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treasure-hwa · 2 years

Text

track 6. MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT

feat: san x reader

release date: february 12th 2022

genre: strangers to lovers; fluff, suggestive

word count: 2000

warnings: mentions of drunkenness

author's note: I am quite proud of this one!!! I liked how it came out, although I didn't incorporate all the feelings the song had, the story is more focused on the fluffy side! Enjoy <3

All About Luv Day Masterlist

Your friend nagging and getting you drunk the whole night made you do this. In your opinion, you are not to blame for downloading the hottest dating app of the moment and drunkenly matching with a random guy when you arrived at home from the pub you had gone to.

Of course, you were only able to remember that clearly because, in the morning, you woke up with an annoying sound blaring on your ear and making your head spin. Barely opening one eye, you recognized said friend’s pic on the screen, so you tried your best to lift your heavy arm to accept the call, however you were not fast enough. Instead, you were facing the unread notifications on your lockscreen and, when, through the sleepiness covering your eyes, you recognized the app icon and a message, it's safe to say you almost fell off the bed.

"Are you drunk or are you truly bad at writing? XD"

You scoffed reading the message, but, after going through the small conversation you had with the guy on the previous day, he had a point. About his face- wow, you get a lot of points, unknown boy! You thought to yourself while swiping on the available photos: he goes to the gym, his fashion sense is okay, his hair and skin looks flawless, oh, cat pics! The description sounded nice too and made you laugh a little.

"Choi San ⛰ 22 yo, dancer, life enthusiast. An introvert excited guy looking for someone with whom I can laugh and live nice moments with (but my little girl Byeol will always be more important!!) I may sound boring, but you could try talking to me to confirm it (I'm not good at writing these)."

Half an hour and a breakfast full of thinking later, you decided you could try meeting this guy, who looked like a pretty normal one, and he had liked you too, right? Even if your profile was badly made and there weren't many photos, drunk you knew what was your best photo and uploaded that as the main one. The most that could happen was you two not really matching, right? Not thinking twice this time, you started another conversation.

Y/N: Hey, sorry for yesterday. I was indeed a little drunk. I hope I didn't sound too dumb XD

SAN: It was a bit funny, I can't deny, but I understand

SAN: So, Y/N, right?

Y/N: Yes. San?

SAN: That's my name

SAN: Were you celebrating anything special yesterday?

Y/N: No, nothing in particular. Just the end of a good week, I guess

SAN: A valid reason. It's important to celebrate these little moments

Y/N: Ah, so that's your "life enthusiast" side?

SAN: Yeah, I can't help myself ^^

Y/N: I like it ^^

Surprising yourself, you and San kept talking for the next two weeks. Your "relationships" had never lasted long enough neither interested you enough, after a few tries, you decided you were okay with having no partners, even if deep down a whispering dark voice inside you said it was your fault for never having a decent relationship.

Knowing that, your friend kept her nagging by telling you to try more, to meet someone new, outside your social circle, to "breathe a different air". You knew she was just worried about you, after all she knew you better than anyone else. You thought having a date with a guy you met online just two weeks before was quite different already, however your friend would hear none of that until you were sure something good could come out of it.

You and San would meet in the park, a crowded place, perfect and safe enough for a first date. When you spotted a man that looked like San sitting on the bench and looking up to the trees, you thought you were delirious and having a fever dream, since there was no way someone could look that good in real life. Your expectations were high, but damn, he exceeded all of them.

— Y/N? Hi! — his excited wave made you wake up and walk towards him, hands firmly gripping your small purse. — Hi, I’m San!

— Nice to meet you in person, San!

— My pleasure — he got up and smiled, unaware of the effects his presence had on you. He had dimples!

San wasn’t too tall, but his wide shoulders and body proportions in general could fool anyone. He was wearing a long-sleeved white t-shirt tucked inside light jeans, a navy blue jacket and sneakers and his black hair was styled like a comma, his fringe falling on his forehead just like those k-drama’s actors’ you loved so much. Quite perfectly simple for a first date, you thought to yourself, but you were sure he would be able to pull off even a flowery shirt.

— You look beautiful, by the way — he complimented you, scratching his nape. — More beautiful than in your photos.

— Thank you. You look really good too, I liked your hair style.

— Thanks, I styled it like this because you said you liked it on actors and such.

His shy giggle prompted yours and conversation flowed from there.

Two weeks of dates now and then, a kiss here and there later, you two weren’t in an official relationship, but it felt like it, specially when he would send you messages to talk about the most trivial things, like the color of the sky, the moon, an episode of a k-drama you recommended to him etc. But the moment you most felt like his girlfriend was when you went to his house, that he shared with his best friend, and both the friend and San’s cat/daughter, Byeol, approved of you.

— She didn’t even warm up to me that easily, you know — Wooyoung, the friend, told you, pointing to the fur ball on your lap.

— She’s adorable — you said with a smile on your face. — I love cats.

— That must be why you like San so much.

— Oh, I-

Before you could finish your sentence, the man in question entered the living room and threw himself on top of his friend.

— Wooyoung, weren’t you going out? Leave us alone~

The younger rolled his eyes and pushed San to the floor.

— I am. Have fun, love birds, but not too much.

Not too long after that day, you were sleeping safe and sound, wrapped in your favorite blanket and dreaming of a certain someone, when your phone rang. The ID caller showed it was the man of your dreams, quite literally.

— San? It's — you looked at the clock on your nightstand, — four in the morning. Why are you calling me?

His voice was excited when he told you he was in front of your house, but didn't want to knock because it could scare you. You didn't really know what you were thinking of when you grabbed your sleeping robe and went to meet him in front of your house, but you did it and you were happy with your sleepy choices, because San looked weirdly good with his messy hair and gray sweater, leaning against his black car.

— You came here, in the middle of the night, to see me in your pajamas? — you joked, voice still a little raspy from sleep, raising an eyebrow. — Lovely.

He chuckled and grabbed your hand, pulling you against his front.

— I had to. I know we have a date later today, but I couldn’t wait for the morning to rise, so here I am, in all my pajamas glory, to give you love.

— Give me love? — He smirked and opened the car door for you. — What a gentleman. Where are we going, by the way?

— Would you like ice cream? — he answered, starting the car.

— Sounds nice.

You smiled and he gave you his hand, palm facing upwards, so you intertwined your fingers and let his hand rest on your thigh.

— It's all happening so fast, San — you breathed out into the passionate kiss he was giving you.

— Sorry, I just can't stay away from you.

— Don't apologize, I never said it was bad — your hands held his face for an instant, so you saw his smirk before he proceeded to kiss down your neck, an action that made you giggle because it kind of tickled.

For those who want to know, you did have ice cream, however things might have scaled a little when, in the middle of your cups, San asked to take a sip of yours. You didn’t have a problem with sharing so you let him taste it, but when he said he liked and wanted more, you were not expecting him to cup your face with one hand and to kiss you. A surprise, but a delicious surprise, you had to say.

So that’s why his seat was currently away from the steering wheel and you were on his lap, his hands placed on your warm waist under the robe and yours, on his shoulders, that you adored. What happened in that car, parked on an empty parking lot near your neighborhood, that night, however, should remain a secret.

The sun was already up in the sky when you decided it was time to come back, so San drove to your home while you played with his fingers. Both of you had a smile lighting up your faces, wishing that morning could last forever.

— We should do that again.

He took his eyes out of the road to look at you for a second and asked with a smirk evident on his voice:

— Hm, should we? I am not opposed.

— I’m talking about watching the sunrise, you pervert.

— Me too. What were you thinking about, uh? Pervert.

Another thing you liked about Choi San: he made you laugh about the silliest things, so much your cheeks were always hurting after a date with him. You would keep laughing and smiling had you not noticed the street you were entering.

— San, don’t go this way!

— Uh, why?

— My friend lives here! And at this hour, she’s probably having her morning walk.

Silently, the man obeyed you and made a turn, taking another way to your house, which wasn’t far. When you arrived, he got out of the car and opened the door for you, even offering his hand for help, however, his face wasn’t one of happiness anymore.

— San… did I say something wrong?

He pouted and held your hands together and asked without looking in your eyes:

— Why don’t you want your friend to see us?

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, freeing your hands to cup his face.

— It’s not like that. I will tell her about you, I just wanted to be sure this would last.

The seconds in silence killed you a little, since you interpreted them in a bad way. You wanted San to tell you you two were going to be together, that you were something, that you could boast to your friend about the awesome relationship you had. You wanted something, anything.

— Y/N… I came to your house in the middle of the night because I couldn’t get my mind off of you, because I hate sleeping alone and I wanted to hear your voice and wanted to hold you until the sun was up. And you did all of this with me. I’m sorry for not saying this before, but if you want me to stay for the rest of my life, you got me.

You were taking the risk of your noisy neighbor seeing you two in front of your house, in pajamas, but you simply didn’t care and pulled him to a passionate, relieved kiss.

— I got you.

taglist: @laconic-abditory @ellelabelle

#ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez suggestive #ateez smut #choi san #san imagines #san fluff #san smut #san fanfic #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #san x reader #ateezlovenet

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super-predictable98 · 2 years

Note

Flor would you pretty please write me some fluffy smut with Kirishima? I want him to take care of meeee lol

Distraction (Kirishima x f! Reader)

Warning: Smut, anxiety attack, strong language (18+ - all characters are aged up)

a/n: I'm sorry this took so long, but I thought it would be a nice Christmas gift lol hope you enjoy it XD

(Masterlist)

"Hey there, one of my teachers didn't show up so I thought I'd surprise my girl, the beauty to my beast, my little cutie," Kirishima opened the door to your flat, carrying a bag full of sweet in one hand and a pizza box in the other. "Do you have any drinks? I brought beer last time, didn't I? It's-"

"It's not a good time, Eij..." you were cramped up in the corner of the couch, hugging your knees in fetal position. "I'm sick."

"What happened?" he immediately dropped everything and rushed to take you in his arms, he knew when you were trying to isolate yourself, is when you needed him the most, it's always been like this.

Even though you've only been together a couple of years, Kirishima knew you better than anyone.

He knew you were having a panic attack before you even realized, by the way you were breathing or your legs were bouncing, and he became pretty good at helping too.

"I was having a yogurt-" you said, feeling pretty dumb already, but fear isn't a rational thing, it's not like your brain could stop it.

"Good, calcium, probiotics..." he agreed with a nod.

"And I was already halfway through when I noticed it expired two days ago."

He looked at you for a few seconds, you hid your face imagining what he must've been thinking. That you're a dumbass, that you're overreacting and being dramatic, that you're-

"That was probably scary, right? I'm sorry," he gave you a hug, careful not to squeeze you enough to make you feel constricted. "But you know, food doesn't turn into poison the moment it expires, if it was only a couple days you'll be okay, you know right?"

"K-kinda... But..."

"I know, you're scared, I understand."

"Am I stupid, Eij?" you asked with tears in your eyes, of course you knew he wouldn't say yes, but the words slipped out before you could stop them.

"Of course not!" Kirishima exclaimed way louder than you expected. "How about I stay here with you, let's give it... Three hours, okay? If in three hours you're not sick, you don't have to worry anymore. If you do get sick, I'll stay with you and help you through it."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to see me like this," you murmured, both referring to the state you'd be in if you got sick and the state you already were, in the middle of a panic attack.

"Don't worry, beautiful, you're physically unable to look anything other than pretty, besides if we're gonna get married when we graduate college, I'll see you in all sorts of uncomfortable and unfortunate situations. Just like you'll see me looking less than great."

"I suppose," you blushed, whenever Kiri mentioned marriage, it made you feel warm inside. Ever since the beggining he said he wanted to propose after graduation and that was less than a year from now. "Okay, if nothing happens in three hours, I guess I can relax."

"That's my girl! You just can't think about it too much, you know what you think has an effect on your body, so you need to relax."

"How am I supposed to relax when-?"

Before you could finish, Kirishima pressed his lips to yours, gently running his fingers through your hair.

"Is this okay, princess?"

You simply nodded, your brain went totally blank from having him so close and suddenly you couldn't even remember why you were nervous in the first place. All you could think about was how sweet his tongue tasted, so soft against yours, how much his hands made you feel safe, and how good he smelled.

"Are you trying to distract me?"

"Is it working?" he whispered, guiding your hand to his abs. "Or do I need to try harder?"

"It's working just fine," you giggled. "I love you."

"I love you more," he murmured in between kisses switching places to stay behind you as the big spoon. "Turn on the TV, put something relaxing on."

"Yeah sure..." you searched for your comfort show while his hand swiftly made its way down your sweatpants and between your legs. "Kiri-"

"What? You don't like it?"

"I do, I just thought maybe you'd wanna go under my panties, I wanna feel your fingers."

"Oooh, I see," he smiled against your shoulder. "Of course, babe, anything you want."

His fingers found your clit easily while his other hand idly teased your nipple, you squirmed when his teeth grazed your neck, covering you in goosebumps. You had to admit, his distraction techniques were indeed very efficient.

"Faster," you begged with a cry. "Please, baby."

"What a greedy girl you are... But I like that," he groaned, picking up his pace, letting his fingers explore your folds. "Like this? Is that what you want?"

"Mmhm!" you bit back a moan, which made Kirishima shake his head.

"No no no, little missy, let your voice out, I wanna hear it."

"But what if someone hears?"

"Let them know how good I make you feel, don't be embarrassed."

How could you say no when he asked like that? You chose not to imagine what your neighbors might think as you allowed yourself to moan, each whimper letting your boyfriend know you were getting closer.

"Eiji, please..."

"Please what, baby?" he breathed.

"Can I cum?"

"Hmmm, should I let you? Do you think you deserve it?"

"Yes! Yes, I'm so good, please let me cum!"

"You look so cute when you beg," he sighed. "Go ahead, I wanna see you feel good."

And feel good you did. The stimulation from all the different parts of your body, the merciless way he teased you, grinding against your ass while he fucked you with his skilled fingers, his soft voice so close to your ear... It all culminated in a tingly explosion from that heat building in your lower stomach.

"Wow, you've never done that before," Kirishima pulled his hand out, completely drenched with your pleasure. "That's a lot... I like that, it's sexy."

"You did this, it's all your fault," you mumbled, blushing with the compliment.

"Hey, guess what?"

"What?"

"You're not sick," he grinned, placing kisses everywhere he could reach.

"But it hasn't been three hours."

"Oh well, guess I'll just have to keep distracting you until then..."

#mha smut #bnha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #kirishima smut #kirishima eijirou x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima x y/n #18+

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

tuxedo, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of previous jungkook x reader

summary: Your cat turns into a man. No, not, your cat was always a man and turned back into a man. Your actual cat turns into an actual man and neither you or your cat (man? cat-man?) have any idea why he's human now. Also, he's naked, so that’s a problem. Also, he’s kind of attractive. Yikes.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, mentions of the coronavirus pandemic; possibly full-on crack; Yoongi still thinks he’s a cat; mentions of smut (fem reader, m-receiving oral (choking on a dick, but not in a sexy way), doggy, spanking, wall-fucking, unintentional??? voyeurism); non-idol!AU - cat!Yoongi x human!reader; ft slightly cocky Jeon Jungkook and you being mad horny for him, what’s new; breaking of the fourth wall; are YOU a furry? you decide

an anon asked for cat hybrid Yoongi, although instead this is some voodoo witch doctor shit, whoops yes, I do reference BT21, Bob Ross, the lady-pointing-to-the-cat-accusingly meme, list goes on... and there is a cameo of 2021 Seasons Greetings Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin XD

Your lungs were being crushed.

You were bundled in your duvet, wrapped like a mint-colored burrito, on your back, head nestled comfortably in your memory foam pillow. Warm, cozy, snuggly. All things considered, a comfortable position. So comfortable that you were blessedly asleep for many hours until your lungs started getting crushed.

You cracked one eye open.

A giant tuxedo fluffball was causing this slow and painful death.

“Get off.”

You glared with slitted eyes, voice cracking from sleep. The fluffball did not move. Velvety, pointed black ears flicked back and forth. The little pink nostrils flared a bit, breathing evenly and contentedly. At least one of you was. You grunted in irritation. The minty-green eyes opened, black slits for pupils.

“I’m going to die.”

Your cat meowed in your face.

“Shut the fuck up. Get off.”

He yawned.

You narrowed your eyes and lips into lines. Stared at your insufferable, not-so-subtle tuxedo cat that was killing his owner. How long had he and his seven-kilogram ass been sitting on your tits? Too long because your sternum was already aching. You rolled over and he gave you a disgruntled meow as he tumbled off. You pulled your arms out and gave him a soft scratch behind his ears before reaching around to his white belly and patting his chest. He started purring, rolling to his side, white sock-like paws sticking up.

“Ugh, my chest hurts, Shooks. You’re a dick.”

Your cat gave zero fucks.

You were still petting him. Sigh.

“I’m getting up,” you announced to no one except your cat.

You tugged yourself out of your comfy, mint-colored duvet and winced, rubbing your breastbone. Did you buy this bedding set because it reminded you of your cat’s eye color? Yes. Were you a crazy cat lady? Maybe. In your defense, you hadn’t meant to become a crazy cat lady. You were innocently walking on the street when the tuxedo-patterned cat started following you. A large cat with big minty eyes surrounded by black fur like black bangs. White snout and jaw, pink nose, and a raspy meow. The tuxedo pattern was pretty similar to an actual suit, with a white chest and black fur over its back and limbs. White, sock-like paws, on the bigger side. Cute pink toe beans too. At the time, he was skinny and dirty, no collar around his neck, but you could tell he was long-limbed. He had a cut on his right eye, caked with blood.

“You alright, little guy?”

The cat seemed to scoff at you disapprovingly, as if to say, do I seem like a little guy to you?

“I guess you’re not a little guy. You have an owner?”

The cat��s response was headbutting your calf.

You took him back to your apartment and then it was doomed.

Why was his name Shooks? Well, actually, your cat’s name was Shooky, and it was because you tried many names to get him to respond to you – including, but not limited to, “you little shit” – and he responded to none of them except Shooky. For some reason, Shooky made him turn his black-and-white face around and look at you.

Shooky it was.

The first encounter was cute, but after you had fed him and given him a few pats, you gave him a good, hard taste of reality. Shooky was very upset about getting a bath for the first time. There had been a lot of angry meowing, although thankfully he hadn’t swiped at you very much. As soon as you got mostly undressed and sat in the bath with him, he seemed to relent. Maybe it was because you closed the glass door and he couldn’t leave.

“Do you see how dirty you are? You need a bath.”

He gave you a disapproving meow.

“Look, I even bought pet shampoo and you’ll get treats after. Come on, you.”

He was very displeased.

In any case, Shooky was now your primary companion, a large, long-limbed, fluffy tuxedo cat, following you around as you brushed your teeth and made breakfast, his new black collar jingling with a tiny silver bell. Every morning, you handed him his dry food first – he chomped down immediately – and made yourself some breakfast as he ate. Somehow your life now revolved around him, spending time looking up the best cat food (without paying an arm and a leg, you weren’t a sugar momma), making sure he was brushed (his hair got everywhere), telling everyone you needed to get home because you couldn’t miss his dinnertime (if you were a second late opening the door, Shooky would start meowing very exaggeratedly, like he was dying, what a drama queen). Was he annoying? Yes. Was he the best cuddle buddy? Also, yes. Kind of like a boyfriend, but better, because Shooky didn’t talk back.

You arranged your small dishes on the table. Tofu. Eggs. Pickled squash. Just enough for one. You sat down, holding your bowl of steamed rice.

A tuxedo furball jumped onto the table, licking his chops.

“Look here, this isn’t for you. Shoo.”

He settled onto the tabletop and stared at you as you ate.

Sigh.

Live with a cat was pretty similar to life without one.

Except for that weird habit Shooky had of sitting on your bathroom rug when you got out of the shower, scaring the shit out of you the first time. You lived alone, so you didn’t really bother closing doors, but you considered changing that. But it was just a cat. Also, he walked in here of his own volition. Not your fault if his eyes were scarred.

Shooky was a normal cat, but also a weird cat.

He slept a lot. Normal. He bit his paws sometimes. Weird. You figured maybe it was his nails, so you learned to trim them and he seemed better about it, but sometimes when he was stressed, you would notice fur missing from his little white socks. A lot of things could stress a cat. The internet taught you that. You brought him toys and played with him, but mostly he seemed to want you to sit down so he could plant himself in your lap. This make life rather difficult, so you decided it was time to invest in Netflix so you could at least use your time wisely.

This was for your cat, remember.

Yes, binging shows on Netflix was for your cat.

The weirdest thing was…

Shooky was always stressed when you invited a man into your home.

Maybe he didn’t like men. Something in his past, maybe? Could be. Come to think of it, did you even like men? That was a question for another day, but in any case, your cat always gave you this accusing stare when you brought a guy over, no matter how nice the guy was, even if the guy petted him very gently. Shooky never attacked them. He just glared at you like you had betrayed him somehow. How could that be?

What a needy drama queen.

You figured, eh, it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t trying to sabotage your chances of finding true love and all that stuff.

Who are we kidding?

You’d settle for a simple good dicking.

Well, there was that one time.

That time you were in the middle of giving a guy a blowjob. It was going great. You were naked, he was naked, he had a tattooed arm – hot as fuck – and he was very vocally enjoying your tongue technology. Hey, you didn’t have many talents, but you had that going for you. Even if a guy was mildly apprehensive about banging you, once you got your mouth on his dick, it was game over. You mentally patted yourself on the back for doing such a good job.

Positive reinforcement, right?

Annnnnnnd then…

Your cat jumped onto your back and made you choke on his dick.

“Urk!”

“Oh, fu–”

All seven kilos right between your shoulder blades. Oof.

“Are you okay?” He was half-worried, half-laughing, and Shooky was climbing up your back, pressing onto your neck, one paw on the nape, trying to murder you by dick suffocation. It took both of you to lift you off the dick – sad – and Shooky left a few scratches on your neck, as if to communicate his distaste of your infidelity. The guy was really nice about it. Actually, he found it hilarious. You scowled at Shooky and he gave you that deadpan stare that all cats seemed to have. The rest of the night was hot and heavy like you wanted and you even eventually got to complete said blowjob, which brightened your spirits.

It was a little disorienting that your cat was watching you from his cat tree the entire time.

Creep.

Honestly, you would have kept dating that guy if he didn’t move to a different city. Sigh.

Eventually, you stopped bringing men over.

One, because Shooky. Two, because worldwide pandemic.

Sigh.

The night that changed everything was ordinary.

Too ordinary.

You were passed out on the couch, halfway into season six of American Horror Story, somewhat peeved because you wanted to watch the other seasons, but geez, season five had such a poor story and hard focus on gore that it slightly turned you off. That it was a lot, even for you. Season six was better, but slow. The first four seasons had really hooked you and the idea of them all being connected? Nutty. You wanted to watch all of it.

Idea of season five? Awesome.

Lady Gaga? Yeah, why not, you’d be seduced.

Execution? Eh… could be better.

Shooky hadn’t watched any of it. He just slept in your lap.

Subtitles really helped you out here. You didn’t understand how the English-speaking audience could hear the whispering parts, but maybe that was because your English was garbage. You could read better than listen.

At the moment, you weren’t reading shit.

You were half-tucked in a fuzzy black blanket with a tuxedo cat pattern. Did you see the tuxedo cat pattern and buy it immediately? Yes. Were you a crazy cat lady? Maybe. In any case, your head was cocked at an awkward angle on the couch cushion and your mouth was open, snoring away. Attractive. You were wearing mint-colored, striped pajamas, one arm hanging off the couch and the other on Shooky’s furry butt, because you had been petting him.

Netflix was doing that annoying thing where it was asking you if you were still watching or not.

You couldn’t respond.

Shooky was awake.

Your cat was staring at your laptop on your coffee table. It was open. An HDMI cable connected it to your television. Not a clean setup, but an effective one. Again, you lived alone. Who was going to judge you? Your tuxedo cat?

Pfft.

Your cat was awake.

He got off your lap and hopped to the coffee table, peering at your laptop. Then he did what any sensible cat would do.

He walked all over your keyboard.

Circling around and around, smashing all the buttons with his cute pink toe beans, looking for a comfortable spot before settling down and planting his fluffy body on top of it. Windows closed, tabs appeared, the volume got muted, your display settings got fucked, the usual.

The unusual part was that your cat was looking at the screen.

Your internet browser was open.

A video was playing on a mysterious website.

A handsome young man with a boxy smile was wearing a sienna floral dress shirt and sunglasses, oddly paired with flared violet pants. He was standing next to another young man with an angelic face who, for some reason, was wearing a pastel floral handkerchief around on his head and a white-and-navy tracksuit with black, red, and green stripes. They were standing in some weird set with a black tablecloth covered round table and a lavender crystal ball, crystal-like beaded curtains glinting in strangely colorful lighting.

There was no volume.

Your cat tilted his head at the screen, curious.

The man with the boxy smile was speaking excitedly, gesturing to the angelic-looking man who seemed to be in awe. A retro, old school graphic popped up, flowers surrounding a blocky orange and green serif font, mildly tacky but somehow endearing in its own way.

COULD WISHES REALLY BE GRANTED?

Your cat tilted his head the other way.

Your cat didn’t know Korean.

… Right?

Well, you did mostly speak to him in Korean. Maybe he was secretly fluent. He definitely knew, don’t fucking do that, because you would witness him doing the very thing you told him not to do right after you said it. Bastard. But you couldn’t bear witness to this now. You were knocked out on the couch.

Zzz.

Boxy-smile guy placed his fingers elegantly on his forehead, mock dismay on his features, acting as if he couldn’t believe the viewer’s skepticism. Angel-looking guy placed his hands in prayer position, the text now reading, I won’t believe you unless you prove it! Boxy-smile guy flourished to the camera, showing off his brilliant pearly-white smile, mouthing words unheard. Text appeared once more.

Make a wish, any wish!

Your cat closed his eyes and appeared to be asleep.

The video turned black and disappeared into purple sparkles.

Your internet browser unexpectedly closed.

You woke up with a painful stitch in your neck and Shooky nowhere to be found.

“Fuck…”

You tried to get up, but underestimated the cramp in your back and fell onto the hardwood floor.

“Fuck!”

You blamed the pandemic for fucking up your sleep schedule. Also, getting old. Fuck getting old and being an adult. Time didn’t stop just because you didn’t go to work. Well, not true. You did go to work; your work was just different now. You were YouTube video editor, which meant you were mostly edited video game montages now instead of travel vlogs. The work was slower now. People were getting discouraged, taking breaks, because, you know.

Pandemic.

Sigh.

Anyway, not the point. You were grateful that your work was mostly internet and computer-based. Not everyone was so lucky. You were also grateful that you didn’t work in an industry that was too negatively affected by the pandemic. It had started off as a hobby, but then the creators you were helping unexpectedly blew up, needing your help more and more. You fell into it by accident, but that’s how life was. Happy little accidents. You couldn’t complain. As long as you had some income to feed your cat and you, that was enough.

Speaking of cat.

“Shooky?”

No meow.

Huh.

He normally would meow or trot over to you when called. He was weirdly affectionate like that.

You were still on the floor, on hands and knees, crick in your neck and back aching. Ah yes, age was just a number until your back pain flared up due to repeated nights of unintentionally falling asleep on the couch. Lovely. You stretched out your back with a groan and yawned, cracking your neck.

“FUCK!”

That hurt. Ugh, you really needed to stop sleeping on the sofa. You untangled yourself from your blanket and headed to the bathroom, rubbing your neck. You still didn’t see your fluffy, seven-kilogram, kind-of-an-ass tuxedo cat, but whatever. He had to be in the apartment. He couldn’t exactly leave. He was a cat. What was he going to do, grow legs and opposable thumbs?

Pfft.

You shoved your toothpaste-covered toothbrush in your mouth and began brushing your teeth. You hummed, trying to remember if you had any deadlines. Eh, they were on your Google calendar. You would check it after washing up. You spat and brushed for a few more minutes, thinking about nothing. This was nice. Sometimes it was nice to think about nothing. No major problems to address, simply a chill and routine morning.

Seemed sufficient.

You reached over to the spit cup and put some lukewarm water in it before taking your toothbrush out and sipping some water to gargle the minty suds out.

You heard a deep, raspy voice call your name.

“Hmm?”

You looked in the mirror.

Wait.

Your mouth was full of dirty toothpaste water, cheeks puffed out.

The voice called your name again, quietly.

Nervously.

Your eyes widened, staring into the mirror in shock.

A pale man was standing behind you, wearing your mint-colored duvet over his shoulders. Messy black hair to his rounded cheeks, dark brown cat-like eyes, small pink pout. His nose was a little red, as if he was cold. There was a black choker on his neck, with a silver bell. He was taller than you, and he looked very confused.

Also.

Pointed, velvety black ears on top of his head, white tufts of fur sticking out, flicking back and forth.

You spat all over your mirror in shock.

“Urk–!”

The man jerked back as you threw your head into the sink, hastily taking another cupful of water to rinse out your mouth because, WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON? Why was there a man in your apartment? With fucking cat ears? That moved? What kind of kinky shit was that? Were you dreaming? What the fuck?! You grabbed the hand towel from its hook and furiously wiped the dirty water off your mirror, completely convinced you were having sensory and auditory hallucinations. Did you drink last night? Accidentally buy groceries laced with LSD? Snorted three kilos of cocaine off a hooker? Who the fuck knows, but there was no fucking way that you let some fucking man in your home, because, one, pandemic and, two, Shooky–

You froze.

The pale man with black hair was still there, standing in the doorway of your bathroom, looking slightly disgusted, but also scared.

He said your name again. A question, almost like a raspy meow.

It was…

Familiar?

You violently wiped your bathroom mirror some more, nearly cracking the glass.

The man was still there, wearing your mint-colored duvet.

Slowly, slowly, you turned around to face this man, your neck cracking loudly, sending searing pain up the back of your head and reminding you that, nope, this is not a dream, and if it was, it was a very shitty dream because at least in a dream you shouldn’t actually feel pain. You looked up at this man, at his fluffy black bangs shading his dark attentive eyes and pale face, chewing on his lip, clutching your duvet around his body like a giant mint cloak.

The cat ears on his head twitched.

“Uh…”

You blinked at him, watching the ears.

“Do… I know you?”

He gave you an eerily recognizable deadpan stare. “I think you do.”

No way.

What?

No.

This wasn’t possible.

You’re drunk, high, or in purgatory.

(You did have sex before marriage.)

“S… Shooky?” you croaked.

The man took a deep breath and shook his head.

“Actually, my name is Min Yoongi.”

You blinked at him. “What? You have a name?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

Relief washed over you. “What do you mean, you guess? That means you’re a human being! With a birth certificate! Thank God, I thought you were my fucking cat for some reason, haha, that’s so fucking ridiculous–!” For some reason, the idea of a random stranger being in your home was much more comfortable to you than you damn cat becoming a human being, because for a hot second, you thought… but no, no, that’s stupid. “Speaking of ridiculous, these ears are crazy dude, they look almost real–”

You reached up and yanked on one of the velvety ears.

“Ow, what the fuck!”

Oh.

Oh my God.

OhmyfuckingGodthey’reattachedtohishead.

“What the FUCK?” you bellowed and a large pale hand shot out of the duvet to clamp one of his cat ears down, shrinking away from you.

“Stop yelling, please, I have sensitive hearing,” Yoongi winced, ticking his head, as if he was trying to flatten the other ear too, but couldn’t. His other hand was holding tightly to the mint duvet.

You saw a glimpse of a pale chest.

Your eyes widened into the size of saucepans.

His hand darted back into the duvet and clamped it shut from your bulging eyes, frowning. He quickly bundled himself up and straightened, thinning his mouth into a line. A few seconds passed. You gawked at him, jaw slack. The pale man sighed heavily.

“My name is Min Yoongi. My parents gave me that name. I don’t think I have a human birth certificate because I’m not a human. I am a cat. You used to call me Shooky, but Min Yoongi is my name, so I would appreciate it if you called me by my given name.”

Your jaw went even more slack.

“Cats… have names?” you squeaked.

Yoongi made a face at you. “Of course, we do. We are not savages.”

“B… But…” You frowned, shoulders falling. “You seemed to like the name Shooky…”

Yoongi shrugged his duvet-covered shoulders. “It sounded better than all the other names you suggested.”

You puffed your cheeks, placing your hands on your hips. “What was wrong with Tata? Or Chimmy? Or Cooky?”

Yoongi gave you a disapproving glare. “Well, perhaps in a parallel universe the name Shooky is somehow important to me. In any case, it was the best suggestion.”

You narrowed your eyes, frowning. “You little shit.”

“I especially disliked that one. Seemed a bit discriminating to our size difference…” He paused, looking down at you. “At the time anyway.”

Your hands fell, looking up at your cat. Er. Min Yoongi. “So, uh… Yoongi…?”

He tilted his head, peering curiously at you under his black bangs. “Hm?”

You pointed at him, gesturing up and down. “Why are you, uh… a man?”

He looked down at the duvet covering his body. You stared at your bedding wrapped around him. Why was he wearing it anyway? In fact, all you could see was a black choker with a silver bell. The mental lightning bolt suddenly hit you. Oh. Your neck began to heat. Your ears began to heat. Your whole face began to heat. Oh. Oh? Oh! Shooky – er, Yoongi? – whatever, your cat didn’t wear clothes. He only wore a collar… which meant…

It felt like your whole body was on fire with abrupt realization.

Yoongi looked up at your mint-pajama-wrapped, now tomato self still pointing at him.

“I don’t know why I’m a man.”

One of his eyebrows raised. Then Yoongi smirked.

An open-mouthed, amused smirk.

“And yes, I’m naked. Your clothes don’t fit me. I tried.”

Your cat, er, man? Cat-man? What even... never mind, Min Yoongi was sitting on your bed, still wrapped in your mint duvet like a key lime cake roll, waiting as you rummaged around in your dresser, searching for literally any piece of clothing that might possibly fit him. The problem was, you worked from home, so you didn't exactly own a plethora of different clothing options. Your daily wardrobe consisted of slinky black leggings...

"They're stretchy?" you suggested timidly.

Yoongi had blinked at you. "I don't think so."

"It could work?"

He pursed his lips together. "I think you're forgetting something."

You gave him a blank look. "Huh?"

Yoongi gave you his deadpan stare. "I believe you are well acquainted with human male genitalia."

Oh.

Right.

He had a dick.

You turned red and robotically shoved your leggings back into their place. A sudden thought flitted across your brain and you spun back to face him, blurting it out before filtering yourself.

"Hahaha, good thing I never got you fixed, eh?"

Yoongi blinked very, very slowly. It was hard to tell if he was annoyed, amused, or wanted to murder you. In conclusion, typical cat behavior.

"I'm not fond of the idea of castration, so I suppose so."

Awkward.

Your vet had suggested it, but since he had been an indoor cat and you weren't intending on getting another, you figured you wouldn't put him under the unnecessary surgery and it would help you avoid the cost. A little irresponsible? Maybe. But you were very careful not to leave the front door open and, so far, he hasn't had the chance to get some poor lady cat knocked up.

Unfortunately…

He knew you considered permanently removing his nuts. Yikes.

Sorry, Shooks. Er, Yoongi.

In any case!

The other half of your daily wardrobe was sweatshirts, but Yoongi's shoulders were too broad for them and he was too tall. Why was he so big anyway? Well, he wasn’t exactly big, just long-limbed. You guessed he was actually on the leaner side, judging from the way the duvet wrapped around him and the brief flash of long fingers, slim forearm, and toned chest. He had been a larger cat.

Seven kilos turned into... him?

You suddenly started and yanked open your underwear drawer, shuffling through it to get to the back and pull out a neatly folded dark gray blob.

"I have this–"

"No."

The response was so forceful and dismissive that you froze, the dark gray fabric unfurling in your loose grip. It was a large men's sweatshirt, soft, charcoal, slightly acid-wash, covered with white paint stains. Eggshell white, to be exact. The exact paint color of this very bedroom, because you had worn it to repaint over that original disgusting beige color.

"Why not?" you inquired, holding it up by the shoulders. "It'll fit you, for sure. It used to be..."

Yoongi kept his completely neutral expression trained on you as you reached your revelation, his dark eyes observing every detail of your body's reaction to the memory. Your grip on the sweatshirt tightened. You felt your cheeks and ears heat, pulse roaring in your ears.

Oh.

Er, right, so…

That one time that Shooky – no, Yoongi? – jumped on your back and made you choke on a dick? Yeah, that guy. Tattoo guy. Yeah, well, before that incident, tattoo guy was the friend of a friend who offered to help you paint your apartment because he had experience working construction – “helped my dad fix-up a house to resell for a couple months,” he had said with his disgustingly cute, cheeky grin, making you nod like an idiot and your pussy throb with his endearing adorableness – and you had moved all the furniture out so you two could get it done quickly.

You had to put your cat in the bathroom.

You didn’t want him to breathe in the fumes or get paint on his luscious fur. It was for his own good.

Tattoo guy had appeared in said charcoal sweatshirt, black ripped jeans, and the most attractive thighs in the whole damn universe, just out and about, giant holes exposing tan skin and taut muscle. Your eyes widened, frozen at your front door.

Oh yeah, he had paint rollers too. You hadn’t given a shit about those in that moment.

He had noticed you staring and laughed sheepishly. “Sorry, I just wore the ugliest pants I own. It might get messy, you know?”

No, tattoo guy. No one thought your pants were ugly.

You sure as hell didn’t.

“Oh, yeah, that’s why I wore this gross t-shirt,” you said absentmindedly, referring to your four-sizes-too-large, free t-shirt that had been chucked at your head while walking past your university common area. It was a hideous chanteuse with magenta writing, a color combination that absolutely deserved to go to hell, and could not even be saved by the quirky, stylish, thrift-savvy TIkTokers of today. It was the ugliest thing you owned, so you wore it to repaint your bedroom.

Now you regretted it.

Tattoo guy looked you up and down. He smirked under his long black hair.

“Your body still looks great though.”

“… Urk?”

Didn’t really matter that you couldn’t conjure a sexy response, because, clearly, tattoo guy had made his decision leagues before arriving here. Painting a bedroom? Oh, yeah, you did that, and with way too much sexual tension. A man should not be that flirty while holding two paint rollers and speed painting your walls. What were you supposed to do? You barely knew the guy. All you managed to do was make awkward small talk to get to know him better. Then he took off his sweatshirt.

“Wait, that’s illegal.”

He had smirked at you, spinning the paint roller in his hand, white t-shirt molded to his body. “Hm?”

You were being mildly disrespected, but also you were gawking at his tattooed right arm and his blindingly beautiful forearms. Cough, no. You didn’t have a thing for attractive forearms. Wasn’t like staring at this muscular pair was making you weak at the knees or anything. Okay, maybe. But you weren’t going to say it out loud. Tattoo guy ticked his chin below you, to the floor. Your job was to paint the little nooks at the corners, ceiling, and baseboards. You spent a whole lot of your job sneaking glances at him and getting caught.

Shit.

“You missed a spot.”

You whipped your head to the floor, craning your head to look for it. A paint roller appeared beside you, pointing to a small sliver for nasty beige. He had a clear, silvery voice.

“Right here.”

You frowned at it and raised your paintbrush in warning to the offensive beige, ready to strike.

“… Noona.”

You started and fell over.

You sputtered, legs tangled, oversized shirt flipping up, trying not to drop the paintbrush and drawing a fat streak across the unpainted wall. You shook your head roughly, clutching the handle of the brush, cool draft floating up your shirt.

Tattoo guy appeared above you, grinning, his front teeth slightly too large and giving him the appearance of a rambunctious bunny.

“You alright?”

You felt your neck and ears heat. No, you were not alright. Yes, you were older, but that didn’t… that wasn’t the time… You didn’t expect it, that’s all. You tried very hard not to look at his thighs. Or his face. Or his chest. Just didn’t look at him. Also, you were pretty sure you were flashing him and pretty fucking sure you didn’t give a shit.

You coughed awkwardly. “Yup, I’m good.”

Back to copious sexual tension complemented by paint fumes.

Once the first coat was down, you two stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the plastic drop cloth, him banishing a paint roller and you a paintbrush. Challenge complete and it didn’t take you very long. Nice.

“We have to let it dry and then we can paint another coat,” he was explaining.

“It looks fine like this.”

Tattoo guy clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Once it dries, it will look uneven. Trust me.”

You frowned. “Okay. How long should we wait?”

“Couple hours, at least.”

A couple hours? You frowned more. “What are we supposed to do until then?”

He didn’t reply. You turned your head to face him and tattoo guy was staring at you with a smile.

Uh oh.

He was spinning the paint roller with one hand. You felt your ears and neck heat. He switched from his left hand to his right, seamlessly. Incredibly sexy. Were the paint fumes getting to you? You gulped, awkwardly gesturing to the paintbrush.

“Let me just… put this down…”

You turned around and balanced your paintbrush in the paint tray, only to gasp as your felt something foamy roll down your back, covering you with the strong stench of paint. It stopped above the curve of your ass, unable to roll smoothly any longer.

“Hmm, can’t get past your juicy ass, noona,” he teased.

You spun around, cheeks flushed, sputtering.

No, no. You didn’t forget tattoo guy’s name. You remembered it, even now. Remembered saying it in multiple different ways, even.

“Jeon J-Jungkook!”

In surprise, streaks of paint in your hair, him smirking, dropping the paint roller on the other plastic tray and somehow not tipping it over, thank goodness, him walking up to you, taking the bottom of your paint-covered chanteuse university t-shirt, leaning down to whisper hotly against your lips.

“Ah, sorry, it seemed like you didn’t like that shirt very much,” he breathed, sending your brain into overdrive with the heat against your skin, his knuckles brushing your thighs. “You can wear my sweatshirt instead, if you like.”

Your eyes widened, staring at him in shock.

“J… Jungkook…”

In breathlessness, heart pounding in your chest, gaze locked with mischievous dark chocolate orbs, his teeth catching his lower lip, tiny mole underneath revealed.

“Yeah?”

Why was his voice so deep? The tiny tip of his pink tongue darted out, licking his lips enticingly.

“… Noona?”

This man was illegal.

Your hands darted down and gripped his, catching your lower lip in your teeth as well, matching his lip bite, seeing the eagerness growing in his eyes.

Someone should call the police. Or an ambulance.

You grinned, cocking an eyebrow. “I don’t want to wear anything around you.”

But not for you.

There was a very loud meow from your bathroom, but before Jungkook could ask, you yanked your shirt up and over your head. He gasped and instantly it was lips on lips, messy kisses and stumbling to the living room were your bed, dresser, nightstands, bookcase, knickknacks, everything scattered everywhere, but Jungkook and you were too busy yanking off clothes and getting frisky to give a shit.

Yikes.

You stared at Yoongi now, red from head to toe, clutching the dark gray sweatshirt. He rolled his eyes and looked away from you.

“I… washed it?” you offered weakly.

Yoongi’s dark brows raised from under his black bangs. “Mmm, you forget that I have quite keen hearing. I’m not deaf like you, human.”

The color drained from your face.

Well.

Maybe, just maybe, Jungkook got you to wear his dark gray sweatshirt, forcing you – respectfully, he called you noona, after all – to get on your hands and knees for him, then make you wait in said embarrassing position with his sweatshirt bunched around your neck – because, er, gravity – while he casually made you watch him roll the condom on, highly amused by your impatient glare, only to move away and slowly shove his dick inside your soaking wet pussy and spank your ass until you backed up into him enough times to make yourself cum on his stiff length without him moving his hips.

Respectfully, of course.

“Fuck, noona, that was so fucking hot…”

“Jungkook,” you gasped breathlessly, ass stinging in glorious pain. “F-Fuck me, please.”

He made you scream.

He fucked your hard, making the bed creak, pounding you so roughly into the mattress that your fingers curled into the mint sheets, and when you gasped that you were close, he fucking stopped, the damn sadist, causing you to slam your fists into the bed and buck back into his crotch, Jungkook chuckling at your desperation. In your haze of begging for Jungkook’s cock, you heard a judgmental meow from your bathroom, but before you could address it, Jungkook seemed to have accepted your pleading and began to thrust into you once more, making you lose your train of thought and all thoughts in general, except your dire need to orgasm.

Jungkook had made you moan for hours.

Right now, however, Yoongi’s sharp look was making you mute. You were so mortified that you swore your soul stood up and walked out of your body, too ashamed to be in Yoongi’s presence any longer.

“Mmm,” the dark-haired man mused absentmindedly, pointed ears flicking.

From spitting onto the mirror to mentioning his possible castration to remembering that you had locked Yoongi in the bathroom for hours to have mind-blowing sex with Jeon Jungkook under the guise of repainting your bedroom walls…

Too bad life doesn’t have an undo button.

You suddenly remembered Jungkook pushing you up against the bathroom door, your leg hooked around his waist, his cock plunging in and out of you, lips on your neck, and your wrists pinned to the door, rattling it as he fucked you, whispering against your skin.

“You sound so fucking sexy, make more sounds for me, I’ll fuck you as much as you want, fuck you until you can’t think, can’t move, just to hear you say my name over and over…”

“Jungkook… f-fuck, you f-feel so fucking good, o-oh, Jungkook…!”

He pulled his lips away from your neck and smirked in your face.

“Yeah… noona?”

Respectfully.

“Fuck!”

Your back arced against the bathroom door as you came, pussy throbbing and spasming, the top of your head touching the wood, gasping Jungkook’s name in ecstasy, slamming your wrists against the door, Jungkook moaning as he came inside you, cock jerking inside the condom and swelling it with his orgasm, lips crashing down on yours and you whining pathetically into his mouth as he sucked on your tongue roughly.

A quiet, disapproving meow below you.

A master yikes.

You deliberately shoved the dark gray blob back into your underwear drawer.

Yoongi pursed his lips.

“Why is it in your underwear drawer, anyway?”

You slowly closed it, the wood snapping as the drawer touched the dresser.

Silence.

A crow cawed in the distance.

“You know what, let me make a trip to the convenience store…” was your hollow reply as you mechanically walked out of your bedroom, followed by a mint duvet.

“Do you know what size I would be?” came the husky, amused chuckle behind you as you pawed around your apartment for your wallet, two masks, hand sanitizer.

“I’ll just… buy a variety…”

“Or you could measure.”

You heard a rustle and you whipped your head around, only to see Yoongi’s cocked eyebrow and a slight bit of his exposed shoulders, collarbones on display, silver bell jingling. He yanked it back up, frowning at you.

“Are you a pervert?”

“N… no!”

You jerked away and hastily hooked the masks on your ears, fumbling with your sneakers before declaring, “I will be right back!” And then you threw yourself out the door.

Yoongi sighed, finally releasing his hold on the duvet.

“Ugh, so stuffy…”

His long black tail whipped about.

The door suddenly jerked back open and you plucked your keys from the side dish.

Only to see Yoongi fully naked, sleek black tail whisking around, blinking at you.

He was naked.

Really naked.

Very, one hundred percent, naked.

The mint duvet was pooled around his legs on the ground and Min Yoongi, who was formerly your cat Shooky, was a fair-skinned, long-limbed, lean-bodied, very attractive tall man, with velvety black cat ears and tail and – urk! – completely intact human male genitalia. Your neck, ears, cheeks, chest, ancestors from generations long ago, all turned red in embarrassment. Once again, you soul completely left your body in pure mortification.

“D… Don’t leave!” you blurted, snapping the door closed.

Yoongi just stood there, sighing as he heard the door lock and a body bolt down the apartment building stairs.

“You didn’t even change out of your pajamas…” he muttered, picking up the duvet.

"I can't wear these."

It was a few hours later. Thankfully, when you arrived home with your purchases, your cat... man was asleep, wrapped like a mint cake roll in your duvet. You tried not to think about his naked body on your bed, therefore ending up thinking about his naked body on your bed.

"You need to wear pants! For..."

Dark eyebrows raised.

"Decency!"

After getting home, you had spent the next thirty minutes hand-washing a black t-shirt, black boxer briefs, and loose black pants that were definitely too short but it was the only size available that could fit that waist, so you had to make do. You put the other shirts and underwear in the washing machine, but you needed to wash at least one outfit and hang it to dry. You tried to use the hottest water your hands could handle to sterilize the clothing, wincing at the blistering heat.

You didn't know if Yoongi could get coronavirus but you weren't going to risk it.

Eventually you placed everything on the drying rack and positioned your space heater on them to dry them off.

Then you passed out on the couch. You deserved it, after working so hard.

Only to be woken up by Yoongi poking your shoulder roughly and telling you he couldn't wear the underwear and pants.

He was still holding the duvet around his body and your neck was still regretting every second of sleeping on the couch. Ow. Too much physical labor. Quarantine had turned you into a formless potato. You sat up halfway, wincing. Ugh, pain. You jabbed your finger at Yoongi, who gave you a displeased narrowing of his eyes.

"Put the pants on, you animal!"

Yoongi swept around the sofa, mint duvet and all, determined glint in his dark orbs, lips pursed in annoyance. You started, cracking your neck by accident, yelping in pain as you fell back against the couch.

Yoongi planted himself on top of you nimbly.

You froze.

Partly because you were shocked, but mostly because your neck seized a bit.

His legs were on either side of you, body still wrapped up, perfectly balanced despite the sudden leap, surveying you with a disapproving and discerning eye. The silver bell on his neck jingled with his movement. You could feel his calves against your knees.

His bare calves.

"Are you dumb?"

"What?" you croaked in response.

Yoongi rolled his eyes. "You always forget things."

You blinked at him, confused, neck heating. "What are you talking about?" you snapped impatiently.

"This."

Thump.

You felt something long and furry hit your leg. Your body almost jerked up in surprise, but Yoongi hissed at you, making you lurch back, somewhat stunned at how cat-like it sounded. It was definitely a warning. You were still in your pajamas, slightly thinner material than your usual clothes. It had been cold outside, but your everlasting embarrassment had kept you toasty warm.

Like it was now, because you realized your clothed outer thigh was touching his inner thigh.

His naked inner thigh.

You let out a noise between shock and confusion.

"Urk?"

The long, furry thing brushed against your legs as Yoongi watched you reach your slow realization.

"O-oh... Right. You have a tail..."

He grunted, thinning his eyes into slits. "Yes, because I am a cat."

Highly debatable at the moment, but you were too busy remembering your cat also had a human dick and nuts. Well, not also. Only had? Well. Maybe if you had a seco–

No. No, never mind that. Yeah.

Never.

Mind.

You gulped, trying to suppress the rising heat in your ears and failing. "I can sew?"

Yoongi tilted his head, nose wrinkling a bit. Then he got off you, circling around the couch. You sat up, neck still hurting, but the warmth of your embarrassment somehow helping. Yes, great, trading temporary physical pain for lifetime mental embarrassment, only for such moments to be remembered at the most inopportune times to throw you off guard.

Awesome.

You visibly cringed before standing up, seeing Yoongi's hand snake out and nab the boxer briefs, making them disappear into the duvet. You saw the fabric rustle and then the briefs reappeared, chucked at your face.

Your head snapped back at the force, arms flailing.

"Mmphf!"

"Should be about four or five centimeters. Make it quick. It's hot under here."

You yanked the underwear off your face, scowling. "I'm not your maid!"

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, black ears flicking. He was smirking at you. You narrowed your eyes. What was this guy so high and mighty for? If anything, he should be grateful that you even car–

"You're been cleaning up my literal shit for a few years now, so you are practically are my maid."

... Wait a second, he's right.

You growled and hauled yourself up.

An hour later, your cat was dressed.

Cat?

Man?

Whatever.

Min Yoongi was finally wearing clothes and not your duvet and your fingers stung like a bitch.

You ended up snipping a hole and using bias tape to seal off the raw edges. You didn’t own a sewing machine, so this was the next best thing you could think of without destroying your fingers by trying to imitate zig-zag stiches, although you ended up destroying your fingers anyway because you had to sew small, delicate stitches to attach the bias tape. The area was too high traffic to not reinforce.

Sigh.

“Please tell me you know how to use the bathroom by yourself from now on.”

Yoongi had raised an eyebrow.

“Of course. I’ve watched you enough times to know how to expel human excrement.”

Right. Because he was your cat. Don’t think about it too much. You were trying to take everything one thing at a time so you didn’t overwhelm yourself. Those were future-you problems. Why does he talk like that anyway? You didn’t even know how he knew Korean. Was it because you watched too much television? Yikes.

You rubbed your forehead, dismissing the discussion. “Good talk.”

You realized you would have to cut openings for his tail for all the underwear on the drying rack but, again, that was a future-you problem. Instead, you let him change in your bedroom and went to retrieve the laptop on your coffee table. Plugged it in and turned it on.

All your settings were wack.

“The fuck?” you muttered, resetting your display, volume, brightness, sigh, nearly everything. This only happened when a certain someone stepped on the keys when you weren’t looking. You raised your voice, still looking at the screen. “Did you fuck with my computer last night?”

“No. Oh, well, I did sleep on it,” Yoongi was saying as he stepped out of your bedroom. You growled in your chest, annoyed, but setting everything back into its place before opening your Google calendar. Nothing due immediately, thank god. “Er, maybe you shouldn’t…”

You looked up.

Oh.

Oh?

Oh!

Yoongi mussed his black hair, scratching at his velvety black ear. You noticed he didn’t have a set of human ears. Well, duh. That’d be weird. He was still wearing the black choker with the little silver bell on it. The t-shirt was nicely loose on his frame, the black standing out against his fair skin. The sweatpants were a little short on the ankle, the slim fit showing off his leanness. The sleek black tail swished back and forth.

He was… handsome.

Yoongi looked apprehensive, twisting his lips to one side. “Hmm.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

He shrugged. “Well, when I woke up as a human, I was cold, except for…” His hand ghosted towards his crotch. He pulled it away, waving it aside. “Mmm, never mind.”

You gave him a confused look and went back to your keyboard, typing away. Yoongi winced but you were too busy replying to an email to think too much about it.

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to inform you of the following.

Min Yoongi had woken up on the coffee table, fucking freezing because humans didn’t have fur, and because his nuts and dick were getting roasted by your overheating laptop keyboard.

Upon waking up, he had a mild mental breakdown as you continued snoring loudly and unceremoniously, before scurrying away to the warmest place he knew – your bed, where he claimed the duvet and tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.

Is this real life?

He had poked at various parts of his new body, trying to figure out if this was a dream or a horrific nightmare.

As we all know.

Life is a horrific nightmare, so indeed, this was real life.

You jumped as Yoongi slumped down on the sofa next to you, sticking his head and ears into your view, blocking the computer screen.

“I’m hungry.”

You gawked at him.

“What a-are you d-doing?” you sputtered.

“I’m hungry,” he repeated. He had a bit of a raspy, almost growly voice at times, reminding you of a cat’s meow. His meow, in fact.

You scooted away, neck heating. Yoongi followed, prodding you.

“Why are you like this?” you grumbled irritably, smacking his hand. Yoongi persisted, as if you did nothing at all.

“This is how I get your attention, because you humans will ignore me if I don’t.”

“You’re a human too!”

“No, I am a cat.”

“Hello?” You grabbed his hand and jabbed at his palm, pointing to his thumb. “Cats don’t have thumbs!”

Yoongi yanked his hand out, shockingly similar to how Shooky used to pull his paw out when you were massaging his little white socks and he was over it. You noticed his cuticles looked a bit dry and torn up. Lately, Shooky’s paws had been a little chewed up too. You frowned at it, tilting your head.

Yoongi stood up and his tail whacked you in the face.

“Ow!”

“Feed me.”

You scowled, rubbing your cheek. Yoongi stared down at you, face expressionless.

Okay, your cat might be a man now, but he was still a borderline asshole, so not much had changed.

“Fine.”

You both stared at the bowl of dry cat food.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“What am I supposed to do with all this cat food then? I just brought it last week!”

“That’s your problem.”

You threw up your hands and cooked you both some lunch.

This was too much.

You know what you did when it was too much?

You took a nap.

You had dishes to clean, underwear to make tail-holes for, a cat that was now a man, an existential crisis to address, but you know what? You took a fucking nap instead. You left Yoongi with your computer and Netflix and told him to do whatever as long as none of it involved him leaving the house.

Yoongi had snorted. “What do I need to go out there for?”

“Awesome. I’m taking a nap.”

And you passed out.

Only to wake up groggily because your lungs were being crushed.

Actually no, it kind of felt like your whole torso was being crushed.

“Urk…!”

You fought with your sleepiness, somehow worse off than you had been before the nap, scrunching up your face ad blinking blearily. Head on memory foam pillow, check. Back on soft mattress, check. Black hair with sleek cat ears and pale face pressed on your chest? Check.

What, wait?

“Gah!”

You lurched and the head grunted, shoulders solidly pinning you down. He was under the mint-colored duvet. Yoongi, your cat that was now a man, was under the duvet.

UNDER THE DUVET.

“Stop yelling. Is that all you humans do? Yell?”

“Why are you – what are you doing here?” you hissed shrilly, trying to wiggle out from under him, but it was impossible. Yoongi was far too big now for you to throw him off.

“Sleeping, obviously,” he grumbled. “Or I was, until you started shouting.”

“Yes, but this is my bed,” you emphasized, realizing you could move your hands so you grabbed him by the waist, fingers grasping the black jersey fabric. You pressed inwards, hands molding to his sides.

Yoongi raised his head, squinting down at you.

You froze.

An oddly familiar gaze of accusation and uncaring. His eyes were dark brown, not the recognizable mint, but the effect was the same. Pink lips upturned, slightly annoyed.

And.

You suddenly remembered he was a man.

A man who was pressed down against you, long legs around your legs, broad chest to your chest, and shockingly attractive for someone who used to be a cat.

“I sleep in your bed all the time. What’s the difference?” Yoongi muttered.

What’s the difference?

The difference???

You’re a man!

A HOT MAN!!!

You struggled to find words, completely entranced by how close Yoongi’s face was to yours, watching his ears adjust slightly to pick up all the small sounds around him. You opened your mouth and it only made a tiny squeak. The pressure on your chest was becoming unbearable. You were so shocked that you completely forgot that you were still dying. You cleared your throat as Yoongi looked increasingly displeased.

“You… You used to be over the duvet…”

Yoongi yawned, nodding a little. “Yes, but it’s colder now. No more fur. I don’t know how you humans survive. Must be why you buy these warm things.”

Your hands were still on his waist. You pulled them away quickly and Yoongi frowned.

“Y-Yeah, but… you weigh a lot more now…” you croaked. “Can’t… breathe…”

Yoongi sighed heavily, as if this was a great disappointment. He slid off you.

“Hmm, I suppose that’s true.”

He nestled close to you and you still stunned, pin-straight body.

“Guess it’ll have to be like this instead from now on.”

Like this?

From now on?

Oh. Oh no.

Yoongi’s velvety, pointed ear flicked against your cheek, a low hum resounding in his chest.

part ii

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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maki-matsurra · 2 years

Text

Hiya everyone!

So currently I am on my Sam and Max craving right now so I decided to do some headcanons with them!

And what better way to do headcanons is with the reader being their daughter! (Are you seeing a pattern with me? XD)

So enjoy! Also please feel free to send in some more Freelance Husband requests!

Want to send in a request? Start Here!

Being The Freelance Husbands Daughter

⚠️TW; Some mentions of child abuse and homophobia, not anything too rash though⚠️

So after their like, what, 12th marriage, they finally decided they wanted a kid.

But with dumb biology in the way, they really couldn’t Uhm… have one…

SO OFF TO THE ADOPTION CENTER

And that’s when they found little toddler you, (let’s say around 5-6)

BY GOLLY YOU WERE THE CUTEST HUMAN THEY’VE EVER SEEN!

The second you squeaked out a little “hello”, they already had their signatures on the certificate and you in their arms.

Once they took you home, they would not. Stop. Giving. You. Attention.

“Aww! Look at her, Sam! Isn’t she just the cutest!”

“I’d say so, little Buddy!“

They also spoiled you rotten, getting you the most cutest clothes, stuffed animals, blankets, you name it

The only thing they got concerned about, is how quiet you were

And golly you were a quiet child

Never complained once, no laughing, even when you slept you were silent

Turns out your past foster home was very strict on noise, and they decided to uh… straighten you out on it

That was it, they were sharing the number one spot on Max’s shit list

Your silentness wasn’t so bad once you started kindergarten, but you were still very quiet, and very well behaved

When you had nightmares, you would never wake up Sam or Max, you would just go into their bedroom and sleep at the edge of the bed

Which was eventually noticed by Sam, who would chuckle and nudge Max awake, who would stare at your trembling sleeping form

“What is she, a dog?”

“No you melon-head, she had a nightmare.”

Max was never really good with talking things out, but one thing he was good at, making children smile

So Sam would wake you up, cuddle you within his arms, and while you were facing Max, he would do a funny face and guess what?

You let out the softest giggle and smile

They were so proud

They would not stop gushing about how you had the cutest smile and laugh

Oh, speaking of which, prepare to be showed off to literally everyone

Bosco, Momma Bosco, Sybil, Flint Paper, Stinky, Stinky’s Grandpa, EVERYONE.

And of course, they all loved you.

Believe or not, they actually asked Sybil to be your godmother.

Cause goodness knows they need one in the career track their in.

She cried, so much tears were shed

But she said yes.

Once you reached middle school, you began to gain a little bit more of a personality

Everyone picked on you for having gay dads, but you really didn’t notice it

The only time you did was when someone pulled on your hair and said it

That triggered your fight or flight response

You picked fight

And got sent to the principals office

And once your dads picked you up…

You got ice cream afterwards

You’re also a very sensitive child

Like, you can read a room’s emotions and it just effects you terribly now

Your dads just figure it was puberty

Oh they were so wrong

Once you started high school, you could feel your entire homeroom class hate you

You broke under pressure one day and had an anxiety attack once you got home, locking yourself in your bathroom as you shook

Sam was still out, but Max was home

He heard you sobbing and lightly knocked on the door, asking if you were okay, but when you gave no response, he told you he was right outside if you need him, he was not going anywhere

So he sat his little fluffy behind on the ground, and leaned up against the door

It actually broke his heart to hear you having an anxiety attack, he used to get them all the time when he was a kid, but he always had Sam help him out

So now he’s gonna help you out

You finally open the door and he lets you give him a hug, he brushed the hair out of your face and put it behind your ear as he said he was gonna kick their asses

You were transferred out of that class the next day

Something about a crazy lagomorph threatening some people

Overall you have a good life with the Freelance husbands, and they wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world ❤️

#sam & max #sam and max freelance police #freelance husbands #headcanons #sam and max headcanons #matsurrawrites

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shinsoussimp · 4 years

Note

Ooh how about cuddling/fluffy time turned to ~fun~ time with Top! Hawks and FTM reader. Like ur lil spoon and Hawks gets a little ~excited~. 😳🍄 I’m sorry I’m requesting so much Hawks stuff. 😭

a/n: shroomie i wonder who your fav bnha character is? loll XD im playing, no worries! thank you for requesting!! <3 my first ~fun time~ ask i hope it doesn’t suck, i might have gotten a little carried away loll i hope you like it!

a/n: requests are open! :D

Warning: smut, dirty talking, overstimulation

Hawks getting “excited” while spooning

after a long hard day of work for the both of you, you decided to have a quiet night. you made dinner, watched a few episodes of the drama you have been keeping up with and then started getting ready for bed. keigo pulls his shirt off and flops onto the bed before looking over at you and signaling for you to join him with the classic ‘grabby hands’. you giggle and lay down next to him wearing one of his shirts and your underwear. he wraps his hand around your waist and pulls you into him, your back now up against his chest. after a few moments of just enjoying each other's company you shift around a bit to get into a more comfortable position, biting your lip once you realize what was about to happen.

“baby what are doing?” keigo asks lowly in your ear.

“just getting comfortable, why?” you say innocently. he sighs and relaxes a bit once you stop moving. but once you do, you feel something poking against your back.

“k-kei.. i think you have a bit of a problem there...” he chuckles and moves above you trapping you between him and the bed.

“yeah i do, because someone couldn’t keep still. you wanna help me out baby?” you nod and wrap your arms around his neck. he slams his lips against yours and not long after slides his tongue into your mouth causing you to hum against his lips. he tugs at the edge of your shirt and pulls away resting on his heels.

“off, now.” he commands and you pull your shirt off and throw it to the side. he smirks as he looks you over, relishing in how easily you listen to him. he leans back down to kiss your neck, leaving a few marks on your skin before slowly starts moving down your chest. he nips softly at the scar below your nipple, smirking when you let out a soft moan. you grip his hair while lifting your hips up, desperate for some friction.

“p-please..” you whimper. he chuckles and looks you in the eyes.

“please what, baby boy? use your words.”

“god please fuck me!” you whine. he runs his hands up and down your waist, looking over your body and how you’re shivering at his actions.

“someone’s needy..” he teases as he slowly starts to pull on the waistband of your underwear. “makes me think you were rubbing on me on purpose, hm?” you look away, slightly embarrassed that he caught on so quickly. he pulls your underwear completely off and moves back up to your neck again, biting and sucking the sensitive skin.

“you were so fucking horny and you needed my cock but didn’t know how to say it… cute.” he slides a hand between your legs and smirks when his suspicions are confirmed.

“you’re so wet for me, i guess i’m right.” he slips a finger in and you turn your head to the side to muffle your moan with the pillow, but he quickly uses his free hand to make you look at him.

“not so fast puppy, you wanted this now i get to hear your pretty little moans.” he curls his finger inside of you and you grip the sheets trying to keep yourself together. he chuckles and pulls his finger out, leaving you feeling empty.

“so sensitive baby..” he teases. he tells you to sit up a bit more as he takes his own underwear off and pumps himself a few times before sliding a condom on. he lines himself up between your legs and leans in, his face now inches from yours.

“you want me to fuck you? beg me for it.” you whimper and grip onto his arm.

“p-please kei, i need you. i need your cock, please.” you whine trying to pull him closer so you could feel him. he smirks and pushes himself into you, groaning at the feeling.

“f-fuck you’re so tight.” your moans fill his ears as he starts to move in and out of you faster. not long after you start to feel yourself get close.

“c-close i-” you shove your face into his neck and grab onto his shoulders. he reaches a hand between your legs and rubs circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves. you moan out a slew of curse words as you bite onto his shoulder to keep yourself from getting too loud.

“cum.” he commands and within seconds you do. your legs shaking as you scream his name. he slows down for a second to let you catch your breath but picks it up again not long after, going faster than before. you squeeze your eyes shut and clench around him, bringing you legs up to wrap around his waist.

“i know baby, i’m so close you’re doing so good for me. you feel so good baby boy.” he keeps whispering praises into your ear and right as the overstimulation was about to become too much he cums, stilling inside you. you both stay like that for a few moments trying to calm down. keigo gets up and goes to the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up before getting a warm rag to clean you up. once he finishes he lays back down pulling you against his chest.

“how was that baby?” he asks before peppering soft kisses against your neck and shoulder.

“good. really good.” you giggle and relax into him. he moves up right to your ear and nips at your earlobe.

“now don’t move unless you want a round two.”

#bnha smut #hawks smut #hawks fic #hawks drabble #keigo x reader #hawks x reader #keigo smut

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drarryruinedme7 · 4 years

Text

kinktober, day 8. medical kink

To @rockmarina 💓 I’m sorry, this is nothing like you wanted (I don’t know why it’s so fluffy xD), but I couldn’t resist! If you dislike doctor/patient dynamic, well, you’re warned. Happy reading! thanks @malenkayacherepakha for the beta.

“Healer Malfoy?” Kutch enters Draco’s office without even knocking. Typical.

Technically, he’s Draco’s boss so he can do whatever he wants to. But still.

“Yes, boss?” They both hate it when Draco calls him that. It makes Draco say it even more.

“I have a special patient for you. Look, I wouldn’t have sent him to you, ever.” He accompanies the words with a scowl. “But it looks fairly important and—” Kutch takes a deep breath. “You’re the most qualified at the moment.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Was it really that hard to say?”

“Yes,” Kutch quickly replies. “He’ll come in with a disguise. Call me only if extremely necessary, I’m needed elsewhere. And Malfoy?”

Draco only barely resists the temptation to sneer.

“Treat him well.”

With that, Kutch exits Draco’s office and Draco can finally let out all the very elegant expletives he was thinking. Treat him well. As if, after more than ten years of service, Draco would still need such advice.

“Err, excuse me?”

Draco looks up from his desk to see a medium-height bloke, green eyes, sharp jaw. Draco vaguely registers that there’s something familiar about him.

“Hello, please come in and close the door,” Draco says, professional voice and polite smile in place. He can be kind, thank you very much.

The bloke enters Draco’s office, carefully sitting on the chair in front of him. Draco keeps smiling, hoping it will reassure him.

“Feel free to drop your glamour when you feel like it. What should I call you?”

“Er.” The bloke shifts on the chair, looks around with clipped movements. “Gods, I can’t. It’s too weird. You’re weird, too polite.”

Draco blinks. “Excuse me, you don’t want me to be polite?”

“It would surely make this look more normal.” The man sighs, scratches at the back of his neck. “Well, I guess…” He waves a hand and his glamour starts to dissipate.

Ill-mannered and a show-off. What, only because the guy can wordlessly and wandlessly control his magic—

“Potter!?” Draco blurts out before regaining control of himself.

Potter grimaces, eyes apologetic. “When they told me you were the best I almost laughed in their faces. But… I really need help, and this is the first time I—”

With a grunt, Potter breaks off, bending over at the waist, head clunking on Draco’s desk. He convulses violently, and his hands disappear into his lap, clutching at it desperately.

“What...? Potter, can you hear me?” Draco stands up to quickly reach Potter’s side, touching his shoulder lightly.

Potter’s breathing has sped up like crazy and he keeps making these small sounds… Draco feels heat rush to his cheeks. The sounds Potter’s making are all too similar to mewls, to the sounds someone should make when sprawled on a bed, getting the best fuck of their life.

“Potter?” Draco asks again, voice rough. He straightens, taking his hand off Potter’s shoulder. He can’t believe he’s letting himself be this unprofessional, never mind with Potter of all people.

“Christ,” Potter murmurs, straightening. His face is flushed, eyes dazed. He does look as if he’s just been shagged.

Damn it.

“‘m sorry,” he continues. He’s not looking at Draco and his hands still haven’t left his lap. “You can laugh at me. I… have these episodes. It’s been two months already, I’ve stopped going out, practically secluded myself in my house, because, err…”

“I’ll never laugh at one of my patients, P— Harry,” Draco says, leaning against his desk. “Can you describe to me what you feel during these episodes?”

Potter bites on his bottom lip, looking at Draco’s eyes briefly before dropping his gaze. “I— it’s… I orgasm.”

There’s a tense silence as Draco registers Potter’s words. He internally shouts, struggling to maintain composure externally. “You...” Draco takes a deep breath. “Are you telling me you have spontaneous orgasms?”

He’s never once in his medical career, come across such a case. Of course, it would happen with Potter and of course, Draco couldn’t just let go of his stupid school crush on him and had kept wanking to thoughts of him over the years.

This will make his work all so much easier. Great.

Potter sighs, then nods. Draco shakes his head. He has to treat him like any other patient.

“Alright,” he says. “Alright. Can you tell me how often you have these… episodes?”

“Per day?” He asks, furrowing his brows.

“You have them daily? Wait, you have them more than once a day?!” Draco’s sure his voice has gotten several octaves higher, and that this is the exact opposite of ‘professional’ and ‘treat him well’, but fuck. Fuck!

Potter winces.

“I’m sorry,” Draco quickly amends. “Really, I don’t... It’s just a new case for me too. Please, go on.”

Potter scrunches his nose up at him but takes a deep breath as he starts biting his lips again. “At first it was only, like, maybe a couple of times a week? Mostly at evenings or nights, that’s why I brushed them off. I thought, I don’t know… late-blooming, or something.” He scratches at his nape. “Err, but then they increased. I’d say I have them, like, six to seven—”

Potter’s hands fly to the armrests of the chair, gripping them for dear life. He shuts his eyes and his entire body goes rigid. Draco should really, really avert his eyes right now but he finds himself frozen on the spot, watching as Potter’s lips open in moans and his hips stutter as he comes. Again.

When he opens his eyes this time, they’re even more glazed, perspiration all over his face. “See,” he says with a small voice and Draco’s chest constricts. He has a patient, an embarrassed patient, who’s struggling in front of him and all Draco can do is get steadily harder. “That’s why I stopped going out or working. It’s just so random and it keeps happening without no warning, I’m…” He inhales deeply. “I’m so exhausted, all the time. All my muscles ache.”

Draco nods, clearing his throat. “I agree, you need to regain control over your life. If you feel comfortable, I’d ask you to lie on that stretcher.”

Potter hums, standing to reach the stretcher. He lies down, eyes glossed with tears.

“Look, if you need someone else or you aren’t comfortable—”

“Nothing like that,” Potter says. His voice is thick, but he smiles. “It’s just… the other Healers I saw, they laughed at me and told me I was crazy to want to get rid of such a pleasurable condition. I’m just happy you’re taking it seriously.”

Draco’s cock is aching with how hard it is but he smiles, hoping the scrubs will hide it. This is seriously messed up.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. I really want to help you. I’ll run some tests now, okay? Just tell me when it tingles, tickles or hurts.”

Draco takes out his wand. “Ready?”

When Potter nods Draco starts casting diagnostic spells of all kinds. He has to stop another three times before he can finally understand what’s happening.

By the end of it, Potter’s not the only one who’s panting. Draco’s cock is crying for release, keeps twitching and pulsing, balls tight as he watches Potter’s face scrunch up in pleasure and his mouth open in bliss.

It’s all too erotic. “Okay, Harry,” Draco says finally. Potter must have felt Draco’s arousal because he turns to look at him with wide eyes, just that little more focused at Draco’s rough voice. Draco clears his throat. “Erm. I’m 99% sure I know what’s wrong.”

Potter blinks, brings a hand to his hair, trying to adjust it. It only looks messier. Fuck, the level of testosterone in the room must be so high Draco’s not sure he’s not intoxicated.

“Right,” he says when Potter smiles. He looks entirely too hot for his own good. “It’s in your nervous system. Some nerves are damaged so that when you brush the wrong spots in your body they send the wrong message to your brain.”

The expression on Potter’s face is pure confusion. Draco sighs and tries again. “Think of it as a Quidditch game. Seekers must look for the Snitch; Keepers must guard the goalposts and so on. Your neurons have specific functions, but what happens if a Seeker suddenly stops looking for the Snitch and starts throwing Quaffles around, instead?”

Potter’s face clears. “A fucking mess.”

“Indeed,” Draco says. A smile forms on his face against his will.

“Is it curable?” Potter asks. His chest is still heaving heavily up and down.

Draco nods. “Yes, but it will take quite some time. In the meantime, I can prescribe you some potions that will help diminish your episodes.”

Potter practically jumps off the stretcher, throwing his arms around Draco’s neck. “Bloody hell, that’s amazing! Thank you, Draco, thank you!”

Draco laughs and returns the hug, remembering a tad too late he’s as hard as he could ever get.

“Er.” Potter pulls back, raising an eyebrow. “Well, maybe… someone could show me what real pleasure is again. I kinda forgot it.”

Draco’s kissing Potter before he can double-think it, whispering between kisses, “I’ll make you cry harder than you ever have.”

#drarry #drarry squad #drarry ficlet #harry potter #draco malfoy #draco x harry #drarry kinktober #drarry kinktober 2020 #doctor/patient #healer draco malfoy #patient harry potter #fluff and smut

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

Text

Longing

A/N: This is my first Captain Syverson fic and omg I love him so much ok. But this fic is trash xD i just wanted to see the scenario somewhere other than in my head ok. I’ve seen a few other writers give him the name Logan and I really think that fits (it reminds of Logan Howlett and Syverson definitely had some wolverine vibes)

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: none :) this is completely fluffy with some angst cause I can’t help myself.

Summary: Just when you think Syverson is home to stay, his job beckons him to the Middle East.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, trying to remind yourself that you needed to stop biting your bottom lip. You couldn't help but mess with the hem of your shirt, anxiety and impatience eating at you.

Your boyfriend of six years would be returning home after spending seven months overseas. You had waited for this day since he boarded the plane to leave.

The terminal was moderately busy with people scattered everywhere. Some were hurrying to get to their departing flight while others were chatting off to the side of the room.

A small pool of green and brown U.S. Army uniforms caught your attention. Your heart began to beat even harder in your ribs and you couldn't hide the smile on your lips.

Captain Syverson led the way through the terminal with his team right behind him. They were landing in DC and dispersing from there to go to whatever flights they needed to get home. You and Syverson lived right in DC so you were able to welcome him home.

You’re too caught up watching him that you don't notice the look of unhappiness on his teammates’ faces. Your mind was too busy going a million miles a second, thinking of all of the things you wanted to do now that he was finally home.

The heavy duffle bag in his hand falls to the tiled floor with a thud just in time for him to catch you as you threw yourself into his arms.

His muscular arms were steel bars around you, holding you as close to him as possible.

“Hey, angel.” His voice was quiet but still as deep as you remembered.

You took a moment to squeeze him before pulling back to look into the blue eyes you loved so much. You expected to see all the emotions Syverson never showed, to see the excitement in his gaze when he looked at up. But there was no excitement, no happiness that you two were reunited afteronths apart.

Your grip on him loosened and something began to form in the pit of your stomach–a new ball of tension and worry.

“What, Logan? What’s-What's wrong?” You spoke quietly, afraid your voice would quit working if you spoke too loud. You feared that maybe he'd lost one of his men.

“We got orders to go back.” His whisper wasn't enough to hide that Texan accent.

Your heart fell to your stomach. You pulled your arms from around him, shaking your head.

“There's been an emergency, angel. Only reason we didn't turn around mid flight was ‘cause the plane needed fuel.”

All of the thoughts that had been swarming your mind suddenly slowed down. You couldn't process what he was saying.

“You-You’re going back?” Your voice broke and your bottom lip quiver ed. Tears came to your eyes without hesitation. “Now? But-But you just-you just got here–,”

“I know, angel.” He pulled you into his chest, burying his nose in your hair. The sweet scent of your shampoo was enough to make him second guess leaving. He missed waking up to your scent.

His eyes closed tightly as he reminded himself that this was his job. This was what he had to do.

Your shoulders shook with quiet sobs. You buried your face into his chest, hands fisting his jacket. You hadn't seen him for seven months and now he was leaving already.

Syverson could feel you trembling in his arms and it broke his heart to know that you both would be separated for an unknown length of time.

You suddenly pulled away from him. Your hands pressing against his chest. Breathing was a struggle but every inhale of oxygen burnt your lungs. Your heart was beating so loud, echoing in your ears.

What if he died? What if this was the last time you got to see him? What if he was gone for another seven months or even longer?

“I-I can't do this, Logan.” You told him, your words almost incoherent. “I-I can't. I worry-I worry so much. And I’m so alone and-and the house is so empty without you. I can't-,”

“Yes you can, angel.” His hands took hold of your shoulders. He gazed down at you but you couldn't meet his eyes. “You're a strong woman, angel. I love you.”

“I-I love you, Logan, but it’s just–I-I can't-I can't–,”

He placed two of his worn and rough fingers gently under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. He cut you off with a kiss, savoring your taste and the feeling of your soft, delicate lips against his.

“Marry me, angel.” His words were mumbled against your lips but somehow your panicking brain was able to hear him.

You pulled away, lips parted as you breathed heavily.

“What?” You whispered. Your brows drew together. You couldn't have heard him properly.

“Marry me, Y/N.” He repeated, his large hand cupping your face. The pad of his thumb, calloused from years of use, brushed across the apple of your cheek to swipe away a tear. “Marry me.”

You knew the man before you wasn't romantic. The way he said it, almost like a gentle demand, was totally him. He wouldn't take you to some fancy dinner and then to some pretty location in DC to get down on one knee to propose to you with a nice ring. That kind of romance was for children, for princesses in fairy tales.

Your life was anything but a fairy tale. You saw your beloved boyfriend of six years about as often as one would see a good acquaintance. He was a soldier for the U.S. Army before he met you and he was extremely dedicated to his job, so much so that you didn't think he'd ever want to actually settle down for anything long term. You were surprised when he so casually suggested the two of you move in together after spending a rare Sunday afternoon watching football.

You were so used to your bed being empty and to your house being empty. You were so used to the waiting and the longing for your soldier. Some nights it would make you physically sick thinking about what could happen to him.

You had gotten used to going out with friends and hearing them talk about what they'd done with their partners or being present when they spoke about double or triple dates. Not only would Syverson never agree to going on a double date, but he was very rarely home and when he was for the few months you got to keep him, you’d rather spend those days in bed with him watching TV or watching him change the brakes on your car because you always forget to get them changed.

But you wouldn't change any of it for the world. Logan Syverson was everything you wanted in life and you wouldn’t change his ways for anything.

“Yes.” You nodded your head. A new batch of tears came to your eyes and began to make their way down your cheeks.

“Yes?” An extremely rare timid smile came to his lips, almost like he expected you to say no.

“Yes, Logan. Yes!” You threw your arms around him once more, holding him as close to you as possible.

His hands rubbed your sides and then slipped around you to embrace you.

A voice came over the intercom, calling for his flight to board their plane.

He pulled away from you, taking a second to look into your eyes.

“I love you.” He kissed you once, then twice and three times. “In my closet, look in the box on the top of the shelf. Your ring’s in there.”

“How long have you had it?” You sniffled, smiling at him.

“A while.” He grinned. “Love you, angel.” He gave you one more kiss before he pulled away and picked up his bag.

“I love you, Logan.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, already missing his warm hold.

He gave you a firm nod but he couldn't hide the smile behind his stern features.

You giggled at him and watched him leave, one of his soldiers clapping him on the shoulder.

As they disappeared around the corner, you choked on a sob. You brought your hand up to cover your mouth, moving to sit in a nearby empty seat. Your knees were shaking and your head spun.

Just like that, he was gone. But at least he was still yours.

Taglist for Syverson: @promptandpros @alyxkbrl

#captain syverson #captain syverson fluff #captain syverson oneshot #captain syverson x reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fluff #sand castle #sand castle captain syverson #oneshot #fluff

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yuichi-ro · 2 years

Note

can you tell me why exactly i decided to study an old language no longer spoken in the way it was and now i have to translate old sagas for my exams?

yeah i can’t either. my brain hurts oof. have been organising all my shit and my entire table is full of vocabularies and grammar notes.

only tomorrow and then i am free for like 1 1/2 months.

and lemme tell u ur in for a treat bc i have a fic sitting in my drafts featuring a certain useless lanky pool noodle in his dilf years that is so fucking fluffy and smutty hehe

not to mention a shorter sfw fic that has studious baji overhearing that his crush’s type is himbos and the only logical conclusion is to stop studying

so many ideas, so little time, so bound to the table cursing whoever created the personal pronoun totled duo which is literally only used when exactly 2 people are present

if you have any fluffy crumbs or thoughts ur willing to share to get me through one more day, i’d be utmost grateful and will repay u back in doubles XD

-🌌

why- why would you do that to yourself??? your girl right here is so fucking dumb, even english was not my strong suit. And learning languages? Utterly off the table I can't retain anything that has to do with that shit to save my life. Numbers, science? That shit I was good at. The irony that I have writing as a hobby is not wasted on me considering I was much better in the math/science area 😂

from my cold dead hands you have to pry the fact I just know Hanma ages like a fine fucking wine. Did you see that timeskip? Did you see that man at almost thirty?? There is no way that married, with kid(s) and breaching 40 or 50 that he isn't the hottest fucking dilf in the god damn world. Gonna suck that man's dick even if I have to take my dentures out

the way i vividly see Baji explaining to Chifuyu and/or Kazutora that you said you like big stupid men and that he's gonna huck his glasses off a bridge now bc he doesn't want to be smart....oh god...that's my husband...oh god I'd let him reproduce...lord please have mercy 🙏

lets see fluffy thoughts...I'm...I'm real into the Kazutora brainrot rn so...just lemme go that route if you don't mind... 1. Kazutora loves to have you play with his hair; twirl it around your finger, put it up for him, mindlessly scratch at his scalp. He is whipped via your hair 2. He's more vanilla than anyone would guess of a two time murderer; he's very clingy to the idea of traditional and love and those things he didn't have so being intimate isn't a race to the kinkiest for him he just wants to kiss and hold you and be held 3. Kazutora's love language is acts of service and words of affirmation; he can't make it up enough to the people he loves and does anything he can just to make their lives better. As well as hearing that he's wanted and cared for and valued does more for him than anything. To be told him being where he is makes your life better will and does make him cry 4. He's an easy crier; but you know what at least he's a pretty crier and he loves to be held

#kazutora lives on my couch #what can i do #baji enables him and so does hanma #he might as well have his own god damn room in my house #i know the kids love their uncle and dont think its weird he lives with us #oh god im just collecting all of valhalla what is wrong with me DX #someone hit me with a shoe this is disgusting at this point #ugh and this fic is so close to done and its gonna be like 5k v.v #dont perceive me rn v.v #🌌.♡#three.talks

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theblackbutterfly02 · 4 years

Text

FluffyNightKiller pt 2

Something fluffy (heh) after I broke all of your hearts yesterday!

@zu-is-here I.. finally did it!! xD Took me long enough, heh

As always, story under the cut or on my AO3

As they entered Ccino's apartment they were immediately greeted by two over-eager cats jumping around them. Ccino lifted one of them up, lovingly cuddling it and whispering: “Hey love, I'm home.”

Once Ccino was done getting greeted by his cats they both got out of their shoes and jackets and Ccino showed Nightmare to the living room.

“You can sit down on the sofa if you want, I'll feed the cats real quick and.. uuhm, is there anything you're allergic against? Asking for dinner!”

“Hmm? No, I'm fine”, Nightmare answered, and watched as Ccino left for the kitchen. He chuckled slightly as he saw the cats following him, then heard Ccino talk to them while he prepared their food.

Meanwhile Nightmare took the time to look around the living room a little. It was really tidy, sure a few cat hairs flew around, one or two specks of littler close to the boxes, but.. no dust to be seen on the cabinet he just stopped in front of. Pictures of cats were lined on it and Nightmare took some time to look at them in detail. Something about them made him feel warm inside and he smiled slightly.

Walking around a little more he noted how small the apartment really was, a lot of furniture put closely together. Humming, he sat down on the sofa. It felt nice, the pillows in the back really soft. He closed his eyes and thought about how he should approach the situation with Ccino.

Just talk to him, Killer had said. Nightmare huffed. If only it was that easy. Killer was the outgoing one out of the two of them. Nightmare.. didn't really know how to deal with people outside of work.

Nightmare was ripped out of his thoughts as he heard something clatter to the floor in the kitchen and stood up, walking over to Ccino.

As Ccino saw him he sputtered: “Ah, Nightmare, I told you you could-”

“Yeah, I know”, Nightmare shrugged. “But it sounded like like you might need some help. So, what did you drop?”

Ccino blushed and awkwardly held up a knife. “I was.. cutting vegetables”, he said.

“I see”, Nightmare chuckled and stepped closer, looking over Ccino's shoulder as the other continued preparing for dinner. He wasn't exactly skilled with a knife and Nightmare sighed before he walked to stand directly behind Ccino and put both his hands over the other's. Ccino jumped out of surprise, then almost stopped breathing as he realised what just happened. A blush crept up on his face.

“Here”, Nightmare rasped. “Try it a little more like this”, he moved their intertwined hands a few times. “Can't watch you almost cut yourself. And now, try it on your own.”

Ccino nodded and tried to copy what Nightmare had done with his hands. “Is this.. better?”, he asked.

Nightmare looked over his shoulder for a moment, then said: “Yes, definitely. You're doing good.” Ccino just blushed even deeper and tried his best to concentrate on the work at hand. “You got like.. another knife so I can help you?”, Nightmare asked. “If you're already cooking for me, I might as well..”

Ccino put down his knife again and rummaged around in his drawers. “You don't have to”, he said, “But if you really want to-”

“I want to”, Nightmare interrupted him, taking on of the tomatoes and cutting them into pieces.

Ccino watched him for a minute before he said: “Wow, you're really good at this..”

Nightmare had to laugh at that. “What did you expect? Were you really thinking I'd be a complete wimp in the kitchen? Someone has to make food and I'm not letting Killer use anything other than the microwave.”

“You're.. cooking for the both of you?”, Ccino asked a little surprised.

“Honestly, even though we have the money, going out for dinner every day would be way too much work, we want to spend some quality time at home as well.”

“You're an amazing actor and a good cook!”, Ccino exclaimed. “What else can you do? Speak five languages and ride a horse or something?”

“Not.. exactly”, Nightmare laughed. He shook his head. “I'm not here to talk about myself anyway. I.. wanted to get to know you, so tell me a little.. while we let this cook.” Nightmare put the last view ingredients in the pot and turned on the stovetop.

“There's not much to say”, Ccino admitted. “I have cats and I can cook coffee. And I really look up to you..”

“And, is there anything else you do in your free-time?”, Nightmare asked. “Like on the weekends when you don't have to cook coffee for all of us?”

“I.. like to read, sometimes. I.. actually have a library card and sometimes, if I find a good book I take it home and read with a cat in my lap.”

Nightmare's whole face lit up as he heard that. “So you like to read?”, he asked. “I should really invit you over to my place once, see if you want any of my books!”

“You enjoy reading too?”, Ccino asked, eyes wide.

Nightmare chuckled slightly and nodded. “I have a lot of books in my room, actually. So many that Killer started calling it the library instead. He keeps joking if reading the script isn't enough already.”

Ccino laughed at that. “I was just gonna ask the same, really.”

“Sometimes I just really want to read something that has nothing to do with the role I'm playing. Immerse in a completely different world, you know?”, Nightmare sighed exasperated.

“I see”, Ccino nodded. “So, what's your favorite type of story? Romance, action..?”

Nightmare blushed. “Y-you'll probably figure it if you visit me.”

“Ah!”, Ccino's whole face took colour again. Was that an invitation??

He looked behind himself confused as Nightmare jumped up all of a sudden, pulling the pot oof the stove to save it from spilling everywhere. “That was close”, he sighed. “We shouldn't have lost focus of it. Well, guess we can eat now.”

Ccino looked at him, still blushing before he turned to gather plates. “Right, right!”, he called and ran to the living room. “Let's eat over here! It's a lot more comfortable!”

Nightmare just hummed and brought the pot over, placing it on the table.

“Uuh, coffee or tea?”, Ccino asked, running back to the kitchen. “The food is still hot so I thought I could make something to drink for us.”

“Tea”, Nightmare said and walked back to the kitchen as well. “Can't have coffee in the evening.”

“Oh, yeah, that seems fair”, Ccino said, picking a tea bag instead and heating the water. Once it was done he handed Nightmare a cup and took one of his own, walking back to the living room. They sat down on the sofa and Ccino got both of them some of the food on their plates.

Nightmare barely picked his spoon up before a cat jumped into his lap.

“Aah, no, hey you can't, he's wearing black pants!”, Ccino called out, trying to get the cat away from Nightmare.

“It's okay”, Nightmare smiled. “They needed a wash anyway. Though, if Killer sees this.. well, he would be so envious of me right now”, he chuckled.

“Huh? Why?”, Ccino asked.

“He really loves cats”, Nightmare said. “He'd probably kill for them if I think about it. Bet he'd give anything to get to your home if I told him you own two of these fluffy guys.”

“Killer.. seems like a nice person”, Ccino blushed, slowly starting to eat his food.

“He.. can be an idiot at times”, Nightmare sighed, trying to somehow eat over the cat. “But.. he's a kind, loving and honest idiot.”

“The way you talk about him..”, do I even have a chance?

“You know..”, Nightmare smiled. “Recently, he started talking about you almost the same. Actually.. he asked me to see if we would get along.”

“So.. he's the only reason you aske-”

“No”, Nightmare interrupted Ccino. “I'm not only doing this for him. He told me you.. got a little crush on me and faintly.. I'm interested.”

Nightmare chuckled again as he watched Ccino's whole face light up in a blush that almost reached his neck. “Y-you.. wha- you what?”, he stammered. “N-no way..”

“Killer already fell for you and I know he's got a good taste”, Nightmare smiled. “You're really kind and I'm willing to give this a try.. If! And only if you will give Killer a try. Maybe show him your cats some day.”

“I never thought you were that close with Killer”, Ccino mumbled. “But you seem to have a really lovely relationship and put a lot of trust into each other.”

Nightmare smiled and picked up his cup, removing the teabag after he checked if it was done. "Even if it doesn't look like it, Killer means a lot to me", Nightmare hummed. "And.. I never considered having a relationship with more than one person, but now that he suggested it.. I can already see you joining us. We might need someone like you, soft and kind and all the things we aren't."

"Don't talk like that about yourself! I.. I'm sure you're both absolutely amazing people!"

"Thanks", Nightmare hummed. "You know.. I always thought you only wanted to be with me because I was a famous actor. But it seems you have seen other things that drew you to me."

"I... It wasn't your job that made me fall for you!", Ccino nodded. "Though.. I always considered you unapproachable because of it. Plus the fact that you already had someone."

"We're normal people just like you", Nightmare noted. "Our jobs don't define us." He leaned back after he finished his meal and looked at the clock on the wall. "Stars", he sighed. "Is it really that late already?"

“Hmm, it is”, Ccino nodded. “Do you have to leave?”

Nightmare pet the cat in his lap and closed his eyes. “I'll stay until I finished my tea”, he hummed. “I really enjoyed this evening with you.”

“I.. I did too!”, Ccino agreed, sipping his own tea.

More in the future (hopefully)

#my writing #nightmare!sans #ccino!sans #killer!sans #mentioned #fluffynightkiller #fluff #a lot of fluff #it is very fluffy #there are cats in here #what do I even tag? xD

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mimiplaysgames · 3 years

Text

Drink Me

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Word Count: 6,601

Summary: Aqua drinks a truth potion... Now they're going to have to talk about things.

Read on AO3

A/N: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!! This is part of an art/fic trade that I'm doing with Moe (@terraswill on Twitter)!! I was so excited to work on this but it was also just... so hard?? We agreed on the trade back in June I think, and it took me this long. xD The timing was perfect though, and when they post their art, I'll edit this to include a link! Moe asked for was something domestic and fluffy (and I'm totally the wrong person to ask but I never back from a challenge dkfjkfjgf), and maybe give Aqua a reason to play a prank. We support a Let Aqua Have Fun 2021 agenda in this house. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. To my angst readers, I hope you find something here you like anyway lmao

~*~*~*~*~

She says she’s annoyed with me because I won’t let her dust the tapestry. Or rather, I won’t let her have her

way

and take on this ugly monstrosity (which I think is supposed to depict an ancient Keyblade Master who died four-hundred years ago; at this point, the threads are too faded to give him a defined face).

The truth has more layers than that, something I don’t like to talk about. But it’s a clear day, the sun beaming through our windows and igniting the castle in golden hues. I won’t find the time to mope when Aqua is beckoning me to give her the feather duster.

Aqua is a lot shorter than me. I pretend to give it to her, only to swerve it around her face and hang it up high above her head. I’ve got a smirk to last me hours, and there’s a sly one pulling on her lips.

“Maybe if you jump,” I say, wiggling it.

She doesn’t move. “Terra.”

I pull it up higher. “Come get it.”

“Or you could stop trying to overcompensate and let me help you.”

“Who says that’s what I’m doing?” That’s exactly what I’m doing. Any chance I get, I’ll do it all to make up for lost years. If she says she’ll tidy the garden tomorrow, I’ll rip the weeds by dawn. If she wants to prepare a feast, I’ll organize the ingredients, the recipes, the appliances. I call it helping out. She calls it ridiculous.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says. Yep.

“It’s not like you could reach the top anyway,” I say, knowing this is precisely what would set her off.

Aqua likes to present herself as proper: head tall, ankles together. But when I push her buttons, that’s the first mask to melt off. She lunges at me, chest to chest, aiming for the duster that’s balancing on the tips of my fingers, my elbow locked and shoulder riding as high as it can, as if I’m trying to clean the ceiling. We’re giggling, we’re tight, we’re children all over again.

“Give it,” she says, her eyebrows and lips twisted in feverish concentration. She’d never let anyone else see her behave this way.

“What are you doing?” She steps onto my shoes to gain height and I have to wrap my free arm around her waist to keep our balance (not that I’d complain if she ends up landing on top of me). My heart is pounding stupid rhythms at the smell of her shampoo. I don’t like sweet, but I like it on her.

“Master’s orders. Give it to me.”

“Try harder.”

She inhales sharply, giving me that Aqua look. Fine. She turns her head towards the tapestry and puckers her lips together, blowing air as if blowing out a candle. The layer of dust that sits at the very top bursts, sprinkling the console table beneath it.

In my shock, she snatches the feather duster, the quietest Hmm of satisfaction coming out loud enough to demand my audience. She taps the tapestry with a flat laundry bat, all while waving her hand over the surface of the table, the dust collecting itself as if swirled by a magnetic tornado.

No use for the duster at all.

“You think you’re clever,” I say, getting close behind her.

“I think you agree.”

I think she’s pretending. Her smile looks the same but it’s manufactured, tied to a puppeteer’s strings. There’s a flicker in her eyes that tells me she doesn’t agree at all. I’m prepared to tell her that she’s assured and confident, but she already knows. This happens: I’ll catch a sudden recognition dawning on her face, like she’s reminding herself of something, and I’m left to guess what it could be.

We’re interrupted by a loud sneeze that drifts from the other side of the hall, followed by a hack and a cough, finishing with a sniffle.

She’s panicked. It sounds like a case of the common cold, and nothing to be worried about, but that’s Aqua. I follow her lead, which takes us to no one else but Ven, who is wiping his face. A faint trace of dust rides on the strands of his hair. Actually, there’s dust everywhere except on the tapestry he’s responsible for.

“Ven!” Aqua gapes. “What happened here?”

He takes a look around the chaos and gives a mere shrug, rubbing the back of his hand on his pants. “I was dusting.”

“You were using magic,” she says like she’s scolding him, despite doing the same minutes ago.

“What did you expect me to do?” He gestures towards the tapestry—the Master’s favorite, of a round cat lounging on a throne and announcing a toast with his goblet—like it’s a mountain to climb. “Get a ladder?”

“What a mess,” Aqua mutters with a flitter of her fingers, shepherding the dust together so it’s easier to collect.

“I’m not finished.”

“Master’s orders,” I say and Aqua doesn’t spare me a glare. Yes, I find that funny.

Ven ushers her aside. “Come on, let me help.”

“I got it,” she says, fixated on the job. Always the one to do and still can’t learn to accept a helping hand.

“Aqua.”

“Ven?”

I know better than to get in the middle of this.

Ven generates gusts of air with a wave of both of his arms—a terrible idea when Aqua’s conducting from the other side—and the dust grows darker into a thick cloud of smoke. He stares at his handiwork with a dropped jaw. I’m shocked too. Where did all of that come from?

Aqua grunts as she tries to calm the storm, Ven mimicking her movements.

“Let it go,” I say, placing my hand on her shoulder.

“It will all fall to the floor.”

“There’s too much pressure building up from the bottom.”

“It’s under control.”

“It’s going to explode.”

She pouts (stars, it’s cute) but of course, only half-listens to me. Moving her palms parallel to the floor, she makes a gesture as if to compress. With Ven slacking, it billows low to the floor and then sweeps up.

The tapestry flaps upward, revealing a door.

Ven’s the first to cough. “What’s that?”

Aqua and I stare at each other. We’ve hidden behind every single one of these tapestries when we played as kids. There shouldn’t be a door.

“Do you think it’s magic leftover from—” I start to ask.

She shakes her head. “It can’t be. I returned everything to its rightful place.”

“Then what is this supposed to mean?”

Discouraged by our hushed tones, Ven stops himself from turning the knob, waiting for our approval.

“It could have been hidden by a spell,” Aqua suggests.

“Oh.”

We’re quiet. Spells last for as long as the spellcaster is alive.

“The Master would have called it an inheritance,” I say. “Don’t you think?”

One by one, we peek into the secret room. Ven is eager to open the door but only pushes it a sliver. It creaks with determination to wake everyone inside. Aqua is second, looking over him. I’m last, searching the corners for signs of movement.

It’s empty except for a rack of white robes, stacks of books on a desk, a chess board, and a forest-colored couch. On the opposite wall sits a huge wardrobe next to a reading stand, displaying an open tome on what may have been the last page the Master read. An old-fashioned wall clock with visible parts and spinning characters counts the time, looking peculiarly like the Land of Departure. The sun shines through a window—though this would be an extra. All the windows on both sides of the castle are accounted for. You wouldn’t be able to see this room from the outside.

“Terra,” Aqua gasps, “look at these books.”

Most of them are titled in an ancient language. “They’re from Scala.”

“We could probably find Sora with these,” she says, flipping through one.

Some of the robes are sewn with patches of snake skin, others stained with faded off-yellow, each a varying size for a growing teenager. I take the largest—it smells like dust—and slip it on. Almost a perfect fit, though I would’ve preferred it longer.

“It looks good on you,” Aqua says, coming to my side.

I smile at the floor, imagining what the Master would have said, how large his smile would have been under that bushy mustache, like the day he gave me his belt buckle and told me it would be a nice touch. Aqua inspects a fraying seam on the shoulder.

“I can fix that,” she whispers. I let her pull it off me, and she dotingly folds it over the book she decides to take with her.

“Whoa.”

We drop our thoughts and turn to Ven, who’s helped himself to the wardrobe, stupefied at shelves of potions in glass flasks. Ugly colors, weirdly shaped, totally bizarre.

“These aren’t any potions I recognize,” Aqua says, placing her stack on the couch and investigating the shelf with her arms crossed.

None of them are labeled. “Maybe they’re lost knowledge,” I say, still thinking about her compliment. How often does she think I look good? “Can you imagine what kind of magic they’re packed with?”

Ven glances at the open book on the reading stand. “Let’s see.”

I join him, watching him flip through crudely drawn illustrations of odd shapes. We both snigger.

“Look through walls,” he reads before turning to the next page. “Neverending sweat. Turn a face blue. Glue lips together… This one says you can unglue them by washing your mouth with soap.”

“Lost knowledge.” Aqua scoffs.

“But who made them?” I ask. “The Master?”

Aqua rolls her eyes. “Please.”

“This is his secret room.”

“It looks like his handwriting,” Ven says, trying to keep his smile tiny. Trying. “Kind of.”

The O’s and the T’s certainly have their curls, just the way Eraqus would have done them. The Y’s are similar too, if a bit exaggerated and large. As Ven turns more pages, all of which are yellowed and chipped at the edges, I realize the drawings match the shapes of different vials, equipped with descriptions of colors.

“I think Ven’s right.”

Aqua throws a look (Forget it) and rolls her eyes again. It’s her favorite thing to do. “We’re talking about the Master here. He wouldn’t waste his time on something like this.”

“I got an idea!” Ven beams, nudging me on the elbow. “Why don’t we try some? Guess what they are before we look in the book?”

The only person who stiffens is Aqua.

“Look at her face.” Ven points. “She thinks we’re savages.”

Aqua doesn’t say anything, but it’s possible.

I cock my head. “If the Master were here, he would have gotten a kick out of this.”

“Terra—”

“Regardless of who made them.”

She drums her fingers on her forearm. “If it makes you happy,” she mumbles. It was subtle, but it was there.

“I’ll go first!” Ven leaps over the reading stand. There’s a rainbow of the most unsavory colors. The neon, the dull, the too realistic. “This one looks perfect.” He grabs a thin vial of liquid that I could mistake for vomit: a faded, rotten lime green, and drinks it all in one swish.

Following the last gulp, he withers to the floor, flailing and begging for it to stop.

I’m searching through the book for an answer.

Aqua throws herself to her knees. “What’s wrong?”

Ven giggles, cradling his stomach then scratching his back. “Don’t touch me.” He gasps in between painful howls of laughter. “It makes it worse.”

She carries his head to her lap anyway. She wouldn’t be Aqua if she isn’t indulging in some deep-seated instinct to assume we’re not healthy before assuring herself that we are.

I tap my finger onto a page. “Tickling potion. ‘Give this to your favorite person,’ it says.”

“I’m going”—Ven inhales—“to bring the Master”—inhales again—“back to life just to… kill him again.” He deteriorates into another round of wheezing, hugging himself tight and turning over into a fetal position.

“It’s too juvenile for the Master,” Aqua reminds me.

This page is written with the same suspicious calligraphy but I hold my tongue. To ease the look of worry on Aqua’s face, I step forward. “My turn.”

“You can’t be serious,” Aqua says.

“Relax. There’s no such thing as death by tickling.”

Aqua jerks to say something but stops herself. I’m guessing, Let me have at it and you’d think otherwise. Nothing that she’d say with Ven in the room.

Ven rubs his eyes and sighs—it’s shaky and long, but it’s an improvement. “Can I try another one?”

The first potion to catch my attention is this wide, stubby one filled with what looks like dark mud.

“Terra.”

Her warning makes me think of the slight possibility of developing diarrhea from this. I stare into her eyes as I swallow a gulp of it anyway, much to her horror and much to my enjoyment. Her expressions are a never-ending list of entertainment.

The potion is too smooth to be mud. It tastes spicy, a kick without any flavor. At first, I don’t feel anything, until a zap of electricity rides up my spine. Gooseflesh covers the backs of my calves up to my neck.

By the time I realize that I’m shivering, Aqua has my face in her hands. Her fingertips are warm when she brushes my hair.

“I’m fine.” A white cloud puffs out of my lips.

Ven is cackling. Not from the tickling, that may have stopped as soon as he got distracted, but he’s pointing his finger at me.

“As fine as a monkey walking naked into the snow,” she quips, wrapping the robe around my shoulders and rubbing my biceps.

“You can’t say, I told you so,” I say, my voice reverberating. “You didn’t know this was going to happen.”

“I know you don’t regret it.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

She scoffs, smirking. Her eyes drop to some faraway conversation with herself.

“What are you thinking?” My teeth clatter.

She raises her eyebrows, playing coy.

“Whoever made this freezing potion,” Ven interrupts, having dragged himself to the book and is now leaning on it with both hands to stay stable, “wanted to test it. See if it could preserve vital organs.” He slowly nods (as if anything in this book makes sense).

“I guess we’ll find out if it worked when I die.” The tremors hurt, rupturing in blows down my torso. Aqua mutters a spell and a fiery glow halos her hands, hovering near my skin. My own personal hearth. I can’t help but imagine doing the same for her one day.

“Anyone else want to take a crack at it or should I drink another one?” Ven says.

Aqua glances over her shoulder and is actually considering it .

“No way,” I say.

She ignores me, reading each bottle as though they’d spill their secrets.

I lean towards her ear, though she’s already swatting me away. “Do you need help choosing one?”

She grabs a curvy vial that looks like it has hips and is filled to the brim with pure white. Defiantly turning to stick her nose up at me, she proudly drinks (a sip), grimacing through the taste. But she keeps tall. As long as the nose stays up.

“Oh shit,” Ven mutters.

“Language,” I say.

We wait for the effect. Nothing happens.

“What do you feel?” I ask.

“Nothing. I feel normal.”

“You’re a liar,” Ven says, throwing pages and scanning pictures, then rustling back to see if he skipped any.

“I am not. Maybe it’s expired.” As soon as she says it, her eyes go wide.

“That doesn’t make any sense. We had immediate effects. Maybe you should drink some more?”

“Don’t be silly.” Aqua shuts the bottle with its topper and gently places it back in its spot. “This was a foolish game, anyway.”

I have to scoff—that’s harsh, even coming from Aqua. “Then why go for it?”

“Because I admire you so much, Terra, when you’re brave enough to go after something I wouldn’t come near. Because I have to match you, maybe outmatch you sometimes, if you get on my nerves. Because sometimes I get scared that I’ve missed out on so much, and I can’t help but wonder if our childhood may be missing something. After everything we’ve lost, I don’t want to be scared of being silly anymore. But… What if I’m a boring slog? I don’t want to be a bore. I want to be daring and fun like you and Ven,” she says in rapid tossed word salad, her hands getting animated the more she talks, pressed to answer questions we didn’t ask.

Ven and I have nothing to say.

“I…” Aqua fusses with her sleeves. “I don’t know why I unloaded all of that.”

“Dramatic, much?” Ven says.

She fists her hips. “Dramatic is when you whine about your dreams so you can avoid chores thinking I wouldn’t call your bluff.”

Ven gapes. “Aqua, you’re mean.”

“I don’t know what’s happening.” She hides her face behind her hands, taking them to her heart and bowing. “Ven, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Something weird is going on.” I take the helm at searching the book, shuffling pages in chunks until I find one with stark white paint, in the shape of curves and waves. “Ven,” I whisper when I read the description. When he looks at me, his impish smile stretches with lists of ideas. I’m right there with him.

A stuffy silence fills the room when we recite it: Truth potion. The person who drinks it cannot help but to answer questions honestly.

Aqua steps back.

She bolts out of the room, knocking some of the books over.

“Get her!” Ven yells.

My muscles protest when I take off, stiff and sluggish as though I’ve experienced a whole winter outside. Aqua dashes through an open doorway and thrusts her arm out. The doors slam together, refusing to let me through. Ven’s going to have to find another way around. This won’t stop me and she knows it. I slip through a growing portal of darkness—the swirls that lick me would have been cold, but I’m numb—and I come out the other side. There’s certain tricks that come from being the poster boy for Darkness; it’s helpful in fights.

This part of the castle leads to the common areas. I know where she’ll be.

Aqua is splitting her attention between mixing batter in a large wooden bowl and running a soapy dishwash in the kitchen sink. When I approach her, she makes a point to put her finger on her lips.

Stars, it’s so hard not to laugh. “You’re not going to—”

She grunts, shaking her head furiously at me. No questions.

With my elbows propped on the countertop, I watch her scrub a dish. More than she normally does, actually, a little therapy session to take her mind off the fact that I’m relishing this moment. It’s satisfying how she suddenly remembers that she’s heating the oven, throwing herself across the kitchen to check the temperature.

She points to the spice cupboard next to me, and gets more enthusiastic when I open it. Apparently, she wants the cinnamon.

“I think vinegar would help better with what you’re doing.” I nod my head to the sink.

With the flick of her hand, water pouring out of the faucet changes direction and splashes me in the face.

“Am I annoying?” I snigger. I had to.

A tick in her shoulders—her body has no choice but to react. “That’s a stupid question.” Every word is pulled out of her teeth. Normally, she’d say, No, how could you even imagine that!

I dip my finger into the suds and plant one large print on her forehead in between the eyes, where she’s glaring so hard, they are crossed.

“How about now?”

“The worst,” she groans, slamming her hands into the bath. She takes a washcloth to dry them and wipes her forehead. Afterwards, she hands it to me.

“Think of it as an opportunity to get to know the real you.” I dry my face.

“You know me already.”

“Do I know everything, though?”

“No.” This potion doesn’t miss a beat.

Ven is panting by the time he enters, climbing a stool behind the counter and peering over the edge like a small child. He’s doing that on purpose, goading her into playing along. He asks me, “Can we?”

She groans.

I’m back on my elbows so I can look up at her and give her the same puppy dog eyes. Between glancing at the two of us, she can’t stand it. She wants to make us happy, she’s always been like that. Then again, she probably also wants to bash our heads together and leave us with headaches. One of the two would amuse her better.

“How about we ask her three questions only? We shouldn’t drive her crazy.”

She chuckles, that little smile of hers growing and reassuring and there. That’s my girl. Turning off the sink, she folds the washcloth and brings her hands together as though we’re in class. “Three questions each. Is that okay?”

Wow. “More than I asked for.”

“I already have one,” Ven says, sitting on his knees. “Do you hate Lea?”

“A little. But I’m working on it.”

Ven snorts and drops his face onto the counter. How many times have we asked her that and got the, Don’t be ridiculous. Like I said, he’s formidable. “I knew it.”

“He does his missions with the least amount of effort possible. Takes the easiest route to build his technique. Efficiency, he calls it,” she says, letting out the hot pressure she’s been keeping to herself with relief. “He also calls me, Teach. Who does that?”

Of all the times I’ve expected Aqua to snap at someone, she holds herself back when it comes to Lea, giving him tight smiles to zip it all up. “Ouch,” I say. “He’s been working so hard on a gift to thank you for working with Isa.”

She grimaces. “At least he has good taste in men? Isa does have a respectable work ethic.”

I pat her hand. Aqua’s usually the one to blow the kettle first, but there’s ways to connect people who may not see eye to eye the first time. Maybe I can be a buffer. “Next time you meet, I could go with you.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she whispers.

“Lea would find it hilarious, honestly.” Ven waves his hand as if it’s no big deal. “I bet he’d give you a note with your gift. It would say, Thanks for everything. I hate you, too, Teach .”

“Okay, my turn,” I say, resting my chin on my palm. She studies me, too, though I’d like to believe I could keep a poker face. “Do you sometimes steal my cologne?”

“Yes.”

Her bluntness throws me back. “To wear ?”

“Yes,” she says as though it’s obvious and crosses her arms. Duh.

“Hey, that’s two questions,” Ven says.

“Sorry.” I take one more glance to see if I could gleam any more clues from her facial expressions, but she keeps her nose high. As long as the nose stays up.

“I have to think of a really good one.” Ven holds his chin, looking more serious than he’s been since the Keyblade War. “Ever farted then blamed Terra for it?”

“Ugh.” Aqua quivers, her knuckles bleaching. She throws her face over her shoulder and stares scars into the wall. “Yes of course, didn’t we all?”

“Come on, I could’ve answered that,” I say (though after all these years, it’s validating to know it’s not a blame game anymore). I nudge her with my shoulder. “Justice does feel pretty good.”

“Ask me something better,” she says after smacking my bicep. Her face is as ripe as sunburn.

Questions that give her more control. I could do that. “Is there anything you’ve been needing to say but haven’t had the chance to yet?”

The tension in her face drops. It leaves something pale and disappointed in its place, a faraway look. I shouldn’t have asked; whatever this fear is, it’s meant for me. “Yes,” she whispers.

I stand pin-straight, the air in the room thinning, as though the Darkness has opened a hole and is sucking all the sun away. Ven does the same. The other Keybearers will stare at their cuticles, or fumble and cut themselves out of the group when they’re upset or hurt or sorry. Eraqus forged a protocol out of us. When we witness or cause harm, we recite what we’ve done and its effects. We bow when we apologize.

So far, we’ve been home for one hundred and seventy five days. Never expected it to take this long. I open my mouth to speak.

“Don’t,” she says softly. “I know what you’re going to ask.”

I would have pleaded with her to let me apologize, and I would have met her dismissal anyway: No, Terra, it’s not necessary. We’ve been through it all. We should enjoy what we have. She means well; the relaxation and the mundane tasks are good for all of us. Even when we were younger, Aqua was generous at her expense, sparing nuts from her brownie to bake them into a tarte, knowing I hate brownies. She’d look at the brighter side of things (More fudge for me!), and stick her tongue out. She’s been my smile, but she gives too much, and we still need this conversation.

“So what is the answer?”

She lowers her eyes to the counter, then wills them back up at me. “I blame myself.”

Aqua.

Ven sighs. “I should give you guys some space.” He treads away, keeping his footsteps minimal, meticulously turning the handle so it’d make the least noise possible. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I see him press his ear against the door before it shuts. If he’s going to listen in, that’s fine with me. Whatever she and I have to say to each other would affect all three of us.

“You blame—”

“I would be… lying.” She simpers, shaking her head. “If I said I never blamed you. There were moments I did. How and why. But I had enough endless nights where those reasons circled back to me. What I could have done to make it better. To save you,” she croaks, wiping her eyes. “To be a best friend. You needed that. Ven needed one, too. And I wasn’t.”

Aqua scrubs the already-clean counter with that dry washcloth, creating a rhythm that fills the silence. The oven is now heated, and I take the cinnamon and pour two spoonfuls of it into a beaker, our backs to each other. Add cups of sugar for her, some cocoa, a pinch of vanilla while she drills the grouts in between the tiles.

“I wasn’t much of a best friend myself, either.”

“You were hurt and defeated.”

“I was stupid.”

“You are not.”

I scoff, reaching over and pausing her. My smile is meant to be gentle, but it feels so plastic. “Aqua, do you think I’m stupid?”

“I don’t.”

I’ve expected her to half-smirk, where she tells me, Sometimes. “Really?”

“You overthink,” she simply puts. “But you assume the best. You know, that makes you a better person than me.”

Ha. No. “No. I’m not better than you. Not by a long shot.”

She hums. “I’m just correct more often.”

“But I left you.”

“And I kicked your trust in me in the shins. Are we going to keep count of all the unfriendly things we’ve done? How different would it have been if I didn’t accuse you of things that weren’t true?”

“How different would it be if I had just stayed with you?” I realize I shouldn’t have asked the moment I finish.

In a trance, Aqua inspects the beaker with the spices and sugars I’ve concocted, deciding what I’d done is good enough and dumping them into her unmixed dough, stirring, giving her hands something to do, while I wait for the onslaught. “Probably avoided the last twelve years.” I wince. “Or it could have made no difference. We could have ended up the same, or worse, or better.”

I say, “You don’t believe that,” before stopping myself.

“I was taught to respect Xehanort, too.”

“We were taught to recognize the Darkness.”

“Which I also failed at.”

“Clearly.”

“I did. I looked for it inside you where I should have placed my faith instead. I regret every moment I did.” She puts the bowl down, a slap of wood against marble. “We don’t help ourselves by obsessing about it a million times.”

“But you’d help me if you let me apologize. To you especially.”

She whips around with nothing to retort, fresh tears short of falling. “To me especially?”

“Ven deserves something of his own. Please.”

She drops her hands together. Swallows. Nods.

I bow, watching droplets land near my shoes. “I should have been there for you. I should have been stronger. I should have realized what was happening sooner, and I thought I did. I thought I did what I could, and I was there with you in the Graveyard, but it wasn’t enough, and for all the years I didn’t know, I should have found a way to learn and pay you back for what you’ve sacrificed for me. I should have eased your pain, I should have brought you back to the Light. I was focused on myself when I should have lifted you up, and I disappeared when you needed me most. I should have done more, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Silence passes the time and I look up to see what she thinks. She’s wetting the washcloth, dabbing my eyes. “Do you feel better?” she asks.

“Kind of.” I’m beat up after taking all those shots, but I’m lighter, free to breathe without the nagging suspicion that I don’t deserve to.

“One of the things I wished for when I was in the Realm of Darkness was to smell sugar again. I wanted to hear you give me a list of reasons why it’s bad for my body, and I wanted to tell you why it’s good for the heart.” I let her dab my cheeks, the dampness frigid against my skin. “Now that I’m back home, I don’t need any other wish granted.” She sniffs, about to pour the batter into its mold, but then flicks the oven off exasperatedly. “I forgot. I have to wait for the dough to rise.” For some reason that finally breaks her. It tears me apart as well, and I have to hold her shoulder so we don’t rip down the middle.

“Please don’t cry,” I say, offering the washcloth. “I care too much about you to sit here and watch you cry.”

She stops. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” I let go and stare at her blended mix, smooth as cream.

“That’s not fair,” she says, throwing the washcloth onto the counter. “I have no choice with what I say. You could at least answer me honestly.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you cry anymore.” Nor do I want to tell her the truth. Instead I hide it on the back of my neck, where I rub into it so it doesn’t spill over. And yet, that makes me feel more guilty now than I have in weeks.

“I should make you swallow a truth potion.”

“I wanted us to be equals.” She saves her usual response and waits for me to continue. I close my eyes. “Go through all the same experiences with you. We were supposed to stick together, do everything together. Failing the Mark of Mastery took all of that away from me. Or at least it felt that way at the time. And I wanted more. I wanted…” My hand finds nothing as it waves in the air searching for the words to spell it out. “I don’t know what to say. Everything I’ve done and didn’t do pale in comparison to you.”

“We’re not doing this. We’re not comparing ourselves.”

“No, I mean…” What the stars am I supposed to say? “You’re more important to me than you understand.”

“And you’re just as important to me.”

“No… it’s different with me.” And I’ve said too much, Aqua holding her elbows and expecting me to continue. There’s no other trail to go down than the one I’ve started. “I meant what I said at the preliminary feast.”

“Excuse me?”

The feast where the Master celebrated our achievements, announcing that we’re at last ready for the final test. Where Ven and I squeezed ourselves into suits and he complained the entire night about being itchy. Where I spent it staring at her dress. When I said she looked pretty and then avoided her for the rest of the party.

I don’t say anything about that night and she hears something anyway.

“That’s why…” She glosses over me with wide eyes as the realization makes me look like a stranger. “You should have said something to me.”

“You can’t be serious.” I wave her away.

“But all these years, I didn’t know.”

Good, if we’re talking about the same thing. “I couldn’t have told you anything.”

“Then how was I supposed to figure that out?”

What are we talking about now? “What exactly did you expect me to do?”

“You should have kissed me.” She covers her mouth, wincing at what slipped out. She keeps her chin high anyway, casually crossing her arms and pretending that her face hasn’t reddened the deep shade staining her cheeks. As long as it stays up.

We pass an unspoken conversation between each other, frozen and unwilling to move.

Did you just—?

I did.

I manage to exhale. “You’re right.”

There’s a moment of shock on her face before I hold her and lean forward. It happens so quick that I don’t register what she tastes like before I realize that I’m clamping my hands on her biceps, two bent rods leaning on each other.

“That was awful,” I say.

“No, it’s—” she laughs.

“Bad.”

“Yeah.”

“I always thought it’d go different.”

“Always?”

Well, I’ve run out of words. “I guess.” When I let her go, she reaches for my chest and lifts onto her toes, kissing me back but with care and intention this time, filling my lips with hers. They taste like Aqua, smell like her shampoo. They’re softer than her hands and face, sweet enough for me to want more. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my hands until I settle them in the sway of her back. I let her take the lead, take another kiss, tug at my neck. She trembles from the frozen touch of my skin and from the hold of my hands on her body. My muscles are getting warm, too warm but I like it and I think she knows. Earlier this morning, I held her this close, but this is closer. It’s easy and difficult at the same time.

Then I remember and pull away. “Ven is listening to us.”

There’s a bump on the door as it’s pushed when he kicks himself off, heavy footsteps running down the hall.

Aqua looks like she’s touched feces. “Ven!”

I follow her, wondering if she’s going to summon her Keyblade but that’s because of how fast she’s walking, like she has a mission, no Heartless left standing. We turn a corner, down a hall of antique vases and ancient cupboards carved from our first masters. Wood creaks nearby.

She holds her palm up like she’s holding a chalice, and flames lick the cupboard closest to us until it rattles and spits Ven out. He scrambles onto his feet and brandishes his finger, testing our distance as if he’d poke us in a duel.

“I still have my last question and it’s in your best interest not to threaten me.”

“Oh really? Tell me again how you’re going to protect yourself when you sleep,” she says.

He grounds himself before giving his performance of, “Do you want to see Terra naked?”

Aqua trembles from her head to her knees, her cheeks blotting a strong shot of red. She throttles forward and cups both of her hands onto her mouth like she’s going to sneeze. What sounds like a loud goose honk blows out as the answer.

“That was awesome.” Ven slaps his thigh, turning on his heel and leaving a trail of giggles.

I’m scared to say anything, in case she honks at me. So I wait. There’s just no way to make myself seem small, or leave without disturbing her. Maybe if I hold my breath, she’d feel like she has privacy. She’s panting, giving me side glances but never looking directly at me, that nose of hers wilting towards the floor.

I open my mouth to say something—

She growls and I clutch my lips together. Aqua pulls her Gummiphone out of her pocket, jabbing a message.

Mine rings.

Aqua

Let’s find a potion that dyes his hair pink

She clears her throat, before flipping it over and typing again.

Aqua

Don’t tell him it was my idea

“Okay,” I say, testing the word. Even though I soften it, it still bangs like a gong. I don’t know what else to do except smile at her. She grimaces back, no doubt the last several words spoken still ringing in her ears, just as they do in mine. I even hesitate when I hold her elbow—would it ever be the same, or will every touch mean something different? I don’t voice those questions.

She moves by reflex: first to flinch, then to hold me by my elbow, mirroring me, which isn’t the most comfortable position. She follows my forearm to my hand, knitting our fingers together, and we stand there, adjusting how they fit. Mine are long and thick, dwarfing and burying hers, an oversized pouch for a gem. They fit perfectly, I think.

“We can find something better,” I say, looking for anything to distract her. “There’s also those books to read, and the robe to fix. The brownies you’re making—”

“It’s supposed to be cinnamon bread,” she mumbles.

Yech. “Nothing I’d eat anyway.”

Her chuckle is partial, contorted and pressed.

“I can make some beef jerky for everyone. Spice it up,” I say. She hides an amused whimper behind her hand and massages her cheek. “We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

She nods, offering me a relieved but crooked smile.

I don’t know if we should walk the castle hand in hand, so I splay it between her shoulder blades and lead the way. We walk in silence, and I’m okay with that if it helps her. No questions, her head up high like everything is back to normal. We steal glances and do a terrible job at hiding our giggles behind small talk, which is botched and jittery anyway, but there’s not much to say without asking, So… how old were you when you realized?

One of these nights, I’ll tell her I’d like to see her naked, too, when the time is right and the truth comes easier.

#terraqua #terra #aqua #ventus #kingdom hearts fanfic #kh fanfic #oooooooh #here is my attempt at domestic fluff #what is everyone going to think of me #my fic

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