#apple music tings

[froggenbie]

putting your entire music library on shuffle is absolutely wild. i got two lemon demon songs in a row. then the coralline theme song. then another lemon demon song T.T What

[the-summ0ning]

Bestie dragged me out of the house for a concert, ended up drinking tequila and wine, and listened to the most gut wrenching songs on the way home… now my happy meal has tears in it lmao

[msgexymunson]

Soft Touches

Description: you and your dealer Eddie get a little closer than anticipated.

Warnings: acquaintances to lovers, reader is AFAB, weed smoking (both parties so no real dub con), fem oral receiving, praise kink, p in v unprotected sex.

A/N: It's my birthday! And I'm high, and horny, so happy birthday! If you've read my work you KNOW I'm a sucker for the first time y/n fucks Eddie. When I'm a benevolent dictator it shall be a universal holiday ;)

4k words

Masterlist

“Eddie, what the hell was in that?” 

Floating in a cloud of your high, the entire room seemed to glow in pink and orange, senses tinged in a sunset glow. You were definitely stoned out of your tree if you were comparing Eddie's stuffy, cramped room to a breath-taking sunset. 

“It's a new strain I got from Rick. You feeling it?” 

“Oh, I'm feeling it alright. I can hear colours.” 

Eddie's rich laugh echoed off the walls of his trailer. He laid on the bed casually, one arm slung beneath his head making his tight t-shirt ride up slightly. Just a peek of his happy trail was on display, which you tried, and failed, not to stare at. 

It was proving difficult, especially since you sat criss-cross apple sauce on his floor. His body was eye level, handcuff belt shining softly in the low light. The glint of that drew your eyes even lower, concentrating on the bulge you could see in his jeans.

You thought you were being sneaky. You absolutely were not. 

“Hey, sweetheart, you gonna answer me or just stare at my dick?” 

“Huh?” 

Shaking your head as if to clear it, you finally met his gaze. 

“I said, you can come lay up here if you want.” 

Halfway between getting up and still in a weird little crouch his words finally filtered through your addled brain. 

“I wasn't staring at your dick!” 

“Whatever you say, baby girl.” 

Frozen, mind empty of comebacks, you clambered out of your goblin stance and stood up, when the blood decided to rush to your head. 

“Oh Holy shit.” 

Your knees buckled, and you would have ended up face first on Eddie's carpet if he hadn't caught you. 

“Easy there, I've got you.” 

Eddie's firm hands held your upper arms tightly as he manoeuvred you to sit on his bed. The room was spinning, everything was drifting out of focus. 

“I need to lie down.” 

Eddie pulled you towards his pillows and laid you down gently, picking your legs up and settling them on the bed with you. Staring up at his off white ceiling, things began to drift back in. Once the room finally stopped swooping around in your vision, you started to come to your senses. 

You are on Eddie Munson's bed. You knew him, sure, only in a ‘can I come round so you can smoke us out and listen to music’ kind of way. You'd hardly call him a friend. This though, feeling the heat of his body next to you, him leaning on his side staring at you worriedly seemed entirely outside of your current arrangement. 

Suddenly the air was stifling, Eddie's warmth only exacerbating the matter. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah, just really warm. And fucking high.” 

Eddie laughed, relieved.

“Thank fuck, I was scared for a minute.” 

You fumbled at the hem of your oversized sweater, attempting to wriggle it up your body but all motor skills were beyond you right now. 

“Eddie.” You pouted at him, flapping the edge of your sweater with frustrated hands. 

“You want this off?” 

“Please.” 

He flashed you a mischievous grin and pulled up upright, beginning to draw the offensive sweater up and over your form. 

“Didn't think you'd be begging me to undress you sweetheart.” 

Rolling your eyes in response, you held your arms over your head like a petulant toddler. Sweater removed and tossed to the foot of the bed, you risked a glance at Eddie. He was entirely preoccupied, staring at your bare midriff that was now on display. 

“It's a crop top Eddie, get over it.” 

Flinging yourself back down on the pillow, Eddie coughed, looking a little flustered, and settled in next to you. 

“Sorry, I didn't expect it. You always wear baggy shit.” 

“Comfortable shit, thank you. I come here to smoke, it's not New York fashion week.”

Eddie ran a finger across you, just below your belly button. The barely there touch blazed across your skin. 

“I didn't know you had your belly button pierced.” 

Looking down, you watch as his fingers circle it, then flick the little jewel dangling off the end. Thighs clamping together out of sheer necessity, you attempt to ignore it. 

“Yeah, got it done when I was like 15, two towns over. Probably my least painful piercing. Apart from ears, of course.”

Apparently, Rick's new strain also makes you run your mouth, as well as being insanely warm and horny. It seemed you had captured Eddie's attention. He turned further towards you, one hand holding his head up. The other, much to your relief, stayed on your stomach. You're not sure he was even aware he was still stroking your skin. 

“Least painful? What other piercings do you have?” 

You seriously considered dodging the question, but it's difficult to be devious directly to those big wet eyes of his. It's like trying to lie to a baby cow. 

“Well, I got my nose done, but the piercing fell out and I didn't bother to get a new one. That one stung. But the worst had to be my… my nipples.” 

The whole bed lurched as Eddie jumped up and sat cross legged facing you. He practically flew into action, grabbing his cigarettes and a lighter as if you were about to tell him some epic tale. 

“Right, tell me everything.” 

Whilst laughing at his wide eyed expression, you realise he's being completely serious. 

“Well, they er, they like, sanitise the… area, draw a dot where they're going to pierce you and tell you to take a deep breath in and it's done. It's super quick actually. It's more the after part that hurts. Why are you interested?” 

Eddie pushes his hair behind one ear, the tip of it is glowing scarlet, you notice. 

“I was thinking about getting it done my last birthday but I didn't have the cash.” 

He's staring at you, nervously chewing on a hang nail. You can practically see the unasked question dancing on his tongue. You weren't going to offer, hell no. If he wants to see he has to ask. The thing is, the way your tummy is bubbling right now, you don't think you could say no to those eyes of his. 

The question remains unsaid. He merely offers you a drag on his cigarette which you take gratefully, before he's stubbing it out and laying back down next to you. 

“How you feeling now? Bit less baked?” 

“Oh I'm still fucked, but I can see straight and I don't feel sick.” 

His fingers begin their dance again, skating over your exposed flesh, stroking down your side to your hip, across your stomach, and back again. You want to mention it. He's never touched you like this before, but you also don't want him to stop. 

“Good. Not inviting you over again if you hurl on my bed.” 

Giggling, you turn and face him. You're both on your sides now, knees close to knocking. His shirts ridden up again and before you can even register what you're doing you've placed a delicate hand on his hip. His eyes widened briefly, but that's it. Both of you are touching the others bare flesh, whispers of touches. Little, tentative things, like the bursting of soap bubbles on skin. 

“I wouldn't hurl on your bed. I'm sure I'd at least make it to the bathroom. I'm not an animal.” 

Eddie just grins in response, and you look at each other, really look. His dopey smile is the same as yours, and it seems neither of you want to mention how this seems to be rolling into very unfamiliar territory. 

“Eddie?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Why are you touching me?” 

He pushes infinitesimally closer, his knee now slotting between yours. It's a small gesture, but suddenly the situation feels even more intimate than before. 

“Because. Because it feels good. You're soft, and warm. And you keep making little noises.” 

“I do?” 

He smooths his hand higher, thumb dragging along the underside of your breast, and you let out a tiny, quivering whimper.

“See? Like that.” 

Opening your legs slightly wider, Eddie's knee pushes naturally further forward, his thigh now wedged between yours. His breath is fanning your nose; cigarettes, weed, and sweet snacks. 

“So sweetheart, why are you touching me?” 

Your hand presses a little more firmly, snaking underneath the hem of his shirt. With no complaint forthcoming, you reach further up, stroking his side, up over his ribs, and back down again. He responds in kind. Every kiss of fingers is electrifying, filling the room with a soft, dense tension. 

“Because it feels good. Because I saw a bit of skin and I couldn't resist.” 

“Yeah?” He's smirking as he says it, but you're beyond playing games at this point. 

“Yeah.” 

“I didn't know I was irresistible.”

You pinch his skin a little and he stares at you like you just betrayed him. 

“I didn't say that, you're twisting my words.” 

“Pretty sure I heard-” 

Cutting him off with a tickle to the ribs, he grabs your hand to stop you. 

“OK, OK! You were right, I was wrong. Nice touches again please.” 

His hand swiftly makes its way back to your skin and you continue to stroke him. 

“Nice touches?” 

“Yeah, it feels really good.” 

Running your hand up, you graze his nipple, and then bring it back down, down, until you reach the top of his jeans. You graze a finger, just one, under them, sweeping across his tensing abs. Then, you move up to more innocent flesh. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

Eddie's chest is heaving, fingers pressing indents into your flesh. 

“Nice enough?” you're the one smirking this time, pleased at the effect you're having on him. 

“Yeah.” 

It's barely a word, more of a breath. You scoot closer toward him, just a couple of inches, but it's close enough to feel his thigh start to press against your heat. Gasping at the pressure, you rub subtly against his thigh to try and relieve your mounting feelings, no matter how slightly. 

Eddie's hand starts making a trembling journey up your form, fingers twisting underneath your top. Feeling the underside of your bare breast, you both gasp. Eddie undoubtedly because you weren't wearing a bra, you because, well, the obvious. The slightest graze had your nipple hardening instantly, hips rocking forward without your control. 

“Is this OK?” 

“Yeah. Please.” 

Fingers stretching further, Eddie finally brushes your nipple. The feeling is magnified by your piercing; they've felt more sensitive since you got them done.

The moan that escapes is louder than you meant but it couldn't be helped. This simple touch is igniting through your nerves and rushing to your high brain. 

“Shit, they are pierced.” 

It seems to be a thought that Eddie said out loud by accident as he rubs his fingers over your ruddy nipple, slowly circling the silver balls of the jewellery. 

Another moan breaks from you, even louder this time.

“Fuuuuck Eddie.” 

“Yeah?” 

His touches become firmer, rubbing your nipple between thumb and forefinger, mapping the way your face scrunches up with his eyes.

“Yeah, jeez. They're really sensitive.” 

Practically panting in each other's mouths, your noses rub together. 

“Can- can I kiss you?” 

His words are so hesitant that it makes you giggle. Pressing your lips in a swift kiss to his full bottom lip, you respond. 

“I'd be mad if you didn't.” 

Eddie wastes no more time, pressing a hot open mouthed kiss to you that you reciprocate in kind. You keep it slow, leisurely traversing new territory with soft, exploring tongues. Naturally your arms encircle him, pulling him closer, closer. His arm snakes around your back as your bodies press together, like puzzle pieces slotting together and finding their perfect match. Eventually you break away to take a gasping breath as Eddie presses kisses to your collarbone.

“I don't know why we waited so long to do that.” 

“We? I thought you just wanted me for free drugs!” 

You giggled loudly at that, so loud it came out as a snort, but it didn't matter. The moment was so honest that being cool had nothing to do with it. You were bare, in a way, and so was he. 

Eddie chuckled with you as he slowly but surely pushed you onto your back, slipping both of his legs between yours. Pushing your hips up, you feel his hardness graze your pubic bone. 

“Eddie?” 

He hums a response, lips and tongue busy loving on your neck. You tug at the hem of your top and pull upwards. Eddie gets the message, moving out of the way briefly so you can strip it off. 

There you are, bare chested in front of him. You'd be nervous, if you hadn't seen the longing in his eyes. He's kneeling, one arm leaning on the mattress whilst the other compulsively strokes your side. 

“Jesus Christ your tits are perfect.” 

The moment stretches just a little too long for comfort; you're a hair's breadth away from crossing your arms over your chest when Eddie leans down and runs his tongue around and around one nipple. Mewling pathetically, you lace your fingers in Eddie's soft waves and tug. In response his teeth graze you as he sucks softly; then he gives the other just as much attention. 

Shuddering and wriggling under him, you can't do anything but whine, your hips undulating upwards to chase some friction, some release, anything. 

“Eddie, please, I need you.” 

“Umph,” He responds, muffled by your chest, “I need you to say that again.” 

“Eddie I swear to God if you don't- ” 

He laughs, cutting off your sentence. 

“Alright baby girl, I got you.” 

Working his way down your front, he takes his time planting soft kisses, making you writhe at each touch of his lips, until he reaches your shorts. 

Flicking the button open, he slowly drags the zip down and finds the little sliver of red panties poking out. 

“Hearts? Cute.” 

Thick fingers plunge into your clothes and pull them away, flinging your shorts and panties across the room into the void that was Eddie's carpet. 

Insecurity finally gripped its claws into you. What if he didn't like what you looked like down there, smelled like, tasted like? 

A moment of unadulterated panic, and then Eddie licked his tongue, slowly yet firmly, between your lips and all the way up. Barging your thighs further apart with his shoulders, he rooted your clit out with his tongue, running dizzying circles and sucking at it desperately. 

Eddie's moans rivalled your own, such neediness etched in you swear his fingerprints will be left on the outside of your thighs like tattoos, simply from the force he held you with. Barely able to shake, you compensated by pulling his hair and guiding his tongue exactly where you needed it. 

He pushed a thick calloused finger into you slowly, looking up at you as he did so. You back arched off the bed. He felt around, staring at you with such intensity you that you were seconds away from telling him to quit staring when-

“Oh God, oh fuck!” 

Eddie smirked, sliding another finger in gently to join the first, and worked your clit between his lips. He incessantly stroked a spot inside that you'd never reach on your own, a firm, beckoning gesture as if he were willing your orgasm to come hither. 

It was working. Your insides tingle, a tightness pulling straight from your gut and shooting out to your fingers and toes. Beyond control by this point, your hand pulls his hair tightly. To your amazement, his other hand reaches out to you, seeking, and you lace your fingers in his own. 

As soon as your digits touched, you were gone. Your release plummets out of you, shaking through every bone you have, leaving you a twitching puddle of a woman. His fingers chase after it, dragging every inch of squelching pleasure out of your insides until you're tugging him away and begging for it to stop. 

As he moved back up your body, licking and sucking as he did so, you tried to think of an answer to the smug grin he was just about to flash at you. 

There was none. Brain unravelled, threads wound into your nerves instead of your thoughts, you laid there, ruminating on how he'd made you come faster than any other man.

Eddie hovered over you, nose nudging your own. He must have wiped his mouth at some point whilst you were in la la land. 

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Eddie, you're really fuckin’ good at that.”

“I know.”

You laugh, tapping his side.

“Cocky.”

“Confident.”

Before you can retort his mouth is back on you, peppering kisses to your jaw, as his solid member presses into your naked heat.

“Fuck Eddie, please, please please-”

“Please what baby girl?” He asks, then sucks a hickey on your neck. 

Pulling him towards you by his shirt collar, you bite down sharply on his earlobe, pulling a little groan from his chest.

“I want you to stuff me full Eddie. I'm- I'm on birth control. Fill me up.” 

You can practically feel Eddie's eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck, you can't just say that, I nearly busted in my pants!” 

Pulling himself off you for the shortest time he could, he peels his t-shirt over his head and flops back on top of you. Desperate kisses and urgent gropes spill from you both; grinding, needy things that tore at clothes and grasped at flesh. 

After fiddling and failing with his belt, you huff and tug harshly at his waistband. He chuckles, biting at your bottom lip as he unlatches it with ease and then wriggles his pants and boxers down his legs with urgency. 

More desperate grasps, teeth and tongues clashing violently, your hand reaching down to clutch at his- 

“Holy hell!” 

His eyes widen, hands coming to a halt, waiting for the rest of your sentence. You're too busy trying to glance down his front as he hovers over you, your fist firmly stroking his hardened cock.

“You're huge Eddie!” 

He smirks and thrusts into your hand, the velvet smoothness of his dick massaged  by your palm. 

“Bet you say that to all the guys.”

“Er, no, Rick's made some truth serum or some shit because that's the biggest I've ever felt.” 

You guide him firmly towards your entrance, dragging the tip of his enlarged cock through your slickened folds. He quivers over you, arms thick with tension. 

“Baby girl just, just slip it inside, please-” 

“Now who's begging?” 

Grinning mischievously, you wait for him to start forming an answer with his mouth when you slip the head inside your sopping opening. His open mouth turns into a long drawn out moan. 

You would tease him if the feeling of him splitting you open wasn't all consuming. Which it fucking is. He just keeps pushing, and pushing, until his chest is flush with yours and he's mumbling platitudes in your ear. 

“Doing so good for me. Such a naughty, naughty girl. Getting filled up by her drug dealer? Baby girls a little dirty, isn't she?”

You're trying not to let him know how much his words affect you, but the fluttering of your satin like walls tells a different story. 

“You're not my dealer.” 

“Oh really? I'm not?” 

Pulling out nearly all the way and pushing back in, you bite your lip at the drag against your insides.

“Dealer implies I buy shit. You just give it to me, like a little simp.”

Eddie's mouth drops open in mock outrage.

“You want me to give it to you now? I'll fucking give it to you baby.” 

Hooking an arm under your thigh, Eddie thrusts into you hard and devastatingly deep. And again, and again, until you start moaning wantonly right in his face, all bravado forgotten.

“Yeah? Atta girl. That good baby? Wanna feel me right here?” 

His other hand pushes against your lower stomach, the pressure deepening the pleasure he's giving you tenfold. 

“Oh Eddie, oh fuckfuckfuck!!” 

Your release explodes out of your cunt with a gush, liquid spurting out of you so hard you nearly force his impressive length out. It waves drastically, like the sea against the shore, washing and washing over you until it's hard to breathe. 

“Baby, baby! Holy shit, I think you squirted.” 

“Ya think? My God, that was… mind blowing.” 

“Yeah?” 

Looking up at him, you expect that arrogant grin, but he just looks pleased and innocent. Like a kid at Christmas. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah.”

Rolling him over with all the power left in your thighs, you pin him down and move firmly into him, ferality taking over your actions. 

“Jesus Christ, you are a dirty girl, aren't you?” 

“Maybe just a little.” 

Smirking, you hump against him, your swollen clit bumping against his pubic bone on each delicious pass. 

“Holy shit, I'm not complaining- fuck, what the- what are you doing? Jesus Christ!” 

You bounce hard on him. Seeing him writhe under you is a special kind of power, one you aren't willing to let go of. Ever.

“Fuck, b-baby girl, you're gonna make me come!” 

His intense moans spur you on further. Unable to bounce so much on shaky knees you snuggle down close to him, arms clutching his shoulders, as you grind into him. It's massaging sensations into your clit, as well as teasing your g spot with his imposing length. 

“I can't, I’m-  baby girl-” 

“I'm gonna come, Eddie please, fill me up, I wanna feel it, I wanna feel your cum inside me, please, fuckin’ breed me Eddie. Oh fuck!” 

Quivering against him uncontrollably, your legs give out, collapsing on his body as he tenses and releases inside of you. It spurs your own orgasm, snaking up your spine and gripping on your system like a fly caught in honey. An open mouthed scream is all you give him, silent but chock full of feeling, as your back arches in its own tension. 

As it curls out of you, your back gives up, and you flop forward, bones turned to pudding. 

“Well.” is all that comes out, a puff of a word, just air escaping from a collapsing chest.

“Well.” Eddie responds, waiting for what you're about to say. 

You're sure he doesn't expect it. A laugh bubbles out; a weird, inside laugh, that you probably should never share with anyone. But it keeps coming. And coming. Laughing uncontrollably, you roll off of him and try to get your stomach muscles in check. 

You'd be worried about his reaction, if he wasn't laughing with you. It was this odd mixture of tension and relief that was bursting in the air, a barrier broken and left crumbling at your feet. 

“Eddie. Fuck, Eddie.” 

“Yeah?”

‘Yeah.”

His heated hand found yours, and squeezed your fingers hard. For some reason, it felt more intimate than all of this combined. 

Giggling again, you lean into his chest, fingers dipping up to weave into his hair. 

“Baby girl, you can't just-” 

“What? Pull your hair? Because you like it?” 

Tugging on his hair dramatically, Eddie tosses his head back and groans. 

“Knew it.”

“Yeah, yeah, certified genius. It's like you don't wanna be railed again.” 

Huffing, you pull yourself on top of him again, hardened nipples brushing softly against his flesh. 

“Oh, I think I'll be the one railing you. You wanna make a bet, for next time?” 

Smug grin forgotten, Eddie stares at you in disbelief.

“Next time?” 

“Well, I hope so. Got to be the best I've ever had.” 

Stupid Rick and his stupid strain. 

“Best you've ever had?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Only if you wanna.” 

The teasing stopped. At least for now. It was pretty clear, your need for each other was outranking any goading you'd been sharing. 

At least for now… 

Taglist (Some permanents, some likely candidates, if you want to be added, jus say the word sweetheart)

@eddiesprincess86 @zestychili @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @roanniom @usedtobecooler @josephquinnsfreckles @mrsjellymunson

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I DREAM, NOW, OF A NORMAL LIFE WITH YOU ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; suguru isn’t a lightweight. this is your first time actually seeing him drunk — though maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’d be the sappy kind.

word count; 9.4k (..... i got carried away ok)

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader (shoko calls u "girl" but in a "girl help" way not a gendered way), written w a no curses au in mind, sugu is a sappy emotional drunk i said what i said, sickening amounts of fluff, depictions of intoxication, reader is averse to alcohol, sugu wants to marry u so bad it makes him look silly, lots of emotions & lots of love <33

a/n; this fic has been ROTTING in my drafts for the longest time but its super precious to me and now i finally get to post it!! @softgirlgonehaywire & @hayakawalove ily ty for being interested in sappy!sugu this is a treat for u <33

the bar isn’t all that far off from your apartment.

it’s a short distance, really. walk straight ahead, until you reach the record store that suguru likes to frequent, and then take a right; a minute or two uphill, and then you’ll be able to see the blue of the sea. once you’re there, all that’s left is to look for mellow golden lighting and descend a set of stairs.

which is what you’re currently doing, popsicle in hand, loose clothes and comfortable shoes on as you wallow in the mellow summer evening. everything is blue — the dark shade of the sky, and your ice pop, pastel and sweet, tasting of pure youth. the hoodie you threw on is a rich cobalt, suguru’s in name but yours in spirit. he only wears it when you complain that it doesn’t smell like him anymore.

humming a jolly tune, you take a sharp turn, allowing the summer sensations to curl around your subconscious. blissed out and content. 

you were so, so bored — stuck at home with no one to keep you company, no one to mumble snarky commentary about the show playing on tv, no one to run their fingers through your hair while your head rests in their lap. pure torture, really, being faced with the consequences of your own actions. after you stupidly told suguru you’d be okay on your own.

he even asked you twice, just to be sure, even told you that he’d prefer you to join him on his night out. and again, you declined; because it’s been so long since he had some time alone with shoko and satoru, and you were feeling a little tired anyways. 

so he gave in. heading out, with a promise to bring back a tub of your favorite ice cream, leaving you with the apartment to yourself. did you come to regret your little white lie? maybe. possibly.

but everything worked out in the end.

a pleasant breeze caresses your skin, brushing against the apple of your cheek, and you watch as peach blossoms dance in a faraway park. cicadas cling to every tree in sight, buzzing a pleasant tune, mingling with the giddy giggles of high school students enjoying their summer vacation. it’s been raining for a couple of days; you can still smell it in the air, feel it in the low tinge of humidity clinging to your skin, still hear suguru’s insistence that you bring an umbrella with you to work — just in case.

but today, the skies were clear, and it’s late, not too humid but not too chilly. and the stars are out, glimmering in that fuzzy sea of mellow cerulean, leaking out like little marbles cast into space. falling down, down, down, close enough for you to see. from here, it looks as if they’re waving. you resist the urge to wave back.

peace. bliss. a nostalgia so vibrant you could drown in it, feel it lick at your ankles like soft sea foam.

eager to scratch a certain itch in your brain, attention span zipping from one street vendor to the pop music blasting from a couple streets away, you take your phone out from your pocket. absently scrolling through your messages, until you get to the ones shoko sent you just ten minutes ago. the ones that brought you out here, into a summer evening soon to slip into nightfall, ones that have you walking to the bar you chose not to join them at.

messages that still have you pushing back a bout of giggles, chewing lazily on your ramune ice pop with a giddy smile.

sho 🚬: come get ur man sho 🚬: he’s drunk. sho 🚬: like DRUNK drunk 

you: …… um.  you: what happened to hi? hello?? good evening???

sho 🚬: no time for that. look sho 🚬: [ image ] sho 🚬: he looks so goofy lol

unable to resist the temptation, you press the pad of your finger against the screen — opening the image attachment, just to drink in the sight once again. what you see is a certain man, slumped over in his seat, cheek smooshed against the wooden table in front of him. messy hair, no longer tied into a bun, cascading down his shoulders and back. from the little you can see of his face, his skin is flushed a light pink, and his eyes are closed, fingers still curled around an empty beer jug. 

like a sleepy puppy.

a coo tiptoes on your tongue, but you bite down on your lip in an effort to stop it, just grinning at your screen with pure adoration in your lovesick eyes. 

he’s drunk, alright. an unfamiliar sight, but not at all unwelcome. because he’s cute, terribly so, so cute that it hurts, even when he’s obviously wasted. it’s almost funny — you know their drinking habits. shoko holds her liquor so well that it’s a little horrifying, and satoru can get wasted if he has more than a sip of it. and suguru?

suguru never gets drunk. he barely even drinks. out of consideration for satoru, maybe, or you. probably both. that’s just how he is; you thought he hated fish for years, because he was always so eager to give you the best bites of the sushi rolls you ordered. turns out he was just indulging you.

so, to be frank — the idea of him suddenly being drunk is a little bit of a shocker. but it’s also kind of exciting, in a ridiculous way. new, fun, just what you need when you’re bored out of your mind.

(or maybe you’re just happy to have an excuse to go see him.)

you: NOOOO  you: MY BABY 😭😭😭 you: what did u guys DO to him???

sho 🚬: satoru and him made a bet 😐 you know how they are sho 🚬: he drank like a divorced mother of four ive never seen something so beautiful

you: …. you: have i told you that you’re both terrible

sho 🚬: u love us <33 sho 🚬: anyway he’s been asking me where u are for the past ten minutes pls come i can’t stand him sho 🚬: he’s crying.

you: HUH???????? you: WHY????????????????

sho 🚬: dude i dont know sho 🚬: please come get him he’s being so sappy that satoru’s abt to throw up

you: ???? okok 😭 you: im omw ig??

sho 🚬: girl hurry he just told me he genuinely appreciates my presence in his life 😐

an exhale — laced with deep amusement — drops from your lips and spills into the summer air. it tastes like a memory from long ago.

slipping your phone back into your pocket, you raise your gaze, searching for a glimmer of goldish light. soaking up the scent of the ocean, sparkling on the border of your peripheral. salty and sweet.

no matter how hard you try, all you can think of is that certain someone, waiting for you to pick him up. your mind keeps drifting back to the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way his hair falls over his face when he leans down, the sound he makes when he stretches in the morning.

you want to see him. badly. you want him near, want to feel the familiar warmth of his presence, want to see him smile and laugh and sigh and raise his eyebrow at your antics. 

so there isn’t any time to waste. you’re walking towards that familiar set of stairs before you know it, shoes hitting the asphalt with a mantra of satisfying thuds. 

and when you step in through the opened door, you’re immediately engulfed by a sense of overflowing comfort. mellow, warm lights, the soft buzzing of static from an old radio, low citypop beats trailing through the air. the bartender by the counter gives you a curt nod in greeting, before motioning towards a certain table. it’s over in the corner, covered in beer jugs and fancy glasses, with three beauties seated around it.

satoru notices you first.

a bright grin finds its way onto his face, and he waves you over giddily, happily. barely contained excitement in the motion. shoko’s gaze follows his, flitting over to meet yours — and you think she mouths an oh, thank god, before taking another sip from her glass. she brings a hand up in greeting when you come closer, and you can’t see her smile, but there’s a crinkle to her eyes; a warmth in them that you’d never miss.

”hey, guys.”

”yo!” satoru chirps, beaming in a way that’s so distinctly him it makes you soften. he looks so comfortable in his seat, with a cocktail you know is non-alcoholic and probably too sweet for anyone but him to stomach. giggling to himself, leaning over to poke suguru’s cheek, with a teasing declaration of your chaperone is here! 

and there he is. 

the man you came here for, still slumped over in his seat, unresponsive. not for long. as the lilt of your voice reaches his ears, his eyes flutter open, in a bout of recognition — even in the drunken state he’s in. an immediate sensation of familiarity creeps into his veins, rousing him from his cozy, half-asleep stupor. 

he doesn’t even grumble over the way satoru keeps poking at his cheek, interest and attention focused solely on a certain someone. you, your presence. 

and when your eyes meet his, he lights up.

it’s precious, you think, how his eyes widen, blooming with genuine affection, so endearing you could kiss him right then and there. his face is flushed, and his hair is tousled, and the warm lighting of the bar paints him in a golden hue. so perfect for him, your star in the sky. 

a smile spreads across his lips, big and happy and warm, and you can’t help but mirror it. 

(gosh, he’s cute.)

with a dizzy kind of eagerness, suguru sits up, palms flush against the table to support his weight. he stumbles out of his seat, paying no heed to satoru’s amused huff of careful! or the rattling of fragile glass.

it only takes a few uncoordinated steps for him to reach you, where you haphazardly lean against the wall, watching him amusedly. that delighted smile never leaves his lips, as his arms go to curl around your waist, big and heavy, his jaw finding its rightful place on the curve of your shoulder. 

”baby,” he drawls, fond and affectionate. breathing you in. ”sweetheart. my angel.”

a flustered puff of laughter slips from your lips, stumbling a little under his weight. his voice is syrupy sweet, overflowing with love and adoration, soft in a way that has your knees buckling. a little raspy. murmured right into your ear, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. 

he’s too sweet for you to handle, really, even sweeter than satoru’s overpriced cocktail. and he smells the same as always; a blend between coffee grounds, cigarette smoke and rain, one that never fails to soothe you. even when it’s tangled up with a vague but vivid stench of alcohol, courtesy of the drinking he’s been doing until now. 

you crinkle your nose, but don’t let go of him, nuzzling your cheek against the side of his head. words buzzing with warmth. ”hey, sugu.”

suguru only squeezes you tighter, content to have you in his arms. finally, his world makes sense again. all he can do is bask in your voice, warmth, scent — he’s just so enamored by it all. almost in a trance, heartstrings dancing along to the beat of your presence, your very existence, that appears to him as something almost angelic. soft and familiar, something that feels right at home when it’s tucked into his embrace. where he can keep it safe.

”missed you…” he murmurs, sleepy, smearing an open mouthed kiss against the crook of your neck. ”i love you s’much…”

a chuckle. ”i love you too,” you echo, running a steady hand over his back. your voice is laced with something teasing, but awfully fond. ”you really are drunk, aren’t you?”

”mm…” he only hums, cheek pressed flush against your soft skin. ”’m sorry…” he mumbles, stifling a yawn. he sounds a little guilty, and it makes you want to coo. pull his cheek a little.

instead, you laugh. amusement vowen into the bubbly noise. ”it’s fine, sugu. c’mon — let’s go home, alright?”

at that, satoru visibly reacts, placing his glass on the table with a soft clink before getting up to stretch. he grabs suguru’s discarded jacket, letting it hang off his arm as he walks over to the two of you.

”i’ll help you carry him,” he smiles, always so dependable. so ready to be of service. maybe a little too eager to carry suguru around like a sack of potatoes. 

a smile blooms on your face, and satoru gives you a playful wink. shoko just leans back in her seat, stretching idly. it feels like home with them there.

”i’ll stay here,” she hums, a faint grin tugging at her lips. ”he’s your problem now.”

”got it.” you meet her lidded eyes, sharing an amused look as satoru tries to coax suguru away from you, pulling at his cheek while he whines and clings to the fabric of your clothing.

finally, he relents, and you look back at the table with a grin. ”see you later, sho’.”

a smile is the only response you get, but it’s enough. it’s her, the same as always, still sipping from a glass of expensive whiskey and raising her hand in a silent see you. relaxed and cool, and so very lovely. 

with one arm over satoru’s shoulder and the other clinging to your hoodie, suguru stirs.

”shoko…” he groans, craning his head to look back at her, even as satoru makes a move to leave. ”don’t drink too much. and watch out for strangers…” 

he trails off, blinking drowsily, a protective tone to his voice. worried. awfully like him. neither you nor satoru can resist the chuckle you indulge in, but shoko just rolls her hazel eyes.

”i don’t need to hear that from you,” she scoffs, tinged with amusement and what you’re almost certain is embarrassment. there’s a fondness to her snark, one you’d never miss. 

(shoko will always be shoko. you know that she appreciates suguru’s concern, even if she doesn’t want to show it.)

”alright, c’mon,” satoru quips, slapping suguru’s back with a grin. ”there, there, big guy. let’s get you home, hm?”

just as you suspected, he doesn’t let you help, doing all the heavy lifting on his own. not breaking a single sweat, flaunting his strength as he hoists suguru up the steps — while you do nothing but follow, a light jacket hanging off your arm. 

cold midnight air embraces you, slathering your cheeks with the essence of summer as your shoes meet the asphalt. satoru smiles, a low exhale escaping him, dusting off his hands. ”there we go.”

suguru stumbles towards you, no longer caged in, slumping against your shoulder with a satisfied sigh. blinking slowly, as you link arms, his muddled senses adjusting to the outside world. a pleasantly blue sky, a sun long set, and a string of lamp posts to light up the street ahead of you. artificial fireflies, watching over the town you love so dearly.

you part your lips, and a soft exhale slips out, dripping with fondness. ”thanks, satoru,” you smile, meeting his gaze.

”don’t mention it,” he waves you off, but you know he appreciates it; always eager to be praised. ”can you bring him back by yourself?”

”yeah, we’ll be fine. it’s close, anyway. don’t worry.”

a hum buzzes in his throat, and his cobalt gaze drifts upwards, to bask in the starry sky. a moment passes, and then he’s looking back at you and suguru; a soft and earnest smile playing at his lips. so sincere you want to reach out, cup his cheek, make sure he knows how loved he is.

”i’ll go back to shoko, then,” he chirps. bubbly and graceful, giddy and playful. always so lovely. ”gotta make sure she stays out of trouble.”

a chuckle. you mirror his smile. ”of course.”

and with that, your precious best friend makes a move to return to the bar, taking a decisive step away from you. before he can get too far, though, a certain hand reaches out to hold onto his sleeve — keeping him still.

satoru turns around. blinking once, then twice, in confusion; faced with none other than suguru, still slumped against you. a little out of it, sleepy and disoriented, yawning quietly, but his eyes are as clear as ever. caring and sentimental. 

his gaze cuts to the bone of things. it’s something you’ve grown used to.

”thanks, satoru,” he murmurs, letting go of said man’s shirt. the words that spill from his lips are straightforward, a little tactless, but overflowing with earnest appreciation. ”you’re my best friend.”

a moment passes. the stars burn in silence.

satoru blinks.

then he sighs, with what you know is nothing more than feigned annoyance. masking his embarrassment, the same way shoko did, the same way suguru always does. your repressed, beloved little losers. 

”yeah, yeah. i got it,” he pats suguru’s shoulder, once, twice. not looking at him. ”you’re such a sap, you know that? geez.”

a grin crawls up to rest on your lips, fresh mischief blooming in your eyes. ”not gonna call him your best friend back?” you tease, a soft tilt of your head.

satoru gives you a glare, playful, one you can’t physically see from behind his shades but still somehow sense. ”don’t add fuel to the fire,” he grins, with a halfhearted flick to your forehead.

before you can bicker further, suguru yawns, loudly, closing his eyes and nuzzling into you. you share an amused look with satoru, until he shakes his head fondly.

”take care of him, alright?”

”i will. you guys have fun!”

and at last, satoru turns on his heel, coupled with a smile and a lazy wave. but suguru calls out to him once more, unwilling to part ways without saying his piece. so sentimental, so loving it comes to him like breathing.

”bye-bye, satoru,” he slurs, voice loud enough for the entire street to hear, tired and honest. raising his arm in a lazy wave. ”i love you!”

”go home already!” satoru shouts, descending down the steps with a flush to his cheeks that you’ll tease him for later. his soft laughter is carried away by the breeze, sweet and saccharine.

(satoru will always be satoru. you know that he loves suguru back, even if he doesn’t want to say it out loud.)

with a faint chuckle, melting into the summer air, you tug on suguru’s arm. ”alright,” you chirp, looking up at him. ”let’s go!”

he seems a little more awake now, at least, trying to match your steps. meanwhile, you do what you can to support his weight; he’s stumbling a bit, but you don’t mind. if anything, his weight is a comfort, your arms linked together like a lucky charm. a safe harbour.

suguru is acting kind of like a big puppy, gazing at you with hearts in his eyes. a little meek, clinging to you, trailing after you pliantly. he’s a little dizzy, still, and he needs you to get back home in one piece. it makes you puff out your chest, stand up straighter. makes you feel protective of your 6’2 boyfriend, all toned muscle and broad shoulders, the personification of scary dog privilege. but he needs you right now.

a soft bout of laughter spills into the air, as you try to ignore his heavy stare. it’s impossible, though — so you turn your gaze to meet his own, and he practically glows under the sound of your giggles, that cheeky smile you’re wearing. ”you okay, suguru?”

his eyes soften. silently, he runs a thumb over the knots of your knuckle, smoothing down your skin, thick fingers intertwined with yours. 

he looks deep into your eyes, and a soft hum of affirmation buzzes in his throat. 

”i’m just so happy,” he grins, with a sincerity that has your heart doing flips inside your ribcage. it flutters, flutters, flutters, in the wake of his unbridled joy. it buzzes like it wants to break out.

suguru has this dreamy look on his face, one you can do nothing but admire, painted over with fluorescent moonlight and pure summer bliss. one that reminds you a little of high school rooftops, midnight road trips, what it means to be in love.

you nudge him, softly, with the arm that’s tangled up in his own. tilting your head, teasing words on the tip of your tongue. ”you know, i never took you for a sappy drunk.”

suguru's only response is a cute little mmrn, steps heavy as he leans on you for support. trying his best to carry himself, not wanting to inconvenience you, but it’s just a little tough. especially when he feels this soft, this grateful — this blessed.

a giddy, dreamy smile tugs at his lips. his amber gaze travels up, towards the little pale dots of star clusters all across the night sky, gleaming like milk poured over rich coffee. then he exhales; a soft, blissful little sound. ”i’m so lucky.”

a moment passes, silently. in the distance, cicadas buzz. with a patient smile, you admire him, the reflection of starlight in his eyes. suguru has this forlorn look, etched into his expression, like he’s seeing something that isn’t quite there.

”i have satoru and shoko…” he mumbles, just loud enough for you to hear. as if he’s tasting the words on his tongue, as if he can’t quite believe them himself. that’s how lucky he feels, sometimes.

a nod. ”they love you a bunch, you know?”

(they do. they’re both horrible at saying it out loud, but you know they do. you know that they love suguru, just as much as he loves them, even if none of them are good at putting it into words. perhaps they don’t really even need to, in the first place.)

suguru mirrors the soft nod of your head, bangs falling over his eyes as he does. ”and i love them, too.” his smile grows. ”they’re my best friends.”

absently, you reach a hand out, brushing away the strands of hair obscuring his vision. and suguru stirs, his gaze shifting until it falls on you. like a moth to a flame. there’s something indescribable in his eyes, soft and heavy and tender and true.

”— and i have you.”

a stutter of your heartbeat, a jolt throughout your chest. his stare almost burns, but you can’t avert your gaze — suguru looks positively lovesick. admiring you with a dreamy gaze, as if he can’t believe you’re real. 

he reaches a hand out; cradling your face with one big palm, the rough pads of his fingers smoothing down your skin so very gently. smearing his fondness from your jaw to your cheekbone, so loving your breath hitches in the back of your throat. 

a soft, content sigh spills into the air, like a prayer that doesn’t need any words. his smile is serene.

”my angel.” 

as the words fall, that peaceful smile of his changes shape, shifting into a big, giddy grin. it lights up his whole face. a chuckle leaves his lips, content and delighted. ”i’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

and for a moment, you fear that your heart will stop beating entirely. frozen, listening to the lullaby of your heartbeat resounding in your ears. 

suguru has always been frighteningly good at flustering you — but isn’t this a little unfair? you clear your throat, hoping to regain some composure. it’s tough, though. your words could never measure up to his, could never flow as freely, but they’re honest. wholly and thoroughly. and maybe that’s enough. 

”we’re the luckiest in the world, too, then,” you echo, smiling, words barely above a whisper. willing yourself to meet his gaze. ”since we have you.”

suguru looks into your eyes. there’s starlight inside them, he thinks, shining brightly, gleaming in the dark. with the hazy filter of intoxication clouding his mind, it’s all he can think. you’re his northern star, his lighthouse. his one and only saving grace.

(you’re so, so pretty.)

a pause. after a silent moment, spent etching your features into his retinas, suguru tilts his head. his expression is unreadable.

— he boops your nose.

you blink. once, twice, caught entirely off guard; and suguru giggles. soft, giddy little breaths falling from his lips like marbles, strewn over the sand of a warm beach. his eyes are crinkled at the edges, and his smile is sweet, meeting your surprised gaze with a honeyed coo. ”you’re so cute, baby.”

silence. you look up at him. 

then you sigh, exasperated, more flustered than you’d like to admit. god. okay, he’s really out of it. for some reason, you still thought you could get a good one-liner in, but of course he had to ruin that by being a little tease.

you grab onto his bicep. gaze fixed straight ahead, giving it a tug. your steps are more decisive now, and suguru follows you happily. ”alright, alright. c’mon,” you beckon, slightly gruff. ”we’re almost there.”

when you finally reach the familiar front door of your apartment, you exhale a deep sigh, laced with pure relief. limbs tired from dragging suguru up the stairs, mind muddled and sleepy and senses practically engulfed by a man still clinging to you like his life depends on it.

after fumbling with your keys and hearing the click of the lock, you take a victorious step over the threshold, and a familiar scent greets you. soothing, comforting, a blend between fresh laundry and leftover curry and blooming hydrangeas. filling your senses with a fervent kind of bliss. of course, suguru’s does the same; intimately intertwined with the scent of home. that everlasting, never-changing blend. 

with him clinging to you like this, it’s almost suffocating — but you truly don’t mind. suguru’s warm, and sweet, and being close to him like this makes you feel at peace. his hands rest on your hips, his jaw on your shoulder, and he adamantly refuses to let go of you for even a second. it’d be annoying if he wasn’t so cute, if he wasn’t suguru geto, if you weren’t so horrendously weak for him.

what you don’t know is that suguru has an agenda. one that isn’t just i want to hug the love of my life, although partially that as well. suguru has a plan, one he’s been absentmindedly dreaming of for the past five minutes; he’s a man on a mission.

but he’s patient. always has been, always for you. so he waits, and waits, for you to hang his jacket up, for you to kick your shoes off your feet. and when you’re finally, finally finished, suguru leans in to kiss you.

— you block his mouth with the palm of your hand.

a moment passes. silent, almost tense. in his stupor, suguru’s mind can’t quite seem to comprehend the situation before him; he doesn’t understand why he isn’t pressing a kiss to your lips, right now, why he’s kissing the skin of your palm. he doesn’t understand why you look so troubled, a faint guilt simmering in your eyes. he just doesn’t understand.

all he can do is blink, dumbly, surprised. a question written on his features clear as day. 

”well, it’s just…” you sputter, sheepishly. avoiding his gaze, a little guilty. ”you know. since you’ve been drinking, and all…”

and it hurts, you think. it hurts a lot more than it should. it hurts to reject him, hurts to see the way he deflates at your clarification. like a big kicked puppy. like you just threatened to throw him out into the street.

suguru removes your hand, gently, holding it in his own as he speaks. those amber eyes are downcast, and a soft pout rests on his lips. the sight alone feels like a dagger to your chest.

”but…” he frowns, voice awfully meek. he looks so sad. ”i wanna kiss you…”

a soft sigh leaves your lips, before you can think to hold it in. oh, he’s being so unfair. guilt clings to your mind, an itch you yearn to scratch, and all you want is to kiss his pout away. but you really, really don’t want to kiss his alcohol-soaked lips.

so you settle for the second best option.

”’m sorry, sugu,” you coo, reaching a hand out to cradle his cheek. he leans into your touch, still pouting, and you tug a little at his bottom lip. wasting no time in closing the narrow distance between you.

the kisses you press against his skin are soft. peppering kisses all across his face; ghosting your lips along his jaw, trailing towards his cheekbones, and settling on his forehead. tiny little pecks, wherever you can reach. your voice is soft, muffled into his skin between butterfly kisses. ”tomorrow, okay?” 

and suguru seems to brighten up a little, melting under the contact, exhaling in pure bliss. he fervently returns the treatment, planting open mouthed kisses all over your face, respecting your wishes and avoiding your lips. they’re a little sloppy, but you don’t mind.

it does make you a little flustered, though. with his palms cradling your face, engulfing you, there’s nothing you can do except drown in his affection, the love he showers you with. it tickles — and suguru’s smile only grows, at the sound of your soft giggles. his cheeks are starting to hurt.

the state he’s in is just a little bit hazy. despite his initial dejection, he no longer minds that he can’t feel your lips against his, disappointment warded off by your smile and laughter alone. he thinks you’re so, so cute, and all he wants is to kiss you forever. 

but you have other plans.

and before you know it, you’re both curled up in bed, limbs all tangled up beneath the blankets, bodies pressed together as suguru cages you in. he squeezes you tightly, hugging you close, practically melting into you. usually, it’d be so easy to fall asleep like this. with suguru cradling you, covering your body with his own, warm and safe. he’s like a furnace. 

but right now, it’s a little tough. you’re kept awake by open mouthed, ticklish kisses pressed against your skin, supplied by the love of your life. it’s sweet, but he’s being far too distracting — as soon as your consciousness begins to fade into the fuzzy realm of sleep, he leaves a sloppy kiss against your collarbone, and you’re jolted awake once more. 

”suguuu,” you whine, dragging his name out with childish inclination. ”we need to sleep…”  

”sorry,” he only murmurs, muffled into your skin. he doesn’t stop, though, planting a wet smooch on your cheek, and then another. you squirm a little in his hold, and he emits a shaky breath. ”jus’ love you so much…”

suguru knows that he needs to stop. he knows that both of you need to sleep, that you need to rest up. that he needs to recover from the intoxicated state he’s fully aware that he’s in — but he just can’t seem to follow through with it. every cell in his body burns with a certain desire, a need to shower you in love, and it’s unendurable. with every kiss, every giggle he manages to pull from your lips, suguru’s heart fills up just a little more. 

your presence surrounds him, like a weighted blanket, and he clings to it with a desperation he never knew before you. 

in the midst of his feverish consciousness, you’re all his muddled mind can think about. the way you fit together with him like a puzzle piece, like he was formed in the shape of someone meant to hold you. like you were formed in the shape of his embrace. with you pressed up against him, limbs tangled with his, everything feels so right.

but it’s so overwhelming. 

you’re so, so close, so close he’s practically engulfed by your scent, your touch, everything that makes his heart burn with devotion. it’s beating so viscerally in his ribcage, stirring the protective instinct inside him; he just wants you to stay close, by his side, wants to keep you safe and happy. wants to make you feel loved. 

suguru’s heart feels wet and raw and bare, fully exposed for you to see. beating just for you.

with the alcohol inside his veins, and the nostalgia of the summer evening on his mind, everything weighs on him just a little too heavily. everything feels just a little too much. every sensation, every emotion, every sappy thought. all of it together is almost too much for him to handle.

all he can think of is you. how lucky he is, to have met you, to have gotten to know you. how much you’ve changed him, changed him for the better, how much of him is directly tied to your existence.

suguru never truly appreciated his name until you came into his life. it was always no more than a simple fact, a gift from his parents that he hadn’t asked for. something natural, that he didn’t question, didn’t think about. 

but you say his name with such warmth.

he wants to hear you say it, over and over again, forever. suguru — in that sweet, lovely voice of yours. better yet, just sugu, a cutesy, silly nickname he could never bring himself to actually hate. he just wants to hear you call out to him, with that warmth of yours, the one that never fails to soothe him. no matter how tired he is, how stressed. how much everything else weighs down on him. 

at the end of the day, he’s simply your sugu. and that’s all he ever really wants to be.

with a hazy filter clouding his senses, coaxing him into closing his eyes, suguru should give in. he should fall asleep, let you fall asleep. but he can’t bring himself to stop thinking about it; he just loves you so wholly. who you are, what you do. as an equal, an individual, a little galaxy tucked into a body made of flesh and blood. no matter what you’re doing, no matter where you are. 

and right now, you’re here, with him. curled up in bed, in your shared apartment, inhaling the same air, exhaling at the same time. by his side, when you could be anywhere else in the world.

his heart is yours. that’s all suguru can bring himself to think, the only coherent thought he can cling to and echo in his head. his heart is yours. forever and ever. 

he makes no attempt to stop the tears from pooling in his eyes, even as he feels them cling to his lashes, even as his breathing clogs up in the back of his throat. they’re proof of his devotion, his carefully nurtured love. growing over the years, into something almost sacred, a kind of faith. something so fervent he wouldn’t dare deny himself of feeling it.

he can’t hold in a faint sniffle, either, just barely audible. one that breaks your heart in two. it aches, aches, aches. suguru is gazing at you with glassy eyes, a sight you aren’t used to seeing — but he also looks so genuinely glad. his tears aren’t ones of sadness. you know, because you know him. 

”aw, honey…” you coo, the pads of your fingers reaching out to cradle his cheek. despite your efforts, your voice wavers when you speak, little more than a whisper. ”don’t cry... you’ll make me cry, too.”

suguru places his larger palm over yours, choking on another sniffle. the sight renders you completely helpless — you want so desperately to stop his tears from falling, but a part of you is too touched to speak. too mesmerized by how beautiful he is, translucent tears illuminated by softly flickering moonrays, lashes glimmering like shooting stars.

all you can do is smooth a thumb right under his eye, wiping away a stray tear with enough tenderness to stitch his heart back together. suguru emits a shaky breath.

”’m sorry,” he sniffles, closing his eyes. nuzzling into the crook of your neck. ”i’m just so happy… love you so much… you mean so, so much to me, i…”

an exhale, a little breathless, tears soaking through the material of the shirt you’re wearing. his shirt. that realization makes him cry even more, a shuddering breath that shatters like glass when it drops from his tongue. 

and then, in a voice so quiet you barely hear it, a soft whisper worth a million words:

”i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

and it hurts. your heart aches so sincerely, thorns curling around your ribcage, because suguru is crying, and he’s telling you all this. with such an honest intonation that you don’t dare doubt him, even for a second. heavy thumps of blood rush through your veins; he’s still clinging to you, sniffling into your neck, and you’re so in love with him that you almost can’t comprehend it.

all you can do is press a kiss to his shoulder, chaste and tender, and hug him just a little tighter. echoing his words, in earnest, desperately trying to keep your voice from breaking apart. ”i love you, too. more than anything.” a sigh, full of wonder. little butterfly kisses scattered across the expanse of his neck. ”you mean the world to me. honestly.”

with a smile against his skin, you hope so tenderly that the soft kisses will comfort him, will stop the tears from falling. 

”my sweet boy,” you murmur, lovingly, because he is. the sweetest boy you’ll ever know. suguru shudders when you press your lips against his jaw. ”i’m so, so lucky.”

with the combined efforts of your kisses, the alcohol slumbering inside his veins, and the tears running down his cheeks, suguru begins to feel awfully tired. sinking into sleep’s embrace, like a sailor lost at sea. comforted by the glimmer of a lighthouse, just out of reach.

everything feels right. he’s safe, and happy, and in love. so hopelessly, blissfully in love.

the exhaustion creeps up on him, tidal waves embracing a shore, beckoning him into closing his weary eyes. a yawn leaves his lips, and he shifts a little in your hold. you’re smoothing down the back of his head, almost protectively, and sleep is only a flicker away for the both of you. with the last of his strength, suguru snuggles just a little further into you, nose pressed up against your neck, close enough that he feels the flutter of your heartbeat. 

”wanna be with you forever,” he murmurs, sleepily, stifling another bout of yawns. his smile is sweet and dreamy. ”gonna marry you one day…”

a moment passes.

for a second, you think your heart does actually cease beating entirely.

swallowing a gulp, you allow yourself the luxury of an inhale — and fresh air fills your lungs. grounding. all you can hear is the rapid beating of your own heart, heavy thumps reverberating in your ears. warmth flows through your entire body.

marry.

the word is spoken so casually, so sincerely, as if he’s said it countless times before. as if he’s repeated it, over and over again in his mind, just to get used to the idea. as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. marriage. something so foreign, so scary, enough to send shivers down every narrow of your skeleton. such a large step to take. 

(but suguru says it with such tenderness.)

”… okay,” you whisper, at last. breathless. ”i’ll be waiting, then.”

there’s nothing else to say. you don’t know if suguru is even conscious enough to hear you, let alone understand the full weight of your words, of his own words. but you don’t mind. 

a soft smile lingers on your lips, as you stroke his hair, mind hazy and limbs heavy. nuzzling your cheek against the side of his head, full of affection. dripping from your hands down to the column on his throat, through his windpipe, down to his heart.

”goodnight, sugu.” you press a kiss to his messy hair, tender and chaste. ”i love you.”

an incoherent mutter leaves his lips, in response, one you can’t quite make out — but you don’t need to. because you already know what it means, in the same way you know that the sky is blue.

(an echo buried deep within his subconscious, voiced without effort, as easy as breathing.

i love you, too.)

the sizzling of a pan and the whirring of a coffee machine form a beautiful morning symphony, bouncing off the walls of your kitchen. to your ears, and your still sleepy brain, it’s a soothing sound — coaxing soft little melodic hums from the depths of your throat.

with such a tantalizing aroma in the air, a blend between espresso and pancake batter, you can’t help but buzz with a mellow, groggy kind of joy.

honestly, you're beginning to understand suguru’s fondness for the morning hours. waking up to his soft snores and content expression was more than enough to give you the energy you needed to get out of bed; all sleepy and relaxed and pretty, with hazy morning sunrays kissing up his bare skin, caressing his messy bedhead. 

a rare sight, awfully precious. a part of you wanted to stay in bed and admire him all morning, but the thought of taking care of him coaxed you into leaving. it’s the least you could do, really — after seeing him so sincere, so open and vulnerable. 

hopefully, his headache won’t be too brutal when he wakes up. you left some hangover pills on the nightstand, courtesy of shoko’s advice: just get him ibuprofen and coffee. works like a charm. are you a little worried about her nonchalance? maybe. but you trust her judgement. they’re a handful, but you love them — even when they’re drunk or hungover. 

which is why you’re standing in the kitchen, engulfed by the morning sunlight, in front of a sizzling pan. trying your very best not to burn the pancakes you’re making, patiently waiting for the coffee to be done. 

in your blissful stupor, caught up with thoughts of suguru and breakfast and forevers, you don’t notice another presence coming up behind you.

two arms wrap around your waist, and a jaw attaches itself to the curve of your shoulder. you startle, a little, jolting at the contact — but then you recognize that telltale scent, the familiar weight of his arms, and immediately melt into the embrace.

suguru breathes out a raspy chuckle, amused at your surprise. 

a sigh slips from your lips, content. ”good morning,” you hum, placing the palm of your hand on his forearm. suguru shifts a little, getting more comfortable as he leans against you. tenderly, not too much weight. he’s delicate like that.

”g’morning,” he rasps, leftover sleep clinging to the syllables. the usual smoothness of his voice is coupled with a deep, rough kind of tilt, one that always accompanies it in the morning. your heartbeat picks up, silently.

suguru smiles. dreamy, giddy, because you just looked so pretty, in the morning light, hair still a tad messy. humming happily, swaying slightly side to side. so irresistible. he’s beginning to understand why you love sleeping in so much; getting to wrap his arms around you like this, instead of the other way around, doesn’t feel bad at all.

he squeezes you just a little tighter, hoping it’ll convey his gratitude. there are holes in his memory, last night no more than a blurry sequence of still images, but some bits and pieces remain intact. he remembers getting drunk in a way he hasn’t since he made that bet with satoru back in high school — and he remembers that you were there to take care of him.

a smile tugs at his lips. a little giddy, butterflies erupting in his chest. he’s so damn lucky.

”thanks for taking care of me yesterday, sweetheart.”

a hum. you smile, sheepishly, patting his arm. ”don’t need to thank me for that. how do you feel?”

suguru smiles. you feel it, against your skin, a chaste kiss on your neck. ”better.”

the low purring of the coffee machine has stopped, but the sizzling of the pan remains. from beyond the opened windows, you can hear the chirping of cicadas, melodic and serene. singing a summery tune. both of you soak in the preciousness of the moment, the fragile silence, before suguru breaks it.

”everything from last night is kinda fuzzy,” he admits, clearing his throat. just a tad sheepish. you simply hum, a low noise of acknowledgement, and he continues. ”i don’t really remember anything… ’m sorry, baby. i hope i didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

your lips curl up into a tiny smile. such a sweetheart — always worrying about you. always so caring and attentive. eager to reassure him, you smooth over the skin of his arm with your thumb. ”not at all.”

then you’re taking a couple steps back, moving from the stove, and suguru follows. you turn yourself around to meet his gaze, his arms still attached to your waist, a comforting weight.

a grin blooms on your lips, a little teasing, and a flicker of mischief shines in your eyes. ”you were cute, you know.”

suguru blinks, before emitting a low chuckle. a raspy little thing. ”was i?” he drawls, as you brush his bangs away from his face. 

”mhm,” you chirp, eyes crinkled as they meet his own. you just can’t help but want to tease him, a little bit. just a smidge. ”kept going on and on about how much you love us.”

hands moving to cup his face, you squeeze his cheeks softly. and suguru lets you, too tired to resist, only giving you a lazy raise of his brow. there’s a sense of amusement in his eyes, and something in you knows he likes the attention. your teasing words buzz with endearment, akin to a purr. ”my sweet lil’ sugu.”

all he does is lean into your touch, allowing himself to melt into the tenderness of the physical contact. even as you pull at his cheek, earning you a very gentle pinch to your side. but he lets you have your fun. you’re warm, and sweet, and he’s so in love with you he’d probably let you tug his body around however you please.

still, your words leave him just slightly perplexed. he’s still smiling with half-lidded eyes when he asks you to elaborate, basking in the feeling of your thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. ”us?”

your grin widens, by a tad, something deeply amused glimmering in the depths of your iris. ”yep,” you answer, popping the p. for some reason, suguru dreads the teasing edge to your voice. ”me, and shoko, and satoru.”

a moment passes. he stiffens, for a second or two, mind processing the words. then he groans, softly, squeezing his eyes shut.

it makes you laugh, soft and amused, and he can’t help but smile along. despite the dreadful realization you present him with. no wonder he was met with so many notifications when he tapped at the screen of his phone — he didn’t read through any of them, but now he’s apprehensive to do so at all. shoko and satoru can be so goddamn obnoxious when they feel as if they have blackmail on him.

he can see it now, in his mind’s eye; shoko nagging him to run her errands, satoru reminding him of his words every time they have a slight disagreement. 

(grab me a coffee. three shots of espresso, one cube of sugar. got it?)

slacker.

(we both know i’m right. don’t be so stubborn, suguru! it’s okay to be wrong sometimes.)

asshole.

(c’mon. you said you loved me, right?

so mean. and here i thought you loved me!)

idiots.

(he does love them. more than anything. even when they’re being absolutely insufferable.)

suguru just sighs, deep and fatigued, already anticipating his doom. ”they’re never gonna let me live it down, are they?”

a giggle slips from your lips, and his heart flutters helplessly. ”probably not. my condolences.”

another sigh. it only makes your smile widen. there’s something awfully delighted, in your eyes, as you cradle his face in your hands. ”well, i thought you were very sweet!”

”yeah, yeah…” he mutters, vaguely amused. placing one of his large palms over your hand, where it rests on his cheek. ”i won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”

a chuckles bubbles up from within your throat. ”aww,” you pout, giving way to a teasing grin. ”that’s a shame. i wanted to hear you talk about how much you love me again.”

suguru blinks. 

then he smiles. a very particular smile, characteristic, one you’ve come to associate solely with him. resting somewhere in the intersection between a soft grin and a teasing smirk. a flicker of mischief shines in his eyes, and you realize your mistake.

you can tease suguru all you want; but he'll always turn the tables on you, at the end of the day.

”oh?” he chuckles, fondly, thumb smoothing over the lines of your hand. his eyes gleam, looking straight into yours, shining with something mildly devilish. ”i don’t need to get drunk to tell you that, baby.”

in a smooth motion, one you can’t help but silently envy, suguru intertwines his fingers with yours and brings your hand to his lips. he never once breaks eye contact, gaze heavy as he basks in your flustered expression, planting a soft kiss against your knuckle. reverent.

”i love you. more than anything,” he purrs, lips still lingering on your skin. warm enough to burn. ”you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

a pause. heat crawls up your spine, and a flush rises to your cheeks. you couldn’t stop it if you tried.

”my everything,” he continues, intent on flustering you as much as humanly possible. voice low and smooth, honeyed and deep, and worst of all; terribly earnest. lips trailing over your knuckles, against every knot, so soft that you barely feel it. ”my entire world.”

”okay, okay!” you sputter, an embarrassed hue to your cheeks, your gaze landing on the windowpane to your right. his stare is just too heavy, too deeply in love. overwhelming. ”point taken. nevermind.”

suguru laughs, genuine and full. warm and amused, deep and real, and you catch yourself thinking that you don’t want to go a single day without hearing it. even if it’s at your own expense.

a coo rests on his the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back, opting to lean forward instead. he trails the pads of his fingers along your jaw, touch like a butterfly, lifting your chin up ever so slightly. then he closes the distance between you. 

in your throat, your breath hitches.

— but he doesn’t kiss you. suguru stops right in front of your lips, so close you can feel his breath on your skin, taking a moment to simply look into your eyes. and despite how flustered the close proximity makes you, you can’t bring yourself to look away. heart fluttering madly, a string of staccatos against your parted ribs.

a tilt of his head. amber eyes gleaming, crinkled and fond. ”can i kiss you, now?” he asks, grinning softly. hand smoothing down your hip, big and warm, teasing. ”i made sure to brush away all the alcohol. or do you still not want to?”

you pause. 

”hey, what happened to not remembering anything?” you pout, narrowing your eyes. the corner of suguru’s bottom lip twitches upwards.

but he only shrugs, feigning nonchalance, a playful glint in his eyes. ”guess i was just that disappointed.”

a giggle flows from your lips. he drinks it in, gazing at you with pure contentment.

”alright, alright... c’mere,” you coo, smile honeyed and sweet. tracing your fingertips along his jaw, brushing a silky strand of hair behind his ear. you take in the sight of him, meeting his lovesick gaze. he squeezes at your hips softly, a little impatient — so you finally lean in.

suguru’s lips are warm, when they meet yours. they taste like sunlight, devoid of any alcoholic flavour, just like he so kindly assured you of. and it’s a little amusing, the thought of him in front of the bathroom sink — desperately scrubbing his teeth, just to get his kissing privileges back. such a dork. 

he’s your dork, though.

suguru sighs into the kiss, smiling giddily, satisfied at last. a sound you can’t help but mirror. he deepens it, ever so slightly, fingers squeezing gently at the plush of your waist. a hum of approval buzzes in your throat, and his smile only grows.

when he pulls away, that smile is all you can see, along with the ever so slight flush to his cheeks. a hint of peach dusting his skin, framed by the sunrays caressing his jaw, highlighting his handsome features. breathtaking. 

before you have a chance to protest, he’s leaning in again, to press one more chaste kiss to your lips. your heartbeat picks up.

everything finally feels just right.

the warmth of the sizzling pan, the fragrance of freshly made coffee and now-burnt pancakes. the light of the morning sun, scattered across the open space of your apartment, splotches of life painting everything in a heavenly glow. the love in the air, all soft and light and comfortable.

domestic bliss. with suguru, who never seems to change, no matter how many years go by. if you could live in this moment for the rest of your life, forever and ever, you’re sure you’d die happy.

and wow, is that a heavy word. forever. 

(but suguru makes it feel so very, very light.)

forever feels a lot more real, like this. cradled in the midst of a drowsy morning, bumping elbows with the man you love most, after getting to take care of him in his most vulnerable state. accepting every part of him, and having him accept you just as fervently. 

just this moment alone is worth far more than you could ever comprehend. 

suguru, with his warm hands, his familiar embrace. your shared laughter, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen as you try in vain to save your scorched pancakes. and his smile, his fervent devotion, coaxing him into eating them even though they’re burnt at the edges and don’t taste even a quarter as good as his. because you made them, for him, and that makes them taste sweeter than anything.

you stare at him, from across the table, admiring the sight you’ve grown so used to; suguru, with his slightly tousled hair, mug in hand and smile painted on his handsome face. drowned in sunlight, pink petals flitting in through the opened window. you don’t want a single day to ever pass without you seeing this. what does that mean, exactly? you think you know. 

it means forever.

(forever, forever, forever. what a pretty word.)

marriage. you think of it, again, let it linger in the depths of your skull, bounce around until you grow just a little more used to it. and it’s a scary thought, for sure. a terrifying thought, even, something so foreign that it makes you nervous. but you truly wouldn’t mind doing this forever — not one bit. not if it’s with him.

and, unbeknownst to you, maybe that promise of forever isn’t all that far off.

maybe it’s only a couple rooms away, hidden within the depths of a certain drawer, until suguru finally gets the courage to bring it out. and maybe, just maybe — that day isn’t all that far off, either.

(suguru smiles at you, from across the table. he thinks you look ethereal, sipping from your morning coffee, blinking tiredly. so sweet and angelic.

all he can think of is forever.)

[seelie-buddy]

Shower me with your love

summary : wriothesley loves playing with your puppy, but you can't help feeling a tinge of jealousy at the affection he showers the little furball with

contains : a puppy!! ; slight, very tiny bit of jealousy ; pre-established relationship ; fluff ; gn!reader, this drabble is written in second person

word count : 578

The skip in your steps was proof enough of the excitement bubbling within you as you headed to welcome in your visitor.

The moment the door is open enough, you barely register the blur of black before the barking of your puppy echoes along with Wriothesley's chuckles.

It was a sight, truly. The Duke of the Fortress of Meropide— who appears big and brutish at first glance— knelt down, petting the pup with a huge, almost childlike, grin.

Wriothesley was unlike your first impression of him; now that you knew him, you could even say that you found his certain habits and quirks to be cute.

Watching him play with the little one, you couldn't help but think back fondly on the time you spent with him: how he let you lounge in his office, napping or reading whilst he did his work, the two of you simply basking in each other's presence.

How he took care of you when you had caught a fever; gently helping you with your meals, reminding you to take your medicines, and having Sigewinne look after you when he couldn't (plus the way he kept Sigewinne's milkshakes away from you, much to the melusine's disapproval).

Or how he mentioned in passing that he wished he could have a pet to care for; you could hardly let go of the idea, one of the main reasons you adopted the puppy which now hopped over Wriothesley's feet, eliciting chuckles of pure adoration from him.

You were beyond thankful to have him in your life.

But... you couldn't help but notice that the little pup monopolized his attention. And while you had no objections about your dearest Duke playing with the pup, a part of you wished for more time with him; his duties kept him away, and you couldn't help the selfish thought of wanting more of his attention.

Perhaps you stared too long, long enough for Wriothesley to notice, and when his eyes turned to you, it felt like soft blue orbs saw right through you.

Embarrassment clawed at your cheeks as you turned away from him, rationality wiping away your previous thoughts.

"Someone's feeling bitter," he joked, and you could feel the playful smirk that lingered on his lips.

"Shut up," you mumbled, keeping your gaze away from him even as he got up to approach you.

His laughter was music to your ears, your heart leaping as he wraps his arms around you in a warm hug.

"There," he says, the mirth in his voice palpable, "happy now?"

You couldn't reply, not when you were embarrassed enough.

"Not enough?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow at you as he pulled away slightly. And oh the mischievous glint in his eyes was dreadful.

You couldn't even protest as he launched his 'attack' of soft kisses all over your face, from the corner of your lips, to the tip of your nose, and the apple of your cheek.

And perhaps it was his soft touch that felt ticklish, but you couldn't stop the laughter rising from your throat.

And once Wriothesley deemed you to be content, he was grinning just as brightly as you likely were.

"There," he says, his eyes crinkling from his smile. "A smile looks better on you."

Oh, if you received such attention every time, then perhaps you might not mind having the furball of energy that was your puppy snatching away his attention from time to time.

a/n : I was browsing through wriothesley's character story + dialogues; this one voiceline– titled 'chat: pets', it stuck in my mind, and later I saw some fanart about him being flocked with puppies, the idea just came to me when I saw it

p/s : ah and this is one of my first attempts at writing for Wriothesley, I fear it might be ooc... maybe?

[redroomreflections]

II HANDS II HEAVEN 2

Notes: I listened to Beyonce's album and wanted to write something to this song

Summary: Natasha Romanoff and Reader reluctantly team up for a couples retreat mission. Despite initial resistance, they find themselves drawn together by unexpected circumstances and shared experiences.

Masterlist | General Masterlist

w/c: 4.5k

Hour 1: 

The soft click of buttons being pressed echoed all around you as you searched for a suitable station. The radio's static hissed between each channel, punctuating your frustrated tsk of disapproval.

"Why can't you keep it on one thing?" Natasha's voice broke the silence, her annoyance noticeable. It was the first thing she had said to you thus far. She was committed to the cold and unimpressed demeanor. 

"I haven't heard a good song so far," You grumbled, settling back into your seat. "I'm bored. Do you have Spotify?"

Natasha shook her head curtly, her response brief and to the point.

"Okay, Apple Music then?" You pressed, determined to find a solution to your boredom.

Natasha's expression remained unchanged as she replied with another terse shake of her head, making it clear she wasn't interested in engaging in conversation.

"You do know you'll have to talk to me at some point?" You asked, turning to face Natasha, hoping to elicit some kind of response from her.

"I dread the moment it comes," Natasha mumbled, her tone tinged with a hint of resignation as if speaking more to herself than to you.

"Are you always this rude and cold to your teammates, or do you reserve that for me?" you tilted your head, your irritation beginning to bubble to the surface.

"I treat everyone according to their merits," Natasha replied evenly, her expression unreadable.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You frowned. 

"It means I assess each situation and act accordingly," Natasha replied cryptically, her gaze steady.

"Okay," You whistled, a hint of frustration in your tone. "I'm not a fan of kissing ass, so I guess we won't ever talk then." With a resigned sigh, you turned to look out of the window, feeling drained by the interaction. Despite your initial excitement about joining missions and working with Natasha, the reality proved less than enjoyable.

Hour 3 

Three hours with no good music or anyone to talk to. For the average person, it might break them. Not literally, but it's difficult to remain silent for such an extended period. However, for two spies, the task is easy. Natasha keeps her eyes steady on the road, her hands firm on the wheel, and the gas pedal at an easygoing pace. She's actually a decent driver, not that you expected anything less.

Conversely, you have resorted to counting the cell phone towers you encounter along the road. That, and the number of horses you see. It's a mundane task, but it helps pass the time as the miles stretch endlessly.

"I'm not the enemy," You said softly, breaking the silence again.

At first, it seemed that Natasha hadn't heard you. Her posture remained unchanged, giving no indication that she had acknowledged your words.

"I said I'm not the enemy," You repeated, a note of frustration creeping into your voice.

"Really? I read your file," Natasha shrugged, her tone matter-of-fact. "It doesn't paint exactly a friendly picture."

"That was supposed to be private," You raised a brow, feeling a twinge of frustration at the breach of privacy.

"As if they would allow someone like you on the team without warning all of us," Natasha pointed out, her gaze still fixed on the road ahead.

"Someone like me," You repeated, tasting the words on your tongue. It didn't sit well with you. "They allowed someone like you on the team and turned out just fine."

Natasha's expression remained impassive as she glanced briefly at you before returning her focus to the road. "Actions speak louder than words," she replied curtly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Really? How much did you have to clean from your ledger before they finally saw you as one of them?” You asked. 

Natasha's reply was a simple, nonchalant shrug, but her silence spoke volumes. It was clear from her demeanor that she wasn't fond of you, and you could sense the tension lingering between you like a heavy cloud. Despite your attempts to make things a little less tense between you,  Natasha's guarded stance remained unchanged, leaving you with the unsettling feeling that maybe some divides were too deep to mend.

Hour 5 

Pit stops are always a welcome break from the monotony of the road. After spending so much time in close quarters with Natasha, you practically leap out of the car as soon as it comes to a stop. Unclicking your seatbelt, you hastily rush out of the vehicle before she even puts it in the park.

The gas station was surprisingly crowded for the time of day, but you paid no mind as you barreled through the door and made a beeline for the bathroom. You scrunched your nose at the sight of the less-than-ideal conditions—rusty and tainted yellow seats—but there was no time to be prissy about cleanliness. Squatting over the toilet, you made do with what you had, knowing that as long as it got the job done, you could steam your lady bits later if needed. 

As Natasha took on the task of pumping gas, she locked the car doors before heading inside the gas station. She grabbed a few energy drinks from the cooler, anticipating that you'd be on the road for a few hours longer before calling it a night. 

Approaching the attendant, Natasha paid with cash, dropping a fifty-dollar bill onto the counter without hesitation. She was accustomed to taking care of things herself, and this small gesture was just another example of her practicality and self-sufficiency. From the corner of her eye, she could see you exit the bathroom and begin to peruse the aisles. Figures you’d take longer in here too. 

You immediately gravitated towards the trashy magazines, scanning the shelves for the latest editions of Us Weekly. Picking up a few copies along with a crossword puzzle, you indulged in some guilty pleasures to pass the time. Satisfied with your selection, you moved on to the snack aisle, grabbing a plethora of junk food to ease your mind during the long drive ahead.

As you were finishing up your shopping, a man approached you. He was not half bad, but at least ten years your senior.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing," He said, his tone oozing with charm. “Are you from around here?”

"Well, thank you," You replied, flashing him a coy smile as you played along with his flirtation. "No, I'm just passing through," you added, subtly keeping the conversation light and casual.

“What a shame,” He shook his head. “We’ve never had someone so pretty like you in town before.”

You chuckled lightly at his compliment, the corner of your lips curling into a playful smirk. "Well, I guess it's your lucky day then," you teased, enjoying the brief flirtation despite knowing it was all in jest.

The atmosphere suddenly shifted at the sound of a throat loudly clearing behind him that caught your attention. Without needing confirmation, you already knew who it is. Natasha stood there, her expression visibly ticked off as she looked between the two of you. 

"Oh, hey you," You said,  trying to diffuse the tension with a casual greeting. "I was just talking to my friend," you added, quickly glancing at his name tag and noting that he's an employee here. "Monty."

Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly as she caught onto your subtle attempt to downplay the situation. Stepping forward, she interjected smoothly, "Actually, Monty, my wife and I are just passing through. Isn't that right?" She emphasized the word 'wife' with a hint of amusement. The slight raise of your brow indicated you were impressed with her. 

You couldn’t resist the urge to push her buttons just a little further, knowing exactly which nickname would get under her skin. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you turned to Natasha and said, "That’s right, babe," You passed Nataha all of your items to carry. “Thank you for the compliment, Monty. Gonna take the old ball and chain here back on the road.” You gestured to Natasha as she rolled her eyes. 

You walked away with Natasha hot on your heels, feeling the weight of her disapproving gaze. As she passed the items to the attendant and dropped another twenty on the counter, her frown deepened.

"I can't believe you," Natasha shook her head, clearly unimpressed with your behavior.

"What, marriages aren't always sunshine and rainbows," you shrugged nonchalantly, flashing her a grin before adding, "Oh, and these too," as you gestured to a pack of cigarettes behind the attendant.

Natasha's disapproving look intensified as she glanced at the cigarettes. "You know those kill, right?" she remarked, her tone laced with concern.

You met Natasha's disapproving gaze with a playful twinkle in your eye. "Ah, but where's the thrill in life without a little risk?" you quipped, shrugging off her concern as you reached for the pack of cigarettes. You shot Natasha a cheeky grin, unfazed by her concern. "Don't worry, honey, I'll write you into my will," you jested, playfully taunting her as you grabbed your bag full of goodies.

With a final wave, you strode out of the store, the jingle of the doorbell emphasizing your exit.

Natasha rolled her eyes at your remark for what felt like the millionth time.  "Don't bother," she retorted dryly. She followed in your footsteps only to find you taking selfies with one of the new cellphones Steve provided both of you. 

“What are you doing?” She asked. 

You glanced up from your selfies, a mischievous grin spreading across your face as you held up the phone. "Just documenting our thrilling adventure," you quipped, snapping another photo before turning the camera towards Natasha. "Say cheese!"

Natasha sighed, walking over to the gas pump to finish filling the tank. 

“You know, for a spy, you’re too stiff,” You commented. “This is to show off. We can’t be newlyweds if we don’t have any pictures.” 

Natasha cast a skeptical glance over her shoulder as she finished up at the pump. "I fail to see how selfies contribute to our cover," she remarked dryly, her tone indicating her reluctance to participate in your impromptu photoshoot. Nonetheless, she didn't protest further, knowing that maintaining the illusion of a happy couple is crucial for the success of the mission.

Back on the road again. 

Hour 8 

As you lazily flipped through the pages of yet another US Weekly magazine, the last hour seemed to blur into a haze of crosswords and candy consumption. Your feet rested against the dash of the car, a piece of licorice hanging between your lips as you absentmindedly hummed along to the music playing in the background.

"It's amazing what she thinks of marriage," you mumbled to yourself, your attention caught by the latest gossip surrounding Jennifer Lopez's love life. "It's like celebrities don't care about the sanctity of marriage or something."

“You say this as if we aren’t doing the same thing right now,” Natasha commented. 

“She speaks,” You chewed the last of your licorice. “It’s not the same thing. We are doing this for the greater good of the people.”

“If you say so,” Natasha shrugged. “Get your feet off the dash.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully at Natasha's instruction, but complied nonetheless, retracting your feet from the dashboard with a sigh. "Fine, fine," you conceded, settling back into your seat and returning your attention to the magazine in your hands. "Oh, a couple's questionnaire. We should do this. It might help with our story better," you suggested eagerly.

Natasha's expression remains unchanged, a hint of reluctance flickering in her eyes as she considers your proposal. "I suppose it couldn't hurt," she gave in reluctantly, her tone betraying her lack of enthusiasm for the task.

You reached into the glove box for a pen before writing both of your names on the page. “Okay, first question. What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

Natasha's response was simple and to the point. "Strawberry," she answered. 

You couldn't help but recoil in mock horror. "Strawberry? What, no one likes strawberry," you exclaimed, feigning disgust at her choice.

“Well I do,” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“Mine is chocolate,” You answered. “What are some of your healthy and unhealthy habits?”

Natasha paused for a moment, considering the question carefully before responding. "Healthy habits? I prioritize physical fitness and maintain a disciplined training regimen," she began, her tone matter-of-fact. "As for unhealthy habits, I have a tendency to keep my emotions guarded, which can sometimes lead to a lack of emotional expression and connection with others," she admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of self-awareness.

“Self aware queen,” You scribbled into the blank space. 

“Yours is smoking right?” Natasha titled her chin to the pack of cigarettes sitting in your lap. 

“Yes, and no,” You said quietly. 

“What does that mean?”

You glanced down at the pack of cigarettes in your lap, a faint frown crossing your features as Natasha brought up the topic.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, prompting you to elaborate on your ambiguous answer.

"It means... it's complicated," You explained with a sigh, hesitant to delve into the complexities of your relationship with smoking. 

“Something your wife should know right?” 

Natasha's remark struck a chord, and you offered a small nod in response.

"Yeah, something my wife should know," You agreed, acknowledging the validity of her point.

As Natasha waited for an explanation, you took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking.

"After I defected, and even a little before, I needed something to calm me and keep me busy," You began, your voice filled with a hint of vulnerability. "I tried a lot of things—painting, reading, training. But... nothing seemed to stick quite like smoking did," you admitted reluctantly, feeling a pang of shame at the admission.

Natasha nodded in understanding. 

“What’s your favorite position,” You asked suddenly. 

Natasha's eyebrow arched in surprise at your unexpected question, her gaze shifting to meet yours as she processed your words.

"What? That's not in the book," She remarked,  a hint of amusement coloring her tone.

You offer a playful smirk in response, shrugging nonchalantly. "You're right, it's not. But it's something a wife should know," you quip, the mischievous glint in your eyes betraying your playful intent.

There’s a few seconds of silence before Natasha decided to answer. Though you’re not sure if the answer is her truth or not. You suppose its not for you to challenge. 

“Missionary,” Natasha answered. 

“Missionary?” You asked incredously. 

“What? What’s wrong with that?” She glanced over at you. 

“Nothing, nothing,” You hurriedly smoothed it over. You debated on your next comment but decided to anyway. “It’s just… so vanilla.”

“Vanilla can be nice,” She shrugged. “Besides, it’s not supposed to be my answer. It’s Joan’s answer.” 

“Joan?” You questioned. Natasha reached into the glove box to pull out two black wallets.

You took the IDs from Natasha's outstretched hand, examining them briefly before nodding in acknowledgment. "Joan and Alexis White," you repeat, committing the names to memory as Natasha provides you with the fabricated backstory.

"We got married last year in Turks and Caicos," Natasha continues, her tone matter-of-fact. "We did a no electronics wedding. Completely unplugged, so barely any pictures. We met in college. You studied psychology and you’re halfway through your master's in clinical counseling. You took a couple of years off school to take care of your sick parents. I finished law school and became an attorney."

You take in the details of the fabricated narrative, filing them away for future reference. "Interesting," you echo, your response neutral as you consider the implications of your new identities. 

“I know a guy,” Natasha adjusted her position in the seat. 

“Can I ask you something?” You turned in your seat to fully look at her. 

“I thought we were already doing that?” Natasha said. 

“No, but off the record,” You sighed. “Why do you hate me?”

Natasha's expression remained stoic as she met your gaze, her eyes betraying a hint of guardedness. There was a moment of silence as Natasha considered her response, her expression unreadable as she chose her words carefully.

“I know you consider me a lazy, untrained spy but…” 

Natasha's features softened ever so slightly, a flicker of empathy glimmering in her eyes as she met your gaze.

"I don't hate you," She responded quietly, her tone gentle yet firm. "And I don't consider you lazy or untrained. You have your strengths, just as I have mine. We're a team, whether we like it or not. But we need to learn to trust each other if we're going to make this work." 

“I’m not who you all think I am,” You said. “You read my file. My past is…”

"I know we all have our secrets," She replied gently, her tone surprisingly understanding. "And sometimes, our past doesn't define who we are in the present. Everyone has their reasons.” 

Indeed they do. 

Hour 12 

As sunlight still bathed the winding roads, both of you acknowledged the exhaustion of the day and the need for a break. Pulling up to the nearest Holiday Inn, Natasha brought the car to a stop. You had just drifted into sleep, your head leaning against the window. Natasha hesitated to disturb your rest, admiring the peacefulness that enveloped you in slumber.

She hadn’t known before that you could talk this much. She tried to push down the feelings of guilt she felt as she thought about what you said earlier. She doesn’t hate you. She's simply not fond of you or new people in general. She read your file which she doesn’t regret but what she found in there was a story much like her own. 

A lonely kid with nowhere to go. A convenient organization willing to pay whatever to take advantage of you. It’s clear you hold more guilt and pain over your past but things are still so new. She remembers feeling that way before. Though she may not express it openly, Natasha acknowledged the complexity of your situation and the depth of your pain. She understood the burden of carrying secrets and regrets, and she felt a twinge of empathy for the vulnerable, lonely kid she saw reflected in you.

Startling awake as you sensed the car no longer moving, you opened your eyes to find Natasha quickly averting her gaze. The realization dawned on you that you've arrived at your destination for the night. Despite the abrupt awakening, you felt a sense of relief at the prospect of rest after the long journey. 

“We can crash here for the night,” Natasha announced, unfastening her seatbelt. “Book a room or two.”

“Sounds good,” You agreed with a weary nod, gathering your belongings as you followed Natasha into the hotel.

Approaching the front desk, Natasha inquired about booking a couple of rooms for the night. However, the receptionist, Lou, delivered an unwelcome message.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we only have one room available for the time being,” Lou explained, her fingers tapping on the keyboard to check the inventory. “It’s a double bed room. There’s a convention in town, so we are all booked up at this time.”

Natasha's expression tightened slightly at the news, a hint of frustration flashing in her eyes before she composed herself.

“Well, that’s less than ideal,” she remarked, her tone tinged with disappointment. Turning to you, she added, “Looks like we’ll have to make do with sharing a room for the night.”

“Fine with me,” You hiked your carry on bag higher onto your shoulders.

As Natasha and you ascended to the third floor, anticipation for a good night's rest began to build. Upon entering your room, you found it surprisingly spacious, with enough room for two double beds.

Eager to freshen up after the long ride, you wasted no time in dropping your bags in front of one of the beds. Without another word, you made a beeline for the bathroom, eager to indulge in a well-deserved shower.

"Don't worry, I'll just wait here," Natasha assured, her tone carrying a hint of amusement as she neatly stacked her belongings in a corner of the room.

Observing the surroundings under the guise of gathering ice for the room, Natasha familiarized herself with the layout and exits. Satisfied with her findings, she returned to the room only to find you rummaging through your bags, clad in nothing but a towel.

"Sorry, I was in such a hurry but I felt icky," You explained, glancing up at her sheepishly. You sat on the bed, pulling a pair of thin silk sleep shorts onto your hips before adding a sports bra. You were still damp but you felt fresh. 

“No problem, “ Natasha dismissed. “I’ll just go…” She hiked a thumb towards the bathroom. 

She stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her before she sighed. 

At least it wasn’t a single bed. 

-------> part 3

[featherandferns]

day 6/24 - obx christmas countdown

‘Bless us all, who gather here. The loving family I hold dear’ - ‘Tiny Tim’, Bless Us All | fluff | jj x fem!reader

Preparing Thanksgiving dinner was jumbled, joyous chaos in the Pogue household. Roles were delegated and then completely ignored. Plans were laid-out before being woefully cast aside. The house smelt of cooking with a tinge of burning. Fingers stunk of vegetables and spices and beer and wine from the constant flow of drinks. Pope was in charge of the turkey: he’d studied the temperatures and the times and techniques and the tips. He had apparently mastered the science of cooking the bird to perfection. Nobody dared get in his way for fear of being plucked and basted next. Cleo was working on the sauces. Any sauce you can think of, and some that you probably can’t. Cranberry and apple and Jamaican hot. John B was on the yams and potatoes, and Kiara on carrots and sprouts. JJ? He was working pretty damn hard at nailing the stuffing. You and Sarah were on the desserts. The pumpkin pie was cooking in the oven and the two of you had now taken to decorating cupcakes with sprinkles, methodically placing each individual one atop of the wonky frosting. Christmas music hummed from the crackly speaker and chatter overlapped through the kitchen, broken up with laughter from time to time. 

When everything was on the hob and in the oven, new jobs were taken on. John B and Sarah were the pot washers and Pope and Cleo, the dryers. Kiara was readying the serving dishes and keeping a watchful eye on the pots to ensure nothing bubbled over. In the dining room, around the extended table, was you and JJ. He was carrying the plates in one arm and laying them out in everyone’s spot, and you were following behind with the cutlery and napkins. 

“So, what’re you grateful for?” JJ asks you. Someone laughs in the kitchen. You carefully line up a fork beside a knife. 

“Y’know. The usual. Sun, seltzers and sex,” you reel. JJ sniggers. “You?”

“My sexy girlfriend?”

“Damn straight,” you grin, catching his eye. The two of you continue setting the table. 

“Seriously, though. Any corny crap you’re grateful for?” JJ wonders. It doesn’t take much thought. 

“The fact that we finally got our home. After all the shit thrown at us, and all the wild goose chasing…We finally got it,” you quietly reply. 

“Shit. That’s a good one,” JJ smiles. He lays the last plate. You feel him watching you as you lay the cutlery beside it. “I think I’m thankful for having you. Sticking by me, y’know? No matter what.”

Your brows tug together as you look up at him. Your voice is sincere and heavy with trust as you say, “course. I’ll always stick by you.”

JJ presses his lips to yours and you smile into the kiss. 

“Dinner time, horn-dogs!” John B whoops. The two of you break apart with a roll of your eyes. 

“Way to kill the mood, JB,” JJ mutters, begrudgingly walking around the table to his seat. 

“What? Were you two just gonna do it on the table?” Kiara sarcastically wonders. She’s carrying a large serving dish filled to the brim with steaming veg. 

“Was thinking about it. I’m feelin’ really thankful for tables. And tits.”

“JJ, gross,” Pope cringes.

He’s followed by Cleo and Sarah who carry various plates and bowls. Pope carries the turkey, hands protected by oven mitts. Your mouth waters at the smell, eyes growing two sizes larger like a Looney Tunes character at the sight of the golden bird. 

“Hell freakin’ yeah,” JJ grins, clapping his hands together and rubbing loudly. 

You take your seat beside Sarah, Kiara opposite you. JJ sits at the head of the table. Pope carefully lowers the turkey to the table and the six of you sit, staring in awe, mouths hanging open. Compliments and praises and thanks are passed from person to person before landing in Pope’s ears. You had to hand it to him: he knew his stuff. 

“I’m so hungry,” Sarah sighs, reaching for the serving spoon wedged beneath the potatoes. 

“Same!” Kiara mumbles, grabbing for the tongs by the yams. 

“All our hard work paid off,” Cleo remarks in her thick accent. 

“Hey, hey, hey! We haven’t said grace yet!” JJ loudly reminds. 

Everybody groans but nobody complains. JJ holds his hand out to you and you take it with a smile. His hand clutches yours warmly. Sarah takes your right hand and you hang your head and close your eyes. 

“Let her rip, JJ,” John B prompts. It was a tradition for JJ to make the pre-dinner prayer. You were only mildly surprise to learn of JJ’s dedication to his religion. It shone through in subtle ways, like the light refracted from a disco ball. But it was sweet and admirable. He’d take the time to pray. Thanked God when something happened that he saw as a blessing. Showed gratitude for the smallest of moments. 

JJ clears his throat pointedly, causing a few of you to chuckle. He squeezes your hand gently before beginning. 

“Dear Lord. We thank you for this delicious Thanksgiving meal we’re all about to fuckin' demolish.”

You all laugh and it melts away like snow in spring. JJ's voice shines bright as he speaks.  

“Bless us all, who gather here. This loving - all-be-it - weird family we have. My family, that I hold dear, as you know. We ask you to lead us to the light and to let us always love each other. To let us hear the voice of reason, to help us run from anger, and to catch us when we fall. Teach us in our dreams. Be kind to those who don’t have a loving, weird family, or a meal like this. Be kind to those in war and famine. Be kind to those who aren't. We reach for you and we stand tall. And in our prayers and dreams, we ask you, bless us all.”

You’re surprised you have enough breath to murmur, “amen.” Your eyes feel damp, moved with emotion, as you open them. Everyone shares loving, understanding smiles with one another. Hands slip away and latch onto cutlery, but you find yours reaching for JJ’s hand. You guide his knuckles to your lips and you hold his gaze as you plant a quick, caring kiss. He smiles at you. A blush teases at his cheeks. What a man - a man who you get to love, loud and proud, and a man who loves you back. 

“I love you,” you mouth. His smile grows. He nods, murmurs it back, and you let his hand go. JJ takes a deep breath as he grounds himself back in the room. 

“Alright, Pope. You gonna carve that damn bird or what?” he declares.

The group hollers and whoops in agreement and Pope laughs, getting to his feet. As he slices into the juicy meat, your eyes scan the table. You can’t help but feel as though JJ hit the nail on the head in his prayer. Because you're here in the company of those who you love and you know that you belong. And what more could a girl need?

[mellifiedprincess]

hii :) this is my first time writing on here, so please be kind to me. i do appreciate constructive criticism though!

a/n: while there isn’t any smut in this, there are some suggestive themes. there is also mention of anxiety

ANXIOUS MY LOVE?

jack champion x reader

He was spiraling. You could see it in his eyes, as soon as you looked over at him. He was freaking and you weren’t quite sure how to help. You couldn’t quite tell how deep in his thoughts he was at the moment.

You knew you needed to get him somewhere quiet though. Somewhere away from the prying eyes of reporters surrounding the red carpet.

“Hey, Jack? Hey-“ You pause as he meets your eyes. The whites of his tinged with pink from holding back tears. A soft worried smile makes its way to your face, and you place a comforting hand on his arm. “I’m gonna get you somewhere a little more quiet, okay?” All he can manage to do for now is nod.

You’re not sure if it’s the bright lights, the shouting from every direction, maybe even the nerves of everyone he loves watching the premiere of his new movie. Maybe it’s all of that and then some, but there’s one thing you know for a fact and that is he’s on the verge of an anxiety attack. You make quick steps to find the entrance of the building the premiere is being held in, avoiding the yells from cameramen trying to get pictures of your boyfriend.

You finally make it inside and find a quiet room, pushing him inside quickly, before locking the door making sure no one can disturb you two. “I’m just gonna let your mom know what’s going on. I don’t want her to panic when she can’t find us.”

After sending her a quick text, you stand in front of Jack, taking his hands into your own. “You wanna tell me what’s going on in that pretty brain of yours?” You tilt your head a bit to look up at him, making eye contact so he knows he has your full undivided attention.

He’s leaning against a counter, big brown eyes staring straight into yours.

“It’s just a lot at once. This is my first big movie role, you know. I’m worried about disappointing you and disappointing my mom.

What if I’m a shit actor and this is all I’m ever gonna get because I suck so bad at doing the one thing I love.” Jack pauses, pulling you closer to his body, wrapping his arms completely around you and lays his head on top of yours before continuing.

“I just- We all have spent so much of our time on this movie. And not just the cast and crew, I’m talking about my mom too. She’s done so much for me. She’s given so much of her time for me.” He takes a breath in, his words getting caught in his throat.

“And you-“ He pauses again, moving his hands to cup your face. He smiles, his dimples peeking through, and then places a soft kiss to your lips. “You have been nothing but supportive, patient, and shown me nothing but love.”

You can hear the emotion in his voice. You can see the tears he’s trying his best to hold back. You can feel the slight shake in his hands.

“I’m terrified right now, baby. I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

You place your hands on top of his, still resting on your cheeks. “Jack, I love you, okay? Your mom loves you too. And I’m willing to bet, she’d agree with me when i say, you could never disappoint us. We know how much you put into this. We know how hard you’ve worked.

You remember that little music video you made for school? About the pythagorean theorem.” A blush coats the apples of his cheeks, you know he hates that video. You love it though.

“Do you know how proud I was of you when you made that? You stepped outside of your comfort zone, and made something hilarious.” Jack shakes his head and he gives you a small laugh. “My point is, you can’t disappoint us. Cause no matter what you do, we’re gonna keep loving you and cheering you on.”

You move your hand down to his bicep, squeezing it before rubbing it up and down. “I seriously don’t deserve you.” Jack mumbles as he leans down to place another kiss to your lips. This time he deepens it, it lasting a lot longer than the other one. “Yeah, well you can prove your worth later when we’re alone.” You mumble back.

“We’re alone now.”

You push at his chest as his lips move down to your jaw. “I mean later in the privacy of our hotel room. Besides, my very attractive boyfriend is in this movie we’re about to watch. Can’t miss that, now can we?” You take your thumb and wipe away the pink lipgloss from his lips, a little more swollen from the heated kiss you two shared just moments ago. He grabs your hand before you pull it away and places a kiss to the palm of it, before grasping it in his.

“I guess you’re right.” Jack says as he rolls his eyes affectionately. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at him. “But seriously, are you feeling better?” Physically you can tell he is, but you being you needed him to verbally confirm he was okay, before going back out there.

He smiles down at you once again and grabs your chin, kissing you one more time before answering.

“Yes baby, i’m feeling much better because of you.”

“Good! Now let’s go watch little Jack run around with that big ass forehead on display.”

“Oh you’re paying for that one later.” Jack says as he pinches your sides, making you squeal with laughter.

His little threat meant nothing to you, you were just happy he was feeling better.

[comatosebunny09]

fun-sized | leon k.

summary: somehow, musing about being short lead to an obsession with leon’s boobs.

genres: romance, humor

cw: suggestive themes, reader is short, leon is a cheeky little sh!t, stream of consciousness, not proofread

music inspo: if - r5

Being short isn’t all bad. Sometimes, it has its perks.

Strangers pity you in the supermarket, for example. Watch with fond smiles and swelling hearts while you struggle to fetch a box of Froot Loops from the topmost shelf—it would be the last box with marshmallows, too. 

As your poor little calves sting and your fingers strain and you whimper pitifully for added effect, a leggy gentleman often swoops in to save the day.

You don’t have to duck beneath low tree branches when jogging through the park, either. Not at all fazed when your taller coworkers play limbo to avoid a splinter to the face.

Being fun-sized also comes in handy when dodging chainsaws and blades on a mission. Helps that you’re an agile little spider monkey, but you don’t have to do some fancy footwork to avoid having your head lopped off. You can simply duck.

Sure, you have to climb onto your countertops to reach the spice rack. Need a step ladder to retrieve plates from the cupboard. And maybe you have to put a little more oomph into your jumps to reach the pullup bar at the precinct. But the best part of being petite is, well...

Having the best view in the house.

That view being Leon S. Kennedy’s bodacious tits.

They flex invitingly in your peripheral whilst he reaches overhead to fetch a coffee mug. Doesn’t help that his shoulder rigs cup his bosom just right. And, of course, his dress shirt is tapered, accentuating the shape of his Adonis-like pecs.

Yeah, you could be a little more subtle with your ogling. Nearly scorch yourself with piping coffee, too preoccupied with Leon’s nipples that pebble in the cool air conditioning. But, he’s warm-bodied and virile beside you. Exudes the heady aroma of gun oil and cashmere. Stubble dapples his chin, and the golden slither of collarbone playing peek-a-boo with your vision beneath his button-up, well…

It takes every bit of you not to bite your lip, grateful the break-room’s free of any other occupants. It’s embarrassing enough eying your superior like a piece of prime rib.

Leon’s Adam’s apple bobs, causing you to instinctively swallow. Don’t even know when you stopped breathing, static filling the space between your ears. The definitive click of the cupboard being shut brings you back to the present. And you would nearly leap out of your skin, caught like the proverbial child rifling through the cookie jar.

His chuckle tinges the air, warm milk and honey to your ears. Tingles in the tips of your toes. Sparkles in the crown of your head whilst your cheeks flood with heat.

“Think you dropped something,” Leon drawls on the edge of your ear. Incredibly close, the heat radiating off his torso, branding your arm as he reaches around to pluck the coffee pot from your shaky fingers.

“W-what’d I drop?” you sputter, scanning the floor like a fool. Your gaze settles on Leon’s chest when another chuckle cascades from his lips. When a battle-worn finger creeps beneath your chin, angling your head back. His eyes swim with mischief, glittering like sea glass.

“Your jaw, sweetheart,” he croons as if taking part in a naughty secret.

You glimpse Leon’s crow’s feet before he draws away. Miss the warmth he emits, your voice corked in your throat. You watch pathetically, rooted to the floor whilst he ambles towards the break-room’s entrance, a hand stuffed in his pocket.

Before he crosses the threshold, Leon jests over his shoulder, “Gonna watch me like that; you should buy me dinner first.”

It’s out before you can think, hopefulness prickling your limbs. “W-what do you like to eat?”

It serves its purpose, stopping him in his tracks. The smirk he dons when he faces you again siphons your breath.

He stalks towards you before you can process things, soundless as a feline. Places his mug on the counter, spilling over you like liquid fire. Your back collides with the wall; didn’t even notice how close you were to it. Shiver as he sweeps an errant lock of hair behind your ear, suddenly caging you in with brawny arms on either side of your head.

You shrink beneath his power whilst he leans in. Jerk when he gathers your cheek into his palm, leaning down to whisper obscenities against the pulse point behind your ear.

Your knees buckle, and your lashes shutter from the absurdity of it all. From the sodden promises murmured against your skin, causing your tongue to loll about in your mouth.

Leon departs after whittling you down. Leaves you boneless, every egotistical ounce of him filtering from the room alongside him.

“So, dinner at seven?” you quip to his retreating back in the hallway, battling the thundering of your heart in your rib cage.

[ledder4]

taskforce 141

womenpov

wordcount:2357

Word spread fast enough of the collective interest in y/n, boys will be boys and locker rooms are made for talking. They welcomed her to the team six months ago, and she has occupied many after-mission conversations for the last four. Of course, they're all interested for their own reasons, but they found a common goal: her submission.

When the news broke of mandatory time off, Soap and Gaz all but dropped to their knees and begged Station Chief Laswell to let them stay on base for the duration, badgering her until she relented. Once she said yes to them, she couldn’t refuse the others, and suddenly five men are sulking around base with nothing to do while their muse runs off on solo missions.

They all have a pretty good idea of what they want to do with this time off, though.

8 days into their supposed ‘vacation’, the apple of their eye finally had a night off, which Soap took as an opportunity to invite her to drinks in the common room. It started innocently enough, he was just inviting her for drinks with the guys, but with a week of agonizing nothingness under their belt, that purity doesn’t last.

Their shared agenda quickly became apparent: feed her drinks and loosen her up. It didn't take long for them to turn her into a giggly, drunken mess, not with them all subtly compelling her toward excess. Soap started playing music from his phone, pulling a stumbling y/n onto her feet to dance with him, and it only escalated from there. Careful touches and gentle teasing quickly turned into fervent groping and whispered provocations. And once he had her like putty in his hands, he decided to put on a little spectacle of his own orchestration.

Which brings us to now.

Soap sits cross-legged in front of her, watching as their lovely recruit humps and grinds against a pillow on the floor. A fixed grin is adorning his lips and a red tinge has settled on his face, a testament to the adrenaline-liquor mixture that is coursing through him. He can't believe he got her to do this. And seeing her like this, touching her like this, it's more than just a rush. His fingers trail over her body, tracing the swell of her breasts and teasing her nipples, worshiping her delicate curves and all her little scars with a reverent touch. So perfect, Soap muses silently, his eyes trained on the subtle nuances of her pleasure. Such a beautiful sight.

Seated adjacent to Soap, Gaz leans in closer to her, guiding her movements with a tight grip on her left hip. His fingers press into her skin, forcing her to stay in rhythm. “Don’t go slowing down on us now, sweetheart. We’re just getting started,” he murmurs, a mellifluous lilt to his voice. He can't remember the last time he felt like this, the pulsing in his jeans rendering him acutely aware of every beat of his heart. He isn't sure how much longer he can half-participate, he's twitching at the thought of pounding into her.

Two thin wisps of smoke linger over a nearby couch where Price and König are seated, languidly puffing at cigars, amber-colored whiskey swirling in a glass in the older man’s hand. They're both completely rapt by the performance. Price is content to be a passive observer, allowing the boys to have their fun for the moment. He’ll be filling one of those pretty holes soon enough. If you asked him right now, he would say that they need this. Standard rest and recovery aren’t going to cut it. His motivations for allowing this are selfish too, though. He is but a man, and what man wouldn't want to witness the transformation of a pretty, respectable woman into a creature of primal desire?

Less keen on staying uninvolved, König’s fingers twitch as he taps off the ash on his cigar. His eyes flick between y/n and the smoldering vice tucked between his digits, contemplating for a second before it is stamped out in the ashtray. He pulls his hood down from its perch on the bridge of his nose, enveloping the sliver of his features once exposed back into the sanctity of cover. He moves to join Soap and Gaz, sighing softly as he lowers himself to the floor. “Can’t let you hunds have all the fun,” he quips with a chuckle, tracing a path along her thigh. His other hand comes up to her visage, caressing her bottom lip with his thumb, then his index finger. “Look at you, Maus. You’re doing so well for us, putting on a show.”

Ghost’s fingertip dances lightly across the rim of his glass as he watches the scene unfold, his broad frame casually leaning against a counter on the other side of the room. He is caught between curiosity about where this goes on its own and the desire to walk over there now so he can drag her back to the couch and fuck her properly. Such a good little whore, his mind whirs as he reaches down to adjust the painfully tight bulge growing in his jeans. She truly is a sight to see when she’s like this, he can't help but wonder how pretty she’ll look when he's gripping her throat and spitting in her mouth.

The room is thick with the heady mix of lust, alcohol, and testosterone. The air is charged, and the tension is palpable. Every touch, every word, and every movement seems to reverberate through the room. Soap’s fingers graze her nipple again, tugging gently, sending a shudder through her body. The moan that escapes her lips is ragged, needy.

Gaz chuckles, his grip tightening for just a moment, making her gasp. “That’s it, baby. Let us hear you. We love it when you make that sound.” He leans in, his lips brushing against her ear as he speaks, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down her spine. “You’re ours now, aren’t you? You’re going to do everything we tell you, aren’t you?”

The question hangs in the air, and she can’t help but nod, her cheeks flushed, her eyes searching for approval.

Price, watching from the sidelines, can’t help but let out a quiet, approving hum. Gaz’s words are a command, and she obeys without hesitation. He’s always admired that in a partner, that willingness to submit to the whims of another. He’s not surprised to find this trait in their new recruit, but it does make him all the more eager to claim her.

König’s fingers tease along the edge of her panties, dipping just a little, brushing against the slick heat beneath. He looks up at her, his eyes hidden behind the black cloth of his hood, but his voice is gentle. “You’re a good girl, Maus. Now, let’s see how good you are at swallowing.”

Ghost, unable to resist any longer, strides over to join the group. His voice is rough, commanding, as he speaks. “Get rid of those, now.” He gestures to her clothing, and she hastily shimmies out of the confines of her pants, leaving her in nothing but her bra and lace thong.

Gaz grins, pushing her down onto her back, her legs spread wide, her wanton display causing his cock to strain even more against his pants. Soap, meanwhile, has pulled off his own trousers, his erection standing proudly at attention. He moves between her legs, rubbing the tip of his cock against her swollen clit, teasing her.

Gaz’s hand slides between her legs, his fingers finding her slick entrance. He pushes one inside, then another, stretching her, preparing her for the onslaught. “Feels good, doesn't it, babe?” His thumb brushes against her clit, rubbing in circles, sending waves of pleasure through her.

Ghost, unable to wait any longer, rips open his fly and frees his throbbing cock. He positions himself between her legs, guiding the head of his cock against her entrance. He looks her in the eye, his expression a mix of hunger and possession. “I’m going to fuck you now, Maus. You’re going to take every inch I give you.”

He thrusts in, burying himself deep inside her. She gasps, her back arching off the floor, her eyes wide with both pain and pleasure. He begins to move, slowly at first, then picking up speed, his hips slapping against her ass with a rhythmic thud.

Soap, not to be left out, moves in beside Ghost, his own cock ready to join the fray. He lines up his shaft with her entrance, and plunges in, stretching her even further. The two men begin to fuck her in unison, their movements synchronized, their grunts and groans filling the room.

Gaz, still between her legs, continues to rub her clit, his fingers working in tandem with the thrusts of Soap and Ghost. His other hand roams up to her breast, pinching her nipple, twisting it roughly. “Such a good little slut, taking it like a champ. You’re going to cum for us, aren’t you?”

König, still cloaked in the shadows of his hood, moves in close, his hands cupping her face. He leans down, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss. As their lips part, he slides his tongue into her mouth, exploring, tasting. He pulls away, leaving her breathless, her eyes searching his.

Price, watching from the sidelines, feels a surge of desire. He can’t resist any longer. His hand finds its way to his cock, stroking through his pants. He’s always enjoyed a good show, and this certainly qualifies.

Ghost and Soap continue to pound into her, their rhythm relentless. Sweat drips from their bodies, coating her skin. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her body trembling as she nears the edge.

Gaz, seeing her imminent release, leans in, his breath hot against her ear. “Cum for us, Maus. Let us hear you. Let us feel you."

The words are the final push she needs. Her body convulses, her pussy clenching around the intruding cocks, her release washing over her in waves. The men continue to fuck her, their own climaxes building.

Ghost grunts, his thrusts growing more erratic. He pulls out, his cock pulsing as he coats her stomach with his seed. Soap follows suit, his hot release filling her to the brim. The two men stand there, panting, their cocks still twitching, as they watch their cum leak from her quivering pussy.

Gaz, his own release close, pulls away, his hand wrapped tightly around his throbbing cock. He jerks himself, his eyes never leaving her face. With a loud groan, he comes, his cum splattering across her tits, painting her in their combined release.

König, still watching, reaches down, his fingers tracing the path of Soap’s cum across her stomach. He brings his fingers to his lips, tasting her, savoring their conquest.

Price, unable to resist any longer, steps forward, removing his pants and underwear in one swift motion. His cock, already hard, stands at attention, begging for attention. “Time for my turn,” he growls, eager to claim her mouth as his own.

He moves in, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep, demanding submission. His hands roam her body, teasing her nipples, kneading her ass. The other men, spent, watch with hungry eyes, their cocks still half-hard.

Price breaks the kiss, his voice a low growl. “On your knees, Maus.” He doesn't wait for a response, instead, he pushes her down until she's kneeling before him. Her eyes meet his, fear and excitement mingling in her gaze. Price smiles, a predatory grin that makes her heart race. “Good girl. Now, show me how much you appreciate what we’ve given you.”

She reaches out, her hand wrapping around his cock, slowly stroking him. Her head bobs forward, her lips brushing against the head of his cock, teasing him. Price groans, his hand tangling in her hair, guiding her movements.

As she takes him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head, he lets out a soft moan. The other men watch, their cocks stirring, eager for another round. Price thrusts into her mouth, his hips moving in a steady rhythm.

Gaz, Soap, and Ghost, their lust sated for now, sit back, watching the scene unfold, their hands roaming over one another's bodies, soothing the ache left by their release. Price, however, is not far behind. His thrusts grow more erratic, his breaths coming in short, sharp pants.

He pulls out, his cock glistening with her saliva. “On your back, now.” He pushes her down, her body landing on the floor with a soft thud. Price positions himself between her legs, his eyes dark with desire. “I’m going to fuck you, Maus, and when I do, I want to hear you scream my name.”

With that, he thrusts into her, filling her once more. Her back arches, her nails digging into the floor as she takes him. Her moans fill the room, each one a melodic symphony to his ears.

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz watch, their cocks hardening again, the sight of Price taking her driving them wild. They get to their feet, ready to join in once more.

Price’s thrusts become more frenzied, his balls slapping against her ass with each powerful stroke. He reaches down, his hand finding her clit, rubbing it roughly. The sensation, coupled with his relentless pounding, sends her over the edge once more.

Price, feeling her tighten around him, grunts, his release imminent. He pulls out, his hot seed splashing against her stomach, joining the others. He collapses beside her, panting, his chest heaving.

The room is filled with the scent of sex and sweat, the air thick with the aftermath of their debauchery. The men, sated for now, lay around her, their bodies still connected, their breaths slowly evening out.

In the afterglow, they lay, basking in the satisfaction of their conquest. They’ve claimed her, made her theirs, and in doing so, they’ve forged a bond that transcends their missions.

Taskforce 141, a multinational elite

made by ledder4

[himasgod]

Venti x Reader

Where you hear his songs on a starry night, and he tells you about freedom.

Night fell upon Mondstadt with a peaceful calm. Stars twinkled in the clear sky, and the city shone with a golden light from the taverns and homes. The wind carried with it the whisper of ancient songs, and the soft melody of a lyre echoed in the central square.

There, under the dim light of the streetlamps, was Venti. With his trademark cap and mischievous smile, he played his lyre with his eyes closed, as if he wanted the breeze to carry his music to the farthest corners. The few passersby who still wandered the streets stopped to listen, captivated by the beauty of his song.

You stood among the crowd, drawn by the melody as if the wind itself had guided you there. It was not the first time you had seen him; this wandering bard was known in Mondstadt, but few knew where he came from or where he went when he disappeared for days. There was something about his music, the way he smiled at the world as if he held a secret no one else knew, that made you want to get to know him more.

Tonight, however, there was something different about his playing. Though his lyre was still as lovely as ever, the melody was slower, almost melancholic, as if the joy he always exuded was tinged by a veil of sadness.

Once he finished his song, the small crowd applauded, and he bowed slightly. You hesitated for a moment, but eventually approached as the others dispersed.

“Venti,” you called out to him, in a softer tone than you had planned. He looked up, surprised that anyone stayed after his performance.

“Oh! Good evening.” he replied with a mischievous smile. “Have you come to listen to my songs or to buy me a drink?”

You rolled your eyes at his joke. Though he was a bard known for his love of alcohol, there was something deeper about him that intrigued you.

“Actually, I came because…” you hesitated, not quite sure how to put into words what you felt. “Your song tonight… sounded different. More… sad.”

For an instant, something in Venti’s green eyes seemed to flicker, like a star about to fade. But his smile quickly returned, as if the melancholy had never been there.

“Oh, that… is nothing, my lady. Sometimes even the wind needs a pause to remember what it has lost,” he replied with a light laugh, but there was something in his tone that didn’t quite convince you.

Without thinking, you took a seat next to him at the edge of the fountain. The night breeze was cool and smelled of apples and wildflowers. You said nothing else, letting the silence between you speak for itself. And surprisingly, Venti didn’t speak either, just looking up at the stars.

“You know? What happened to that young man?” he said suddenly, breaking the stillness. “A long time ago, there was a young man who longed to fly, but he never could. He had no wings, and the city where he lived was surrounded by storms that prevented the birds from reaching him. But he never stopped dreaming of the skies.”

You turned to look at him. You had heard rumors about Venti’s songs, which told stories about Barbatos and his kingdom, but this story sounded different, more personal.

“What happened to that young man?” you asked.

Venti let out a sigh, and for a moment, his face turned thoughtful, almost sad.

“He fought for his freedom,” he whispered, in a tone you hadn’t heard from him before. “But, like many of the best songs, his story didn’t have a happy ending.”

The wind blew softly, ruffling his hair. You realized there was something Venti wasn’t telling you, something he kept deep in his heart.

“Why do you always sing about freedom?” You asked, softly. You didn’t want to push him, but you wanted to understand.

For a moment, Venti looked at you with those green eyes that shone like emeralds under the moonlight. Then, he let out a light laugh, though not as cheerful as the previous ones.

“Because, dear lady, freedom is the only thing truly worth protecting. But sometimes, even the freely flowing wind feels trapped,” he confessed, before looking up at the stars. “And there are days when even a spirit like me wonders if freedom is really enough.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. There was such a deep sadness in his words that it took your breath away. Venti, that carefree bard who always laughed and joked, seemed to carry an invisible weight that you couldn’t see, but you clearly felt in your heart.

Without thinking, you reached up and touched his hand. He was startled at first, but he didn’t pull his hand away. The breeze grew softer around him, as if responding to your touch.

“You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, Venti,” you told him quietly. “Even the wind needs a place to return to.”

For a moment, Venti was silent. Then, slowly, a genuine smile, devoid of his typical mischief, appeared on his face.

“Maybe you’re right,” he whispered. “Maybe… there is a place for me after all.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. They both stood there, under the stars, the wind still blowing softly around them, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

In the end, even the wind needs someone to listen.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[stuckysbike]

Kiss Me Once In The Moonlight

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, unrequited?feelings. Fluff.

Summary: You’ve fallen in love, but he wants someone else.

It was a cold mid October Saturday night when you realised you were in love with Bucky Barnes.

Natasha had ushered you out of your solitude and over to her private apartment on the compound. Steve was already there, along with Sam, Joaquin, Yelana, a few from the medical team and a few mechanics.

The place was decorated for spooky season, with playful ghosts and fuzzy spiders hiding in the corners. Everyone got comfortable and music played in the background whilst you snacked on nuts and candied apples and sipped beer. Halloween meets Octoberfest was the theme.

Bucky had been telling a story, his face lit up and his big hands flying everywhere as he described his mom chasing him with a broom during his teenage years after a Halloween fright. Occasionally his eyes met yours and they sparkled, but you figured he was like that with everyone.

You’d been crushing on him since you arrived in January and he was first to greet you. He seemed fascinated by your job, research and data analyst, but it was ultimately boring to almost everyone but you.

You lunched together sometimes and you swapped books every few weeks. You even got him into podcasts and you were always swapping recommendations.

But tonight he looked happy, relaxed even, and when Natasha dropped her dainty feet into his lap you felt the world skip underneath you, you wanted to put your feet in his lap. You wanted his big hands dwarfing your feet.

He rubbed her toes without thinking, and she snuggled down as the mechanics started describing the prank they’d played on Tony this week, going so far as to rope Pepper in.

“Wanna stay here tonight?” You heard Natasha murmur to Bucky during a lull in conversation. Sam was changing the music and Joaquin was setting up tequila shots.

He smiled at her but shook his head. “Nah,” his voice was thick with tiredness.

“You finally made a move on that girl?” She teased wiggling in her spot.

Bucky’s cheeks tinged pink and you dropped your eyes when you realised you were staring. You didn’t want to be caught looking like some dumb kid.

It was foolish to think that Bucky with his wonderful abilities and handsome looks would be interested in you who spent most of your time at work or alone.

“Think I’m gonna’ take her out, yeah,” he nodded. You snuck a glance at him in time to catch him looking from you to Natasha.

Oh god, he must have noticed you staring. How embarrassing!

Tears that had no right to form stung your eyes and you stood suddenly distracting Steve who was kneeling at the coffee table next to you. Sam took the opportunity to defeat him in their thumb war game much to Steve’s annoyance.

“I’m going to head back, I’m just really tired,” you said to the room, avoiding Bucky. “Thank you for the invitation Natasha.”

There were a few comments asking you to stay but ultimately everyone wished you a good sleep. Your own room was a fifteen minute walk away in a shared block and you pulled your arms around yourself to fight the cold as you stepped outside.

“Hey Doll,” Bucky called startling you.

“Bucky, hi,” you frowned.

“Thought I’d walk you back,” he said falling into step with you. “And I wanted your advice.”

“Oh?”

“So there’s this girl I like. She’s not like the others, she’s not really - she’s different. And I really want to make a date special for her, you know?” He glanced as you, letting his arm bump yours as you walked.

“I do,” you sighed resigning yourself to your fate. You didn’t want to have this conversation but you didn’t want to not help him either. He was your friend after all.

“So I’ve had a few first date ideas, I’m thinking farmers market then making brunch together? I started this really great podcast and I was thinking we could listen together as we cook then talk about it while we eat? Then after we could go to a museum or something?” Bucky licked his lips and stopped looking at you.

You didn’t want him to share a podcast with her. That was your thing with him. You knew you were being unfair, childish even but right now you didn’t care.

“That sounds lovely,” you said. And it did, you wished you were that girl, you wished Bucky wanted to go to all that trouble for you but instead you’d have to sit home alone tomorrow whilst he woo’d someone else.

“Yeah?” He asked excitedly. “I really just wanna’ hold her hand, at the market, in the museum, I just crave that feeling you know, like this,” Bucky reached for your hand and laced your fingers together, holding your joined hands up to inspect. “It’s been a long time since I held a girls hand like this.”

“I-I’m sure it has Buck,” you swallowed. He resumed walking and you could do nothing but join him, he still had your hand in his. He described his outfit for his date and wondered if you had a cosy chunky sweater.

“I do, it’s so comfortable,” you said softly. You couldn’t hide the disappointment as you slowed in front of the doors. “It’s my favourite colour too.”

“Will you wear it tomorrow?” Bucky tilted his head to the side.

“Why does it matter what I wear?” You couldn’t help but giggle at his odd request. You couldn’t though, thinking of him with someone else whilst you wore what he asked you to.

“I want to know that you’re warm tomorrow. You know, on our date?” Bucky pressed his cool left hand on your cheek as he turned to face you. His kiss was soft, just a sweet brush of the lips and then he pulled away. “I’ll see you at nine thirty?”

“Uh huh,” you nodded dumbly. He kissed you again, and you caught the faint taste of whiskey on his lips. He was warm as he pressed into you and you let your hands slide up his chest to his shoulders.

“See you tomorrow baby girl,” he pressed one last kiss to your forehead then opened the building door for you.

You walked inside in a daze, waving goodbye and drifting up the stairs like you weighed nothing.

You couldn’t remember getting changed into your pj’s, all you knew was that you were snuggled under your duvet setting an alarm for your date with Bucky in the morning.

You smiled, and suddenly your legs kicked and you let out a little squeal. You were going out with Bucky Barnes and he kissed you three times.

You feel asleep to the memory of one hot hand and one cold hand cupping your cheeks as he kissed you in the moonlight.

[wolfstargazer]

25th October - Spooky - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 549

Inspired by Spooky by Dusty Springfield.

Sirius heard the soulful voice and the bossa nova beat coming from the upstairs drawing room and tried to repress a smile.

Shacklebolt had continued to talk but Mundungus, catching something of the music coming down the stairs, had looked up at the ceiling and said, "What's all that then, Black? Don't tell me ya 'ouse Elf 'as a perchant for Muggle music?"

Kreacher, who had been attending to some duties unseen by the others, made a small noise of disgust and hissed, "Filthy Muggle music. Defiling the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Mistress would not have stood for it. Mistress would be most displeased."

Not soon after they had left, and Kreacher had disappeared muttering contemptuously under his breath, Sirius had climbed the stairs towards where the music was coming from.

He opened the door and watched for a moment from the doorway, unseen by Remus who was barefoot before the fireplace and swaying to the music. His collar was loosened, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms more muscular and lean than others would have expected.

Sirius felt a little thrill of pleasure at the thought before closing the door behind him.

Remus turned with a start. He looked flustered, caught out, as the voice of Dusty continued to fill the semi-dark drawing room.

Sirius enjoyed Remus' look of embarrassment before starting to close the gap between them, saying slowly, "You know...if you're not going to join us for very important Order business the least you could do is keep it down."

Remus was flushed from the warmth of the fire and from dancing. A slight tinge of pink upon his cheeks and a light dancing in his eyes that made him look quite boyish.

It made Sirius' stomach flip.

"Sorry. I didn't realise," Remus offered quietly, and moved to turn off the record.

Sirius reached out a hand to stop him.

Their eyes locked. Sirius said "Don't" and closed the remaining gap between them, wrapping his arms slowly around Remus' waist. To Sirius' satisfaction he heard Remus' breath hitch. Sirius responded by pulling him closer.

"You love this song," Sirius said.

"Yes," Remus said.

"Your mum loved this song."

Something sad flitted across Remus' face but this gave way to a small smile as he replied, "Yes." His smile broadened. "Much of my taste in music you can blame on her."

Sirius gave a low laugh.

"I miss her," Remus said simply. The sadness was back in his voice. Sirius felt his pain. "It would have been nice if..." Remus trailed off. Sirius waited, eyes searching his face. "I just wish she could be here...to see...this."

The this was full of meaning and emotion. Remus dropped his eyes, self-conscious.

Sirius waited a moment and then allowed his body to speak for him. Very slowly, he raised a hand to Remus' face. His finger tenderly traced the small scar cut close to Remus' lips.

Remus laughed, a little nervous, even after all this time.

"Silly, really," Remus said, a tremble to his voice. Sirius cupped Remus' face. "I always rather suspected that she knew."

Sirius couldn't help but laugh as their faces grew close, and he pulled Remus into him as he whispered, "She'd only need to look at me to see it. "

Companion to Apple.

[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: Here’s Part 2! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 5,700 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut central, tiny bit of angst, fluff and feels. ❤️💚

Part 2: Christmas Eve

Before you start on the Christmas cookies, you pull Castiel aside.

“Here’s the mission,” you tell the angel. “I know the guys don’t do Christmas all that often, so I want to surprise them with a nice dinner tomorrow. Think you can get this list of stuff for me? I think my addled brain forgot we needed real food too.”

Castiel looks over the scrap of notebook paper you give him with a critical eye.

“Uh, yes. This seems straightforward enough…what about pie?” he asks.

You raise a brow at him. “What about pie?”

“Dean likes pie.”

“I understand, but Christmas is for cookies. Not pies.”

“I think Dean would beg to differ,” Cas points out.

“Fine, get the man his pie,” you relent with a sigh. “Get pecan. He likes pecan, and that’s still somewhat Christmasy.”

“He likes apple better,” Cas mutters, but he still takes up your list and heads out to do your bidding.

Now with most of the bunker, namely the kitchen, all to yourself, you put on some festive music on your phone before you start to lay out all your ingredients on the counter.

Not many people know about your hobby, but you think you’ve seen enough baking shows to be proficient with some flour and egg.

You decide to begin with good old-fashioned sugar cookies that you’ll try your best to decorate later. But first, you start measuring out ingredients.

You sing along with Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby,” not knowing that you have an audience.

Dean spots you on his way back in from the garage. He was aiming to grab a drink of water from the fridge. He finds you instead, bopping around the kitchen. He hears you humming breathily to the music, watches you swaying your hips to her sultry notes. And he smirks. 

He steps up behind you and leans in close to your ear to ask, “What’cha making?”

You jump with a loud yelp, flinging up flour with your wooden spoon. Hearing Dean’s laughter, you whip around and give him a playful glare before swatting at him with the spoon.

“Hey!” he protests when you mark his shirt (more than once) with flour. You smirk and continue your task of mixing the dough.

Serves you right, troublemaker, you think. He comes up behind you to inspect your work.

“Cake?” he asks.

“Cookies, remember?” you tell him. “Want to help me?”

“You seem to be doing just fine.” He raises a brow as you take chunks of dough, roll them evenly in your hands, and place them on the tray. You’re making quick work of it too.

“Matter of fact, you look like a pro,” he adds.

You flash him a smile tinged with nostalgia.

“Yeah, well, my mom and I used to do this together every year when I was a kid. Snickerdoodles, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, oatmeal chocolate chip—”

“I think I get the picture,” Dean says with a growing smile. You return it, but your expression starts to fade the longer you think of her. 

Dean catches the shift; he knows your mom passed just a few years ago, losing her battle with lung cancer. He and Sam attended the funeral.

Dean understands. He just lost his own mother a few months ago—again. Another reason he can’t quite be Mr. Nice Guy with Jack. At least, not how they used to be. He knows it wasn’t the kid’s fault. Logically, Dean knows this. The nephilim didn’t have his soul.

In Dean’s heart though, his mom is still gone from this world. She got cheated out of her second chance at life. And deep down, selfishly, Dean feels cheated too.

It’s a reminder that gets stuck in his throat. But it dislodges another memory, one he feels comfortable enough with you to share, in the privacy of a quiet kitchen.

“I think I remember helping my mom bake something once, when I was a kid,” Dean admits. Though he clears his throat when your gaze turns to him in interest.

“Think it was chocolate chip cookies…well, whatever, they were hard as a rock,” he says, smiling at the memory. “So we went to the store and bought some from the bakery instead.”

You watch how his face softens, in the way it does whenever he talks about his mother. You smile just as softly.

“Aw, little Dean,” you say, because you can imagine it so clearly. Maybe he’s four or five, working dough between his small hands. And beautiful Mary, smiling beside him, encouraging him.

Dean’s eyes meet yours, uncomfortable with the gentle way you’re looking at him. So he clears his throat and goes into the fridge. He pulls out the eggnog and finds the rum you bought last night, specifically for what he’s about to do.

“Ooh, good idea,” you say as he fixes both of you a glass. Though you balk at his heavy pour of rum. “Geez, trying to get me drunk before noon?”

He grins at you. “Morning, night, and day are the only times to be drunk.”

You snort in response.

“Is that all?” you remark, and you wipe your hands of the wet dough (and most of the flour) before you take the glass he offers. You clink your glass with his and take a sip, even though you choke on it soon after.

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” you cough. He had to have poured half the bottle of Bacardi Superior in there.

Dean sucks between his teeth. “Yep, that is bracing.”

He glances over at you and smiles, raising a finger at the corner of your mouth.

“You’ve got some there,” he points out. You touch your chin, trying to feel for anything on your face.

“Where?”

“On your mustache, there.”

“I don’t have a mustache!” you say indignantly. You know this for a fact, as you spent a fair amount of time waxing and shaving yourself last night.

…Not that you had any particular reason to (or anyone to wax for), you just noticed that you needed some grooming. That’s all.   

Dean’s grin edges into a teasing smirk. “Don’t worry, it’s cute. Less Duck Dynasty and more Steve Harvey, Family Feud guy.”

You splutter laughing and hit his chest with the back of your hand.

“You’re such an ass.”

He chuckles and wipes the bit of eggnog from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. It makes your cheeks flare with a warm blush.

“Well, I uh, should get these into the fridge to chill,” you say. You grab the tray of rolled up cookie dough and head for the fridge, but maybe you’re more frazzled than you realize.

You accidentally knock into Dean’s elbow, making him spill half his drink down the front of his shirt.

You gasp, eyes flying wide, while he looks down at the mess now dripping from his shirt onto the floor. When he eventually looks up at you in deadpan exasperation, you have to bite your lip against a smile.

“Good job,” he cracks.

“I’m so sorry,” you say with a bubble of nervous laughter. “Hold on.”

You finish putting the tray in the fridge and immediately turn to grab a few paper towels. You go to Dean and start helping him blot out the sticky, frothy mess staining through his green flannel and black undershirt, from chest to sternum.

The problem is, the paper towel is thin and breaking off on his shirt, making your task damn near impossible. White, wet pieces of paper are coming off on his black shirt.

“Well, you’re doing great,” Dean wryly remarks.

You can’t help but giggle. “It’s not all my damn fault here. Who the hell buys one-ply paper towels?”

“Sam. Evidently, he’s cheap as hell,” he replies, eliciting another laugh from you.

Soon enough you give up on the paper towel with a huff, and you go to grab an actual hand towel. Dean follows you, which assures that you bump into him again when you turn back around.

You yelp as your foot starts to slip on the sticky drops on the floor, but Dean grabs your arms, steadying you. You can’t help but giggle again, looking up at him. He quirks an amused smile down at you.

But then your face slackens as you gaze up above his head. He curiously follows suit.

And you both realize that you’ve fallen into a trap.

Jack’s sprig of mistletoe once again lies above your head. Your heart trips up a bit faster as Dean looks down at you, this time with a growing smirk.

“My turn,” he says. His eyes are flirtatious, but they hold a hint of something deeper. Something you can’t name.

“Are you gonna go for my cheek like I’m your cousin?” he asks.

His raised brow is a challenge, and it makes you bite the inside of your lip. He can be so annoying, but you suppose he wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t make things more difficult for you.

Well, I didn’t put on lipstick for nothing, you muse. And though anticipation and nerves trill down your spine, you lean up on your toes, take his face between your flour-stained hands, and press your lips to his.

It’s a sweet kiss, and his hands come to rest along the curve of your waist, holding you close.

When you pull away, you suddenly realize just what you’ve done as you let your hands fall away from his face. You’re not quite sure what to do with them afterwards, so they clench awkwardly in the air between you two.

Dean looks down at you with a softer, yet playful smirk. He reluctantly drops his hands from your waist.

But he makes a show of licking his lips. You taste sweeter than boozy eggnog…actually, you taste more like chocolate. He glances behind you, and sure enough, he spies the Nestle bag in the corner.   

“Chocolate chips?” he notes, eyeing you suspiciously. “Maybe those weren’t originally meant to be sugar cookies, huh?”

His gaze is drawn to the way you bite your lip again, trying to hold back an embarrassed smile. You raise a hand to wipe the imprint of MAC’s “Russian Red” lipstick from his mouth, and he smirks under the pad of your thumb.

“You saw nothing,” you warn him. You attempt to stifle another nervous giggle. “You’re officially sworn to secrecy.”

He hums at that. “I don’t know. What’s in it for me?”

“You’re asking for a bribe?” You raise a brow.

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Maybe. What’cha got for me?”

He rests a hand on the counter by your arm, subtly leaning in and looming over you with his broad frame. A hot blush heats your cheeks, then down your neck. And then excitement bubbles inside you.

Because the one thing you never thought would happen seems to be happening: Dean is actually, honest to God flirting with you. 

Your mouth twitches at a smile as you pretend to think. 

“Hmm…okay! I got it,” you say.

You grip the front of his shirt, and once again lean up on your toes so you can kiss him. This time, Dean holds you there by your cheek. His large hand presses against your warm skin, and his fingers soon delve into your hair. You hum against his lips and deepen the angle of your kiss, your palms lying flat against his chest.

So fucking firm, you think. A solid wall of a man.

Dean’s free hand falls warmly on your hip, bringing you ever closer. He makes a pleased sound when you suck and nip at his lower lip. And with each new kiss, you’re falling deeper and deeper into the intoxication of him. 

Before you realize it, he’s walked you back to press you into the little table in the kitchen, where you all shared breakfast this morning. But you surprise him by breaking the kiss. You pull away just enough to see his confused, handsome face.

“There you go. That’s your payment,” you tease. “Good enough?”

“Hell fucking no,” Dean rasps. 

He dives back in to claim your lips, and you smile, letting him do it. Your whole body is buzzing with warmth of feeling and happiness, especially when his arms slip around you firmly and pull you flush against him. Your hands travel up his flannel-clad arms to wind around his neck.

A moan catches in your throat when his lips veer away from yours, beginning a path along the curve of your jaw, down the side of your neck, stopping just under your ear. His stubble prickles against your skin in the most delicious of ways. Your eyes close at the feeling. 

You sigh and card your fingers up the back of his neck, through his hair. “Dean…”

He surprises you with a nipping kiss on your earlobe, making you jump a little with a yelp.

You utter a laugh and playfully tighten your hand in his hair. “Hey!”

The sound of his deep, muffled chuckle in your ear sends tingles along your skin and heat, down between your legs. You let out a shaking sigh and press kisses of your own to his neck.

You tug at the collar of his shirt to reveal more skin, so you can latch onto his shoulder next. It’s a playful bite, one that elicits a groan from Dean as his thigh slips between both of yours.

His hands find your waist, and with a quiet grunt, he hefts you up onto the kitchen table. You squeal at the sudden move, clinging to his shoulders when the table shakes a bit.

But it prompts you to look up at Dean’s face. You see the desire darkening his eyes to hunter green. And his hands part your knees to let him stand between them.

You blush hotly when his palms smooth up your bare thighs, over the skirt of your dress. He drags the thin fabric with him and rucks it up well above your knees. Your mouth parts on a shaky breath when those sinful hands stop at your hips, bunching up the fabric there.

“I like this dress,” he mentions. Your mouth curves with a grin.

“I think it likes you back,” you reply. Your gaze falls to his chest as you pick at the collar of his flannel. “This should go, though.”

With an amused huff, Dean shrugs out of the green plaid first. You help him with the black undershirt next, giggling a little when it gets caught on his wrist and spikes up his short hair. That’s all right, you think, because you’re about to mess it up even more.

Your hands run over his bare chest first though, as you drink him in with your eyes. Dean notices with a smirk, and he lets you pull him in again by his hair as you meet him with a passionate kiss.

He likes the way you try to devour him with lips and tongue and teeth. In turn, he slips underneath the skirt of your dress and squeezes your thighs.

You gasp into his mouth, allowing him to devour you back. It makes you realize that this is seriously heading somewhere. It’s hot and heady and his touch is making your head swim. But your heart shoots you a firm reminder…

One that makes you slower to respond to Dean’s increasingly demanding kiss.

Sensing your hesitation though, Dean slows his roll.

“You okay?” his deep voice rumbles.

When you don’t have a ready answer for him, he pulls back enough to see your face. He finds your uncertainty.

You look down in embarrassment.  

Even though his heart is still pounding (and his dick straining in his jeans), Dean moves his hands from under your skirt, back to your waist. And he raises his brows, ducking to find your eyes. Once you meet his gaze, he gives you a smile. 

“Hey, talk to me,” he prompts. His thumbs brush against your sides, earning your weak smile back. Your hands slide down his neck to rest on his shoulders.

“Sorry. I just, um…” you stumble on your words. You’re not sure how you want to say this, but Dean’s brows are knitting together. His face is more serious now as he watches you with singular focus. It gives you enough courage to put your heart in his hands.

“This, us, right now…is this a one-time deal?” you ask.

Out of all the things he thought you might say, maybe Dean should’ve prepared for that one a bit better. He frowns, considering how to answer you—and what would put the least amount of pressure on you. Even though his gut is telling him (kicking him), on what he should really tell you.

But those words get stuck in his mouth. So all he can bring himself to say is…

“If you want it to be,” he says.

You bite your lip at that. Though not in a good way, his instincts also tell him. Your gaze falls.

“That’s just it,” you say. After a moment, you manage to look up at him again. 

“I don’t think I can do that,” you say in measured tones, even though you’re scared. “I like you, Dean.” 

The “like” feels like something a lot deeper, even to your own ears.

But you don’t expect the way Dean’s guarded face softens.

He breaks into a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, brushing your cheek with his thumb. You close your eyes at the tender touch. 

“Well, that’s good,” he says. “Because here I was, trying to wrap my head around how I was supposed to let you go after havin’ you…right where I want you.”

Your eyes flash open at that. Then he leans down and kisses you again. Your shock is a powerful thing, but it all but melts at his touch. You relax into him with a sigh of relief, kissing him back and closing your eyes against the sweet sting of tears.

You don’t have time to let them fall though. Dean doesn’t give that to you. He pulls you by your thighs until you’re at the edge of the table. You feel his hands travel up and curl around the waistband of your underwear. You raise up for him so he can tug them down, over your ass and thighs, and you kick the black, lacy panties off your foot with a giggle.

Dean grins, especially when you go for his belt. Your eyes briefly meet with his while you make quick work of the buckle, then the button and zipper on his jeans. You hook two fingers in the waistband of his boxer briefs and tug him closer.

“Come ‘ere,” you whisper.

Smirking, Dean obliges you, stepping closer into your orbit. And he has to grip your thighs for support when you slide a hand down the front of his underwear, feeling down the length of his hard cock with a gentle, sensuous hand. He moans, pressing his forehead into your shoulder.

“Ooh, finders keepers,” you tease. Dean snorts against your neck and presses a biting kiss there, satisfied by the way you gasp and shiver.

You feel the shape of his smile on your skin. But he grabs your arms tight when your hand squeezes experimentally around his cock.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You gonna keep teasing me, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you reply cheekily. All the while, you continue to caress him within the confines of his pants, especially brushing your thumb around the sensitive head.

If you keep this up, he’s not going to last long enough to do everything he wants to do to you. Everything he’s dreamed about for years with a hand wrapped around himself…but he’s been too much of a fucking coward to make that leap with you.

He told himself he was protecting you. That you were better off with someone less damaged. That he’d just drag you down into his hellish life.

But he just can’t fucking take it anymore. 

So Dean grasps your wrist, prompting you to release him. You look down at his face and catch the way his playfulness fades into a more concentrated desire. The heat in his eyes makes your mouth part in soft surprise.

Dean picks up from where he left off before, pressing a hand to your cheek and ravaging your lips. His hand then slides into your hair and gets a firm grip. All the while, his free one slips beneath your dress and between your legs. First he just teases the seam of your pussy with the calloused pads of his fingertips.

Your breath catches in your throat as you squeeze his shoulders and lean back, giving him a better angle. And you utter a moan when those thick digits slip between your folds and sink deeply into your wet heat.

“Dean,” you gasp his name into his mouth. The hand in your hair tightens as he works you over, exploring your inner channel with two fingers while this thumb presses and circles around your clit. Your tremulous hips begin to move in time with his rhythm, meeting his thrusts as you pulse deep inside with pleasure.

His lips drift away from your mouth, pressing against your cheek, then into your neck.

“I got you, baby. Let go for me,” he says hotly in your ear. His thumb rubs more insistently against your clit in time with his pulsing fingers.

Your inner walls squeeze around his hand, tighter and tighter. And you utter a gasping moan into his ear as you cling to him. Dean strokes inside you through your shuddering release. It’s almost too much, but it prolongs the feeling of your pleasure and makes your arms tremble around his neck.

Afterwards, he rubs your lower back until you catch your breath. You manage to press a grateful kiss into his neck, then his cheek.

“Holy shit,” you utter. It earns a genuine laugh from Dean as he cups the back of your head.

“Oh, we’re not done,” he promises, leaning back to look into your eyes. “I think you’re gonna be more comfortable in my room.”

You tilt your head at him. “Or…”

You shuffle even closer to him on the table and pull off your dress, slipping it over your head. You feel a little self-conscious in exposing your full self to him, but Dean watches you undress with hungry eyes and a tight jaw.

After your black dress falls to the floor, he takes in the sight of your body, his gaze landing on the black lace bra still covering your breasts. His hands slip up the curve of your waist, up your sides, and slide behind to unhook your bra.

His mouth burns a trail down your chest, between the valley of your breasts when he drags the bra down your arms and to the floor. You grab onto his arms for support; you feel like you’re riding the hurricane that is Dean Winchester, and you don’t expect to come out intact.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shudder. You suck in a breath as his hands cup your breasts, roughly kneading and rolling his thumbs over pert nipples.

“Smooth talker,” you manage to quip with a smile.

“Ain’t nothin’ but the truth,” he tells you. “Feels like I’ve been waiting a goddamn lifetime for this.”

His eyes are dark with desire, but they’re also serious. Your voice gets stuck in your throat for a moment. He’d been waiting for you?

But you realize that sometimes, words are overrated. You slide your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, licking into his mouth and taking satisfaction from the way he groans into yours.

He holds you flush against his chest, skin to blushing skin. He runs his warm hands down your naked back, familiarizes himself with each and every one of your curves.

Dean’s waited so long for this, he doesn’t know whether to take his time, or just take you right now before someone walks into the open kitchen.

But you make the decision for him.

You break away from his lips to drag his belt and jeans down, just enough to shuffle them past his hips. Dean’s lips curve into a smirk. It would be easier to turn you around and bend you over on the table (and the thought is pretty fucking appealing right now).

…But he wants to see your face. He wants to know, looking in your eyes, what you want from him and how his touch makes you feel. 

So he helps you free his straining cock from his boxers to line himself up to your entrance.

With his arm wrapped around your waist to support you, and a hand on the table, Dean sheathes himself inside you. You both release shaking breaths as he bottoms out, stretching your inner walls and wrapping firmly around him.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

You nod at that, wiping the dewy sweat forming above his brow. He flashes you a grin, one you recognize from his younger, more boyish days. It’s a welcome sight, and you smile back and wrap your legs around his hips. If possible, it buries him deeper inside you. He groans.

“Damn, baby,” he says, panting for breath. “Haven’t even started yet, but you might just kill me.”

“There are worse ways to go,” you tease.

He snorts at that. In their line of work, isn’t that the fucking truth.

When he begins to slide out of you for the first time, you brace yourself with a hand at the back of his neck and another on the table. Dean begins a steady rhythm, one that serves you well as you get used to the size of him.

But eventually you urge him on faster, your nails scraping through his hair and against his scalp. He groans and drives into you at a clip that makes your toes curl and a keen high in your throat.

He spills hotly inside you when he comes.

You know you shouldn’t have let him, but you wanted to feel him, wanted to hold him the way he held you. And you do so, stroking his cheek and drawing a thumb across his full lower lip as he shudders.

But Dean isn’t satisfied, not until his fingers further part your folds and find your still sensitive clit. He rubs and circles insistently, until you can’t help but give him your second release, shuddering a moan as you cling to him. He holds you with an arm wrapped tight around your lower back, pressing your breasts against his chest.

You both pant for breath. His cheek rests alongside yours, and both of your eyes close for a moment. You brush your fingers more gently through his hair.

“Dean,” you start to say, but the sound of the bunker’s door unlocking makes you both freeze.

“Shit,” Dean mutters.

You can’t see them from the kitchen, but you hear Sam and Jack come in. Oh fuck.

Dean reluctantly detangles himself from you and wrestles up his underwear and jeans. Meanwhile, you hop off the kitchen table to grab your dress, pulling it on as you look for your bra and panties.

Sam calls your name, then Dean’s. But the two of you ignore him as you try to silently scramble around.

You manage to find your bra, but you don’t have time to put it on. You shove it behind the toaster. Then you find a napkin to wipe off the rest of your lipstick.

Meanwhile, Dean finds his black shirt. He hesitates when he sees it’s stained all over with flour and dried eggnog, but he puts it on anyway. (He won’t realize until later that his hair and shoulders are flecked with the stuff, just as his lips and chin are still smudged with your lipstick.)

He grabs the green flannel you throw at him, and he finds your panties tossed in the corner. He raises up the black lace in his hand and smirks at you with waggling brows.

“Give me that!” you whisper-hiss. The slick between your thighs is already becoming uncomfortable, along with the chill on your bare ass under the dress.

But instead of obeying, Dean winks at you and pockets them instead. You gape in disbelief as he flees the kitchen, presumably to disappear into his room. It leaves you in a…sticky situation, so to speak.

Sam calls your name questioningly when he comes around the corner. He pops into the kitchen with a few Walmart bags in hand. Sticking out of one of them are some stockings, you notice.

“Hey, how’s the baking going?” he asks.

“Good!” you say, though your voice is far too high and chipper. “Good. Just about to get them into the…oven.”

You turn and realize you haven’t even pre-heated the oven. You do so after pressing a few buttons, and you go to the fridge to grab the tray of chilling dough.

Sam raises a brow at you, especially when he sees your frizzy hair, and the flour stained across your bottom.

But he wisely doesn’t comment.

Later that night, Dean lays on his bed. He’s long since showered, fully clothed, arms crossed while his music plays from his laptop. But he can’t make himself focus on anything else but you.

How it was to finally have you; not just the give of your soft curves under his hands, but the sound of your voice coming apart in his ear, the way you’d begged him, at times teased him, and then gave him a run for his money with your wily hands and tongue.

Dean’s had all of that running through his head for the rest of the damn day.    

And there were stolen looks at dinner that evening. Furtive smiles. Brief, innocent touches. Moments where you blushed down to your neck, and he had to hide his amusement. (Even if his brother had noted his apparent good mood at dinner.)

But between Sam and the two angels hanging around, Dean hasn’t had a chance to talk to you after what happened in the kitchen. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea.

If you want it to be, he’d said, when you asked if this was going to be a one-time thing.

He hopes he made himself clear—that this is not that kind of deal. Not for him.

Now that he’s gotten a taste of what he couldn’t have, and worse, now that he knows you want more from him…he just can force himself to let go this time.

There’s a thought that he doesn’t want to face. It’s been buried so deep, for so long, that he can’t even commit it to the forefront of his mind.

But it’s there.

Despite the hell he attracts like flies to shit, he wants you. Not for one night. Not just for kicks. He wants you to stay arguing with him about stupid shit, taking his teasing and dishing it right back—like making fun of his slippers and how much he secretly likes country music.

He wants you with him and Sam on hunts, even though it also makes him worry. (But he worries much more when he knows you’re out there, hunting alone.)

Dean thinks about you when you’re not around, more often than he’d like to admit. So today, he finally had to face the truth.

He wants you. More than he’s wanted anything in a long time. And he wants to find out what it’ll be like to try this for real, with you.

The thought that you still could be thinking otherwise, wondering, doubting him, has Dean going mildly insane.

It’s not right, and he takes pride in righting wrongs.

So he decides to break out of the confines of his room to find yours. It lies down the hall and to the left; he knows because you take the same room every time you stay at the bunker, which admittedly, isn’t as often as he likes. Maybe they can change that…

“Oh. Hello, Dean,” says Castiel.

Dean inwardly curses as the angel comes from the opposite direction. Already he’s tilting his head in curiosity.

“It’s late. Feeling peckish?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replies. He moves past the angel and continues down the hall.

“Dean,” the angel calls to him.

Dean pauses, looking over his shoulder.

“What?”

“The kitchen is the other way,” Castiel points in the direction in which he’s going.

“Uh…well, yeah,” Dean says. “I just, uh…”

Cas’s head tilts just so, confusion soon replacing his curiosity.

“Never mind,” Dean waves a dismissive hand. He’s forced to follow his friend down the hall, away from your bedroom door which lies just inches away.

He doesn’t know that you can hear the entire conversation from the safety of your bed, comfortable in your pajamas. You have to stifle a giggle as you listen to Dean fumbling. You have a feeling you know where he’d really been headed.

So you take your phone out and text him.

Foiled by Columbo once again, you tease.

Moments later, Dean texts you back.

More like cock-blocked.

You snicker at that. You still haven’t given back my panties.

And you ain’t getting them back. They’re spoils of war.

You roll your eyes. But then Dean starts typing again.

Just to recap. Today: not a one-time thing.

Your smile grows and warms, like melted butter.

Good…can we talk tomorrow?

It’s a date, he says. And a beat later. Merry Christmas, beautiful.

You realize it’s officially 12:00 a.m. Christmas morning. You have a feeling it’s going to be a good one.

Merry Christmas, Dean.

AN: 😏 Well then. Merry Christmas, indeed. Let me know what you thought of Part 2!

Next Time:

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage.

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car? 

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Or will he? 😉

Find out in PART 3.

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

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[eat-limes-bitches]

Agape

PAIRING: Female Rancher! Reader x Mafia Boss!Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: AGAPE 1. noun: selfless love of one person for another

WARNINGS: ANGST (tinge of fluff too), talking about death,

Word Count: 910 (tbh I thought this was way longer lol)

SONG

A/N: Music is honestly such a strong catalyst. It's crazy to me how one line from a song can inspire such angst in me, but here we are. Don't forget to like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed!!

Enjoy! <3

Divider by Rookthorne

Y/n narrowed her eyes at the man who sat in the recliner near the bookshelf staring at his book. She knew there was no way that Bucky was reading right now, the strongest point of proof being that he had been staring at that one page for over half an hour. He had been acting weird all day, more weird than his usual self. She had caught him sending her longing glances all day but never approaching. Normally, when he wanted to be with his girl, he would snatch her up and carry her off, but not today. He seemed to be avoiding her like the plague. She watched him in silence for a few more moments before she closed her book with a groan and caught his gaze as he looked up to see what she was doing.

“Ok James, what on Earth is going on with you?”  Y/n asked, shifting her weight on the loveseat so she was now facing him. Bucky raised his eyebrows, fening innocence as he replied, 

“Whatcha talkin' ‘bout doll?” His attempt was in vain because she could see right through him.

“Don’t pull this shit with me.” She growled slightly, “You have been acting weird all day! Staring at me with some strange look on your face, what’s that all about, Buck?” She waited for a response but all Bucky did was stare at her, that same look she’d seen all day starting to appear on his face causing her to point and exclaim, “Look! You’re doing it now!” 

Bucky blinked once and then sighed, closing his book and placing it on the little table next to his chair before returning his gaze to the woman. He swallowed heavily, opening and closing his mouth a few times before just closing it again. This was enough to switch Y/n’s frustration to concern, causing her to sit up straight. 

“Bucky? Baby, what's wrong?” Bucky flinched lightly at her words.

“D-don’t call me that.” He whispered. Her heart rose into her throat, her stomach filling with icy dread.

“Wh-what?” She asked watching as Bucky stood up and began pacing around their small shared living space.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore!” Bucky cried out, stopping in front of Y/n, a look of utter hopelessness and desperation coloring his features. She felt her throat start to constrict as she tried to speak,

“What are you talking about? Y-you told me just yesterday that my being in your life made you the happiest man alive! Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Was it all a lie?”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he made his way over to kneel in front of her taking her smaller hands inside of his.

“N-no! Not at all I just-” Tears started to stream down his face as he scanned her face looking for something before he started speaking again.

“The mission we went on recently, do you remember that?” She nodded.

“The building was rigged to explode. I-I was waiting for you and you told me to go without you. I told you there was no way in hell I was leaving you there a-and do you remember what you said to me?” Y/n shook her head, brows furrowing together as Bucky’s grip tightened around her hands.

“You said ‘If you really love me, then you'll leave right now. You are of too much value to go out this way. Let me save you this once’." More tears poured down his face as her heart broke. She removed her hands from his tight grip to cup his face, his hands following to keep them there, desperately needing that touch. 

“I don’t think you understand what that did to me.” He whispered, watery eyes boring into her own. He takes a deep breath trying to calm himself, his Adam's apple bobbing as silent pleas left his lips with each breath before words finally caught the air escaping his lungs.

“I just can’t let that go.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers as he spoke softly.

“Baby I'm clutching at straws. For I'm so scared of losing you, and I don't know what I can do about it.” He pulled back a little to look her in the eye as he asked, “So tell me how long, love, before you go and leave me here on my own.”

Y/n took a shaky breath, “It was an intense moment. I was just as terrified of losing you. At that moment I decided that if one of us had to die, it was going to have to be me. You have become so much of my everyday life that if I had the choice, I was going to go first.”

She stroked the stubble decorating his face as she paused to take a breath before continuing. 

“However, in this moment, right now, you feel my hands on your face. I’m right here.” She cooed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky melted in her hands. He dropped his hands off of hers and wound his strong arms around her waist, pulling her into him as he smooshed his face into her stomach, breathing in her scent, further grounding himself.

“I don't wanna know who I am without you.” He whimpered. 

Y/n ran her fingers through his soft chestnut locks, “As I see things right now, I don’t think you have to worry about that my love.”

[rambite6]

Guessing ascendant nakshatras

Singer-Songwriter and Musician Raye C-rated birth time gives her

Swati ☉

Ashlesha ☽

Purva phalguni ↑

Purva phalguni ☊ Purva Bhadrapada ♒︎ ☋

From my own observation, I believe that Raye may actually have uttara phalguni ascendant.

Raye is often compared to Uttara Phalguni ☉ Amy Winehouse, from her singing style to her physical appearance. Both share an emotionally tinged, romantic, and jazzy approach to music, as well as a mutual love for vintage glamour, body-hugging mini dresses, and bold red lips and nails. While watching a Raye interview, I noticed they also share a similar wide, toothy smile. Many of their songs focus on themes of romance and melancholic self-reflection.

Raye appearance compared to Uttara Phalguni ☽ Natives Lea Massari and Nicki Minaj

Uttara Phalguni is a prominent nakshatra among many acclaimed and talented songwriters and musicians, including Amy Winehouse, Fiona Apple, Nick Cave, Lorde, Kurt Cobain, and PJ Harvey. The Phalgunis are highly creative and analytical nakshatras, known for their ability to craft art that reflects a wide range of scenarios and emotions they or others have experienced and excel at creating lyrical poetry that resonates deeply. (Hence the Mercury/Sun rulership and Leo ruling both these nakshatras the sigh ruling the 5th house of creativity) Similarly, Raye has showcased her exceptional songwriting talent by penning songs for big artists such as Beyoncé, Rihanna, John Legend, and more.

However, this is just my opinion, and Raye could very well be Purva Phalguni. Still, I see too many Uttara Phalguni attributes in her. She doesn’t have any Uttara Phalguni placements in her chart, and her birth time is C-rated, which leads me to believe the timing might be off, and she’s actually an Uttara Phalguni ascendant.

Sidenote* Amy Winehouse has Venus as her Lagnesh in Ashlesha, which happens to be Raye’s Moon nakshatra. The Lagnesh is highly influential and prominent in shaping one’s personality and creative expression. I’ve noticed that many Ashlesha natives, like Raye and Lana Del Rey, seem to draw inspiration from and be influenced by Amy Winehouse.