#I properly tagged it and put a cw and read more

[cosmicwavelengths]

staring problem

pairing: avenger! bucky barnes x physical therapist! reader summary: you’ve been working with sam, joaquin, and bucky for the past few months, and you couldn’t help but notice how bucky just… stares. (based off of dialogue from the falcon and the winter soldier: “does he always just stare like that?” “you get used to it.” and “you’re doing the staring thing again.” + more)

a/n: hello and welcome to my first one shot! i saw captain america: brave new world last week and it was tremendous! i went back and watched the falcon and the winter soldier and it inspired me to write this fic. i've been pretty excited to share this, so i hope you enjoy! likes and reblogs are always appreciated forehead kiss

comments/tags: ca:bnw (spoilers!), fluff, bucky barnes is a 106 year old grumpy ass, bucky has a staring problem (quite severely), physical therapist/trainer f! reader, sam wilson, joaquin torres, bucky doesn’t hate joaquin here but he has a youthful energy that old man barnes finds mildly exhausting (sometimes), there’s technically a girthy age gap between bucky and reader (probably 60-80 years) but bucky can’t help that so we will collectively ignore it, strangers-to-lovers except bucky is just Confused, no y/n use

cw: mentions of alcohol (drinking, reader getting drunk), sebastian stan’s intense glare (swoon), kissing, language (bucky has a potty mouth)

wc: 3.9k | masterlist | ao3 ────୨ৎ────

In his 106 or so years, you were the first person who Bucky Barnes met that genuinely perplexed  him. And he couldn’t exactly put his finger on why.

During his over-extended life, he prided himself on his ability to read people and understand their intentions almost immediately. Maybe he’s a cynic, but he finds it to be much easier to organize the recurring figures of his life into different areas of his mind. Of course, there’s the rare individual that Bucky genuinely likes, such as Sam. And with others he tolerates, like Joaquín. But you? He wasn’t exactly sure how he felt. And if Bucky was being honest with himself, it scares him.

Considering he already knows almost everything about you, it’s almost frustrating how little Bucky truly knows you. Sure, Joaquín sat you all down as a group to discuss their new physical therapist. Similar to Joaquín in age, graduated from college not too long ago,, has significant experience with working with service men. You’ve been working with them for nearly six months already, and Bucky has yet to properly assess where you sit in his brain.

Whenever you entered the room -- any room, you had a certain energy. Maybe it’s the way you carry yourself, but you seem to have this natural ability to alter the space around you in some way. Your teeth and eyes seemed to sparkle, the way they open up so wide to greet him and the others at the beginning of each training session.

“Does he always just stare like that?” you inquire quietly, leaning over to Sam as you create a hamstring out of a roll of kinesiology tape. You subtly nudge your arm in the general direction where Bucky stood next to the weight rack.

Sam chuckles, “You get used to it.” You shrug in response, putting your head down and continuing to wrap the tape around his calf. “He might be a bionic staring machine, but he’s been through a lot. It’s just how he is, I wouldn’t take it personally,” he smiles down at you. Making a quick glance in his direction, Bucky continues to stare pointedly, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. Intimidating. You suppose any regular person would be skeeved out under such intense pressure, but it makes you rather demure. Even though you’re looking in his direction, he continues to look at you with his intense eyes. You’d think that most people would stop after being noticed, especially since you’ve caught him staring at you more than twice, but he continues with his piercing gaze anyways. 

Since Sam had decided to rebuild the Avengers, you had been brought in as their physical therapist. If you were honest, you weren’t exactly sure why superheroes of all people needed physical therapy, with what cutting edge technology and medicine they have at their disposal, but it pays well and you can’t complain about that in this economy.. Since starting, you’ve already become relatively close with Sam and Joaquín. But Bucky…

…Well, judging by the way he’s practically staring through you, you’d be safe in assuming that he hates you or something. You’ve not really had a chance to have a full fledged conversation with him. You helped him stretch, applied kinesio tape when asked. Within your first few days here, you surmised that he was just a private person. But, you’ve seen the quick smiles he flashed at Sam and the occasional short conversation with Joaquín. You normally don’t take these things too personally, but the people pleaser side of you tends to rear its ugly head. Aside from that, there was something about Bucky that made you want him to like you at least a little bit. You’ve tried your best to be friendly to him during your brief interactions, but he didn’t seem to have much of an interest in conversing with you past exchanging pleasantries. Even though it hurts a little, it’s just how some of these jobs go, after all, you can’t expect to be friends with all your clients. But his nearly constant staring at you is… menacing.

“I just don’t think he’s taken to me that well,” you breathe, finishing the wrap on his quad and cutting away the excess tape with scissors. “He doesn’t seem to like talking to me… or like me, at all.”

“It’s not you,” Sam reassures gently. “Give him some time to open up.”

--

“Y’know, you probably scare her with how much you stare at her like that.”

Bucky re-racked the weights with much more force than he wanted, causing the weights to make a heavy clunk sound against the metal, making her and Sam’s heads snap over in their direction. Shit.

Bucky looks at Joaquín and frowns. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Dude, you have something of a staring problem,” says Joaquín. “Do you know that? It’s important to us that you know that. You have zero tact.”

Bucky grumbles under his breath in response, turning back to the weight rack to select a heavier dumbbell. “At least say something to her when we go out later? You can tell it bothers her,” Joaquín offers with a smile. Bucky steps back from the rack, preparing for his next set. “Stay out of my business, Torres.”

“This seems like a very unnatural problem for someone like you to have. Maybe we should call Wakanda, tell them that our cyborg puppet has stopped working and is in urgent need of recalibration.”

“Fuck off.”

--

The bar is loud. Far too loud for Bucky’s taste as he enters the establishment with Sam. Had it been up to him, he would have picked his usual quiet spot near his apartment. But, it is her six month anniversary of working with the guys, and Bucky wasn’t going to miss a chance to drink for free on Sam’s tab. Bucky stuffs his hands deeper into the pockets of his leather jacket, scanning the many faces around the room. Keep an eye out for any potential threats…

“Well?” Sam asks, turning to Bucky and breaking him out of his concentration. Bucky’s jaw tightens, “Don’t you and Torres know better than to be in my business?” he says, crabbily. Sam shrugs his shoulders, hands out in defense. “Hey! I just want you to be happy, man. Just think about what Torres said, maybe?” He steps back from Bucky with a smile, clapping his hand against Bucky’s shoulder before approaching Joaquín at the bar. And there you are, sitting next to Joaquín, shining like the stars and moon… yet unsteady. Your warm expression grows upon seeing Sam, pulling him into a tight hug. What the hell, sure, Bucky ponders briefly before stalking up to the only open space in the bar and ordering a beer.

“Sam!” you answer excitedly, throwing your arms around him in a warm hug. He reciprocates in kind, saying a quick greeting during the embrace. “Wo-oah there!” Sam teases, “Has Joaquín here been filling you up with drinks here?” He gestures to the glassware that you and Joaquín collected, lightly crowding the bar surface.

“Hey, look, it’s a cheat night for all of us, and more importantly, her six month work anniversary!” Joaquín reminds Sam with a laugh. “Yes, tonight is all about me, guys,” you tease, smiling lazily at them. You generally don’t make it a habit to engage with clients outside of the gym, but Sam and Joaquín had truly welcomed you to the team with open arms these last few months. It was truly kind of Sam to pick up the tab tonight, and you’d feel rude refusing.

You settle back into your barstool as Sam and Joaquín begin a conversation. You scan the many faces around the U-shaped bar until you notice Bucky standing there, waiting on his drink. He’s of average height, about six feet tall or so, yet he stands out among the others around him. He wears his infamous scowl as he toys with his leather gloves. You took care in noticing how the light of the bar catches his upper cheek bone and the top of his jawline by his ear. His brooding blue eyes as they scan the area round him. So intimidating… yet..

He glances up at you quickly, incidentally locking eyes with you across the bar. Your eyes grow wide, feeling smaller than you’ve ever felt before. It’s almost eerie the way he studies you, as if he is trying to memorize every atom and particle of your facial structure. You almost freeze under his watch, sobering up a little as you sit up straighter. Properly. You cast out your usual friendly gestures, an invitation -- a small smile and a shy wave of your finger tips. Maybe it’s your alcohol-muddled brain playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn that the corner of his lips turned ever so slightly upwards.

It felt like time stopped when Bucky noticed you. The small wisps of your hair caught by the lowlights above the bar, reaching to the bow of the lips that once held a grin. Your wide eyes holding a sparkle of light. How he can see the way your skin flushes due to your alcohol consumption. Bucky finds it adorable the way you lightly smile at him, waving your hand gently. He sees the way you’re a bit wobbly, having to lean against the bar to keep things steady. He couldn’t help but be amused. His attention is torn away by the bartender setting down the beer bottle in front of him. Bucky fishes for cash in his pocket, setting it in the man’s hand and finally approaching the group.

He stuffs his beer-less hand deep into his jacket pocket as he stops next to Sam. He claps his hand on Bucky’s shoulder in greeting, Bucky acknowledges him with a slight nod of his head. “Bucky!” Sam exclaims, gesturing to the group. “Welcome. We were wondering when you’d show up!” Bucky looks at him with a tired expression. “Lost track of time at the gym,” he mumbles. “Likely story,” Joaquín laughs, before being cut short by Bucky nudging him sharply with his flesh elbow, using a bit more force than necessary.

--

Minutes pass. Then an hour. Two hours. Rounds of drinks later, you all lapse into steady conversation telling lively stories of the past, previous jobs, missions, interactions with other superheroes. You and Joaquín chortle together loudly at Sam’s seemingly endless stream of stories and jokes, while Bucky resigns himself to polite nods as he sips on his beer. The initial lively crowd of the bar had died down to the regular crowd, who’d delegated themselves to chatting amongst themselves, playing darts and shooting pool.

Several vodka cranberries in, your face and hands feel oddly numb, and the room spins more than usual. Shame on you for thinking you can match Joaquín drink for drink. Sam and Joaquín throw back the last of their drinks before heading off to the pool tables. Bucky stares off at them as they apply blue chalk to the tips of their cue sticks, ready to begin a match.

Turning towards Bucky, you prop yourself up against the bar, cheek in hand. You attempt to mock the way he stares at you, to make him feel how you’ve felt all these months.

“So,” you hiccup, interrupting yourself with a shy giggle. “What’s your deal?” You mockingly raise an eyebrow. “What’s your damage, Bucky? What is it about me you don’t like?” It slips out so easily. You should be embarrassed, but you’re far too gone.

Bucky sits up straight, giving you an unsure glance. That’s new. “I’m not sure what you--.”

“And you’re doing that staring thing again, that thing you do with me,” you comment, words slurring slightly as you gesturing unsteadily in Sam and Joaquín’s direction. “When you look at me like that, I can’t tell if ‘ya like or hate me!”

“Y’know, maybe I’m a people pleaser or sumthin’, but I-I really want you to like me, I think,” you sigh. Shrugging comically, you throw back the rest of your drink sitting on the bar. Leaning over, you clap your hand over his large gloved one. Bucky freezes, suddenly being hyper aware of what you’re doing and how small your hand feels compared to his. “And y’know what else? I don’t even mind when you stare at me like that. It’s almost as hot as it is intimidating.”

Bucky was warm -- not from the alcohol. He knows he can’t really get drunk anymore due to the serum, but he still feels the sweat from his palms against the smooth leather interior of his padded globes. And again, he states. Wide eyed at the flushness that cascaded down her cheeks to her collar bones. She fully lost herself in a fit of uncontrollable giggles, leaning against the bar again, not even knowing what you’re doing to him.

He wants to look everywhere all at once, eyes darting. Your bright, round lips stained with cranberry juice and the remnants of your lip gloss. The small beads of sweat by your temples and the crown of your hair. Your smooth thighs, sparkling in certain spots from the cold  of your glass. Bucky was truly rendered speechless. Not that he usually speaks much. Not that he was able to get much of a word in with you beforehand. But this time, he feels truly stumped. So, naturally, he did what any former brainwashed assassin turned semi-normal guy would do. With every ounce of charisma and bravado that a man like him could gather, he took one last look at her and drank the last bit of his beer. “Excuse me,” he said with a voice he was unfamiliar with, and turned around to walk out of the bar. And kept walking. All the way home.

--

Sleep is elusive to Bucky, who had spent the previous night drifting in and out of light sleep. He usually takes this as a sign to get an early start of the day, maybe go for a long run or walk outside.

He rises, making his way to the bathroom.. Squeezing out toothpaste, Bucky couldn’t help but reflect upon the event of the previous night. The sound of your gleeful, drunken laugh. How the warmth radiated off of your body. He can just barely recall the ghostly weight of your hand on the back of his. Even through his thick gloves, you may as well have burned him.

As Bucky splashes water on his face, he concludes that maybe a run wasn’t what he needed. The subway station was right outside of the bar on East Houston Street, yet he elected to walk two hours back home to his apartment in Brooklyn instead. He’d hoped that walking over the Manhattan Bridge in the middle of the night would turn out to be somewhat therapeutic, yet he was still unable to shake the memory of you at the bar. 

Letting out a deep breath, he takes a moment to sit on the couch and put his boots on. Standing, he shrugs on his leather jacket and reaches for the gloves in his pocket. Gloves you touched, he recalls, feeling uncharacteristically giddy about it. Heading out the door, he hopes that this early morning workout will help him clear his head.

--

It is far too early to wake up today, especially after having a night out like that. You awake with a raging headache, an unsettled stomach, and an aggressive thought of what the fuck did you do. As you lie there, gazing at your slowly spinning ceiling fan, you start to feel each and every one of the drinks. Groaning, you sit up, clutching your stomach in an attempt to settle yourself and you are quickly reminded of the conversation you had with Bucky. At that, you shoot up far quicker than you should, running to the toilet to rid yourself of the contents of your stomach and regrets from last night. Sigh.

You couldn’t believe that you had said that, feeling waves of embarrassment. You normally wouldn’t push yourself that far with the drinks, much less with the boundaries of a client. Grimacing, you reach up to the counter, feeling for a towel to wipe your face of sweat and residual make-up. Turning on the faucet, you cup water into your hands to drink and splash your face with cold water. Approaching your closet, you preemptively mourn one of the best jobs you’ve ever had. Every fiber of your being begs you to return to bed and wallow in self pity, but you think it’s best that you get to the gym early for a quick workout. Sweat out the hangover, you think bitterly. Your head lightly pounds when you make a sudden movement. Bringing your hand to your forehead, you realize this is going to be one long day.

Entering the compound, you hear the sound of a treadmill running and rhythmic steps in accompaniment. It would be good to see Sam or Joaquín, figuring that one of them decided to work off the alcohol consumed last night. But since you are, evidently, not God’s favorite, running on the treadmill is someone you’d rather avoid right now. And there’s Bucky Barnes, shirtless and sweating as he jogs on the machine. Your eyes follow his dog tags dangling from his neck, bouncing rhythmically against his skin. He heaves gently, hair flopping with each step. 

Even though you stopped in your tracks, he had already felt your presence and began slowing down. Bucky steps off the treadmill, collecting his water and patting his forehead with a small towel he brought. You figure it’s best to just talk and not dance around the topic. He didn’t seem like the type to beat around the bush. You breathe shakily before approaching him.

“Hi, Bucky,” you say, tone laced with nerves.. “Look, about last night—”

“Hey, it’s fine.” he interjects accidentally, cutting you off. He raises a gentle hand of reassurance. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

Your shoulders relax a bit, knowing that there was maybe a small chance that he wouldn’t tell Sam or Joaquín about your interaction. “Thank you, it’s just that I rarely go out with clients like that, nor do I drink that heavily.” You shift lightly on your feet, fumbling with your water bottle. “I didn’t mean to be unprofessional or cross any boundaries. I just hope that we could maybe move past this, pretend like it didn’t happen?” Smiling, you look up at the taller man, eyes filled with hope. He himself shifts on his feet, “Oh, I didn’t realize we were just clients to you.” You look down with embarrassment, searching for a response. “Uh, I didn’t mean any offense—”

“I’m just teasin’, sweetheart,” the nickname rolling smoothly off his tongue with a smile. A smile. “Did you really mean what you said, though? About me staring?” Drunk words are sober thoughts, he recalls to himself, having learned the phrase from Torres. You flush, suddenly taking interest in the top of your water bottle rather than the man in front of you. Him speaking with you, much less jokingly is more than foreign territory for you. “I-I mean,” you sputter out, self consciousness taking charge. “I wouldn’t mind being friends with you, of course, I try my best to be friendly with the people I work with.” He takes a step closer. “Now, you and I both know that that’s not the part we are talking about.” Your breath hitches. You take in how you feel crowded by him. He’s not exactly within your personal space. Yet.

“Really, I’m the one that should be apologizing.” Bucky says, loosening up. With a sigh, he starts: “I’m sorry to have kept you at arms length all this time. It’s rather difficult for ‘someone like me,’” he dramatically emphasizes with air quotes, “to ‘nurture friendships.’” So says my therapist, he thinks with an internal eye roll. “What’s wrong with me isn’t your fault. I’m just old and cynical.” He pats the outside of your arm in reassurance. You smile, feeling the spot grow warm under his touch. “For the record, I don’t exactly mind that you called me hot, either,” he casually notes. “It’s certainly better than the other reactions I tend to get.” You didn’t think it was possible to blush harder, feeling the warmth creep down your chest. Fuck, you were hoping he wouldn’t mention that part specifically, but you can roll with it. “Well, I do pride myself on being honest, I guess,” you chuckle nervously trying to play it off as cool.

“Y’know, since I had met you, I had been so confused on what to think of you. In all my life, I had never met anyone that was able to do that to me.” His voice darkens. “Care to clue me in as to why?” You feel stuck again, just how you felt last night when he was staring you down at the bar. You attempt to nervously mutter out a response, which instead leaves your mouth gaping open. He closes in on your space, you can feel his body heat radiating off of him. He glances down at your curved lips, light pink and glistening, then back into your doe eyes. “Please, sweetheart, it drives me crazy when you look at me like that,” he uses the nickname again, making your mind spin and your knees a bit weak. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

His eyes drop to your lips again as you stand there, stupefied. His eyes drift downwards to your lips and you almost feel like crumbling under the sudden pressure. He closes in again, sneaking his hands around your waist to pull you in closer. You’re both suspended in silence for a beat, and you think your heart would stop until he continues. “I don’t mean to make things weird, but maybe I like the way you fluster when I look at you.  I’ve been alive for a long, long time, and you’re the first person I’ve met that’s made me feel this way.”

Before you were aware of his movements, he closed the distance. Your eyes flutter shut as you take in the softness of Bucky’s lips, moving slowly and calculating over your own. His grip tightens on your waist, and you feel how the tips of his fingers press into your skin, making your mind go white. You press your body closer to him, breathing heavily as you press your lips against his. He pulls away when he feels your knees buckle gently, chuckling. “Careful, doll. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” You shake your head in an effort to come to and give him a response. “N-no, It’s fine, you didn’t make me feel uncomfortable.” 

“Good,” he replies, voice darkening. He laughs again, causing you to giggle with him and lean in again.

“You do have a staring problem, though,” Sam chides through the speaker of Red Wing. Thecombat drone floats into your line of sight, hovering menacingly over Bucky’s shoulder. You jump back away from Bucky as if you were burned, feeling embarrassed. Bucky sighs exasperatedly, leaning against the treadmill and shaking his head. “By the way, thanks for finally taking our advice! I have all of that on camera, you know that, right?”

Bucky rolls his eyes with a huff. “Get out of my face, Sam, or I’ll break it.”

[tojisteddy]

getting simon a little plush snoopy that reminds him of you so he has something of yours to take on deployments with him

I Miss You | cw: fluff, fluff and even more fluff.

“You don’t like it?”

“No birdie, ‘s a cute lit’le thing just—” Simon pauses, rubbing his face while he chuckles, eyeing the object that sat in the nailed box.

“What’s the snoopy for?”

You’d read on some blog, while aimlessly adding things to your cart, about this girl posting pictures everywhere she went with this little snoopy. You loved snoopy. Adored the little dog, had plushies around the house, blankets in the closet, mugs that Simon made your tea in, stickers— the whole nine. Simon wouldn’t be surprised if he came home after a mission and you had Snoopy tattooed on your forehead (he wouldn’t love you any less).

You thought, it’d be good to have a little something for each other while he was deployed. Your snoopy, that you sent over to Simon, had your name on its dog black tag, a pair of overalls and a cute little orange bow horribly sewed into it. It was fucking adorable, a mini you in Simons eyes.

“It’s so- want you to think of me Simon. Thought it’d be cute.”

Simon could hear that heart melting pout on your lips. His heart swooned, almost flew out his chest and right back home to you. “I have one too! Made a little mask for it with your name ‘nd everythin. I’m gonna take pictures with it while I’m around, can you maybe- if you want to-“

“ ‘F course I want to baby.” It slipped off his tongue before he could realize what he said. Not that he actually wanted to take pictures, he was horrid at taking pictures. That was something he left in your hands. But if that’s what you wanted, Simon would never say no to you. He’d do the best he could.

“Good. I already made up my mind about it Si, so you have to do it properly. Okay? I wanna see what you see!”

Little minx, you knew exactly how to get what you wanted out of the large man. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He laugh leaves his pink lips, deciding to end the call so you could get your sleep, he glanced at his watch. 0300 hours, he’d need to be up in two, you were five hours behind.

“Hug little S.S for me yeah, hold ‘em while you sleep” he yawned.

“S.S?”

“Snoopy Simon, how are ya gonna tell us apart luvie?” You rolled you eyes, ends of your lips curving up.

“Love you Si.”

“Love you more doll.”

Simon couldnt lie, it was comforting having a little thing to remind him that you were at home. Patiently waiting for him. He couldn’t exactly send you pictures from his phone, but he found a disposable camera. The first picture with your mini Snoopy blurry as ever, he got the hang of it though, making sure to sure you the scenery of his locations. Gaz and Soap, the little devils, stole the precious plush and Simon went on barking at them about not roughing it up. They ended up in the photos too, along with Price while he was asleep.

You thought Simon forgot all about the idea, till you got a stack of printed photos in the mail. And there your mini Snoopy was— at the beach, in the grass, on Simons bed next to some pictures of you, at some bar— there were even some with Simon (mask on of course) his thumb up and having Snoopy put their little paw up. You squealed, rolling around in your shared bed and then your eyes found the ghost faced Snoopy that laid on your bed from the previous night. You smirked. 

“We have to step our game up S.S.”

You sent your pictures with a disposable camera too, following the rising trend, some at the fair, the park, your pet bunny hopping into it and getting hair all over it, you at the beach, some with your friends and your mom. It was too cute for Simons heart, there was one he put in his wallet that he was too proud of.

You in nothing but his shirt that went to your thighs, little S.S laying in your hair— he grew to love you a little more, his heart beating a little fast just at the thought of you, your handwriting on the back of the photos.

Simon came back 3 months later, more excited than usual, your mini snoopy chained to his waist with pride. You were a giggling mess, running and jumping into his muscular arms. He squeezed you tight, kissing your cheeks then your lips.

“Welcome back S.S.”

He playfully squishes your nose, “Good to be home little snoop.”

a/n: Bun and I literally love snoopy and then I started listening to I Love You by Faith Evan’s— perfection. I had fun writing this🥺.

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[spookysanta]

Chapter 3: Flowers & Fried Pickles

Ongoing tags:

[Modern Romance] [Slow Burn] to [Fireworks [Black!Reader] [Younger!Reader] [Reader is That Girl] [Obsessed Michael™] [So Much Eye Contact] [Vacation Fling] turns into [Something Real]

Potential TW/CW: [Swearing] [Light Sexual Tension] to [Eventual Smut]

Read Part 1. Part 2.

You couldn’t stop smiling in the elevator.

And it wasn’t even the goofy kind — and it definitely wasn’t something you’d want to admit out loud — but it was the kind of smile that settled behind your ribs, warm and slow, like a secret that hadn’t touched the air yet. The bouquet rested carefully in your arms, the petals brushing your wrist every time you moved.

Michael had kissed your hand before walking off.

Not your cheek. Not your mouth. Just that quiet, old-school press of lips to your knuckles like he had all the time in the world. You stepped into the hallway like you were walking on a cloud.

Then your suite’s door flung open… and of course, your girls were waiting.

Before you could even properly get into the suite, the questions, again, were thrown at you like verbal dodgeballs. Practically shoving through the suite’s common area, you finally made it to your room with a trail of women following behind like moths.

“Okay, spill. What does he smell like?” Tati asked, pacing the room like a detective.

Lex held your dress sleeve between two fingers. “Did he pull out your chair?”

Kris threw herself onto your bed. “Did he look at you or did he see you?”

Nas raised both brows. “And what did you order? Because your appetizer choice tells me everything about your sense of trust.”

You hadn’t even taken your heels off. “Can I sit first?” You sighed.

“NO,” they all said at once.

You laughed. Handed the flowers off to Tati, who gasped like she was being handed a royal decree. “These are fresh,” she whispered.

“They smell expensive.” Nas added.

“Of course they do. HE is expensive,” Lex said. “And he gave you these? I’m sick.”

You slipped your heels off slowly. “So do y’all wanna hear about the food or…”

“Start from the moment he picked you up and do not miss one single word.” Tati said, grabbing a lingering tequila bottle from the hallway and pouring into tiny plastic hotel cups.

The recap took an hour.

And it wasn’t even because the date was super long. It was solely because your friends interrupted constantly. And yet, you made sure to tell them about the restaurant, the music, how Michael asked more questions than he answered. How he made you laugh about something dumb: the fried pickles, how one fell into your drink and you both stared at it like a tragedy. “He’s funny,” you said quietly.

“He’s intentional,” Nas corrected.

“And it sounds like he sees you,” Kris added.

You looked down at your lap, fighting back a smile. “I think he does.”

They passed you two shots like a ceremony — one for clarity, one for courage — then herded you into bed, face washed, hair wrapped, pajamas on. You curled up with your phone under your pillow, the scent of flowers drifting faintly from the bathroom where someone had put them in a rinsed-out champagne bucket.

MBJ: You good?

You: Safe in my hotel room. In bed.

MBJ: Thinking about you.

You: Interesting. That makes one of us.

MBJ: Liar.

Your smile stretched into the dark. Ten minutes later, he called. You answered on the second ring, voice low and laced with sleep. “Hi. I’m here.”

“Didn’t want to end the night without hearing you say that.”

You felt the words settle into your chest like velvet.

“Goodnight, gorgeous.”

“Night, Michael.”

The next day felt like a dream. Sunlight spilled over wide sidewalks and flower stands on Melrose as your friends dragged you through vintage stores and street vendors, then a touristy breakfast spot with patio seating and mimosas served in mason jars.

Kris found a jean jacket that had to come home with her. Tati flirted with a barista who spelled her name with two t’s. And Nas… Nas was being herself, buying everything she saw because “life’s too short”. You bought a record you didn’t need just because the cover made you smile.

It felt good. Full. Balanced. Until your phone buzzed with a text.

MBJ: You free tonight?

You turned away slightly from the group as you walked to the Uber back to the hotel. Pressing “Call” on his contact, he picked up on the first ring. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you answered, voice soft.

“So I assume you saw my text?”

“I did.”

“I was thinking something quiet. Late dinner, maybe a walk after?”

You bit your lip. “Are you always this charming?”

“No,” he said with a smile you could hear through the receiver. “Just when I mean it.”

Your heart stumbled. “Okay,” you said. “I’ll text you when we’re back.”

The second date was slower. Dimmer. Not urgent. Just intentional.

You sat across from each other in a candlelit corner, menus half-forgotten between you. Michael asked about your family. Your work. The last thing you cried over. You told him about a book that gutted you, about your fear of waking up one day and realizing you’d built a life that didn’t feel like yours.

He didn’t interrupt. He just watched you, eyes steady. And when the bill came, he didn’t offer, didn’t ask questions, didn’t nag about 50/50. He just paid.

And when you stood up to leave, he held your hand like he didn’t want to let go.

The drive back to the hotel wasn’t long.

But it felt like it stretched for miles in the best way. Michael’s hand stayed wrapped around yours like he didn’t know how to let go, like his fingers had already learned the exact shape of you.

The street was quiet.

City lights were soft.

Somewhere in the distance, music spilled from a rooftop bar, but it felt far away, like a song you weren’t ready to leave behind yet.

He kept sneaking glances at you. You kept pretending not to notice.

“You always look at people like that?” you finally asked, voice light.

“Only when I’m trying to remember ‘em.”

Your steps slowed.

Your heart didn’t.

At the door to your suite, you hesitated. Your hand on the handle, the glow of the hallway light casting soft shadows across both your faces.

Michael’s voice dropped, rich and steady. “Tonight was really good.”

You nodded. “It was.”

“Can I see you again?”

You looked up at him, eyes searching, heart caught somewhere between yes and wait. “I want to,” you said honestly. “But I don’t want this to take over my trip.”

He nodded. No flinch. Just understanding. “I hear you.”

“I came out here for my girls. For me. I didn’t think—”

“That someone would pull focus?” he offered, gently.

You smiled. “Exactly.”

He stepped closer. Not to crowd, just to be there. “I don’t want to take anything from you. I just want to see where this goes.”

You looked up. He leaned in, slow.

You met him halfway. The kiss was warm. Lingering. Not rushed.

Not possessive. Just full.

You kissed him again, slower this time. And when you finally pulled back to open the door—

He didn’t even blink when it swung wide and four girls screamed.

“Oh my GOD.”

“WE WERE WATCHING THROUGH THE PEEPHOLE THE WHOLE WALK.”

“WHY IS HE SO TALL IN PERSON?”

You froze mid-step. “Y’all—”

Michael grinned, calm as ever.

“Hey, ladies.”

Tati collapsed against the couch. Lex started fanning herself. Nas dropped her phone. Kris just pointed at him and whispered, “You’re not real.”

He didn’t flinch. Just nodded once, eyes never leaving yours. He pecked your cheek gently, mumbling against your skin, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

You nodded, completely speechless, and he turned to walk back down the hall.

And the second the door shut, your friends pounced.

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[hoshigray]

random thought, but like Gojo getting a little handsy while the two of you are out together with your friends.

a/n: yeahhhhh I have no excuse, this literally just popped up in my head two days ago, just read lol

cw: Gojo x fem! reader - nothing too sexual, but very suggestive, so minors stay away!! - fingering (f! receiving) - sexual acts in a public area; in a café - other people present but they don't know what's going on - pet names (angel, baby, princess) - Gojo putting you through hell but you get your getback :3 - you may [or may not] feel second-hand embarrassment, we shall see.

wc: 1k

"...Then I turned to him and said, 'I know you don't think I'm going to have sex with you after you've done thrown up on my dress.'"

"Nooo, after the dress was how much—"

"Right!! So I nicely shoved him off me and called an Uber to..."

It was a pleasant sunny hour to spend with your friends at a local café not too far away, mingling and catching up with them from the last meetup. It was always a splendid time having moments like this with them.

But what made this time a lot more striking was you bringing your boyfriend over! After many weeks of your friends wanting to meet the guy — not to mention him bugging you about also wanting to see your close buds — you promised to have him tag along for the next in-person meetup. And, low and behold, your partner, Satoru Gojo, wasted no time having your mates attracted to his sociable charisma.

Not that you'd think he'd be out of place — if anything, you knew he'd be able to swoon into their sweet graces. With his dashing smile, alluring sky-blue eyes, and engaging conversations, it was only a matter of seconds before the white-haired man could take your spot and engage with your pals. Shit, it's practically happening right now as you sip on your iced tea while he's listening to one of them reminiscing about a terrible night they had last night.

Nevertheless, you're not complaining. A boyfriend who gets along with your friends is better than not, right? That's why you watch and listen to your friend's story with a smile, happy to know that combining two parts of your world results in new companionships.

That is, until, you feel someone's hand land on your thigh. At first, you paid no mind to the action since it's nothing you're not familiar with when it comes to Gojo. But then that exact hand ventures further down and slowly sneaks past your skirt. Your brows furrow with your inner thoughts. I know this man is not trying to start something right now...And when you feel his slender fingers brush your inner thigh, you get your answer.

Your lips release the straw to your iced beverage, and you slowly lean toward your boyfriend. "Gojo," your tone hushed only for him to hear as your companions seemed preoccupied with a talk of their own.

"Hmm?" The tall other leans a bit for his ears to properly hear your whispers, his face still facing front to your friends.

"Can I ask why your hand is up my skirt in public?" You knew by the playful snicker rumbling his chest that his answer would be far from appropriate for the situation.

"Whaaat~, can't touch the love of my life?" He whispers back to you.

"Can't if we're out in the open at a fricken' café," you hiss with a glare from your peripheral. "Especially with others within—Hmmm." Before you could finish that remark, two fingers brushed on your panties, rubbing gently between your clothed folds. He snickers — both at your stifled response and as a faux reaction to a part of your friend's storytelling.

"Sorry, but I can't help myself when I wanna touch my princess." You notice him peeking at you from behind his dark shades. His fingers form a curling motion, causing your body to slightly jerk and prompt your legs to a further spread. He brings his chin down to your ears, his chuckles easier to interpret their mischievous connotation. "Plus, when did I last see you wear that skirt? Had my eyes on it since you looked at the mirror before we left."

God, I hate his ass so fucking much. "Who said I was wearing it for you?" You retort, wanting nothing but to wipe that dumb smirk off his handsome face. "I wore it because of—Ohhh!!" To your surprise, he swiftly puts his digits inside your panties; the sudden warm contact on the folds of your chasm prompts a sneaky cry.

...A cry so sudden that, of course, your friends stop talking to look in your direction with perplexed expressions. Of course, they would look. Oh, for fuck's sake...

"Uhhh, you okay, Y/n?" One friend blinks while surveying your body language. The other chimes in. "Yeah, you don't look so good; ice tea went the wrong way?"

Quick with your feet, you cough up your answer. "Ahem—Y-Yeah, I'm fine, guys. I was just thinking, ya know," your hand snakes down to Gojo's to pinch the skin, the tall other jolting his hand away from you. And you know he looks to you with pain, yet serves him right. "Since you two are getting along with Gojo, why don't we take him to the mall and show him our favorite spots? He has a good eye on clothes, plus I'm sure he'd like to try the crepe stand in the food court."

The look on your buddies' faces expressed nothing but delight at the idea you pulled out your ass. "That's a great plan, I'm down!" One says while the other nods frantically. "You up for that, Gojo?"

Rubbing his pinched skin, Gojo sends the two a smile. "Sure! I'd love to spend more time with my baby and their friends." He then leans to kiss you, but with a kick to the shin, you turned his face from a lovestruck fool to that of a hurt puppy. Your friends watch as the snow-haired man quivers and puts his forehead on your shoulder for support.

"Hmm? What happened?"

"Don't mind him; he was rocking his chair and probably hit himself with one of the legs." You speak for him as you watch your boyfriend tremble in pain with a smirk on your lips, the two others giggling at your seemingly clumsy man. It's your turn now to whisper to his ear. "That's for that little stunt of yours."

Gojo's laughter seethes through gritted teeth. "Are you really my angel? You're such a meanie...Don't think I won't do it again, princess."

[mistress-riddle]

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘. cedric diggory

cw. gender-neutral, reader is an older sibling and a slytherin. req. Cedric and his parents go on a trip to another country during the summer and during it, Cedric meets reader at a park reading, they strike up a conversation but seeing as they are both wizards and neither of them realize the other is also a wizard they dont keep in touch. when they return to Hogwarts, Cedric glances around and sees reader sitting with the Slytherins at dinner and asks them on a hogsmeade date to catch up. — @hea-vin

you sigh as you take a seat on the bench, family long discarded in favour of resting your aching body from the shopping and sight-seeing you've been doing for the past 5 hours and reading a book instead. you fail to notice the boy taking a seat at the exact same time as you and so you startle when he chuckles and asks "long day?"

"sadly," you groan and stretch your neck to the side, closing over your novel "you in the same predicament?"

"sadly," he huffs and ruffles his hair as he leans back, legs spreading slightly in the process "where abouts are you from?" he asks shortly after.

"live in central london," you turn to properly look at him "what about you?"

"near devon, england." he seems to be around your age, brown hair mixed with golden highlights that seemed too soft and fluffy to be dyed. his face was certainly something to admire, high cheekbones dusted with pink and freckles that accompanied them, lips wide and full and jawline sharp in its edges. his eyes are a mix of hazel and green with specks of gold similar to the ones in his hair, once you notice you've been looking for a bit too long you clear your throat and look to the side.

.

"how long are you staying here for?" the boy asks you, head tilted to the side as he scans you, your face seemed familiar but he wasn't sure where he recognised you from.

"i think two more days," you ponder "i'm not sure, i'm just tagging along with my family." you shrug and he smiles in return.

"same here, though i think we're staying for the week." you nod and he follows it with "how have you liked it so far then?"

"it's been pretty alright actually," you respond with a grin "i mean apart from the heckling of being with family and having siblings, the sights here are so pretty and the food is delicious."

the brunet agrees with you, the same amiable smile decorating his lips "it is quite beautiful here, though i don't have any siblings to put a dimmer on my experience."

"oh lucky you," you sigh "i wish i was an only child."

the boy laughs as he shakes his head "i often wished i had a sibling to play with."

you glance at him with a cheeky look "want to trade?"

"i'm afraid i'm too used to being an only child." he shrugs and you pout.

"bummer, i could've been having the time of my life had you agreed." you shut your eyes as you allow the sunlight to bathe you in its rays, peeking an eye open after a few seconds, you focus it on the boy beside you "you sure?"

"you didn't exactly sell it out to be the greatest thing," he pauses and hums "might need some convincing."

you tap your fingers against your thighs as you ponder "well for starters, i guess they're somewhat cute—" you're cut off by a yell of your name. the two of you turn to see a 6 year old running towards you with a cup full of fruits.

"mama said you have to come back, we're going to another place." the child rushes through her words and almost chokes on a pineapple during the relay of her message and you send the boy next to you a look which caused him to chuckle.

"slow down, you're going to choke." you pat her back gently and shake your head as you stand up, sending her away as your bags go back in your hands and your book is put away.

"well, it was nice chat," you smile at the guy still sitting "i'll work on the pro's for the next time if i see you around."

"i look forward to it, farewell, my chatting companion." he waves and you try to mimic him with a tiny wave of your own as you follow behind your sister.

it's a shame you met the handsome stranger in a foreign country and not back at home. alas, it was probably worse that he was most likely a muggle who you could not communicate with. a bummer how all the good ones you're destined to only meet once you think to yourself.

the bustling of the students feels familiar as you take your seat beside your friends in the great hall.

"how was your holiday?" asks emma from your side, nudging you with her elbow the second dumbledore announced that the feast shall commence.

"emma, had you not slept the whole ride from kings cross to here, you would've known."

your other friend, ben, interrupts as he places a hand on his chest and haughtily stares down at emma "since i was actually awake to converse with my friend like normal people do, i had the opportunity to hear about [name]'s first crush on this british boy she met on holiday."

emma ignores bens attitude as she turns to you with her mouth open, a gasp escaping her lips "no. way." she whispers and you roll your eyes.

"it's not a crush, ben just wants to mess with you." you retort at her wide eyes and disbelieving expression.

"come now, [name], it's not everyday you compliment a boys look to us, he must've really swooned you." ben teases and you sigh.

"you make it seem like i've never complimented anyone." you deadpan and your friends scoff.

"fine, i'll never tell you anything again." you mutter in spite and ben and emma hurriedly attempt to placate you throughout the rest of dinner as they try to coerce you to spill about the handsome stranger who caught your attention and affection.

towards the end of dinner when conversations take over and everyone is only lightly taking bites of their desserts, ben finds his eyes drifting behind you before his expression changes into one of curiosity "say," he interrupts you and emma, you two turn to him with an unimpressed look "does anyone know why the diggory boy keeps looking back here every now and then?" he gives you a look "any of you associated with him?"

emma wistfully sighs as she places her head on her closed fist "i wish, i'd totally get with him if he wanted." you give her a look and clear your throat.

"umm, who's diggory?"

the two sigh "cedric diggory? the captain of the hufflepuff quidditch team?..." ben asks as if that'll help you and you turn to emma "he's blondish, tall, absolutely dreamy?" she quips and you hum.

"he sounds like the perfect package, how come i don't know about him?" you ask and they shrug.

"merlin knows how in your world you are, as a slytherin, it will do you good to build connections." ben adds and emma taps your shoulder to get you to turn around and show you who exactly cedric is. as you turn your head however, you catch the eye of a certain quidditch captain, you're met with the sight of the boy from your holiday and your breathe hitches as he stands and makes his way over.

"okay, now why is he coming here?" ben asks once more and emma shrugs as she watches the two of you stare at each other.

"it's you." you both utter at the same time and his face breaks out into a smile that you can't help but reciprocate.

"i thought i'd never see you again." the boy scratches the back of his neck as his cheeks colour a rosy hue.

"and i you." you nod in reciprocation.

"well since luck seems to have found me, i think i have to take full advantage of it and ask you on a date." you hear one of your friends choke but you choose to ignore them and put up a front of a thinking face as cedric waits for your answer "i just have to find out what the pros are."

you sigh as you cross your arms "i did try to come up with an extensive list..." you look up at the boy and nod "fine, i'll free a day and make a compelling case for you."

you did not think cedrics grin could widen anymore and yet you stand (sit) corrected as his teeth show "i look forward to it!" he waves you goodbye as he heads back to his table and rejoins his friends.

"turns out this priss not only knows diggory but managed to bag a date with him."

"prick."

"dear merlin, why don't i have their luck?"

[lemurzsquad]

Hand Sanitizer

Pairing: Sakusa x gn!reader (platonic or romantic, up to interpretation)

Summary: You and Sakusa hate each other with a passion, and it's almost always a disagreement over hand sanitizer. So when you leave to wash your hands and don't come back, Sakusa learns why exactly you avoid using it so adamantly.

A/N: Okay so this fic. Hooooo boy. This fic. I've been wanting to write it for a while and finally have. It started as a "Reasons why I'm pretty sure Sakusa would hate me irl" and turned into this.

So I have a skin condition known as aquagenic wrinkling of the palms (or AWP), which affects my hands when they come in contact with water, which is what this fic is about. I never hear about this condition anywhere, and it's very lonely sometimes, and there's no real treatment for it (from what I've seen). So this is essentially a vent where I take my skin condition seriously for once instead of just making water allergy jokes to cope lol

(More info about AWP here)

Word count: 3898

cw: skin condition (non-graphic descriptions and discussion) (AWP - please read above), hurt/comfort, angst, crying, enemies to friends...?, emotionally constipated apologies from Sakusa, hand sanitizer is evil /j, vent, not proofread because I just wanted to get this done and posted to do literally anything else, (please lmk if I should tag anything else)

(Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, and everything written here is purely from my own experiences and observations. If you would like to learn more, please do your own research; this is not designed to be informative. It's purely for myself and for awareness.)

You and Sakusa had never gotten along.

You were certain you knew when it started, having been completely oblivious of one another up until that point.

It was when you were both first years in high school, and there happened to be a lizard in the classroom. You, upon seeing it, immediately proceeded to pick it up and ask the teacher to let you put it outside, to which they agreed.

You came back to the classroom, dusting off your hands, when a curly-haired boy took it upon himself to comment, “Go use some hand sanitizer, would you?”

You squinted at him, partly confused as to why he was talking to you and how you had never noticed he sat there before. “No thanks,” you answered, “I'd rather just wash my hands.”

“I don't think just washing your hands would be enough,” he rebutted with a sharp look behind his bangs. “You probably don't even know how to properly wash your hands.”

“Well, too bad! I'm not using hand sanitizer!” You were starting to get annoyed, crossing your arms.

Somehow, that seemed to make him even more disgusted, possibly at the thought that you were spreading whatever it was on your hands onto your clothes now, too.

The two of you threw jabs back and forth until the teacher separated you, which you were both happy to oblige. The animosity between you never seemed to quite dissipate even as the year went on and you became second years. You almost felt bad for the misunderstanding, knowing it was entirely your own fault, but how were you supposed to explain to this random kid that you couldn't use hand sanitizer even if you wanted to? At least, in your head you couldn't.

At some point, you and Sakusa became something of enemies within your class—renowned ones, at that. People would often ask the both of you why you hated each other so much, but your answers were vague at best.

“He's just so pretentious,” you said once.

“They're just so obstinate,” he said once.

And thus, an impasse stretched between you. You hadn't even learned his name until months after your first encounter, too bitter to really care.

Despite the efforts you both went through to avoid being within the presence of the other, you somehow still ended up nearby. Maybe it was your teachers attempting to make you get along—maybe it was the universe laughing in your face.

Throughout that entire time, you still faithfully avoided hand sanitizer like the plague. The one time the nearest bathroom was out of order for a little while and you couldn't wash your hands, you used as little of the accursed substance as you could. Whatever microscopically thin layer that coated your hands there was, you shook it off almost violently, simultaneously disgusted by the feeling of something on your skin and afraid of what it might do.

The disapproving look Sakusa gave you when he saw that was palpable.

At some point, you hated each other mostly out of principle. You'd both kept it up this long—it would be weird to suddenly just let it go since your flimsy justifications seemed enough until now. To admit that you were being unreasonable would be worse than getting along, you separately reasoned.

So when you were paired up for a project, you couldn't help but grimace. Sakusa was the first to go up to the teacher about it.

“I can't work with them,” you heard him say. For once, you agreed with him.

The teacher, however, dismissed his concerns with a wave, saying, “In life, you don't get to pick who you work with. Sometimes you'll have to try to put aside your differences to get your work done.”

It sounded stupid to you, like some half-hearted excuse so they wouldn't have to rearrange seating or partners. But it's not like you had any place to argue, so you resigned to just sucking it up.

Instead of working together, you both divvied up tasks as quickly as possible and did what you assigned yourselves—separately.

All was going well; you ignored each other and worked on the project silently. Despite other groups discussing their plans and the room being filled with chatter, your share corner was dead silent save the sound of pen on paper.

Which didn't last long when suddenly the tip of your pen snapped off. The now open ink tube spilled onto your hands, and when you tried to minimize the damage, it only got worse. By the time you dropped the pen onto your open notebook, raising your hands in surrender, they were absolutely coated in black splotches. A sense of defeat washed over you as you watched your words get covered and your paper stained in ebony.

Taking a moment to glance at your already ruined hands, you just resigned to picking up the pen and throwing it out. It was your favorite pen, which was unfortunate. It couldn't be helped, you told yourself.

Sakusa had noticed you flailing about your desk, silently judging you for the clumsy mess you made when you should have just thrown out the pen the second it broke to avoid the noir crime scene that now covered you and your area. He scowled knowing you would now have to redo whatever you had written for the project.

It was nearing the end of school, the class you were currently in being the final one of the day. You approached the teacher's table and asked if you could go wash your hands. They checked the clock to see about twenty minutes left before replying, “Make it quick.”

You walked past Sakusa's desk on your way to the door. He made the snide remark, “You could get the ink off really well with hand sanitizer.”

It took everything in you not to snap back at him, but you just hurried past, careful not to touch anything on the way out.

Sakusa knew he would never understand you. From the moment you met, you stubbornly refused what seemed to be basic courses of action. Touch something dirty? Use hand sanitizer. Eating? Wash your hands before and after to keep from touching anything.

The couple of times he had seen you wash your hands, it was very brief, and you seemed to avoid using the air dryer, opting for paper towels that were arguably undoing whatever progress you made in washing your hands.

At the same time, you avoided any task that would require you to touch dust or water. You always asked to sweep or clean windows, so much so that everyone just ended up giving you those tasks to get you to stop asking. If you did get something on your hands, you immediately wiped or shook it off, seemingly disgusted. You would even briefly run it under water just to dry it on your clothes so they weren't wet. It seemed there were things worse than water if you were willing to rinse them off.

But it was still that one avoidance that came between you: the hand sanitizer. It was practically the same as water, and it dried quickly. Even if it was comparable to washing your hands, it was still much more convenient in most scenarios. Yet you continued to adamantly refuse to ever use it. At some point you declared, “I would rather die,” when he had tried to squeeze some on your hand, earning him his wrist grabbed and pushed away. 

He just didn't understand.

So when he found you sobbing in front of the stairs, opening your hands and clenching them closed into loose fists repeatedly, he was beyond confused.

You hadn't come back to class after leaving to wash the remnants of your broken pen, so the teacher decided it was your project partner, Sakusa, who should find you and return the belongings you left behind. He went over to your open notebook that remained just where you left it and noted the handful of words that were still visible. 

Sakusa folded the cover over, enclosing the now dried puddle of ink. The remainder of your things he scooped into his arms, leaving the room once the halls had cleared a significant amount. As much as he wanted to just leave your things and go to volleyball practice, he figured it would end poorly.

Plus, what could possibly have kept you out of class for so long that you would have left everything behind? There was no way it had taken that long to get most of the ink off of your skin, so either you had just skipped the last bit of school or something happened. Since you hadn't taken your wallet with you with your IDs (he checked your bag when he put the notebook back inside, sure that it was completely dry), he reasoned it was probably the latter.

“Tsk.” They would have been able to get it off with hand sanitizer, he thought, brows furrowed. This is such a waste of time.

Sakusa wandered through the halls when he didn't find you by the bathrooms. He was starting to think it was a lost cause trying to return your bag; he even had to text his cousin to tell him why he would be late. It wasn't until he got to a particularly empty hallway did he hear something.

Quietly, in a dark alcove with a set of stairs leading up, a figure was huddled against a wall. Their tears were soft but anguished, stifled because it was in the environment of school. Sakusa had tried to ignore them until he realized it was you.

You held your palms up just past your knees that were pressed against your chest. You opened and closed your hands, a fresh cascade of tears painting your cheeks as you choked back a sob. You pressed—with more pressure than could have been painful—your thumb into the center of your other palm, nails digging into the back of your hand. You set your closed eyes on your knees with the hope that it might stop the water that leaked from them.

Sakusa, with great caution, approached your hunched figure. He didn't want to, he really didn't. You were the person he probably hated the most at his school, but somehow he knew he'd seem like an awful person if he didn't at least give your belongings to you directly—he wouldn't give you the satisfaction of another thing to hold over his head.

And yet those thoughts went to the back of his mind when he crouched down in front of you. His mask and curly hair obscured his focused expression as he tried to study your current state. The moment you seemed to hear him there, you held your breath and repressed your already quiet cries.

When Sakusa got close, you buried yourself further in to hide your face behind your knees and clenched your hands even more.

He frowned and something in his chest tightened. His brows furrowed deeper over his eyes and he huffed. He saw your nails digging into the skin on the backs of your hands.

“That's going to leave a mark if you keep doing that.” It came out more biting than he had meant it, but he was being serious.

It was then that you could no longer hold back your sobs, almost choking on your own tears. The grip you had of your hands softened and unlinked; instead, you lightly shook them apart from each other. Sakusa had to take a moment to process, but it almost seemed like there was something wrong with them. 

He just wanted to get you to stop crying so he could give you your bag. As much as he hated the gesture, he asked, “What's wrong with your hands?”

You curled your lips in to bite down on them, fighting back hiccups. With your eyes tightly screwed shut, you upturned your palms.

The sight alone made Sakusa's eyebrows fly up in shock. 

He didn't mean to, but he grabbed your wrist to get a better look. Ignoring the ink stains that faintly persisted, there were pale, patchy splotches in the center of your palm and on the side edges of your fingers; there were even some tiny pale rings on the periphery of the bigger splotches. But underneath that, the skin seemed as if it had soaked in water for hours or maybe even days. Not only were there dozens of deep crevice lines trailing from the tips of all of your fingers to their bases but the lines on your palms were more prominent, surrounded by profound, dense wrinkles that spanned the entire surface.

His eyes darted around your hand for a few moments just trying to comprehend what he was looking at. It looked unnatural—it looked painful. And when he met your gaze, he saw unidentifiable emotions flash across it. Was it shame? Regret? He couldn't be sure aside from the blood that seemed to drain from your face.

You tried to pull your hand away, but Sakusa wouldn't let go. His eyes never left yours, searching for some kind of answer. When he couldn't find it there, he asked, “What happened?” It was soft, calm, and even, enough to make you tear up a little again.

The second time you tugged, he released your wrist. You pushed your thumb into your palm again, looking away. Hiding your hands away in the space between your stomach and where your legs were still tucked against your torso, you sniffled a few times and tried to even out your breathing.

“I-It's normal… it just h-happens when I-I touch water…” You stuttered and mumbled between hiccups.

“That is not normal,” Sakusa said a little too quickly and curtly, realizing it probably would have made it seem like he was berating you.

With another sniffle, you said, “It's a– it's a skin condition.” You started to scratch your palms partly out of stress and partly out of the persistent stinging. “It reacts to water i-if I touch it for too long.”

His eyebrows knitted in concern. “Was that from washing your hands then?”

You gave a small nod, still avoiding his gaze. “I couldn't get the ink off and ended up w-washing them for too long…”

“You could have just used hand sanitizer,” he said genuinely. For the moment, he almost forgot he was supposed to hate you, more focused on being worried than anything.

Your answer was your head shaking rather fervently. “No, I can't.” You lowered to set your forehead against your knees again. “Well, actually, I don't know. I-It just scares me and I don't want to r-risk any more pain than I already have. I haven't h-had good experiences with it…”

“What did hand sanitizer ever do to you?” It came out snarkier than Sakusa had meant. He slowly lowered himself to sit with his legs crossed in front of you, your bag still next to him.

You let out a heavy breath. “I was a dumb kid in elementary,” you started. “I had an obsession with scented hand sanitizer for probably a few months. I used it multiple times a day, and even though I don't know for sure if it's related, my hands got worse after that year I think. Only after that did I finally go to the doctor to get it diagnosed after my mom did a ton of research. I agreed to avoid hand sanitizer from then on. I just don't want to risk being in more pain…”

You both went silent.

“Oh…” It was all that left Sakusa's lips. A sudden wave of guilt crashed into him. All of the times he had berated you for not using hand sanitizer and all of his snide, rude, annoyed remarks resurfaced in his conscience. He felt terrible. He felt bad. Someone was hurting and all he did was throw lighter fluid on their problems—for months—and it seemed there was finally a spark to set it all ablaze. The thought that he started it all made it worse.

“Stop with whatever weird look you have on your face.” You squinted at him and his downturned, scrunched face. You'd calmed down enough to be making quips, it would appear. “It's not like I can do anything about it.” You shrugged, half-hearted.

He searched your face again for any sign of emotion aside from blank resignation, but he couldn't find anything. “Is there no treatment?”

You shrunk down further into your huddle, not vocally answering, but the answer was still clear.

Something about the whole situation made his heart hurt; it made him upset, he realized. “So what, you just have to avoid water?”

The nod of your head to the side looked pathetic as you avoided his eyes. After several seconds of silence, you said, “I used to love swimming. It's not like I can't, it's just… it hurts and it makes me feel gross. I don't even like the beach anymore because if I go in the water and get my hands wet, there's no real place to dry them off.” You laughed humorlessly. “It's stupid. You'd think I would get more used to it and get over it as I got older, but it just made me more upset. Why me? Why did I have to get stuck with a condition that's rare and isn't really bad enough for people to care enough to find a treatment? At least, it feels that way…

“I know it's awful, but I sometimes wonder, ‘Why didn't I get stuck with something worse? Then I might have a way to treat it. Then people might care.’”

You glanced up to judge Sakusa's reaction, instantly regretting spilling your feelings and questioning why you did. Tears threatened to flood over again and spill from your eyes. You felt helpless; not only from your condition but also from being stared down by the person you were certain despised you more than anyone. You were giving him more ammo to be disgusted and to detest you, too.

But you couldn't find his face. His ebony bangs hung down like a curtain and his mask further obscured your view, his downturned line of sight completely blocked out.

When the silence was beginning to crawl around on your skin and became almost deafening, you took in a sharp breath and held it for a moment before breathing out a tiny apology. “Sorry… you don't wanna hear about this…”

“No.”

“...No? No… what?”

“No…” 

Sakusa was struggling to get out the right words. How does he say sorry to you in a way that you might actually believe? How does he tell you that you're allowed to be upset, that you can talk about it? How does he make you understand that it's okay?

And how is he supposed to get you to believe it when it's coming from him?

His voice sounded almost angry but not at you—it was for you. “You can be upset,” he said between gritted teeth, hands clenched into tight fists. “No one deserves to have to live everyday avoiding something so common just to not be in pain. And no one deserves to have some jerk constantly making light of it even if they don't know.”

The way your eyes widened and water dripped down your cheeks in sudden streams said it all. “Oh…” was all you could muster before you completely broke down. No one you had ever told about your condition had seemed to fully grasp how much you were hurting inside, how every day was a struggle to avoid reminding yourself of how awful your hands were, how even looking at your own hands sometimes made you ashamed and loathing of yourself. It was a constant reminder that there would always be something wrong with you; you would always be broken, and there was no way to fix it.

Sakusa let you cry with the renewed emotional rush. He remained firmly planted where he sat, not moving an inch. He was not going anywhere.

And he didn't, even as your sobbing slowed to quiet sniffles and wiping mostly dried tears. It took a while before you finally muttered, “Thank you… No one's ever said that to me before…”

“Well, they should.” His words were curt but lacked any sharpness to them.

When you looked up to meet his eyes, he turned them away from you. Hesitantly, he uttered, “Look, I can't promise you that we'll get along, but I can assure you I'll try not to bother you anymore. No more stupid hand sanitizer comments anymore, either.” It was the only peace offering he could make for a chance to pave a path towards making amends.

You let out a breath through your nose that was close to a laugh before hiccuping, “Next thing you know, you'll be telling me we'll work on our group project together.”

“Don't push it,” he answered, quickly and humorlessly. It only made you laugh, although he couldn't comprehend why.

“It's getting late,” Sakusa tried to divert. “You should head home.”

You reached for your phone, and the little numbers on the screen confirmed his statement. Suddenly, a flash of panic crossed your face. “I don't have my bag,” you state frantically, “or any of my stuff.”

It was then that Sakusa held up the original object of his search for you, gently lowering it to the ground. “The teacher told me to bring it to you since you never came back.”

Relief washed over you in a calming rush, and you finally seemed to relax. You pulled your knees away from your chest and sat with your legs crossed. Confirming that everything was in your bag, an immensely relieved sigh left your lips in a gust.

“Thank you.” Your gaze was earnest, trying to convey just how much you meant your words to make sure it sunk in.

Sakusa just grumbled, “Whatever.” He was back to his usual self despite how he stumbled embarrassingly when he got up and realized his legs had gone numb. He reluctantly offered up his hand to help you stand, but you only looked at it for a moment, mouth pressed into a line, before you got to your feet on your own.

He pretended he hadn't tried to assist you, instead pivoting on his heels and shoving his hands in his pockets with a slouched posture. Without another word exchanged, you both headed towards the school's entrance.

The air fell into a comfortable quiet until then. When you did reach the entrance, however, you both stopped in your tracks. You turned to Sakusa, giving him a soft smile and a small wave, and headed down the street. Only when you turned the corner, out of sight, did he head back towards the volleyball gym. He was so horribly beyond late that it was almost laughable.

But he didn't care, knowing it meant someone was there in that very moment for you when you needed it most. So what if he also started to mend whatever nonexistent relationship was there in the process? What mattered was that someone told you that it was okay.

And Sakusa was okay with that. Being late to practice wasn't nearly as pressing as his long overdue apologies. What could be more important than that?

Do not copy and/or repost!! Any likes or reblogs are appreciated, though! (c) 2024 LemurzSquad

[elaemae]

The premium version of human is here to wreck house, mfs.

[Twst x Obey Me!AFAB!reader]

CHP. 4

PREVIOUS CHP.: PROLOGUE 3

Thank you guys for the likes, reblogs and comments.

Also, to the people who became my followers, I'll be forever grateful for that😊

CW: When MC gets mistaken as a guy, they get referred to as he/him, but the problem is that there's too many males around the MC.

So, I've decided to color the pronouns blue when it's MC that's being addressed. Just to avoid confusion.

CLARIFICATION: The headmaster, and MC knows that Yuu is from another world, so MC decided to play along and pretend that they're from the same world as Yuu. (The human world where MC came from is mostly similar to the human world that Yuu describes. i.e. landmarks, cultural, knowledge, current trends, anime and manga are all mostly the same.)

REMEMBER: Read this before the chapter.

Experience changes people.

If you see MC doing something you think you won't do and you decide to complain about it, remember this:

• You act the way you do because of the things that you've gone through in your life.

• MC is the same.

• They experienced a lot of traumatic events and almost lost their lives a fuck-ton of times.

• Because of that, they've changed. They've diverged from being you into the MC that they are now.

• The life you're living now shall be treated as the MC's canonical past.

• Also, because The Obey Me!cast feels bad from all the times you suffered and almost died because of them, they tend to overcompensate you.

• You get dressed in the finest of fabrics, most luxurious jewels, as well as housed and fed with the best things that the three realms have to offer.

• You don't take them for granted, but years of living with that lifestyle had raised your standards to new heights and changed the way that you act towards certain things.

• You're free to make up your own head canons if you don't like mine, also y'all can give me feedback if you want so I can improve my work.

• This story will be set a few years after the canon of the Obey Me games.

• • • • •

Who would've thought that it would be a bad idea to try to trick someone who literally reeks of luxury to live in an old, bout-to-fall-apart dormitory?

Well, certainly not Crowley.

That fact became known when 'The shady looking dorm leader™' and also, the tablet decided to tag along with you, Yuu and Crowley, but then had to help Yuu in holding you back so that you wouldn't beat the ever living crap out of the headmaster the moment he dared to bring y'all in front of this rustic establishment and say "It had charm". (Too many You's)

Oh really? really?? Oh you'll see real charm when I beat you straight into the afterlife you greasy son of a bitc–

*Ehem*

It did not end well.

So instead of that, the headmaster had to temporarily put you and your fellow stranded-in-dis-school-human into the infirmary as your temporary abode and promised to fix the shoddy dorm so that it can safely house people in it. (Grim will appear in the future, dw)

*Que Azul tryna make you stay in Octavinelle and you vehemently declining that offer.*

Also, you're starting to get creeped-out by the floating tablet that keeps following you around and won't stop with taking pictures. there's also the small maniacal giggles coming out of the device.

• • • • • •

So there you two are, two people that've been kidnapped by this school's fuckin carriage are now bonding in the infirmary and distracting each other by venting about problems back home. (You two are too wary to be able to sleep properly.)

Like, yes Yuu, I'm in a polyamorous with more than a dozen problematic individuals.

Yes, it works out. somehow

Damn, three assignments due tomorrow all from the same subject? Have you ever tried cheating off of your classmates?

Oh— wait what?! a classmate from biology was caught fucking with a professor in a classroom!? Seriously??

No, I unfortunately no longer have a grasp on the concept of private space and poverty.

Yes, maintaining a relationship with a lot of people at the same time can be hard.

A lot of them are rich.

Wait, a seatmate of yours really gave two free expensive sketch pads just because you asked?? Where can I find that person??

Yes they all act like my sugar daddies and my man-children in one way or another.

No, don't you dare pimp yourself out, okay? There may be a lot of people in my life but the important thing is that we all love each other.

We support, comfort, protect, and guide each other to the best we can.

No— that didn't happen in a day, I had to bend over backwards and almost die a shit-ton of times before I managed to wiggle myself firmly into the hearts of those fuckers.

...Q- Questions about our sex life will be automatically ignored.

Just.. be nice to others, even if it's seemingly stupid.

Unless they are absolute scum then just maintain distance.

You just gotta eyeball it to figure out when to stop being nice to someone.

Never and I mean NEVER treat anyone badly unless they did something unforgivable to you.

Don't call me kind. It's easier to have a grasp on other people if you're nice.

Pft— You once saw a book called "How to be a sugar baby 101" in the school library?! And you saw your principal reading it?!

Sure-sure, I'll help you with your math homework— wait a second.. Seriously?? We've been kidnapped, I ain't allowing you to do math. Where the hell did you even hide that thick-as-fuck test sheet anyways?? Up your ass?!

• • • •

You sigh for the third time this hour, looking at Yuu who's making a "Mom.. I threw up in the carpet... I'm sowwy🥺" expression as they stand beside your bed.

"What happened?"

Yuu winced, feeling embarrassed as they hear you talk to them like a disappointed parent, they had failed to appeal to Crowley about becoming a temporary student of this school and now had to be a janitor/errand kid.

"The headmaster said that I'll be the handy-man of the campus while he searches for a way to get us home..."

You feel a vein in your head throb and your eye start to twitch by of the sheer audacity being shown in front of your face.

You are now feeling the immense urge to hex that bird-bitch.

Satan sat straight in his seat, speaking out to the others in the meeting table.

"I can feel irritation and the urge to curse someone again." He said.

It would've been funny if this was another situation.

"That's definitely from MC, isn't it? You mentioned being half-asleep and feeling MC get agitated through your pact mark, right?" Diavolo asked.

"Yes, at least our pacts are still intact..." Satan nodded.

"Great, we can use this to monitor MC even if they're far away." Lucifer stated.

Countless search-parties and interrogations have already been conducted, but they're still clueless on where you can be or who could've taken you.

Even Barbatos couldn't see what had happened.

They're starting to get agitated, MC..

• • • • •

Jade watched as Azul frantically drafts and redrafts a new plan of his.

It seems that something caught the eye of their housewarden in the ceremony today.

"What could be so eye-catching that you're in such a hurry to obtain it, Azul?" Jade couldn't contain his curiosity and asked.

"It's a new student, Jade." Azul started.

"He possesses such a large amount of magical artifacts in his hands, It's unbelievable! They were all high quality too!"

Jade blinks.

"Don't you have enough magical artifacts around?"

Jade is confusion.

"You don't know it because you weren't there." Azul narrowed his eyes at Jade.

"I first thought those jewelry of his were similar to the ones that you can buy with enough money in annual auctions, but then I realized that it's very likely that those jewelry are customized."

"...How so?"

"So I decided to try and take a closer look, but when I actually got closer and almost touched one of them, I felt a strong thrum of magic that I haven't felt before!"

Oh?

Now that got Jade's attention.

Azul has been exposed to a lot of strong, powerful people and magical artifacts over the years that he and his twin were following this dormleader of theirs and yet there was actually an artifact so strong that he can feel strong waves of magic by just almost touching it?

How curious..... If the magic of the artifact was so strong, why didn't Azul sense it up until he literally almost held it in his hands?

Seems like this year won't be boring, after all..

• • • • •

BONUS: Someone has a crush.

"Brother, Your package has arrived— What are you... Are you making fan art of Mr. [L/n]...?"

Idia screams like a dumb girl in a horror movie as he tries to block the screen with his body.

"O-ORTHO?! WH-WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT KNOCKING FIRST??!"

"And... what's with the pose?"

Ortho tilts head innocently, confused on why his brother is drawing a new student in a pose that can often be seen on videos that are called "Thirst traps". he's still confused about why they're called that way.

Idia: "O- ORTHO THIS ISN'T ANYTHING BAD I SWEARAHGJSI—"

*Starts to fuckin steam*

"brOTHER YOU'RE BURNING THE CHAIR!"

"AH CRAP!"

← Pr.3 | Chapter List | Pr. 5 →

Don't forget to like, comment and reblog guys, It's a big help :3

What do y'all think of the chapter? pls respond, I need feedback🥺

I woke up today and decided to kick canon's ass.

Elae: Thanks for reading this far.☺️

See y'all next time~

Next chapter: Prologue 5

@f0urleafedcl0ver

@a-traveling-void-human

@speckle-meow-meow

@leviathans-tail-scales

@citrus-cinnamon

@prefesro

[awkward-tension-art]

Bacta and Bandages Chp.5 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 4. Chapter 6.

Blushing

CW: Slow burn, Two fools trying to ignore their crushes, Rex being cute, firing practice, target practice, Reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), reader is a doctor, if I miss a tag LMK!

Tag list (I am so happy people want to be tagged <3): @heavenseed76 @arctrooper69

Minors DNI

You had to be honest with yourself. 

Your aim sucked. 

As a field surgeon, you technically weren’t supposed to be anywhere near droids. Your main purpose was to stay behind the forces and perform surgery and intensive medical care to those with severe wounds.

Kix would be on the front lines and keep the injured alive as long as possible until he could get them to you. 

You could hit your targets, if they were big enough. Like a tank. Or if they were about 5 feet in front of you…

Ok, you couldn’t really hit your targets. You’ve been with the 501st for months now and you haven’t gotten any better. 

You debated going full clone trooper and just punching the droids. After all, the soldiers had just gotten proper armor for their hands. Maybe you could get a pair of armored gloves…

“Everything alright?” 

You perked up hearing the question from Rex, snapping your attention back to the present. You had zoned out, staring at the same datapad for several minutes now. 

Right, you had come to his office to help a supply crate mix-up. Someone hadn’t properly labeled the crates, so there were blasters mixed with medical supplies, and bandages mixed with armor…It was a mess. And to make sure nothing was missing, you and him were supposed to go over the numbers so no helmet or tube of bacta was out of place. 

You sighed, “Yea, just…thinking. That's all.”

The Captain raised a brow, silently encouraging you to continue.

Over your time with the 501st, you’ve been able to read Rex more than anyone else. You understood what he was thinking through his expressions. You could guess his feelings based on his stance and body language, even when he wore his helmet.

Perhaps it was your training as a doctor that allowed you to read him so easily. 

Or…maybe it was the growing affection you had for him.

It’s a passing crush, that's all. You told yourself, Clones aren’t allowed to have romantic relationships. This’ll pass. Don’t get your hopes up.

Shoving that thought out of your mind you put the datapad down, “I’m a terrible shot.”

Rex let out a soft and surprised chuckle at your blunt statement, “Well…you're technically not supposed to be.”

“No, I mean…even if I need to defend myself or the wounded…I miss almost every shot with a blaster.” You responded, “I’ve tried to practice but…I just can’t aim very well…”

He had a small smirk on his lips, “You can’t be worse than a clanker.” 

“I assure you, I am.” 

Rex laughed again, “I can teach you, if you want. Besides, I’m sure a break would be good for us both.” 

Your heart fluttered. 

“I’d like that.” 

Which is how you found yourself in the hangar, standing about 20 meters away from an empty crate with a painted target. There were scorch marks dotting the metal and yellow paint, indicating that you weren’t the first person to need aim training.

The makeshift target range was mostly out of the way and out of sight of everyone else in the hangar, offering some privacy.

“I didn’t know this was here.” You admitted, staring at the target. 

Rex shrugged, “Some shinies set this up. The General didn’t mind, so I kept it for anyone who wanted to practice their shooting.”

You nodded in understanding. Usually if something didn’t make sense, the answer was always ‘shinies’.

“Alright, now, pick up your blaster.” He took the tone of a commanding Captain. His arms were crossed as he watched you get your pistol ready. You wrapped your hands on your blaster, and got into the stance you were trained to be in. 

You didn’t even put your finger on the trigger before Rex spoke up, “Already, I see the issue.” he stepped towards you, putting his gloved hands over yours. He changed the position of your hold, moving one of your palms from the bottom of the grip to over your other hand. 

You blinked, “Oh, I was holding it wrong.” 

Rex had a relaxed smile, “It's a common mistake.” He stepped back and nodded, “Fire.” 

You pulled the trigger and the blaster kicked back as it fired. However, you managed to keep the gun relatively steady. Your shot missed the target, hitting the upper corner of the crate. With a sigh you looked over at the captain. 

He kept his arms crossed, “Focus on where you’re aiming. Where you look, that's where you’ll hit.”

With a steadying breath, you looked down the sights of your gun and pulled the trigger again. Your shot was closer to the target that time, however, still not a hit. 

“Better.” Rex approached again. This time, he got closer, putting his hands over yours and stepping behind you. You felt the plastoid of his chestplate on your back as he leaned into your body, “Raise the blaster a little higher and try again.”

Don’t get distracted. Don't get distracted. 

You swallowed and pulled the trigger. Again, your shot had gotten closer to the target, barely hitting the yellow of the first ring. Frustration hit you and you huffed. 

Rex laughed softly and it struck you how warm his laugh was. How lovely.

Stop it. Grow out of your crush, you're not some grade school student. You are a grown ass adult. Act like it.

“Just look at the target. Not the sights on the blaster.” The clone captain was rolling incredibly well with your failures. He kept his hold on you as you calmed your emotions to focus. You did as he told, staring at the bright yellow target meters in front of you.

With another breath, you fired. 

This time, you hit the target. Not a bullseye at all, but at least you hit inside the last yellow ring.

“Oh, hey I actually got it.” You perked up, smiling slightly. 

Rex, sadly, let go and stepped back, “Good, now do it again. I want to see you hit the target at least 4 more times.” He put his helmet on, crossing his arms to watch you. He was tense now.

You tried not to let his sudden shift in attitude bother you. He was probably worried that someone might turn the corner and see him so lax and uncaptain-like. Rex did have to be professional after all…

Still, you did miss the warmth he gave. 

Again, you pulled the trigger. Without him holding your gun steady, your shot veered slightly and hit the outermost ring, “That counts.” you stated, looking over to the clone. 

He nodded, “It counts. I’ll be nice this time. But just this once.”

You couldn’t hold back your grin and you shot again. Another hit. Still no bullseye, but you got closer. 

Hey, 3 for 3. One more.

Without getting over confident, you took a steadying breath and pulled the trigger. 

Again, no bullseye, but your shot landed inside the second ring. You were improving. Or this was just pure luck. Either way, you’ll take it.

You smiled and turned to look at Rex. He nodded in approval and stepped towards you, “Very good. You learn quickly. Better than most troopers who step off Kamino.” 

“Aw, you think I’m better than a shiny?” You joked, hoping to help him relax.

He huffed under his helmet, but you could hear the smile in his voice, “That’s not a high bar, Doctor.” 

“I’ll take the compliment, Captain.” 

He was about to respond when your and his coms both beeped. He answered his and you answered yours. 

“Doctor, there's a patient in the sick bay.”

“Captain Rex, you're needed at the command bridge.”

With a sigh, you shared a look with Rex and rolled your eyes. You gave him a grateful smile, “Back to work, then?” 

“It never ends.” He sighed, “If you want…if you want to practice again, just let me know.” 

Your answer was kind and sweet, “I will. Thank you, Rex.” 

As you parted ways, you tried to calm your beating heart. 

It's a crush. It's a crush. Grow up. Just grow up already!

Rex, on the other hand, kept his helmet on as he walked away, because he was certain he was still blushing like a damn cadet.

He’s a captain. Captains shouldn’t fucking blush!

[synamartia]

GUYS I SWEAR I'M TRYING TO FINISH SMUTMUS. I just can't stop myself from adding new things each time I try to enter the final editing stage 😭 I keep telling myself to save some bits for future stories, but fuck! It's getting too good for me to stop~ 😉 and then I get on here and get inspired to add something else, which throws me back a couple steps cause I'm trying to make sure it flows properly. SOMEONE TAKE AWAY MY PHONE- *gets smacked down*

Btdubs I've used the word "tongue" WAY too many times so if anyone could help me with synonyms or alternative ways to describe the tongue that'd be great 🥲

Be prepared though, once it's done and posted, I'mma take some time to respond to messages/comments/reblogs, catch up on some reading *looks at Hazel, Mink, & Danny* and write ESSAYS on every little detail! Yall might wanna put me on mute when that happens 🤣

I'll come back and add proper CW tags to all the teasers I release later, but for now (and just as a general rule of thumb with anything I post): MDNI! And jsyk, it WILL BE WORTH IT. I've doubled my word count from the original nine parts, and it's still growing. So. Y'know.

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Quickly, you turned your head and pushed yourself up. “No! No, I can…” you paused for a moment to stifle a yawn. The incident that led to all of this occurred near the end of your work day, so you were already fairly tired when this started. The unexpectedly hard orgasm wasn't helping any, but the promise of even more kept you going. Besides, you couldn't be the only one having fun here. That wouldn't be fair. “... I can keep going. I wanna keep going,” you insisted, lowering your leg as you pushed yourself up straight, turning to face him fully now. “For you.” You added, staring up at him with an amorous look that made his breath hitch in his throat for a moment. Cautiously, you raised your hands to gently cradle his face, standing on your tip toes so you could place a soft peck on his smiling lips.

Lowering yourself to stand proper now, you began to trace your hands down his neck and chest, not missing the way his muscles still tensed at your touch. It was going to take some time, you realized, to get him to a point where he welcomes your touch rather than shies away from it. You hoped that he would give you that time; outside of this incident that you so clumsily caused, of course. When your hands reached the waistband of his pants, you looked up at him and waited for his permission to continue - something small and near insignificant but nevertheless something he still appreciated. He would have to reward you for that later. Nodding his head, Alastor watched you as you slowly pushed both his trousers and briefs down past his hips, his aching cock springing from its prison and slapping lightly against his lower abdomen. He looked away for a moment, unable to hide his growing discomfort with being so bare in front of another person. Gently, you pressed on his jaw with your left hand to bring his narrowed eyes back to your face. “Hey,” you called. “You can trust me, Alastor,” you assured him, knowing full well that was only part of the problem. Mouth twitching, Alastor stared at you as you leaned in to place tender kisses to his chest, your eyes never once leaving his face as you lowered yourself to your knees before him. “I promise,” you spoke softly, hands tracing the defined muscles of his abs and gliding along the dips of his pelvic v. Bringing one hand down to rest on his thigh, your other gently wrapped around the base of his cock. Humming softly as you smiled up at him, you rubbed your cheek against his length, then grazed your lips over his leaking tip. “I just want to make you feel good,” you continued to assure him, not missing the shaky sigh he gave in response to your touches. Experimentally, you let the tip of your tongue dart past your lips and against his crying slit, his entire body tensing as one of his hands moved to tangle within your tresses while you continued to deliver kitten licks to his sensitive tip. You stared up at Alastor with such innocence in your big doe eyes; he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from forcing his cock as far down your throat as it could go. “Is that okay?” You asked after a couple more licks to his slit. “Will you let me make you feel good, Alastor?” You asked him so sweetly, voice dripping with honey as his name rolled off your devilish tongue. You really knew how to push his buttons. With a drawn out moan vibrating through his chest, you barely had time to fully open your mouth as he pushed his hips forward and guided your head down until your nose brushed against the carmine strands at his base, his head tilting back at the long anticipated sensation finally washing over him as he breathed out a singular,  “Yes!”

[dame-zoom-a-lot]

Prompt: Idiot Ball | Word Count: 1149 | Rating: E | POV: Eddie | Relationships: Eddie / Steve | CW: N/A | Tags: gag, monster dildo, claws, public sex, steve harrington's stabbing kink, monsterfucker!steve, monster!eddie, car sex

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest may mayhem bingo

The smut starts from the first sentence (or maybe not? Is being gagged automatically smut?). Anyway, I'll hide everything after a read more. The boys fuck in Steve's new truck. That's the fic.

ao3 link

One Last Sin Before We Hit The Road

Steve drools around the ball gag in his mouth. He's drenched in sweat, especially where his ankles are encased in the leather cuffs of his spreader bar. He's whining as he bounces up and down on the thick dildo they set up on the truck bed. Moonlight shines off his hair like halo. Sweat and lube sparkle under the starlight. He's bouncing, faster and faster, up and down on the thick black dildo they got from that weird shop in Chicago as a joke. Except it wasn't. It was stupid expensive and probably the best purchase Eddie's ever made.

Eddie can't take his eyes away. He's pretty sure his jaws are on the truck. He's probably drooling. Eddie tracks a bead of sweat move down Steve's pretty temples, slide past the sharp nose, the plush lips, down the square jaws, along the pretty moles of his delicate neck and into the thatch of chest hair.

"Eddie," Steve works the ball gag out of his mouth to whine, "you're just staring."

"Sorry, sorry," Eddie says, knee-walking over to Steve with a grin, "god you're so gorgeous it strikes me dumb sometimes."

"Just sometimes?" Steve asks with an exaggerated pout that emphasizes the plush of his bottom lip. He hisses and laughs when Eddie bites down on it.

"You know, I think I liked you better with the gag in," Eddie murmurs. Steve giggles. "Who said you could take that off anyway?" Eddie says with mock anger.

"Mmmm you, when you didn't put it on properly," Steve quips. He's stopped bouncing to lean into Eddie instead. Eddie can feel Steve's cock through his shirt, thick, leaking.

"You trying to get a rise out of me?" Eddie murmurs.

"Maybe?" Steve says, "is it working?"

"You know," Eddie grips Steve by the shoulder and shoves him down on the dildo, hard. Steve goes down with a squeak and a moan. He moves his hands down to grip Steve by the pits. Steve lets Eddie jerk him around, up and down, up and down on the dildo. "If you want me to stab you, all you've got to do is ask."

"Really?" Steve pants, "you're that easy?"

"Try me."

"Eddieee," Steve pants. His eyes are glassy, the words barely intelligible. "Please. Please…"

"Poor Stevie, can't even talk," Eddie croons. He's basically slamming Steve up and down along the dildo now, using all of the strength he got when he got transformed into… whatever the fuck he is now after he died that first time in the upside down. He shoves his thighs right onto Steve's bouncing cock, relishing in the guttural, broken moan he manages to draw out. Steve babbles some more. Broken words. Little pants and gasps and hisses as Eddie draws a long line of hickeys along that gorgeous shoulder.

"Mark… me…?" Steve eventually manages in between squeals.

"Mmmm," Eddie pretends to consider. Steve tries and fails to kick out in protest.

"Ok, ok, I'll stab you, you weirdo," Eddie says laughing.

"Please…haa… close," Steve moans, his eyes close. His lashes are dark with sweat and crocodile tears. He cums, hard, as Eddie traces a his name along Steve's ribs with his claws. A little dribble of blood joins the lube and sweat. Eddie resists the urge to lick it up, and admires the way the pretty fluids drip drip drip down Steve's perfect ribs along that perfect ass into the truck bed. Steve slumps against him.

"Fuck," Steve finally mutters when he catches his breath, "I'm gonna feel that for days."

"Where?"

"My thighs dude. That was a workout," he says, "you didn't have to make me bounce myself for that long."

"Hmm… yeah, but have you considered being less hot when you bounce up and down a thick cock?" Eddie suggests as he gently undoes the ankle straps, careful not to nick Steve with his claws.

"Asshole," Steve says fondly as he nudges Eddie gently in the ribs with his foot. He melts into the truck bed when Eddie's finally sets his legs free. Eddie takes the dildo and swings it hard to shake off some of the fluids. They'd do a more thorough cleanup when they get home. Steve is going to make sure of that.

"Dude, don't swing the monster dildo in public!" Steve hisses, "what if someone sees?!"

"I think you bouncing up and down it would have been way more scandalous," Eddie points out.

"Nuh, uh, they wouldn't have been able to see me over the sides," Steve argues. A flush creeps across his face.

"The sides aren't that high," Eddie says laughing, "did you seriously think you were going to be totally hidden?"

"Ah shit, I really didn't think this through did I?"

"Besides, it doesn't matter," Eddie says. He settles down next to Steve, "what are they gonna do? Follow us to Chicago to yell at us about the children?"

Steve hums something in agreement. They snuggle into each other and look up at the familiar stars above Lover's Lake. It probably wasn't the best idea to do a whole scene in public where anyone could have caught them, but this place always felt like their own bubble.

"I'm going to miss these skies," Steve whispers.

"There's skies in Chicago," Eddie objects, a little worried.

"Yeah, but not like this," Steve says, he raises an arm and starts to trace the constellations (or more like random shapes that only makes sense to the two of them).

"There'll be skylights," Eddie says. He can feel his voice start getting a little higher. "And uhh… coffee. And music shops with more than two aisles. And—"

Steve laughs and leans over to shut Eddie up with a kiss. "And there will be you. And Robin. And our first real home. And we'll be able to go out and about without random people glaring at you." Eddie lets Steve smooth out the frown lines between his brows. "I want to move Eddie. I'm just… feeling sentimental. Because this is where I grew up. Where we met. Where you fucked my brains out bad enough for me to risk getting arrested for public indecency."

"Hopper would have let you off anyway."

"Oh god, I'd rather go to jail then have to look Hopper in the eye after he sees me like this."

"I'm sure the feeling is mutual," Eddie says giggling.

Steve pulls him in, somehow even closer. The stars are bright. Beautiful. Steve is right. It's not like this in Chicago. Not this slow. Not this clear. Not this quiet.

"You sure though? About the move? Us? Everything?" Eddie asks carefully.

"Yes," Steve says emphatically. Eddie closes his eyes and leans into another kiss, and lets himself believe.

[depraveddame]

Zenith, a sequel to my kinky D/s Professor AU A Great Conjunction, is posted!

Hello darlings! I'm back with another installment of my feral professor and student AU ✨ After six weeks of beautifully agonizing waiting, Professor Fell realizes he cannot wait a second longer to properly fuck his student- he also realizes some of the reasons why he's been denying himself and his lover for so long, and that he also can't lie to himself for much longer.

CWs: D/s, Dom/gentle Dom Aziraphale, sub Crowley, Daddy kink, age difference, university professor/university student, first time anal sex after weeks of denial, rimming, pining, obscene dirty talk, praise/light degradation, begging, emotional sex, aftercare/sweetness/fluff- please read tags on AO3 for more!

Excerpt:

Perhaps Aziraphale’s aptitude does lie in his fingertips, but not by way of putting pen to paper; maybe it’s by touch that he’s meant to extol his student. It comes wonderfully easily to him, praising Crowley with his hands, and the response his fingers inspire seems to indicate he’s far more adept when it comes to this form of veneration rather than the written word.

As they face each other on the bed, Aziraphale scrawls his reverence over the curves and angles of Crowley’s body with fingers and thumbs that pay homage to his allure, his mouth inscribes its devotion and admiration on every freckle it can find and over each peak of bone that protrudes from argent skin, the invisible ink from his tongue leaving behind ephemeral, evaporating verses Aziraphale hopes will bleed beneath the surface of the vellum folio of his lover.

“How do you want to take my cock for the first time, my darling,” Aziraphale murmurs as he palms the dampened lace caging Crowley’s cock and the fingers of his other hand caress his slick entrance, teasingly dipping one past the ring of lax muscle and basking in the strangled whines that follow, "how will I first stake my claim of this body that's been positively aching to take me inside, that's been desperately pleading with me to make a home of it?"

“Oh, f-fuck,” Crowley pants, his entire body jolting as Aziraphale’s fingers play with him, “God, fuck— f-from behind. Laying down. Want you close, professor, and deep— fuck, I need all of you so fucking deep inside, please.”

*

Enjoy ♥️

@goodomensafterdark

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

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[justabiteofspite]

Punctured Minds, Sharp Teeth

Chapter 3: Games with Fangs

Rating: Explicit/18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Astarion/Named Tiefling Fem Durge OC

Chapter Summary: Astarion tries to keep the tiefling children entertained while also dealing with a surprise visit from law enforcement.

CW: 18+ Sex, Blood, Gore, Sudicidal Ideation, Dead Dove Dark Urge related content, this chapter contains a blowjob, See AO3 for full tag list

Henri leaned into Astarion, playfully bumping his waist with her own, “Good. Would be rude for you to die now after I’ve put so much effort into keeping your undead self animated.” “Pfft. He’s rude now,” one of the kids brooded, arms crossed, “He had us play this stupid game where we had to find him. We looked for hours . How was I supposed to know vampires can climb on the ceiling?” To be fair, Astarion didn’t know either until about seven months ago, after Cazador and the tadpole were gone, and but he was happy to rub his newfound abilities in the face of this kid all the same. “You kept insisting we play a game,” Astarion said with an exasperated sigh, “You never said the game should be fair.”

Read on AO3

“Godsdammit.”

Astarion was muttering under his breath as he went through the icebox in his basement oasis, trying not to scream. “Find the Vampire” had been a halfway decent distraction for the children above as he waited for relief from Henri and Zevlor, but now they were hungry and tired and frankly, grinding down his last nerve. 

“Where in the hells…? Ah. There we are.” He pulled out a decently sized container that was marked “jerky.” At this point in the day, Astarion declared the snack good enough and just prayed that it wasn’t one of Henri’s “long pig” kind. She had, for the most part, kicked the cannibalism habit, a holdover from her days as Bhaal’s favorite child. But still, he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure. Maybe he could choose one of the more annoying children to give it a try first and tell him what kind of meat this was before serving it to the others. 

“Astarion! Hey, Astarion!” 

“Oh for the love of-” Astarion slammed the icebox shut and headed back over to the ladder. “Someone had better be bleeding out again up there or I swear-” 

Mattis’ head peeked over the hutch entrance. “It’s that stupid Inspector guy again. He’s knocking and asking for your girlfriend.” 

Astarion groaned, rolling his head back. Just what he needed. “Again?”

Mattis shrugged, “He seems angry.” 

“I have yet to see the man not be.” Astarion waved Mattis to stand back as he came back up the ladder, offloading the bag of jerky to him. “Tell everyone to shut up and eat this while I deal with him, alright?” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Henri?” The curly haired one Astarion couldn’t remember the name of asked. “I think he’s scared of her more than you.” 

“You’re hilarious,” Astarion deadpanned, knowing that unfortunately this child was completely correct. He peeked out of the curtain making sure that the sun did indeed go down, only to hear the annoyance at the door banging again. 

“I know you’re in there, Miss Henri, I need to speak to you.” 

Astarion sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He glanced down at the carpet, double checking to make sure all the blood and viscera from earlier had been properly cleaned  before straightening up and opening the door. 

The new Inspector Cross who had replaced an annoyingly promoted Valeria was a grumpy tall dark haired human with a ridiculously large handlebar mustache over a small, irritating mouth. He also sported a monocle and a tightly shaved hairstyle that made his hair look like a crate. A caricature of a man , Astarion thought.

“She’s not here,” Astarion stated coolly, “She’s at some Harper event. You’ll have to call on her later. Preferably tomorrow at a decent time.” 

Inspector Cross’s brow furrowed. “Mr. Ancunín, this is not the time to play games with me. You’ve already caused enough trouble.” 

Astarion placed his hand over his unbeating heart, “My good sir, I have been a picturesque citizen and follower of the law. You’re the one who has been obsessed with everything I do.” 

The Inspector growled at him. “I had two witnesses who swore they saw you at the Crimson Palace the night it burned. Not soon after you and your “siblings” as you call them inherited the Szarr estate. Just in time for you all to collect the insurance funds.” 

Everything the Inspector was accusing Astarion of was absolutely true. Unfortunately for the patriarchs who desired Cazador's gold and palace, Astarion's now dead master had described him and his siblings in public several times as his children. Which meant, with some political maneuvering and legal footwork on Astarion’s end, he and his siblings did indeed end up with a windfall of gold. The insurance fraud bit was all his idea. Henri had joined him and after setting the place aflame, the pair had shared a bottle of wine as they watched the palace burn to the ground. 

Such sweet memories. 

“My dear Inspector, we’ve been over this already. Your witnesses were a drunk who also thought he was the god of fire and tried to run into said building and a half blind woman who couldn’t tell myself and Henri apart. She has horns and a tail, do you know how difficult of an accomplishment that is?” 

For a moment, Astarion thought he could see steam bursting from the man’s ears. “Just because the pair of you are so-called heroes doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.” 

“No one said that, darling. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to this evening.” 

The Inspector peeked behind him, seeing the gaggle of children for once sitting and eating and not causing too much trouble. “And what is this? Kidnapping now, are we?” 

Mattis snapped his head up, “No, you idiot. He’s just watching us cause people keep trying to kill us. Why don’t you do something about that?” 

“Now, Mattis, we don’t call enforcers of the law names in front of them. We save that for after they’ve left,” Astarion gently admonished, turning back to the Inspector, “But he has a point. Didn’t I read something in the papers about your team taking credit for clearing the rest of the Bhaalist temple? And yet we still seem to have them showing up on our doorstep. Interesting, don’t you think?” 

The Inspector paused for a moment, taking in the insults and beratement. He reached behind himself and pulled out a pair of manacles. “You’re going to need to come with me, Mr. Ancunín.” 

Astarion scoffed, “On what made up charge? You have to have cause, darling, or a warrant. I haven’t been a magistrate in centuries and I remember that much.” 

His voice started coming out unreasonably high as the Inspector also pulled out of his pocket what was clearly a large flask of holy water. “Now, let’s think clearly about this, Inspector-” 

The familiar steady tones of Henri’s voice thankfully cut in through the darkness. “Handcuffs? Really? Without me?” 

Astarion perked up. “See, Inspector? Your quarry has arrived.” 

The Inspector whipped his head around and Astarion stepped to the side to see a very alive Henri flanked by Jaheira and Zevlor. 

She’s here. She’s safe. 

Upon seeing the former Chosen of Bhaal, The Inspector’s eyes widened as he hurriedly tried to stuff the flask back into his pocket and reattach the manacles to his belt. Henri walked up to the door as the Inspector dropped the manacles with a loud clunk that reverberated off the brick. Before he could turn and grab them, Henri scooped them up into her own hand. “A gift for me? You shouldn’t have. And you’re here all alone again, I see. Still can’t get any of your Fist friends to join you on your crusade?” 

“Just because everyone else is too frightened of the pair of you to bring you to justice…” 

“Ah, a martyr in our midst,” Jaheira remarked, rolling her eyes, “Couldn’t possibly be because she is a hero of the city, has worked with the Duke directly, and that he likes her more than you?”

Henri tossed the cuffs to Astarion who caught them and set them aside. “Do we really need to do this right now?” 

“Yes, we do, Miss Henri.” The Inspector cleared his throat, put the manacles back on his belt, and clicked his heels together, “I am conducting an investigation about a number of disappearances around Baldur’s Gate.”

“And are these real disappearances or did you just drum up an excuse to harass any citizen that just so happens to have horns and fangs? Because I think Duke Ravenguard would be very interested to hear if it’s the latter.”

Astaron let out a low whistle. That’s his girl.

As the Inspector sputtered out an angry backtracking reply that Henri stood back to enjoy, Astarion’s mind drifted back to that time in the shadow-cursed lands where she had convinced half of their enemies to off themselves, vaguely hoping she could pull the same trick here. 

Yugir had to be her crowning jewel. Convincing him to kill his minions, his pet, and then himself, only to then recruit him later to fight Raphael and the brain. He still kicked himself thinking back to how stupid he had been, yelling at her to just kill the damn orthon when she was in the middle of saving him from the trouble of even drawing his bow. 

Then again, he was confused about his feelings back then and it didn’t help that Henri was incredibly attractive when winding up annoying asshats.

“Besides,” The Inspector paused to clear his throat after going on what sounded like a very obnoxious rant, “I’ll have you know my brother-in-law is a tiefling.” His face was somehow now an even brighter shade of red, shining with drips of sweat, “Now, as I was saying, several disappearances have been reported in this area. Given not your nature as a tiefling, but your other nature as it were, it is natural to check in on these things, don’t you think?”

Henri raised her eyebrows, “My nature as a venerated Hero of the City, you mean? So you’re here to ask for help in investigating these disappearances? Since last time there was a series of murders around the city, I was the one who solved the case and protected those who were targeted while the previous Inspector took all the credit.”

“Well...yes. Yes. Of course. You would probably have an intimate knowledge of places people could scuttle off to undetected.” He cleared his throat, glancing behind her. “Zevlor. Good evening. You wouldn’t happen to have heard anything?” 

“Only about you, Inspector.” Zevlor looked to Henri, “He was at Cal and Dana’s earlier and I heard he gave them quite the difficult time.” 

“Oh, really now?” Henri turned back to the Inspector, her eyebrows raised and eyes wild. Astarion gleefully wondered if she was finally going to stab the man. But before she could do anything, Jaheira stepped forward. 

“If I may, we have identified a new threat today, Inspector. Another cult attacked the Harpers today. Since you did such a wonderful job clearing out the Bhaalists, your help would be… invaluable . And I do believe it is a solid lead as to the source of your disappearances.” 

Astarion suppressed a snort. But Jaheira’s patronizing tone still seemed to work for the Inspector, looking relieved as took the offer she laid out for him. “That sounds excellent, High Harper. I look forward to us working together, then.” 

“Great. Leave.” Henri said, staring daggers into his soul, “Goodnight.” 

The Inspector grumbled to himself as he left, keeping a notable wide berth of Henri as he did so.  

Astarion clicked his tongue. “Thank goodness you arrived when you did, darling. I-”

He was cut off by Henri jumping into his arms. Astarion lifted her and spun around, ignoring the sound of Mattis pointedly gagging in the background. Her lips found his own, their touch magically lifting the weight of anxiety that he hadn’t realized had been weighing him down all day. She gave his lower lip a small affectionate nip as he set her back on the floor. Remembering his audience, Astarion cleared his throat, “You missed another surprise unwelcome guest.”

One of the kids called out, “We sliced their ankle tendons!” 

“Really now?” Henri asked with a sparkle in her eye, “I’m impressed. I don’t think I’ve pulled that off myself.”

Astarion rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes, it was very impressive that they all nearly got themselves killed.” 

She raised an eyebrow at him, properly coming into the Fee with Jaheira and Zevlor behind her, “Everyone alright, then?”

“Not a scratch,” Astarion said reassuringly, threading an arm around her waist, and pulling her sideways into him so they were still facing the gaggle of children. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, right on the red flame tattoo that decorated it, sighing as he took in the smell of her, the ever present scent of campfire and amber mixed with the mouth watering metallic of her blood that steadily pumped through her veins. She was, despite these murder idiots’ best efforts, still very much alive and very much his. 

Henri leaned into him, playfully bumping his waist with her own, “Good. Would be rude for you to die now after I’ve put so much effort into keeping your undead self animated.”

“Pfft. He’s rude now,” one of the kids brooded, arms crossed, “He had us play this stupid game where we had to find him. We looked for hours . How was I supposed to know vampires can climb on the ceiling?”

To be fair, Astarion didn’t know either until about seven months ago, after Cazador and the tadpole were gone, and but he was happy to rub his newfound abilities in the face of this kid all the same.

“You kept insisting we play a game,” Astarion said with an exasperated sigh, “You never said the game should be fair.”

Jaheira came into the front door, holding a few envelopes. “These were in your mailbox out front. Hello, Astarion.”

“My dear Jaheiria, glad to see despite your advanced age, you haven’t collapsed into a pile of dust quite yet.”

“Ha. Nor you, my bastard vampire friend.” She handed Henri the pile, a deep purple envelope at the top, the handwriting in large obnoxious flourishes. It was immediately obvious to Astarion who the sender was.

“Oh gods, what does that wizard want from us now?”

“It’s cute how you still pretend you hate him,” Henri said, ripping the envelope open and scanning it, “Just says he wants to visit.”

“That man is going to drag us to Waterdeep himself, isn’t he?” Astarion whined. “Didn’t he want you to give some boring lecture at his academy?”

“You think a lecture from me would be boring?” Henri teased, “It says he hopes we come to Waterdeep soon as he wants us to meet someone very special to him.”

“No! Gale of all people? The same Gale we stomped around half of Faerun with? Someone fell for that endlessly babbling wizard?” Astarion grabbed the letter from her hand, scanning it over himself just to be sure.

“Henri is with you despite you being a vampire,” Mattis pointed out, “Though I guess being a vampire is kind of cooler than a wizard.”

“Excuse me, I would certainly hope so!” Astarion brought his hand to his chest, “The wizard didn’t teach you how to lockpick, now, did he?”

The group of children started to enthusiastically debate the matter among themselves.

“Yeah, but wizards can do big things like Walls of Fire. A wall of fire could kill like...twenty vampires.”

“Not if the vampires are fast! Astarion is pretty fast.”

“It’s more about if the vampires are stupid enough to chase you through a wall of fire,” Henri added thoughtfully, 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Well, if Petras ever manages to clone himself…” 

The more the group of them talked, the more distracted Astarion was by Henri’s waist and beautifully framed breasts. He could feel himself start to stir down below with a need that required complete privacy and Henri’s clothing to be off. 

He turned to address the exhausted Hellrider, “Zevlor, my second favorite paladin, how are you and how quickly can you get these children home safely? As much as I adore the little munchkins, I’m afraid my evening is quite booked.” Astarion’s hand slipped behind Henri to squeeze her asscheek, her face immediately flushing a pinkish purple as she gently whacked his calf with the tip of her tail. 

“I don’t wanna go!” One of the young tieflings shouted interrupting them, “This is way more fun than home!”

Astarion rolled his eyes, “Yes, the misery of going to the warm, lovely house Henri and I bought for you. Life is tough.”

“But, what if I want to learn more about lockpicking? Or stabbing people?”

Henri, a sweet and kind soul with a much higher tolerance for children than Astarion, squatted down to the child’s level. “Well, tomorrow Dammon is supposed to teach you all about blacksmithing. You can’t stab people if you don’t have good daggers. And you can’t learn about making good daggers if you don’t sleep properly first. There will be plenty of other days you can come back and you can chase Astarion all over the ceiling. Alright?”

Astarion’s mind could not abandon the sexual shores he was currently shipwrecked on. He pulled Henri up as soon as the child joined the others. Placing his hand on her back, he trailed down her spine with his fingertips to the base of her tail. Henri shuddered, biting her lip as she suppressed making a noise. She smacked his arm and handed him the pile of letters. “ Behave, ” she hissed into his ear, “And keep these in front of you. You’re noticeable .” 

“You’ve never complained before.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Jaheira said to Zevlor, “Now that we know everyone around here is safe. I can catch you up on the day’s dealings as well. You missed quite the fight.”

“Did I, now? What a shame. You know, before the brain I thought my fighting days were through. Now it seems there’s some skirmish every few days.”

“Good. Retirement would suit you poorly.” Jaheira smiled warmly, “You still move like a young man on the battlefield. Very impressive to watch, from what I could see, when I was not killing mind flayers myself.”

“Really?” Zevlor sputtered, blinking quickly a few times, “You’re too kind.”

Henri exchanged a knowing glance with Astarion. He clocked the mischievous look in her eyes, the same when she had observed Karlach and Wyll dancing around each other.

Nope. Not tonight. Henri’s matchmaking hijinks could happen another evening when Astarion was trying to not grind on the letters he held as he made a shoo-ing motion with his free hand. “Yes, lovely, sounds like much discussion to be had out and away from here. Good night everyone, miss you terribly already!”

Henri smiled at Jaheira and Zevlor apologetically, allowing her potential next project to gather the children and file them out the door. The whole ordeal still took far too long for Astarion’s taste as he watched Henri wave at their departing young guests, “Have a good night! Thanks for keeping Astarion out of trouble.”

As soon as the little tykes were out of sight, and the door was safely closed, Astarion unceremoniously tossed the letters in the general direction of the counter, before his hands found themselves all over his beloved who was laughing. “I missed you too, gorgeous.”

“That was awful,” Astarion whined, already working to undo the buttons of her blouse so he could see her breasts, “You should never leave again.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“You should be. Such a sin should not be let off lightly.”

Astarion could hear Henri’s heartbeat thrumming under her skin, see pink flush peeking through her pale blue skin. It wasn’t often that he was this clingy, possessive, and desperate. Something about the constant roundabouts of near death experiences, the lingering scent of the blood of other dead men on his lover, and his newfound freedom to explore whatever he wanted at times turned him into the best kind of feral monster, one under his own control to indulge or deny.

To his surprise, Henri put her hands over his own, “I’ll be more than happy to beg for forgiveness, but can I please have five minutes to put my things down and settle in properly? Don’t want to stick you with a dagger by accident.” 

Astarion pouted, but released his hold on her, allowing her to pull away from him. His hands went to his own clothing as he started to undress himself, tossing his tunic carelessly aside. “We should leave soon. Baldur’s Gate, I mean.” 

Henri looked up at him as she drew her daggers out from their spot by her thighs and set them down, her hands then working on her skirt, “I hope the kids didn’t work you that hard.” 

“I could say the same to you, darling.” Astarion looked at her pointedly, “I hope you’re not actually planning on taking on even more work while we’re here. We have other plans, remember? This sunwalker ring isn’t going to waltz in here and place itself on my finger, now is it? And remember how ill you were after the brain? I certainly don’t want a repeat of that.”

“I’m fine ,” Henri insisted, “And I wasn’t planning on taking more work.” Her gaze was unfocused as she tossed her skirt to the side and started to spin the Band of the Mystic Scoundrel around her finger like she’d gotten it at a two copper store and not a dangerous land of feral dinosaurs after outplaying a cheating djinn. 

Astarion stared at her, “But…?” 

“...But between the Bhaalists still out there and now this new group of crazies...shit, you don’t know about the new group of crazies, right.”

Despite Astarion’s request to discuss this in the morning, it was obvious Henri needed to get this off her chest now. So he listened somewhat attentively as she rattled off what had happened at the Harper’s, giving an impressive level of detail about the methods of killing and arteries hit. His sweet, bloodthirsty girl. One could apparently take Bhaal out of the Bhaalspawn but apparently not the knowledge or interest in murder itself.

“If they were only threatening us, the battle hardened and capable, I’d dump it on the Harpers and Hellriders and call it a day. But they are a threat to every tiefling in the city. That’s not a problem we can trust the Fist with, no matter how much Wyll and his father insist they’ve changed. Especially if they are under that asshole Inspector. And it’s my fault these groups are attacking anyhow, so...”

Astarion felt his chest ache at her words. One of Henri’s many lovely qualities was how protective she was and how much effort she put into keeping her allies and loved ones safe. Hells, it was one of the reasons why Astarion had first pursued her. But he learned far too late into knowing her that she carried with it a deeply ingrained sense of guilt and insistence on self sacrifice that was, well...they were working on it. There were certain difficulties to helping a disowned Bhaalspawn who was once fated to kill every living thing in the world feel like it was okay to be selfish.

Fortunately, Astarion was a professional at the art.

He gently covered both her anxious hands with one of his own, his other hand cupping her jaw, turning her gaze to focus on him, “You know what I think?”

Henri nuzzled his hand, “Hmmm?”

“I think that you have had a very long day and that you need to relax for once. How about we go downstairs, get you something to eat, take a bath, and with it...” Astarion wrapped an arm around her and pulled her forward and into him, “I seem to recall you saying something about forgiveness?”

Warmth surged through him as he could hear that playfulness he adored returning to Henri’s tone, “It’s best taken kneeling.”

“Is it now?” Astarion took a step forward, slipping his leg between hers. He tutted in teasing disapproval as he pressed his thigh hard against her core, “I thought we agreed you were done working for the evening.”

“It’s not work...fuck...” She let out the sweetest little whimper as he leaned forward and sucked hard on her neck, bruising it. His fangs scraped over her skin, yet to pierce her flesh as he teased her with his bite. Henri struggled to continue, “I’ve been thinking about you...in my mouth... gods , all day... please ...”

“Were you now? What exactly did you-?”

It was his turn to let out a groan as he felt one of her hands slip between them to place her hand around his cock, short circuiting the part of his brain that came up with brilliant retorts.

So instead Astarion went with, “You know what? I suppose you did say please....”

It took less than a minute for Astarion to pull the pair of them back towards the counter, pull his leaking cock from his pants and shove it into his kneeling lover’s gloriously hot mouth.

“Such a good, sweet girl.” There was no way he was going to last long. Not with Henri looking up at him like that, glassy eyes now black and ringed with maroon, as she sucked him like she was the one of them who didn’t require air to breathe.

Astarion grasped her horns, the perfect size shape and curl for his hands. Like they were made for him to hold onto as he sloppily fucked her throat.

Gods, she was perfect. This was perfect. He was going to come in her mouth and then devour her cunt like it was his last meal...

Somewhere in the haze of being driven to orgasmic bliss, the voice of Gale Dekarios cut in.

“Hello, this is Gale Dekarios, Professor of Illusion at Blackstaff Academy. I am utilizing this magic letter to ask if Henri is available to-”

“Her mouth is busy, wizard!” Astarion’s voice was strained as he slowed his pace just enough to shout over the sound of spittle and his lover moaning around him, “Call back in the morning!”

“Oh, for the love of-”

The voice thankfully disconnected. A tear-stained, panting Henri released his cock from her mouth with a pop, a string of spittle connecting her swollen red lips to his tip.

She grinned, looking up at him through her eyelashes, “Naughty.” 

“I am.” Astarion smiled down at her, caressing her horns with his thumbs before tugging her mouth back onto his cock. “Now, less talking, my love. We have a very long night ahead of us.” 

[honeyhotteoks]

oh chai, we'd love to hear your thoughts on unpacking trauma and sexual exploring through fiction!

i feel like it's such a deep topic to explore and talk about!

✨anon

okay i’m putting on my social sciences/literature hat on for this one, but it’s also about to get a little personal in here, so i’m throwing my reply under the cut :)

cw for discussions around trauma, grief, SA, violence, child SA, taboo kinks etc.

this is most certainly going to get a little rambly, but i have a lot of thoughts about this and personal experiences to bring to the table. i’ve been thinking about this a lot lately because i was recently watching a conversation in a discord server dig into more niche kinks in a way that was using so much problematic and shameful language i was really disappointed. this is also a huge reason why i am a big proponent of tagging fics accurately, and spills over into all the big thoughts i have about the romance genre and dark romance in particular.

i’ll start from a personal perspective so everyone understands my reference points. without getting into too much detail, i have a lot of childhood trauma around emotional and physical abuse / neglect that i’ve been unpacking in therapy for a long time, but writing has also been a place for me to work through many of those issues. i’ve also personally experienced sexual harassment and attempted assault, and as many of you probably already know, i experienced the sudden loss of my father several years ago. writing has always been, and will probably always be, the place where i work through those complex thoughts. in aurora the reader’s mother suddenly passed away and was dealing with an alcoholic father, and i was writing that at the same time i was dealing with the sudden traumatic loss of my father and my mother’s battle with alcoholism. it was beyond cathartic for me to write through that experience, especially in a way where my alternative “self” in reader was being cared for, listened to, validated, and held through that grief. while it wasn’t intentional at the time, i didn’t set out to write that to make myself feel better, when i read it now i realize how much i was trying to process at that time and how helpful it was. the same can be said for TNT, the attempted claim scene in retrospect really was my attempt at processing something very personal and almost ‘re-writing’ it with yunho and mingi as protective heroes, something i did not have at the time.

that is all to say, romance as a genre has used particular tropes, kinks, or taboos forever and i think it is a really reductive reading of that genre to assume women are just writing and reading things because they think it’s ‘hot’ or ‘sexy’ or whatever. i’ve been reading hurt/comfort and SA recovery fics and novels in the romance space forever, it’s honestly a personal favorite of mine. while i know some people hate that trope, i would argue that through fiction people who have suffered a trauma might be able to safely expose themselves to those ideas / triggers and find comfort in storylines that don’t turn out as painful and awful as the real world. in the real world victims of SA for example often do not get justice, they may have many re-traumatizing experiences, and they may struggle to get the help that they need or to find a partner who is understanding and supportive. fiction is an opportunity to explore the alternative. what if the worst thing in the world could happen to you (or did happen to you) but instead of the system failing you etc., what if someone had been there to emotionally and physically support you in the ways you wanted and needed?

that is one way of exploring those concepts, but another is through kink. i’m specifically thinking about CNC for this example, and i know that some people find that kink not only triggering but distasteful, but there are many people who have experienced a traumatic incident where they were out of control that a properly organized cnc scene can help them feel fully in control, because they are. for some, cnc is a kink that makes no sense and seems no different than a ‘rape fetish’, but for many it is a way to safely process trauma or fears while always having the control to say when too much is too much.

as a note, i’d extend this further to other concepts, kinks, or taboos as well. i’m not saying everyone should be comfortable reading or engaging with kinks like ddlg, age play, incest kinks, etc. etc., but this can be a safe way to unpack trauma for some. specifically for something like ddlg, the safety of a dominant caring for their partner as they play in a child-like headspace can be incredibly healing for some. it’s not something i personally understand or have experience with, but i have spoken to those in kink spaces who feel this very intrinsically and are in deeply healthy relationships with this as a dynamic. from a writing perspective, these kinks can be explored safely within the bounds of fiction and comfort characters in ways that can be very healing and very safe.

now, this isn’t to say everyone writing dark concepts has had a trauma that they are working through, but it certainly is my personal experience and in talking with a lot of different writers and readers, this is a common thread. the safety of fiction, particularly in the romance genre, allows spaces for people, particularly women, to rework and process concepts of trauma, safety, and security. i particularly emphasize the concept of a ‘safe man’ here. i don’t know a woman alive who hasn’t had a traumatic or distasteful experience with a man, misogyny is rampant…. but many of us still love men, want relationships with men, and want to feel safe and validated by men. there are lots of good guys out there to be sure, but fiction is a great way of exploring something traumatic or scary with the knowledge that the character will be saved/safe/cared for/healed by a man, something many women might want in a partner.

one disclaimer i do have though on the dark romance genre as a whole - while i understand that a bully romance or very serious enemies to lovers romance (i.e. a villain who is actually abusing the FMC) can also function in the same ways, to unpack trauma, i do read this genre with a lot of caution and i think we need to be careful in the ways that we talk about these romances. again, this is not to shame anyone’s preferences whatsoever, but i do think we need to be careful about how we discuss certain dark romance concepts. i personally will not read and will never write work that features a relationship where the male romantic lead starts off as a physical or emotional abuser, for me this is too triggering and offers too many gray areas for young readers to misinterpret healthy relationships vs. kink exploration and fantasy. It’s totally fine if this is how you as a reader explore and unpack trauma, or even just what you find hot outside of that, but I personally think we need to be careful hyping these books up etc. HOWEVER - dead dove content has existed for a very long time, and everything i’ve said about unpacking and reworking trauma through fiction applies here, it’s purely a personal preference that i limit this content for myself.

lastly, on the note of sexuality and sexual exploration - fanfiction has been a space for people to safely explore this too. to be more than exceptionally clear, sexuality is not a “kink”, has nothing to do with “taboos” or trauma or anything i’ve spoken about thus far. but in the same way that fiction, particularly fanfiction, is a place to explore the interior, this applies to sexuality. In fiction, you can explore same sex relationships, het relationships, cis, trans, and nonbinary experiences alike, to say nothing of polyamory. Outside of just sexual acts and bodies, it’s a place to explore romantic attachments of all different kinds. As a bisexual woman who grew up in a very conservative, very christian household, fanfiction was a place for me to explore the idea of f/f relationships, m/m relationships, and all kinds of combinations in between. In fiction, these relationships can be explored without the threat of ostracism or physical violence, something many people in the lgbtqia+ community know too well. whether reading or writing, it’s a way to explore those internal thoughts, impulses, and interests safely and often in stories that have a happy ending to look forward to.

hopefully that makes sense if you’re still here - and feel free to ask any questions you may have! :)

[1ovewoo]

2am - jung wooyoung ♡

cw/tags: fem reader, fluff, mildly suggestive, use of "mommy"

notes: im just so soft for woo recently idk.. i want late night cuddles w him</3

the apartment is dark and quiet when you finally get home from a night out with your friends, not surprising since it’s past 2am and you insisted that wooyoung not stay up to wait for you and that you would call him if you needed. 

you try to take your heels off as quietly as possible and drop your handbag by the door, telling yourself you’ll put it away properly in the morning. right now, all you wanted was to crawl into bed with your sweet, warm boyfriend and sleep for at least a day or two. 

carefully, you push open the door to your bedroom and use your phone screen as a light source while you creep to the bathroom to remove your makeup and then slip off your dress, throwing on one of wooyoung’s tee shirts to sleep in. 

finally, you crawl underneath the covers, trying not to disturb wooyoung, who’s sleeping peacefully on his stomach, but alas, it doesn’t work. 

he stirs, rubbing his face in his pillow before turning in your direction, eyes still closed as he mumbles, “mm, mommy?” 

“hi, baby,” you whisper sweetly, reaching up to brush wooyoung’s long hair off of his forehead and tuck it behind his ear. 

his eyes finally flutter open and he smiles sleepily upon seeing your face in the barely-there light peeking through your blinds from the street lamps.

“missed you, did you have fun?” wooyoung scoots forward to wrap an arm around your waist and tuck his face into your neck, tangling his legs with yours.

“mhm, i missed you too, sweetheart. it was lots of fun, the girls were disappointed you didn’t tag along,” you respond, teasing wooyoung because he knew all your friends found him oh-so-cute and liked to tease him at every opportunity just to see him blush and giggle.

he giggles now, gently swatting at you with the hand around your waist before playfully biting at your neck.

you hum and let the hand that had been resting on wooyoung’s back slide up to cup the back of his neck, scratching at his scalp there and hearing him practically purr where his lips are attached to your neck. 

you let out a little gasp when wooyoung sucks at a particularly sensitive spot before soothing his tongue over the blooming mark left behind.

gently, you tug at his hair a little to pull him off of you and look into his droopy brown eyes, saying, “it’s pretty late, baby, how about you show mommy how much you missed her when we wake up tomorrow?”

you pepper kisses all along his face from his forehead down his cheekbone and to his jaw before you capture his lips in yours, giving him a few lingering pecks before pulling away, giggling at his cute pout as he chases after you.

“hmm, okay,” he soon agrees as a yawn falls from his lips.

he settles back down cuddled against you with his head tucked back into your neck and mumbles, “love you”, and it only takes a few seconds after that for his breathing to even out and his body to fully relax against yours. 

you can’t fight the fond smile tugging at your lips as you place a kiss to the top of your boyfriend’s head and wrap your arms more tightly around him, drifting off into your own much needed sleep. 

ty for reading! if you enjoyed this and would like to support my works please consider reblogging or checking out my masterlist!

© 1ovewoo 2023

[mugloversonly]

worth waiting

takes place in "He's not a runner, he's a rockstar" AU you can read the first part here Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompts: ORNAMENT, TREE, LIGHTS WC: 637 Rating: G CW: NA summary: Eddie is getting ready to go on tour while Steve has his last Christmas in Hawkins. AO3

Steve hummed as he decorated the little glass orb. Eddie told him that he and Wayne make a new ornament every year but that they agreed Steve could make it this time, to celebrate their first Christmas together. Steve added his final few dashes of glitter before he looked over at his boyfriend...only to find him tangled in the tree lights.

“You good there?” He asked with a chuckle. Eddie glared at him before joining in.

“Usually Wayne does this part. But, I thought I could get it done before he gets home.” Steve smiled. Wayne still lived in Hawkins, but he was visiting a lady friend in Chicago this weekend.

“Let me get you out.” The two spent the next hour untangling Eddie and attempting to untangle the lights, only for them to still be in a twisted bundle when Wayne entered.

“Boys.” He nodded his head as he shook of his boots. He glanced at the pile of lights on the floor. “Eddie…” he said threateningly.

“I didn’t break any this time! I think…” Eddie trailed off, properly shame faced.

“He does this every year.” Wayne informed Steve. He took a seat in his recliner and held his hand out. Eddie dutifully put the string into Wayne’s hands and within a few minutes they were completely untangled and flat.

“Thanks.” Eddie said sheepishly before he started to wind them around the tree.

“I think he does it because he wants to see me give up.” Wayne stage whispered to Steve, who snorted.

“Will you?” Steve asked.

“Eddie’s been a challenge all his life. I aint givin’ up on him yet.” Wayne said fondly. He sobered before he looked at Steve, concern written all over his face. “You gonna be okay when he goes on tour?”

Eddie just told him about it today. The band toured over December every year, it was a tradition that he wasn’t going to break, but he always made it home for Christmas. Wayne said one time he bought a horse and rode it through the snow. He wouldn’t put it past Eddie to be honest.

“Yeah, I mean. I don’t love it. But we’ve been apart for longer than a month right? It can’t be so bad.” Steve said though the look in Wayne’s eyes told him he didn’t fool anyone. In truth, Eddie stayed in Hawkins after that benefit concert for a while. The whole band did, helping out their families for a while. But everyone was back in California for the past two months. Except Eddie, who stayed, for Steve.

Wayne was ready to move to LA with him, but Steve needed to wait a few more months. He lost his only guy friend in Tommy and though he wanted throw his whole life into Eddie’s, it wasn’t a good idea. Robin encouraged him to wait, let himself date Eddie without relying on him in any way, to make sure the relationship was real, and Eddie agreed.

So, now, he was going to get his degree in business to help Robin run her foreign language book store. He had all the necessary paperwork, including an acceptance letter, to get into UCLA. He was ready.

But, this tour would be the final test. They haven’t been apart for more than a few days since they started dating, and he could barely handle that. If he couldn’t get through this month, how was he going to survive a year long tour?

“Stevie! Put your ornament on!” Eddie shouted, ripping Steve out of his mood. He stood and placed his glass bulb with “Stevie’s first Christmas” and the year written on it, onto a middle branch. “Nice!” Eddie said as he kissed him.

Steve sighed. He’d miss him like a limb, but he knew what they had was worth waiting for.

tags:

@katyawriteswhump

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