you couldn't deny the stretch at the corners of your lips, slightly breaking your seductive aura to show genuine delight. 

You quickly recompose yourself however, as you began softly singing the bridge of the song. 

As the band played an instrumental portion, you wrapped your arm around Bigby's neck while your other arm brought your hand to cup the side of his face. 

His eyebrows raised slightly as his eyes try not to look into yours.

You could feel him gasp under his breath as you graciously and freely sat side-saddle in his lap. Your proud smirk didn’t fade as he glanced at you with a surprised, hesitant expression. 

You wished he would naturally react to the mood and wrap his arms around you, but he seems to have his hands deadlocked to the arms of his chair.

You almost jump out of your skin when he harshly whispers into your ear, his hot breath fanned your exposed shoulder. 

“What the hell are you doing?” 

“My job…like you.” You whispered softly back. 

Bigby huffed, before grumbling, “Where is he?”

You comb back a bit of his hair as you slide off his lap. “I’ll show you…”

In an attempt to not be super obvious, you engage with other patrons before getting to the suspect. 

When you finally got to the suspect, you teasingly caressed the underside of his chin with your index finger, before you made sure to make eye contact with Bigby.

He nodded as he looked down at the man who had such a lovestruck look on his face he didn’t even notice the sheriff taking inventory of him.

You head back to center stage and finish your performance with a glamorous flourish before the curtain falls as the club is filled with rampant applause and whistles. 

You exhaled as if you had been holding your breath underwater throughout the whole performance.

You’ve been singing for as long as you can remember. You’ve performed for plenty of audiences all over…and somehow this performance seemed the most nerve-wracking and the longest one to you. 

“So…the sheriff, huh?” Carol inquired with a smirk. “Can’t say I saw that one coming.” She handed you a cup of water. 

“Oh, shush,” you take the cup from her hand. “...a girl can dream, right?” 

“Hey, for Fables, the lives we live and where we come from…dreams are just the beginning.” 

You offer a small half smile before making your way back to your dressing room. 

Suddenly all the confidence you had going into the night started dissipating as you realized that perhaps, you should let go of this infatuation you have. He didn’t seem all to pleased or eager by your stunt…or maybe you just genuinely caught the sheriff off-guard…

You two get along fine. You’re able to converse with him casually, you were one of the few Fables outside of the Woodlands that weren’t either sour with him or scared of him. One of the few that you felt were genuinely in his corner. 

At least…you hoped he felt that way, at the very least. He may not hold any romantic feelings for you, and you could live with that, but you wanted him to at least know he had someone who believed in him. 

You began wiping off your make-up in your mirror when you noticed through the reflection of your room that something was slipped under your door. 

When you turned around you half-expected nothing to be there and your eyes were playing tricks, but surely enough there was a tiny folded up piece of paper there. 

As you tightened the belt around your robe, you walked over to pick up the note. 

You unraveled the note to see some hastily drawn handwriting that you can barely make out. 

Hey-

Thanks for the tip, I was able to get the guy and hopefully he’ll spill his guts soon enough. 

Also, I enjoyed your performance tonight, despite the heart attack you gave me. 

May come back to see you one of these nights. 

Stay safe and see you around.

-Bigby

A tiny flutter filled your chest as a small slowly grows across your face. You cling the tiny note to your chest and let out a tiny excited squeal. 

You couldn’t wait to head home and get some sleep to dream of what’s to come.

[ms--lobotomy]

Hello🌹 I am glad to see the addition of writers to the Warhammer fandom. Obscenity with primarchs is fine🫶🏻 Can I do something with Sanguine (or are you writing for everyone at once? in general, here it will be more convenient for you)) that meme: the reader – "I have done nothing wrong in my life"; the primarch – "I know this and I love you." But the reader did something like that🤭

hello! o/ of course i can write something either way! ill write something with sanguinius because i like him a lot. i am normal about him. i am normal about him. i am normal about h (feel free to add more asks if youre into my writing style lol)

---

word count: 999

content warnings: slight mention of colonialism but like you're into 40k so what did you expect

---

You giggled to yourself, your legs dangling off of the Primarch’s bed. It was far too large for you, and frankly far too large for him as well. The weighted blanket under you was comically large, and the mattress you sat upon yielded slightly to your form. The bed was perfect, as was the man you loved so dearly. And outside the window of the Red Tear, a temperate planet spun ever so slowly. Its white sun cast a shadow enveloping half of the planet in darkness. It was almost peaceful here, in the outer atmosphere of this strange new planet.

And you know what you did.

In your defense, you had found it hilarious. In concept, at the very least. You'd scoured the ship for feathers large and pale enough to come from your lover, and once you'd found enough (and learned how to pull off tricks that required some slight of hand) you'd gone to your lover, an ornate leather bag draped over you. The clasp on this bag was undone, but you doubt your lover would have noticed. And when you saw him, you ran towards him at a full sprint. He noticed you slightly after, his blood-red eyes widening.

"Sanguinius, my love!" you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around his cold armor.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, saying your name with the amount of care you'd come to expect from your lover. "What do you come to me about?" he asked, pushing your arms off of him. He knelt down to put his heavy arms around you for a few seconds, and you melted into his touch.

He pulled away and took your hands in his. His hands enveloped yours, you were just over half his size after all. Oh dear, you thought, not wanting to be the first one to pull away from this gesture. The Brightest One had often been one to initiate romantic gestures, and you hated pulling away. But this wasn't your first time pulling away.

"I just wanted to talk to you," you said. Without thinking, you pursed your lips before they went back to normal. As normal as a giddy smile was, at least.

"Talk to me," the primarch repeated. "Hmm. Well, talk away."

The two of you started a conversation about the... weather of the planet. How exciting. While he looked vaguely in your direction, you'd dropped a feather on the ground. Then another. You responded to his idle chatter about the planet below the Red Tear. Yes, it would be a wonderful addition to the Imperium of Man. Then you dropped a few more feathers onto the cold metal ground.

Finally, you looked down at... his feathers? Your feathers? They were far enough from you that it could have been plausible that they had come from the primarch.

"Oh, Sanguinius! You're molting!" you exclaimed in terror, a pile of feathers now at Sanguinius's feet.

"I'm... molting,'' Sanguinius replied softly, bending down to the floor and picking up a feather. He looked back at you, his expression greatly changed.

The dread on his face made yours flush. Oh no, you thought to yourself, wringing out your hands in front of you. What did I just do? Without thinking, you turned tail and ran off. You knew the Red Tear well enough now that you only made one misstep before fumbling with the doorknob that was way too high for you and running onto that bed.

You giggled to yourself. A nervous giggle.

And you heard footsteps. You've heard primarch footsteps before, as Sanguinius was not one to shy away from showing you off to his brothers. His were rather light as far as they went, though, as you couldn't unhear the thud. thud. thud. that they produced. You couldn't help but feel your heart fall in your chest; you didn't yet know how he would respond to this.

And then you heard the door open, an agonizingly slow creak. "My darling?" you heard an all too familiar voice ask softly. "Are you in here?"

You grabbed the weighted blanket underneath you. You contemplated whether to say something, but not a second later, his eyes darted towards you. The door swung open, and the primarch folded in his wings to fit through the door. "Ah, hello there," he said with a hint of relief in his voice. You could see his wings relaxing behind him.

"Hello, dear," you replied. Your stomach turned. You stared at him, trying to discern if he was angry, or scared, or a combination of the two. But his placid expression matched neither of those descriptions. He sat next to you on his bed, putting an arm around you. You let go of the blanket.

"Is everything alright?" he asked. No hint of anger or fear in his voice.

"I am," you replied softly. You looked up at him. "You're... you're not actually molting, by the way."

Sanguinius laughed, tossing his head back as he did so. His golden hair fell softly over his shoulders. He had a laugh that was contagious, as a little bit of a chuckle escaped your lips as well. His golden armor shifted as he moved, kept pristine no matter how many battles the primarch saw. "I figured that out a little bit ago," he replied. "It is going to take more than that to convince me for more than a few seconds."

The corners of your mouth quirked up. You looked back up at him, and saw a radiant smile dusting his face as well. "You have done nothing wrong, ever, in your life," he said.

"I have done nothing wrong, ever, in my life," you repeated with a relieved laugh. You looked down and away from him, rubbing your limp arm with your hand. Another chuckle escaped your lips.

"I know this," responded Sanguinius, his hand trailing down to your waist. Cold metal brushed against your skin, and you let out a small shiver at his touch. "And I love you."

[jesuis-melodrama]

My Favourite Reasons For Why the Great War Started

1. Revolutionary Justice in an Unequal Caste-System Society.

I adore the IDW comics, it's the second Transformers media I consumed after the franchised Michael Bay films, and let me tell you – I was not expecting all these heavy explorations into bot psyche, romance, societal injustice, and redemption. Really, it seriously surprised me, I never expected to see actual canonical romance in the Transformers universe, it always struck me as the type of medium to focus on action first.

So – thank you, James Roberts and Alex Milne.

There's so many characters and arcs I could talk about – Cyclonus and Tailgate and Whirl; Chromedome and Rewind; poor poor Shockwave; whatever's going on with Prowl; Starscream, Bumblebee, and Windblade attempting to scrape Cybertron back together; that one time Rodimus and Megatron's charisma was so awe-inspiring, it made personality parasites explode – but I want to focus on how the Great War began in IDW.

It's the first media to suggest Megatron not as a power-hungry tyrant, but formerly as a member of Cybertron's suppressed working class forced to labour due to the alt-mode he was born with. Sick of and unwilling to accept the subjugation imposed upon him and fellow mechs like him, Megatron rises from miner to gladiator who eventually becomes powerful enough to seize power as a revolutionary and then ascends to the image of the all-mighty Lord Megatron that is synonymous with his name.

Optimus, on the other hand, had somewhat humble beginnings as a strict but fair and righteous police captain named Orion Pax struggling to provide justice in a society deeply embedded with corruption.

Although both Megatron and Optimus sought to revolutionise Cybertron into a world where all bots are equal and uninhibited from potential and free will by their alt-modes, they had very different ideologies and motivations on how and why to reach this goal. Megatron, especially, loses his way and path eventually, and continued his slaughter not for the means to an end, but because he began to crave the "pleasure" from the act.

Optimus didn't escape unscathed from tragic ramifications either: the mantle of leadership as the war dragged on for thousands of millennia weighed heavily upon him, so much that his later psyche in the comics could be described as suicidal.

But whatever that infects these two old bots in the future, young Megatron and Optimus were, in some strange way, allies, out of mutual respect and acknowledgement of the other if nothing else.

The war was initiated and continued by them, because they both believed in a better Cybertron, and millions of years later, thousands of atrocities after, unspeakable acts of war crimes, the Great War ended with both of them remembering what they were fighting for in the first place.

IDW's concept that Megatron was a gladiator turned revolutionary and Orion Pax became Optimus Prime who was inspired by Megatron's words made its way to the Transformers: Prime animated series, allowing this universe's rendition of the two titans to be voiced by Peter Cullen and Frank Welker, the legends themselves.

2. Lord Prime and Lord High Protector

Whatever contentions (of the many) that may be had with Michael Bay's re-imagining of this iconic franchise; you've gotta admit: the designs were cool.

Bay gave us Megatron's ram-head helmet, the astonishing CGI transformations, and the adorable Bumblebee design that has since become a classic of the character.

And according to Chris McFeely's video on the Great War, apparently, Bay's Transformers is the first Transformers media to introduce the idea that Megatron and Optimus had personal pre-war relations, some intimate form of brotherhood and camaraderie, while other adaptations at this point only alluded to their connection as rival leaders who rose to power at roughly the same time.

Bay took it a step further; Megatron isn't simply an opportunistic warlord making a grab for power, he was once a legitimate ruler holding an equal throne besides Optimus.

That's right, Bay crafted the title of Lord High Protector, a Cybertronian ruler of high status with authority over military affairs, ruling in tandem with the Lord Prime, Optimus, who was in charge of more civilian and spiritual duties.

It's interesting, this idea, because it implies far more depth to Optimus and Megatron's history, they must have been ruling together for quite some time before Megatron fastened his greedy claws on the All Spark.

I, for one, am curious in a series that explores how they ruled Cybertron together and how exactly this fracture came to be.

3. Megatron Dunks on a Dock Worker for the Fun of It

The classics of the classics, the first Transformers show to place the universe on the map: the archetypal G1 cartoon series that featured wacky shenanigans such as battling dinosaurs on a remote island or Soundwave and his Cassettes dancing with teenagers at a local gymnasium party.

G1 followed a very traditional hero-vs-villain formula, inspired by the Cold War tension at the time of airing and writing; there was no personal connections or noble aspirations for an equal society – Megatron was simply a campy, formidable scoundrel who yearned for power and Optimus Prime was the honourable, paternal everyday hero who rose to be the leader of the force resisting him and his army (at this point, Prime wasn't even a title, it was just Optimus' last name!).

Optimus Prime still had a previous form of Orion Pax, a dock worker rather than a police officer or an archivist, and Megatron was once an admired figure of Orion's, whose parasocial adoration was disintegrated when Megatron blew up Orion's workplace, critically injuring him and girlfriend, Ariel (soon to be Elita-1), and de-activating best friend, Dion. From the ashes of destruction, reconstructed by Alpha Trion, Orion became the battle-masked, audial-finned, red and blue paragon of justice that shouldered the burden of command in the war against Megatron and his evil Deceptions.

[gravitywonagain]

Chairlift Confessional

(a Fresh Powder in the Pine Trees story)

.

The sky is grey and overcast, diffuse light dimming with the approaching dusk as they ride Phoenix Mountain Express up the backside of the peak. The night skiing lights will kick on soon to illuminate the slopes and extend the ski day. This is the third day this week that Wei Ying and Lan Zhan have gone to the backside to wind down after lessons have closed. It’s a new habit, a good habit, if you ask Wei Ying. Lan Zhan doesn’t seem to hate it, either. 

The lift rocks to a stop and Wei Ying leans back. It’s not abnormal for the lift to pause for someone struggling to get on or off the chair, but as the silence stretches, Wei Ying realizes this is some other problem entirely. Whether mechanical or human doesn’t really matter. They’re going to be sitting here for a while, it seems. 

The wind is soft through the trees, blowing powder off in small flurries. It’s cold enough that both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan have their faces covered, Lan Zhan with his actual brandname BUFF in midnight-blue merino wool, and Wei Ying with his 69-cent red bandana. 

The quiet is peaceful and, normally, Wei Ying might be content to just sit here with Lan Zhan and enjoy the company. He likes not having to fill the silence. Likes just being in the same space and not feeling like too little or too much. But there’s… something that’s been brewing between them and Wei Ying can’t think of a better opportunity to have this conversation. 

Still, it’s not easy to break the moment. Wei Ying kicks snow off his board as it dangles from his left foot before propping it back up on the toes of his right boot, preventing too much torque on his knee. There’s plenty of room for it on the four-seat chair with just the two of them. But it’s really just a procrastination. One that Lan Zhan seems to pick up on as he quirks his head to the side in question. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying starts, “we’re friends, right?”

“Mn.”

“Yeah? Good, good.” He leans forward on the restraint bar and ignores whatever look Lan Zhan gives him about it. “It’s more than that, though,” he says, “right? I’m not alone in this?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, somewhat muffled by the buff but sounding uncomfortable, or maybe just tired. But it’s not a no. It’s definitely not a no. 

“Okay, so I’m not totally off base,” says Wei Ying with a smile Lan Zhan won’t be able to see, but he’ll be able to hear. “Are we gonna do something about it, then?”

Lan Zhan sighs and shakes his head, “Like what?”

Wei Ying thinks he can hear something like a smile in Lan Zhan’s voice, too. It spurs him on. 

"Oh, come on,” he says, teasing, “You've wanted to fuck me since you saw me with my sleeves rolled up, teching a pair of skis."

"No," says Lan Zhan with an abject dismissal that takes Wei Ying by surprise.

"No?"

"No,” he confirms, and then, “I've wanted to fuck you since you told me I had a ski pole stuck up my ass and inquired as to whether the basket was still attached."

Wei Ying feels his eyes go comically wide, "Lan Zhan!" He isn’t sure if he’s reacting more to the profanity or the confession. Both are delightful. 

“Mn.” 

It’s a smug confirmation and Wei Ying is living for it. 

“But I was such an ass!”

“There are,” Lan Zhan pauses, considering his words, twisting his poles with his fingers, “solutions to that problem.”

Wei Ying really hopes he means that the way he thinks he means that. 

“And yet, here we are,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the mountain and present time, “almost two months later and…?”

Lan Zhan’s voice turns serious, "You're my subordinate, Wei Ying."

"I am not. I mean, I could be if that's how you like to play."

"You are. You're my employee."

"We haven't been boss-and-employee for months now."

"We have." He’s calm, serene as always, but the words are heavy, emphatic. 

Wei Ying can’t accept it. He turns to face Lan Zhan as fully as he can, lifting his knee onto the chair. "You follow all of your employees under the rope?" he asks, voice goading.

"I --"

"You let all of your employees bully you into a three hour park session?"

"Wei Ying." 

"Every Thursday."

Lan Zhan shakes his head again. "That's not the point," he says quietly.

"What's not the point?"

"Don't you want to run Juniors' Club?"

That is not where Wei Ying thought this was going. "You think I'm trying to get a promotion by fucking you?"

"I don--"

"Or by you fucking me,” he amends, turning it into a joke. “Really, either way, I'm easy."

"Wei Ying." 

The chastisement in Lan Zhan’s voice is sharper this time, so Wei Ying stops. Changes tactics. Narrows his eyes, not that Lan Zhan can see them. 

"Is this a rules thing?"

"It is an HR violation," says Lan Zhan, like he’s finally back on solid ground. 

Wei Ying scoffs, "Your brother is the owner. I don't think you'll get fired over it."

"I won't."

The implication is obvious, but Wei Ying actually hadn’t considered that possibility. It stops him short. "Oh." 

"Which would be ridiculous,” says Lan Zhan, suddenly more aggravated than Wei Ying has ever seen him, “because it would be my impropriety, my abuse of power, not yours."

"I mean, if abuse of power is what you're into…" Wei Ying tries, weakly. 

"Wei Ying."

"Oh my god,” Wei Ying laughs then, at them, at the whole situation, “lighten up!"

He’s not sure how he can tell with the goggles and buff in the way, but he’s almost positive Lan Zhan is glaring at him.

"Fine,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I'll quit."

"No!"

Wei Ying didn’t expect a response quite that strong. He isn’t really sure what to do with it. "What?” he says, deflecting, “I'm sure I can find something else."

"You love this job,” says Lan Zhan, voice heavy with emotion in a way Wei Ying can’t really parse. “I will not allow you to quit. I'll… I'll refuse your resignation."

That, at least, makes Wei Ying smile. "I'm a carnival worker, Lan Zhan, I don't think you can refuse my resignation."

"You would not do that to Wen Yuan and Lan Jingyi, would you?"

Wei Ying pauses, sucks his teeth. The argument is valid. Unfair, but valid. It’s a trump card he didn’t know Lan Zhan had, but he’s right. He huffs out a sigh, fogging his goggles slightly. 

"Fine! Okay, okay.”

He scrubs his hand, uselessly, over his goggles in frustration. He wants to see Lan Zhan’s face. Needs to see his eyes where he keeps all of his more subtle emotions. Wei Ying can read him so easily through his eyes. This conversation is too much for how covered they are, but then, maybe that’s better. 

“Okay, so, what?” he asks, exasperated, “We wait until the season's over?"

"Are you not planning on coming back next year?"

"Well, sure, but if we start something in the off season, it's not an abuse of power, now is it?"

Lan Zhan considers this argument. Mulls it over in silence. He nods, seeming to find it acceptable.

"So we wait," Lan Zhan says carefully.

"Yeah! It's January, already. So like, three more months?"

"Three months."

"How hard can three months be, right?" Even as he says it, he knows he’s full of shit. 

When the chair kicks back into motion, Wei Ying looks off to the side. The lights are on now and the closer trees have purple and gold Mardi Gras beads dangling from their branches. He breathes loudly in their silence and thinks. Three months is no time at all. Three months is forever. 

He glances over to Lan Zhan, face still guarded by goggles and dark blue gaiter. He wants to reach over to him, to take his hand, to steal his poles. Something. Anything. He keeps his hands tight on the bar, taps more snow off his board. 

It’s doable, he tells himself. They can manage this. They can still be friends, he can keep dragging Lan Zhan out of his comfort zone and pushing him into spending more time with the instructors. Good distractions for both of them. There’s just a new boundary. Wei Ying can respect that boundary. There are, after all, lines even he won’t cross. 

This, their after-work sessions and easy friendship, this can be enough. 

He reaches over and steals one of Lan Zhan’s poles.

“For the flats,” he says, smile bright in his voice. 

“You’re not even strapped in yet,” says Lan Zhan, stealing it back. 

Wei Ying is pretty sure he hears a smile there, too. 

It’s enough.