ChaseTheBlue

You rolled your eyes, listening to Felicia nagging at you on the phone while you were lounging on your couch in your new apartment.

You loved your sister, you truly do but her paranoia was definitely teetering towards obsession.

A knock on the door made you freeze, knowing that you didn’t order anything or was expecting any company for the night.

“Hey sis, I gotta go, I’m gonna turn in early for the night. Take care of yourself, love you.” You quickly ended the call before sneaking your way to the front door and tapping on a small screen next to it that you had installed that upgraded your peep hole into a camera so you could see the outside without putting your face anywhere near the door.

A familiar face was on the other side, one Shang-Chi of the Avengers. You sighed, frustrated that he found you again even after you’ve made sure to hide your tracks.

You pressed on the speaker button on the screen. “Getting real tired of you showing up on my front door step.”

“Hardy?” Shang-Chi looked around in confusion before noticing the small speaker on the door, he leaned in closely and it made your mouth twitch at how adorably stupid his action was.

You huffed out a laugh. “You don’t have to speak into the microphone, I can hear you just fine handsome.”

Shang-Chi stepped back, his cheeks tinted with red as he smiled sheepishly.

“Now, are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?” You asked the other man.

Shang-Chi cleared his throat before lifting his arm up to reveal takeout in a plastic bag. “Brought you some dinner, thought you’d be interested in having some company tonight?”

“Depends on what you brought.” You retorted.

Shang-Chi smiled. “Chinese takeout, they’ve got delicious dumplings.”

You smirked at the screen, dumplings sounded amazing.

~~~~~

“So, you’ve been quiet. I haven’t seen you making trouble since you were stuck in the warehouse with Torres.”

Shang-Chi told you, taking a bite of his dumpling from one end of the couch while you were sat on the other.

You shrugged, putting your chopsticks back in the takeout container you were holding. “I’ve done some trouble but not big enough to put a target on my back.”

“I’m guessing Fisk’s reign really scared you huh?” Shang-Chi replied, putting his own food down to turn his full attention to you.

You licked your lips, putting your takeout down on the coffee table right in front of you. “Among many other things.”

Shang-Chi nodded, making you fidget slightly from where you were sitting. The man obviously had something to say considering he came all this way to find you.

“You tracked me down to an undisclosed location, I didn’t put my name on the lease so do you mind telling me what you actually came here to talk about instead of this mindless small talk.” You finally confronted the other man, watching as Shang-Chi sighed before getting comfortable on the couch.

Shang-Chi gave you an apologetic smile. “After what went down in that video call that day, I didn’t think I’d see Torres come back home looking depressed.”

“Well, it seems like I have that effect on people.” You replied, trying not to let the thought of a depressed Torres show on your face especially with how the two of you ended off.

Shang-Chi sighed. “What happened after that?”

“Probably the same thing that’s going to happen the more you try to hide your feelings from me.” You replied, catching Shang-Chi off guard.

Shang-Chi’s face reddened. “How’d you-“

“I didn’t, I took a chance.” You cut him off, a small smile forming on your face. “Guess, I was right.”

Shang-Chi suddenly stood up, his whole face now completely red. “Right, well I came by to see if you were okay and I guess you are so I’ll take my leave.”

“Hold on,” You reached out, grabbing his wrist and stopping him. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, just sit down with me and keep me company tonight.”

Shang-Chi looked down at you, hesitation written across his face before he gave in and sat back down, now sitting closer to you.

“Fine but no funny business.” Shang-Chi warned you as you threw your legs over his lap and leaned in with a smirk.

You pouted, catching Shang-Chi red handed as looked down at your lips. “Where’s the fun in that? I’ve been stressed from having a target on my back because of The Kingpin, won’t you help me relax?”

“You’re trouble.” Shang-Chi grunted but still leaned his face towards yours, making you smile before you connected your lips with his.

You broke the kiss, pulling your lips away from Shang-Chi’s slightly as your tongue trace the outline of his lips. “You like it.”

“I do.” Shang-Chi replied before capturing your lips with his, moving your bodies so you were lying on the couch while he hovered over you.

Shang-Chi’s hands slip under your shirt, helping you take it off your body before you did the same with his.

You grinned, seeing how ripped the other man was before leaning in to lick a stripe up from his navel to his hard abs, hearing his breath hitch in response.

Shang-Chi immediately grabbed your chin, halting you from going further as you were forced to look up at him. “Behave.”

“You’re mean when we have sex.” You told him, your voice becoming slightly sultry as you felt yourself hardening in your pants.

Shang-Chi smirked down at you. “You like it.”

“We should move to the bedroom.” You suggested, making Shang-Chi grin in response.

~~~~~

“Oh fuck, your tongue is insane.”

Shang-Chi groaned approvingly at your words, the vibrations of his voice against your hole made your toes curl from where your legs were wrapped around his shoulders.

Your hands were on the back of Shang-Chi’s head, your fingers tugging on his hair whenever he’d do something wicked with his tongue that would make your back arch slightly from the mattress of your bed.

“Yeah? You miss that hole? You miss me squeezing your cock?” You sighed out, getting a moan out of Shang-Chi before he released your hole with a pop.

Shang-Chi panted, leaving kisses on the inside of your legs before pushing himself up so he could kiss you on the lips. He let out a noise of approval when you wrapped your legs around his bare waist to pull his body closer to yours during the kiss.

Shang-Chi eventually broke the kiss before he turned his attention to your jaw and neck, gnawing on you like a chew toy. He was addicted to the way you tasted on his tongue and the way the natural musk of your scent had a tinge of sweetness that drove him absolutely nuts.

“As much as I love the attention, handsome. I want to give you pleasure too.” You teased Shang-Chi, lightly pushing at the man’s shoulder so he could ease off your body before you made him lie back on the bed while you hovered over him.

Shang-Chi watched as you made your way down his body, leaving tiny kisses behind that made his breathing get heavier as you got closer to his cock that was already standing proudly.

The first hint of your tongue poking out already made Shang-Chi shudder in anticipation before letting out a broken cry when you enveloped his cock with your mouth, he missed this.

You bobbed your head expertly down Shang-Chi’s length, swirling your tongue around the thick member as you went. It made the Avenger hiss when you took more of him into your mouth until your nose was pushed against the hairs on his pelvis.

“Oh fuck.” Shang-Chi moaned out feeling his cock hit the back of your throat before he reached down to tangle his fingers into your hair as he controlled the pace of you deepthroating his cock.

The sound of your throat choking on his cock made Shang-Chi’s mouth twitch, he knew you’d push his hand away from your head if you wanted to.

Shang-Chi then pulled your head off his cock, the sound of your gasp and the visual off the string of saliva that connected your lips to the head of his cock made him groan.

“I wasn’t done.” You grumbled, your voice a little gravelly from your throat being used.

Shang-Chi chuckled before pulling you up to wipe the saliva off your mouth before gently pecking you on the lips with a small smile. “I know, baby but I can’t wait to fuck you anymore. Let me take care of you tonight, like you wanted me to.”

Shang-Chi saw the way your eyes dilated in interest, you licked lips before nodding and letting the other man manhandle you so you were lying back on the bed while he placed himself between your spread legs.

“You’re gorgeous.” Shang-Chi told you as he aligned the head of his cock with your waiting hole.

He noticed the tinge of red on your cheeks before you rolled your eyes at him with a huff. “Just fuck me already.”

“As you wish.” Shang-Chi smirked before slowly pushing in, silently gasping at the tightness that surrounded his cock but also eagerly swallowed him whole as he pushed into with ease.

Shang-Chi glanced at your face with a cocked eyebrow in question, getting a grin from you in response.

You shrugged before letting out a small gasp when Shang-Chi began gyrating his hips into you. “What can I say? I might have been playing with a couple of toys before you came over, it’s been pretty lonely.”

“Oh my god,” Shang-Chi groaned as he continued to fuck into you with a newfound rhythm. “Your hole is amazing.”

“Fuck.” You whimpered in response when Shang-Chi did a particular thrust that made your back arch on the bed.

Shang-Chi let out a chuckle, he had found your spot before quickening his thrusts. He leaned down to capture your lips with his in a bruising kiss, feeling your hands latch onto his back to sink your nails into his skin as he continued to thrust deeply into you.

The both of you moaning and whimpering into each other’s mouths as you sucked on Shang-Chi’s tongue with every thrust he gave you.

Shang-Chi shut his eyes from the intense pleasure he was feeling, the familiar heat of his release coiling in his gut.

“Hey, look at me.” You whispered, the vulnerability in the tone of your voice forced Shang-Chi’s eyes to open.

He stared down at you, noticing the way your features immediately softened as you smiled up at him.

You pecked him once on the lips, letting out another whimper when a sharp thrust hit your prostrate. “You don’t have to control it, we’ve got all night.”

“Yeah? So you can tire me out and leave when the sun rises?” Shang-Chi joked, his hips slowing down as he recalled the first time the both of you slept together.

Something akin to hurt flickered on your face and it made Shang-Chi almost stop his thrusts to ask what was wrong before you shook your head and pulled his face down to kiss him.

This kiss felt different from the previous kisses the man had shared with you. This time Shang-Chi felt something vulnerable and raw with every smack of the lips.

It was an apology packed with emotions, a new sensation that drove Shang-Chi insane as he thrusted his hips harder into you.

He swallowed all the whimpers and cries that tumbled out of your mouth and into his as the slapping sound of his pelvis met with your bottom.

Shang-Chi dropped an apologetic kiss on your lips for being rough with you before he let out a groan as he spilled his seed into you.

He continued his thrusts, determined to make you cum before getting his answer when your hole squeezed his cock so tightly from your own release that he saw nothing but white before wiping out.

The last thing Shang-Chi heard was the sound of your voice chuckling, a hand caressing the back of his head and a kiss to his temple before he passed out.

~~~~~

Shang-Chi woke up with a start, his eyes blinking to focus on his surroundings before he realised that he was in your bedroom and his heart sank when you weren’t next to him on the bed.

Memories of the night before came flooding to his mind and he groaned in embarrassment before getting out of the bed to collect his clothes and dress himself up when the rest of his senses kicked in and he realised he could hear the tv playing in the living room and the smell of food wafting from the kitchen.

He quickly donned on his underwear and pants as his curiosity peaked further.

Shang-Chi cautiously walked out of the bedroom, somehow still expecting you to be gone from the apartment but let out a sigh of relief to see your back was turned to him as you were cooking by the stove, your white hair slightly askew in the back.

Shang-Chi wasted no time as he strode across the room, chuckling softly when he startled you by wrapping his arms around your waist before resting his chin on your shoulder.

You playfully whacked his arm and tutted at him. “I know you’re an Avenger but a hot stove can still burn your hands and I am not going to be the one to tell Sam on how you got those burns.”

“Good morning to you too.” Shang-Chi chuckled, kissing the side of your head in greeting.

You hummed. “Bacon and eggs okay for breakfast or will they effect your hot bod?”

“We had dumplings last night.” Shang-Chi pointed out.

You chuckled. “Well we also had late night cardio before someone passed out on me. Literally.”

“Bacon and eggs are great, thank you.” Shang-Chi replied, he was smart enough not to prolong that moment with you without setting himself up for embarrassment.

You snickered before nudging him with your shoulder. “Take a seat at the couch, I’ll bring a plate to you. They’re almost done.”

Shang-Chi nodded, giving you a kiss on the cheek before he made his way to the couch. You apparently had the news on, another story about Wilson Fisk being mayor.

“Can’t seem to escape him even if I tried.” Shang-Chi heard you say with a snort before he took the plate of bacon and eggs from you, thanking you before the both of you settled comfortably on the couch.

Shang-Chi glanced at you from the corner of his eye, he saw the tenseness in your shoulders as you ate and consumed the news on your tv.

He cleared his throat. “I can change the channel if you want.”

“Hold on,” You murmured, your eyes fixed on the screen. “Looks like someone’s going to be running against Fisk soon.”

Shang-Chi turned his attention to the tv, his mouth dropping when a familiar face appeared. A new candidate running for mayor that neither of you were prepared for.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Shang-Chi said.

You turned your head to him with an amused expression. “Luke Cage just entered the game.”

~~~~~

“So, how is he?”

Shang-Chi froze as he poured sugar into his coffee while he was standing in the kitchen of The Avengers’ Living Quarters in the tower.

He carefully turned his head to face Torres, who was standing by the entrance of the kitchen with his arms crossed.

Shang-Chi gulped before he cleared his throat. “He’s okay, just rattled by Fisk so he’s choosing to lay low.”

“That’s fair.” Torres replied before dropping his eyes to the floor, it honestly made Shang-Chi’s heart ache at how crestfallen his teammate looked.

Shang-Chi grabbed a spoon before he started to stir his coffee. “You know you could go visit him if you wanted to. I think he’d appreciate the company.”

“Well you stayed the night, I think I can guess what kind of company he’d prefer.” Torres replied, sounding bitter.

Shang-Chi sighed. “I don’t know what happened between the both of you during your time in the hideout but you should know better than to say crap like that. Your hurt feelings aren’t an excuse for you to lash out.”

Somehow that seemed to have stumped Torres, the other man’s eyes widening at Shang-Chi’s words before he slowly nodded.

“You’re right,” Torres sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I was being an asshole.”

Shang-Chi shrugged. “Yeah you were and I think it would be better if you took the time to sit down with your pain before you decide to go and see him.”

Torres nodded, biting down on his bottom lip as he reflected on Shang-Chi’s advice.

“Thanks. I think I needed that.” Torres told Shang-Chi with a sheepish smile before he excused himself to leave the martial artist alone in the kitchen.

Shang-Chi took a sip of his coffee, he wondered if he did the right thing. He wanted to be selfish and have you all to himself but he knew better than to box you into some kind of petty love triangle that you had no say on.

He wished things were simpler.

~~~~~

You should’ve known better than to think that staying low would get Fisk off your back when you were withdrawing money from an ATM machine and then felt someone hold a gun to your back.

“Apologies for intruding on your day but Mayor Fisk has been wanting to meet you.” A man with a British accent said from behind you, the barrel of the gun pushing into the bottom of your back in warning.

You sighed. “Lead the way.”

You suddenly found yourself in the backseat of a car that had tinted windows, the man now sitting next to you while he told the driver to go.

You glanced at the man, a small smirk on your face. “So dimples, you got a name? Usually guys would point a different weapon from their pants to my back instead of a whole gun.”

“How charming, Mayor Fisk did warn that you’d be a sly talker. You can call me, Buck.” The man replied, flashing a dimpled smirk at you.

You nodded before leaning back into the car’s seat. “Well Buck, it wouldn’t be too bad if you fucked me in the back of this car before my untimely death by the hands of Fisk.”

“You are such a character.” Buck replied in amusement before turning his head to the front while you rolled your eyes at him.

You wished Buck wasn’t directly next to you, your phone sat heavily in your pocket and you couldn’t sent out a text to Sam for help.

When you arrived at Fisk’s office, you tried not to show the nervousness on your face as you finally came face to face with the once crime boss turned Mayor of New York City.

You almost wanted to scoff at the man’s face, Fisk would always be the Kingpin in your eyes, no matter what he promised to the people of New York.

“It’s nice to finally meet the brother of the once infamous Black Cat that used to run in these very streets.” Fisk started, making your eyebrow twitch at the implication that he did know who Felicia was and quite possibly where she was currently hiding.

You kept silent, staring down at the man that sat down at a desk that was just the right size for someone of his stature.

You saw the side of Fisk’s mouth twitch before he cleared his throat, the man leaning his arms forward on the desk.

“Tell me, what did Captain America offer you to offer your services to his group of Avengers? To infiltrate a party that was under my name and hack carelessly into my network to find files on me.” Fisk asked you.

You flexed your fingers, remembering the little stunt you pulled with Joaquín under Sam’s orders but you weren’t going to give Fisk that as you shrugged. “I was bored, heard that you invited a couple of well off folks that probably wouldn’t have missed their wallets or jewellery if they got stolen. Captain America had nothing to do with my involvement at the party, didn’t even know he was there.”

“Well he wasn’t,” Fisk smirked. “But the security cameras did pick up another man that you seemed to be close with that day that definitely wasn’t part of the invitation. Care to share this man’s identity? It would greatly benefit my team from spending unnecessary resources and time to track him down.”

You raised your arms up in surrender, your eyes looking around the office for an opportunity to escape. Unfortunately, the only way was either jumping through a window or fighting your way out the door and through Fisk’s security.

“I don’t know what to tell you Mr Fisk,” You dramatically sighed. “I’ve never met that man before in my life nor do I care much about him since he stopped me from stealing. I left the event right after.”

“You do know the consequences of lying to a government official, correct?” Fisk replied.

You nodded. “I do and since you have no right to really hold me here, I will be going now. I hope this last minute meeting satisfied you Mr Fisk and that you’d find the actual perpetrator of that party.”

The side of Fisk’s mouth twitched before he settled back on his seat and nodded his head towards the door. “Thank you, I’ll ignore the comments of your thievery since you weren’t successful at your attempt. I guess your sister remains to be the more dependable one to hold the Black Cat mantle.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” You muttered, giving Fisk a strained smile before strutting out of the man’s office.

You saw Buck at the corner of your eye, the man smiling deviously at you as you left. If you weren’t so in your head about two very specific men in your life, you probably would’ve tried the British man.

You shook your head as you walked out of the New York City Hall. You needed to give Sam a heads up first.

You couldn’t let Fisk or his team anywhere near Torres.

~~~~~

“Cat?”

You turned your head towards Shang-Chi, the man carefully walking up to you on a random rooftop in the city as you stood in your full Black Cat gear.

“Hi, handsome. It’s been awhile.” You greeted the other man with a smile.

Shang-Chi returned the smile, taking a few steps forward before he was finally standing next to you as he sighed. “You okay? I thought you wanted to keep a low profile.”

“Well what’s the point if I can’t actually escape Fisk and his men.” You stared forward, the lights of the city shining brightly in contrast to the night sky.

Shang-Chi shifted, whipping his head to face you. “You met Fisk?”

“Yeah,” You scoffed. “It was pretty dramatic kidnapping me in broad daylight with a gun to my back but I handled it.”

“Why didn’t you reach out?” Shang-Chi asked, making you sigh.

You turned to face him, seeing the worried look on the man’s face made you smile before you shook your head with a chuckle. “Don’t worry about it, I told Sam right after. Fisk wanted to get me to confess about who was with me that day, I wasn’t going to give him that.”

“You’re pretty brave.” Shang-Chi told you, slipping his hand to grasp yours to give it a gentle squeeze.

The side of your mouth twitched as you rolled your eyes at him. “Thanks but I was honestly prepared for the worst. I couldn’t let Fisk get to him. There’s no telling what that monster would do.”

“You know, for someone who pretends not to care, you sure do a lot of the opposite.” Shang-Chi teased you, making you laugh as you cursed at him from under your breath.

Shang-Chi grinned at making you laugh before his face settled with a small smile aimed at you, it made your heart skip a beat. “I’m just glad that you’re okay.”

You couldn’t take the weird feeling in your chest anymore before you surged forward and locked your lips with Shang-Chi in a heated kiss.

Shang-Chi let out a startled noise before moaning into the kiss, his hands grabbing at your waist, the heat sipping through your suit as you moaned.

“Please?” You whimpered against Shang-Chi’s mouth.

The other man broke the kiss, giving you a questioning look. “We should go back to your apartment.”

“No,” You shook your head, walking backwards into a corner on the rooftop, pulling Shang-Chi along. “Here. Now.”

“I don’t have any lube on me.” Shang-Chi replied, heavily panting as he was struggling with wanting to fuck you but also not wanting to hurt you.

It would’ve been a sweet moment if you weren’t so pent up.

You groaned. “Just use your spit, if you’re not fucking me tonight then I’ll go find someone else.”

You knew your words worked when something dark crossed Shang-Chi’s face as the man frowned before he turned you around so your hands were splayed against a brick wall.

You bit down on your lip, whimpering when Shang-Chi’s hands slipped into the waistband of your tights before he tugged them down until they were just under your cheeks.

“You’re so stubborn.” You heard Shang-Chi mutter under his breath before you heard him spit and then your fingers clung to the wall when you felt his fingers breach your hole.

You let out a wet chuckle. “You like it.”

“I do.” Shang-Chi breathed out, leaning his face against the back of your neck before you gasped when you finally felt the head of his cock push in.

You threw your head back, resting on Shang-Chi’s shoulder as the man mouthed against your neck while he started to move his hips in and out of you.

This was different, something new between the both of you.

Something raw.

“You’re so tight.” Shang-Chi panted against your jugular as his thrusts went harder, making you whine in response when you felt the head of his cock brush your prostate.

You knew Shang-Chi wasn’t going to last long when the man’s hips stuttered from the usual rhythm of thrusts he would give you.

If you were being honest, you were getting close as well. This wasn’t supposed to happen but your mind was too hazy with lust and your chest ached with want when the man was standing next to you spouting encouraging words.

You reached up, your hand tugging the back of Shang-Chi’s head to pull him into a kiss, his tongue tangling with yours.

You moaned into his mouth when his hand grabbed your aching cock, using some of the pre-cum as lube while he jerked you off.

You were too overstimulated with pleasure and you couldn’t help but suddenly find release when Shang-Chi’s other hand grabbed at your chest.

“Fuck.” You whimpered as the other man suddenly groaned and released his seed inside you.

Shang-Chi’s body slumped onto your back, the man leaving lazy kisses on your neck as you scratched the back of his head and kissed the side of his face.

The both of you stayed, the only sound coming out of your mouths were heavy breathing after the act of intimacy.

“You feeling better?” Shang-Chi asked, pulling his cock out of you before he pulled up your tights to cover your bare bottom.

You swallowed and nodded as Shang-Chi stepped back to slip himself back into his pants.

“Yeah, thanks.” You turned around with a small smile before you leaned in to peck the other man’s cheek.

Shang-Chi smiled. “You know it’s not too late to get some dinner.”

“I think I’m pretty full especially after just what happened,” You smirked before shaking your head. “I’m kinda tired, I’ll probably just go home but thank you for checking up on me.”

“Oh okay,” Shang-Chi blinked at you in surprise before giving you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah it’s not a problem. Take care when you’re home and please don’t hesitate to reach out.”

You smiled and nodded, watching as Shang-Chi left the rooftop with slouched shoulders.

The smile slipped from your face as you swallowed down your emotions. The thought of Shang-Chi and Joaquín came back into your mind.

You didn’t think having the two men fawn over you was going to be an actual issue, you had developed feelings for both of them.

Two people that had shown actual care and concern for you multiple times. You knew it wasn’t just the sex for them and you didn’t know how to handle that being your reality.

Your whole life you only knew your sister, Felicia, as the one that you could depend on until the untold incident that sent her into hiding.

You felt tears threatening to spill from your eyes, frustrated that even during these confusing times, you weren’t able to meet her physically for her own safety.

A part of you also knew that you were pushing both men away, incase they’d get hurt or worse and you couldn’t face it.

You couldn’t let the people you love die from your mistakes.

Your breath hitched, letting the tears stream down your face as the realisation finally hit you.

You were in love.

~~~~~

“This is a big ask Cat, are you sure?”

You gave Sam a stern nod. “Someone’s gotta do it right?”

Sam stared at you worryingly, Wong standing right next to him.

Wong cleared his throat. “Captain, we have to leave now before Fisk’s Task Force comes barging in to take him away.”

“Thanks Wong.” Sam murmured before giving you one final look as Wong opened a portal behind him.

You gave Sam a comforting smile as you shrugged. “I’ll be fine Cap.”

Sam gave you a final nod before disappearing into the portal with Wong, leaving you alone in your empty apartment.

You sighed, looking around the space for the final time. The Task Force was going to show up any minute now and you knew getting captured was all part of the plan.

Sam needed someone on the inside to help check on and release the innocent civilians that Fisk’s Task Force had kidnapped off the streets.

Your mind strayed to Joaquín and Shang-Chi, you knew the two men were going to freak the hell out once Sam tells them of the plan.

“Open up, you’re surrounded!” A burly man’s voice was heard through your front door, followed by a couple of bangs.

You rolled your eyes with a sigh, the authorities were always so dramatic.

Once your front door gets blasted open by the men, you were already in the middle of your living room with your hands up in surrender.

“Coffee?” You asked the men in tactical gear, smirking when they walked up to you instead and arrested you.

You hoped Sam’s plan was going to work.

*****

Author’s note:

Oh I’m so so so happy to finally put this out after probably half a year since the previous installment of Black Cat reader?

I knew I wanted a Shang-Chi centric story before delivering a finale that has both men finally be with reader

If you have been following this story, I hope this new chapter was plenty for you and I can’t wait to plan the last one for the Black Cat reader series

Now after the breakup? Nothing. No calls. No texts. Not even a “come over” after practice like before.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care—he did—but Lamine had always been bad with feelings, especially when things got messy or people expected too much from him… And dating another guy? That had already been complicated enough—the whispers in group chats, teammates giving side-eye during team dinners…

Lamine watched you from across the cafeteria—how you sat alone, picking at the food with tired eyes. He remembered how you used to bring him extra fruit during morning training, always smiling even when Lamine comes by. And now? He’d been the one who walked away—little explanation, just silence after breaking up. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about the whispers or what people thought… but it wasn't just that either. The pressure—the coach’s side glances when they saw you two holding hands, teammates avoiding him in showers—it weighed on him more than he admitted. And instead of talking… Lamine ran.

The coach clapped his hands, signaling the start of drills—you stood out immediately. Precise passes. Sharp footwork. Calm under pressure, like nothing ever bothered you. When it did. Lamine watched from the sideline during individual skill practice—the way you controlled your pace and moved like silk. No wonder their transfer value had stayed high despite everything.

Even after being dumped by Lamine… you hadn’t cracked on the field. Not one bad performance, not one missed penalty kick in training matches. Meanwhile? Lamine’s form had dipped slightly—not badly enough to get benched—but there was a stiffness in him now: hesitation before shots, slower reactions than usual…The coach noticed it too—the side-eyes were getting heavier again…his voice cut through the training ground like a whistle.

"Lamine! Focus! You're spacing out again—get your head in the game!" Right there. In front of everyone. Right as you were adjusting your shoes, calm and collected after nailing a perfect pass drill.

Lamine flinched—his jaw tightening instantly. It wasn’t just the criticism, it was where it happened—the public humiliation stung worse because you had heard every word. And now? Lots of players were staring: some sympathetic, others smirking behind their water bottles. His pride took a direct hit. He'd always been proud—not arrogant, but confident—and being called out so harshly in front of…you? He gritted his teeth and forced himself back into position… but something inside him cracked quietly that day

The locker room buzzed with quiet gossip—teammates exchanging glances whenever you walked by. Even the toughest player remembered how, during your dating days, your entire face lit up whenever Lamine entered the room. That soft smile that never showed on camera—the one reserved only for him. Once after a match win, they’d seen you sprint across the field to hug Lamine mid-celebration—ignoring reporters and cameras—and kiss him right in front of thousands.

It made people say things like:

"Bro loves hard."

"That guy? 100% committed."

Now? Seeing how quiet and composed you were—still performing flawlessly despite being dumped so coldly—the contrast hit everyone harder than expected…

"I saw Y/N in the bath… he was crying. Didn’t even make a sound."

The rumor spread fast—whispered in the hallway, muttered during lunch. Silence under shower spray? No sobbing, no dramatic breakdown—just quiet tears falling like rain while water drowned out everything else. The older players froze when they heard it. You? Crying? The guy who never complained about injuries, who took extra training sessions without flinching? You’d always seemed unbreakable—mentally strong, focused only on football and Lamine…Now this?

Lamine’s sandwich turned to ash in his mouth mid-bite. His stomach twisted—not with guilt exactly, but something close: regret wrapped tight around anger at himself for not seeing it coming…

That one minute—that stupid, reckless thought: "What if people see me as weak? What if being with another guy makes them think I'm not tough enough?"

It wasn't even about you. It was fear. Pride. The pressure to be perfect—not just as a player, but as someone who fits neatly into football’s world of straight male culture. So he panicked. And he dumped you like it meant nothing—like seven months of love and quiet affection were just… disposable.

Now look at him: team dynamic strained because everyone knew what happened, performance slipping slightly—and worst of all? You weren't angry or loud about it—you’d silently cried under shower water like a man who loved too hard for someone who didn’t deserve it.

On the pitch, Lamine and you used to communicate without words—just a glance, a nod. During attacks, Lamine would instinctively run toward where you were passing. They’d sync up perfectly: one-twos that flowed like music.

But now? Miscommunication everywhere. You would sprint into space expecting a pass—only for Lamine to hesitate or send it elsewhere. Sometimes you two collided during overlaps because neither adjusted their timing anymore—you both weren’t in tune like before. It wasn’t bad enough to get benched yet… but teammates noticed. The chemistry that once made them unstoppable as a duo had cracked under personal tension no one could fix with drills alone.

Before, whenever their eyes met across the field during breaks or water sessions, there’d be a small smile. Maybe Lamine would toss you back your water bottle after stealing it with that playful smirk he only ever used for you.

Now? Just side glances—brief, tense. No warmth. No inside jokes passed through looks. If one messed up on the pitch and looked at the other… it wasn’t concern in their eyes anymore—it was judgment. Frustration simmering beneath silence. And when teammates tried to lighten things by joking around them together? The awkward pause afterward was louder than any argument

The tension wasn’t just between Lamine and Y/N anymore—it was infecting the whole team. You two broke up and made it everyone’s problem. Practices that used to be high-energy became stiff, quiet. Passes weren't as crisp. Even the coach noticed morale dropping. The locker room jokes died down. It all came down to pride: two young rising stars who couldn’t swallow their egos long enough to sit down and talk. Not argue—just speak honestly for once… but neither wanted to be the first one who looked weak by reaching out.

The captain slammed his water bottle on the floor—thud. Silence crashed over the locker room. Even Lamine and you turned to look. They’d just lost a crucial match, 3-1—and it wasn’t because of tactics or luck. It was sloppy passes, missed connections… and two key players not syncing like they used to. The captain stood up slowly, face serious—the kind that meant business. Then came the words everyone knew were coming:

"We’re not playing like a team anymore." No names were called yet—but every player in that room knew exactly who he was talking about: Lamine Yamal… and you. He started to explain the issues to everyone in order to bring the team back together again.

Then the captain stepped right into the center of the locker room. All eyes turned. You sat quietly in the corner, towel draped over your shoulders, still damp from a cold shower. Lamine was on the opposite bench as far away as possible—knees pulled up slightly like he could disappear if he stayed small enough. The captain didn’t yell. His voice was calm—but firm, heavy with disappointment after explaining details of the match.

"Lamine."

A pause. The whole room held its breath.

Then:

"Y/N." No explanation needed—everyone knew what this was about now: their breakup… and how it had poisoned team chemistry worse than any injury or off-field scandal ever could. And then came those quiet but powerful words:

"You two need to fix this."

The club was loud—bass thumping, lights flashing—but conversation stayed low at their table. After the team dinner, a few of them ended up here: some defenders joking around, one midfielder dancing badly near the dance floor. You sat quietly with his drink in hand… and across from you? Lamine. You hadn’t spoken since the captain’s intervention. No texts. No accidental brushes in hallways or locker rooms—you’d been avoiding each other like landmines. Now you were stuck together at a shared booth under neon blue lights… tension thick enough to cut with a knife

One teammate encourages you to drink more and you do. Lamine’s eyes flicked toward the bar the second he saw some random guy—tall, blond, wearing a tight black shirt—leaning over to you with a smirk while you ordered.

It wasn’t jealousy—not really—but something. A twitch of annoyance. This dude didn't even know you? Why was he crowding you like that?

The whisper and whistle started low—barely audible over the music.

"Is Y/N… smiling?" One of the defenders nudged his teammate, eyes wide. That rare, bright smile—the one they hadn’t seen since before the breakup—was back on your face as you laughed at something that random guy said. It was a real smile—not forced or polite. The kind that crinkled your eyes and made you look younger, happier. Lamine saw it too—and for some reason, it hit harder than any insult could’ve. He kept staring at the bar section while nursing his drink in the booth with the gossip guys.

He used to be the only one who got those smiles after games or quiet moments alone… and now some stranger had just walked in and done what he hadn't been able to in weeks: make you genuinely smile again.

The curly-haired blond guy leaned in closer, his voice smooth—practiced, charming.

"You play for Barcelona right?" he asked you with a confident grin. "I saw your last match—you’re really good."

You blinked—surprised but not disinterested. The alcohol had loosened you up, that smile still lingered as you nodded slowly.

Then the guy did something bold:

He gently touched your forearm while talking—a light brush of fingers—and asked about you more.

Meanwhile… across the table…Lamine stopped sipping his drink midway. His brown eyes locked onto that touch like a predator zeroing in on movement.

“That was anything but good. We lost, remember?” You huffed. The guy saw the opening—your playful huff, that slightly dazed look from drinking and losing a tough match—and he pounced. He smiled wider, undeterred. "Come on," he said softly, voice like honey over ice. "One dance? You’ll feel better."

And you… vulnerable after the breakup and a crushing defeat… hesitated for only half a second before nodding. Without another word, the blond took your hand gently—but firmly—and led you toward the dance floor where bodies swayed to slow R&B beats under pulsing lights.

The guy leaned in, his lips almost brushing your ear as the music pulsed around them. And then—he said something low, just loud enough for nearby people to catch fragments.

"Lamine? Seriously? That quiet kid with the curls?" A snort. A dismissive wave of his hand. "He’s not even that good on the field… and he dumped you like trash." It was petty. Jealous sabotage—trying to tear down Lamine while winning over someone who clearly still mattered emotionally.

You froze mid-dance step, eyes widening slightly at the words.

The blond guy’s smirk faltered. You—the usually calm, quiet you—had just snapped. Loud enough that people nearby turned their heads. The music still thumped, but the energy shifted.

"You don’t talk about him like that," you said firmly, voice sharper than anyone had ever heard it before. Your face wasn't angry—it was protective. Defensive in a way that shocked everyone who knew you as reserved and composed. The guy blinked, caught off guard—he thought he’d be pushing an easy button: "Oh yeah? Your ex?" He scoffed again and leaned closer to throw another jab…

The punch came fast. One second, the blond was sneering—still talking trash about Lamine—and the next, you swung. A clean right hook landed square on his jaw. The guy staggered back with a shocked grunt, nearly crashing into someone behind him. Gasps rippled through their group of teammates. No one expected this—not from you, who never fought or caused scenes. But that insult? That mocking tone about Lamine after everything they’d been through? It crossed a line even drunken or heartbroken logic couldn’t ignore. Music still blared—but now all eyes were locked on them: you standing firm with clenched fists… And the stunned curly-haired stranger clutching his face.

Your breath hitched. Your heart pounded—not from the hit, not from anger—but because your eyes suddenly locked onto Lamine’s across the room. The noise faded. The music, the whispers of teammates… everything blurred except that gaze between them.

Lamine wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even surprised at you punching someone—no judgment in his expression at all. Just… something raw and deep flickering behind those brown eyes: recognition. Because he saw it—the vulnerability underneath that punch—the quiet plea hidden in your wide stare: I defended you. Even after you left me. I still care. And for a split second? They just stared—two young boys who used to love each other without words—communicating everything through silence.

Lamine’s chest tightened. The guilt hit him like a wave—sudden and suffocating. He’d left you because he was scared. Scared of whispers, of judgment from teammates, from fans… scared that being with another guy would make people think he wasn't strong or "normal" enough for the football world.

And yet here were you—drunk, emotionally wrecked after losing a match and their relationship—but still standing up for him. Still punching someone who talked trash about Lamine’s name.

It made him feel small. Stupid. Cowardly in the worst way possible—because while Lamine had run to avoid shame…you stayed loyal without even meaning to. Without saying anything.

The curly-haired teammate—always the loudest joker—sprinted back to their booth, grinning like a madman. He slid into his seat with dramatic flair and slapped both hands on the table. He has sneaked off the booth to go eardropping you.

"Oh my god," he whispered-yelled, eyes sparkling with gossip-fueled joy. "You guys did NOT just hear that."

All heads turned toward him instantly. Before anyone could stop him or shush him, he blurted:

"The dude was flirting hard! He was all over your sweetheart, Lamine—and then Y/N told him off for talking crap about Lamine!"

A pause. Then louder:

"Like… full-on protective mode! He punched the dude because of YOU, Lamine!"

Lamine’s frown deepened—not out of anger, but something far worse: weakness. Not emotional weakness like crying—no. It was the quiet, crushing kind—the realization that he’d messed up in a way that might not be fixable. You still loved him. Enough to flirt with someone else just to move on… Enough to punch a guy for disrespecting his name… And yet here Lamine was—guilty, frozen, unable to do anything about it because he had been the one who walked away. He stared at his untouched drink as the team buzzed around him laughing at their friend's gossip dump—but inside?

He felt small. Regretful. Stuck between wanting you back and being terrified of what that would mean—for himself... for football... for everything.

It was 11PM. Lamine stood outside your hotel room he somehow remembered—hallway lights dim, silence everywhere except the faint hum of the air conditioning. He didn’t text. Didn’t knock gently or hesitate. No—he banged on the door like an idiot with too much pride and not enough courage to use his words properly. Like a cop raid or someone who forgot their key in panic—not romantic at all, but classic Lamine: impulsive, loud when nervous… doing something stupid because he had no idea how to fix this quietly. He did it scared. Did it embarrassed and desperate.

The door swung open with a creak. You stood there—still in that casual shirt and sweatpants, hair slightly messy, eyes tired and annoyed. You hadn’t even changed yet. Clearly been waiting up… or maybe not sleeping. You looked at Lamine—really looked—and didn’t say anything at first.

Just that deep frown. That quiet disappointment mixed with exhaustion from the day: losing the match, punching someone for him… then running out alone like you always did when hurt.

“Why are you here…?” You asked. Trying to mask the annoyance in your tone after he bangs on the door like a maniac. Lamine flinched—just slightly—at the sharp tone. You weren't yelling, but that cold scold hit harder than any scream. The disappointment in your voice cut through Lamine’s bravado like a knife. For once, he didn’t have a slick comeback or an excuse ready. Instead of answering right away, Lamine just stood there—shoulders tense, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets—and stared at you like he was trying to memorize every detail: the tired eyes… the frown lines from stress… how beautiful and angry you looked even now. Finally… softly…

"I had to see you.”

Lamine’s throat tightened. You weren't looking at him. That was worse than anger—avoiding his eyes like you couldn’t bear to see Lamine’s face, like you were the one who hurt him.

"Make it quick," you said quietly, arms crossing over your chest—a shield against whatever Lamine came here to say. The hallway felt too narrow suddenly. The silence between them heavy with everything unsaid: the breakup, the fight, how you had defended him… and how badly Lamine had messed up by leaving in the first place. Leaving the internet sucks up all the gossip about you two.

Lamine swallowed hard—his usual confidence gone—and blurted out:

"I miss you.”

"You don't get to say that—you left” you weren't yelling, but the pain in your voice was worse. Quiet, broken… not angry so much as hurt. Like Lamine had ripped something precious out of your chest and walked away without looking back. And you were right. He had left a few months ago. Lamine opened his mouth to argue… but nothing came out at first because what could he even say? That it wasn’t personal? That he panicked over stupid things? So instead—with shaky hands and eyes suddenly glassy—he whispered:

"I know... I messed up.”

Your glare wavered. You wanted to stay mad. Wanted to keep that cold mask up—because if you let it crack, everything would come pouring out: the hurt, the loneliness after Lamine left, how much you still cared even though you shouldn’t…

But seeing Lamine like this—so vulnerable for once, voice soft and shaky with real regret—not smirking or cocky like usual… it made your chest ache. Your arms uncrossed slowly. Just slightly. The anger drained from your face—not completely gone—but replaced by something quieter… sadder. Like all that frustration was just a shield hiding how much you had missed him too…

“Go to sleep. You’re too drunk” you said dismissively as your hand pushed the door to shut it. Lamine braced his arm against the door—firm but not rough—stopping it from closing. You tried to push it shut, dismissive and tired, wanting Lamine to leave… but no. Not this time. Lamine didn’t say anything at first. Just held his ground with quiet stubbornness—the kind that said…I’m not leaving until we fix this.

His eyes were intense now: brown and dark under the hallway light, pleading without words. He wasn’t drunk—not even close—but he was desperate in a way only someone who’d messed up badly could be. He leaned slightly forward into your space—not threateningly… just refusing to let you shut him out again.

Lamine took a breath—deep, shaky—and then spoke. In Spanish—his native language, soft and sincere, the way he only ever talked when his heart was truly open.

"Lo siento mucho…" (I'm so sorry...)

His voice was quiet but raw with emotion. He didn’t try to hug you or kiss you—he just stood there in the doorway and poured everything out:

"Fui un cobarde… tenía miedo de lo que pensarán los demás… pero te extrañé cada día." (I was a coward... I feared what others would think... but I missed you every day.) Each word trembled slightly—not rehearsed. Just honesty.

Lamine’s voice grew more urgent—each word tumbling out faster now, like he was afraid you would slam the door if he paused.

"No fue por ti… nunca fue por ti,"

(It wasn’t about you… it never was about you.) His hands twitched at his sides—wanting to reach for you but not daring to. So instead, he kept talking:

"Tuve miedo de que me vieran diferente si salía contigo… pensé que sería débil... pero soy débil ahora sin ti."

(I was scared people would see me differently if I dated you... I thought that'd make me weak... but right now? I'm weak without you.)

A beat of silence followed. Then softly:

"¿Me das otra oportunidad?" (Will you give me another chance?)

Your eyes softened—finally, finally—the cold wall around your heart cracking. It wasn’t sudden. It wasn't dramatic forgiveness with tears and hugs right away… but the hardness in your gaze melted into something fragile: hope, maybe. Or at least the quiet realization that Lamine meant every word. That raw confession—the way he admitted being scared, being weak without him—it hit you deep where it mattered most. Because all those months of love? They weren’t fake to you either.

For a second… Neither moved. Then slowly—so slowly—you reached out first.

The kiss was sudden—your lips meeting Lamine’s first—soft at first, hesitant, like a question. And Lamine answered instantly. He surged forward, cupping your face with both hands and deepening the kiss—hungry, desperate after weeks of silence and distance. In one swift motion, he pushed the door shut behind them with his foot before spinning you around to press you gently against it. His hands slid into your hair as their mouths moved together—the kind of kiss that said everything they couldn’t say aloud: I missed you… I’m sorry… please forgive me.

Lamine kissed like he was starving. Every second of separation—the weeks without your lips, his warmth, the way you always tasted faintly sweet—crashed into him at once. He didn’t pull back for air. Didn’t even remember how to breathe properly. Just kept pressing closer—lips soft but urgent against yours, hands gripping gently at your shoulders like anchoring himself after drifting too long.

The kiss deepened naturally: slow then hungry again as Lamine leaned into it fully, pouring every regret and longing and “I love you” that words couldn't describe fully… right there in that messy hallway embrace.

The pressure was gentle but firm—Lamine’s knee slid slightly between your legs as he leaned into you, keeping you pinned against the door without being rough. It wasn’t dominant or forceful… just close. Intimate. A way of saying I’m not letting go again without words. You could feel the warmth of Lamine’s body—the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft brush of their noses between kisses that never truly ended. Every breath they took mixed together in small puffs against each other's lips.

No space left for doubt now. Just two boys who loved each other—messy past be damned—and finally kissing like they meant it.

You broke the kiss—your hands sliding up to gently grip the back of Lamine’s neck, fingers tangling in those soft curls. You pulled him just an inch away, both of them breathing hard—chests rising fast, lips slightly swollen from kissing. Your eyes searched Lamine’s face: his flushed cheeks, those wide brown eyes full of emotion… and suddenly all that built-up anger felt far away.

Still holding his nape like if you let go, Lamine would make you stop breathing by his neediness.

“Are you fucking nuts?” You huffed.

Lamine blinked—still dazed from the kiss—but a tiny, breathless smile tugged at his lips. You were scolding him. Calling him nuts with that familiar tone—half annoyed, half fond—the one you used when Lamine did something recklessly sweet without thinking. And okay… yeah. He’d kissed like an idiot. All teeth and no rhythm earlier because he was too overwhelmed to be careful.

But hearing you say it like that—voice rough but not really mad? It made warmth bloom in his chest. Without answering back yet, Lamine just leaned forward again… slower this time—and pressed their lips together properly: soft, sweet… giving you space to breathe between kisses.

The kiss never really broke. One second they were by the door—lips locked, hands in hair—and the next, clothing started falling: jackets slipping off shoulders, shirts unbuttoned improperly. Shoes kicked off haphazardly near the entrance. Lamine wasn’t patient enough to undo them neatly. No romance or slow undressing here… just urgent need—the kind that comes from weeks of missing each other so much it hurt.

Your back hit the mattress with a soft bounce, boxers low on your hips. Lamine climbed over you instantly. He crashed his mouth onto your neck—kissing, biting gently—not hard enough to hurt but enough to mark—and started rolling his hips down against you in slow, teasing dry humps. A quiet rhythm: fabric-on-fabric friction that made both of them breathe heavier. Warm palms pressing against bare skin as Lamine savours every inch.

Lamine’s lips trailed down—soft, open-mouthed kisses that started at your collarbone and traveled lower. Every inch of skin he touched responded: the way you arched slightly under him, how your breath hitched when Lamine reached the dip between your collarbones… it sent a thrill through Lamine. He smiled faintly against warm skin—God, he needed this—before pressing another kiss right over your heartbeat. One your chest… where he could feel every quick pulse beneath. His hands gently squeezed at your sides as he kissed onward.

Lamine’s hips moved on their own—hungry, seeking friction. The thin fabric of his boxers did nothing to hide the growing bulge pressing against you. Each slow grind down sent a jolt through him—heat building low in his stomach—and he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to. He kissed deeper now, more desperate: mouth hot and open as it slid from your chest up to reclaim your lips again. At the same time, one hand crept lower—fingers skimming over toned abs before brushing just above the waistband of those boxers…Testing… wanting more. Lamine hovered over you—propped on his forearms now, eyes dark with desire but still searching for consent.

"¿Tienes condón… y lubricante?" (Do you have a condom… and lube?) His voice was low—gentle but urgent. No pressure, just checking before going any further. He knew this wasn't just about lust, it was about trust... intimacy they hadn't shared in weeks.

“Yeah…in my travel bag…where it always stays” you muttered.

Lamine’s lips curved into a small, smug smile. You have been ready. Prepared. That could really mean… you’d expected this. Maybe even hoped for it—maybe thought about it too when they were apart. And Lamine couldn’t resist teasing you just a little—playfully, affectionately:

"¿Me extrañaste tanto que guardaste condón por si volvía?" (Did you miss me so much you kept a condom just in case I came back?) He said it with that soft smirk—the one you knew all too well—the playful glint in his brown eyes as he brushed a curl from your forehead before leaning down to kiss you again.

“No, you jerk” you said.

Lamine chuckled—actually laughed—a rare, light sound that escaped him when you swatted his hand away. He didn’t even flinch. Just grinned wider at the scold—jerk, huh? That was new. He usually got called “asshole” or “bastard” by you when he teased too much. But this time, Lamine leaned right back in and kissed the corner of your mouth—a quick peck—before murmuring against your lips.

"Estás lindo cuando te enojas." (You’re cute when you’re mad) Then, without missing a beat… he reached toward your travel bag where condoms and lube were kept.

Lamine ignored the "fuck off"—he knew you didn’t mean it. That grumpy tone just made him smile more. With careful hands, he tugged down your boxers, tossing them. The cool air hit their skin for a second before warmth took over again as Lamine reached for the lube. He squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers and rubbed slowly to spread the heat around your sensitive hole. Then he leaned down… kissed you deeply once more… before letting one finger trail further.

You gasped—sharp and quiet—as Lamine’s finger slipped in, slow but firm, with that patient persistence only someone who’d done this before could have. It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t gentle either—just steady: knowing exactly how to stretch, how much pressure to apply… like his body remembered you perfectly.

Lamine watched every micro-expression on your face—the slight parting of lips, the way your chest rose faster—and without a word, he added another finger carefully. His other hand braced beside your head while he leaned down… kissing you deeply again as if sharing breaths could soften what came next.

The sound—your soft moan—sent a shiver straight through Lamine. It wasn’t loud, just a quiet, breathy "Lamine…", but it hit him like electricity. That voice—tender and vulnerable in that moment—was one of his favorites. He kissed you deeper in response, swallowing the next whimper as he curled his fingers slightly inside you—not rushing yet, still preparing gently despite the growing heat between them. His lips moved to your jaw… then down to your neck where he left open-mouthed kisses along warm skin. Every touch was deliberate now: slow and thorough because this mattered.

Lamine lowered his lips to the shell of your ear—warm breath ghosting over sensitive skin—and whispered a soft praise:

"Eres perfecto…" (You’re perfect…) The words were quiet, tender—meant only for you. Right after, he dragged his tongue gently over the fresh hickey on your neck—the one he’d just marked with a kiss and slight suck—a slow lick that soothed the sting slightly while sending another wave of warmth through them.

Lamine slowly pulled his fingers free—watching your face for any sign of discomfort, but seeing only that quiet shiver instead—and then he straightened up slightly. In one smooth motion, he yanked down his own boxers, letting them drop to the floor. His cock sprang free—hard and heavy with need—and there was no hiding how much he wanted this. He grabbed the condom from where it waited on the nightstand… tore it open with his teeth… and rolled it on without breaking eye contact.

His breath caught. You—so beautiful like this—lying back with legs slightly parted, lips caught between your teeth in that nervous-biting way you did when you were excited or liking what you were seeing. Your eyes were locked on Lamine, full of quiet admiration and something warmer… softer. And it made Lamine feel seen. Cherished. Like the most important person in the world right now. Without a word, he climbed over you again—his body hovering above yours—and leaned down to kiss you deeply: slow at first… then hungrier as his hand framed your cheek gently.

The contact was light—just the very tip of Lamine’s cock brushing against your hole. No pressure yet. No rush to enter. Just slow, teasing friction—Lamine rolling his hips gently in a shallow grind, testing… feeling the heat and softness there. It drove them both crazy—the delay. The anticipation building is like static before lightning strikes.

“Don’t fucking tease me…” you huffed.

Lamine smirked—just a tiny one, the corner of his mouth quirking up at your scold.

"I'm not teasing," he murmured, voice low and rough with want—but even as he said it, he did exactly that: another slow grind of his hips against your entrance… no push to go in yet. His arms braced on either side of your head as their bodies pressed closer. The warmth between them built—the shared breathless tension—but Lamine kept holding back just enough to drive you mad. Then finally… gently… he started pushing forward.

Lamine exhaled sharply—a soft curse “fuckk…”—as he finally, finally, sank into you. The tight heat wrapped around him instantly—the familiar warmth and pressure that made his whole body tense with pleasure. It had been weeks since they’d done this… too long. His eyes fluttered shut for a second as the sensation overwhelmed him: the snugness, how perfectly your body took him in… even after everything. He didn’t rush. Just stayed there for a breath—forehead resting against your shoulder—as his hips adjusted to being inside again.

Lamine started moving almost instantly. His hips rolled in a steady rhythm, deep and eager, each thrust smooth but firm. There was no teasing left—just pure need to feel you again like this: close, connected, skin on skin like it meant to be. The bed creaked softly beneath them as Lamine found his pace—gentle at first but gaining confidence with every motion. Each time he pushed in fully and pulled back slowly before diving forward again.

Your legs stayed locked around Lamine—tight, like you never wanted to let go—and with each eager thrust, their bodies pressed even closer. Their kiss deepened: tongues meeting hungrily, messy and breathless. Lamine kissed back just as desperately—one hand tangled in your hair, pressing you deeper into the pillow while the other gripped your hip to pull you into every movement. The rhythm grew slightly faster now… deeper…No space between them. Just heat, skin on skin—and that quiet moan you couldn’t quite hold back anymore.

Lamine’s breath hitched at the sensation—you clenching around him, body tightening in that quiet, instinctive way that made Lamine’s pulse spike.

It felt so good—too good—and instead of rushing or chasing his own pleasure right away, he slowed slightly. His hand slid from your hip up to your side… warm palm soothing over soft skin with gentle circles. He kissed the corner of your mouth—briefly tender—before murmuring against it:

"Relájate… estoy aquí." (Relax… I’m right here.) Then resumed thrusting deeper but smoother now.

The rhythm turned relentless. Lamine pulled almost all the way out—just enough to tease the edge of separation—before slamming back in with a controlled but powerful thrust that made your body sink deeper into the mattress. Your legs lifted higher, pinned slightly by Lamine's strength as each impact drove them both further into pleasure. No softness now—just raw, urgent pounding: skin meeting skin, breathless moans escaping between gasps. Lamine wasn’t gentle anymore—not because he didn’t care about you—but because this was what they needed right now: intensity… closeness… proof there is still “us” in this relationship.

The sound of his name—Lamine—whispered, moaned, pleaded in that soft, breathless voice of yours… it unraveled him completely.

His hips stuttered for a second—thrust losing its perfect rhythm because hearing you say his name like that? So sweetly? Like you worshipped him? It undid everything. Without thinking, Lamine leaned down and kissed you fiercely—a messy collision of lips—as if trying to swallow every future moan too.

The kiss broke—Lamine’s lips parted from yours—and instantly, the rough pounding returned. Harder. Deeper. Each thrust driving you into the mattress with enough force to make your toes curl in the air in pleasure, muscles tightening as pleasure surged through you.

You gasped—breath ragged and open-mouthed this time—not even trying to hold back sounds anymore. The sensation was overwhelming: fullness, heat—all of it crashing together. And Lamine loved it—the way you looked right now: flushed face… trembling legs… completely lost in feeling.

Lamine’s voice dropped to a husky whisper—low, rough with lust—as he leaned close to your ear.

"Dios… te ves tan bien así," (God… you look so good like this.) Then filthier, more intense:

“Tan perfecto, apoderándose de cada centímetro de mí” (so perfect…taking every inch of me” His words were dirty but tender—full of praise and admiration for how you looked right now: wrecked by pleasure, body arching subtly with each thrust.

You gasped—sharp and startled—as the wave of pleasure crashed through you. It hit fast, intense, because Lamine had found that spot—the one that always unraveled you completely. And now he was hitting it over and over on purpose.

For a second, you felt shy—embarrassed at how easily your body responded to Lamine’s rhythm… how quickly you were falling apart beneath those strong hips. Your cheeks flushed even deeper. You couldn’t control the little whimpers escaping or the way your legs trembled around Lamine anymore.

Lamine kept your leg pinned—firm but not harsh—using the leverage to angle deeper with every rough thrust. He wasn’t trying to be cruel… just relentless. Dragging out pleasure like he was stripping it from you layer by layer, each motion deliberate and intense. And between heavy breaths, he teased again—voice thick with amusement and lust:

"¿Ya? ¿Tan rápido?" (Already? That fast?) A smirk played on his lips as he watched you squirm—the way your body tensed too soon because Lamine had hit that sweet spot over and over without mercy.

The bed creaked in protest—each thrust making the frame groan under their weight. And between that: skin clapping—soft but rhythmic, a steady slap of hips meeting hips, loud enough to fill the quiet room. Your moans came out breathy and uneven now—no control left. Every time Lamine drove into you just right, another sound escaped: gasps, whimpers… little cries you couldn’t swallow down. Lamine wasn’t slowing. Wasn’t being gentle. Just focused on wrecking you completely—the way your body arched with every impact proving how much it was working.

Lamine’s body tensed—every muscle locking up—as the wave of pleasure crashed over him. A low, soft groan escaped his lips, muffled slightly against your shoulder where he’d instinctively buried his face. His hips stuttered—then pushed forward one last time, burying himself as deep as possible while he came. It was intense—the heat and pressure building for weeks now finally releasing in that single moment. No rush… just slow pulses of bliss rolling through him. For a few seconds, Lamine stayed there: breathless… quiet… still inside you but motionless.

The words were quiet—barely a whisper—and half-muffled into the curve of your neck. But they were there. Soft, sincere… in Spanish:

"Te amo…" Just Lamine, still breathless from coming, pressing his lips gently to your skin and murmuring it like a secret—like something too precious to say out loud where anyone else could hear. Then he didn’t pull away right after either. Just stayed curled against him, breathing slowly as if memorizing this closeness

“I love you too…” your voice, lazy and satisfied, curling like smoke around Lamine. That smirk was audible. Lamine didn’t need to see your face to know you were smiling—that soft, smug little grin that always showed up after they’d just made love. And hearing “I love you too” in that tone? It made warmth bloom in Lamine's chest all over again.

The R.P.D. lobby felt cavernous but not from its size but rather for the lack of survivors or police force, leaving behind a hollow silence that pressed faintly against your ears.

Dust hung everywhere, faintly visible in the dim, fractured light filtering through high windows and the marble floors were now streaked with grime and darker stains you refused to examine too closely.

Leaning back against one of the wooden desks, edge digging faintly into your lower spine through the layers of your gear, arms wrapped tightly across your chest. The tactical vest felt heavier with its straps that snug across your shoulders.

Your fingers tucked under your arms, gripping your sleeves, more for something to hold than warmth.

Leon stood a few steps away, hands raised slightly as he adjusted his own vest, tugging at the straps and outlining the firm lines beneath in a way that was hard not to notice even in a situation like this and his brows furrowed as he glanced around, blue eyes wide with disbelief and tension.

“This place is completely empty,” he muttered, voice echoing.

Tilting your head back slightly, eyes half-lidded as they stared toward the ceiling for a moment before answering.

“Considering what’s happening outside,” you muttered, shifting your weight and glancing toward the shuttered entrance, “I’m not surprised.”

Your gaze drifted back to him, watching the way his jaw tightened just a fraction as he processed that.

“We should check if anyone’s still here,” you added after a beat, pushing yourself off the desk just slightly. “This is where we were supposed to start, right? First day.”

There was something faintly bitter about the way the words landed.

Leon nodded quickly, almost reflexively. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

His attention shifted toward the gate leading to the est side of the station, shoulders squaring just a bit in instinctive readiness.

He stepped closer, eyes scanning the mechanism and you followed more slowly, arms dropping from your chest as you approached.

His fingers hovering near the big red button there and, when he pressed it, the mechanism groaned to life with a grinding sound that echoed down the hallway beyond.

The gate began to lift, slow and uneven, metal scraping faintly as it rose just enough to create a narrow gap before it abruptly stopped.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Irritation in your tone flaring sharper than you expected.

Leon lowered himself down onto the floor without hesitation despite the dark smears that streaked across the tiles, metallic and stale smell hitting faintly.

He didn’t seem to care, or maybe he was just better at pushing it aside.

Lying flat, he angled his body toward the gap, one arm stretching forward as he clicked on his flashlight, the beam cutting into the darkness beyond.

You should have been focused on that but, instead, your gaze betrayed you as it dropped and lingered.

The vest hugged his back and stretched over defined lines of broad but not bulky shoulders.

Leon shifted, then quickly pulled himself back from the gap, pushing up onto one knee.

“I’m gonna check it out,” he said, lowering the flashlight slightly as he looked up at you. “There might be people down there.”

“What?” The response came out sharper than intended as you dropped down to one knee yourself, instinct kicking in. “No—no, I’m coming with you.”

Angling yourself toward the opening, ready to follow him through the narrow space despite the mess and smell. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

For a split second, surprise flickered across his face along something softer underneath it that made his eyes warm.

He reached out before you could move further, his hand settling on your shoulder.

It wasn’t rough or forceful, warm even through the layers of fabric.

“Hey,” he said, voice dropping just a little, gentler, like he was trying to ease you rather than argue. His thumb shifted slightly where it rested, the corners of his mouth lifted to form a small.

“I’ll be back in no time,” he continued, his tone carrying that quiet confidence that made it hard to argue, even when you wanted to. “You stay here, alright? If anyone comes in, they’re gonna need someone to help them.”

His hand squeezed your shoulder lightly before he pulled back.

And you hated how easily that look in his eyes unraveled your resolve.

So you nodded and watched him disappear through the narrow opening.

Time stretched as you tried to convince yourself that he’d be back any second.

It felt like hours had passed of barely shifting your weight, pacing a short line near the table to somehow make time move faster.

“Idiot,” you muttered under your breath, though whether it was directed at him or yourself wasn’t entirely clear.

Probably both.

Scrubbing a hand over your face, exhaling sharply as frustration coiled tighter in your chest.

All because, when he looked at you in that soft and earnest look, it felt… too good.

He wanted to protect you because you mattered to him.

That was the closest thing you were ever going to get, wasn’t it?

A hand on your shoulder, a promise he might not even be able to keep.

You bit the inside of your cheek, the sharp sting grounding just enough to break the spiral.

Enough.

Waiting wasn’t doing anything.

If he wasn’t coming back, you needed to find out why.

Turning on your heel and moving toward the lobby’s computer system, fingers moving quickly over the controls as you pulled up the camera feeds. The screens flickered to life one by one, each showing a different part of the station as you cycled through them, faster and faster, scanning for any sign of him.

Faint gunshots echoed through the speakers from one of the west side cameras.

You had trained for this, graduated alongside him and gone through the same drills and expectations.

That bright and determined smile will not be the last thing you’ll see of him.

Turning toward the taped gate, your eyes caught a knife half-hidden near the base.

Crouching and picking it up carefully before using the blade to slide under the tape with a satisfying rip, sound loud in the quiet lobby as you worked through the layers, peeling them away one by one until the controls were finally exposed.

A large red button sat at the center and, once pressed, the mechanism groaned, gate lifting steadily and fully without stopping.

Standing there for a second as the opening widened before stepping forward.

The room you forced your way into was smaller than you expected, more of a cramped connector than a proper office.

Gun forward and flashlight aligned just beneath it as you advanced, beam cutting clean lines through the dimness, illuminating overturned chairs and a smear of something dark dragged across the floor, breathing staying controlled even as your pulse pressed harder against your throat.

At the far end, a door that you already knew where it led with the map you’d studied moments ago burned into your mind, that long hallway stretching across the west side.

Your hand reached for the handle slowly, fingers tightening just slightly before you turned it.

Rather than rapidly invading the room, you shifted to the side, pressing your back lightly against the wall as you pushed the door open to create a narrow angle, your head tilting so you could peek through first, minimizing your profile the way you’d been taught.

Two figures at the far end of the hallway, slumped awkwardly against the wall, head tilted at an unnatural angle, skin pale in the weak wash of moonlight spilling through a distant window.

Your breath caught at closer look on the other one.

Even in partial shadow and the distortion of low light, your heart recognized Leon immediately.

Pushing the door open wider and stepping in, feet quiet against the floor as you approached, closing the distance carefully until you were no more than ten feet away.

He was kneeling near the body of a cop, from the look of the uniform, sprawled across the tiles and as your boot made the faintest sound against the ground Leon moved insanely quick, surging up from his kneeling position in one fluid, coiled motion, pivoting sharply as his arm snapped up, handgun already aligned with your center mass while his flashlight flared directly into your face, blinding in its intensity.

“Don’t—!” The word cut sharp and rough, far more hardened than the voice you had heard in the lobby.

Everything about him was different, stance much tighter and efficient, the way he held the gun was fluid and practiced under pressure.

The jacket he had on hit you first.

A thick B-3 bomber, shearling lining spilling out at the collar in pale, dense curls that brushed against his neck.

Scuffs marked the surface, subtle creases worn into the leather.

Beneath it, his frame was… bigger.

Not just lean like you had always seen him, but built. Arms filling the sleeves, faint strain across his chest when he shifted his aim.

His hair was slightly longer, falling just enough to frame his face differently.

But his eyes were still blue and unmistakably his, cold at first.

Recognition morphed his features as tension in his shoulders faltered and his gaze locked onto your face.

His gun lowered, flashlight dipping with it, no longer blinding you but instead casting a softer glow that revealed his expression fully now.

Not just recognition swarmed his face, something warmer as well came in that settled low in your chest.

“You’re here too, Babe?” He said, voice rougher than anything you’d ever heard from him before.

Heat flooded your face instantly, sudden and overwhelming, brain stumbling over itself trying to process that along with everything else.

“What?” Your eyes narrowed despite the warmth creeping up your neck. “Leon, what are you talking about? We came in here together.”

That only made his confusion deepen, brows pulling together, gaze flicking around the hallway as his jaw tightened, like every inch of this place held memories you couldn’t see but he could feel pressing in on him.

Your gaze broke from his haunted one, dragging instead toward the cop with his jaw completely torn on the side and hanging awkwardly, his head lolled back against the wall.

“Did you see who—” You swallowed hard, forcing the bile back down but stopped talking after seeing Leon’s attention fixed upward, body tense again in focused attention.

There were a jagged hole in the ceiling before something too large and wrong, tipped with elongated claw-like fingers, erupted from it.

An inhuman shriek split the air, vibrating through your bones as the thing pulled itself into view.

Its body was flayed, muscle exposed in slick, glistening strands that stretched and contracted as it moved, skin entirely absent as if peeled away to reveal the anatomy beneath. Its head was made of an exposed brain that pulsed faintly, vulnerable and yet somehow more horrifying for it.

A long tongue snaked outside of his mouth as it crawled forward with unnatural speed.

Leon’s large and gloved hand found yours.

“Yeah,” he muttered, already pulling you with him, pace immediate and urgent as he dragged you down the hallway. “Because one nightmare wasn’t enough.”

His tone was dry, edged with a sharp sarcastic bite that felt completely out of place.

You stumbled slightly trying to keep up, grip tightening on your gun as your feet scrambled to match his speed, the world blurring at the edges as adrenaline surged and from behind that tongue lashed out.

A violent tug came at your back as it latched onto your uniform, fabric stretching and tearing as the force yanked hard, ripping away fully your gears and layers beneath, the sudden exposure sending a sharp chill across your skin as the creature lost its grip just as quickly.

Leon didn’t let you go until he hit hard two doors, bursting through with brute force as they slammed open and dragging you inside with him in one continuous motion.

Soon after he pulled you in his arms, back colliding with his chest in a solid impact.

The thickness of his chest pressed against you through the layers acting like a pillow, pecs firm and broad, rising and falling with controlled breaths that you could feel against your back. Beneath that, even through the tight shirt, there was no mistaking the defined strength of his torso.

This was not the same Leon you’ve known for many years, not even close.

His arm wrapped around your chest, bicep thick and swelling as they locked you in place against him as his other hand raised the gun again, aiming past you toward the doorway just as the creature dropped down.

One shot and the bullet precisely struck its exposed brain with a wet impact, the shriek it let out was high-pitched and furious before it skittered back, retreating with unnatural speed.

Leon moved fast, pulling away just long enough to slam the doors shut, grabbing a chair and jamming it under the handle as guttural groans from zombies echoed from the other side.

Heavy banging followed relentlessly.

Adrenaline faded away and your legs crashed all at once, dropping you to the ground as the reality of everything hit in a dizzying wave.

Before you could fully process it he was there, kneeling in front of you.

“Hey…hey,” his hand came up to cradle your cheek, large and warm, thumb brushing lightly against your skin in a way that felt impossibly gentle and intimate. “Babe, look at me.”

“What year is it?” he asked.

The question, like everything else happening, hit wrong.

“1998,” you answered, confusion twisting tighter as the pounding on the door grew louder. “Why are you asking me that?”

Something shifted in his eyes in understanding.

Without another word, he shrugged off his jacket quickly and draped it around your shoulders, pulling it snug around you with careful hands, fingers brushing against your arms as he adjusted it.

It was warm and soft on the inside, shearling lining cushioning against your skin, scent of leather and his wrapped all around your frame.

“There we go,” his lips quivered slightly as he muttered, almost to himself. “You always like to take it from me. Still cute.”

The chair behind him shifted as it toppled over once the doors burst open, two figures stumbling in, decayed and groaning.

Leon moved instantly up on his feet, gun raised and the first shot snapped clean through one of their skulls, impact jerking its head back as it staggered.

He didn’t wait, closing the distance in a flash, knife in hand, so similar to yours it made your breath hitch, and drove it into the creature’s neck with brutal precision before pivoting sharply.

His leg came up in a powerful roundhouse kick that connected solidly with the second zombie’s head, force snapping it sideways as it collapsed.

“Go,” he said, voice sharp and commanding without even looking back at you when he spoke. “I’ll catch up.”

Reluctantly you followed his command and the door on the other side gave way under your hand with a reluctant creak, hinges whining low and the moment the gap widened enough for your body to slip through, the air changed.

Another hallway narrower than the last. Two doors sat on either side, one to your right the other on the left, both shut tight, undead police officers lurked further down the corridor.

Three or maybe four of them. One brushed against the wall with a dull thud, leaving behind a smear that caught the weak light while another let out a wet groan that echoed enough to make the space feel smaller.

Your heart hammered so hard it felt like it might give you away on its own, each pulse loud in your ears, drowning out everything else for a second as your mind raced.

Fingers tightening around your handgun, familiar weight grounding you enough to push past the spike of panic clawing up your spine.

You lifted the weapon slowly, arms steady despite the tremor trying to creep in, lining up your shot on the nearest one.

One trigger and the muzzle flashed in a brief burst of red-orange light for a split second before the bullet hit clean, tearing through rotted flesh and bone.

Zombie’s head burst open as the body collapsed instantly, crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap that twitched once before going still.

A high and piercing screech followed down the hallway, claws scraping fast on concrete until the Licker came into view above like some grotesque parody of a spider.

Its brain pulsed, fully exposed, shifting slightly with each tilt of its head to listen and figure out where the noise came from.

Engaging that thing with the amount of ammo you had left was suicide.

So you moved slowly with agonizing care, boots barely whispering against the floor as you edged along the hallway, gun still raised but your finger easing off the trigger.

A low, clicking sound left its throat, tongue twitching faintly between rows of jagged teeth, tasting the air and searching.

Almost there at the other side of the hallway, a sudden bang on the window shattered everything.

Your head snapped toward the source instinctively, eyes widening as you caught glass exploding inward as a zombie forced its way through, collapsing into the hallway in a mess of limbs and broken shards, a guttural groan tearing from its throat as it dragged itself forward.

Above you the Licker froze, its entire body snapped toward the noise with terrifying speed, attention locking instantly onto the new arrival and moved fast.

It dropped from the ceiling and landed directly onto the zombie with a crushing impact, claws sinking deep as it let out a shriek, claws ripping through decayed flesh.

It was right in front of you blocking your path completely.

Behind a groan came and you turned sharply just in time to see another zombie lunge forward, arms outstretched as, in turn, it grabbed the Licker’s attention.

This was it, your grip tightened on your gun, breath catching as you braced for impact.

Something moved fast from behind the zombie, soon followed by a wet, slicing noise from an hatchet that pierced the back of the zombie’s skull, bursting through bone and rotten flesh in a spray of viscous blood as the creature’s body jerked violently, head tilting upward in a final motion.

For a second all you saw was the hand wrapped tight around the metal handle, veins faintly visible beneath the skin, grip steady and controlled.

Then he stepped forward fully into view and twisted in a brutal 180-degree turn of the wrist along the blade that followed, head coming off clean and body dropping in a useless heap as the hatchet came free.

Behind you, the Licker snarled, dragging your attention back and instincts screaming as your gun came up again, finger tightening on the trigger but he moved first.

Stepping in front of you and for a moment all you could see was a broad and solid back that filled your vision, a tight black shirt clinging to him and stretched across wide shoulders.

They rolled slightly as he adjusted his stance, the motion slow and controlled that made the muscles beneath that shirt ripple.

The Licker’s tongue attacked fast as a whip but he reacted faster, hatchet intercepting the strike mid-air and not only pairing it, but fully slicing the tongue.

It hit the ground writhing, twitching violently like a snake and the creature let out a shriek of pure agony, stumbling back as both of its clawed hands came up toward its ruined mouth, movements almost human in their panic.

“Follow me.” His voice, just like the last figure you met, felt familiar in a way that hit somewhere deep in your chest, even if your mind couldn’t place it yet with how much rougher it was.

He moved forward, closing the distance in two quick strides before driving his boot up straight into the exposed brain.

The impact was brutal, forcing the creature on the ground for him to bury the hatchet deep, infected blood spilling out around it in heavy, dark rivulets before he ripped it free in one clean motion.

“Move.”

Up the stairs, your legs barely keeping pace with him as he led the way without hesitation like he knew every inch of this place.

The upper floor opened into another corridor, steam already hissing somewhere ahead, thick clouds spilling out and blocking the path entirely except, he didn’t stop, swinging the hatchet against metal that gave way under repeated strikes, damaged pipe bursting further as the pressure shifted, steam redirecting, clearing just enough space for him to push through.

You hesitated just for a second before a gurgle from a zombie cut through the air that gave reasons to your legs to move past the showers and around the corner just in time to see him drive a punch into a zombie’s spine, forcing it down before that hatchet came down again, ending it with the same efficiency.

He checked behind him again rapidly still not seeing your face with how dark the hallway was.

The door at the end opened into a small room with bright light and the statue of a gazelle right at the center.

His gaze lingered on it, something unreadable passing through his expression before he turned to the creaking of the door.

“You the only survivor in h—” The question came out low and rough before he stopped, pupils tightening before widening again.

“…No,” he exhales under his breath, barely audible. His grip tightens slightly around the hatchet.

The same reaction erupted on your face as well at seeing Leon again, though much older. His face carried lines that hadn’t been there before, jaw stronger and scruffy with the stubble that decorated it. Same hairstyle but slightly longer, falling just enough to frame eyes that were duller now.

And his body was bigger by the look of that dark shirt stretched across his chest, arms thicker, veins faintly visible beneath skin.

Aged like fine wine didn’t even begin to cover it.

“…Alright,” he breathed, more composed now, though the roughness hasn’t left his voice. “Either I finally lost it or something’s seriously wrong.”

His eyes flick briefly around the room before turning and walking outside straight into the library, waiting for this nightmare to end immediately.

What else could you do beside following him?

The vast space had shelves towering high the more you got closer to them, filled with books and an atmosphere that seemed almost normal despite the hell outside.

Of which you got immediately reminded of when something cold and rotten grabbed your leg.

A corpse on the floor jerked to life, fingers tightening that didn’t get far as Leon’s (?) foot came down hard, crushing the skull as his weight pressed into it fully, thick muscles of his thigh flexing with the motion, muscle tightening under the fabric as he applied more pressure, grinding the remains into the floor before pulling back, wiping his shoe clean in one smooth motion.

“You really haven’t changed,” he said, a hint of dry amusement threading through his voice now. “Still walking into trouble, sweetheart.”

Heat flared up your neck instantly.

“What do you—”

From behind him there was movement done stealthily so well you’ve only now registered it, knife already raised and angled for a clean slice across the throat.

The older Leon in front of you didn’t needed a warning, arm suddenly wrapping and tightening around your waist as that large bicep locked in and dragged you alongside him, body pulled flush against his side as he pivoted sharply out of the attack’s path.

The knife cut through empty air where his neck had been a fraction of a second earlier before charging again and his hatchet came up, both hands bracing it for control.

Metal met metal with a biting clang fore his leg snapped forward to send a brutal kick to the attacker’s chest, forceful enough to send the man flying back into a stack of old books that collapsed under him in a cascade of dust and paper, sound loud in the enclosed space followed by a grunt.

Your eyes snapped to the Leon who gave you his jacket as he recovered with frightening speed, already pushing himself up and reaching for his weapon, bicep viewable from the short sleeved compression shirt he had on bulging in the process.

“Back off,” he said, voice tight and restrained. “Leave him alone. Now.”

A protective tone that hit harder than the gun pointed forward.

Another sound of a safety disengaging followed and all three heads in the room turned towards it.

Your Leon, one you had walked into this nightmare with, with his Matilda raised in both hands, stance just a little too stiff and textbook compared to the others, but his aim didn’t waver as he pointed it at both of them.

“D-don’t move!” he ordered in a firm voice, blue eyes not scanning tactically but locked specifically on the hand at your waist, gaze lingering there a second too long, jaw tightening just slightly, fingers adjusting on the grip of his gun like he needed something to ground himself before his eyes flicked back up.

“Let him go,” he added, quieter but more pointed.

The arm around you tightened as he pulled you back against him by a fraction, spine brushing his solid chest.

“M’not keeping him hostage,” he said dryly, tone edged with something almost amused, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “‘Sides… M’not the one waving a gun around.”

Your Leon’s grip flexed as a flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes and you shouted his name the moment you saw the movement near him from the one now jacketless who closed the distance in a blur, his hand snapping up to knock the gun off its aim.

A shot rang out loud, slamming somewhere into the shelves above as the weapon was forced upward and, in the same motion, he disarmed him completely, twisting the gun free before shoving him hard to the ground.

“Shit—!” You broke free without thinking to rush forward and drop to your knees beside him.

“Leon are you okay?!” Up close he looked worse than when you left him, dirt smeared across his uniform, streaks of grime and something darker along his sleeves, hair slightly disheveled and breathing heavier.

“Are you okay?” he asked instead, voice tight with concern, scanning you quickly. “Did they—did they hurt you?”

“Why would I hurt my boyfriend?” A low, almost amused voice cut in, dry in disbelief while the figure extracted the magazine of the Matilda.

“What?” The man right next to you snapped, pushing himself up quickly, anger bleeding into his tone as he turned toward the speaker.

“What the hell are you talking about—” Arm moving before he seemed to think about it and wrapping around your waist to pull you back toward him, firm enough that you felt the way his bicep tightened against your side, holding you close.

The other Leon juggling a knife in hand tilted his head slightly, watching him with an expression that bordered on entertained while the hatchet-wielder leaned casually against a desk, dragging a sharpening stone along its edge in strokes that sent small sparks of orange flickering in the dim light.

“Relax,” he muttered, voice carrying that same rough, worn edge, though there was something almost nostalgic in it now. “You’ll get there.”

The younger one’s grip on you tightened slightly.

“Get where?” he shot back.

The man with the hatchet didn’t look up immediately, continuing the motion, metal against stone, the rhythm steady.

“Still before the train, huh,” the other Leon in a tight compression shirt and knife in hand said, almost to himself, though it was loud enough for all of you to hear. “Our first time together.”

Words loaded with meaning as he looked at you almost dreamily and it made heat spike through your chest.

The older one just huffed quietly, finally glancing up with something knowing in his expression.

“Yeah,” he added, almost fondly, as another spark jumped from the blade. “I remember that.”

Heat, heavy and dizzying, crawled under your skin under those six blue eyes, each a different shade but all carrying hunger locked onto you.

The much older one had pushed you on top of the first desk available with a quiet grunt, hatchet set aside without a second thought as his attention settled fully on you.

“Still got that same look… every time.” He murmured, voice a gruff baritone while his gaze dragged and took in every detail

Everything happened too fast.

The one near your age had his grip on your waist now, tightening like he was grounding himself before he let instinct take over. His fingers slid under the edge of that jacket still draped over your frame currently displayed on the desk for the three men around, brushing your now bare skin in a way that was almost shy and hesitant compared to the others.

A gloved hand caught your chin, tilting and forcing your gaze to meet his forward. His thumb dragged slowly across your bottom lip, pressing enough to part it as his eyes darkened with amused.

“Didn’t think you’d look this good in my jacket even now,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, teasing, that familiar edge of cocky charm sharpened into something far more dangerous.

The same culprit who took pleasure at slicing away the remaining of your clothes with his precise experience with that knife.

Your stomach flipped at the sensation of blunt and wide fingers pressing in with a knowing confidence that made your breath stutter, his chest brushing your back as he leaned in enough for his stubble to graze your neck.

“Easy,” he muttered against your skin, lips ghosting over the spot right below your ear before his teeth caught lightly in a teasing bite. “We’ve got time… gonna make sure you can take it.”

Slowly, one thick finger invaded your hole and the stretch came immediate, his other hand coming around your front to wrap around your now exposed cock at the same time.

Body jolting as his grip tightened, thumb brushing over the tip, spreading the first slick hint of precome just his finger curled inside you, realizing how he knew exactly where to press.

“Still this tight,” he hummed, voice coarse with approval, breath hot against your neck as his pace stayed slow but purposeful.

Your head fell forward as all your muscles relaxed to get through this and that was all the invitation the other two needed.

Knife-welding-Leon took the moment your mouth gasped in need of more oxygen and claimed it hard, lips crashing into yours with confidence that stole the remaining supplies of oxygen right out of your lungs, tongue pushing past instantly, claiming space and exploring deep with a low groan that vibrated straight inside your mouth.

Hand staying on your face and holding you in place as his tongue fought against yours, going deeper and more insistent to savor everything.

Behind that another thick intrusion came together the already existing one, thick fingers scissoring slowly, stretching you with patience and devoted work.

His thumb pressed harder against your cock now, stroking in a steady rhythm that matched the curl of his fingers inside.

Your body didn’t know where to focus as pleasure sparked everywhere, overlapped and built from each touch feeding into the next until it felt like your nerves were short-circuiting.

“Christ…” the Leon assaulting your mouth muttered against your mouth, pulling back just enough for his lips to drag down your jaw, teeth grazing your skin.

Your Leon was observing you like you were something fragile and fascinating all at once, hands moving slower than the others at first, careful and exploring on unknown territory unlike his other two counterparts.

They slid up your sides, fingertips brushing over your abdomen, lips following his hands, pressing hesitant kisses along your stomach, each one lingering just a second longer than the last.

Your hips twitched, body leaning into him without thinking and it that was all it took as a shift in his expression came in focus and determination.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered before his mouth moved lower, kissing down your abdomen when a hiss passed through clenched teeth the moment a third finger pushed in.

The sound got swallowed instantly as RE4 Leon pulled you back into another kiss, deeper and rougher, tongue shaking against yours as his hand slid down to your waist, gripping tighter.

Older Leon groaned low at the sound you made.

“Yeah… That’s what I wanted to hear.” He muttered, pace picking up just slightly, fingers driving deeper, curling harder and hitting your prostate again and again until your legs trembled from the assault on that bundle of nerves.

“Gonna take all of us like this?” he added, stubble scratching along your neck as he spoke, lips brushing over the marks already forming there. “Lookin’ this pretty…all worked up already…”

Their presence surrounding you completely, every direction you moved there was one of them as hard things brushed against you, insistingly reminding you constantly of what was coming next.

Leon forward you ground against your hip subtly, breath hitching into your mouth as he deepened the kiss again, tongue sliding slower now, thick tent in his pants stabbing you with more effects than a knife ever could.

Behind you, older Leon’s arousal pressed heavy against your lower back every time his fingers pushed deeper, control slipping enough to let you feel how much he wanted this.

And your Leon shifted closer, his bulge pressing against your side as his lips finally dipped lower, right below your navel.

Warmth spreads through you instantly.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured softly, even as his hands slid up to your chest, fingers brushing over your nipples experimentally before pressing, rolling them between his fingers.

You gasped again and he froze for just a second before his expression shifted into something quietly thrilled.

“Okay… you like that.” He whispered almost breathless before doing it again, more confidently this time.

“‘Course he does,” older Leon behind muttered, a smirk in his voice as his fingers pumped deeper, faster now, thumb still stroking your cock in sync. “Been paying attention, rookie?”

The loss of those fingers working you open made you whine.

“Yeah… you’re ready,” hatchet-wielding-Leon muttered, his hand coming down to pat your ass.

The loud sound of zippers followed and you shivered in anticipation, immense pressure from a clothed bulge pressing against your gaping hole.

“Don’t tense up,” he added, voice softer now—but no less intense. “Or I’ll have to take my time breakin’ you in myself.”

The one in front of you leaned in, hand sliding over your shoulder, squeezing once.

“Nah, he doesn’t want your old ass,” he murmured close to your lips, voice confident and teasing as his hand moved to your face again, softer now, thumb brushing your lip as he held your gaze.

“C’mon,” he whispered, voice taking a husky edge to it. “Tell ’em you want me first.”

Body moving with importance to the heart as you shifted and presented yourself fully to your Leon before drifting back to the surprise but aroused slightly older version.

A satisfied smile spread across his lips as his hand cradled your face and guided you down until your lips hovered just in front of that big bulge.

“Keep me busy while I wait my turn,” he added, voice low, amused, thumb pressing gently against your lip again. “Yeah?”

One moment you were trembling, stretched open and aching, every nerve lit up from the way older Leon had worked you apart, the next a different pressure followed.

He didn’t push in all at once, especially now, there was carefulness in him always present when it came to you. His hands found your hips first, fingers spreading wide, gripping just enough to steady you as he lined himself up behind.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” He murmured, voice lower than you’d ever heard it, roughened by want but still threaded with that unmistakable sincerity.

He started to push in and God, the first inch alone stole the air from your lungs.

A gasp tore out of you, sharp and helpless, your body instinctively tightening around him as the blunt head of his cock pressed inside, stretching in a way that felt entirely different from the fingers that had prepared you.

He eased forward inch by inch, length sliding deeper into you with a steady, controlled pressure that made your entire body tremble around him as that solid weight filled and warned you up gradually.

“God…” he breathed, the word barely there, head dipping forward slightly, forehead almost brushing your shoulder as he focused on the feeling. “You feel really good..”

Another inch and your back arched as a broken sound left your throat.

It was overwhelming in the best possible way, body struggling to adjust as he sank deeper until he bottomed out.

A small pull back followed by a push forward again.

And that was worse, body reacting instantly, a sharp gasp tearing from your mouth as the movement dragged along every sensitive nerve inside.

The Leon in front of you was watching but waiting as well and, once you did remembered the other presence who you were now entirely sure was the same man currently balls deep inside, your trembling hands moved, reaching for the front of his jacket, then lower, finding the last barrier between you and what you’d been staring at this entire time.

“Go on,” he murmured, voice low and amused as his hand came up to cradle your cheek. “Been thinkin’ about it this whole time, haven’t you?”

Your fingers fumbled slightly with the fabric before finding purchase and pulled.

Fuck, he was hung.

Thick and heavy cock springing free, already flushed and leaking, head glistening under the light.

“Like what you see?” he asked, smirk tugging at his lips.

A question your mouth answered, leaning forward, closing the distance, lips parting as you took him in, tongue dragging along the underside as you guided him deeper, lips stretching around him until you sank down fully, nose brushing his skin as your throat adjusted around his length.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fuck…” he groaned, his hand instantly coming to the back of your head. “There it is…”

You swallowed around him and that broke him in a way. “Yeah…yeah, just like that,” he muttered, voice rough and strained, his hips twitching forward instinctively before he caught himself. “You’re—shit—you’re still perfect at this.”

Behind your Leon groaned at the sight of your throat bulging around his older counterpart’s member, hands tightening on your hips again as his thrusts deepened.

Each push drove him fully into you, length dragging along your walls in a steady rhythm that made your body jolt forward and take more of the cock in your mouth without meaning to.

The connection clicked.

Every thrust from behind pushed you forward onto Leon, mouth forced to take him deeper, throat tightening reflexively around him as his grip in your hair tightened slightly in response.

“Fuck—” he groaned, watching you closely now, his breathing uneven. “Taking both of us like that… you trying to kill me?”

His hands slid up your body, one of them coming to your chest, fingers brushing over your skin in a soft, grounding motion as he watched you carefully.

“Is this okay?” The one behind you asked, voice strained but still so gentle, even now. “You’re— you’re not—”

You moaned around the cock in your mouth.

That was your answer.

“…okay,” he breathed, confidence shifting in his tone, maybe, or just the realization that you wanted this as much as he did.

His thrusts picked up, each one rolling his hips forward just right, dragging against your prostate repeatedly until your legs trembled harder, grip on the table tightening.

In front of you, Leon lost the last bit of restraint.

“Yeah… Take it just like that!” His hips started to move too, meeting your mouth halfway, cock sliding in and out between your lips in sync with the way you were being fucked from behind.

Your Leon leaned closer, chest pressing against your back as his hot breath came against your shoulder.

“You feel so good,” he whispered, almost like he couldn’t believe it, his voice breaking slightly as his pace faltered—then surged again. “I can’t—I can’t stop…”

In front—

“Don’t,” RE4 Leon shot back instantly, a breathless laugh mixing into his voice. “Trust me, he doesn’t want you to.”

Your body proved it as every thrust pulled another sound from you, cock twitching in overstimulation, but not forgotten as a hand wrapped around it suddenly.

“Don’t think I’m sittin’ this out,” he muttered against your ear, voice low and dangerous as his grip tightened just enough to make your hips jerk. “Go on… let go.”

Everything hit at once as a broken sound vibrated around the cock in your throat as you came hard, cock pulsing in his hand as release spilled over your stomach in hot bursts.

The sensation of your throat tightening pushing the one clogging your throat over the edge right after, grip tightening in your hair as he thrust deep one last time, spilling his load into your mouth with a low, strained sound.

Behind your Leon followed, a choked gasp leaving him as he buried himself fully inside you, hips pressing flush against yours as he came, warmth flooding deep inside.

Your body felt like it had been wrung out and put back together wrong, every nerve still buzzing, muscle weak, breath only just beginning to steady as the world slowly stopped spinning around you.

Yet, you were still painfully hard as a quiet, shaky breath left you, hand lifting to find its way to broad, familiar shoulders next to you, firm enough to communicate what your body couldn’t say out loud right away.

A low, knowing huff left him.

“Yeah… figured,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough but edged with that dry humor that never quite left him.

He shifted easily under your touch, turning and sitting back against the table in one smooth motion as you climbed into his lap, body sinking down onto his thick thighs, the heat of him immediately seeping into your skin.

Solid muscle beneath really told you how big he was, legs falling to either side of his hips and his huge tent nudged against your ass, heavy and insistent, blunt heat of it dragging slightly against your oversensitive skin.

A deep groan rumbled out of him instantly and you leaned closer once recovering, voice almost vulnerable.

“Did we… stay together for all those years?”

His grip on your hips loosened slightly, one hand lifting, fingers flexing like he was debating something before deciding and pulling his glove off, holding his hand up just enough for you to see a ring.

“…yeah,” he muttered, glancing at it briefly before his gaze flicked back up to you, a small, crooked smirk pulling at his lips. “Guess I was dumb enough to put up with you every day of my life.”

Sarcasm dry and familiar buy those duller blue eyes softened completely when he saw the happiness on your face that bloomed there before you could even try to hide it.

That was all you needed, leaning in to kiss him, stubble scratching against your jaw rough.

Then his hands tightened on your hips again and he moved you up enough to line himself.

“C’mon,” he muttered against your lips, breath warm, voice dipping lower. “You know the drill.”

He guided you down slowly, body tensing instinctively as the head of his cock pressed against your already slick and stretched opening.

The remnants of the others still coating you, making the slide smoother and easier.

Your mouth fell open as you sank down inch by inch, your hands tightening on his shoulders as your body adjusted again to his size.

“Fuck…” he grunted low, head dropping forward slightly, grip firm but controlled as he guided you.

He bottomed out and felt him pressed deep inside, so far in it almost felt like he was in your stomach, his heartbeat faint but real where your bodies connected.

Whimpering softly and he exhaled sharply at the sound.

“Always take me so good like you were made for it,” he muttered, voice roughening further, hands sliding slightly along your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin as you started to ride him.

Slow and weak at first, legs trembling as you lifted yourself just barely before dropping back down, motion dragging his cock along your walls.

But you didn’t have the strength.

“Easy,” he murmured, large biceps wrapping around your frame to pull you closer, chest pressed against his as he took over.

His thighs tensed beneath you, hands guiding your hips as he started moving you himself, lifting you up, then pulling you back down.

Each movement angled just right, hips tilting slightly to meet you every time, cock brushing against your prostate over and over until your head fell into the crook of his neck, your breath breaking into soft, helpless moans.

His pace didn’t falter, only getting stronger, breathing growing heavier against your skin as he kept you exactly where he wanted, pace picking up.

All until another presence came between your legs.

The other Leon older than you stepped in close, sliding between your spread thighs as you sat in his older counterpart’s lap, cock already hard again as it nudged against your entrance.

Older Leon stilled you instantly, holding you down firmly on his cock as his other hand came up to steady your hip.

“Hold on,” he muttered, glancing down briefly before looking back up at him.

“Relax,” the one about to join shot back. “I know what I’m doing.”

He pushed in, slow and careful, body of yours stretching again, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat as the second intrusion pressed inside alongside the first, walls straining and adjusting on both of them at once.

“Fuck—” you choked, your face pressing into older Leon’s jaw as your body trembled violently.

“Yeah… breathe,” older Leon murmured, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, holding you close. “You can take it.”

In front Leon groaned low.

“God, you’re tight,” he muttered, his hands gripping your hips as he slowly worked himself deeper, inch by inch until he was fully seated as well. “Missed this…”

Your body felt impossibly full and overstimulated, every nerve screaming as they both started to move.

Behind them, your Leon stood still, watching in absolute horny surprise.

Your head turned slightly, voice breathy and wrecked as you called out.

“…Leon…”

He blinked like he’d been pulled out of a trance.

“…yeah,” he answered quietly, almost dazed as the other Leon reached back, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him closer.

“Don’t just stand there,” he muttered, amusement laced through his tone. “Make him pleased.”

Just like that he was pulled in closer.

A hand of RE4 Leon’s gripped your ass, spreading you slightly as a thick drip of cum slid down.

Then your body git stretched again by a third presence pressing in.

You cried out, body shaking violently as all three of them filled every inch of you.

They moved together than, hips snapping forward, pulling back, thrusting again as your body was used between them, lifted, held, moved exactly how they wanted.

Kisses pressed against your mouth and neck… teeth grazed your skin along with hands everywhere.

Your mind went blank completely, moans breaking apart into nothing but sound, body giving in completely as they took over, driving you higher and higher again despite how sensitive you already were.

Your body tensed violently as you came again, cock spilling across older Leon’s abs, entire body shaking uncontrollably as the sensation ripped through.

They followed one by one, groans and grunts echoing along bodies tensing, followed by an uncontainable amount of heat filling you.

So much your body struggled to contain it as they emptied themselves inside you, movements slowing but not stopping until every last bit was spent.

Finally stillness.

Your body collapsed against them.

Well, you don’t, and he does, as you’re simply relying on scholarship. Although whether this one ends up a failure or not… well, Suguru Geto knows you wouldn’t let that happen, which is why he’s all about teasing you whenever the group gets together. 

Do they attend? Sometimes it was just Suguru.

“Looks like they won’t be attending for the third time,” Suguru stated as he put down his bag on the chair beside you before taking a seat. You sighed, bringing a hand to your temple, rubbing it to ease the headache already forming at the moment.

“I wish I could just kick them out,” you mumbled, opening your laptop with one hand while keeping the other at your temple with your brows furrowed. 

Suguru chuckled softly, shaking his head. “The professor doesn’t like that, does he? You’ll end up being blamed for your lack of… assertion or responsibility,” he remarked, tilting his head toward the laptop to check the progress of the document.

To his surprise, it was already halfway done. He turned to you and noticed the tired look on your face; your under-eye bags were evident, and you didn’t seem as stable as you had when he first spoke to you at the start of the project.

Yet, for some reason, you looked really good like this. Your bangs framed your face, your glasses sat nicely on your cute nose, and your lips… Wait, what?

“Stop staring…” You murmured, your ears flushing slightly at the intensity of his gaze. His stare felt piercing, and it was quite close.

Suguru cleared his throat and shifted his focus back to your laptop. “Right, sorry. It’s just… You look…”

“I know,” you replied, letting out a sigh as you pushed your laptop closer to him. “Don’t mind me. Could you finish the rest?” Suguru simply nodded, feeling a bit guilty for not attending the second meeting. Thankfully, he had done his part at home based on the message you sent, so transferring the information he knew to the document was smooth and easy. Since finals were just around the corner and you still had to deal with your two groupmates, you both decided to discuss the remaining details of the project.

It really wasn’t so bad. Talking with Suguru was enjoyable, especially when he wasn’t teasing you for being strict and “timid”. Although you didn’t say much, as you weren't very talkative, you managed to contribute a significant amount of information about the project. Suguru also provided valuable insights. By the time you finished, you both had a good understanding of the project and decided to meet up again after you’d convinced your two group members to attend.

Well, you should have expected it. It has been a week since you tried convincing them to participate, and while they did attend a few times, they’d just leave after a while with barely any use. 

You were at your wits' end, trying to keep up with stress and studying for your other subjects, and you don’t think you’ll be able to keep holding it in. Thankfully, your professors didn’t give a lot of activities this time around, so aside from studying, you'd get some fresh air every once in a while.

“Your professor put you in a tough spot, huh?” Nobara asked as she munched on her sandwich. Yuji, who had just arrived, sat next to you while carrying two iced coffees, Megumi following behind and sitting beside Nobara.

“Weren't you ranting about how useless your groupmates were in your IG notes?” Yuji snickered, handing you the iced coffee you requested. A sigh escaped your lips, pouting a little as you leaned your head against Megumi's shoulder, who was already used to the physical touch.

“Yeah… even Suguru just attends whenever he wants, so I'm sometimes left alone handling the freeloaders.” You huffed as you grabbed your coffee and took a sip of it. Though the mention of Suguru's name sparked Nobara's interest.

“Swuguru? Ash in tat pwopular senior in your dwepartmwent?” She asked with food still in her mouth, muffling all her words. You rolled your eyes and nodded.

“Don't eat with your mouth full.” You scolded as you straightened your posture. “Anyway, yeah. I was paired with him too.”

“Woah?! Really?! Isn't he likeee, Gojo-san's best friend? They're both really famous in Nobara's department!” Yuji exclaimed with such enthusiasm.

“They're famous in the university. Not just in any department.” Megumi said, ruffling your hair that was on his shoulder. You didn't bother lifting your head up, nor did you really mind. You did take care of the two boys, after all, especially whenever they went into your house to play with Nobara, your little sister.

“Hmp. That Satoru guy is pretty famous when it comes to flirting with women. They're the partygoers of the seniors, right? Don't get involved with them, brother.” Nobara said as he huffed, stealing Yuji's coffee, who yelped and tried to reclaim it.

“But Suguru's his type,” Megumi stated. You gasped at the assumption (not so much) and stared at Megumi as if he had just offended you. He merely shrugged. 

“That's not—”

“Even if he is your type!” Nobara scolded, pointing at you accusingly before taking a sip of Yuji's coffee.

“Talking about parties, didn't Maki invite us to a party tonight? I don't know whose, though.” Yuji said with a shrug. 

“Really?! Let's go then! I just bought a new outfit, you know? I'm going to show off!” Nobara proudly stated, her face sparkling at the idea of posting another ton of pictures on IG with her new outfit.

“I still have a lot of assignments to finish, so I can't come. What about you?” Megumi asked as he turned to you, and you merely hummed. You planned to have a late-night movie in your apartment tonight, but it seems you'll have to postpone it. You haven't gone out in a while, haven't gotten a good time either.

“I'll go.” You nodded.

“Alright! I'll go too! We can contact Megumi if we all end up getting drunk!” Yuji exclaimed with a thumbs-up. Megumi sighed, facepalming as he realized that whether he likes it or not, he'll end up entering that hell of a party…

“Suguuuruuuu!” Satoru called, wrapping an arm around the long-haired boy's shoulder, who sat on the stool by the counter, a whiskey in his fingers. 

“Satoru.” Suguru sighed. “What now?”

“Mhm, what're you doing over here? I invited you here to have some fun, you know.” He sighed, taking a seat beside him and asking for a sweet drink. 

“You could've just invited your fangirls,” Suguru replied as he took a sip of his whiskey. Satoru chuckled at his reply before nudging him.

“Hey, your groupmate is here.” Satoru grinned, yet Suguru only rolled his eyes. 

“My groupmate? They’re a bunch of freeloaders. Couldn't care less about any of them.” Suguru shrugged as he turned to face him. “Your birthday isn't here yet, so what's up with the party?”

Satoru patted his back with a wide grin. “Because the final's around the corner! It ain't bad trying to make sure everyone's not going crazy with their studies, no?” 

“Making it sound like you're doing a good deed, huh?” Suguru snickered before asking for another shot the moment the bartender gave Satoru his drink.

Satoru laughed. “Anyway, I'm talking about that 'timid' guy. The nerd?” 

His words made Suguru's attention spark, turning to him before glancing around behind them. “Where?” He asked. He didn't even bother hiding his interest.

“Heh. I knew it. You're into him!” Satoru chuckled.

“Who's into who?” Shoko asked as she appeared behind them, placing a hand on Suguru's shoulder.

“Suguru! He's into the timid nerd of his department.” Satoru stated, and Suguru sighed. 

“How'd you even come up with that idea?” Suguru asked, taking a sip of his non-alcoholic beverage while Shoko sat in the other empty space beside Suguru.

Satoru rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. “I noticed. You always end up staring at him whenever you guys come across each other, you know? Like how your gaze instantly falls upon him or how your attention span immediately turns to him the moment you hear his name! You've been pining for him for weeks!” Satoru proudly stated as if he had just made the wildest discovery in the whole world.

“Hmm. MC?” Shoko asked, gesturing for the bartender to whip up something for her. “Hate to break it to you, but doesn’t he sleep around?”

“Eh?” 

“What?”

The two men turned their heads to Shoko in shock, eyes wide and mouths agape. Well, it shouldn’t be that surprising, but you were a timid guy—well, at least you appeared to be one—so they never had the impression of you sleeping around. 

“Are you for real? Likeeee, for for real real?” Satoru asked, blinking several times as if this was just a dream. Although he should be scratching his ears instead of blinking from what he heard.

“Why so surprised?” You popped up from behind them and asked, a playful grin on your face. “Everyone’s got a little secret, right?”

The trio turned their heads to you, surprise evident in their eyes. Satoru cleared his throat, his hand playfully patting Suguru on the back as he downed his drink in one go. “My ladies need me, eh? I’ll leave my best friend to you, man!” He winked at you, a cheeky glint in his eye, before slipping away into the crowd.

Shoko offered you a warm smile, standing up and grabbing her glass. “See you, man.” She followed Satoru, leaving you and Suguru at the table.

You slipped into the seat next to Suguru, who signaled to the bartender for your drink, his face still a bit flushed. You glanced over at him. He was staring at you with a mix of curiosity and something else, maybe surprise. It felt like there was no point in hiding what you saw in his eyes anymore.

“So much for participation,” you sighed, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin in your palm, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

“How many times did you attend the group meeting? I sure do hope you counted, seeing as you’re spending your time away here,” you teased, your smile playful yet a bit exasperated.

Suguru’s cheeks turned a shade redder as he fumbled for words. It was his first time seeing you like this. “No, ah, I don’t go here often—”

“Well, you’re here now,” you replied as the bartender slid your drink toward you. Taking a sip, you raised your gaze, locking eyes with Suguru. Without your glasses covering your eyes, he found it hard to look away, captivated by the warmth and depth in your irises.

“Satoru invited me. It’s his party,” Suguru said, trying to sound casual as he took a sip of his own drink, but you could sense the nervous energy buzzing from him. “Why’re you here anyway?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“To get some air,” you replied, a hum escaping you as you absorbed the bitter aftertaste of the drink Suguru had chosen for you. “Thanks,” you remarked.

“Yeah…” Suguru nodded and cleared his throat. “So… it’s true?” he asked, suddenly recalling Shoko’s words. Now that he looked at you more closely, under the colorful yet dim lights of the bar, he could clearly see the different energy you had.

“I can’t believe this is the same timid guy,” Suguru chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you do this often? Sleep around, I mean.”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “Just when I’m overwhelmed.” You huffed and began to drink the rest of your alcohol.

“Because of your groupmates?” he asked. You nodded and momentarily looked away from him, leaning over the counter with your arms crossed.

“Don’t make it sound like you’re not a part of it,” you scoffed, a small pout forming on your lips—the habit you’d had since you were little. Suguru noticed, mainly because it made you look especially cute… and kissable.

Suguru found himself staring at your lips for a moment before turning his gaze back to meet yours. “I am?” he stated casually, a grin finally forming on his lips as his nervousness began to subside, replaced by his usual teasing attitude.

“Yes, you are,” you sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. If Suguru didn't know better, he’d have thought you were naturally seductive, but that wasn't the case. With your back arched against the counter, your plump lips slightly parted in a smile, and your eyes meeting his with such intensity and warmth, you looked captivating.

“Well, should I make it up to you?” Suguru asked as he leaned closer, placing a hand on the edge of the stool behind you. He could smell your sweet scent, reminiscent of rich caramel and vanilla, from how close you were.

Suguru was never one to sleep with people—he only did so on very rare occasions. But somehow, this felt like one of those occasions.

“I don’t sleep with the same guy twice,” you murmured, tilting his chin up until your faces were only inches apart. Your gaze lingered on his lips as a faint smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. “You sure you want to?”

“I’d like to find out what this so-called timid guy can do,” Suguru replied, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

“They’re just rumors,” you said with a quiet sigh. “I’m not timid—just quiet.”

Before he could answer, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a slow, deliberate kiss. The moment your tongue brushed against his, Suguru’s eyes widened—not at your boldness, but at the cool metal piercing nestled against it.

Recovering almost instantly, he slid a hand to the back of your head and deepened the kiss, drawing you closer with quiet confidence. A soft whimper escaped your lips before you finally pulled away, wearing a satisfied grin as you looked up at him.

“So,” you murmured, giving his bottom lip a playful nip, “want to get out of here?”

A low hum rumbled from his throat. “Yeah.” He lingered for another second before stepping back. “Alright, timid boy.”

You rolled your eyes with an exaggerated sigh, slipping your hand into the one he offered. “I’m not timid, you prick.”

Suguru only laughed, intertwining your fingers as he led you toward the exit. It was an act you never thought you’d receive from the man.

Suguru backed you into the hotel room, his lips already claiming yours the moment the door clicked shut. The kiss was slow at first, then deepened as his tongue brushed against yours while his hands moved to unbuckle his belt. Your arms looped around his neck instinctively, a shiver running through you as his tongue continuously clashed with yours.

He finally broke the kiss with a quiet breath, his forehead resting against yours for a fleeting moment before he caught your lower lip between his teeth in a teasing nip. His fingers found your belt next, undoing it with practiced ease.

“You’ve had the piercing this whole time?” he asked, his thumb brushing across your lips before guiding you gently onto the edge of the bed.

“Got it four months ago,” you replied, leaning forward to press a trail of light kisses along his neck as your fingers worked open the buttons of his shirt.

“Hm.” Suguru shrugged the loosened fabric from his shoulders, a curious smile tugging at his lips. “Worth it?”

You chuckled softly. “I’d say so.”

He laughed under his breath, slipping out of the rest of his clothes as you helped peel his shirt away, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“Don't you like it?” you asked as you stuck your long tongue out, wet and hot, the piercing on your tongue lying cool and sensual. Suguru never thought he'd find a tongue piercing hot.

He pressed his thumb against your tongue, and you broke eye contact, your gaze falling to his toned body. Big chest you could smother your face in, arms that could lay you in a headlock—well, everything beneath those clothes was big. You had never really noticed.

“Eyes up here,” Suguru murmured before shoving two fingers into your mouth, catching you by surprise. You choked slightly before regaining your composure, your tongue swirling around and sucking on his fingers.

“Good boy,” he whispered, his voice rough and deep. God, that voice was going to drive you fucking crazy. It was enough to have your blood running down on your dick, throbbing painfully in your underwear. Even that nickname has you trembling already.

You whimpered against his fingers, tongue lapping up the saliva before he pulled it out. He slid his hand into your underwear, fingers prodding your hole before gently pushing a finger in. You groaned, hands moving up to grip his shoulders. 

“I'll try… to be gentle,” he said softly before pressing his lips against yours, his other hand pulling down your underwear all the way down. With his other hand, he spread your legs open and settled between them. However, contrary to his words…

SHLICK!

“HnnngHhh?!” 

He was not gentle at all. 

Well, if Satoru was rumored to be the sex god, then what of his best friend? Surely, Suguru wasn't as poorly experienced, and boy, you were right.

“Fffuck?! Y-you said— hhAaah! Hnggaah!~” 

Pleasure and pain wreaked indescribable chaos throughout your body. With the roughness of a ravenous beast, which contrasted heavily with his earlier demeanor, he finally shoved two fingers right past your ring of muscle, constantly hitting your prostate at every thrust.

“Haha… sorry. I did say I’ll try…” 

You weren’t even trying, you sick prick!

Suguru smiled when he said that, lifting your other leg up to his shoulder, wherein he began to nuzzle his nose into your leg, nibbling on the soft, supple skin of yours. 

Fuck. No way. It's too much. Why is he sooooo fucking good? How can he keep his balance in this position? 

You can't even control the volume of the moans that spill from your mouth. Every deep thrust pushes out a loud moan, a whimper, and a yelp all at once. He just pushes his two fingers deeper… and deeper… and deeper into your sweet spot, abusing it as if he knew nothing besides that bundle of nerves. 

“Suguuuuruuu!” You whimpered, your back arching as your eyes rolled back. No one has ever brought you in this state of pleasure, nor have you ever heard yourself in this pitch before. But with how he's circling the tips of his fingers around your sweet spot, you'll be hearing new things from yourself soon. 

“More?” Suguru grinned, nibbling on your bottom lip before shoving a third finger. Now, all three fingers stretch you wide, shoving in and out of your wet and tight hole.

“Too muchhh..! Fffuck! Fuck! Sugu—Hnngmfff~!” You mewled, your fingers slipping from his shoulders. You grip the bedsheets, drool escaping past your lips and sliding down your chin. Your moans and the wet sound of his fingers shoving in and out of your hole—SQUELCH— were the only thing he could hear.

“Cum— Cumming…! I'm—Hngh?!” You gasped the moment Suguru pulled out his fingers. Your head snapped down, a whine escaping your lips, but it was immediately replaced with a gulp the moment you saw him pull out his throbbing cock from his underwear.

His cock, standing straight and tall, pink like a rose at his glistening tip, slapped against your thigh heavily from its sheer weight, girth, and length. 

“No way…” You gasped, covering your face with your mouth as you questioned your decisions. Fuck. He was big. You've never had someone like his cock fuck you before.

“Oh, come on,” Suguru purred. “I'm sure my timid boy can take it, hm? You've done it plenty of times before.” His words were mocking, but it just made your dick twitch because of how rough and deep his voice was. 

“Never had one as big as yours…” You huffed as Suguru grabbed your wrist and removed it from your face. Your cheeks were red, your eyes on the brink of tears, and your lips wet with drool. 

“...Damn it.” Suguru cursed, his cock throbbing hot against your bare thighs. Pushing down the aching desire to shove his cock inside, he pulled back and manhandled you on your stomach, raising your hips as he knelt down behind you. 

“W-wait. What are you doing— Hngggh–!” You gasped the moment Suguru spread your cheeks and kissed your puckering hole. His tongue slid around your rim before pushing his tongue inside, making you whimper as you gripped the bedsheets.

SLURP!

“Mnnfh—! Hnn~!”

His tongue prodded your insides, swirling his tongue around, pressing sloppy kisses against your rim, and eating you out messily like a hungry man who hasn’t eaten for days. Even his tongue was a work of art as it shoved deep inside, savoring the taste of your pulsing, warm hole, leaking slick and his saliva. It was sloppy, creamy, and just a few strokes of his tongue, you were already close to cumming again, but it was never enough.

“P-pweaaasee…” You pleaded, shifting a hand behind you as you tried to push Suguru’s head away. You can’t take it anymore. You wanted to cum already. It wasn’t enough. Your dick was throbbing, already so close, but Suguru always kept you on edge, stopping the moment you were about to hit your release.

“Swuguruu…” Your voice was muffled against the pillow, back arched and legs spread as Suguru finally pulled out, giving you mercy. He plunged two fingers in your sloppy hole, spreading it before spitting on it, making you whimper.

You never imagine you’d have sex like this, covered in sweat and spit, and soon in cum. As Suguru’s fingers stretched you just a little more for his cock, he began to unbutton the front of your shirt, pulling your top off your body. His eyes widened, however, at the ink tattooed on your back—a large angel wing that covered your back, connected to a spine tattoo with intricate details he couldn’t care less to decipher, if it had a meaning. Oh boy, you’re truly full of surprises, aren't you? He was so focused on trying to fuck you that he never noticed.

“What other secrets do you have, boy?” he asked as he pulled his fingers out from your hole and finally slammed his hard, throbbing cock inside your slobbering boycunt. You shrieked, tongue lolling out as he arched your back even further, his hands finding themselves on your thin waist. His cock was dribbling copious precum inside you, and it felt like you were already being filled with more than his huge cock.

“Hmmmffff…. W-Why don’t you… find out?” You panted, a grin forming on your lips as you slightly turned your head to face him, your face flushed deep. Suguru grinned, licking his bottom lip, before grabbing both your arms and pulling you to a sitting position, forcing you deeper into his cock. 

“HhhAaaaAhhh?!~” You moaned loudly, eyes rolling back as drool dribbled down your chin. Suguru moved his arms to wrap around you as he began to shove his cock in and out of your soppy hole, which made a squelching noise that made an interesting background noise alongside your moans. It turned Suguru on even harder, his cock throbbing deep inside you, hitting the bundle of nerves that made you crazy on repeat like a balloon ready to pop. 

You were so lost in pleasure at this point, your cock throbbing and leaking precum, leaving sticky splotches every time it thuds against your stomach from Suguru’s harsh thrusts. His huge cock makes you feel soooo full in the best way, feeling him claim your deepest depths, jackhammering his thick cock in and out of your slobbering, aching hole. It all feels so unreal, and he fucks you with so much energy, going balls-fucking-deep into your boycunt, only to take it out all the way and shove it back in. Even his groans mixed with yours in an erotic duet, the hotel room full of skin slapping, moans, and squelching, you could only hope that their walls were strong and thick.

Your cock twitched, and you whimpered loudly as you began to feel your orgasm forming in your stomach, grinding your hips back as you tried to push through your orgasm. However, the moment you did so, Suguru stopped.

“N…nooo..!” You groaned, turning your head behind to look up at him. Suguru felt himself twitch at the sight—face flushed, drool on your lips, eyes hazy, and tears practically threatening to spill. He bulged deeper inside you, making you whimper, and he pulled out before manhandling you on your back this time.

“…You had your nipples pierced too?” Suguru’s breath hitched as his eyes landed on your nipples, pierced and perky, sweat dripping down your body. You whimpered, hand moving down to push his cock back inside, which he so generously did by shoving it back in. You mewled, eyes rolling back once more as you shook your hips, eager for him to start moving. Yet, he didn’t—instead, he bent down and began to tease your nipples, tongue sloppily swirling around your pierced nipples, and boy, the pleasure was fucking heavenly.

No one has ever touched your nipples. You never knew you were so sensitive. You whined and whimpered at his slobbering tongue, sucking and licking your nipple while his other hand played with the other one, giving it the attention it needed. You couldn’t take it anymore. Your slick, warm hole tightened around his thick cock, prompting him to shove deeper into you, and your dick finally spurted ropes of cum, splattering on his and your stomach. He let go of your nipple with a plop and grabbed your waist, this time, finally pounding into you as if he wanted to breed you.

“Fuck, why is my timid boy… hnGhh… such a damn slut?” he groaned, the headboard of your bed slamming against the wall and the bed creaking from the inhumane strength Suguru suddenly pulled out of nowhere. You cried out from the speed of his pounding, the room becoming humid and steamy from the way he fucked you, your bodies slick with sweat and cum that serves as evidence of how good he was railing you—good as you’ll ever have.

At the sight of your secrets fully exposed to him, he doesn’t think he can let go of you either. While all he can think right now is fuck you sooo hard you can’t walk anymore, he also wanted to make sure that his cock is the only thing you’ll ever know and crave in the future. 

“Fffuck, baby, you're.. taking me so goood...” Suguru groaned, nuzzling his head against the crook of your neck as his powerful and confident thrusts began to feel more clumsy and shaky, though never losing their strength. He spread your legs wider before biting on your neck, which made you shriek, tears running down your face at the overwhelming pleasure that’s coursing through your head and body. His hold on you, which used to feel strong, began to waver in a way that his fingers trembled slightly against you.

Again, you feel the impending orgasm, but this time, it feels even wilder. You couldn’t describe it, but it was too much. It was coming to you fast, like a tsunami that grows larger as it draws closer, your entire body trembling as you arched your back and covered your face with your arms. 

“Suguuu…! Pweaseee! D-don’tttt… gotta pull..hmMffh! I have to— I’m gonna— HnggGahhhhh!!!” 

Your eyes rolled back as your dick squirted fluids of cum, watering you and Suguru together, and the sight of you—wrecked and broken beneath him—was enough to send him over the edge. 

“Fffuuuck, ffuck... ahh.. Hngg..!” Suguru grunted, his grip on your waist tightening, his balls churning with obscene amounts of cum before powerful waves finally crashed over his body, burying himself inside you as balls deep as humanly possible as the first loads of cum erupted from his throbbing, huge dick like a volcano. His thick jizz floods your insides instantly, some of it leaking past the ring where his cock was still connected to your warm hole.

“Ahhnnn… ffuck… what… hngh…sniff.. part of this… is fuckinggg gentle?” You blabbered, eyes shut tight as your body lay limp on the wet bedsheets. You couldn’t even muster up the energy to be embarrassed, but you were sobbing. Suguru’s eyes widened, face flushing, as he pulled out and began to wipe your tears.

“I— sorry, damn. You were just so hot, I couldn’t help myself.” Suguru explained, pressing soft kisses on your cheeks, his hand ruffling your hair. You let out a whimper as you turned your head and opened your eyes, glancing at him for a moment before wrapping your weak arms around him and pulling him close to your slick and sweaty body.

“Mmh…” you hummed as you closed your eyes, tired and hazy, and eventually fell asleep. It was so quick he didn’t even realize you were already asleep.

“MC?” he asked. 

“MC… fuck. Can’t you just… be mine?” he murmured as he pulled you impossibly closer, his arms wrapping tightly around you. Oh, he just knows he’s doomed. He’d been pining over you for weeks ever since he first talked to you, after all.

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, its warmth spilling across your skin. You stirred with a sleepy blink, only to freeze as a dull ache spread through every muscle in your body.

A quiet whine escaped your lips.

“…Ow.”

Grimacing, you forced yourself upright, wincing at the protest from your legs. Looking down, you realized you’d already been cleaned up. Fresh clothes—ones you definitely didn’t remember owning—had replaced yesterday’s outfit. Your gaze drifted toward the coffee table, where neatly arranged takeout waited alongside a folded note.

With another groan, you hobbled over and collapsed onto the couch before picking up the slip of paper.

Sorry, I wasn’t there when you woke up. I finished the documents and convinced everyone else to send in their completed parts too. I also extended your stay so you can rest. Just don’t overstay past 6 p.m., alright?

“…Seriously?”

A quiet laugh escaped you as you hugged your knees to your chest, warmth creeping onto your cheeks. It certainly didn’t help that he happened to be your type. Nor did it help that he’d somehow managed to be both an absolute gentleman… and an absolute menace in bed.

Still, one question lingered. Why had he left so early? The note didn’t explain.

You reached for your phone beside the food and scrolled through your contacts until you found Suguru’s number—the one you’d saved from the group chat. As you unpacked breakfast with one hand, you tapped the call button with the other.

The line rang only twice.

“Hello?” Suguru answered. “Who’s this?”

Your lips formed an exaggerated pout.

“So that’s how it is?” you sighed. “Here I was thinking you were interested enough to save my number.”

There was a brief pause.

“…MC?”

“Mhm.”

Another beat of silence.

“Wrecked me all night and you don’t even stick around to say goodbye?” you teased.

“MC?” Suguru repeated, sounding as if he had just realized it was really you.

“Issss that MC?” Satoru’s unmistakable voice echoed loudly from somewhere in the background.

Suguru cleared his throat, and judging by the muffled complaints that followed, he was probably walking away before Satoru could eavesdrop any further.

“So…” he began once things quieted down. “Why’d you call?”

You smiled to yourself. “I could ask you the same thing. Why’d you leave?”

A soft hum came through the speaker.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me afterward.” He let out a sheepish laugh. “…And honestly? I didn’t trust myself not to ask you for more.” There was a hint of disappointment beneath his lighthearted tone.

“Because I said I don’t sleep with the same guy twice?”

“…Yeah.”

You looked back toward the breakfast he’d ordered and the clothes he’d apparently gone out of his way to buy for you.

“…Yet you still bought me breakfast,” you said, unable to hide your smile. “And new clothes.”

A laugh slipped from your lips. You wanted to tell him you were just as interested, but you really weren't the type to say how you felt in moments like this. There was a small pause before you added, “Maybe you’re actually the timid one between us.”

“…Then…” Suguru spoke again, quieter this time. “Is it safe to assume you’re interested in me too, seeing as you’re calling me for no reason at all?”

“Mhm.”

The sound of his relieved chuckle made your own smile widen. “Can I take you out next Sunday?”

“Of course.”

Before either of you could say anything else— “LET’S GOOOO!” Satoru shouted somewhere nearby. “Suguru finally got a date after his long single life!”

You blinked.

“…Wait, what?”

“Sorry,” Suguru said in a hurry, followed immediately by what sounded like him shoving Satoru away while the white-haired man loudly protested. “I’ll explain later. I’ll message you, alright?”

You blinked before muttering. “See you.”

The call ended, leaving the room quiet once more. You stared absentmindedly at your breakfast. Maybe breaking your ‘I don’t sleep with the same guy twice’ rule wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Besides…

It hardly counted if he ended up becoming your boyfriend in the end… Although it did quite surprise you to realize that Suguru Geto has never dated anyone.

…What a lucky man.

Then again, once Nobara found out you’d ignored the warning she’d given you and hooked up with the very man she’d told you to avoid…

Yeah.

You were never going to hear the end of it.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 be seen stepping out through the house's front door, which still didn't feel completely real.

Your dream home.

Even now, with boxes stacked in corners, furniture half-assembled, and little strips of painter's tape marking where shelves and artwork were supposed to go, the place still made your chest tighten every time you looked at it. It was yours. Yours and Tom's. Not a cramped apartment with thin walls, a rattling dresser, and neighbors who thought sunrise was an invitation to act reckless. Not a temporary place you both kept promising to leave "one day." This was the place Tom had worked himself down to the bone for. This was the goal he had carried through long nights, early mornings, aching hands, and grease-streaked uniforms.

Tom had finally done it.

He had gotten you two a home.

The front porch still smelled faintly of fresh wood and paint, the kind of clean, new scent that came with a place still becoming lived in. A pair of unopened moving boxes sat against the wall near the entryway, labeled KITCHEN — FRAGILE in your handwriting, even though half the fragile things had somehow already ended up on the dining room table. The doormat was new, the lock still had that satisfying firmness when you turned the key, and the little garden bed along the walkway was empty for now—but you already had plans for it. Flowers, maybe herbs, maybe something bright enough to make Tom smile when he came home exhausted.

You paused on the porch for a second after locking the door, letting yourself look back at the house.

The evening light washed over it softly, painting the windows in gold. It wasn't a mansion, but it was perfect. Warm. Private. Yours. A place with enough room to breathe. Enough room for Tom's tools in the garage, enough room for your things without everything feeling squeezed together, enough room for the future you both had talked about in sleepy whispers and tired kitchen conversations.

You smiled to yourself before heading down the walkway, keys jingling in your hand.

The two of you were still in the middle of moving in, which meant life felt like a beautiful mess. One room looked nearly finished; the next looked like a storage unit had exploded. The couch was finally in the living room, but the coffee table was still wrapped in plastic. The bedroom had a mattress, a dresser, and three boxes of clothes that neither of you had the energy to unpack properly. The kitchen was mostly functional, if you ignored the fact that the plates were in one cabinet, the bowls were in another, and the silverware was currently living in a drawer with batteries, tape, and two random screwdrivers.

Still, none of that mattered.

Because it was home.

Your home.

You had just gotten off work, and the day had left that familiar weight in your body—the kind that settled into your shoulders, your lower back, and behind your eyes. All you had really wanted was to get back home, kick off your shoes, maybe unpack one box so you could feel productive, and then collapse somewhere soft until Tom came home.

But before you even made it fully into relaxation mode, your phone buzzed.

You had been standing near the kitchen island, looking at a box labeled PANTRY with deep suspicion, when the message came through.

Tom ❤️:

Love, I'm working late tonight. Something's wrong with one of the main rotation valves. Don't wait up for me, yeah? I'll grab something later.

You stared at the text for a moment, lips pressing together.

Of course he was working late.

Tom Holland, your sweet, stubborn, workaholic boyfriend, could not simply come home at a reasonable hour. Not when there was some broken cosmic mechanism, some busted rotation valve, some daylight regulator, or some nightfall gear that needed his hands on it. As the Day-Night Mechanic, his work wasn't regular work. He wasn't fixing ordinary cars or changing oil for impatient customers.

He worked on the systems that helped keep the world moving.

The hidden mechanics behind sunrise and sunset. The engines that pulled dawn over the horizon. The pressure valves that balanced moonlight. The great moving parts most people never thought about because they expected morning to come and night to fall like magic.

But you knew better.

You knew there were nights when Tom came home with grease beneath his nails and exhaustion in his bones because somewhere, somehow, the sky had needed fixing.

You typed back quickly.

You:

You better not be planning to survive on vending machine crisps and coffee again.

The three typing dots appeared almost immediately, then disappeared, then appeared again.

Tom ❤️:

I would never.

You snorted.

You:

Liar.

A second later:

Tom ❤️:

Maybe a small coffee.

You shook your head, already making your decision.

He was not going to work another long night on an empty stomach. Not after everything he had done to get the two of you here. Not after all those months of saving, sacrificing, taking extra shifts, picking up jobs no one else wanted, and coming home with tired eyes but still enough love in him to kiss your forehead and ask about your day.

So instead of changing into house clothes, you grabbed your keys again.

You moved through the half-unpacked kitchen, stepping around a box of pans and a roll of packing paper that had somehow unspooled itself across the floor. You checked the stove even though you hadn't used it, flicked off the hallway light, and grabbed one of Tom's hoodies from the back of a chair because the evening had a slight chill to it. The hoodie smelled faintly like him—soap, clean cotton, and the metallic trace of the shop that always clung to him no matter how much he showered.

You slipped it on, grabbed your wallet, and headed back out.

The air outside was cool enough to make you tuck your hands into the hoodie pocket as you walked to your car. The neighborhood was peaceful in a way your old apartment building rarely was. No bass rattling the walls. No shouting through hallways. No elevator groaning like it was fighting for its life. Just the soft rustle of trees, a distant dog barking, and the quiet hum of someone's porch light flickering on as dusk began to settle.

You slid into the driver's seat and started the car, already picturing Tom at the shop.

You knew exactly how he would look.

Sleeves pushed up. Hair messy from running his hands through it too many times. A streak of grease on his forearm or along his jaw that he wouldn't notice until you pointed it out. Brow furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted as he studied whatever massive machine had decided to ruin his evening. He would be tired but focused, probably refusing to admit he needed a break.

Which was why you were bringing the break to him.

You pulled out of the driveway and headed toward your favorite restaurant, the one you and Tom loved because it never missed. It was the kind of place that knew your usual order by now, the kind of place with warm lighting, good portions, and food that could make even Tom stop mid-sentence and close his eyes after the first bite.

As you drove, the sky above you shifted slowly, evening stretching itself across the city in deep blues and soft oranges. You wondered, not for the first time, if Tom had helped tune that color into existence earlier in the day. If some part of the sunset was his doing. If the world had any idea how much of its beauty rested in the hands of a man who forgot to eat unless you reminded him.

By the time you pulled up to the restaurant, your mind was already building the order.

Something hearty for Tom. Something warm. Maybe the pasta he loved, extra bread on the side because he always pretended he didn't want it and then ate most of yours. A dessert too, because he deserved it. Because he had gotten you a house. Because he was still working late. Because loving Tom often meant feeding him before his body remembered it needed food.

You parked, grabbed your phone, and sent one more text before heading inside.

You:

Don't eat anything suspicious. I'm bringing dinner.

His reply came fast.

Tom ❤️:

You don't have to, darling.

You smiled, already stepping toward the restaurant doors.

You:

I know. I want to.

And with that, you walked inside, ready to pick up dinner and take it straight to the Mechanic Shop—straight to the man who had worked so hard to build a future with you, one sunrise, one long night, and one impossible dream at a time.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃 at the shop just as the evening had settled into that deep blue hour, when the last traces of sunlight were almost gone and the streetlights had begun flickering awake one by one. The Mechanic Shop sat at the edge of town with its big garage doors half-open, warm yellow light spilling out onto the cracked pavement in long rectangles. The sign above the building buzzed faintly, one letter blinking slower than the others, and the smell of rubber, motor oil, metal, and old concrete greeted you before you even made it to the entrance.

You stepped out of the car with the bags of food in your hand, the warmth of the containers pressing through the paper and filling the air with the smell of seasoned fries, grilled meat, sauce, and fresh bread. It was a much better smell than the sharp tang of gasoline coming from the shop, though you had grown used to that scent over time. It was impossible not to when Tom came home carrying it on his clothes, his hands, his skin, and sometimes even in his hair after a long shift.

The shop was quieter than usual.

Too quiet.

Normally, there would be at least two or three other mechanics moving around—someone rolling a tire across the floor, someone arguing with a stubborn lift, someone blasting old rock music from a speaker in the corner. But tonight, there was no laughter, no tools clattering from multiple bays, no voices calling across the garage.

Just one sound.

The steady, focused rhythm of Tom working.

You followed the noise deeper inside, your shoes tapping softly against the concrete floor. The main office was empty, the front desk light still on, a half-empty coffee cup abandoned beside a stack of invoices. A calendar on the wall had grease fingerprints smudged across the corner. The waiting area chairs sat untouched, and the vending machine hummed lazily like it was the only thing keeping the building company.

Then you saw him.

Tom was in the main garage bay, bent over the open hood of a 1964 Chevy Camaro, completely absorbed in what he was doing. The car was beautiful, even half-disassembled beneath the shop lights. Its classic body sat low and powerful, all old-school muscle and sharp lines, the paint catching the overhead glow in glossy flashes. The hood was propped open, exposing the engine like a puzzle Tom was determined to solve with nothing but patience, skill, and stubbornness.

And Tom looked unfairly good doing it.

He had on a fitted black T-shirt that clung to his shoulders, chest, and arms in a way that made it impossible not to stare. Every time he shifted, the fabric pulled against his muscles, showing the strength built from long hours lifting parts, tightening bolts, and fighting with machinery that refused to cooperate. His blue jeans hung low on his hips, worn in all the right places, with a faint smear of grease near one thigh. On his feet were brown Timbs, scuffed at the toes from actual work instead of fashion, planted firmly against the concrete like he had no intention of leaving until the Camaro behaved.

Oil was smeared across him in several places. A dark streak marked one forearm. Another smudge kissed the side of his neck. There was a faint line of grease near his jaw, probably from him brushing his wrist there without thinking. His curls were messy, pushed back from his face but falling forward again as he leaned over the engine. The shop light caught the curve of his cheek, the furrow of his brow, the focused set of his mouth.

He was so locked in that he didn't even notice you come in.

You stood there for a moment, just watching him.

There was something intimate about seeing Tom like this—quiet, focused, in his element. He wasn't the sleepy boyfriend you had left in bed that morning. He wasn't the man who had laughed against your forehead after dealing with an obnoxious neighbor. He wasn't even the exhausted dreamer who had worked so hard to buy the two of you a home.

Here, he was all concentration.

Hands steady. Eyes sharp. Body moving with practiced confidence.

He reached for a wrench without looking, fingers finding it by memory on the tool cart beside him. He adjusted something near the engine block, muttered under his breath, then paused to listen as if the car itself was speaking to him in a language only he understood. The radio was off. The entire garage seemed to orbit around the small sounds he made—the scrape of metal, the click of a tool, the soft exhale when something finally loosened.

You set the bags of food down on a nearby workbench, careful not to put them too close to anything greasy. The paper crinkled softly, but Tom still didn't look up.

You smiled to yourself.

Of course he didn't notice.

You crossed the space between you quietly, stepping around a coiled air hose and a tray of sockets. The smell of oil grew stronger the closer you got, warm and metallic, mixed with the faint scent of Tom's soap beneath it. It should have been unpleasant, but it wasn't. Not really. You had smelled it on him too many times for it to feel separate from him anymore. It was part of the Tom who came home late, tired but smiling. The Tom who kissed you at the door with grease still under his nails. The Tom who tried to sneak into bed without waking you but always ended up pulling you close anyway.

So when you reached him, you didn't hesitate.

You slipped your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your chest gently to his back.

Tom jolted.

"Jesus—!" he gasped, wrench clinking against the edge of the engine as his whole body startled. His shoulders jumped beneath your hands, and he twisted just enough to look back at you, wide-eyed for half a second before recognition softened his face. "Love, you scared the hell out of me."

You laughed quietly, tightening your arms around him. "That's what you get for being so focused you don't hear me come in."

His expression shifted into that tired, affectionate smile that always made something in you melt. "I was listening to the engine."

"You were ignoring the entire world."

"Same thing sometimes." Tom replied.

You rested your cheek against his back for a moment, feeling the warmth of him through the black cotton. The shirt smelled like him and the shop—clean skin, sweat, motor oil, and grease. Not fresh-from-the-shower Tom, but work Tom. Dedicated Tom. The version of him who forgot time existed when something needed fixing.

Your hands settled at his stomach, fingers loosely linked together. "You know," you murmured, "most people answer texts about working late and then actually work with other people present."

Tom glanced toward the empty bays, then back at the Camaro like it might rescue him from the conversation.

You lifted your head, narrowing your eyes at the side of his face. "Thomas."

He sighed, the guilty kind, and turned a little more in your arms. "Don't start with the full name."

"Then explain why my boyfriend is the only mechanic in this entire shop."

Tom rubbed at his forehead with the back of his wrist, accidentally adding another faint smear of oil near his temple. "Everyone else went home."

"I can see that.” You stated.

"It wasn't supposed to take this long." Tom pointed out.

"It never is with you." You shot back.

He gave you a look—half amused, half exhausted—before glancing down at your arms still wrapped around him. His own hand came down to cover yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles. "The Camaro's owner needs it ready by tomorrow morning. It's been giving us trouble all week, and I finally figured out what's wrong with it."

"So naturally," you said, dryly, "you decided to stay here alone and fight a vintage car in the middle of the night."

"It's not the middle of the night." Tom murmured.

"It's late enough for me to bring you dinner like a worried husband."

His smile softened at that, eyes warm despite the tiredness beneath them. "You brought the food?"

"I did," you said, leaning around him to look at his face properly. "Because I know you. And I know your idea of dinner when you're working late is coffee, vending machine chips, and lying to my face."

Tom opened his mouth, then closed it.

You hummed. "Exactly."

He chuckled under his breath, turning fully now, carefully keeping his dirty hands away from your clothes even though you were already hugging him. "You didn't have to come all the way down here.”

"I wanted to." Your eyes swept over him again—the oil on his skin, the tired line of his shoulders, the stubborn focus still pulling at him even while he looked at you. "But I'm serious. Why are you here by yourself?"

Tom leaned back against the Camaro, folding his arms loosely, though his gaze flickered toward the engine like it was calling his name. "Because I'm close to finishing. Because if I leave it until morning, it'll put everyone behind. And because..." He hesitated.

You raised an eyebrow.

He exhaled. "Because the house took a lot, yeah? We're still moving in. Still buying things. Still getting settled. Extra hours help."

Your expression softened, but only a little. "Tom."

"I know," he said quickly, already anticipating the lecture. "I know. I'm not trying to run myself into the ground."

"You are literally standing here alone, covered in oil, talking about extra hours."

"But I have dinner now," he said, trying to brighten the argument with a charming smile.

You stared at him.

His smile weakened. "That didn't help?"

"Not even a little."

Tom's shoulders dropped with a small laugh, and he reached for you again, clean fingers carefully catching the edge of your hoodie sleeve. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I just want everything to be good for us."

"It is good," you said, voice gentler now. "We have the house. We have each other. Boxes everywhere, sure, but we have it. You don't have to kill yourself proving you deserve it."

That landed. You could see it in the way his eyes softened, in the way his jaw unclenched, in the way the mechanic in him finally stopped listening only to the car and started listening to you.

He looked down at you, warm and tired and so deeply yours. "I know," he said quietly. "I'm trying."

"Try harder by eating."

That pulled a real laugh out of him.

"Yes, boss."

You gave his waist one last squeeze before stepping back, pointing toward the workbench where the food waited. "Wash your hands. Sit down. Eat before I start unplugging things."

Tom's eyebrows lifted. "You wouldn't."

"I absolutely would."

He looked between you, the Camaro, and the food, then lifted both hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Dinner first."

"Good choice."

He smiled at you as he walked toward the sink in the corner of the garage, the overhead lights catching the oil on his forearms and the tired fondness in his eyes. The shop was still quiet, the Camaro still waiting, the night still long—but now Tom wasn't alone in it.

And that, at least, made all the difference.

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 two of you finished eating, you told yourself you were only going to hang around for a little while.

That had been the plan.

You had brought Tom dinner, made sure he sat down long enough to actually eat it instead of picking at fries while standing over an engine, and watched with quiet satisfaction as he leaned against the workbench and tore into the food like his body had suddenly remembered it was starving. He ate with grease still faintly embedded around his fingernails despite scrubbing his hands, his black T-shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders, his brown Timbs planted against the concrete floor. Every few bites, he'd close his eyes like the food was saving his life.

"You needed this," you said, sitting beside him on an overturned crate, your knee brushing his.

Tom gave you a look around a mouthful of food, then swallowed. "I was fine."

"You were one vending machine snack away from passing out dramatically under that Camaro."

He pointed a fry at you. "I would've passed out professionally."

You laughed, shaking your head as he grinned at you, tired but pleased. For a while, the shop felt less like a workplace and more like a strange little after-hours date spot. The overhead garage lights buzzed softly above you. The old Camaro sat in the bay with its hood propped open, waiting patiently like it knew Tom wasn't finished with it yet. Outside, the world had gone darker, the windows reflecting mostly the inside of the shop now—tools, tires, metal shelves, the warm pool of light around the two of you.

You had fully intended to leave after that.

You were going to kiss him, tell him not to stay too late, and head home to maybe unpack one box before collapsing into bed. The house still needed attention. There were clothes to fold, kitchen items to put away, and a living room that looked like a moving company had surrendered halfway through battle.

But then Tom stood up, stretched his back with a soft groan, and returned to the Camaro.

And you stayed.

At first, you told yourself it was just for a few minutes.

You lingered near the workbench, sipping from your drink, watching him fall back into his rhythm. Tom leaned over the engine, bracing one hand on the side of the car while the other reached down into the machinery. His brow furrowed in concentration, his curls falling forward over his forehead until he pushed them back with the inside of his wrist. Every movement was familiar to him. He knew where everything was without looking. He could reach for a wrench, a socket, a rag, a flashlight—all from memory.

You admired that about him.

The way his hands moved with purpose. The way he listened to a machine like it had a heartbeat. The way he paused, tilted his head slightly, and seemed to understand what most people would only hear as clanking metal and stubborn parts.

After a few minutes, he glanced over his shoulder at you. "You don't have to stay, love."

"I know." You replied.

"You've worked all day." Tom continued on.

"So have you." You shot back.

He gave you a look. "That wasn't an invitation to make it a competition."

"I'm not competing," you said, sliding off the crate and stepping closer. "I'm supervising."

Tom huffed a laugh. "Supervising?"

"Someone has to make sure you don't try to survive off vibes and engine fumes."

His smile tugged at one corner of his mouth before he turned back to the Camaro. "Fair enough."

So you stayed.

And somehow, "a little while" turned into much longer.

You didn't crowd him. You knew Tom well enough to understand when he needed space to think, and working on something this detailed required focus. You didn't hover over his shoulder every second or pepper him with questions when his face had that deep, locked-in expression. Instead, you made yourself useful in small ways.

When he asked for a wrench, you handed him the wrench.

When he asked for the socket set, you passed it over.

When he muttered, "Ten millimeter," without even looking up, you scanned the tray until you found it and placed it into his waiting palm.

His fingers brushed yours briefly each time, warm and slightly rough, and every so often he murmured a quiet, "Thank you, darling," like you were doing something far more important than handing him tools.

You liked the sound of it anyway.

You stood near the rolling tool cart, learning the layout as you went. The drawers were organized in a way that made sense to Tom and probably no one else. One drawer held wrenches lined from smallest to largest. Another held screwdrivers, pliers, and little labeled containers of bolts. There was a drawer full of sockets that looked nearly identical to you at first, but after Tom explained the differences, you started noticing the sizes and shapes.

"What does this one do?" you asked, holding up a tool that looked oddly specific.

Tom glanced at it, then smiled. "That's a spark plug socket."

"It has a whole socket just for spark plugs?" You asked him, curious.

"Spark plugs are special."

You arched a brow. "Are they?"

"They're small, important, and annoying when they don't cooperate." He paused, then glanced at you. "Like some people I know."

You narrowed your eyes. "Watch it."

His grin widened before he ducked back into the engine.

Even while helping, you made sure to let him have his space. When Tom needed to lean in closer, you stepped back. When he crouched near the front tire and reached for something underneath, you stayed beside the tool cart and waited until he asked for what he needed. When he got quiet, you let the silence sit comfortably between you.

The shop was peaceful in its own rough-edged way.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead. Somewhere in the back, an old wall clock ticked with stubborn patience. The concrete floor held the cold of the night, but the garage itself was warm from the work lights and the lingering heat of the car. The air smelled like motor oil, old leather, metal, and the faint remains of dinner. Every so often, a car passed outside, headlights sweeping briefly across the open garage door before disappearing down the street.

Tom worked steadily, his black T-shirt clinging more with each passing hour. The oil smears on his arms had multiplied. A streak cut across the back of one hand. Another dark mark stained the side of his neck, and there was still that stubborn smear near his jaw that made him look both exhausted and unfairly attractive.

You tried not to stare too obviously.

You failed.

He caught you once when he straightened up, rolling his shoulder with a faint wince.

"What?" he asked, amused.

"Nothing."

"That was not a nothing look." He pointed out.

"It was a supportive look."

"That was a checking-me-out look."

"It can be both."

Tom laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he reached for a rag and wiped his hands. "You're distracting."

"I'm literally handing you tools."

"You're doing it distractingly."

You smiled, leaning your hip against the workbench. "Sounds like a personal problem."

He pointed at you with the rag. "It is. And you're the problem."

Still, even with the teasing, there was an intimacy in the way you fit into his workspace. You weren't trying to take over. You weren't pretending to know more than you did. You were just there—present, interested, helpful in the way you could be. And Tom noticed.

You could tell by the soft looks he gave you between tasks.

By the way his hand lingered when he reached for a tool.

By the way his voice softened whenever he explained something.

He showed you parts of the engine, pointing carefully with the end of a screwdriver. He explained what had been giving him trouble, how the old car had been restored beautifully but still had issues hidden beneath the surface. He talked about timing, fuel lines, worn parts, and stubborn bolts like he was telling you a story.

Some of it went over your head.

A lot of it, honestly.

But you listened anyway because it was him. Because his eyes brightened when he explained things. Because every time you asked a question, he answered without making you feel silly.

"So this is the part that's messing everything up?" you asked, leaning in just enough to see where he was pointing.

"Partly," Tom said. "It's connected to the bigger issue. The engine's not breathing right."

You blinked. "Engines breathe?"

"In a way, yeah." He smiled at your expression. "Air, fuel, spark. It all has to balance."

You hummed, looking down at the engine. "So it's dramatic."

"It's a sixty-four Camaro. Of course it's dramatic."

You glanced at him. "Like you."

Tom's mouth dropped open in offense. "I am not dramatic."

"You almost fell asleep in your food fifteen minutes ago and still insisted you were fine."

"That's not dramatic. That's dedication."

"That's denial."

He looked away, fighting a smile. "Pass me the ratchet, please."

You handed it over immediately. "Changing the subject."

"Efficiently," he said.

Time slipped by in small pieces.

A tool passed from your hand to his.

A question asked.

A bolt loosened.

A rag was tossed over his shoulder.

A soft joke was exchanged.

The Camaro is slowly coming back together beneath his hands.

At one point, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the workbench, legs swinging lightly, watching Tom crouched near the engine with a flashlight between his teeth. His eyes narrowed in concentration, and when he reached back without looking, you already knew what he wanted. You placed the next tool into his palm before he could ask.

He paused, glanced up at you, and took the flashlight from his mouth.

"Look at you," he said, voice warm. "Learning."

You shrugged, trying to play it casual even though the praise made your chest warm. "I pay attention."

"I know you do." His gaze softened. "That's one of my favorite things about you."

For a second, the shop went quiet in that tender way that made the world feel smaller. It was just the two of you, the old car, the smell of oil, and the hum of the lights above. You looked at him, at the exhaustion under his eyes and the fondness still shining through it, and you were reminded again why you had stayed.

Not because he needed you to fix the car.

Because he needed someone there who cared enough to make sure he didn't forget himself while fixing everything else.

"You're still not staying here all night," you said softly.

Tom's expression shifted, caught between affection and guilt. "I'm nearly done."

"You said that an hour ago."

"I'm closer now."

"You better be."

He chuckled, rising to his feet with a quiet groan. He stretched his back again, and you saw the way fatigue pulled at him. Before he could fully turn away, you reached for him, catching the hem of his black T-shirt and tugging him gently closer.

He came without resistance, stepping between your knees as you sat on the workbench. His hands landed carefully on either side of you, still mindful of the grease on his skin. You reached up and brushed a curl off his forehead, then smudged lightly at the oil near his jaw with your thumb.

"You're a mess," you murmured.

His eyes flicked over your face. "A handsome mess?"

"Unfortunately."

His grin was tired but bright. "I'll take it."

You rolled your eyes, but your hands stayed on him, one resting against his chest, the other near his shoulder. Beneath your palm, you could feel the steady beat of his heart and the solid warmth of him.

"You know," he said quietly, "I like having you here."

Your expression softened. "Yeah?”

"Yeah." He looked around the shop, then back at you. "Makes it feel less... lonely."

The admission was small, but it landed heavily.

You knew Tom was used to carrying things. Work. Bills. Goals. The future. The house. The quiet pressure of wanting to be enough for both of you. Even when he didn't say it out loud, you saw it in him.

So you leaned forward and kissed him softly, not caring that he smelled like oil and grease, not caring that his hands were dirty, not caring that the workbench was cold beneath you.

"I'm here," you said against his mouth. "But you're still finishing soon."

He laughed quietly, forehead touching yours. "Yes, boss.”

You smiled. "Good.”

Then you nudged him back toward the Camaro, hopping down from the workbench and returning to your post near the tool cart like you belonged there.

Tom went back to work, but now there was something lighter in the air. He still focused on the engine, still listened closely, still moved with that careful mechanic's precision—but he wasn't alone anymore. You were there beside him, passing tools, asking questions, teasing him when he got too stubborn, and letting him have enough room to do what he did best.

And every so often, when his hand reached back for the next tool, yours was already there.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐌 ended up drifting into one of those intimate moments neither of you planned for. The shop had settled into a strange kind of peace around you both.

Somewhere near the back, an old fan clicked softly as it rotated, pushing warm shop air in lazy circles. The wall clock ticked on, but neither of you were really paying attention to time anymore.

Tom had been crouched near the front of the Camaro, one hand braced against the frame while he checked something beneath the hood. He was tired, but the kind of tired that made him quieter instead of weaker.

He reached blindly toward the rolling tool cart, expecting you to place the next tool in his hand like you had been doing for the past hour.

But this time, nothing came.

Tom glanced over his shoulder, about to ask for it, and then he stopped.

You were sitting a few feet away in one of the rolling shop chairs, one knee drawn up slightly, your foot hooked against the chair's base so you wouldn't drift across the concrete. A thick repair manual was open in your lap, its pages bent and smudged from use. You had a flashlight angled over one shoulder, shining down across the tiny print as your eyes moved line by line. Beside you, a shallow metal tray held sockets, bolts, and small tools you had been sorting through with the intense focus of someone who had fully committed to the task.

And you had oil on you.

Not a lot, but enough for Tom to notice immediately. A dark thumbprint near your wrist. A faint streak along the side of your hand. Another smudge near your forearm where you must have brushed against the edge of the engine without realizing it. There was even the smallest mark near your cheek, like you had absently touched your face while reading. You looked completely focused, brows lightly drawn together, lips slightly parted as you studied the instructions like they personally owed you an answer.

Tom just stared.

There was something about the sight that hit him harder than he expected.

You weren't just standing around waiting for him to finish. You weren't bored, annoyed, or counting down the minutes until he was done. You were there with him. Really there. In his world. In the place where he spent long hours covered in grease and chasing solutions most people would never care to understand. You had come after your own long day of work, brought him food because you knew he wouldn't take care of himself properly, and then stayed—not out of obligation, but because you wanted to.

You had given him space when he needed it. Asked questions when you were curious. Passed tools without crowding him. Let him explain things without making him feel like he was rambling. And now here you were, sitting in a rolling chair, reading a repair manual like the Camaro was a puzzle you were determined to help him solve.

It did something to him.

Something soft and heavy in his chest.

He loved seeing you like this.

He loved you being in his element like it was second nature. Loved that you could fit yourself into his chaos without making it feel crowded. Loved that you knew when to tease him and when to simply be quiet beside him. Loved that you had oil smeared on your skin and didn't even seem to care because you were too busy trying to understand what he was working on.

He loved that you went out of your way for him.

After working all day, after coming home to the half-unpacked dream house the two of you were still trying to turn into a proper home, you could have stayed there. You could have rested. You could have texted him to eat something and gone to bed. But you didn't.

You came to him.

You brought dinner. You stayed. You helped.

And more than anything, he loved that you were his.

Not in some shallow, possessive way. Not like a thing to keep or control. But in the way that made his heart settle. In the way that made the future feel real. You were his person. His safe place. His stubborn, caring, beautiful boyfriend who could fuss at him about food one minute and sit in a garage chair reading engine instructions the next.

The realization softened his entire face.

You must have felt him staring, because your eyes lifted from the manual.

You caught him looking at you.

"What?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly, though there was amusement tucked at the corners of your mouth. "Did I pick up the wrong thing?"

Tom didn't answer right away.

Instead, he placed the tool in his hand down on the edge of the workbench, gave the Camaro one last distracted glance, and then lowered himself onto another rolling chair. With one small push of his boot against the concrete, he rolled toward you.

The chair wheels whispered across the floor.

You watched him approach, confused but smiling now. "Tom?"

He rolled right in front of you, close enough that his knees brushed yours. The shop light caught the oil on his forearm, the curve of his jaw, the tired warmth in his brown eyes. He looked at you like the engine, the car, the late hour, and the entire world had temporarily stopped mattering.

"What?" you repeated, softer this time.

Tom reached for the manual in your hand.

You let him take it, though your brow lifted. "I was reading that."

"I know," he murmured.

He closed the manual gently and set it aside on the nearest workbench without looking away from you.

The gesture made your breath catch a little.

His hand came back to you, knuckles brushing lightly against your cheek, careful where the faint oil smudge marked your skin. His thumb passed over it gently, but it only smeared a little more, making him huff a quiet laugh.

"You've got oil on your face," he said.

"You've got oil everywhere."

"Yeah, but I work here."

"I'm helping."

His expression softened even more. "I know."

Something in the way he said it made your teasing fade.

The shop suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. The hum of the lights seemed quieter, the fan more distant, the night pressing gently against the windows. Tom leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull back if you wanted to, but you didn't. You stayed exactly where you were, watching his eyes drop briefly to your mouth before finding yours again.

Then he kissed you.

At first, it was gentle.

A soft press of his mouth to yours, warm and grateful, tasting faintly of the dinner you'd brought him and the coffee he absolutely had no business drinking earlier. His hand curved along the side of your face while the other settled near your knee, steadying himself as the rolling chair shifted beneath him. You kissed him back just as softly, your fingers curling lightly around the front of his black T-shirt.

But the tenderness didn't stay quiet for long.

Tom kissed you again, deeper this time, like the feeling had caught up with him all at once. Like every hour of exhaustion, every quiet moment of appreciation, every unspoken thank-you had found one place to go. Your hand slid from his shirt to the back of his neck, fingertips brushing through the messy curls at his nape. He made a low sound against your mouth, barely there but enough to make heat bloom through you.

The rolling chairs nudged together awkwardly, wheels shifting.

You laughed into the kiss.

Tom smiled against your lips, then pulled back only enough to look at you. His eyes were darker now, soft but intent. "This chair situation is ridiculous."

"You rolled over here," you reminded him.

"I had a very good reason."

"And what was that?"

His hands found your waist. "You."

Before you could answer, he tugged you toward him—not rough, but firm enough that your chair rolled forward with a little squeak. You caught his shoulders, laughing under your breath as he guided you up and over, pulling you carefully into his lap.

You settled over him, straddling him in the chair, your knees bracketing his hips while his hands anchored at your waist. The chair rocked slightly beneath the combined weight of you both, and Tom tightened his grip with a startled laugh.

"Careful," he murmured.

"You pulled me over here."

"And I'd do it again."

Your mouth curved. "You're supposed to be fixing a car."

"I am taking a very necessary break."

"Is that what this is?"

Tom tilted his head back to look at you, his smile softening into something much more intimate. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It is."

That made your chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the garage heat.

You leaned down and kissed him again.

This time, there was no pretending it was just a quick moment. His hands slid more securely around your waist, pulling you closer until your chest met his. Yours moved to his jaw, then into his hair, tugging lightly at the curls that were already a mess. He kissed you like he had been thinking about it for longer than he admitted—slow at first, then hungry, then slow again, like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to savor you or lose himself completely.

The chair gave another quiet squeak beneath you.

Neither of you cared.

Your fingers brushed over the side of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin, the faint slickness of sweat and oil, the chain resting against his collarbone. Tom's hand moved up your back, firm and grounding, while the other stayed at your hip. He kissed you until the shop, the car, the manual, the tools, and the clock all blurred into the background.

For once, Tom wasn't thinking about what still needed fixing.

He wasn't thinking about the Camaro.

He wasn't thinking about the extra hours, the house payments, the boxes waiting at home, or the long list of things he always carried in his head.

He was thinking about you.

The way you fit against him.

The way you smelled faintly like your day, his hoodie, dinner, and now the shop too.

The way you had oil on your skin because you'd stayed.

He broke the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you breathing a little heavier now. His thumb traced a slow line at your waist, and his eyes opened, meeting yours with that open, unguarded look that always made him seem younger and older at the same time.

"You know I love you, right?" he murmured.

Your fingers softened in his hair. "Yeah."

"I mean it." His voice was rough, but steady. "I love you being here. I love that you came. I love that you care enough to fuss at me and feed me and sit here reading instructions you absolutely don't have to read."

You smiled, brushing your nose lightly against his. "Somebody has to make sure you don't marry the Camaro."

His laugh came out low and warm. "Too late. I'm already spoken for."

"By me?"

His hands tightened gently at your waist.

"By you," he said, like it was the easiest truth in the world.

Then he kissed you again, slower this time, deep and lingering, his thumb moving in absent circles against your side. You melted further into him, letting the night stretch around you, letting the old Camaro wait a little longer.

Because after all the work, all the saving, all the late nights and early mornings that had brought you both to this point, Tom deserved a break.

And right then, wrapped around each other in the middle of a quiet garage, oil-smudged and tired and completely tangled up in each other, neither of you cared if that break lasted longer than planned.

Then the shift happened so gradually neither of you could really point to the exact second it changed.

One moment, the two of you were kissing in that slow, lingering way that felt like relief after a long day—warm and grateful and full of everything unspoken. The next, the air between you had grown heavier, thicker, charged with something that made every touch feel sharper and every breath come out a little less steady.

Tom's hands, which had started at your waist like he was trying to keep himself controlled, slowly began to wander. One stayed firm at the small of your back, holding you close enough that every breath you took brushed against his chest. The other slid lower, dragging over the curve of your side before settling at your hip.

Then lower still.

His palm came to rest on your backside, warm and possessive even through the fabric, and the touch pulled a sharp inhale out of you. Not rough. Not sudden. Just deliberate enough to make your whole body react. His fingers flexed there once, like he was testing your response, and when he felt the way you tensed in his lap, his eyes lifted to yours.

There was a heat in his expression now that had nothing to do with the garage.

His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower, then back up again, and the corner of his lips tipped into the faintest smile—one that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Tom," you breathed, though it didn't sound much like a warning.

"Yeah?" he murmured, voice low and rough, his thumb pressing lightly where his hand still held you.

The way he said it made your heart beat harder.

His hand guided you almost absentmindedly, just enough pressure to encourage movement, and your body answered before your brain could fully catch up. Your hips shifted against him, slow at first, a small, instinctive roll that made both of you pause for half a second.

Tom's breath caught.

The sound was quiet, but you heard it.

Felt it.

His head tipped back just slightly, lashes lowering, while his grip on you tightened. Not enough to hurt, just enough to tell you he wanted more. His other hand spread wider across your back, steadying you as the rolling chair gave a faint squeak beneath the two of you.

That tiny noise should have broken the mood.

Instead, it only made the moment feel more dangerous.

More real.

You kissed him again before he could say anything, and Tom met you instantly, like he'd been waiting for permission he was already halfway to taking. His mouth moved against yours with a kind of urgency that made your pulse stutter. The kiss deepened, your bodies drawing closer, his hand still firm on your backside as your hips moved again—this time less accidental, more intentional.

A quiet sound escaped him, half breath and half groan, swallowed immediately by your mouth.

The reaction sent a rush of heat through you.

You could feel the tension in him now—not just in the way his hands held you, but in the way his shoulders tightened beneath your palms, in the way his jaw flexed when the kiss broke for air, in the way his eyes looked darker every time they opened to find your face again.

His forehead brushed yours for a brief second, both of you breathing harder than before.

"You're trouble," he murmured, though the way he said it sounded more like admiration than complaint.

You almost laughed, but it came out softer than that, breathier. "Me?"

Tom's hand pressed at your hip again, urging the smallest motion from you, and when you followed it, his head fell back against the chair with a quiet exhale that made your stomach flip.

"Yes, you," he said, voice strained now in the prettiest way. "Sitting there looking like that. Helping me all night. Then climbing into my lap like this."

"You pulled me here," you reminded him, though your voice had lost most of its earlier confidence.

"I know," he said, eyes finding yours again. "Best decision I've made all night."

His words settled over you warmly, but it was his expression that held you. He looked tired and gorgeous and entirely undone by you.

And the fact that you were doing that to him only made you want to move closer.

So you did.

Your hands slid down from his shoulders to his chest, palms flattening there for balance as your hips rolled again, slower this time, more deliberate. Tom sucked in a breath through his teeth, the hand on your backside tightening instinctively while the one on your back traveled upward, fingers spreading along your spine as if he wanted to keep every inch of you close.

The garage suddenly felt too warm.

Or maybe that was just the two of you.

His mouth found your neck then—not frantic, not messy, but careful in a way that somehow made it worse. Better. His lips brushed just below your jaw, then lower, and every soft press sent another wave of heat through you. You tipped your head back slightly, your fingers tangling tighter in his curls, while his hand at your hip kept encouraging that same slow, maddening rhythm.

Neither of you said much after that.

You didn't need to.

The sounds between you said enough—the catch of Tom's breath, the faint squeak of the chair, the soft rustle of denim and cotton, the quiet little noises that slipped out whenever one of you touched the other just right. It all built into something thick and consuming, something that made the whole world shrink down to his lap, his hands, his mouth, the heat of him beneath you.

At one point, Tom leaned back just enough to look at you again, his hands still anchored on you, his expression somewhere between awe and restraint.

"We should stop," he said, though he made absolutely no move to let you go.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling, your forehead still almost touching his. "Do you want to?"

His laugh was breathless, almost disbelieving. "No."

"Then that's not very convincing."

A helpless smile tugged at his mouth before he kissed you again, harder this time, like whatever last thread of control he'd been holding had finally slipped loose. His hand on your backside pressed more firmly, guiding you once more, and the response it pulled from both of you made the air between your bodies feel electric.

The old Camaro waited nearby. The tools still lay scattered. The repair manual sat abandoned on the workbench where Tom had tossed it. The clock kept ticking.

But for those moments, neither of you cared.

Because the night had already gone off-script, and now the two of you were suspended in it—oil-smudged, flushed, tangled together in the middle of the garage—letting the need you'd been dancing around finally take up all the space between you.

That was until reality seeped back —you broke the kiss first, though it took every ounce of willpower you possessed to do it.

Your lips parted from Tom’s slowly, reluctantly, lingering for one last soft brush before you finally pulled back. The space between your faces felt paper-thin and crackling with electricity, your mingled breaths warm and unsteady against each other’s skin. Both of you were flushed—cheeks heated, chests rising and falling faster than before—and far more aroused than either of you had planned when the evening began in a simple garage. Your fingers were still buried deep in his dark curls, the soft strands wrapped loosely around your knuckles, while Tom’s hands remained planted possessively on your body: one splayed wide at the curve of your waist, the other resting low on your backside, fingers flexed like he was fighting the urge to pull you right back in.

You could feel the evidence of how quickly things had escalated.

The heavy, insistent heat low in your belly.The throbbing ache of pure want between your thighs.The way every point of contact—his lap beneath you, his chest against yours, his hands on your body—suddenly felt electric, dangerous, and far too tempting to ignore.

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing, and leaned back just enough to really look at him.

Tom looked utterly wrecked in the most devastatingly beautiful way.

His curls were a wild disaster, pushed in every direction by your eager fingers, a few strands sticking damply to his forehead. His lips were kiss-swollen, a deeper pink than usual, slightly parted as he caught his breath. His chest heaved beneath the fitted black T-shirt, the fabric stretched tight across his shoulders and pectorals, clinging to the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. Oil still marked him everywhere: a glossy streak along one forearm, a smudge near the sharp line of his jaw, another faint streak at his temple where he must have wiped his face earlier. Somehow those marks only made him look better—like a perfectly imperfect blend of exhausted, hardworking mechanic and pure, walking temptation. His brown eyes had gone dark and molten, heavy-lidded, fixed on you with an intensity that twisted low in your stomach and made your thighs tighten around his hips.

“Love…” he murmured, voice low, rough, and deliciously gravelly. His forehead nearly touched yours again as one thumb traced slow, distracted circles along your side, like he physically couldn’t stop touching you. “Why’d you stop?”

You let out a shaky breath that almost became a laugh. “Because,” you whispered, “if I don’t stop now, I’m not going to want to stop at all.”

Tom’s mouth twitched—half amused, half beautifully tortured. “That’s sort of the problem, yeah.”

You shook your head, fighting a smile even as warmth continued to pool through your body. “No, the actual problem is that you still have a car to finish.”

His expression shifted into pure, quiet disbelief, eyebrows lifting.

“You’re bringing up the Camaro right now?” he asked, sounding personally betrayed by the words.

You arched an eyebrow, even though your body was still draped intimately over his lap, thighs bracketing his hips in a way that completely undermined any attempt at responsibility. “Yes. I am.”

Tom stared at you for a long second, breathing still ragged, hands still firmly holding you in place. “You kiss me like that, climb into my lap, grind against me until I can barely think straight, and now you want to be responsible?”

“I’m always responsible,” you said, trying to sound firm.

He gave you a long, skeptical look that made heat flare in your cheeks.

You softened, sliding one hand from his messy curls to cup his cheek, thumb gently brushing the faint oil smear there. “Tom,” you said quietly, tenderly, “finish the car first.”

His jaw flexed, and his eyes searched your face desperately, hunting for any crack in your resolve.

“You say that,” he murmured, voice dropping even lower, “but you’re still sitting on me like you belong here.”

That pulled a real laugh from you—breathless and warm.

You leaned in and pressed one more soft, teasing kiss to his mouth, short but lingering just enough to be dangerous. “Because I like sitting on you,” you whispered against his lips.

Tom groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest as he tipped his head back against the chair, eyes closing like he was silently begging the garage ceiling for strength. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m trying to,” you said innocently.

“No,” he countered, lifting his head to pin you with that dark, heated stare again, “you’re being incredibly, unfairly attractive while pretending to be practical. Completely different thing.”

Your smile turned slow and knowing. For a moment the temptation tugged hard—the quiet garage, the late hour, the way Tom was looking at you like he wanted to devour you right there in the rolling chair. It would be so easy to give in, to roll your hips again and let the heat between you consume everything else.

But then your gaze flicked past his shoulder to the Camaro.

The open hood. The exposed engine. The scattered tools and parts still waiting for his skilled hands.

If you let this continue, that car was never getting finished tonight.

You ran your thumb tenderly over his cheekbone and smiled, softer now. “I’m serious. Finish up with the car before we get down and dirty in the shop.”

The moment the words left your mouth, Tom went very still.

Then one corner of his lips lifted in a slow, predatory smirk.

“In the shop?” he repeated, voice dropping into a dangerously low register that sent a fresh shiver down your spine.

You rolled your eyes, though you could feel fresh heat blooming across your face. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’ve already started,” he said, gaze dragging slowly over your lips, your throat, your body in his lap. His hands flexed meaningfully at your waist, as if he were already picturing every filthy version of that suggestion. “That’s a terrible, wonderful thing to put in my head while I’m supposed to be working.”

“You were the one kissing me like you forgot your own name,” you shot back.

“I nearly did.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile, but the satisfaction was impossible to hide. Tom carried so much—long hours, pressure, the weight of building a life for both of you—and seeing him like this, a little unraveled, a little desperate, a little lost in you, filled your chest with warm, smug affection.

Still, you held your ground.

You leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth gently. “Then use that motivation,” you whispered against his skin. “Finish the car.”

Tom let out another low groan—half laugh, half genuine suffering—before dropping his forehead to your shoulder. You felt the warm rush of his breath through the fabric of his hoodie you were wearing. “You are evil.”

“Disciplined,” you corrected sweetly.

“Cruel.”

“Helpful.”

He lifted his head, eyes full of affection, frustration, and raw want all tangled together. “You really expect me to focus after all that?”

“Yes,” you said simply, smoothing your fingers through his curls one last time with tender affection. “I do.”

Tom studied your face for another long beat, then exhaled heavily through his nose in defeat. “And if I finish quickly?”

Your smile turned slow and full of promise. “Then maybe your reward will still be waiting right here.”

His eyes darkened instantly, pupils blowing wide.

“Dangerous answer,” he muttered, voice rough.

“Then get to work, mechanic.”

For a moment neither of you moved, caught in the charged silence. Then Tom’s hands loosened on your waist with clear reluctance, allowing you to carefully slide off his lap. The rolling chair squeaked as your weight shifted, wheels rolling back a few inches while your feet met the cool concrete floor. The sudden absence of his warmth made you acutely aware of how worked up you still were, the imprint of his hands and the press of his body lingering on your skin.

Tom stayed seated for another second, elbows on his knees, scrubbing both hands down his face with a quiet, frustrated groan.

“You alright there?” you asked, folding your arms and giving him your most innocent look.

He laughed—low, breathless, and utterly fond—then looked up at you through those messy curls. “No. Not even a little.”

That made you grin.

He pushed to his feet with a deep exhale, adjusting the hem of his T-shirt and rolling his shoulders like he was physically rebooting into mechanic mode. His gaze bounced between you and the Camaro several times, the internal battle clear on his face.

Work.You.Work.You.

Finally, he pointed at you with mock sternness, though his eyes still burned. “You are not allowed to say anything else suggestive while I finish this.”

“I didn’t say anything suggestive.”

Tom just stared at you.

You shrugged, lips twitching. “Okay… maybe a little.”

“A little?” He shook his head, already walking back toward the open hood with a soft laugh. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“No,” you said, settling back into the rolling chair and picking up the repair manual again, “I’m trying to make sure the car gets fixed before I distract you even worse.”

Tom paused beside the Camaro and glanced back.

You were sitting there once more—manual open in your lap, faint oil smudges still visible on your skin, looking deceptively composed for someone who had just been grinding in his lap minutes earlier. Your eyes dropped to the page, but the small, knowing smile playing at the corner of your mouth made it obvious you were still very aware of the effect you had on him.

Tom blew out a long breath and turned back to the engine. “This is absolute torture.”

You flipped a page innocently. “That sounds dramatic.”

“It is dramatic.”

“It’s a ’64 Camaro,” you said, echoing his earlier words with a grin. “Of course it is.”

That finally pulled a genuine laugh from him.

He bent over the engine again, tools clinking as he got back to work, but the moment hadn’t vanished. It simply simmered.

It lingered in every brush of fingers when you passed him a socket.In every heated glance he stole over his shoulder.In the heavy, delicious tension that made the quiet garage feel alive with promise.

The night stretched on, the Camaro slowly coming back together beneath his skilled hands, while both of you held onto the warm, aching anticipation of what would happen the moment he was finished.

Theo stood perfectly still and waited for you to fix his tie. For some reason, Theo asked you to fix his tie today, instead of doing it himself. He watched you in the mirror, not at himself.

There was something about seeing you adjust his uniform, the same way you had for years, that made his chest tighten. You were always so careful with it, like it mattered to fix him just right.

And then there was how easily you could walk into a room full of strangers and come out with three new friends by dinner’s end, effortless charm that Theo both admired and relied on without shame. He doesn’t bother going to make friends himself, if you gained yourself a new friend, they are now his too, automatically.

“Have you studied the notes?” you asked. And Theo blinked, just once before remembering.

Right…Potion quizzes.

Of course. He'd studied all afternoon, trying to memorize every potion name, its purpose and other ingredients. But he hadn’t mentioned it. Why would he? Boasting wasn't his style.

He turned slightly toward you, hands tucked into his pockets now that the tie was fixed and perfect.

"I... yeah." he admitted quietly after a beat too long, a subtle sign of nervousness only you could read so easily. "I went over them last night, just in case."

His blue eyes flickered to yours briefly before dropping again, not out of shame or fear exactly… but because impressing you mattered more than anything and failing wasn't an option for someone like him who rarely tried at all outside schoolwork or dueling practice. And you, only hum in return, a way of showing your approval.

Well, he knew that small “Mhmm” of yours, low and warm like a contented sigh and it settled something in him. Approval from you wasn't given lightly. If Theo had studied hard enough to satisfy that quiet nod of yours? Then yes…he'd done good. It’s not anyone's fault your type is a nerdy dude with pretty eyes. He must keep up.

The halls were already filling with students chatting excitedly or nervously about the quiz, a mix of nervous energy buzzing through Slytherin green robes but Theo walked through it all quietly focused. He can’t afford to panic. Right now? He is thinking only about acing this damn test so you could be proud later without even having to say it.

By noon, students had gathered in the dining hall. Theo sat at the long Slytherin table like a shadow given form, still, silent, and utterly unapproachable. The seat beside him? Empty. Not because no one dared sit there, but because he’d claimed it. Always had. For years now, ever since you two share dorms and started choosing each other everywhere by habit. He didn’t speak. Didn’t glare harshly either, just that cool stare as if silently saying That seat is taken.

And everyone knew who for.

It wasn't possessive in an ugly way, it was routine by now, a quiet ritual between you both where he secured your place without being asked while pretending he wasn't doing anything special at all.

“How was it? Pretty easy right?” You entered the dining hall and immediately knew where to go…sitting down next to Theo and that’s the first thing that came to your mind. Just checking in post-quiz.

Theo looked up the moment you approached.

A flicker of concern passed through him before he masked it behind a nonchalant expression.

"It was... manageable" Theo said carefully, lying because if he admitted how hard those final questions were? You might worry you'd failed them all and been doomed since question five. Instead, he reached for one of the untouched bread rolls on his plate and pushed it toward you without comment. You just hummed and muttered something about being starving.

And Theo just watched you dive into the food with quiet satisfaction.

He hadn't missed that you'd skipped breakfast again. You always did it before tests, claiming a full stomach muddled your focus. It drives him mad, knowing you probably pushed through the hunger to do the test with your best performance.

Now here you were: finally eating like a normal person after hours of starvation during exams. He could practically see the tension in your shoulders melt away as you tore into the bread roll and reached for soup from one of the steaming bowls.

Without saying anything, Theo nudged his own shredded roast chicken closer to your side of the table, the plumpest piece and kept eating slowly beside you, occasionally sipping water but mostly just... observing how quickly hunger had taken over you.

With years of being next to you, Theo has noticed the pattern by now.

The way you ate, happy, relaxed bites, not rushed or nervous, meant one thing: you thought you’d done well. That quiet satisfaction in your chewing was all the confirmation he needed. However, if you didn’t do well on the test, you would throw a half-ass excuse to return to your shared dorm and sleep off.

Theo kept refilling your plate quietly. Another slice of roast beef here. A spoonful of mashed potatoes there. Then a buttered roll, placed gently on your plate while you’re busy yapping his ears off, like an offering.

“Is that Anastasia?” you smirked, and looked at the girl approaching their table side. Theo followed your gaze and immediately stiffened, just slightly.

Anastasia was walking toward them, her Slytherin robes perfectly pressed, a book tucked under one arm. She smiled brightly, always did and it reached her eyes in that warm way people had when they genuinely liked someone.

Anastasia…what’s to say about her? She’s almost perfect in every way: pretty face, good grade, pureblood, plays violin. Also the first one Theo talked to when he arrived at Hogwarts. They became friends in the first year when Anastasia decided to stick around because she found Theo’s company…comforting. When there’s heavy rain or loud thunder, she would come by the dorm and knock on it, seeking comfort because of her fear. And you don’t seem to mind, you let Anastasia have your bed while you sleep on the common room’s couch. Because you learned that she doesn’t get along well with her roommate. If not hanging with her perfect little friend group, she would be sticking close to you and Theo. You think she has the fattest crush on your roommate Theo and it never fades as the three of you grow older. But there’s something in your guts that believes Theo only lets her follow out of pity. He thinks Anastasia doesn’t have any real friends.

“Hey there Theo! How was the quiz?” She beamed, greeting in that soft voice of hers.

He swallowed hard, fingers tightening slightly around his fork before setting it down slowly. Anastasia’s crush has been growing stronger and stronger, not subtle anymore it makes Theo sort of…uncomfortable.

"Um." he muttered, trying not to sound too dry or dismissive. "It... went well."

That was all? That's what he gave after years of this girl being kind and thoughtful and perfect?

Meanwhile inside panic was settling in. Because how could he possibly give her attention when every time she smiled at him, all Theodore could think about was whether you would notice.

“Oh...I’m glad...there's a book event this afternoon and...uhm I have a spare ticket! Would you like to go with me?” Damn…girl pulled all of her bravery to say that.

Then Anastasia held out the spare ticket like it was a fragile thing, her fingers trembling just slightly, her cheeks flushed with courage. The book event was one of those rare ones hosted by one of the professors at school, rare first editions, signed copies from famous wizards, even a small exhibit on ancient artifacts. Most nerdy students would kill for an invite.

And she’d saved one…just for Theo.

She smiled nervously now, eyes wide and hopeful as they locked onto his face, the boy who never seemed to look at anyone twice… but always looked at you with that soft gaze when he thought no one noticed.

A beat passed. Then another. Theo’s throat went dry. His mind was calculating how to use his words correctly to reject her with respect until…

“YES... yes he would loveeee to go with you, Anastasia. It will be so fun” your yes was so loud, even some students turned their heads. And you dragged your love at the word love to calm the girl’s nerves. But…

The second you spoke, Theo’s head snapped toward you. What.

His eyes, ocean blue and usually so composed, widened. Not in anger, not quite… but in pure shock.

You had agreed for him. Without hesitation. Without even glancing at Theo first to check if he wanted to go.

Anastasia lit up instantly, her nervousness melting into radiant joy. "Really? Oh! That's wonderful!" She beamed between the two of you like she’d just won the lottery or better yet: secured a date with Theodore Nott himself.

Theo stayed frozen though, fork halfway back to his plate after being abruptly abandoned mid-bite by your sudden intervention. He wanted to beat your ass up so bad.

The moment Anastasia turned and rejoined her group of equally striking Slytherin girls, their laughter carrying over in a melodic hum, he felt something cold settle in his chest.

The feeling was more like... disorientation. Like reality had shifted without warning and now everything felt slightly off.

You, meanwhile, kept eating cheerfully, as if you hadn't just decided Theo’s social plans for him. “What's with your face? There's a date with a so-hot-and-gorgeous girl waiting for you and you’re sulking?” You snorted.

Theo blinked, once, twice like he’d just seen a ghost. The words so-hot-and-gorgeous bounced around his skull like they were in another language. Anastasia was… objectively beautiful. Intelligent, kind, popular, the kind of girl every Slytherin guy dreamed about asking to an event. And yet…

Yet here he was: staring at your careless hand-waving gesture instead of reacting with excitement or gratitude toward the date that had literally just fallen into his lap.

His jaw worked slightly before he finally spoke and when it came out? It wasn’t enthusiasm. It wasn't even polite.

"It's not a date." Theo said quietly, not harshly but firmly as if correcting someone who'd gotten something terribly wrong.

“It’s soooo like a date” you can’t help but push his button one more time.

Theo's expression darkened, not anger, but something quieter and more complicated.

You smirked like this was all some big joke, a fun little setup where Theo got to go on an adorable date with the prettiest girl in Slytherin. And honestly? Anyone else would’ve been thrilled.

But Theo wasn’t anyone else. "It's not." he repeated, voice low but steady and there was weight behind it this time

“Why are you upset? It's an opportunity to widen your social circle” you huffed and finish the rest of the stew in one big gulp. You had your point, Theo rarely engages in outdoor activities unless you were coming with him, other than you, he doesn’t bother hanging out with anyone else who can’t handle socialising like you do.

He watched you chew the last bite of bread like this was all so simple. Social circle. Right. As if he hadn’t spent years being perfectly fine with his current one, small, controlled, consisting of you, Draco’s group and a few library fellas. That’s it.

And now you wanted him to suddenly expand it? To go on a date-like outing with Anastasia just because she’d been nice for years?

It wasn't that he disliked her. She was lovely, smart, kind-hearted but Theo had never looked at her that way.

"I don't need to widen my social circle." he said evenly.

“It’ll be fun. Theo, I promise” you nudge him with your elbow. In your eyes, Theo is like a black cat. Never put effort in making new friends and just settle for what he has in hand now. Theo leaned back slightly from the nudge, avoiding physical contact like it burned. The word fun echoed in his ears, but it didn’t sit right. Not with this situation.

Fun was Quidditch matches where he’d stand in the Slytherin row and yell insults, trash talk at the opposing team when you’re on your broom chasing for your life. Fun was sneaking into the kitchens after curfew to steal treacle tart with you. Fun was quiet nights studying together by firelight with a cigarette in mouth.

Not… going on a pre-planned event with someone who clearly liked him romantically when his heart stupidly, hopelessly wasn’t even looking that way. He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his plate mindlessly before muttering:

"I don't want fun if I'm not actually interested.”

The silence between you two turned thick, charged like the air before a storm. Theo didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t snap or argue further. He just…turned away.

That glare? Brief but sharp as shattered glass—and it wasn't anger at Anastasia, not really.

It was hurt. The kind that stung quietly because you, the person whose opinion mattered more than anyone’s hadn't considered how Theo might actually feel about this. Instead of asking him first, you'd handed him over to someone else without hesitation… like Theo's feelings were irrelevant compared to social expectations. Like you were no longer possessive about others trying to be Theo’s friend in the first year because it’s just you and him against the world.

The afternoon passed quietly between classes, History of Magic and Transfiguration. Theo walked through the halls in silence beside you, not speaking unless necessary. The usual comfortable companionship was gone, replaced by a tense sort of distance. He answered when spoken to but didn’t initiate conversation.

And then came the book event.

Tables lined with rare books from various magical schools were set up around the vast open air space. A few professors stood near their displays explaining enchanted editions or historical texts, and students from Hogwarts as well as visiting schools wandered around browsing.

Theo stood near the back of the room, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

The limited ticket section was roped off, an exclusive area where students could meet their favorite authors. Theo knew every name on that guest list. And right now? He should’ve been excited.

This was his kind of thing, rare books, intellectual discussions, meeting people who shaped spells he studied every day. But instead… all he felt was hollow tension. Because in five minutes or so? Anastasia would arrive expecting him and you had basically forced this on him.

Theo’s gaze drifted automatically, habitually to you. He always sensed and quickly spotted you the next second you entered the room. Or anywhere.

And there you were: surrounded by people. Laughing. Talking with Draco Malfoy of all people, plus a few other Slytherins. Merlin, you even talk to students from other schools.

You fit right in everywhere, the effortless charm, the bright smile that drew others like moths to flame. You looked happy too. Completely unbothered by anything… including Theo’s absence.

Meanwhile Anastasia had just arrived, spotting him immediately and she started weaving through the crowd toward him with her ticket held up slightly.

“Hey Theo…I’m sorry you have to wait...these heels won't behave” She chuckled. So angel like.

Theo forced a small, polite smile. She was adorable. Truly. The way she apologized for being late because of her heels, so sweetly embarrassed about it and how effortlessly kind she seemed.

"Hi." he said back quietly, his tone softer than usual to compensate for the fact that he hadn’t been waiting eagerly.

He glanced down at her feet briefly, the elegant but clearly uncomfortable-looking heels and then away again before meeting her eyes properly.

"It's fine. I just got here."

Theo didn’t pull away when Anastasia took his hand boldly. She was enthusiastic…so excited about every book they passed. She’d squeeze his fingers and tug him toward displays with giddy little noises, like “Oh! Theo, look at this one!” and honestly? It wasn't so awful.

The famous author he admired spoke briefly on stage, a dry lecture about the evolution of wand core but Theo listened intently anyway. And for a few moments… he almost forgot to glance around for you in the crowd.

Anastasia bought him a first edition copy of Magical Theory: Foundations, something rare and expensive she clearly saved up for. When she handed it to him with that shy smile? He actually felt… touched.

Theo hesitated only a second before spotting the perfect book, a first edition of Ancient Magic: A Comprehensive History, signed too.

It wasn’t cheap. Not even close. But Anastasia had just given him something incredibly valuable, both financially and personally and he wanted to return the gesture.

Without saying anything, he paid for it discreetly at a private counter and waited until they were near a quieter corner away from crowds. Then, holding out the wrapped package with both hands, an unusual level of formality from someone usually so reserved, he offered it to her.

The walk back to the Slytherin girls' dorm was slow, mostly because Anastasia kept pausing to adjust her sore feet, wincing every few steps.

"Ugh, these heels are murder…" she groaned dramatically, not unkindly but Theo didn’t offer his arm or suggest carrying her like a gentleman in love might.

He just nodded quietly. "We're almost there."

And it wasn't cold. It wasn't rude either, just distant in that way he got when his heart belonged to someone else already.

Every word out of his mouth had been polite all evening. Pleasant smiles during author talks, soft thanks for gifts… but nothing beyond what basic dates demanded.

Because no matter how sweet Anastasia was or how nice this event technically went, his thoughts kept circling back to you.

Theo paused under the dim glow of the torchlight near her dorm entrance. Anastasia stood facing him, still smiling that warm, grateful smile, the kind that made most guys melt. Her eyes sparkled with genuine appreciation for spending time with him today.

"Thank you…" she says softly "for coming with me."

It was a simple sentence but sincere. She wasn’t asking for anything more than this moment of gratitude.

And Theo? He felt… guilty again

Not because he’d had a bad time, but because she clearly hoped this might lead to something romantic… and he knew deep down that it wouldn't.

The dorm was quiet when Theo returned, just the soft crackle of the fireplace and the rustle of pages turning.

Theo stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. The sight that greeted him: you sprawled on your bed, barefoot, one dangling off the bed, absorbed in a book you just bought from the book event.

You didn’t look up right away. Didn’t react to Theo’s return like usual. Instead? Just… reading. Peacefully ignoring everything else.

And suddenly it hit Theo again: This was where he belonged, right here with you, not walking another girl back to her dorm. This.

Then, you finally spoke up when Theo slips off his dark robe. “How was it? The cutest date with the most perfect lady in Slytherin?” You smirked

Theo kicked off his shoes by the door, thud, before walking over to his own bed.

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat down on the edge, loosening his tie with slow fingers while eyeing your smug, teasing expression.

Instead of biting back like he usually would when annoyed… Theo exhaled through his nose and said flatly.

"It was fine."

“Fine? Tell me something interesting” You rolled your eyes at his boring response.

Theo glanced at you, really looked at you for the first time since returning.

That eye roll. That impatient, spill it tone. Typical you when you wanted details but wasn’t gonna ask nicely.

Fine? Theo could’ve left it there… but something in him, maybe irritation, maybe the need to prove this date meant nothing made him actually respond.

"Anastasia bought me a rare book." he said casually, hanging his robe on a hook by their shared wardrobe.

Then added: "I got her one too. Signed by the author."

“Well, that’s real cute, nerd” you chuckled

Theo frowned slightly at the word cute.

It wasn’t at least, he didn’t think so. Buying books? Giving gifts? That was just… normal for people who liked literature. Not "cute" like some cheesy romance novel.

He shot you a look, half annoyance, half something else he wouldn't name.

But you kept chuckling, still curled up with your own book like Theo’s evening hadn't mattered at all. And suddenly it annoyed him more than Anastasia ever could have.

“You’re being hard to get. The girl practically spent years chasing you. She’s perfect in every way, too, why are you declining any of this?”

Theo’s jaw tightened.

Hard to get?

He wasn’t hard to get, he was selective. There is a difference. One implied he had no standards and just pushed everyone away, the other meant he actually cared about who he spent time with.

And "perfect in every way"? That sounded like you hadn't even seen Anastasia properly, just assumed she was flawless because she smiled a lot and gave gifts.

Without thinking, Theo snapped:

"She's not perfect." Too harsh? Maybe. But it burst out before he could stop it. Maybe she has been sticking around both of them because she can’t make a friend among the slytherin girls long enough, doesn’t mean you know her that much to be glazing her.

Theo's fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his bed sheet. That smirk…that stupid, knowing smirk. Was what made it worse. Like you found this whole situation amusing instead of serious.

He didn’t want Anastasia because she was pretty and popular, he wanted someone whose presence didn’t feel like a performance.

And that person… had been sitting right across from him for years without realizing it.

“I’m going to shower, damn. Walking through that crowd is torturous” You grabs

a pair of clothes and go to the communal bath. Usually, Theo would follow. They stick together in every activity.

Theo watched you leave, clothes in hand, heading for the communal baths. And just like that… he was alone again.

Normally, Theo would’ve followed without hesitation. You two always do things together: studying, eating meals, walking to class but tonight? After the whole Anastasia thing?

He didn’t move right away. Just sat there on his bed as the door clicked shut behind you. The silence felt heavier than usual. Not tense exactly… but strange No footsteps trailing after you down the hall.

The next morning, Theo woke up feeling... off.

Not sick, just wrong. Like his skin was too tight or something under it had shifted overnight. He couldn’t pinpoint the discomfort exactly, but he knew why.

You were pushing him away subtly. Giving him opportunities to socialize with others like Anastasia because you thought Theo needed a "wider circle." Except that wasn't what Theo wanted at all

He wanted you. Badly. Not new friends. Not dates arranged by well-meaning roommates who didn't understand anything.

And now this distance? This one-day break in their usual routine? It itched worse than any spell gone wrong. Feels like something is crawling under his skin, he feels uncomfortable.

The morning routine was the same, brushing teeth, changing into uniform, gathering books but everything doesn’t feel the same.

Theo moved quietly beside you like always: same pace down the hall to class, same silent walk through corridors crowded with students. But where he used to match your steps effortlessly…almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Now they were half a step apart. And it wasn’t just physical distance.

It was how Theo kept glancing at you when you weren't looking. How his fingers tapped restlessly against his book cover during Charms class nervously, something he never did because he feels at ease next to you. How could a man who lives by routine like him survive this?

But you? Oblivious. Still chatting lightly with Draco or other classmates without noticing Theo's tension.

Not to mention the other day, Theo froze halfway down the corridor. The Quidditch pitch was just behind and you, still sweaty from practice, hair damp at the temples had caught someone’s attention. Happens everyday.

A Hufflepuff girl rushed over with a water bottle and a towel. She smiled brightly as she handed them to you, clearly excited about seeing you up close after practice.

And you? Ever the polite social butterfly? took it all with that easy grin of yours, the one Theo knew too well and thanked her warmly

“That’s so thoughtful…thank you. What’s your name?”

Something hot flared in Theo's chest. Not anger exactly... but discomfort. A tightness he couldn't name when she handles you a bag of dessert.

Theo’s eyes locked onto the bag of cookies.

Chocolate chips. Still warm, probably fresh from the Hufflepuff kitchens. The girl had baked them herself, you could tell by how carefully she’d wrapped them in parchment paper tied with a yellow ribbon.

And she handed them to you like an offering, a sweet, thoughtful gesture that was so very Hufflepuff. You got her name, Marie, cute.

"Oh wow you baked these yourself?…this smells amazing. I can already tell you’re a great baker, Marie" you said brightly. Your words? Are heaven to the girl.

Theo’s face burned. Not from anger exactly but something far more. A possessive heat surged through him, hot and irrational, making his eyes twitch his jaw lock tight.

There were you: sweaty, smiling, accepting gifts like chocolate chips cookies baked with affection… from some Hufflepuff girl who clearly liked you. And Theo? Standing there. Saying nothing. Just watching as another person handed you something sweet, a love language he didn’t even speak. His hands curled into fists at his sides without meaning to.

Draco leaned against the common room’s armchair, watching Theo storm in with that murderous frown on his face.

It was almost comical…Theo Nott? The usually cool-headed and aloof nerd? Looking like he wanted to set someone on fire.

"Damn…" Draco drawled sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. "Who ate your owl?"

The jab was light, typical Malfoy teasing but there was genuine curiosity underneath. Even he could tell something had upsetted Theo badly. Theo didn’t even glance at Draco. He kept walking, past the couches, past the torches and headed straight for his shared dorm without a word. Draco blinked. That was… cold. Even for Theo. Most days, he’d at least grunt in response to a comment like that, but today? Nothing. Just silence and an expression so dark it could’ve cursed someone on sight.

"Bloody hell…" Draco muttered under his breath before turning back to Crabbe and Goyle who were lounging nearby.

Whatever happened… it must’ve been bad. Really bad.

Hogwarts glowed with Christmas magic, red and green fabrics wrapped around staircases, enchanted snowflakes drifting through the halls, and twinkling lights strung across every corridor.

It was you two’s favorite time of year.

Every winter before break, you and Theo had a quiet little tradition: you’d exchange secret gifts, nothing extravagant…just thoughtful things, wear matching pajamas for movie night with hot chocolate where Theo would fight you to pick his favourite muggle show, then go back to whichever house you two were staying at over winter break.

Last year? You both went to your manor. The year before that, the Nott manor. This routine wasn’t announced or planned publicly… just something you two did. Quality time.

The whispers started subtly, then exploded.

Girls in the Slytherin dorms began to spread things about you being a womanizer, and boast about how you speak so lowly of women among the campus.

Anastasia had been friendly with you up until now, grateful even for your help setting her up with other guys but when she overheard two Slytherin girls gossiping about “He totally said girls are pathetic and hopeless! He really thought all we care about is boys!" during breakfast…Her face went pale. Then red. Then furious. Anastasia has a strong sense of feminism so…She stopped speaking to you entirely. As well as your female friends.

The tension in the Slytherin common room thickened like frost on glass.

You didn’t understand why Anastasia suddenly avoided you, no smiles, no greetings, not even a glance your way during meals. She used to laugh with you about boys she liked, now she walked right past as if you were invisible.

And Theo? He was volcanic. You were walking on thin ice 24/7. Literally

Every time you tried to casually ask what was going on,Theo snapped or went silent. His moods swung wildly: cold when someone mentioned her name, irritable during study hours. Eventually, you had enough.

Theo woke up in the middle of the night. The dorm was quiet, bathed in the soft blue glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains. He blinked before his eyes landed on your empty bed. But something felt off. Theo sat up slowly, running a hand through his messy hair before standing and sleeping in his shoes.

Without thinking much, other than assuming you had gone to meet someone, Theo slipped out of the room and followed silently down the halls.

The castle was hushed at this hour, only the faint hum of enchanted decorations and the occasional creak of old stone floors.

Theo moved quietly, his steps light as he followed your silhouette. He didn’t know why exactly, maybe just habit, or maybe something deeper nagging him to check.

Up the stairs… past portraits that snored softly… toward the astronomy tower, their usual spot when either wanted space but not loneliness. When Theo reached the top door, it wasn't fully shut. A thin gap remained and through it: a sliver of pale moonlight... and you are leaning back against the marble rail, not fully sitting, alone with a cigarette in mouth.

“I know you're following me, Theo” you snorted.

Theo paused just outside the door. He didn't mean to get caught, wasn’t even sure why he’d come up here in the first place but you called him out so casually, like it was obvious. And then… that pat-pat on the empty space beside you. An invitation.

For a second, Theo hesitated. He wasn't mad at you, not really but everything between them felt tangled lately: Anastasia's coldness, unspoken tensions over girls and gifts and whatever stupid rumor was going around. But still... he stepped inside.

“Are you going to go all cold shoulder on me this time or are we gonna talk?” you say calmly.

Theo took the cigarette without a word, plucking it straight from your fingers and brought it to his lips. A sharp inhale. The tobacco burned slightly, grounding. He exhaled slowly, smoke curling into the cold night air between them before glancing sideways at you.

The "cold shoulder" comment stung because… yeah. He had been distant lately, not on purpose or maybe he was… but still.

Instead of answering with some dramatic speech about feelings? Theo just passed the cigarette back silently.

“Talk, Theo. Tell me what's going on.” you say, taking a puff yourself.

Theo stared at the sky, stars scattered like dust across the velvet black. The silence stretched, heavy with everything he hadn’t said. He took another slow drag of the cigarette before passing it back. Sharing a muggle cigarette was one of his favourite activities with you.

Then, finally: "Anastasia hates you now."

He didn’t look at you when he said it, just kept his gaze upward but his voice was quieter than usual, almost... tired. He knew how that affected you. You have a load of female friends, you’re a people person and cherish every friend you have. So, naturally, you almost collapse when they suddenly turn their back against you.

“Woop. That's unavoidable when there's an unsolved misunderstanding. But I don't want to talk about Anastasia.” you huffed, shrugging. “Tell me about you.”

Theo exhaled slowly, the smoke dissipating into the winter air. About him.

That was… complicated. Theo wasn’t one for opening up, never had been. He kept things close to his chest, especially feelings.

He hesitated before speaking again, voice low and measured like he was choosing each word carefully:

"I don't like seeing you with other girls.” he tried. Wondering if the message gets through your head. He is in love with you. For Merlin’s sake.

“Huh…I’m with girls all the time. You never said a thing before”

Theo’s jaw tightened. Swimming in girls’ attention. Yeah. You had always been like that: popular, easygoing, effortlessly charming without even trying. Girls liked you from day one. Some became your best friends because of your humor.

And Theo? He never cared before because it was just… you. His best friend since first year. It didn’t bother him when random girls flirted with you, he’d roll his eyes and joke about it.

But lately…Lately something shifted

He turned his head slightly to look at you properly for the first time that night, the moonlight catching on his features and muttered:

"It started bothering me recently.”

“Why?” You asked.

Theo’s breath hitched. The question hung there and for the first time in his life, he felt completely exposed.

He couldn’t lie. Not to you. Never to you.

So instead of deflecting or changing the subject like he usually would… Theo turned fully toward you and said it plainly:

"I think I'm in love with you."

No dramatic buildup. No poetic metaphors or romantic gestures…just quiet honesty under a winter sky. And then? He waited, heart pounding harder than any Quidditch match ever made it. He never thought he would ever say his feelings out loud. But it has been making it hard to breathe for Theo, carrying such an ugly feeling in his chest.

The cigarette wobbled dangerously between your fingers, almost slipping into the snow below but you caught it just in time.

Your eyes were wide. Really wide. Not shocked in a bad way, more like… stunned silent. Like your brain had short-circuited and couldn’t process what Theo just said. For someone who always had a quick joke or sarcastic remark ready, this? This was new territory. You didn't move for several seconds, just stared at Theo like he'd grown a second head or maybe like you yourself were dreaming.

“...I’ve never noticed.”

Theo watched your face, every flicker of emotion crossing it. That quiet confession hit Theo harder than he expected. Not rejection, not yet but disbelief? Realization dawning?

Maybe you had been too busy being you, the popular, effortlessly-liked guy to ever consider that your best friend could feel this way about you. Merlin, you thought…

And now here they were: two idiots who’d spent years sharing everything… except romantic feelings. Theo swallowed hard before speaking again, his throat feels like hundred of thorns are stuck in it, voice softer:

"Yeah... I know.”

Not from the cigarette, no, this was different. This was nerves. The kind that came when your entire world hinged on one person’s next words. And Theo? He couldn't read you at all. So instead of explaining feelings which always felt messy, he just admitted the raw truth:

"The feelings are... uncomfortable." Because loving someone who might not love you back? That sucked. Losing a dear friend…and a crush. Theo’s chest tightened. The question wasn’t harsh, just quiet, careful. Like you were stepping on thin ice.

“Do you want them to go away?”

No. Hell no.

Theo didn't want his feelings gone, even if they made everything complicated now. Even if he had to watch you flirt with other girls or see Anastasia glare at his best friend from across the Great Hall.

He shook his head slowly before answering:

"No…I never want that feeling to ever go away."

So you decided to listen to your heart for once. The kiss was feather-light, just the brush of lips against the corner of Theo’s mouth but it electrified him. He froze.

For a second, he didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Couldn't process that you, the person he'd loved for Merlin knows how long without realizing it himself…had just kissed him.

And not on the cheek … but there. Close to his actual mouth.

Then Theo turned into it instinctively, chasing your lips with sudden urgency and pressing their mouths together properly this time.

The kiss deepened slowly, naturally. One second he was hesitating at the edge of something new… and the next, their lips parted against each other properly. Theo kissed you with years’ worth of pent-up longing, gentle but hungry, his hands lifting to cradle your face like you were something precious. And you? You kissed back just as eagerly, like you’d been waiting too without knowing it. The cold night air didn't matter anymore.

Theo kisses you harder, almost desperate as he pins you gently against the cold stone pillar behind.

The contrast was there: freezing marble at their backs versus the heat of their mouths meeting over and over. No space between them now. You gasped into the kiss when Theo crowded closer, one hand sliding into his hair while the other gripped his back to keep him there. He leaves you no space to breathe until he pulls back.

Theo’s hands stayed cupping your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones as he asked the question that mattered most…His voice was low, steady, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that betrayed how much this answer meant to him.

“Can I be your boyfriend?”

Not "Will you be mine" bullshit or some vague romantic lines. Theo wanted clarity. A label. Permission to be yours properly now. And he waited, heart hammering for your response.

“Yes…yes you can” you gasped for air with a cocky smirk.

Theo’s entire face lit up.

That smirk…your stupid, perfect, heart-stopping smirk coupled with the "yes" hit Theo like a rough Bludger to the chest.

For someone who usually stayed composed even when nervous, his expression melted into pure relief and joy. Without another word, he kissed you again, this time softer but no less intense. A proper boyfriend kiss now. No confusion left between them.

The common room was dimly lit, just the low glow of the dying fire casting shadows. Theo had expected it to be empty like when he left. Most Slytherins were in bed by now, especially after curfew. But as he carried a half-asleep you on his back, your arms loosely around his shoulders, face nuzzled into Theo, two pairs of eyes locked onto them instantly.

Draco and Blaise sat across from each other near the fireplace, both frozen mid-conversation upon seeing them enter like this. Blaise raised an eyebrow slowly. Draco? His mouth actually dropped open, followed by a huge smirk “I told you, it’s about time”

Blaise just nodded, slowly like this explained everything he’d ever wondered about Theo and you.

Draco looked way too smug. He leaned back in his armchair with that trademark Malfoy smirk, the one that screamed I called it first.

"Took you two long enough though…congrats" he drawled, glancing between them like the walking proof of his earlier teasing. No need for Theo to announce, they can already tell by that blush and kiss swollen lips. Theo ignored Draco’s smirk, mostly because he was too busy focusing on the fact that you are his boyfriend now and not worrying about what anyone thought.

Winter at the manor was a blur of magic and warmth. Theo and you spent days rolling through powdery snow like kids, building clumsy snowmen, having snowball fights that usually ended in breathless laughter, then warming up inside.

Evenings were cozy: massive fireplaces roaring in the dining hall, hearty meals served by house-elves: roast meats, vegetable stew, years-old wines, buttery breads, etc. The family dinners were lively with conversation. Followed by hot sex in the shower, trying to be quiet so no one would know, as skin clapping noise echoes softly in your bathroom laced with breathless gasp in pleasure.

The stargazing room was Theo’s favorite spot in the manor. High up, with floor-to-ceiling glass windows that showed a perfect night sky. It was quiet here. Private. No servants patrolling, no family members interrupting, not like they pay attention. Just them and the soft glow of constellations above. Theo would die to keep this close to himself.

Theo had pulled you into this room after dinner under some excuse about "needing air" but really? He just wanted to kiss you without an audience. A Leg pressed between yours as he let you dry humps, hot kisses shared under the stars. His hand clumsily tries to zip your pants down without looking as his mouth crashes on yours.

The cold marble pillar bit into your back, but Theo crowded closer anyway, kissing you like he hadn't in days even though it had only been hours. Your thick sweater hits the floor with a soft thud as you complain “It’s cold, asshole.”

And when he felt that shiver run through you? Theo kissed you harder. His lips moved from your mouth to the jaw, then down to that sensitive spot on your neck. He sucked lightly, leaving faint marks against warm skin. Body heat will work, eventually. So no more complaints.

Theo always looks forward to Halloween.

While others celebrated with extravagant decorations and feasts, Slytherins turned the common room into a party, mischievous, rowdy. Alcohol was smuggled in, mostly firewhisky or cocktails and the music got louder as the night went on. Everyone wears their own unique costume. And Theo? He’d usually sit back with a drink… until you showed up.

“You didn’t wait for me” you scolded in annoyance.

There you are: you in a perfect Aziraphale costume. Perfectly tailored trenchcoat, trousers and waistcoat share the same cream white color, blue buttoned up shirt and a bow tie, even that signature cute curls styled just right.

Meanwhile Theo? Crowley. Black blazer, trousers and waistband paired with a grey necktie. The black sunglasses are the cherry on top, making him look so like Crowley.

"I waited!" Theo protested, but it wasn't true. He'd gotten bored and wandered down an hour ago. Now he stared at you like an idiot.

“I WaItEd” you mocked him. Theo narrowed his eyes at the ridiculous tone. so childish. but he couldn’t stay mad. Not when you looked like that.

“Black always looks sooo good on you though. It’s unfair” you huffed playfully, admiring his Crowley outfit.

Theo smirked. Yeah, he knew. The dark blazer hugged his frame perfectly, and the whole bad demon vibe worked for him. He reached up slowly and pushed the sunglasses down just enough to peer over them at you with a lazy grin.

"Says the walking cloud of holy light" Theo shot back, voice dripping with playful sarcasm before leaning in for a kiss.

The group of friends drag them to the side of the room to play spin the bottle. Pansy kept toying with the digital camera she got from the old market, snapping pictures of everyone until “I need more drinksss” she whined. She nudged you to go get some and you agreed. Theo quickly follows after.

Pansy’s loud, teasing shout echoed across the common room, earning a chorus of laughter from the rest of the group.

"Enjoy your cocktail... heavy on the cock!" She yells, grinning like an idiot.

You flipped her off, middle finger held at Pansy and Theo snorted at that before following you toward the drinks table.

The party dies down by 12 AM, most people are too drunk or tired to keep going.

Spin the bottle had been chaotic, Theo only kissed you, ignoring whoever else the bottle pointed at, and now they were both buzzing with leftover energy.

When Theo finally tugged you toward their dorm, no one stopped them. Draco just raised an eyebrow but said nothing, already half-asleep on a couch talking to Blaise. The halls were quiet as they walked back together, still in costume: Aziraphale and Crowley wandering Hogwarts like a misplaced angel and devil.

Theo didn’t hesitate. The second the door shut behind them, he is on you, hands cradling your face as he kisses you deeply, pressing him gently against the door. Fueled by drinks and dancing and hours of wanting to do this all night.

Theo kisses you between every layer of clothing he removes, first the cream trench coat, then the waistcoat underneath, buttons undone with impatient fingers.

Each piece hit the floor quietly. A steady stream of kisses: on the collarbone when shirt came off, shoulder as he slipped it down your arms.

The soft patter of rain against the dorm window created a quiet, private world, muffling sounds, blurring reality

Theo shed his own Crowley costume fast, blazer tossed over a chair, necktie pulled off in one smooth motion. No patience left after hours of waiting and teasing glances all night.

He was eager. Really eager.

Theo’s mouth crashed into yours again, hot, hungry as his hands mapped every inch of exposed skin..

One hand slid up your bare back while the other gripped your hip possessively pulling their bodies flush together. The rain outside grew heavier, a steady rhythm against the glass like nature itself was keeping their secrets.

Thunder booming, lightning flashing across the sky. Anastasia would’ve normally shown up at their dorm by now, knocking frantically for comfort. It’s been like that for years since the first. But not tonight.

Tonight? Theo didn’t even think about her. His focus was entirely on you, on the way you spread your legs slightly in anticipation after Theo fingered you with lube, breath hitching as Theo fumbled with the condom packet between his lips.

Theo’s fingers tremble as he rips the condom, too. drunk, aroused, nervous excitement making him clumsy. It took way longer than it should’ve: tearing the wrapper with his hand, then carefully rolling it down. His hands shook slightly, not from fear, but from sheer anticipation.

You watched him through half-lidded eyes? patient despite their shared heat between them. The storm outside thundered louder now. Not like Theo minded.

Theo moves carefully, slow, deliberate as he pushes his cock into you. Every inch was measured, giving you time to adjust. No rush despite their shared arousal and the storm’s chaos outside. His hands stayed gentle on your inner thighs, warm strokes meant to soothe any tension or nerves.

“Don’t be gentle.” You muttered, breath filled with alcohol. Too much alcohol you drank earlier. “Fuck me ‘til I can’t breathe”

Theo’s breath hitched at your words. No gentleness, just fucking and something sparked in him. The smirk on your face? That challenge? Yeah. Theo could do that.

Without another second of hesitation, he shifted his grip, one hand bracing beside your head while the other hooked under your thigh and picked up the pace instantly.

The bed creaked with each movement, Theo’s thrusts deep and relentless, fueled by the alcohol coursing through them.

Every snap of his hips was sharp, uncoordinated but hard, only pure physical need. You arched beneath him, breath coming in short gasps, the storm outside drowned out by their shared sounds: skin against skin, the rustle of sheets, rough moans. Neither cared about anything else right now.

Theo groaned at the sting of your nails raking down his back…good, grounding him.

Every time he pulled back almost all the way, it was just to slam into you again completely, over and over. A relentless rhythm that made the headboard knock softly against the wall. Your moans were music, soft but desperate and Theo chased them like they were his new addiction.

Theo locked onto that sweet spot like he’d been aiming for it all night, relentless, brutal in the best way. You can’t help but clench tight around him every time he thrusts deep into you, punching another breathy moan out of your lungs.

One hand gripped your hip hard to hold you steady with every deep thrust, while the other braced beside your head for balance. He pounds into your hole like a man possessed, sweats rolling on his forehead now. Your whimpers were muffled by Theo's lips when they crashed together again, messy, open-mouthed kisses between ragged breaths as your thighs began to tremble. You only breathe out “Don’t stop-!” And that’s all Theo needs to know.

Draco took a swig from his bottle, shivering slightly in the common room’s chill, his words lazy and half-drunk as he leaned back on the soft couch.

"Bet Theo is still going at it" he snickered to Blaise, nodding toward the dorm staircase with a smirk. "Might get to see Y/N walking funny tomorow" he snorted

Right then, Anastasia crept past them, pillow clutched to her chest. Her eyes were red-rimmed, thunder had woken her again. She hated storms. Hearing Draco’s comment? It hit like lightning itself. Anastasia froze mid-step.

Draco’s joke, casual, playful about Theo and you still fucking hit her like a physical blow. Her chest tightened. The thunder outside was deafening now, but it wasn’t just that noise making her hands tremble. She stood there in pajamas, pillow crushed to her chest… and suddenly had nowhere safe to go. Not even her friends understand her fear of thunder and storm. Usually? She'd run to Theo for comfort during storms. But tonight? He clearly wasn't coming out.

Draco’s drunken grin faded the second he saw Anastasia standing there: pale, tear-streaked, clutching that pillow like a lifeline.

Shit.

His joke hung in the air, ugly, sexual and unfiltered. He hadn’t meant for her to hear it… but now she had.

Blaise tensed beside him, shooting Draco a you idiot look as silence stretched between them all. Anastasia just stood frozen, heartbroken by Theo’s absence and by what she'd overheard.

Her grip on the pillow turned white-knuckled. Every ounce of jealousy and resentment she’d been quietly nursing toward you exploded at that moment.

You weren't just Theo’s boyfriend now…no, you’d taken her safe space too. The one person who used to comfort her during storms was occupied. By you.

And worse? Draco's joke implied they were…. Not just holding hands or talking, something far more intimate. Her lip trembled…not from fear of thunder anymore, but from fury. You were the one who tried to set her up with Theo and now?

Theo collapsed beside you, both of them sprawled out like wrecked starfish, limbs heavy with exhaustion. You were breathless by now, thighs slowly stretch forward to relax your tensed body.

The storm still raged outside, thunder rumbling but neither cared now. The adrenaline had burned off into something peaceful.

Your chest rose and fell slowly, Theo turned his head slightly to glance at you, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

“Fuckk…” you whined, gasping for air. The burn of pleasure in your lower stomach slowly fades. But still very present.

Theo exhaled a quiet laugh…same.

The heavy limbs, the faint soreness… all signs of what they’d just done. No regrets. He shifted slightly onto his side to face you properly, propping himself up on one elbow. Their eyes met, no teasing now. Just soft exhaustion and something warmer beneath it. Without thinking too hard about it, Theo reached out and brushed damp hair from your forehead.

Then Theo reached for the small portable CD player on his nightstand, the one he’d snuck from Doyo Alley’s Muggle music section months ago.

He slipped in a Cigarettes After Sex CD and pressed play. The first track “K.” drifted into the room: soft guitars, warm vocals, meaningful lyrics. The storm outside had gentled to a peaceful rain now, pattering against the window like background lullaby. Perfect timing. The music wrapped around them as they lay there, no rush to move.

“You don’t know how much I want to kiss you stupid right now” you muttered. The soft melody makes you weak, your heart swells a little at the lyrics. Theo bought the CD the moment he laid his eyes on it. Perfect for their shared night like this.

Theo paused mid-motion, lighter flickering as he lit the cigarette, then looked over at you. That huff of his was so familiar. So fond, even when complaining. And Theo? He hadn’t known either. Not fully. But now… here they were. After months of pining, after finally being together…He took a slow drag before leaning in to kiss you anyway, the smoke faintly bitter from the tobacco.

Theo let you take the cigarette without protest, watching as his boyfriend brought it to his lips for a slow drag. The act felt intimate somehow. Sharing something so simple, yet meaningful after what they’d just done.

Smoke curled between them in the dim light from the CD player’s soft glow. The music still played “K.” by Cigarettes After Sex filling their quiet dorm with warmth. The band has become one of his favourites now.

Theo didn’t reach to steal it back. He just… looked at you with admiration and love. He feels…enough.

Theo’s chest tightened, bloomed, like a flower cracking through concrete.

It wasn’t just attraction or physical closeness anymore. It was love, real, overwhelming love for the idiot currently holding his cigarette and looking at him with sleepy eyes. The music played on. The rain kept falling softly outside.

“I love you so much, Theo” you muttered, smoke curls around you like fog. So beautiful.

Theo’s breath caught. Hearing those words…so raw, so honest makes his heart stops a beat. His eyes searched your face, the smoke drifting from your lips, the way you looked wrecked in the best possible way. Loved and loving back.

Without a word, Theo leaned in and kissed you again, slowly this time. Deeply. Pouring everything into it. He’s ready to give you his soul if you ask nicely and promise a kiss after.

Theo had spent years, years feeling nothing. Just numbness. His childhood home was cold, emotionally barren. His mother died too soon, his father absent even when physically present. He’d built walls around himself out of necessity, not to be cruel, just to survive.

But here? With you… love wasn’t some distant concept anymore. It was alive. A living thing between them.

And for the first time since he was a little boy? Theodore Nott felt whole.

Theo didn’t hesitate. When the moment came, right after their kiss, with smoke still lingering in the air between them, he simply said it back. Honestly. Not because he was pressured to say it back.

"I love you too."

You asked the agent working the front desk of the DSO office, who seemed surprised to see you as he instantly sat up straight.

“Agent Kennedy is at the shooting range, sir. He requested to be left alone for any non-emergency reasons.” The man stuttered his way through the sentence, making your lips twitch at the thought that Leon might have scared the living crap out of the guy.

You gave the agent a comforting smile. “Thank you and you need to relax, my husband’s only grumpy because he’s so old.”

“Understood sir.” The agent slowly calmed down, making you chuckle.

You gave him a thumbs up before walking off to find Leon, wondering what got your husband in such a mood.

~~~~~

The sound of the shooting range’s door opening and closing made Leon sigh as he turned on the safety of his gun before putting it down on the table.

Leon yanked the earmuffs off his head, grumbling unhappily. “I thought I requested to be left alone unless there’s an emergency that requires my attention.”

“Request denied, Agent Kennedy.”

Leon jumped, his head whirling to the direction of the entrance to see you walk in with a smirk on your face. His eyes dropped to the casual outfit you were wearing, having stolen his black jacket as it fit snuggly over your body.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” Leon gasped out as you reached him before pulling you in by the waist to greet you with a kiss.

You smiled against his lips before pulling away. “I wanted to surprise my husband today, have you seen him? He’s usually not grumpy around me.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Leon chuckled, feeling some of the day’s stress lift from his shoulders just by the sound of your voice.

You turned your head, observing the targets that Leon had been shooting for the better part of the hour. “Someone’s a little out of it if he’s missed a headshot.”

“I don’t miss.” Leon retorted with a scoff, glancing at the cardboard targets that were hanging in the range before turning back to you.

You tilted your head, the act of it almost made Leon coo at how adorable you were being in front of him. He felt so lucky that you agreed to marry him.

Leon saw a flicker of an idea appear behind your eyes as you walked up to where the barrier was before lifting yourself up so you were sitting down on the table next to the gun.

Leon cocked an eyebrow at you as he walked up to where you sat, letting out a pleased hum when you spread your legs so he could settle himself in the middle.

Leon’s hands reached out to your thighs but you slapped them away, giggling at the offended look he gave you.

You shook your head and tutted. “Not yet, you have to prove that you’re a good shot before you can have your way with me.”

“Cute,” Leon murmured. “You think you sitting in front of me is going to distract me?”

“I don’t know, let’s test out that theory.” You smirked up at Leon before you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer to you.

Leon hissed, feeling his hips meet yours before lightly glaring down at you while you just winked at him as your hands explored the front of the tight tactical shirt he’d always wear.

You leaned close, your breath hitting the sensitive spot on Leon’s neck as you let out a low chuckle. “All you need to do is get three headshots, which means you only have three tries and that’s it. If you win, you get to do anything you want with me.”

“If I lose?” Leon asked, making you pull back slightly so he had a better look at your face.

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Hope you’re okay being blue balled for the weekend.”

Leon’s eyes widened for a second, his jaw flexing at the challenge you gave him before he huffed out a laugh and reached for an extra set of earmuffs to put on your head.

“I don’t want you to go deaf, baby.” Leon murmured, getting an appreciative peck on the lips from you before you tugged on his hips again so it touched yours.

Leon held back a moan as he put on his own earmuffs before grabbing his gun and turning the safety off, he smirked and aimed at the new set of targets that came in.

The smirk on Leon’s face fell when your hands traveled down from his chest and then down to the area around his navel.

Leon hesitated in shooting as you repeated the process, his fingers flexing around the gun before feeling your hands pause around his abdomen.

Leon took a quick breath before firing, successfully hitting the target on the head before the board moved for the next target to appear.

With a new target, came a new problem as you dipped your head towards his neck and dropped a few kisses on his pulse point.

Leon’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, his stance faltering before he forced his eyes to open and locked back in.

Leon gulped when your lips trailed along the edge of his jaw, your teeth nipping lightly on his chin before you apologetically soothed the pain with your tongue.

Leon tried his best to focus, the gun in his hand wavering as you continued leave open kisses on his neck.

If Leon was honest, he felt his back sweat a little at the constant attention you were giving him before you took another pause and rested your face against his collarbone.

Leon immediately steadied his hands before firing his second shot, the bullet penetrating the head of the board clean.

Leon let out a sigh of relief, knowing that he had one more left. Maybe if he was fast enough, he could shoot the last target even before you could do something else to distract him.

Unfortunately, you were quicker than he anticipated when your fast hands unbuttoned his pants so you could shove your hand in to fondle his cock over his underwear.

“This is tougher than getting Elpis.” Leon muttered unhappily as he felt you continue to stroke him, unaware of what he had just said due to the ear muffs.

Leon didn’t waste any more time as soon as the target appeared right in front of him, firing off his gun and hitting the head in record time before turning on the safety of his gun and slamming it down on the table.

Leon was disappointed when your hand retreated before you covered him up. His eyes glazing over as he grabbed your hips tightly, capturing your lips with his.

You laughed into his mouth before stopping the kiss by pushing against his chest, making Leon frown as he obediently pulled away.

You gave Leon an amused smile as you took off the earmuffs, Leon doing the same.

“You,” Your finger poked Leon’s chest. “Will get your reward soon, just not in a government run facility.”

“I have a personal office.” Leon reminded you, making you roll your eyes at him before you pushed against his body so you could get off the table.

Leon watched as you dusted off your clothes, his eyes following your every move as you walked towards the main door of the shooting range.

You turned to Leon, walking backwards with a grin on your face. “I’m sure the DSO wouldn’t mind that you took a half day to spend quality time with your husband right? I very much would love to continue this in the comfort of our bed and not on the couch of your office.”

“You’re trouble.” Leon shook his head fondly at you, hearing you laugh at his response.

You smirked as you reached the door, your fingers resting on the handle. “Guess you’ve rubbed off on me, in more ways than one.”

You winked at Leon before walking out of the door, leaving the blonde man to sigh as he forced himself to calm down incase he traumatised anyone with the bulge in his pants.

He couldn’t wait to get home.

~~~~~

“You’re such a tease, you know that?”

Leon grumbled as he slammed the door of the apartment, watching as you were casually stripping in the middle of the living room.

You glanced back at him, removing your jeans as you continued to head towards the direction of the bedroom. “Yeah, and?”

Leon let out a deep chuckle before he chased after you as you disappeared into the bedroom, quickly removing the offending items of clothing that was on his body.

Leon was particularly glad to get rid of his pants that were beginning to feel a little too tight at the front.

Leon froze at the entrance of the bedroom, his eyes raking in the sight of your nude body on display.

He licked his lips at the sight. “Well, you’re a sight to behold.”

“You’re free to explore if you’d like. I’m not going anywhere.” You smirked at Leon, stretching your body lazily on the mattress.

Leon laughed before joining you in bed, he laid right down beside you with a fond smile on his face. “Hi.”

“Hey, you.” You replied, reaching out to caress Leon’s beard. Leon leaned his face towards your hand with a sigh.

Your soft laughter in response sent butterflies to Leon’s stomach. After years of being together, on top of being married, he still can’t believe how lucky he was to be yours.

Leon leaned in, locking his lips with yours as his hand grabbed your waist before pulling your body closer to his.

You let out a sigh that Leon immediately swallowed when your cocks touched, the friction creating sweet pleasure.

“Well I won the challenge, do I get my prize now?” Leon asked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes at him before rolling your bodies over so you were sat on his lap, Leon’s hands automatically gripped your waist.

You smiled down sweetly at him, a sight that still made Leon’s heart skip a beat. “Your prize will be me taking care of you and making sure all your stress and worries go away.”

Leon gulped before letting out a sigh when you leaned down to his neck, leaving kisses that lingered on his skin as you descended along his body.

“Oh baby.” Leon moaned out when you took his cock into your mouth, the combination of the wet heat of your mouth’s interior and the way your tongue was swirling around his length caused him to throw his head back into the pillows.

Leon’s hands were gripping the sheets of the bed, his knuckles turning white when he felt the head of his cock hit the back of your throat.

You pulled off with a gasp, a string of saliva connecting the tip of his cock with your lips as you grinned up at Leon, your hand using your saliva as lube to jerk him off.

“Get up here, baby.” Leon tapped his face, smiling when you rolled your eyes at him before you got up and positioned yourself right over his head.

You chuckled, grabbing the headboard of the bed to support yourself.

“My favourite.” Leon whistled, his hands gripping your thighs as you stood over him before tugging you down to sit on his face.

Leon heard you sigh when his tongue penetrated your hole, he moaned in response knowing that he was the reason that you were feeling good.

The sounds of your moans combined with the wetness of Leon’s tongue as he ate you out, made his cock rock hard.

“Fuck!” You whimpered when Leon latched his lips on the rim of your hole and sucked while his tongue was still inside you. “Leon, I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

Leon chuckled before patting your thighs, signalling you so you could get off his face. He didn’t want to overwhelm you just yet.

Leon winked at you as you settled back on his lap before he surprised you by turning your bodies over so you were lying on the bed this time.

“I know, baby but you know me. I can’t help but want to please you.” Leon murmured before capturing your lips with his in a heated kiss as he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

Leon greedily swallowed your moans and whimpers as he aligned his cock with your hole before he carefully pushing the head in.

You gasped into his mouth at the intrusion, Leon letting out a breath at how tight you were.

“It’s okay, baby. Just relax for me, the only way to take care of me is to help me take care of you.” Leon whispered against your lips before he kissed you to distract you from the pain.

You whimpered. “Leon.”

“I know, baby. You’re doing so good for me.” Leon cooed at you, sighing when you finally relaxed so he could bottom out.

Leon moved his hips with careful precision, checking your face to see any signs of discomfort as he dragged his cock out of your walls before slipping back in.

You gasped. “You’re so big.”

“After all these years, it’s amazing how it always feels like it’s our first time together.” Leon panted out, moving his hips faster.

You and Leon have had sex in many positions over the years, some hotter than others but Leon always loved having you under him so he could watch your facial expressions as he made love to you.

Your hands holding on to his back tightly, your nails clawing into the skin with every thrust of Leon’s hips that you took.

“Faster, harder.” You told Leon before throwing your head back into the pillow when he obliged.

Leon latched his teeth onto the skin of your neck, biting and licking as he continued his sharp thrusts.

Leon angled his hips and knew he hit the right spot when you suddenly cried out and hooked your legs around his waist to pull him deeper into you.

“Would you look at that, seems like I do have perfect aim after all.” Leon chuckled wetly against your neck before pulling back when your hand tugged the back of his head.

You smirked at Leon. “As long as this specific weapon of yours is aimed at me, Kennedy.”

Leon stared, your hair was messy as your skin was covered with sweat and he knew he reflected the same image in your own eyes.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Leon let the words slip out of his mouth.

Your eyes widened for a second before your face softened as you reached out to cradle Leon’s cheek.

Leon sighed, leaning his face into your hand. His thrusts had gone slower, the heated charge of energy now replaced with sensual lust.

“Baby, with the way you’re squeezing me, I’m not going to last long.” Leon grunted out.

Your hand moved to the back of Leon’s neck, tugging his head down so his lips could meet yours before you pulled slightly back and nipped the bottom of his lip with your teeth.

Before Leon realised what was happening, his cock was filling you up with his seed. He felt his skin flush before he hid his face in your neck with a groan.

“That’s unfair.” Leon told you, his voice muffled against your neck as you chuckled.

Leon felt you kiss the side of his head as your fingers softly run through the hair on the back of his head.

You sighed, happily. “You made me cum a while ago but you were too caught up with looking at my face that you didn’t realise it, I thought I was going to combust by you hitting the hell out of my prostate even after I came.”

“I’m sorry baby.” Leon chuckled before lifting his head and dropping a kiss on your lips.

You smiled. “We have to get up, shower and change the sheets.”

“Do we have to?” Leon whined.

You cocked an eyebrow at Leon, seemingly unimpressed. “Yes.”

“I can just lick up the sweat from your body.” Leon suggested, trying to put all his weight down on your body so you couldn’t move out from under him.

You just gave Leon a look of disdain in return, a sharp contrast to the facial expressions you were giving him earlier while the both of you made love.

You poked Leon’s forehead, making him flinch. “If you don’t get off me and take a shower, I’m banning sex for the next month.”

Leon shivered, he knew you weren’t joking before he let out a defeated sigh and hung his head in defeat.

“Yes, dear.”

*****

Author’s note:

A little more Leon for this account, it’s quite fun to write Leon in a domestic setting