#the smoky ten

[angelsportion]

Review - Benriach, The Smoky Ten, 10 Years Old, 46%

Most marriage therapists agree that the best way to keep the matrimonial bond sturdy is through good communication. No matter life’s scene, whether big or small, when a husband and wife are communicating, longevity and relative joy are the relationship’s promise. My wife and I are pretty good communicators. At least, I think so. She hasn’t left me yet. I consider that partial proof. Still, we do…

[smokbeast]

ask answer timeee

[ladylynse]

RC9GN Greatest Evil

(Yeahhhhhhh I’ve always been wondering about this plot point lmao)

After dealing with the Sorcerer (and consequently being the brucest Ninja since the Norisu Nine), Randy wasn’t sure what he was supposed to look out for. There was Booray, of course, and the Sorceress, and he figured a few others would crop up now that things were settling down, but since McFist had cooled it with the robots, Randy had more time to delve into the Nomicon and uncover its secrets.

Turned out, even the Nomicon was a bit nebulous on the whole ‘greatest evil’ thing, probably because none of the past Ninjas had gotten straight answers, but between the scraps past Ninjas had learned and what First Ninja theorized, Randy figured either he was looking at a Pandora’s box thing where he’d need to deal with a whole bunch of lesser evils that had gotten unleased till he could find the source and figure it out from there (though he was not keen on the idea of thinking of the Sorcerer as a ‘lesser evil’) or he was going to need a crash course in how not to anger spirits—demons?—except when he was doing so deliberately because the Tengu was going to be the least of what was in his future.

-|-

see more fics | more RC9GN fics

[reddpenn]

Here is a potentially silly question: how do you feel about birthstones? Do you think they fit the months (by season or astrological sign)? Do you have other stones you'd rather see as birthstones?

Okay, so, birthstones make absolutely no sense.

I mean, look at this mess. We’re doing beryl and corundum twice! I get that they get Special Different Names for their Special Different Colors, but it's just lazy. And why are we giving some months cheap, common gemstones like garnet and amethyst while the poor June birthdays have to shell out tens of thousands of dollars for FREAKING ALEXANDRITE? That’s incredibly unfair! We should be picking birthstones that are all roughly the same price. And why do some months get multiple gemstones? I’ll tell you why: because nobody can agree on an official list and every attempt to standardize this thing has just added MORE birthstones to every month.

So obviously the answer is to standardize it again, by throwing out everything and starting over. Here are our goals:

Fair pricing. You should be paying roughly the same amount regardless of what month you were born in. We’re getting rid of those ridiculous outliers like diamond and alexandrite.

More customization potential! Nobody should be stuck with a stone they hate. We’re picking gemstones that come in multiple colors or varieties, so that everyone can choose a variant they like.

Wearability. Some birthstones are too fragile to be worn as jewelry. We need to replace them with stronger stuff.

No more duplicate gemstones. Every month gets a stone or family of stones with a unique chemical composition.

Now without further ado, I present to you:

The New And Improved List Of Birthstones With No Problems Or Flaws That Everyone Will Definitely Agree On And We Can Start Using Right Now Immediately

JANUARY: GARNET

I've got no problem with garnet. It's a fine, classic birthstone, so January can keep it. But I would like to see a little more garnet diversity. January birthdays shouldn’t be confined to just red. The garnet family of minerals contains a rainbow of different colors, like orange hessonite, green uvarovite, pink rhodolite, yellow grandite, and many more. They’re all garnet, so we should be wearing them all!

FEBRUARY: QUARTZ

The original birthstone of February was amethyst, which is… kinda boring. Super cheap and common and you only get one color? No, we can do better. February gets ALL the quartzes now. Keep wearing amethyst if you want, but also feel free to branch out into clear quartz, citrine, rose quartz, smoky quartz, rutilated quartz, tiger eye… actually, take all the agates too. If it’s quartz, it’s yours!

MARCH: SPODUMENE

March was originally aquamarine, but I’ll be giving all the beryls to May, so we need a different stone here. Let’s stick with that theme of pale pastels and go with spodumene. For an April birthday, bedeck yourself in green hiddenite, pink kunzite, or yellow triphane. Despite its subtle colors, your birthstone has some amazing fluorescence, with really cool pinks and oranges under a UV light.

APRIL: FELDSPAR

Diamond is too pricy for this list, so we’re replacing it with something less expensive and way more interesting. April will now be represented by the feldspar family. We’re talking labradorite, moonstone, amazonite, aventurine, and sunstone. While you don’t have much variety in color, your stones are full of shimmery schiller which glitters and shifts as it catches the light.

MAY: BERYL

May’s original birthstone was emerald, which is great and can stay, but we’re also adding its siblings! May is now represented by all beryls: Emerald, Aquamarine, Morganite, Bixbite, Heliodor, Goshenite, and whatever other varieties I’m forgetting to list. A bright and saturated rainbow of colors is represented here, so everyone born in May is sure to find something they like.

JUNE: ORGANIC GEMSTONES AND FOSSILS

It’s time to address the alexandrite in the room, and obviously we’re getting rid of alexandrite. A stone worth $15,000 to $70,000 a carat does not belong on the same list as friggin amethyst. Instead we’ll look at the other traditional June birthstone, pearl. The problem with pearl is that it’s a clear outlier in this list. An organic gemstone, by some definitions not even a mineral. Should we replace it? NO. We are OWNING it. All organic gemstones now belong to June. Pearl is joined here by jet, amber, coral, ivory, ammolite, petrified wood… in fact, June can have every fossil ever.

JULY: SPINEL

July was originally represented by ruby, which is a fine stone and won’t be kicked off the birthstone list - we’re just shuffling it down to September. Replacing ruby for July is spinel. (See, it’s funny because historically spinel has often been mistakenly identified as ruby! That's a little gemology humor for you.) Available in any hue you could possibly desire, spinel offers some nice color options to a month that previously only featured red. Of course if you want to keep wearing red, red spinel mimics ruby so well that you’ll barely notice the difference.

AUGUST: PERIDOT

Nope, we’re not changing this one. Peridot is the ideal gemstone and you ungrateful August whiners can die mad about it. HOW ABOUT YOU LEARN TO APPRECIATE PERFECTION

SEPTEMBER: CORUNDUM

Sapphire is a wonderful, classic stone and it deserves its spot on this list. But the corundum family has been separated for far too long, and we’re finally going to reunite them. Joining sapphire in September is its sister ruby. Between the pinks and reds of ruby and the many, many colors of sapphire, these two stones give September a nice variety of colors.

OCTOBER: TOURMALINE

Look, as gorgeous as opal is and as much as I love it, it is both way too pricy for our list and also TERRIBLE in jewelry. This stone is just too brittle to wear around from day to day and can be ruined just by getting it wet, which makes wearing your birthstone a huge hassle. We’ll kick opal out and hang on to October’s other traditional birthstone, tourmaline. Pink tourmaline may be classic, but this stone comes in plenty of other colors. Whether it’s brown dravite, watermelon elbaite, or the rare and beautiful blue indicolite, you can wear them all!

NOVEMBER: TOPAZ

November can keep topaz, but we’re not confining it to the color yellow. This stone comes in a huge variety of colors, and now they can ALL represent November. No further notes; it’s a nice, classic stone.

DECEMBER: ZIRCON

I dunno, I’ve had to come up with 12 of these, I’m burnt out. Sure, zircon, whatever.

“BUT WAIT,” you say. “Now instead of having a single color assigned to each month, almost every month is represented by almost every color, making it impossible to tell anyone’s birthstones apart and removing what made them special and recognizable as symbols!”

Well CLEARLY you didn’t read the title of this list.

[bluecatwriter]

I've been rereading some of my old travel diaries from my early 20's, and one of them seriously reads like a slow-burn fanfic. I was on tour with a small indie band and there was a cute guy my age traveling with the band. And we spent two weeks "accidentally" hanging out and sitting close to each other at the merch table in smoky bars and reading Tolkien poetry to each other and taking walks at the beach and sharing food and stargazing and sleeping next to each other on living room floors and giving each other back rubs and talking late into the night gazing into each other's eyes.

We never kissed. We never even held hands. I pretended to fall asleep on his shoulder once in the car, and one day I gave him a little kiss on the cheek. And that was it. We said goodbye two weeks later and we both thought it was forever and I pined so hard that I threw up.

A month later he sent me an apologetic letter saying that he was sorry for being so presumptuous when I clearly had no romantic interest in him, but that he had to be honest that he was in love with me. And I was like, "What?! He was in love with me this whole time???"

So yeah, we're married now (celebrated ten years last autumn) but if you're ever wondering if your slow-burn fic is too slow, or that your characters are too oblivious, just remember me and my now-spouse mutually pining over each other every single second of the day for two weeks without ever saying a word to each other about how we felt. I was reading my own diary yelling, "JUST KISS HIM ALREADY!"

[flowersforbucky]

sweetener

bucky barnes x reader

summary: when the vacation that you've been planning for months gets canceled due to a last minute mission, you can't help but feel bummed - the bright side is that you're being sent on a mission with bucky.

word count: 5.3k - my masterlist

warnings/tags: canon level violence, descriptions of injuries, mention of blood, almost drowning, hospital setting, bad guys getting killed (not descriptive), non-sexual nudity, hurt/comfort trope, avenger!reader, friends to lovers, fluff, language, reader pov, no use of y/n, fem reader, bucky being super soft, not explicit but mdni please

when life deals us cards

make everything taste like it is salt

then you come through like the sweetener you are

to bring the bitter taste to a halt

Hand warmers. Flashlight and extra batteries. Can opener. Matches. First aid kit –

You glance down the handwritten list for the dozenth time that morning, checking and rechecking that you aren't forgetting anything obvious.

Your eyes flicker between the ridiculous amount of supplies scattered across your bed and the three large duffle bags on your floor that you're determined to pack it all into. You know that you are most likely being excessive, but you'd much rather be too thorough than not thorough enough when you're about to be miles deep in the Appalachian wilderness.

Sure, you'd be staying at a relatively civilized campground with restrooms and showers, but this is the first time that you've been camping in years, and your first time ever going camping alone.

A two day road trip there, then six days in the Great Smoky Mountains, and then another two day road trip back to upstate New York.

A much needed ten days of time spent by yourself, seeing as how you haven't gone on anything resembling a vacation in over two years. The last couple years have been nonstop work with very little time for relaxation.

To say that you're excited would be an understatement. Although you find immense fulfillment in the work that you do with the Avengers and can't see yourself doing anything else, you're ready to sit by a warm fire and sleep under the stars without a care in the world.

Just as you've finished packing the second bag and are about to begin on the third, the Bluetooth speaker that your cell phone is paired to begins blasting your ringtone, cutting off the music that you'd been listening to while you pack.

When you grab the phone off of your nightstand and see the name Nick Fury displayed across the screen, a ball of unease immediately forms in the pit of your stomach.

Nick Fury isn't the type to call and chit chat about how your day is going or what shows you've been binge watching. He's the type to call when he wants something done, and wants it done now.

“Hey, Fury,” you greet in a neutral tone as you perch on the edge of your bed. With the phone still connected to your speaker, you place it back down on the nightstand so that you are free to wring your hands together.

“Agent,” Fury's voice booms throughout your room. “I hope I've caught you before you've left the state of New York.”

Godfuckingdammit.

“Uh - yep. I'm still here. Packing up for my trip right now,” you answer, trying your hardest to conceal the irritation in your voice. There's a small voice in the back of your head telling you that you should just lie and say you are already on the road, but you're not stupid enough to lie to Nick Fury.

There's a second, louder voice in the back of your mind screaming at you that you shouldn’t have even answered the phone.

“You know I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm going to suggest you pack a tactical suit and weapon of choice instead of hiking boots and a sleeping bag. We just got word that a vibranium weapons dealer we've been tracking will be receiving a large shipment at a port in Destin tomorrow night. Need you and Barnes on a flight to Florida this afternoon.”

“Florida?” you repeat, unable to hide the shock and disappointment in your tone. “I can't go to Florida right now. I've been planning this trip for months. I put in the notice for my leave–”

“I realize that this is unfortunate timing but I'm afraid that this is non-negotiable, Agent,” he interrupts you in a tone of finality. “If we don't intercept this shipment then these weapons fall into very dangerous hands. With Romanoff and Rogers still in San Antonio until next week, I have no choice but to ask you and Barnes to handle it.”

You exhale an audible, frustrated breath and massage the heels of your palms into your eye sockets. You don't know why you're surprised. It's not like illegal arms dealers take your vacation time into consideration when they plot their dealings.

“Is that understood, Agent?” he asks when you don't respond.

“Yes,” you say as you dig your nails into the flesh of your palm to hold back any further argument. “Yes, I understand.”

“Great. The jet leaves in three hours.”

The line cuts off before you can get another word out.

You groan out loud. Three hours. That doesn't even leave you enough time to feel sorry for yourself.

You look around at the chaotic state of your room before your gaze lands on the already packed duffle bags filled with camping supplies.

You're too annoyed and short on time to care right now, so you empty the contents of both bags back onto your bed and tell yourself that you'll deal with the mess when you get back home. For now, you need to focus on packing the appropriate items for taking down a vibranium arms dealer in hotass Florida.

Beneath all of the disappointment and frustration, there's a glimmer of relief that at the very least it's Bucky who you're being sent on this unexpected mission with. You may not be fond of hot weather, but you are quite fond of him.

••••••

Just as Fury said, the jet departs from the compound at exactly three o'clock. You sit in the aircraft's cabin, reading through a thick file containing all of the information that SHIELD has compiled on Dmitri Petrov's crime empire, ranging from drug smuggling to illegal arms deals.

You are only a few pages into the report and it's abundantly clear why this mission was non-negotiable. Petrov has been getting away unscatched for years - tomorrow night will be the first clear opportunity for a take down since getting on SHIELD's radar.

“Coffee?” A voice snaps you back to reality, making you realize that you're reading the same sentence for the dozenth time. “Three creams, two sugars.”

You look up to find a vibranium hand holding out a disposable cup to you. If the fact that he's committed the way you take your coffee to memory isn't enough to increase your heart rate, his smirk and the crinkles around his blue eyes do the trick.

“Thank you,” you tell him, snapping the folder shut on the table in front of you. “My eyes are on the verge of bleeding.” You take a sip of the coffee - indeed, three creams and two sugars.

He takes the seat directly across from you, spinning the folder around for him to flip through himself.

“We land in less than half an hour and you've been reading this the entire flight,” he says teasingly as he thumbs through the pages. “I think it's safe to say you're prepared.”

He places the file back down, returning his attention to you.

“Just trying to get myself in the right headspace. I didn't know anything about this operation until a few hours ago, you know.”

Not one to complain, you had yet to bring up the fact that your trip had been postponed in order for you to be here. You had talked about the trip on several occasions with Bucky, but you didn't expect him to remember the exact dates that you were supposed to be gone.

Sure - if he was going to be away for over a week, you'd be hyper aware of it until he returned - but you weren't naive enough to think that he would know the exact dates of your comings and goings.

“I know,” he sighs, a sympathetic look on his face. “I was on my way to tell you to have a good trip and to be safe when I got the call from Fury this morning.”

Oh. Your cheeks heat at the casual admission from him.

“I'm sorry about your trip. I know you were really looking forward to it,” he adds sincerely. “I'm going to find extra enjoyment in putting Dmitri Petrov behind bars for causing it to get canceled.”

“You and me both,” you chuckle. “Really though, it's okay. I was bummed, but it's not the end of the world. It can easily be rescheduled once this guy is locked up and we're back home.”

You don't add the fact that you find yourself caring less and less about the canceled trip the longer that you sit here with him.

“There is at least one silver lining to this, you know,” he chimes, leaning forward with his elbows on the table between you. You instinctively lean in closer too, causing the side of your leg to brush against his beneath the table. You wait to see if he'll pull away, and when he doesn't, you leave the side of your thigh resting against his.

“Oh, yeah? And what's that?”

“Petrov’s shipment isn't set to arrive until tomorrow night, and they've sent us down here the day prior. It's not like we have to stay holed up in our hotel room for the next twenty-four hours, right?”

••••••

Bucky's right - there's no sense in locking yourselves inside the hotel room until the time of the weapons deal tomorrow evening, but when you see the hotel room that you'll be spending the next couple nights in, you think you would also be okay with staying inside if you had to.

It's not a five star resort by any means, but in comparison to the dingy roadside motels that you're normally stuck in for missions? This place might as well be a Four Seasons.

It's relatively small, but there's more than enough space for the two of you. There's one full size bed, plus a couch that converts to a futon mattress - the latter of which Bucky insists on taking, giving you the bed. The bathroom is nearly as big as the main room, with a jacuzzi tub that's bigger than three standard bathtubs put together.

And the best part of it? When you open the curtains to the sliding glass door on the backside of the room, there's a clear view of turquoise water and white sand.

“I guess Fury felt a little bad about springing this on me at the last minute, after all,” you sigh as you pull the door open, letting the light breeze pull the smell of saltwater into the room. “Can't say that I’ve been given a beachfront room for a mission before.”

Bucky walks up to stand beside you, leaning against the doorframe and staring out to the ocean.

“It's definitely a step up from the rat and roach infested Motel 6 that Sam and I had to spend three nights in when we were sent to Atlanta for recon last month.”

You shake your head, both cringing and laughing at the memory of him ranting about the motel room as soon as he saw you after returning home.

“It was the size of a fucking capybara. Why are you laughing? I opened the bathroom door and it charged at me–”

A sudden deep rumbling noise snaps you out of the memory and you glance down at your stomach in surprise. You suppose it makes sense that your body is screaming at you to eat - you had such little time to pack for Destin before your flight left that you hadn't even bothered with lunch today.

“How does pizza sound?” Bucky asks with a knowing smirk. “I saw a pizza place just down the street on the way here.”

“Anything sounds good right now,” you sigh, both starving and exhausted from your day of packing, unpacking, re-packing and traveling.

“I'll go grab one for us,” he tells you, pulling the keys to the rental car out of his pocket. “Just stay here and get settled in.”

You don't object, itching to change into comfier, more weather appropriate clothes. When you left the state of New York just a few hours ago, it was chilly outside. Now that you are in eighty plus degree Destin, the sweater and boots that you're wearing have got to go.

You unpack your bag, thankful that you had brought a pair of casual drawstring shorts. You throw them on, along with a tank top. You decide to go ahead and convert the futon from a sofa into a bed, and then search through the hotel room's small linen closet for a set of sheets and a quilt. If Bucky insists on you taking the comfier sleeping option and going to get food for the two of you, you figure the least you can do is make his bed for him.

When he returns, he not only has a large cardboard box containing the pizza, but a plastic bag hanging from his vibranium arm as well.

“Grab a towel and follow me,” he tells you before he's even closed the door behind him.

“Follow you?” You laugh, taken aback by the instructions. “Where are we going?”

You hop up from where you'd been mindlessly scrolling on your phone on the bed, doing as he asked and grabbing one of the complementary beach towels from the bathroom closet.

“Not staying holed up in our hotel room. Remember?”

And with that he pulls the sliding glass door open with his empty hand and exits the room, heading towards the beach that sits directly in the backyard. You don't even take the time to throw on a pair of tennis shoes before practically running after him through the sand.

He comes to a stop when he's a few yards away from where the waves wash up against shore and turns back to look at you. You take it as your cue to spread the towel across the sand at your feet.

He sits down and you follow, the cardboard box nestled between you. He opens it, revealing a pizza that is split down the middle - half your favorite, half his favorite.

“I know it's not a campfire in the Great Smoky Mountains,” he smirks. He digs into the plastic bag and pulls out a drink for each of you, along with some napkins. “But it's the best I could do in our current situation.”

The sentiment leaves you momentarily speechless. You know it isn't a grand declaration of love, and it might not mean as much to some people as it does to you - but you can't remember the last time someone went out of their way just to improve your day in such a simple yet thoughtful way.

Between the pizza, the vibrant pink and purple sky as the sun sinks beyond the ocean's horizon, the sound of the waves and him beside you, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now.

“No,” you murmur. “It's not. But it's perfect.”

••••••

The next day, you manage to forget that you're actually on a super important mission taking down a dangerous illegal arms dealer.

The first half of the day feels like an actual vacation - the closest thing you've had to a vacation in a long time, anyway. You sleep in until nearly ten o'clock in the morning - which may not be considered sleeping in for some people, but in this line of work, you've overslept if you're still in bed at eight am.

After waking up thoroughly rested and refreshed, the two of you get brunch and then spend the early hours of the afternoon leisurely strolling at the boardwalk just a short drive from your hotel.

You and Bucky are sitting on a bench eating ice cream when you check your phone for the first time in hours and realize how quickly the day has gone. It's already four o'clock - you're due to be on lookout at the pier where Petrov's exchange will occur soon.

“What's wrong?” Bucky asks when you huff under your breath as you stick your phone back into your pocket. “Nervous about tonight?”

You're not nervous, truthfully. You're fully confident that you and Bucky will be able to handle the job. You've been on countless missions less straight forward than this before, and so has he.

“No,” you shake your head as you take another bite of your ice cream cone. “It's… silly,” you say, waving your hand in dismissal.

“I'm sure it's not silly,” he assures you gently.

You pause, staring at a couple holding hands in the distance as you contemplate your words.

Bucky seems to follow your gaze.

“Today has just been really nice,” you shrug with a small smile. “I almost don't want to go back home.”

From your peripheral vision, you see his face shift to look at you. You continue to eat your ice cream, pretending that his stare doesn't warm you more than the Florida sun.

“We're on the same page then, doll.”

••••••

A few hours later, a feeder ship pulls up to the pier just after dusk.

“We've got eyes on three men,” you say lowly into your communication device. “They're guarding the pier. No sign of Petrov yet.”

“He'll show,” Fury's voice echoes in your ear. “Keep watch until then. Backup is on standby to take him in.” The comm clicks off before you can respond.

“I know there's a lot riding on this going smoothly,” you grumble as you bring your binoculars back up to your eyes. “But sometimes I think he just really needs to get laid.”

You and Bucky are across the road from the pier, concealed by large shrubs and the darkness of the night sky. You've been sitting here as still and silently as possible for well over an hour, before Petrov's men had even arrived to stand guard at the dock.

You really fucking have to pee.

Headlights begin to approach from down the street, and as the vehicle gets closer you're able to see that it's a large, black van.

Totally not suspicious at all.

It comes to a stop close to the boat dock, and a second later Petrov hops out of the driver's seat. You recognize him right away by his shrimpy build and receding hairline.

“I should just take them all out from here and be done with this,” Bucky grumbles from beside you.

“I agree,” you sigh. “But Fury's adamant that Petrov be brought in alive if possible. He’s got an empire behind him that we need to find out as much as possible about. His men, however..” you trail off.

Bucky looks through the scope of his gun, zeroing in on one of the guards.

“Blow a tire on the van first,” you murmur. “So Petrov can't flee.”

“I'll take out these three guards, and then I'll get Petrov and call for back-up. You worry about getting to that ship and taking out anyone inside. Sound like a plan?”

“Easy peasy,” you agree.

Less than thirty seconds later, all three guards have dropped dead and Petrov is frantically running to his van, unaware that Bucky had shot the back tire after killing his guards. You and Bucky emerge from the shrubs, sprinting across the road. He dashes towards Petrov, who freezes and begins shouting curses in Russian when he sees what is running towards him.

Bucky lands a punch to Petrov's jaw as you're running past them, only slowing down enough to not trip over the guard’s dead bodies that are littered across the dock.

You're only a few yards away from the ship when you hear Bucky screech your name. You immediately come to a halt, turning back to see why he could be calling for you.

You see a tall, burly man - someone that you and Bucky hadn't noticed before - sprinting down the dock after you. He raises his arm above his head, his hand holding a rocklike object that he sends barreling in your direction.

It's the last thing you see before everything fades to black.

••••••

The shrill, repetitive beeping of a monitor pulls you out of limbo and back to earth.

You're met with painfully bright, fluorescent lighting that has you squinting your eyes shut before you can make sense of your surroundings.

“Bucky,” you attempt to call out but it sounds like the croak of a lifelong smoker. Your eyes begin to adjust to the harsh lighting, allowing you to see that you're alone in a hospital room. You raise your fingertips to where it feels as if your brain is pulsing through your skull. There's a thick, defined knot on the top of your head that's sensitive to the touch.

Panic starts to take over you. Bits and pieces of the mission start to flash through your mind. Bucky shooting the guards, you running towards the feeder ship when you heard Bucky yell your name and then turning to see –

“Bucky!” You call out louder, your voice still hoarse. You sit up, not hesitating to carelessly yank an IV out of your arm. You're vaguely aware of the fact that you're in only a hospital gown and that blood is now trickling down your left arm, but you don't care.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed, standing up far too quickly. Your vision fades to a fuzzy gray and you're overcome with an intense wave of vertigo as the room spins around you. You grab onto the metal side railing of the hospital bed to keep yourself upright, desperately trying to focus your eyes enough to find the nurse's call button.

“Hi! I'll be to your room in just a moment–” An overly cheerful, feminine voice pours from the speaker a moment after pressing the button.

“What happened? How long have I been here? Where is my–”

The door to your room opens, and you immediately breathe an audible sigh of relief as your last question is answered. He looks as though he could use a good night's sleep, but he is okay.

“What the fuck happened?” Bucky exclaims as he rushes over to where you're still clutching the hospital bed railing for support. You follow his gaze to your arm, seeing that there's now blood all over your gown as well as the white floor around your feet.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you mumble, embarrassed by your current state. He guides you back to the edge of the mattress before walking away to get a towel from the bathroom. “I was worried something happened to you,” you add weakly.

He wipes the blood trail on your skin before using the hand towel to apply pressure to the puncture in the bend of your arm.

“I'm okay,” he assures you delicately. “I had just gone to get some coffee.” He glances at the styrofoam to-go cup that you hadn't even noticed him place on the bedside table when he entered the room.

“How long was I asleep?” You ask, noticing that it's still pitch dark outside. You also notice that he's no longer in the clothes that he wore on the mission - now wearing a pair of loose fitting black sweatpants and a matching hoodie. “What happened?”

“There was another guy in the back of Petrov’s van,” Bucky tenses, still holding the towel to your arm for you. “We were both distracted and he snuck up on you. He hit you over the head with a piece of vibranium and threw you into the water.” His jaw clenches as he recounts what happened, meeting your gaze with a pained look.

“But you saved me,” you finish for him.

“Yes,” he gulps. “I did. But I was almost too late. By the time I knocked out Petrov and killed the man who hit you.. it felt like it took forever to find you in the water. You almost drown–”

He cuts himself off, unable to force the last word out. A nurse enters the room as you open your mouth to offer him reassurance. Bucky holds your gaze for a split-second longer before reluctantly dropping his hold on your arm and turning to take a seat in the room's singular guest chair.

The nurse informs you that they did a CT scan while you were unconscious, and that while you don't have any swelling or bleeding on your brain from the blow, the doctor believes you to have a concussion and tells you that she will need to do an exam now that you are awake before they feel comfortable discharging you.

Judging by the high-pitched ringing that you've heard in your ears since you woke up and the way that you feel dizzy when you even think about trying to stand up, you don't doubt that you're concussed.

An hour later, you've been thoroughly examined and it is confirmed that yes - you are indeed concussed. The doctor discharges you under the condition that you don't drive and that someone keeps a close eye on you for the next twenty-four hours.

“Don't worry,” you hear Bucky tell her when you step into the bathroom to throw on a pair of dry sweatpants, a t-shirt, and cheap shower slides that the hospital had given you to wear back to the hotel, seeing as how your tactical suit and boots are still sopping wet with ocean water. “I'm not letting her out of my sight.”

The nurse who helps you dress gives you a small smirk at his words.

“You're a lucky woman,” she tells you quietly. “He was worried sick until you woke up.”

You avoid her gaze, your cheeks heating. You busy yourself by tightening the drawstrings to the gray sweatpants.

“I am lucky,” you agree. “He's a great partner.”

She raises an eyebrow at the word partner, but doesn't make any further comment.

By the time that you and Bucky make it back to your hotel room, the sun has started to rise.

Bucky all but carries you inside, only letting go of you when you're perched on the edge of the mattress. Your head is still throbbing despite the extra strength ibuprofen that you'd taken before leaving the hospital, and you still can't walk without stumbling from dizziness, but at least the intense ringing in your ears has begun to subside.

You feel tired down to your very bones, but you have no doubt that Bucky is even more exhausted. You'd been unconscious for nearly eight hours during the night, whereas he had been awake the entire time sitting by your bedside.

“You get some rest,” you tell him. You brace your hands against the mattress, preparing to attempt to stand back up. “I smell like a mixture of sweat and fish from being in the ocean, so I'm going to shower off.”

You push yourself off of the bed, and as quickly as you stand, you're sitting back down. The room immediately begins spinning in circles around you, sending a wave of nausea through the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, not likely,” Bucky huffs lightly. “You can't stand up, and the shower doesn't have a seat. How about we compromise on a bath?”

You give a weak nod, too tired to protest. A warm bath sounds incredible right now.

Bucky retreats to the bathroom, where he turns on the water to fill the tub before returning to help you get up from the bed without toppling over. He secures his flesh arm around your waist and guides you to the closed toilet, where you carefully sit down.

“Do you.. need help undressing? Or..?” He asks hesitantly.

“No,” you breathe with an awkward laugh. “I think I've got it.”

He gives you a quick nod, looking away to give you the privacy to shed your clothes. You carefully tug the oversized t-shirt the hospital had given you over your head, wincing when it brushes against the swollen knot on the side of your scalp. You rise off the lid of the toilet just enough to push your sweatpants down to your ankles.

“Okay,” you murmur, letting him know that you're ready to step into the tub.

He grabs one of your hands in his, and places his metal hand on the small of your back as you step over the side of the large jacuzzi tub and into the water.

Not that you don't trust your other teammates. But with Bucky, it doesn't feel vulnerable.

You're aware of the intimacy of the scenario, but you can't find it in yourself to feel insecure or embarrassed right now - you're sure that's largely due to the concussion, but you think it's also simply because of who you're with.

If it were Sam, or Steve, or anyone else, you know you'd be mortified to be utterly exposed as they help you take a bath. If it were anyone else you wouldn't be taking a bath right now - you would have just gone to sleep and waited until you could fully do it yourself instead of putting yourself in such a vulnerable position.

He lowers you into the water, your entire body instantly relaxing at the warmth. You glance to his face, noticing a faint purple bruise along his cheekbone.

“I'm going to leave the door cracked. I'll be right outside if you need anything. Just let me know when you're ready to get out, okay?”

You don't respond, instead reaching up to his face, where you run your finger along the outline of the bruise. He freezes beneath your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Don't worry,” he assures you softly. “It was a lot worse when it first happened. It's already almost gone.”

“I'm sorry,” you whisper. “It happened because of me. I wasn't paying attention as well as I should have been. Should have heard that guy coming.”

“Don't say that.” He places his flesh hand on top of where yours still rests against his cheek and then brings it in front of his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. “You're okay, and that's the only thing that matters now.”

“Mmm,” you hum, staring at his lips that are no more than an inch away from your hand.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, his voice patient and curious.

You hesitate for a brief moment before leaning forward and pressing your lips to the bruise in a featherlight kiss. You pull back, once more resting your back against the tub and giving him a small shrug.

“Just thinking that I wanted to do that. Have for a while.”

He grins, a faint blush taking over the apples of his cheeks.

“Yeah, I'd say you're definitely concussed.”

He then presses his lips to the side of your hand, causing goosebumps to form across your skin despite the warm water that you sit in.

You chuckle, your smile matching his. “I am,” you agree. “But the concussion will go away soon, and I'll still want to kiss you then, too.”

“I hope that you will do just that.”

••••••

One month later

You wake up to the smell of campfire smoke that creeps through the crack in the partially zipped tent.

Despite a thick sleeping bag, multiple blankets, and the plush sweater that you wear, you can't help but shiver.

Something is missing.

You look around the tent, your eyes adjusting to the early morning daylight that filters into the tent.

Someone is missing.

You reluctantly exit your cozy sleeping bag, shoving your wool sock covered feet into your boots and crawling out of the tent.

Bucky is facing away from you, cracking an egg into a pan that is positioned over the fire.

“Good morning,” you murmur as you creep up behind him, wrapping an arm around his midsection. He wraps his own arm around your shoulders, pulling you flush against him and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he teases softly. “What's on the agenda today?”

“Maybe some hiking, maybe some biking,” you shrug into him. “Maybe a little bit of you keeping me warm in that tent.”

He laughs, more carefree than you've ever seen him before.

“See? It's a good thing that your trip got postponed. What if I wasn't here to keep you warm?”

You raise up to capture his lips in yours, the taste of fresh brewed French press coffee on his breath.

“Remind me to thank Fury for that when we get back.”

thank you so much for reading 💕🫶🏻 comments and reblogs are infinitely appreciated!!

[awkwardauthorwrites]

Friends Don't

Word Count: 4.2k

Themes: fluff, pining

Summary: Y/N comes to a startling revelation when brewing Amortentia in potions class

Warnings: All characters aged up to 18+. Potential spoilers for HL

Meet me in the Common Room, midnight - S 

Y/N looked across the cauldrons at Sebastian and nodded once, a small smile on her face. He grinned back, before turning to face Professor Sharp before he could get caught not paying attention. 

“Is that a love letter from Sallow?” Imelda leant forward, a teasing smirk on her face.

“Come off it,” Y/N rolled her eyes and tucked the note into her textbook. “You know we’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at friends that way,” she shot a look over at Sebastian, who was standing over his cauldron with a confused look on his face. His brow was furrowed as he looked between his textbook and the potion he was making, which was supposed to be a teal colour, but was currently navy blue. “Point proven.” Y/N turned back to her with an unimpressed glare as she stirred her own potion (which was the correct shade of teal).

“You need a new hobby. Clearly Quidditch isn’t keeping you busy enough.”

“Watching you and Sallow pine after each other like lovesick Crup puppies is my new hobby.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re in denial,” Imelda smiled sweetly as Y/N and turned back to her potion as Professor Sharp made his rounds by their station. He stopped by Sebastian’s smoking cauldron with a sigh and quiet reprimand (You’re usually better than this Mr Sallow) before moving onto the next group of students.

“If you’ve been following the instructions in your books,” Professor Sharp called out, “your potions should start turning pink as you stir it. Once it’s the right shade you may place the final ingredient in.”

Y/N watched in fascination as the contents of her cauldron began to change colour with every clockwise rotation of her wand. Although she had now been attending Hogwarts for two years, magic never failed to amaze her. She couldn’t believe she had gone the majority of her life not knowing it existed. The colour eventually shifted to the pale pink that Professor Sharp had spoken about and Y/N added the crushed moonstone and watched it take on a pearlescent sheen. 

“Ten points to Slytherin, Miss Y/L/N. Would you care to share with the class?” Sharp loomed over her shoulder, peering into her cauldron. Y/N watched as the class looked over curiously and caught Sebastian’s eye. He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed with her, and looked down at her potion as if to say well, go on then. She leant forward to smell the contents of the cauldron, trying to decipher the scents coming from in front of her. Petrichor, wildflowers and…oh. Y/N blinked and leant back so she could pick up the coffee beans Sharp had left on each station so they had a palate cleanser. After a quick smell of the bitter grounds she turned to her cauldron again. Oh.

“Well?” Imelda asked her.

“If it’s all the same, Professor. I’d rather not,” Y/N muttered, her face flaming. The class broke into a chorus of whispers, all trying to guess what scent had turned the Hero of Hogwarts a pretty shade of pink. Although it was hidden well, Y/N watched as Sharp’s mouth twitched up in amusement before he moved on from her.

“What did you smell?” Imelda whispered to her. Y/N shook her head, her heart thundering in her chest. She couldn’t tell anyone she had smelled Sebastian’s smoky cologne, the one that seemed to stick to him all day even though he barely used it. Imelda looked between Y/N’s red face and her cauldron before looking across the station to Sebastian and a knowing smirk fell on her features. “Sebastian…” Y/N shot her a warning look, which Imelda pointedly ignored. “What do you smell?”

“Nice try, Imelda,” he chuckled and stirred his own potion. “I’m not falling for that.”

“You’re both no fun.”

“Just because yours is probably something predictable like broom polish doesn’t mean we’re not fun for not wanting to share,” Y/N shot. Imelda let out a laugh and patted her friend’s hand. 

“Careful there Y/L/N, I’ve still got some cards up my sleeve for you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Y/N glared at the girl next to her, stomach churning nervously. Imelda just grinned at her before adding her own crushed moonstone to her cauldron, signalling the end of the conversation. Y/N was vaguely aware of Sebastian watching them curiously from across the potions station and turned to face the raven-haired girl next to her, clutching the sleeve of her robes. “Imelda.”

“Calm down,” she laughed quietly and leant in so no one else could hear. “Your not-so-secret crush on Sallow is safe with me. I actually quite enjoy watching you two act like you don’t have feelings for each other.” With a wave of her wand, Imelda tidied her potions station and left the class swiftly, just as the bell rang outside. Y/N cursed the day she met the girl, and more specifically, became friends with her after completing all of her stupid broom trials, and quickly cleaned her own station before leaving the classroom. It wasn’t until she was halfway to the Great Hall for dinner that she realised what Imelda had implied with her parting words. 

Sebastian couldn’t have feelings for me, she wondered, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully, could he? No, that’s ridiculous, she shook her head to rid herself of the assumption.

“Careful, Y/N,” a hand grabbed the back of her robes and gently tugged her back a couple of steps before she could fall off the Grand Staircase. “You’re usually more aware than this, where did you go?” Sebastian looked concerned and pulled her away from a crowd of students that was walking their way. Y/N looked up at him, craning her neck more than she used to when they met in fifth year. Sometime in the summer between fifth and sixth year Sebastian had really come into his own. He had always been attractive, but somewhere along the way, without her really noticing, he had suddenly shot up and filled out. The jumper he wore to fight the perpetual chill in the dungeons did little to cover up the muscle that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. 

“Dinner, I’m starving,” she lied, freeing her robes from his grasp so she could continue to walk towards the Great Hall. “How’s Ominis? I haven’t heard from him much since he went on his unsanctioned visit to see Anne.” Although he grumbled like he was annoyed, Y/N knew deep down Sebastian was a little pleased that his best friend and sister had finally started to court a few months ago. Apparently watching Ominis pretend he hadn’t been in love with her since they were children was sickening to say the least. 

Y/N was relieved when Anne reached out to Sebastian at the beginning of their final year at Hogwarts and extended an olive branch. She watched as Sebastian had read the initial letter, a wide smile on his face and unshed tears in his eyes before he brandished the piece of parchment at her excitedly. The twins weren’t as close as they used to be, but they were slowly mending the bridge that had burned down with their Uncle’s untimely death. 

“Where do you keep going? What are you thinking about?” Sebastian asked her. His hand came out to smooth the crease in between her eyes, lingering for a moment before he pulled away. 

“You.”

“Oh really?” he arched an eyebrow, a sly smile falling on his lips. “Is this where you finally admit I’m the most handsome student at Hogwarts?”

“I thought you had three years worth of self-imposed trophies to say just that.”

“Yes, but none of those mean anything without your agreement.” Something danced behind Sebastian’s eyes, a look Y/N couldn’t quite decipher. She was used to his charming nature and the confidence he seemed to exude, but every so often he said something and paired it with a look that was different. He looked…uncertain? Hopeful, maybe. 

“I didn’t realise my opinions held so much weight for you.” 

“And here I thought it was obvious that I hold you in the highest regard.” The air around them changed. Y/N couldn’t pinpoint it exactly - it wasn’t tense, but she felt a palpable shift in energy. She looked away from him and hoped he couldn’t see the blush that she felt rise to her cheeks as she walked into the Great Hall and made her way to the Slytherin table. She found Poppy seated with Imelda, heads bent together as they chatted quietly. They looked up as Sebastian and Y/N sat down, and a downright devilish grin was plastered on Imelda’s face. 

“The rumours about what you can smell in Amortentia and refused to share in class are already circling.”

“Don’t start,” Y/N groaned as Sebastian filled her plate with food. 

“The majority seem to think you can smell something that relates to Sebastian or Ominis,” Poppy added.

“Ominis?” Sebastian stopped filling Y/N’s glass with pumpkin juice, his tone incredulous. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“How would you know?” Imelda shot at him. “Has Y/N told you what she could smell?”

“This whole conversation is ridiculous,” Y/N cut in, rolling her eyes. She grabbed the large bowl of mashed potatoes and spooned some onto Sebastian’s plate. 

“It’s not that bad, Y/N,” Poppy gave her a reassuring smile. “I think it’s sweet. What you can actually smell, that is.” Y/N paused, the piece of chicken intended for Sebastian’s plate wobbling precariously on the serving spoon.

“How do you know what she can smell?” Sebastian looked up at her sharply, though there was no malice in his voice.

“Imelda told me.”

“Imelda,” Y/N hissed at the girl across the table from her at the same time Sebastian gave her a reproachful look. 

“You told Imelda?”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Y/N protested. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. She could hear a few of her classmates around them mutter about her, all supplying options for what she could smell in the love potion. “I think I’m going to grab something from the kitchens instead,” Y/N stood and quickly made her way out of the hall before any of them could follow her. The moment Y/N was out of earshot Imelda leant across the table to hit Sebastian across the back of his head.

“Ow,” he rubbed his head and gave the raven-haired girl a disapproving glare, “what was that for?”

“You’re an absolute idiot, Sebastian Sallow.”

“Imelda…” Poppy nudged the girl gently before offering Sebastian a sympathetic smile. “What she means is - ”

“Oh, I have no doubt she meant it.” Later Sebastian would vehemently deny to anyone that he was pouting like a scolded child after being accosted by Imelda Reyes, but at that current moment all he could do was sulk as he pushed some peas around his plate. 

“I did,” Imelda offered him a saccharine smile and shrugged unapologetically at Poppy, who looked disappointed at the pair. “If you don’t go after what you want, Sallow, others are going to take it from you.”

“Y/N isn’t some belonging that people can just have, least of all me. She’s a person with her own thoughts and feelings.”

“Who said I was talking about Y/N?” Sebastian’s head shot up to meet Imelda’s self-satisfied smirk and let out a low groan. “My point is,” she continued as he (rather dramatically, Imelda thought) lay his head down to rest on the table, “you’re in Slytherin. We’re ambitious to a fault, and when we know what we want we strive to achieve and obtain it. What’s stopping you from going after Y/N?”

“We’re just friends.” The lie Sebastian muttered on a daily basis felt thin to even his ears, and clearly neither Imelda or Poppy was impressed either. 

“Why could you smell her in the Amortentia then?” Poppy asked.

“How did you know I - oh. I’m impressed, Sweeting. That was very Slytherin of you,” Sebastian laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “What would you both have me say then? Y/N I’ve been in love with you since fifth year when we fought a troll together in Hogsmeade?” he asked rhetorically. If his face wasn’t red with embarrassment before, it was now as the words slipped out of his mouth. “I don’t - I mean, I do? I think. I didn’t mean - ” His stammers were interrupted by Poppy’s quiet laugh. 

“Oh Sebastian, you don’t need a pair of working eyes to know that you’re in love with Y/N Y/L/N. I think the only person oblivious to your feelings is Y/N herself.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I ruin our friendship?” he asked quietly. The girls shared a look, and if Sebastian would have looked at either of them he would have noticed a silent conversation happening between the pair.

“Okay, look. I told Y/N I wasn’t going to tell you this, but you’re behaving like a lovesick second year and it’s making me sick,” Imelda flicked a pea at Sebastian in disdain. “Now, I can’t confirm it, but I strongly suspect that her Amortentia did smell of you.” Sebastian gave her a disbelieving look and sent the pea back across the table at her. “I agree that it lacks proof, but I do happen to know for a fact that she does have feelings for you. She told me herself.”

“She what?” That caught Sebastian’s attention, and that of a few people around them as well. Imelda shot them all a glare and they quickly turned back to their own conversations.

“If you tell her I told you I will hunt you down like the animal you are and use you as target practice for the beaters. I know where you sleep, Sallow.”

“She…” Sebastian was at a loss for words as he looked at Poppy for confirmation, who nodded uncertainly in agreement. “I need to go speak to her,” he muttered, more to himself than the girls in front of him. He continued to murmur quietly to himself as he hauled himself up and out of the Great Hall, his expression wavering between surprise and bliss as he left.

“When did Y/N tell you she liked Sebastian?” Poppy asked once he had left.

“Oh, she didn’t. But I think we can both agree neither of them was going to do anything without a nudge, don’t you? Could you pass the pumpkin juice?”

*

Y/N let out a quiet sigh as she snuck back into the Slytherin Common Room. It was nearing midnight, and although she wanted nothing more than to fall into her bed she trudged through the silent room instead to sit and wait for Sebastian by the fireplace. After leaving the Great Hall, Y/N had trekked her way up to the Room of Requirement to spend some time taking care of the various magical beasts in her vivarium. The animals couldn’t pester her like people did, asking her questions she didn’t want to answer, and worst, ones she didn’t have the answers to. She couldn’t understand why everyone was pushing their way into her business; why did it matter what (or who, she thought dryly) she could smell in the Amortentia? So what if she could smell Sebastian, and who was Imelda freaking Reyes to tell her she had feelings for her best friend.

Well, Y/N chewed on her lower lip as she stared into the dying embers, he was rather handsome. Something he would take great satisfaction in if she admitted it out loud. And she supposed, if she was really thinking about it, he was quite funny, and charming, and smart, and possibly the kindest person she knew, and - oh Merlin, she had feelings for Sebastian Sallow. 

He was her best friend, and hadn’t her aunt always told her those made for the best life partners? Not someone who you just existed with, but someone who knew you, knew every part of you, and would still stand by you. Not that she was thinking about spending the rest of her life with him. Y/N felt a blush rise to her cheeks as an unwarranted image of her in a white dress and Sebastian looking absolutely striking in a suit came to mind. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” A low voice startled her, and Y/N pressed a hand to her chest as she took note of Sebastian sitting in the armchair next to her. He bit his lip in amusement at her shock, but was smart enough to keep his comments to himself.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Long enough to watch you groan to yourself twice and turn the most enticing shade of pink,” he teased. “Where do you keep going today?”he asked, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

“Anything I can help with?” Sebastian offered. Yes, Y/N thought to herself, you can start by bathing in bubotuber pus.

“I’ll be fine, Sebastian. There’s no need to fret.”

“You battle trolls for fun, I think there is some need to fret.”

“You’ve battled more than one troll with me, too.”

“Ah, but there’s the obvious difference. You don’t worry for me the same way.”

“You can’t mean that,” Y/N sat upright in her chair, a withering glare on her features. “Of course I worry about you, you idiot.”

“Why is everyone calling me an idiot tonight?”

“Clearly it’s warranted,” Y/N sniffed in annoyance and sank back down into her seat. How dare he say she didn’t worry for him, all she’s done for the past two years was worry about him.

Sebastian could tell he had said the wrong thing. He knew - of course he knew - that she worried and cared for him. No one else would have witnessed and experienced everything they had together in their fifth year and still stood by him afterwards. It was never a question to Y/N whether he needed forgiving. Even Ominis, who had been with him since before he could remember, needed a while to come back around and speak to Sebastian again, but she didn’t. Granted, it had taken a couple of weeks as things had happened in quick succession, from the death of his uncle, to fighting Harlow, then Rookwood, to finally defeating Ranrok; but there Y/N was, sitting next to him at Professor Fig’s memorial, silent tears running down her face as she clutched his hand tightly for comfort. 

“I apologise,” he reached out to take her hand. “It seems I’m not quite done putting my foot in my mouth whenever you’re around.”

“Yes, it seems so.” Her words were flat, but she squeezed his hand back gently to let him know all was forgiven. Sebastian had the overwhelming urge to take Y/N into his arms and never let go, but also reprimand her at the same time. She was always the first to call him out when he was being a prat - which, he admitted to himself, happened more often than not - but she always forgave him for it moments later.

He took a moment to watch as she stared into the flames once more. His eyes roamed over her features, from her brilliant eyes, down the slope of her nose and rested on her mouth. Y/N could give any Ravenclaw a run for their money with the amount of wit she fired, and even though Sebastian was often on the receiving end, he loved it. He loved the way she rolled her eyes at him when she shot a particularly sarcastic or dry comment his way; he loved when she teased him and made him question his sanity and oh, he adored it when she would shoot him a rare, flirtatious comment.

He loved her.

The thought took his breath from him. He had said it out loud in the Great Hall earlier, but it was unintentional, and he wasn’t quite sure of it then, but now…now he was sure. He was in love with her. Every part. He wanted to share every day, every night, every moment with her. 

“You’re staring.”

“You’re beautiful,” he replied without thinking. He watched as a faint blush dusted Y/N’s cheeks and his heart stuttered in his chest. How could he ever doubt how he felt for her? “What did you smell in the Amortentia?” Sebastian asked, a sudden surge of confidence hitting him.

“Sebastian,” Y/N sighed heavily, “I don’t want to talk about it.” Y/N turned to look at him, a pleading look on her face. She was tired, so tired, at having to pretend she wasn’t irrevocably head over heels for the man next to her. She feared if he asked her any more questions he would see straight through her, and then their friendship would be ruined and he would want nothing more to do with her. No, the logical part of her brain replied, Sebastian is too nice for that. Instead he would let her down gently, with the soft tone one would reserve for an injured animal or a sick child.

“I could smell you,” he blurted out. Y/N blinked once, not quite sure she had heard him properly, before looking over at him slowly. “Your perfume, to be more specific. And the smell of rain, from the night we danced out in it. Also those strawberry tarts you love to eat at breakfast.” He stood from his seat before sinking to his feet so he could kneel in front of her on the stone floor. “All I could smell was you.”

“Sebastian…”

“What did you smell?” he asked her again, a hint of desperation in his eyes. She thought there was nothing more between them but friendship, that he could never look at her the way she wanted him t, but the look in his eyes right now…Merlin, how could she ever think that? Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked down at him and watched as his hands came to rest on her knees gently. She could feel the heat of his skin through the material of her trousers and all she could think of was more. She wanted more. “Darling? I’m putting my heart on the line here.”

“It was you,” she whispered after a moment, afraid to say it much louder. “You, when we danced in the rain. You, when you showed me the clearing full of wildflowers. Just…you. It was all you, Sebastian.” She met his gaze, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “It’s always been you, I just didn’t realise it until lately.”

“You’re supposed to be the smart one,” he teased lightly. He raised his hand to wipe away a stray tear, his thumb stroking her cheek gently. “Why are you crying?”

“I…” Y/N let out a sound that was between a sob and a chuckle and slid down so she was kneeling on the floor with Sebastian. “I think I was too scared to tell you before, so I pretended like it didn’t exist. These feelings have been bottled up for so long, only to be let out now…” she wiped away her own tears this time and offered him a rueful smile. 

“Oh darling,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, “it seems we’ve both been a little slow, hm? How could you not see I’m hopelessly head over heels for you?” He rested his forehead on hers, watching with slight satisfaction as her eyes fluttered closed in anticipation and longing. “You have been, and always will be, my one and only.”

“You’re going to make me cry again,” Y/N protested weakly. Sebastian chuckled quietly and brushed a stray hair from her eyes. He watched as the wheels turned in her head, and knew she was deep in thought when she started to chew on her lower lip thoughtfully. 

“Come back to me, what are you thinking?”

“It’s highly improper.”

“My favourite,” he smiled crookedly and ran his thumb across her lower lip. “Tell me.” Instead,  after a brief moment of hesitation, Y/N closed the gap between them and pressed her lips to his gently. She pulled away all too soon for Sebastian’s liking, her eyes darting across his face for any reaction he disapproved of - or worst, didn’t enjoy - their chaste kiss. He pulled her back in slowly, giving her more than enough time to pull away should she choose to do so, and pressed his lips back to her sweetly. 

From the other end of the Common Room, Imelda watched quietly as the couple kissed each other with stomach-churning sweetness, and as she turned to leave she made a mental note to boast to Poppy first thing in the morning that she was right yet again. 

[3liza]

living alone should be a human right. yes my rent is over $2000 and I can't afford to move. but that that pays for is me cooking ten chicken drumsticks and potatoes, putting them all on one plate, and then just eating them off the plate. i didn't have to consult with anyone. i didn't have to explain why the oven was a bit smoky. didn't have to serve portions. didn't have to ask if someone else wanted to watch something. also didn't have to shut myself in a room to eat in peace. i can eat anywhere I want in my house!!!!!!! i can eat all the chicken!!! without being observed!!!

[emilys-bangs]

sweet nothing | e.p

Tags: established relationship, fluff, use of scissors, hair cutting, use of pet names, no use of yn

Summary: It’s the weekend, and Emily’s bangs are overgrown. You offer to cut them.

Word count: 1.5k

You wake to Emily wrapped around you like a vine. 

Her nose is buried in your neck, her even breaths steadily hitting your skin in warm puffs. One of her still-chilly hands has slipped under your shirt and is lying on your stomach, and her leg is hitched over your hip, the baggy tee she’s wearing rising and exposing the skin of her thigh so that it directly touches yours. The fuzzy material of her socks brushes against your bare legs. For lack of a better word, you’re trapped.

And you never want to move.

It’s the weekend and the room is warm with golden sunlight, the slant of it through the windows telling you it’s still much too early to be awake. You don’t mind, really, but the dozing brunette in your arms never gets out of bed strictly before she has to. And you hadn’t made any plans, so you let her sleep. 

You try to wait her out, but some traces of exhaustion still linger, so you close your eyes again. You sink into a light doze until Emily begins to stir.

As always, this part takes forever.

You’re already back awake as she stretches slowly, unlatches her thigh from your hip and straightens her legs. Her hand leaves your stomach and she bends it until her elbow cracks, then wraps both her arms around your neck with a yawn.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you murmur, unable to stop yourself from being soft with her in times like these. “Finally ready to wake up?”

Emily’s responding hum vibrates through your skin. Even that is low and lazy as she sighs, rubs her eye with her knuckles.

“You’re comfy.” She says, her voice smoky and clouded with sleep. A small shiver runs down your spine at the rasp in the back of her throat, the way her tongue languidly wraps around those two words.

“And you’re lazy,” you run your hand over the curves of her waist. Your fingers find exposed skin above her hip and you poke it lightly, softening your words with the tender touch, “I’ve been awake for ages.”

It’s technically true.

Emily tilts your face toward hers. You smile when you meet sleepy, dark eyes, her lashes long and sweeping, her lips a little swollen from being tucked into your neck almost all night. Hi, you want to say, because sometimes she makes you want to say unnecessary shit like that, but she cradles your face before you can, bringing you closer.

“Sue me.” Emily murmurs, and leans in to kiss you. 

Time slows. It must, because she slips her hand in your hair and you slip it under her shirt and though the two of you spend decades in this moment, saying hello in the early morning light, only ten minutes pass by the time Emily’s eyes have lost their drowsiness.

Emily doesn’t say it, but you can tell she’s missed this. She clings to you, wraps arms and legs around your body and presses her cheek to yours, then kisses, then trails her hands and lips under your jaw. You sigh and soak up her attention, savoring the feel of her for when she’s later gone.

It’s hard when her job takes her away for too long. In brief stretches like these, days that she tries to twist and warp into weeks are when she recharges. Spending time with you, idly doing nothing, content with sitting around all day in your pajamas is how life is breathed into her again, after the BAU takes her and gives her back a hollowed shell.

Which is why both of you are always extra clingy when she’s home. Skin always pressed together, bodies always intertwined, no more than a few feet between you at any given time.

Her head is on your pillow now, the tips of your noses touching as you lightly trace the swollen outline of her lips. She has far, far encroached into your space, and what wouldn’t you give for her to do that every day.

Gently, you smooth her overgrown bangs behind her ear. They almost reach her lobes now, not much shorter than the rest of her hair, and you like the way the difference in length chips away at her polished, perfect exterior.

She doesn’t, though.

“I need to cut them,” Emily murmurs, a small furrow to her brows because she’d been saying she will for the past three months.

“Then you’ll go through the whole process again.” You point out needlessly, reaching out to play with a strand that hangs over her right eye.

Emily hums. “I’m liking the bangs right now. I think I want them for a little while longer.” 

You grab the bangs between your fingers, tuck the spiky ends out, and bring them up to brush her lip. Emily flinches away and you laugh, soft and low. “I’m liking them too.” Tucking those behind her ear, too, you cup her jaw and bring her down so her lips can meet yours in a soft kiss; an apology.

“Hm,” Emily grumbles against your lips. The strands behind her left ear loosen and fall across your face. You screw your eyes shut as Emily tucks them back behind her ear; she kisses your closed lids, signaling for you to open them again.

Your gaze is blissfully hair-free when you open your eyes again. “Y’know, I can cut ’em for you.” You offer.

Her gaze turns suspicious. “Can you?”

“I can.” Indignation drips from your tone as you cross your arms, feigning offense at her insinuation; you’ve had plenty of practice with your mom.

Emily’s eyes light up as she smiles. She bites her lip to try to hold it, but then it turns into a laugh, one that’s soft and so full of love you briefly flush with warmth all over.

“Okay, dolcezza.” She kisses your forehead. “I trust you.”

Her bangs fall across your face again.

You sigh and tap her hip. “Bathroom. Right now.”

Emily laughs as she gets off of you.

——

Even with her hair clipped back and her bangs hanging in wet threads across her face, she looks beautiful.

“Can’t you do it on my lap?” Emily teases, half joking, but her hands are intent as they wrap around the backs of your knees.

An amused huff leaves your lips. “Not unless you want to look like you got styled by Edward Scissorhands. Now,” you take her hands off your legs and grab the scissors, “keep those hands to yourself, Prentiss. You can’t keep distracting me.”

“You’re easily distracted.” She complains softly.

You bend down to be more level with her head, her seat on the closed toilet lid shortening her a considerable amount. “Sorry, my girlfriend has a magic touch.” You quip, taking the comb from her lap and quickly running it through the bangs over her eyes.

Emily begins to say something and you shush her as you gather the hair in your hands. “Quiet, love,” you murmur, brows scrunched in concentration as you snip off the edges of her bangs. Emily sucks in a breath and goes quiet, but the abrupt movement tilts her head.

A small smile tugs at your lips. “Stay still,” you chide lovingly. She obeys, not moving as you slowly trim off length, shortening the bangs from mid-cheek to slightly above her brows. Your back hurts from the angle but you ignore it, steadily cutting until you feel the weight of coffee-brown eyes stare right into your soul. 

“Why hello there,” you grin, winking at Emily as her face finally comes into view, “whose pretty eyes are these?” Twisting the bangs into a rope, you cut away from her face.

Her cheeks tint red. “So you can talk and I can’t?” She grumbles, her mouth barely moving. Heat sears your skin as her eyes travel up, up, roving over your face with unashamed abandon.

Humming, you carefully slide the scissors between Emily’s hair and her forehead. “You get a kiss for each minute you stay still.” A few strands still hang over her eyes, so you lift them and trim a bit.

Those eyes of hers flutter shut, and the heat of her gaze disappears. A small smile plays at her lips, and a smile of your own appears when you see her dimples. A few more snips and you’re satisfied, placing the scissors on the sink and gently tilting Emily’s chin up, kissing her with her eyes still closed.

She responds with a sigh, one of her hands finding its way to the back of your knee again. “Think that was ten minutes, wasn’t it?” She mumbles against your lips.

The angle is hurting your back, so you crouch down in front of her. “Five, at the most,” you roll your eyes, brushing the damp bangs off her forehead to properly see her eyes. They shine, beautifully dark, and your heart stumbles. “But I don’t need an excuse to give you ten kisses, do I?”

“No,” Emily sighs, fisting her hand in your hair and bringing you up to her. For all her hurry, when she kisses you it’s sweet, reverent, and you smile against her lips. 

When she leans back, you press a finger to her dimple. 

9 more to go.

taglist: @suckerforcate

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Support your authors and lmk what you think <3

[heartkaji]

SNEAKY LINK ★ k. bakugo

bakugo should’ve been here thirty minutes ago.

it’s thirty minutes later & you’ve got snowflakes crawling up your throat. you exhale warm breaths through chapped lips & watch smoky condensate disappear into thick air. your nose is peach dappled & your cheeks are freezing.

bakugo should’ve been here an hour ago.

it’s one hour later & your tongue is frozen & your cheeks are blood drenched & drugstore lip balm feels dry against your lip. you wipe your nose & pretend the night isn’t freezing & hope to god you won’t wait forever.

“you’re still here ?”

bakugo comes in like a thief in the night. his baritone has your bones shivering, (or perhaps it’s the cold) & you look up at him with bleary eyes. katsuki bakugo looks warm. you can smell spiced latte in his breath & dark chocolate pricks at your nose. you sniffle a little & hope he doesn’t notice.

“you’re late.”

“i know,” he breathes. “had to help priscilla sort out the kids.”

it’s easy to forget pro-hero bakugo katsuki is a taken man with wife & kids. his ten fingers are always bare & calloused so it’s easy to pretend katsuki is yours. tonight however there’s snow sticking to your boot heels & you wish katsuki would stick his mouth shut too. you don’t want to hear her name. not tonight.

not any other night.

“right. when are you getting that divorce again ?”

the sound bakugo lets out is close to guttural. his eyes are everywhere but yours so you have to remind yourself that body language isn’t all it seems. he’s scratching at his nape & his adam’s apple drags up his throat but body language isn’t always as it seems. he never answers so you let the question die.

“are you ready to skate ?”

katsuki nods. for the first time tonight his eyes meet your own & all of a sudden the night’s a little warmer. he presses gloved fingers to your forehead and you squeeze your eyes shut. the burn of the leather is grueling.

“you’re freezing,”

“i wonder whose fault that is,” you mutter, but katsuki has a hearing sharper than icicles. he cups your cheeks in burning leather & worn out goat fabric. your cheeks are blood drenched & your lips are teeth bitten & even like this katsuki thinks you’re beautiful.

“don’t wait for me next time, okay ?”

“okay.”

katsuki leads you with an iron grip. his thumb brushes over your knuckles occasionally so you don’t have the heart to tell him his hold is bruising. your wrist is aching but the night is quiet so you choose to focus on other things : a meow in an alleyway. groans of dying trees. the feel of a ring wedged between gloved fingers.

oh.

you don’t dare to comment. katsuki never wears his wedding ring—at least, not around you. you tread through winter with gloveless hands so the promise ring on your right index gleams brighter than ever. katsuki brushes over it occasionally & you squeeze at your chest & try not to vomit. your vocal chords slosh against your throat like blood.

“we don’t have to go skating today.”

“too late, we’re already here.”

you rest on the bench with wobbling knees. oak wood splinters dig at your thighs but you suppose the pain is neccessary. katsuki’s eyes are trained on the lake. it’s frozen & a shade similar to blue bells but it only serves to remind you of katsuki’s wife. you’ve seen her once before & she had eyes as blue as starlight. you hope one day she’ll crash & burn like dead comets.

you wonder what katsuki is thinking about.

you’re about to call his name when he gets on one knee. your heart skips for a minute until he begins tugging off your shoe. he ties the ice skates with a firm knot & you resist the urge to thread a hand through his hair. heaven knows his honey-gold locks will sting your skin & bite you back.

he presses his lips to your knee, “you ready ?”

“i’m ready.”

pro hero bakugo katsuki is a professional at things beyond heroism. you’re a wobbling, stumbling mess & you haven’t even made it to the rink yet. your cheeks are cherry bruised. katsuki doesn’t comment & you’re not sure if you should be happy or sad because you don’t want to be called a fool but the silence is deafening. you grip his shoulders to stead yourself & katsuki hoists you up like a sack of fresh peaches.

“damn you, making me come out here when y’can’t even skate yourself.”

you smile. his mouth is sharp but his touch is gentle. his thumb glides against your lower back. “will you teach me, kats’ ?”

katsuki eyes you. he lets out a sound akin to a scoff but it might be more of a grumble. “too much of a hassle, i’d rather just carry you.”

you nod. he sighs.

bakugo is strong. he glides along the ice with your figure in his arms but he never stops to break a sweat. you want to ask him if his muscles are aching but the ice on your tongue hasn’t thawed off yet. bakugo is beautiful—occasionally he does a little spin on the rink just so you’ll giggle & clutch him a little tighter. you swear you saw him smile the third time you laughed out his name.

bakugo should’ve left thirty minutes ago.

thirty minutes later he’s still here by your side. the white chocolate mocha between your palms is burning but the cold stings at your fingertips the moment you let it go. you take two sips & offer katsuki the rest—he scoffs at you because aren’t you the one who said you needed a drink ? but takes the cup between his lips anyway. he takes two sips & presses his lips to your face. your nose is pink & your cheeks are burning.

bakugo should’ve left an hour ago.

it’s an hour later & he draws shapes on your palm through goat glove fingers. you’re back on oak-thorn bench but this time your thighs are over katsuki’s so the wood can’t pierce your skin. ‘you should’ve worn some leggings,’ he grumbles, but his thumb grazes your thighs in the shape of a starfish. you hope his touch will burn you forever.

bakugo is leaving now.

all good things must come to an end, you suppose, but tears stream down your face like new waters. katsuki rolls his eyes. he hates it when you get like this & he hates that he makes you get like this & he hates that—

“fucking hell, just get over here.”

you dive into his arms & for the third time tonight bakugo rolls his eyes. you’re shaking & hes not sure if it’s a shiver due to cold or a quaking due to tears. your knees are wobbly so he tightens his hold on your hips & prays your legs won’t give out. heaven knows his arms are already aching.

“hey, look at me.”

there’s mascara smeared across your cheeks & your lips are swollen purple. your nose is runny & crystal frozen & bakugo thinks you’re absolutely beautiful.

“what are you crying for ?”

you’re crying even harder now so bakugo mentally slaps himself. “y/n, look at me.”

& you do. he cups your cheeks with gloved palms & kisses your nose, cheek, forehead. his mouth traces everywhere but your lips.

it’s always everywhere but your lips.

but you don’t complain, you never do. you don’t complain because in your head katsuki’s lips meet your own & your mouths bleed into each other’s forever. in your head, katsuki hugs you tight & shields you from the evening snow. in your head, katsuki is yours & you are his undoubtedly.

“same time next week ?”

not all dreams come true but with enough belief you know that yours will manifest. your chest is tight & you hope your heart won’t bleed forever.

“always. and next time, katsuki ?”

“what is it ?”

“don’t be an hour late.”

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload

[dark-moonlust]

Stubborn As Ever

Commission for Anon on Patreon @ 2025 Kate Hart

This commission is owned by Kate Hart. As the original writer, I strictly forbid any form of reproduction, replication, or translation of my stories without my explicit consent.

Pairing: orc oc x female human reader

Summary: you are sick and push yourself too far but your orc boyfriend Matuk isn’t having it. He takes charge, forcing you to rest while reminding you just how much he cares about you.

Warnings: reader who has a cold, mentions but no smut, cuteness and fluff, flirty banter, caring and possessive orc bf.

The soft clack of your keyboard filled the room, the glow of your laptop the only light against the gray hues of the afternoon. Your nose was red, tissues were scattered around the desk, and a half-finished cup of coffee sat forgotten next to you, now cold. You sniffled, wiped your nose on yet another tissue, and ignored the throbbing ache behind your eyes. The project wasn’t going to finish itself. You were determined to finish it tonight and be done with it.

That determination lasted exactly ten seconds before the office door creaked open.

You didn’t even have to look.

The heavy footsteps and low growl alerted you to your boyfriend’s appearance. Standing well over six and a half feet tall, Matuk leaned against the doorframe, his hands folded in front of his chest. A plain gray T-shirt clung to his broad chest and shoulders, the seams strained slightly by his massive frame.

His deep green skin appeared otherworldly under the faint light, his face sharp as he looked at you with a frown. He had a square jaw that balanced the tusks curving slightly from his lower lip. Dark brown eyes settled on you, his hair short and messy, the inky black strands cut just above his pointed ears, though a few stubborn strands always managed to linger on his forehead. Like now. He looked devilishly handsome and you itched to comb those strands.

“Are you kidding me right now?” His deep growling voice cut off your thoughts. “Tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”

“Geez… I’m fine, Matuk,” you groaned even if your throat sounded more like sandpaper than anything else.

“Wrong,” he snapped, and the next thing you knew, your laptop was being lifted out of your reach. He shut the screen and stowed it away high up in your bookshelf—far too high for you to reach without a ladder.

“Hey!” You spun around, glaring up at him, but his eyes pinned you in place, and even through your cold fog, you could see and understand his frustration.

“You’re sick, wildflower,” he said low and husky. He called you wildflower because you were delicate yet strong, thriving whatever the case. But if you kept overworking and ignoring your health, you would be making yourself weak.

“I have a deadline.”

“Which is due next week. More than enough time for you to rest and get back to it.”

“Matuk—”

“Don’t.” He cupped your face, an edge of command in his voice. “Don’t argue with me. You’ve been working nonstop for weeks and now you’re paying for it. I won’t stand here and watch you make yourself worse.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re pale, tired. Your voice is hoarse. You’re burning up, but here you are, pushing yourself like nothing matters except that damn screen. Newsflash, I’m not letting you do this to yourself.”

Before you could protest, he slipped one arm under your knees and the other around your waist, lifting you off the chair with ridiculous ease. Your tired body betrayed you and you tucked yourself into his embrace as he walked out of the room, holding you as if you weighed nothing. His scent wrapped around you— woodsy and slightly smoky, and you reached, touching his silky hair.

“I can walk you know…” you muttered even as you rubbed your cheek over his strong chest.

“Not a chance. You lost your privileges when you decided to ignore my advice and work yourself to death.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re mine, and I will take care of you.”

Damn, why did that sound so hot? It was probably the way he spoke, the husky notes of his voice.

Your cheeks burned and this time it was not because of the cold.

A grin on your face, you buried your face in his shoulder to hide it. He rubbed his chin against your head before setting you down on the huge king-sized bed. He adjusted things with his large, calloused hands - plumping up your pillow, straightening a blanket over your legs and tucking it under your feet. Then he added a second blanket, just to make sure you were warm enough.

"Comfortable?"

"Super comfy,” you smiled, wiggling under the soft fluffy blankets. “And one layer away from being a human burrito.”

He snorted, crouching close to you so he was at eye level. "Good. Means I'm doing my job."

“I’m gonna be okay, my love,” you muttered, seeing how concerned he was.

"Hmm… either way you’re staying put, got it? No working, no overthinking, no sneaking around.”

You rolled your eyes, but a little grin tugged at your mouth. "You're incredibly bossy.”

"And you're awfully mouthy for someone who can barely sit up without wobbling," he smirked back, flashing a hint of tusk. “But that is ok. I like you mouthy, wildflower.”

“Wow, are you flirting with me right now?”

He laughed. “Damn right, I am. And I need you back at your peak strength so that I can firmly pin you to this bed for putting me through this worry.”

"You are impossible."

"And you're adorable and irresistible.”

You snorted and looked away. “Oh, please, I look horrible.”

"Wrong," he said in one breath. He tilted your face back to him and kissed your red nose. "You're gorgeous. Even today. Flushed cheeks and nose, messy hair, that little pout you get when you're impatient and stubborn."

“Matuk…” you sneaked your arms out of your blankets to caress his hard face. He leaned into your touch before tucking your cold hands back inside, reaching for your blanket, pulling it higher around your shoulders. “Still the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen."

The sweet moment was over faster than you’d wanted because he rushed to the kitchen and then returned with a tray with a bowl and a steaming cup. You sat up against the headboard and sighed happily. The air smelt of herbs and chicken broth.

"Eat, little wildflower," he said, carefully passing you the bowl. "You have approximately one minute before I do it myself."

"I will eat. I’m not protesting any longer.”

“Fucking finally.”

Chuckling at his words, you cradled the bowl in your hands, the warmth radiating into your chilled fingers. The steam curled warmly against your face as you sipped the rich broth. Each spoonful slid down your throat, soothing the raw ache and spreading warmth through your chest and belly. The subtle spices lingered on your tongue, coaxing a soft sigh from your lips. Ahhh, this was heavenly.

When you handed the empty bowl back to your very satisfied boyfriend, he plucked it from your hands and kissed your forehead. “Good girl.”

Next, he pressed a small packet of medicine into your palm and handed you a glass of water. You obediently downed the medicine, the bitterness lingering for only a moment before Matuk replaced the glass with a steaming mug of tea. The fragrant aroma greeted you as you sipped, letting the herbal brew chase away the last of the medicine’s taste.

Once the mug was empty, you set it aside with a contented hum and sank back into the cocoon of blankets. Your body felt warm and soothed, your head less heavy. The stuffiness in your nose had also eased thanks to the herbal steam. All you needed now was your boyfriend’s body pressed against you.

As if he could read your thoughts, Matuk shifted the blankets, his hulking form easing into the bed beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight as he slid under the covers. You moaned at the heat of him and pressed yourself greedily against him. Your cheek found its place against his chest, his heartbeat a steady drum against your ear.

A calloused hand cradled the back of your head, his palm large enough to cover it completely. He tipped your face up, his fingers threading through your hair before he kissed you, brushing his lips against yours, careful not to hurt you with his tusks. You protested but his tongue coaxed your mouth open and swept past your lips in heated strokes. The press of his mouth deepened, his tongue demanding more before you broke the kiss, your hands pressed against his chest.

“No! I’m sick, I don’t want you to catch my cold!”

He blinked, then burst out laughing. “That’s what this is about? Oh, my considerate wildflower.” His laughter softened into a grin as he leaned in closer and licked the corner of your mouth.

“Matuk—”

“Hush,” he drawled, pressing another hot kiss on your lips. “You’re not gonna stop me, so don’t even try. I’m an orc. A mere human cold can’t take me down. We’re big, strong, and way too stubborn for that.”

“Still,” you said, shifting against him because, damn him, he kept licking and nibbling at your lips. “But— isn’t it better to be careful?”

“No,” he protested with a low growl. “I don’t care if you’re sick, ugly, or bloody mad at me. You’re mine. My mate. My wildflower. And nothing’s keeping me from kissing you when I damn well feel like it.”

You stared up at him, heart pounding as his deep brown eyes locked onto yours, intense and unwavering. You loved him so much, your protective and possessive orc boyfriend that had changed your life completely. Matuk was unlike any male, caring and domineering, always making you feel like the most important person in the world.

“I love how grumpy and protective you are.”

He gave you a sly grin. “I love you more. And once you recover, I plan on making up for lost time and ravish you properly.”

You grinned. “Sounds delicious.”

"Sleep, my little wildflower," he said, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. "I've got you."

And you did. You melted against his chest, the rise and fall of his steady breath lulling you to sleep. His arms were around you, one gliding up and down your back in abstract patterns. He peppered kisses on your eyes, nose, and lips, silently promising that no harm would ever reach you. He was your protector, your one and only. Always.

[natalievoncatte]

“What’s wrong with me, Alex?” Kara asked, swinging her feet in a childlike, nervous way as she sat on the exam table.

Kara watched her sister putter around the room. She’d activated the red lamps and taken blood samples, and the tubes were currently spinning away in centrifuges awaiting the various tests she would run. She’s listened to Kara’s lungs and checked her pulse and waved instruments about and taken her blood pressure.

Everything about her was well within Kryptonian norms. Her pulse was running around a hundred and ten at rest, which would be alarming for a human but was a tad slow for her, and her body temperature was at a perfect one-oh-one, again just right for the last daughter of Krypton. There was no issue with her processing of sunlight and no signs of radiation exposure, which had been her fear.

Specifically Kryptonite of the red variety.

Kara had been having intrusive thoughts. They’d started here and there months ago but she’d ignored them, writing them off as some odd byproduct of fatigue or stress.

“You can go for now, kiddo,” said Alex. “I’ll let you know when the results come in.”

Alex looked more bemused than anything- probably because Kara showed no signs of actual sickness and had been cagey and indirect about her symptoms. There was a reason for that.

It became unbearable for her yesterday when Lena dropped by her office. Lena had been dressed in Kara’s favorite work ensemble, a green sweater that bared deep cleavage, a pencil skirt, and sheer silk stockings. She’d had her hair up in a meticulous bun and wore a rich plum red lipstick and smoky eyes, looking more sexpot than CEO.

Kara had barely been able to keep a straight face and make conversation. The mere presence of the other woman in the room made her heart pound and created an unbearable tension in her belly and between her thighs. Her eyes kept falling back to the pale inviting column of her throat or the lush inner curves of her breasts. Kara couldn’t stop imagining a bead of sweat rolling down between them. She couldn’t stop thinking about pressing her tongue to the flesh there and catching it, tasting the pearly bead and following its slick trail up to Lena’s throat while her chest heaved against her.

That was a problem, because those were not normal Kara thoughts. Those were not normal Kryptonian thoughts. Kryptonians did not think about those things, especially with members of the same gender. It had come with that same aching feeling between her legs that Kara had been fighting since she arrived on Earth and was dealing with now, just thinking about thinking about Lena.

Worse, Lena would be there tonight at movie night. It was an all girl’s night so it would just be Alex and Nia watching movies with them; Brainy was busy and Kelly was out of town for an academic conference and they were really just keeping Alex company.

Kara’s mind was a train wreck. She couldn’t stop thinking about Casual Lena. When she dressed down in her big sweaters and leggings and let down her hair in soft waves, she was so tiny and cute and small and Kara just wanted to eat her all up and… feel her from the inside, listen to her cries of ecstasy as Kara got creative and *relieved that fucking pressure between her legs*.

Ack! Stop it!

She had to be sick, or infected with a transdimensional parasite, or under a magic spell, or microdosed with red Kryptonite because KRYPTONIANS DID NOT HAVE THESE THOUGHTS.

So, she went for a fly to clear her head.

She ended up going hypersonic and landing at the Fortress, where she picked up the fifty thousand ton key and let herself in. Thankfully, Clark wasn’t there, so she had the vast place to herself.

The Archive here had a simpler interface, she wouldn’t have to ask a holographic version of her mother why she wanted to know what Lena’s sweat tasted like and pin her down on the sofa in her office and do things to her.

“Greetings, Kara Zor-El. How may I assist you?”

Kara looked at the hovering holographic sphere and described her symptoms, holding nothing back. It hovered there all hovery for a moment.

“What you describe sounds similar in principle to afflictions that affected ancient Kryptonians, especially under a yellow sun. Our ancestors often embraced perverse and hedonistic lusts before embracing the perfection of logic and self-discipline. However, you cannot be experiencing these unnatural and incorrect attractions, as they had been bred out of our people by the breeding program. Attraction to members of the same sex and metamorphic reproductive capability have been deemed eradicated by the Science Guild.”

“Metamorphic capabilities?!”

“Some of the ancestors possessed the ability to adapt physically to their preferred partner with the aid of yellow solar wavelengths. This is no longer possible.”

Kara chewed her lip.

The words rang in her skull. Unnatural. Illogical. It made her sound like some… like some abomination, a monster from ancient times. A tightness formed in her chest tears welled in her eyes. Was she like this? Was she broken? An aberration? Some crude vile thing with the instincts and lusts of a Daxamite? Was she broken?

She left the Fortress in a tearful rush and again she flew, too fast. Her phone started going off in the hidden pocket on the flank of her suit and she lighted on a building in Seattle to answer.

“Kara, where the hell are you?” said Alex. “Lena showed up at your place and you weren’t there and we’ve both been panic calling you.”

“I’m sorry, I was at the Fortress, trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.”

Her voice was high and pained.

Alex’s reply was soft. “Come home, Kara. We need to talk.”

Kara nodded to no one. “I’m on my way.”

She made the trip back a bit slower, honing in on Alex’s heartbeat to find her at the DEO, still in the lab. When she walked in, Alex gestured to the exam table and Kara sat down.

“What is it?” Kara almost pleaded. “Alex, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Kara, listen to me,” said Alex, taking both of Kara’s hands. “Look at me, okay.”

Kara looked at her.

“There is nothing wrong with you. I shared the results of the test with Eliza and we went over it in detail. You’re completely fine.”

“I can’t be,” Kara protested. “There has to be a reason why I’m having these thoughts, Alex!”

Pulling her hands free, she jolted to her feet and began to pace.

“There has to be. I have to be sick or messed up somehow. Kryptonians don’t have feelings like this!”

Alex closed her eyes and sighed.

“Kara, listen to me, okay? You’re not sick. You’re not broken. Your best friend is a stunningly beautiful woman and adore each other. There’s nothing wrong with having a crush on her.”

“It’s not a crush!” Kara almost shouted. “It’s more than that and it’s scaring me. What if I can’t control myself? What if I hurt her? What if she sees me looking and she thinks I’m a monster that wants to prey on her?”

Alex’s expression softened. She took a few steps, arrested Kara’s pacing, and pulled her into a bear hug.

“I know how it feels, Kara. I promise you you’re not a predator and there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Kryptonians can’t be gay.”

“Says who?”

“Everybody! The computer! The rules! I don’t know,” The last words came as a broken whimper, and Kara sagged against her sister.

“What about this, Kara. You’re Supergirl. You can do anything.”

Kara pulled back in a daze, staring at nothing. Since she came to Earth, she’d embraced it with her whole self. As loath as she was to admit it, she loved it here. This world was so free, full of wonders and majesty for all its problems. Kara had never once questioned her love for her sister. If Alex could be gay, why not Kara? There was no science council here, no one to ordain who she must marry and breed with.

Why not?

She felt dizzy, and strangely relaxed, as if she’d just heaved a massive weight off her shoulders.

Alex offered her a tissue and she dried her tears.

“Go get the girl,” said Alex. “I’ll call Nia and tell her you need some alone time.”

Kara nodded, and felt half in a daze as she left the infirmary. She stepped out onto the balcony and texted Lena, can I come over?

Lena replied immediately, Yes.

Kara’s heart hammered her ribs as she landed on the balcony. Lena rushed to the door and threw it open, ushering her inside. Kara stepped into the living room of the penthouse and stumbled to a stop.

Lena was dressed down and so soft, from the mop of her wavy hair pulled into a low ponytail to her cashmere sweater down the length of her toned legs to her bare feet.

“What’s wrong?”

As Lena asked, she darted forward, offering a hug. Kara gingerly let herself be pulled into the embrace, hesitant at first. Lena dove into her, throwing herself into the hug as if she wanted to climb inside Kara. Kara wrapped her in her arms and drew her cape around them both. She couldn’t stop thinking about Lena’s feet being cold, about wanting to make her warm.

Before she answered, Kara buried her face in Lena’s hair and breathed deep. Lena’s scent hit her like a train. It was like swallowing a mouthful of alien rum, filling her chest with a spreading warmth and making her head swim.

“I’ve been trying to work some things out, and I was scared, so I ran off to the Fortress. I’m sorry.”

Lena pulled back gently and looked up at her. They were so close. Lena’s big, pretty blue-green eyes were full of worry but dark, her pupils blown.

“What’s bothering you? I’ll throw money at it until it goes away.”

Kara swallowed, hard. “I don’t want it to go away.”

Lena arched a brow. “Oh?”

Kara licked her lips and as she did, Lena’s eyes darted and followed the motion of her tongue. Kara was suddenly away of Lena’s hands resting just above her hips now, the way that her hugs and touches always seemed to trend lower, the casual way that Lena leaned into her as she looked up.

She bit her lip and Kara almost died.

“I think I like girls,” Kara blurted out.

“You certainly like my girls, Kara Danvers. You can’t stop looking.”

“You noticed?” Kara squeaked.

“Kara, darling, you’ve been staring at them for thirty seconds just now.”

Kara’s gaze snapped up.

“I’m sorry, I, oh Rao oh God, Lena.”

Lena curled her fingers around Kara’s chin and tilted her head back down.

“Did you really think I didn’t notice? The day we met you paid more attention to my boobs than my business card.”

“You gave me a business card?”

“See what I mean?”

Kara swallowed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Lena’s thumb grazed her jaw and Kara thought her heart might go off like a bomb in her chest. She shuddered and her toes curled in her boots.

“I’ve been teasing you for years,” she said, “I’d almost given up hope. I wouldn’t be the first disaster bisexual to nurse a futile crush on her best friend.”

Kara swallowed hard. “So should we like go on a date?”

Lena’s fingers traced down her neck, then along the ridge of her collarbone.

“I was thinking more Netflix and chill. I know and trust you, Kara. You’ve saved my life more times than I can count, I’m ready now if you are.”

“Ready?” Kara squeaked.

“So are you, I think,” said Lena.

She rolled her hips and Kara immediately realized what she meant and what the Archive meant by her body adapting.

“Ohshit,” Kara chirped. “Oh God Lena I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing, I didn’t mean to-“

Lena lunged and suddenly they were kissing. Lena’s lips were so soft and she was intoxicating. Kara pulled her into an embrace, almost lifted her off the floor as she kissed her back. Lena threw one leg up and hooked it wound her hip, and Kara instinctively scooped her up and felt a jolt through her body as Lena then wrapped both legs around her waist.

“Fuck, you’re strong,” Lena panted. “Oh God, Kara. Bedroom. Now. Please.”

“You want…”

“Yes! What are you fucking waiting for?”

Later, hours later, Kara lay in Lena’s bed, while Lena slept blissfully next to her, head resting on Kara’s shoulder, smiling contentedly. She looked over at her and tucked the sheets and blankets up close around her chin and smoothed stray strands of hair back from her eyes. Lena made a small sound, and curled around Kara’s side.

Kryptonians, it turned out, could be very good at being gay.

[msbigredmachine]

An Angelic Christmas (Roman Reigns)

On their first Christmas together, Roman and Naima share heartfelt gifts, tender moments, and an intimate celebration that deepens their connection. A glimpse into the unlikeliest of love stories that’s about to unfold.

Pairing: Roman Reigns/Black fem OC

Warnings: SMUT

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is based off characters from my upcoming multi-chapter Roman fic (yes I know, it's been a while, lol) to be out in January. Look out for it!

gif belongs to @romanreigns

divider belongs to @bernardsbendystraws

The Miami sun is high in the sky, casting its golden rays over the famed city. Palm trees sway gently in the breeze, adorned with twinkling lights that sparkle even in the daylight, giving the vibrant streets a festive charm. 

Roman’s penthouse, perched high above the bustling streets, is no exception. Ornaments of red and green and gold glimmer on a ten-foot high Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, a towering contrast to the sleek modernity of the space. It’s not exactly the snowy holiday Naima grew up with in Atlanta, but she’s not complaining. Not when she’s with her man.

Naima hums along to “All I Want for Christmas Is You” blasting through the speakers, twirling a wooden spoon in her hand as she checks on the smoky jollof rice in the kitchen. The turkey is ready and well stuffed, so that is settled. Her bare feet pad softly across the hardwood floor, her movements fluid and effortless, the dancer in her kicking in. Chief, their three-month-old Staffy puppy, is sprawled nearby, lazily gnawing on a holiday-shaped chew toy that she bought him.

Roman sets the table, looking at his girlfriend with an amused smirk. “Mariah again?” he teases, his deep voice cutting through the music.

Naima turns, feigning offense. “Not you actin' like you don’t love this song, big guy.”

He chuckles, stepping closer to her. “It’s a classic, I’ll give you that.”

She rolls her eyes, scoops a spoonful of rice and blows on it before holding it up to his lips. “Here. Taste this.”

Roman takes the bite, chewing slowly. The smoky flavor hits his tongue first, followed by the rich spices that taste even better than the last one she made a month ago. He lets out a low hum of approval.

“Damn, baby,” he says, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Naima grins, her beautiful brown eyes sparkling. “That’s just the rice. Wait till you try the turkey and plantain.”

Roman glances at the counter where the massive golden-brown turkey rests, surrounded by perfectly caramelized plantains and a big bowl of sapasui specially made for him. His diet, meticulously planned for his wrestling, is going to take a serious hit tonight. But he doesn’t care. It’s Christmas, and Naima’s cooking is worth every cheat day.

“Diet starts tomorrow,” he declares, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her close.

“Tomorrow,” she insists, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Tonight, you’re eating everything I made, handsome.”

Roman chuckles to himself as she kisses his cheek and walks away, his gaze dropping to those long, shapely legs of hers. Naima has been in his life for a while now, but every time they are together, it feels like a fresh challenge—a battle of wills he doesn’t mind losing. Most of the time.

The table is set with mismatched plates—his playful touch—and candles flickering softly in the center. Chief sits obediently at the side, eyeing the turkey but making no moves toward it, as if he knows better. The couple sits right next to each other on the table. Roman’s red-and-green sweater fits him perfectly, hugging his broad shoulders and muscular chest. Naima’s matching sweater is oversized and hangs loose on her frame, exposing one shoulder and riding up her thighs each time she moves. Of course, Roman notices, and his hand rests possessively on her thigh, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles in that affectionate, sensual way that always leaves her weak.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Naima says, nodding toward the huge tree and the perfectly arranged garland along the fireplace. “I know Christmas isn’t your thing like that.”

Roman smiles, his hand tightening just slightly on her leg. “Yeah, well, I figured you’d cry if we didn’t at least have a tree.”

Naima smacks his shoulder, though a grin spreads across her face. “You ain’t right!”

“I’m just sayin’,” he teases, his baritone laced with humor. “You been talking about Christmas since Halloween ended. Couldn’t let you down, mamas. After all, this is your first Christmas outside Atlanta. Am I right?” 

Naima nods and sips her glass of champagne. “Yep. Feels weird not being with Adara and Julien, but…this is nice. Different, but nice.”

Roman cuts out a large piece of turkey and places it in Chief’s bowl, the little puppy gobbling the meat happily. “You talk to them today?” he asks. Knowing how close she is to her sister and nephew, he can already guess the answer.

“Of course,” she replies, “Adara says hi. And Julien was hyped about that new wrestling game you sent him. You officially won Christmas with that.”

He chuckles, proud. “Kid’s got good taste.”

Naima leans back in her chair, watching her boyfriend for a moment. There's something so easy about the way they’re together, the way they fit into each other’s lives despite their wildly different worlds. She loves this version of Roman—relaxed, unguarded, a far cry from the intense Tribal Chief persona that dominates the squared circle. Here, he gets to be just him. With her. His safe space.

She's honored.

“I’m glad I’m here with you,” she tells him, affection in her voice.

Roman’s gaze softens. “Me too, baby girl.”

After dinner, they retreat to the couch, plates of leftover plantain and wine glasses in hand. Chief curls up at their feet, munching on a leftover turkey leg. Roman’s arm is draped over Naima’s shoulder, his fingers lazily playing with her long hair. She rests against him, her legs stretched across his lap as “Home Alone” plays on the 64-inch TV.

“You got one more present,” Roman announces suddenly.

Naima raises an eyebrow. “I thought we agreed on no more presents.” They've already exchanged small gifts earlier in the day—she gave him a custom leather wrestling gear bag embroidered with his initials, and he surprised her with a sleek pair of Saint Laurent knee-high boots she’d been eyeing for months. 

“I ain’t agree to shit,” he smirks, a small, wrapped box materializing in his hand. “Here.”

Naima sits up, taking the box from him and unwrapping it carefully. Her jaw drops as she takes in the unmistakable Harry Winston packaging, her fingers trembling slightly as she unties the ribbon. She carefully opens the box, her breath catching as her eyes fall on the exquisite piece inside—a diamond necklace that glimmers like a constellation of stars. The delicate chain, made of intricate diamond clusters, forms a flawless, radiant circle that exudes elegance and timeless luxury, leaving her utterly speechless.

“Baby…”

“I saw it and thought of you,” he says, his tone casual, though the way his eyes linger on her face betray how much the gift means to him. “You light up my life, mamas. Figured it was fitting.”

Her throat tightens as he helps her put the necklace on, the cool chain resting against her skin. “Thank you. It’s so beautiful,” she whispers.

“Well, it was either this or the anklet,” he adds with a cheeky wiggle of his eyebrows as he caresses the back of her leg, “Woulda been great for these long-ass legs I can’t stop staring at.”

“You always gotta be so extra,” she giggles, her voice teasing but shaky.

Roman grins, his eyes bright and happy. “You bring it out of me,” he whispers, his heart swelling as she holds him tight. He will never tire of moments like this with her.

“Your turn,” she announces, reaching behind the couch to grab a flat, rectangular package.

Roman unwraps the paper carefully, revealing a framed portrait of the two of them sitting on an equipment crate backstage after his match at Summerslam. He was still in his wrestling gear, his Undisputed Championship resting on his lap, while Naima sat beside him, close enough for their thighs to touch. Her arms are around him and their eyes are closed, heads tilted and leaning against each other as if the world had disappeared for just that moment. The image, captured by Naomi, radiates intimacy and quiet strength, capturing everything unspoken between them in that stillness.

He is quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on the frame.

“You don’t like it?” Naima questions, suddenly uncertain.

“I love it,” he breathes, his voice low but full of emotion. “This…” He trails off, his fingers grazing the edge of the frame. “This is amazing, baby girl.”

“I wanted you to have something to remind you of who’s always in your corner,” she says, her voice soft and sincere.

Roman sets the frame down carefully and hugs her again. “I love you. You’re my everything,” he murmurs, the weight of his words settling between them.

Naima shivers, her heart racing for him like it always does. “I love you too. And you’re mine.” Her fingers clasp behind his neck as she pulls him in for a kiss. It starts slow, purposeful, their lips meeting in a way that feels as natural as breathing. Naima’s hands frame Roman’s face, her fingertips brushing against his beard as their mouths move in perfect sync. It's sensual, unhurried, yet electric enough to send shivers down their spines. 

Roman’s large hands roam down her back, possessive and sure, pulling her closer until she’s in his lap. When she moans softly into his mouth, it ignites something primal in him. The sound drives him crazy, her lips and her voice working together to undo him in a way no one else ever has. It’s a reminder of everything they share—the connection that goes beyond words, beyond the teasing and playful banter.

When they finally pull apart, she rests her forehead against his, her breathing unsteady. “Believe it or not, I got one more gift for you,” she informs him, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “It’s red and made of satin and lace.”

“Yeah?” Roman’s voice roughens, his hands still on her hips.

She leans in close, her teeth tugging on his earlobe as she whispers, “Mm-hmm. But you get to see it later.”

Roman groans low in his throat, his hold on her tightening. “You really tryna test my patience, huh?”

Naima laughs, sliding off his lap before he can pull her back. “Ya know what they say, baby; patience is a virtue.”

The rest of the night passes in a haze of laughter, wine, and stolen touches. Chief dozes near the fireplace, his tiny snores filling the silence of the now-muted TV. As Naima cleans up the dishes from their late-night snacks, Roman leans against the counter, watching her.

“You ever think about what’s next?” he asks suddenly.

She glances over her shoulder, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“For us,” he elaborates, his voice unwavering.

Naima pauses, her hands stilling. “I mean…I’m happy right now. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile. “I am. But I’m talking like, big picture. Like, what happens when we’re not doing this flying-back-and-forth shit anymore? What if you moved to Miami permanently? With me.”

Naima turns to face him fully, leaning against the sink. “That means leaving Adara and Julien in Atlanta. Leaving Exotica. I know you’d love that,” she rolls her eyes.

Roman shrugs. “Well, it is your workplace, regardless of my feelings towards it. But we can figure that out together. Right?”

She exhales, crossing her arms. “I don’t know. I try not to think about it too much. Kinda feels like jinxing it.”

He pushes off the counter, narrowing the distance between them. “I get it. I just want you to know I’m serious about this. About us. I don’t care where you came from or what you’ve done. I just…I’m all in with you.”

Naima gazes at him, her chest tightening. “You sure you know what you’re gettin’ into, Reigns?” she whispers.

Roman grins, his hands finding her waist. “Baby girl, I’ve been sure pretty much since the day I met you.”

Her smile is wide and her heart feels impossibly full. “Guess I better go put your present on, then.”

Roman’s laughter echoes through the penthouse as she saunters off, her long legs carrying her toward his bedroom. “Don’t take too long,” he calls after her.

Ten minutes later, Naima’s heart is still racing with excitement. She can feel the heat of the shower still lingering on her body, buzzing with the anticipation of what is to come. Roman’s words echo in her head; “Don’t take too long.” 

A playful grin crosses her lips. It will definitely be worth the wait.

The silk robe is soft and gentle on her skin as she moves around the bedroom. The lights are dimmed just enough to set the mood. She reaches for the speaker, turning on a playlist full of sultry, slow R&B songs that she uses for her private dances. Usually, she has an audience of several, tossing dollars at her, hungry for more. Tonight, her audience consists of just one, the most important one; Roman Reigns himself, her man…her everything.

She stands in front of the full-length mirror and lets her long, damp hair cascade down her back, shimmering under the soft lighting. She takes a deep breath as she eyes her reflection, seeing a stark difference between the woman staring back at her and the one from seven years ago.

Well done, Naima. Well done.

She quickly goes to the gift bag she’d tucked away, pulling out the lingerie she had purchased specially for him—a festive red set with white fur trim and a playful Santa-inspired design. The bra and thong set hugs her curves perfectly, and she can feel herself getting wetter, more eager. She doesn’t need much of an excuse to get her man all worked up, but tonight? Tonight is different.

She peeks her head through the door and calls out to him, her voice low and teasing. “Baby, I need some help in here!”

As he enters the bedroom, his gaze immediately falls on her—no longer in the oversized sweater, but in blood red lingerie, looking like a vision. His mouth goes dry, his pants tightening as he drinks in the sight.

“Goddamn, baby girl,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with desire. He leans against the doorframe, his eyes scanning her, taking in the way the fabric clings to her slender body. “You look fucking incredible.”

“You like it, big daddy?” she asks, her voice dripping with temptation as she strikes a pose that extends her already long legs.

“Like it? I fucking love it,” he growls, his voice rough with desire. “But how the hell are you not tired from all the cooking?”

Naima’s lips curve into a sultry smile as she inches closer to him, her hips swaying with every step. “I’m never too tired to please you, Ro.”

Roman’s expression softens, but there’s a spark of something else in his eyes—anticipation. He doesn't respond at first, just watches as she takes his hand and leads him to the bed, motioning for him to sit. He obeys without question, his body already tingling with desire.

She walks over to the speakers and turns the volume up just enough. The sultry, slow beat of “To My Bed” by Chris Brown fills the room, its sensual tone ensconcing them both like a velvet blanket. She stands for a moment, letting the rhythm of the song take over her body. The satin fabric of her lingerie shimmers as she dances, her movements sensual and determined, drawing him in. There’s no rush from her—each motion is deliberate, designed to drive him crazy. 

Roman’s hands rest on his knees, gripping them tightly, the intensity in his gaze saying more than words can express. His breath quickens as she turns and gives him an eyeful of the thong that’s swallowed up by her fat, bountiful ass cheeks. Then, she slowly approaches him, her legs long and lithe, flexing with an effortless grace. She leans forward, pushing her chest in his face, her hands smoothing over his broad shoulders. 

“You like what you see, big guy?” she inquires, her voice low and smokier than her jollof, dripping with sex and authority, knowing she has him in the palm of her hand.

“Damn right I do,” Roman growls in response, his hands closing over her breasts, the tension in the air as thick as a storm about to break.

A slow smile plays across her lips, a smile that sends shivers through him. She reaches up and places a Santa hat on his head, her fingers brushing over his scalp before letting the hat sit on top.

“Guess you’re my Christmas gift, huh?” she teases, winking at him, her fingers lightly tapping the top of the hat.

Roman can’t help but snicker despite the lust pulsing through him. “You know it, mamas. Just unwrap me already.”

Naima stands in front of him for a moment, her body swaying, the sheer satin glistening against her skin as the lights of the room catches the fabric just right. Roman’s eyes roam over her, memorizing every inch. Her body, her long legs, that damn sexy smile of hers, the way she looks in the tiny underwear. She knows how to play him like a violin, and tonight he is her willing instrument.

Naima’s smile grows as she slowly unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the floor, exposing the breasts and pierced nipples that never fail to make his mouth water. She drops down low, then slowly rolls back up as her hands run over her curves, caressing herself. She hears his breathing getting heavier, and that only fuels her further. She lets the music take control, her body moving with a confidence that only Roman can bring out of her.

His eyes are glued to her, his expression a mix of lust and admiration. “You’re killing me, mamas,” he growls, his voice clogged with desire.

She stops for a moment, standing in front of him, her ample chest rising and falling with each breath. “Oh, I’m just getting started, big guy,” she purrs, her voice low and sultry. “You’ve been a good boy tonight, so I think you’ve earned a little something special.”

Roman chuckles darkly, his hands resting on the bed now, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “You’ve got no idea what I’m gonna do to you after this.”

Naima smirks, her confidence skyrocketing as his hungry stare stalks her every move. With her back to him, she sensually shimmies between his parted legs and lowers herself onto his lap. Her backside rests right on his crotch as she keeps moving, rolling her ass back and forth in a manner that makes his jaw clench. She throws a sly glance over her shoulder, catching the way his hands twitch, aching to touch her again.

“What’s the matter, big guy? Can’t handle it?” she taunts, her voice low and teasing.

Roman exhales sharply, his resolve crumbling as his hands shoot up to grab her waist. His fingers dig into her skin as she bounces her ass on him, the enticing rhythm making his entire body flare up with heat. “Goddamn, baby.”

Naima’s laugh is rich, full of mischief and lust as she presses back harder, causing him to groan. “That’s right, daddy, watch me throw this fat ass on you,” she moans, steadying herself with her hands on his knees while her hips and ass do all the talking.

Roman tilts his head back for a moment, shutting his eyes tightly as he feels himself throb from the near unbearable friction. “You keep this up and I’m not gonna last long,” he growls, reaching out to squeeze her backside wreaking havoc on his stiff crotch.

“That's the plan,” she shoots back, grinding against him some more before standing up abruptly, leaving him gaping at her like she’s just snatched his soul. “Gotta give Santa his Christmas dance,” she giggles, stepping back and twerking to the music again.

Roman licks his lips as he adjusts himself and the hat on his head. “Santa’s getting impatient, baby girl. You better finish that dance quick before I take what’s mine.”

Naima's eyes are fixated on her man as she tugs on the waistband of her thong and slips it down her legs, tossing it playfully at him which he catches easily. Her body is now completely bare, save for the light sheen of sweat that clings to her skin, making her glow. She straddles him again, leaning in so their noses almost touch. “What if I don’t wanna finish, big daddy?” she murmurs, her lips brushing his teasingly.

This time, Roman doesn’t hesitate. He grips her thighs and flips them over, pinning her beneath him. The bed shifts under their combined weight as he stares down at her, his smirk widening. “I know where I wanna finish,” he mutters, his voice catching right before he crushes his mouth to hers. His big hands eagerly roam her curves as he presses himself against her, the warmth of her naked body sparking a fire he can’t extinguish.

With a teasing grin, Naima pulls his sweater off him and helps him shove his pants down. Then, moving with surprising speed and strength, she rolls them over so she is back on top. Her hands smooth down his chest, running her fingers over the muscles of his abdomen, and she reaches down to grip his length, massaging him for a second or two before sliding him inside her. 

With a soft moan, she sits up and presses her hands on his chest, pinning him down as he drops his hands from her waist to her ass, squeezing the supple cheeks. His grip tightens as she rides him with the skill of an equestrian, her shapely hips rolling and rotating, seemingly spelling her name on him. He can feel her wetness seeping between them, the friction driving him crazy.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “You make me lose my fuckin' mind.”

Naima dips down, capturing his lips with a passion that sends fireworks off in his brain. The kiss is deep, intense—needy. Their tongues tangle with an urgency that speaks volumes to their never-ending lust for each other, Roman’s hips joining the frantic dance of want as he meets her halfway with deep thrusts right against her sweet spot. The scent of her perfume—something floral and warm—mingles with the sweet musk of desire, and his head spins from the intoxicating combination.

“Shit, Ro…” Naima moans. She grips the pillow behind Roman’s head as she pounces and bounces on his dick with increased urgency, the slickness of her pussy, the feel of him deep inside her, making everything feel like it’s about to explode. She lets out another breathy moan, her face nuzzling his neck, her heavy pants sprouting goosebumps on his skin. Roman’s breath catches in his throat as the feel of her beautiful body writhing on top of him, along with a dizzying myriad of sensations, nudges him closer to the edge.

“Fuck,” he growls, his eyes hazy with pleasure as he stares up at her, “Baby, I don’t know how much longer I can last.”

Naima smiles down at him, her hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves, her chest rising and falling in tandem with her rising and falling on his dick. She cups his face, gazing right into his eyes as she whispers, “Tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

Roman’s eyes darken with lust. It’s the easiest confession he’ll ever make. “You're the best I’ve ever had, baby girl. By a mile. Don’t nobody fuck me like you do,” he professes.

Her body responds to his praise like a fine-tuned instrument. Her movements become faster, more desperate with every dropdown. Their foreheads press together, and she groans as he suddenly shifts and flips her underneath him. He hitches her legs higher around his waist and pumps into her determinedly, cursing as the new angle deepens his reach inside her. Overwhelmed, Naima's eyes squeeze shut, her fingernails in his back, swept away by the intensity of their passion, reverberating through the entire master bedroom as euphoria comes calling. The bed rocks harder from the force of Roman's thrusts, indescribable pleasure drawing them closer and closer.

“Open your eyes, Naima. Look at me when you come,” Roman coaxes her with a kiss, his voice almost pleading as his fingers brush along her stomach and find that sensitive spot between her legs. He toys with it, his personal pleasure button, playing with the sticky mess she’s made and luxuriating in the sounds of her shaky moans as he fucks her into the mattress.

Naima obeys and locks glazed, unfocused eyes with him, barely holding on as the world crescendos around them. Only a half-minute later, it all comes crashing down like a tidal wave—powerful, overwhelming, all-encompassing. Naima screams as her juices gush from the impact, all over his dick, her entire frame shaking with the bone-tingling intensity of her orgasm. Roman’s grip on her and on reality falters as her pussy tightens around him, sparking his release, his drenched dick pulsing and twitching as he fills her to the brim. They collapse together, panting and sweaty, spent and wrecked. He rolls onto his back and immediately pulls her close, his face buried in her hair as he struggles to catch his breath.

Naima lets out a contented sigh, smiling as she nestles against his chest. “Guess that was a Christmas gift for both of us, huh?” she murmurs.

Roman chuckles, his lips meeting her forehead. “You’re the best gift I could ever ask for, baby.”

She smiles up at him, her heart warm and full. “And you’re mine. You don’t know what you’ve done for me, Roman.”

And with one more heartfelt kiss, they cling to each other, their bodies still buzzing from the most beautiful experience, knowing that the holiday season has brought them even closer—if that was even possible.

🎄THE END...for now.🎄

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

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[hotluncheddie]

Safe With You.

Ao3 | wc: 4.8k | Rated: E | tags: Daddy kink, under-negotiated kink, hurt/comfort, crying, sub Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, masturbation

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

The credits are rolling, names passing on the screen of Eddie’s little tv, movie over. 

Steve squeezes Eddie’s fingers where they’re tangled with both of his own. His head had migrated to Eddie’s shoulder around 20 minutes in, all tension seeping from him with one of Eddie’s thighs slung over his own and Eddie’s arm around his waist.

He’d missed nights like this, with someone, in easy closeness, being someone’s boyfriend. Something inside Steve always yearned for it, to be allowed this, something like it. Soft and domestic. 

(He’s been blessed with his platonic closeness with Robin. But she’s less tactile than Eddie, they hold hands and hug but the full body blanket of contact isn’t something she can stomach for long.)

It feels extra special tonight, somehow, after the day they’d had, because the Corroded Coffin boys were over to hang out and talk shop for their characters. Steve had come over around three, after his shift and part way through a heated discussion about trolls. He busied himself with decompressing, puttering around and reading Eddie’s comics on the sofa - leaving them to it. But every once in a while Eddie would call out for him to pick a number between one and ten. Or would scamper over with a box that had a dice in it, asking Steve to roll, kissing him on the head once he had. Steve felt so special; to be allowed to exist in that space, have Eddie want him there, including him as much as Steve was comfortable. It was so nice. 

And then Steve was allowed to stay, the other boys leaving with waves and see you soon’s and it wasn’t even mentioned that Steve would go too. Instead Eddie came and draped himself over him, snuggling into his neck and talking about what they should make for dinner. Those moments seemed to cause another piece of Steve’s burned red insides to scab, peel, and revel itself fresh pink  - on its way to healed. 

After Nancy something had curdled within him. Followed by the long hot summer where the main sense memory he retained on his skin was that of hard knuckles and big stinging palms. Then followed were those long months full of girls, here and there, who would touch his hand or his dick; and it was nice, until the post orgasm haze melted and it was time for one of them to leave. Steve left alone again. His body aching for something else. Something different. 

Now Steve feels syrupy and loose, fuzzy around the edges: a Polaroid that got wet with the lake water it captured. He fiddles with the rings on Eddie’s fingers. Eddie’s other hand having migrated up to his hair, scratching lightly behind his ear. 

‘Want to stay over?’ Eddie asks quietly. 

Steve did. He really really did. 

‘If that’s okay?’ 

‘C’mon.’ Eddie stands, motions for Steve to follow along, grabbing his hand again and holding it behind him as he leads them down the little hall to his room. 

Eddie puts on a record and some old smoky blues song filters through the room. He makes his way back over, swaying his hips, humming softly, taking Steve by the waist and turning them in a slow sort of waltz. 

Steve thinks, for not the first time and definitely not the last, that Eddie, his boyfriend, is so so beautiful. Free and handsome and earth-shatteringly charming. 

Eddie’s hands slip up Steve’s sides, finger trailing over his scarred waist, taking Steve’s T-shirt with them, pulling it up and off over his head, dropping it to the floor at their bare feet. 

‘What’s this?’ Steve asks, smiling, eyes half lidded. Eddie’s lips work their way soft and slow down the muscle of his neck, still humming softly along with the song. Steve’s own hands flutter from Eddie’s shoulders to draping around his neck. 

‘Nothin, s’late, we should get some sleep.’ Eddie says low and lazy. His soft lips make their way back up to Steve’s cheek. All the times in the world they seemed to say. 

Eddie, to Steve, had taken to being someone’s boyfriend even more than he ever would’ve expected. Hopelessly romantic and achingly attentive; it regularly fills Steve’s chest close to bursting. These few months of being with Eddie have been so fun and Steve laughs more than he can remember. It all just feels different with Eddie, he feels different. That things aren’t quite so hard, that it doesn’t all have to be so scary.

‘Sleep huh?’ Steve asks, lips on Eddie’s skin, on his salty temple. His own fingertips grazing shoulder blaze, grazing scar, grazing bone and skin. 

Eddie’s eyes are dark chocolate, his mouth set in a half grin that never seems to leave. Never seems to leave when he’s looking at Steve. ‘Yup, just helpin’ you get ready.’ Eddie says, pinky finger ghosting along the waistband of Steve’s jeans. 

Steve dips his chin forward, attaching his mouth to Eddie’s, lips already parted and tongue already searching. Eddie’s hand comes up into his hair, the other slipping into the back pocket of his jeans, squeezing, gripping. 

They kiss and they kiss and the blues plays on, the air-con rattling and a stray cat meows in the distance. 

‘Tell me something.’ Eddie says between kisses, quiet and deep and Steve feels like there’s whisky in his belly, thrumming through his veins. Drunk on Eddie Munson. ‘Tell me what you like, show me. Let me help baby.’ His hooded eyes pull Steve in, fingers stroking hairs away from his forehead and lips pressing kisses to his cheekbones. 

Steve doesn’t know how to answer, how to ask for something he wants. ‘No, I. Te-tell me what you like.’ He says, pulling Eddie’s shirt up and off, giving himself a moment away from eye contact, away from the vulnerability Eddie draws out of him. 

Eddie lets his T-shirt be tossed away, pulling Steve close and swaying them again gently. Slowing the moment once more. ‘Mmm, I like lots of things. Like making pretty boys feel good, for one.’ He ponders, hand soothing up and down Steve’s back. ‘And you, honey, are the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen.’ He smiles, teeth glinting in the soft lamplight. 

Steve ducks his head as his cheeks flush, smiling, hiding in Eddie’s shoulder. 

‘Let me make you feel good, hm? Tell me something you like, something you enjoy, or always wanted to try.’ Eddie asks quiet and slow into Steves hair, hugging their bodies close. 

The first thought to Steve’s head makes him swallow. The first thought to Steve’s head makes him burn. 

‘It’s embarrassing.’ He whispers, face hot and he has the sudden urge to cry. To kick and scream and stomp his foot. To curl up in a ball and not say anything more. 

It’s a word he’s thought about, for a while, secretly. He would think about it with girls - the few who took a little more charge, who threaded their hands in his hair and pulled. Thought about it after he realised boys could be his, could be something he finally let himself feel. Thought about it alone in the shower, moaning quietly, fingers in his mouth, water trailing across his skin. Thought about it and flushed, belly churning, aching. He thought about it once, came, cried, weeped into his pillow for everything it could mean. Everything he wanted along with the word, tantalising and terrifying and wrapped up in ugly puss-filled parts of his past. Who he is, how he grew up. A tangled mess that’s he’s too scared to try and tease apart. 

Eddie guides his face back out, cradling Steve’s cheeks in his palms. ‘Want to look after you, that’s all I’ve ever wanted Stevie. Baby, it’s all I want to do.’ He says, earnest, kissing Steve softly on the mouth.  

‘You, I don’t. Ho-how can you be so?’ He mumbles wetly, losing it, floating away under Eddie’s lips. 

‘Like you so much Stevie, Sweetheart. Always mean it. Tell me what you want baby. What do you need?’ 

Steve bites his lip, feels emotions choking in the back of his throat, solidifying into something that’s maybe not so bitter, maybe not so bad. If the trust unfurling in his heart at the soft press of Eddie’s fingertips could tell him anything, it’s that maybe Eddie can handle it - him - the mix of things that are begging to spill. The word, that means so much somehow. 

‘Eddie.’ Steve whispers, as lips return to his neck. Ringed fingers undo his jeans and they slip down his hips to pool at his feet. ‘Eddie.’ He whimpers, shivering, as Eddie reaches the juncture of his neck and shoulder, biting and sucking and leaving a sweet bruise of promise marked onto Steve’s skin. 

‘Tell me baby.’ Eddie’s thumb presses into Steve’s hipbone, the other hand held firm to the back of his neck, keeping them close. 

‘Eddie, Eddie.’ Another bite, their bodies sharing heat and tears sting the corners of Steve’s eyes. His blood feels molten, he feels sticky and heavy and flush. Eddie’s hands on his neck and shoulders and waist, their legs tangling, toes brushing toes, Eddie’s belt buckle pressing and catching in Steve’s happy trail. Another bite, another caress, his Eddie all over him, holding him, loving him. 

‘Daddy.’ Steve sobs, whines, the damn breaking. All his fears spilling out, fizzing bubbles in the air. 

‘Oh.’ Eddie groans, growls, squeezing Steve in his arms. ‘Oh you don’t even know do you? How precious you are for me.’ And he’s kissing Steve again, savouring and devout. Moaning into Steve’s lips, drinking the word, eating the confession. Taking and swallowing that little part of Steve’s own soul. 

Eddie holds his hips, grinding, seeking Steve out in his boxers, denim rough and Eddie’s length is so hard against his own. ‘Please.’ Steve moans. 

Eddie releases his lips, bringing Steve’s hands up to kiss his palms, nipping his fingertips. His hands wrap around Steve’s wrists forming a solid circle, dwarfing them in his palms, thumb smoothing over pulse point. Something about it makes Steve feel claimed and sticky. Eddie’s hands big enough to trap him like that, hold him. Something in Steve never wants him to let go. 

Eddie steps them backwards until knees hit the bed, pulling at Steve’s wrists so he gets the hint and lays down. Eddie falling with him, crowning him against the mattress, wrists pinned either side of his head. Kissing Steve again and again, licking onto his mouth.

Steve arches into the touch, hungry and seeking friction on his aching cock. But Eddie’s thigh between his leg stays maddeningly out of reach. Steve’s groans turn into whimpers as Eddie bites his lower lip and pulls. 

He’s panting by the time Eddie starts kissing over his cheek and down his neck, hands releasing to instead grope at his hairy pecs and Eddie keeps kissing until he can suck a nipple into his mouth. Steve arching again, whining weakly as he buries his hands in Eddie’s curls. 

Eddie’s fingers follow the curve of his waist down to the waistband of his boxers. Pulling his mouth away from the now red, sensitive bud. His eyes bright and sparkling as he looks up and Eddie presses a kiss to Steve’s belly button before sitting up onto his knees. pulling at Steve’s boxers and lifting his legs up along with them. The boxers thrown onto the floor with their shirts, and Steve’s ankles stay resting on Eddie’s shoulders. 

‘Feel good baby?’ Eddie asks, kissing the soft skin of the ankle bone by his face. Steve nods, he feels blotchy and flushed but so so happy. Can’t help smiling up at Eddie. ‘Gonna be good for me?’ 

Steve reaches out for him, Eddie tangling their fingers and squeezing. ‘Who you gonna be good for?’ He asks, cheeky and lovely and light. 

‘You.’ Steve manages, wriggling a little, bringing his free hand up to his mouth. 

‘Who am I?’ Eddie grips the meat of Steve’s thigh, shuffling closer, bending Steve in half. 

Steve looks up at him, Eddie’s face looming over his own, his sweet lovely Eddie. ‘Daddy.’ He whispers, own fingertips tracing his lips, ears hot and cock so hard it’s leaking onto his belly. 

‘Good boy.’ Eddie praises, kissing Steve’s legs that are still around his face. Working his way upward until he can lay them gently back down on the bed. ‘Want you to teach me baby, show me how you feel good.’ Eddie says sweetly, laying down next to him. Crowding in close and kissing Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve lets his knees fall apart. ‘You’re gonna watch?’ He asks softly, waiting for Eddie’s nod before he grips himself. Stroking long and slow across his length, biting his lips. Finally able to touch, his fingers twist and tweak the head, pressing where shaft meets tip. Just the way he likes it. Steve groans. 

‘That’s it baby, don’t think, just do what feels good.’ 

And Steve looks at Eddie, leaning up on his elbow, head on his palm. Dark brown eyes eating Steve whole. 

He sinks. Some part of his brain slipping away into darkness. Everything a black pool of sensation and need. Soft and warm and floating. ‘Daddy.’ He says softly, slurring and keening and weak. He feels so needy, so good and free and down. 

‘Yeah baby, Daddy’s watching.’ And Steve moans, eyes closing again, fingers tightening, squeezing and teasing and he brings his hand up, sticks his finger in his mouth, tasting the salty slick and letting spit coat his digits, laving at his own palm. 

Gripping himself again he arches at the new glide, hips rolling as a deep moan vibrates from the base of his chest. 

‘Do you ever touch here? That feel good?’ And Eddie’s fingers slip over and past Steve’s balls, dipping into the skin of his taint, pressing and seeking and sharp pleasure spikes up Steve’s spine. Has him writhing on the bed. 

‘Oh you do.’ And Eddie’s smiling, almost awed. ‘Baby likes that. Have you fingered yourself to Stevie?’ He asks. 

The words get stuck, sticking like peanut butter on Steve’s tongue. ‘Yeh.’ He manages, huffy and weak. ‘Sometimes, but, s’hard, to, ah ah, get the angle right.’ And he reaches down, as if to show Eddie, as if to do more, be good, be better. 

But Eddie smacks his hand away lightly. ‘I’ll find you the best angle another night baby, you just focus on showing me how to use that pretty cock of yours yeah?’ And Steve moans, feeling wet and dripping and silken. Eddie’s fingers pressing and searching, a dry pressure on his hole, stroking the course hairs and thumbing that part again. ‘Let Daddy do the thinking, you just be pretty for me. You have such nice hands baby. Do you like it, like playing with the tip most?’ He murmurs in Steve’s ear. He can feel Eddie’s own hard on pressing into his hip. Feels where he’s leaking over his own fingers. 

Eddie’s watching him, rapt, as Steve switches hands and brings his dripping fingers up to his own mouth to suck clean. His eyes feel heavy, his thoughts gooey and slow but he hears Eddie’s sharp inhale of breath, feels saliva pool on his tongue and soak his fingers further. The presence of something in his mouth makes his hips roll and he fucks up into his own fist. 

‘You’re so fucking hot. Baby, oh my god, looks so good when you let go like this.’ Eddie babbles, almost talking more to himself than directly to Steve, his denim clad cock grinding ever so slightly again. 

The compliments sit heavy and squirming in Steve’s gut, make him moan loudly around his fingers, eyelashes fluttering as he tries to keep his gaze on Eddie. Hand speeding up, squeezing his shaft and twisting the head and he feels a fire building inside him. 

‘That’s it baby, let me hear you, s’okay, s’okay to let go.’ Eddie whispers, lips on Steve’s cheeks, kissing up into his hair and Steve needs to feel him, needs to be close, closer, he’s right on the edge. 

He takes his spit soaked fingers out of his mouth, reaching for Eddie’s jaw, feeling the roughness of new stubble against his palm. ‘Can I? Daddy can I?’ He begs, desperate. Turning his head so their eyes lock together. 

‘Let go baby boy, come for Daddy.’ Eddie says nuzzling into Steve’s hand, taking the tips of a finger into his mouth and biting. 

Steve does. He arches, muscles tensing, orgasming long and deep and groaning. He squeezes his eyes shut as he milks himself, shifting until it hurts. Eddie’s fingers ghost back up and over his balls, massaging the goop into his pubes, stroking the hair by his hip. ‘My good boy, so good for me baby.’ Eddie coos, kissing Steve’s crown and his hips are still grinding, slow and sultry and aching. 

Steve’s panting, floating and filthy and he needs Eddie to come too, needs him to finish, needs his show to have been useful. ‘Want. Want Daddy’s come.’ He breaths, whining, panting, feels like he could cry. 

‘Nah, sweet Prince, want you to feel good. Did it feel good?’ Eddie dismisses, circling a nipple with his fingertips. 

And Steve actually might be crying now, he thinks, sniffing. ‘Yeah but, but you need to feel good too.’ He whines. 

‘I did baby I did. Want tonight to just be for you, and you did so well, such a good boy for me.’ Eddie placates, kissing Steve’s cheek. 

Steve sniffles, whines, reaching for the fly of Eddie’s jeans, he can still feel Eddie’s half hard cock pressed up against him. ‘But, but Daddy. You have to as well, make you finish, be good, feel good too.’ He reasons, babbling desperately, slurring and pleading now with Eddie. 

Eddie grips Steve’s wrists, gentle, but firm, making his freeze. ‘Steve, no. I don’t want to, not right now. I just want to take care of you.’ And Eddie’s voice has a hardness to it that Steve knows is final. 

He crumples, the fight leaving him as he curls up into Eddie’s chest. He just, he’s supposed to help, it’s not supposed to all be about him. Before he knows it a sob chokes out from behind his teeth, forcing its way out between his heavy tongue and lips. 

Eddie’s arms wrap around him instantly, folding Steve into his chest. ‘S’okay baby, let it out. My good boy, Daddy’s good boy.’ Eddie breaths, rocking them slightly. And that just makes Steve cry harder. His foggy thoughts tangling together, muddy and thick and why does it hurt when Eddie’s so sweet like this, why does it ache to be held so gently and why does Steve feel like his tantrum is finally being heard. He’s finally being seen and coddled and tended to with kid gloves. Eddie’s here, his Daddy’s here. 

‘It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.’ Eddie whispers, squeezing Steve in his arms. ‘I’ve got you.’ 

Steve bawls. 

-

When Steve wakes the room is dark. He rolls over, releasing the pillow that was clutched to his chest. The only source of light comes from the ancient yellow streetlight out front; peaking through the old blinds and leaving patches of orange across the carpet. 

The bed is empty, but warm and Steve realises he’s clean, with a fresh pair of Eddie’s boxers pulled on. 

He groans, pushing his face into the pillow. Cheeks no longer tacky with tears but his throat is dry from them. He’s tired, and embarrassed. But, while his chest aches, it’s got that familiar lightness that can come from a cry like the one he had. 

He hears the faucet pipes rattle in the kitchen, hears a mug being set on the counter. Steve bites his lip, gets up and pulls on one of Eddie’s old sweatshirts from a pile of clothes strewn across the desk. He takes a deep breath and walks through to the kitchen. 

Eddie is leaning against the counter, curled in on himself and biting at his thumbnail. Staring through the pot of water on the stove. 

Steve steps closer, fingers pulling at a hole in the sweatshirts ribbing, Eddie jumps slightly as he notices him. 

‘Hey.’ Eddie says, in soft surprise. Stepping up close and tucking a lock of hair behind Steve’s ear. ‘Did I wake you? M’sorry, how are you feeling? Oh, do you want tea? I’ll make you tea.’ And he’s stepping away again, flitting around the cabinets and muttering to himself. He gets another mug out and laughs humourlessly. ‘Was already making tea, stupid.’ 

Steve takes the mug gripped too tightly in Eddie’s fingers. ‘You okay?’ he asks, filling it up at the tap and chugging. 

‘Yeah, ‘cause. Are you okay?’ Eddie says quickly. 

Steve turns back, leaning on the counter himself, can’t really look Eddie in the eyes. ‘I’m, yeah. Just.’ He groans, pulling his hand down his face. ‘I can’t believe, I acted like.’ He huffs. ‘I’m, yeah. Sorry.’ He sets the mug down next to him, shifting up to sit on the counter, more of an excuse to still not look Eddie in the eye. 

‘Stevie, I-‘ Eddie starts, but the water is boiling, pulling his attention. He curses gently as he turns the stove off and fills their mugs. He’s made the same tea he’d made that one time Steve came over with a headache and Eddie took the roll of nursing him back to health super seriously. 

It makes Steve smile down at his lap at the memory. But it shifts and he frowns, he acted, he’s so embarrassed. 

‘I, Eddie.’ He starts. ‘I’m sorry for, freaking out. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.’ Steve grips the mug, heat stinging his fingers. ‘I honestly don’t even know what happened, one minute it was like, amazing. Seriously. And the next I got it in my head that it would be like, a huge moral failing, and a, a betrayal or something, if I didn’t make you finish right then and there. It, yeah, I don’t even know.’ Steve finishes lamely, voice wavering. 

‘Steve.’ Eddie says gently, almost sad. His hand hovers over Steve’s thigh, before drawing back and curling it up against his chest. 

Steve can’t hear it yet, can’t stop. ‘You, you were saying no and I, I didn’t listen. I’m so sorry.’ He feels his throat close and his eyes sting. Swallowing it down and scrubbing roughly at his cheeks. ‘I don’t, I never want to make you feel like that, like I’d do something like that.’ he mumbles, sniffing. 

Eddie scoffs, pushing away from the counter and pacing a tiny circle in the tiny trailer kitchen. 

Steve flinches at the noise, upset and, he gets it. ‘I, look, I can go.’ He scoots forward so his feet hit the ground again, resigning himself to a cold drive home and even colder nights sleep. 

But Eddie just groans, burying his hands in his hair and pulling, shaking his head. 

‘Eddie?’ Steve starts, worried. He knows he messed up but, well. 

‘You, you’re just, saying all that like it was your fault. Like you did anything.’ Eddie bursts, voice wet and desperate and Steve’s mouth closes with a soft click. 

He’s stopped pacing, palms stretched out and upwards like Eddie’s begging Steve for answers, like Steve’s knows what’s going on. Eddie must see some of the confusion, the little bit of fear, in Steve’s expression because he draws back in on himself, hands clasping at the back of his neck and elbows pulled in close. 

He looks down at his feet, mumbling sadly. ‘I just, I can’t believe you trusted me with something like that and first thing I go and do is make you cry.’ And his voice sounds wet, and pained and Steve doesn’t even think as he steps forward and pulls Eddie into his arms. Shoulder of the sweatshirt dampening as Eddie clings to him. 

-

Steve leads them back to the bedroom with gentle fingers around Eddie’s wrist. Putting the record they were listening to earlier back on and stepping in close again. 

He drapes his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and his big brown Bambi eyes look so damn nervous it nearly breaks Steve’s heart. 

‘I’ve never done that with anyone before, never said that word.’ Steve starts, brushing some hair away from Eddie’s cheek. ‘But I did today, you wanna know why?’ He asks, trying to keep his voice level, trying to soothe both their nerves. 

Eddie shakes his head, hands migrating to Steve’s hips like a reflex he’s not aware of. Steve takes a deep breath, resting his forehead against Eddie’s for a beat. 

‘Because I felt safe.’ Steve says, eyes wetting again despite himself. He decides to smile through it, pulling back to take all of Eddie in. ‘I had the best day with you Ed’s, how you included me with your friends, and held me while we watched that movie. Cooking dinner together and you kept kissing me on the forehead.’ He brings a hand up, combing his fingers through Eddie’s curls, pushing them over his shoulder. Eyes trailing over Eddie’s red cheekbones and scarred earlobe as the vulnerability of eye contact becomes too much. 

‘And, and then in here you were so sweet, so sweet like you always are, attentive and kind and sexy and, I. I feel safe with you Eddie. You asked and I told you and, like.’ Steve swallows. ‘That word is, it’s really vulnerable for me, I guess. I don’t know why it turns me on so much or why I reacted the way I did but I just think I knew that you’d look after me and you did. You did and it was wonderful, until it maybe wasn’t but that had nothing to do with you, just, something to try. Or like, do different next time, yeah? If, I mean, if you’re okay with there being a next time. Obviously, you might. Sorry.’ Steve looses steam and looks down, focuses on where Eddie’s collarbone peaks out of his old sleep shirt, instead of what might be happening on his face. 

‘Stevie.’ Eddie says softly, bringing his fingers up to Steve’s chin, tilting his face back upwards. 

Eddie’s cheeks are flush, his eyes tacky with the remnants of tears. But they also sparkle with something else. Something joyous and lovely and Steve thinks a whole world of stars might exist within Eddie Munson’s eyes, a whole galaxy of possibilities. 

Steve feels love bloom inside him, swelling his rib cage and filling his veins. He moves in just as Eddie does; their lips reconnecting, feeling and seeking. Bliss-filed. And when they pull apart, sharing breath as their noses brush together Steve can’t help but smile. Smile so big his cheeks hurt. He smiles and leans forward and kisses Eddie with more teeth than lips, kisses and kisses and kisses. 

Until Eddie threads his fingers through the hair at the base of Steve’s skull, slowing them, pulling them apart gently. ‘Come on.’ He says, leading Steve back to bed. 

And Eddie pulls them down, manoeuvring until they’re forehead to forehead and knee to knee. Bracketing each other, sharing air and space and skin. 

‘I’m sorry for crying.’ Steve whispers eventually, into their warm silence. 

‘I’m sorry for making you cry.’ Eddie whispers back. 

‘You really didn’t. I liked it, all of it, that word just makes me feel crazy.’ Steve reiterates, threading his calf between Eddie’s. 

‘You liked crying?’ Eddie teases, no longer tense, no longer sad. And Steve smacks him lightly, fighting his grin. 

And their comfortable silence stretches again, until Steve sighs. ‘The crying, it, really wasn’t you. I just like, wasn’t listening and didn’t really get that you could just, uh. Could just want to focus on me.’ He says, fiddling with the neckline of Eddie’s T-shirt. 

Eddie grabs his fingers, kissing them and moves closer, so Steve’s thigh slots between Eddie’s bony knees, their ankles tangling. ‘What about before, the rest of it, did you like that?’ 

Steve rolls his eyes, squirming, pulling Eddie in by the waist. ‘Yeah. Liked it a lot.’ His cheeks feel warm. ‘Did uh, did you?’

‘Sure did sugar.’ Eddie purrs and Steve squirms again. ‘Got so damn sweet for me, letting me take care of you.’ He murmurs into Steve’s cheek, kissing it. 

‘God, you’re gonna give me a complex if you keep saying shit like that.’ Steve groans, covering his hot face with his hands. 

But Eddie pulls them away, hands wrapped around Steve’s wrists again, gripping them, kissing him quick and soft. Steve’s eyelashes flutter, sinking once more into the blanket of loveliness that is being here. Being held by Eddie Munson. 

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

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[the-cosmic-cauldron]

🪷 Healing Astrology: Chakra Astrology 🪷

ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴋʀᴀ ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴀꜱᴛʀᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟ ꜱɪɢɴꜱ

𝙐𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙎𝙪𝙣, 𝙈𝙤𝙤𝙣, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙍𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨. 𝙊𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙪𝙢.

Taurus/Capricorn 2nd/10th house

Root Chakra: Stability, security, grounding, survival, safety, belonging

Exercise: Weightlifting, Resistance Band, Body Weight Exercise, Isometric Exercises

Hobbies: Gardening, camping, foraging, pottery, painting or drawing, knitting, woodworking, cooking, baking, journaling, meditation, candle making, farming, fishing, musical instrument.

Yoga: Hatha, Yin, Restorative, Vinyasa Flow, Kundalini Yoga

Dance: Soul Motion, African Dance, Tai Chi Qigong, Barefoot Dance

Crystals: Black tourmaline, hematite, red jasper

Essential Oils: Cedarwood, patchouli, sandalwood, vetiver, frankincense, pine, cypress,

Colors: Red, brown, green, beige, grey

Music: Listen to 396hz sounds, ambient, classical music, nature sounds, meditative music, folk and acoustic music, world music, jazz and blue, chanting and mantras

Healing foods for you: sweet potatoes, onions, carrots, radishes, beans, eggs, nuts, lean meats, oats, apples, strawberries, tomatoes, pomegranate, dark leafy greens, brown rice, quinoa, avocado, bananas, dates, seaweed.

Teas and Supplements:Ginger, cayenne, dandelion root, ashwagandha, chamomile, lemon balm, passionflower, lavender, nettle, l-thetanine, gaba, CBD, lions mane, reishi mushroom, kava.

Key Components:

• Have a bedtime and a wake-up time

•Live below your means

• Create a savings for a rainy day

• Find ways to organize your space

•Carry a journal with you

• Make a list of your favorite foods so you can always have an idea of what you want to eat

• If you want to buy something make a goal before you can buy e.g do a ten minute run everyday for a week to be able to buy a new backpack.

• Go to spas, get a massage

Cancer/Scorpio 4th/8th

Sacral Chakra: Connection with others, pleasure, emotions, sexuality, sensuality, creativity

Exercise: Boxing, kick boxing, HIIT, Zumba, Running or sprinting, Weighted workouts, Plyometrics, Swimming

Hobbies: Writing fiction, poetry, journaling, painting or drawing, digital art, improvisational acting, music composition, jewelry making, filmmaking, podcasting, photography, mythology creation, cooking or baking, astrology or tarot, cosplay.

Yoga: Yin Yoga, Restorative Yoga, Tantric Yoga, Kundalini Yoga

Dance: Contemporary Dance, Argentine Tango, Salsa, Belly Dance, Bachata, Flamenco, Rumba, Pole Dance, Jazz Dance, Freestyle

Crystals: Amethyst, Rose Quartz, Moonstone, Black Turmaline, Smoky Quartz, Carnelian, Lepidolite, Citrine, Sodalite, Clear Quartz, Labradorite

Essential Oils: Rose, Ylang Ylang, Jasmine, Sandalwood, Lavender, Vanilla

Colors: Orange, Coral, Amber

Music: R&B, Soul, Jazz, Classical/Instrumental, Flamenco, Ambient/Chillout, World Music, Soft Pop, 582 hz, 639 hz, 432 hz, 852 hz

Healing Foods: Oranges, sweet potatoes, carrots, mangos, papayas, apricots, avocado, nuts and seeds, fatty fish, brown rice, oats, yogurt, kimchi, kefir, dark chocolate.

Tea’s and Supplements: Chamomile, rose, cinnamon, jasmine, hibiscus, ginger, lemon balm, holy basil, ashwagandha, maca, rhodiola rosea, vitamin D, l-thetanine, ginkgo biloba, St. John’s wort, 5-HTP

Key Componenets

• Giving yourself time to feel without judgment or rationalization

• Realizing that expressing yourself is not wrong and beginning to discern who can accept your expressive self

• Using creative outlets to express yourself

• Finding activities that is going to bring your focus and awareness

• Creating boundaries and values for relationships that enter your life

• Giving yourself time to self-love as well as express love

• Indulging in what you enjoy without guilt, enjoy your life

• Learning your manifestation technique

• Using your intuition and connecting to it more as a guide

• Learning to be instead of constant doing, learning your power is in being receptive to energies

• Nurturing yourself and others

Leo/Aries 1st/5th

Solar Plexus Chakra: Personal power, self-esteem, confidence, ability to take control of one’s life, identity, autonomy, inner strength

Exercise: Strength training, martial arts, HIIT, core focused workouts, functional fitness, group fitness class, adventure and outdoor activities, endurance training.

Hobbies: Public speaking, creative writing or journaling, diy projects or crafting, learning a new language, performance arts, volunteering or mentoring, gardening or sustainable, travel or outdoor adventures, music, learning a survival skill, networking.

Yoga: Power Yoga, Vinyasa Flow, Kundalini Yoga, Ashtanga Yoga, Hatha Yoga, Core Strengthening Yoga, Yin Yoga, Bhakti Yoga

Dance: Hip hop dance, contemporary dance, Latin dance, belly dance, jazz dance, ballet, freestyle dance, pole dance, Afro dance, burlesque dance, combat dance

Crystals: Citrine, Tigers Eye, Carnelian, Pyrite, Sunstone, Amber, Yellow Jasper, Garnet, Golden Topaz

Essential Oils: Bergamot, Lemon, Ginger, Peppermint, Rosemary, Clary Sage, Frankincense, Cedar-wood

Colors: Golden Yellow

Music: Pop music, hip hop and rap, rock and alternative rock, R&B, soul, EDM, reggae, heavy metal, inspirational, spiritual, Afro beats, 528 hz, 396 hz, 417 hz, 639 hz, 741 hz, 320 hz

Healing foods for you: Bananas, lemons, pineapples, yellow peppers, corn, brown rice, sweet potatoes, oats, ginger, turmeric, yogurt, kimchi, kombucha, nuts and seeds, eggs, lentils, chickpeas, oranges, mangoes

Teas and Supplements: Ginger, lemon balm, chamomile, peppermint, green matcha, rooibos, dandelion root, ashwagandha, rhodiola rosea, vitamin b complex, magnesium, turmeric, ginseng, probiotics, l-thetanine

Key Components

• Having self awareness and walking around with your head held high

•Living authentically to your true self, not conforming for others

• Taking action but also letting things be and relaxing

• Having trust and faith

• Leading with integrity and compassion

• Responding not reacting

• Aligning with your soul purpose

• The more you stay true to your values the easier success comes

• Being spiritual

Libra 7th

Heart Chakra: Love, compassion, forgiveness, emotional healing, relationships, unconditional love, empathy, inner peace.

Exercise: Fitness classes, walking, hiking.

Hobbies: Arts and crafts, cooking and baking, gardening, music and dance, reading and writing, animal companionship, sound therapy and singing, support groups

Yoga: Hatha Yoga, Restorative Yoga, Yin Yoga, Kundalini Yoga, Heart Opening

Dance: Contemporary, ballet, contact improvisation, tribal fusion belly dance, soul motion

Crystals: Rose Quartz, Rhodonite, Amazonite, Moonstone, Aquamarine

Essential Oils: Rose, Frankincense, Lavender, Ylang Ylang, Geranium

Colors: Green, Pink

Music: Classical music, pop music, ambient, folk, jazz, 639 hz, 528 hz

Healing foods: Kale, spinach, broccoli, avocado, kiwi, cucumber, nuts and seeds, blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, dark chocolate, salmon, sardines

Teas and supplements: Chamomile, rose petals, hibiscus, magnesium, zinc, b6, b12

Key Components

• Understanding of both yourself and others

• Staying humble and aware of both your strengths and weaknesses

• Healing from your past wounds

• Practicing forgiveness and giving others space to forgive

• Showing love unconditionally

• Practicing self love both on the physical and emotional level

• Discerning who is pouring love back into you

• Strive towards wholeness in your interpersonal relationships

• Seeing others as an extension of yourself

Gemini/Sagittarius 3rd/9th

Throat Chakra: Communication, self expression, speaking one’s truth, creativity, clear and authentic expression, verbal and non-verbal, honesty, open communication

Exercise: Strength training, team sports, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, Muay Thai.

Hobbies: Creative writing and journaling, blogging or vlogging, theater or improv classes, stand up comedy, painting and drawing, photography, public speaking groups, debate clubs, musical instrument, song writing, book club, volunteering

Yoga: Vinyasa Yoga, Kundalini Yoga, Bhakti Yoga, Hatha Vlog

Dance: Contemporary dance, salsa, ballroom, modern dance, ballet, contact improvisation, kizomba

Crystals: Sodalite, Aquamarine, Lapis Lazuli, Blue Lace Agate

Essential Oils: Peppermint, frankincense, eucalyptus, lavender

Colors: Blue, Turquoise, Light Blue, Lavender

Music: Indie, jazz, experimental rock, electronic music, post punk, folk, alternative rock, neo soul, acoustic, indie folk, 639 hz, 741 hz

Healing foods: Fresh herbs, vibrant vegetables, salmon, chia seeds, spinach, kale, pumpkin seeds, walnuts, dark chocolate, avocado

Teas and Supplements: Chamomile, peppermint, rosemary, omega-3-fatty acids, b -complex vitamins, l-thetanine, rhodiola rosea

Key Components

• Living authentically to who you are

• Being able to clearly communicate and also actively listen to others

• Actions and words align

• You allow your ideas to flow, write them down and execute

• Focused on personal growth

• You care only what you think of yourself

Pisces / 12th house

Third Eye Chakra: Intuition, perception, inner vision, spiritual insight, inner vision, spiritual connection, emotional awareness, visionary experiences

Exercise: Tai Chi, Qiong, Martial Arts

Hobbies: Journaling, Creative writing, poetry, nature observation, bird watching, art therapy or visual arts, meditation, reading, cooking or baking, gardening or plant care, traveling or exploring new places, listening to music or playing an instrument

Yoga: Yin Yoga, Restorative Yoga, Kirpalu Yoga, Bhakti Yoga, Yoga Nidra, Minful Vinyasa Yoga, Hatha Yoga

Dance: Ecstatic dance, belly dance, contemporary dance, qiong or tai chi inspired, sacred dance, trance dance, improvisational dance, chakra dance, butoh

Crystals: Amethyst, Lapis Luzuli, Labradorite, Moonstone, Clear Quartz, Sodalite, Fluorite, Lepidolite, Celestite, Lolite, Angelite, Kyanite, Selenite

Essential Oils: Frankincense, sandalwood, lavender, clary sage, patchouli, rosemary, geranium, juniper berry, myrrh, lemon, jasmine

Colors: Indigo Blue, Purple, Deep Blue, Violet, White

Music: Ambient music, new age, world music, chill wave, folk and acoustic, indie, electronic, classical music, chanting, binaural beats, 396 hz, 417 hz, 528 hz, 639 hz, 741 hz, 4-8hz, 8-12hz, 0.5-4 hz,

Healing Foods: Spinach, kale, Swiss chard, broccoli, arugula, nuts and seeds, blueberries, avocado, pineapple, bananas, oranges, apples, brown rice, oats

Teas and Supplements: Chamomile, holy basil, peppermint, green tea, Yerba mate, ashwagandha, omega 3 fatty acids, rhodiola rosea, b vitamins, DHA, l-thetanine

Key Components:

• Grounded in your intuition

• Writing down your insights

• Deeper connection to spirituality

• Living mindfully

• Take your time, slowing down

• Praying, talking to your spirit guide, connecting to your higher self

• Meditating

• Making peace within your life

• Spending time to yourself to nourish your vessel

• Affirming yourself

Virgo/Aquarius 6th/11th

Crown Chakra: Spiritual enlightenment, unity, higher consciousness, inner peace, non-attachment, meditation and contemplation, sense of purpose

Exercise: Tai Chi, Qiong, Martial Arts, Mindful Pilates

Hobbies: Journaling, art and painting, writing, music and sound healing, dance, hiking, gardening, nature photography, tide pool exploration, spiritual group, attending ceremonies, volunteering, reading, attending workshops and retreats

Yoga: Bhakti Yoga, Kirtan Yoga, Kundalani Yoga, Jnana Yoga, Raja Yoga, Vinyasa Yoga, Yin Yoga

Dance: Sacred Dance, Sufi Whirling, Gurdjieff Movements, Kathak, Bharatanatyam, Flamenco, Butoh

Crystals: Clear Quartz, Amethyst, Sodalite, Moonstone, Lapis Lazuli, Selenite, Citrine, Turquoise

Essential Oils: Frankincense, Sandalwood, Lavender, Rose, Patchouli, Myrrh, Bergamot

Colors: Violet, Purple, White, Silver, Gold, Lavender

Music: New age, ambient, world music, chanting, mantras, tribal, indigenous music, classical Indian music, ambient electronic, 432 hz, 528 hz, 639 hz, 741 hz, 852 hz, 963 hz

Healing Foods: Berries, coconut, apples, leafy greens, sweet potatoes, nuts and seeds, brown rice

Tea and Supplements: Holy Basil, chamomile, peppermint, green tea, lavender, omega 3 fatty acids, rhodiola rosea, ashwagandha, ginkgo biloba, vitamin d, melatonin

Key Components

• Clearing your mind through mediation

• Writing and journaling in order to empty your brain

• Using your wisdom in practical ways

• Writing down your spiritual insights

• Trusting your gut

• Learning the art of detachment

• Living in the present moment

• Spiritual connection that allows you to view life in multiple ways

• Healthy body and feel energized for the day

• An inner peace

• You practice gratitude

• You extend yourself to others in a helpful and compassionate way

[driaswrld]

lovers rock — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 2.7k

summary : over a bottle of ill-gotten vodka, the trio has a tipsy conversation about kisses.

part of : the star paradox collection.

(comment if u wanna be tagged for tsr!!)

notes : this is heavily based off the fact that reader DID in fact have secret feelings for geto and gojo but never said anything ab it until before the star plasma incident (fic ab that coming soon dw) you may interpret this as reader fell first, they fell harder bcus that's exactly what happened fr

other : satosugu makes fake IDs (based off that one fanart), literally underage drinking??? toru cant hold his alc but wbk this, suguru smokes here too, suggestive convo, mentions of like one curse word i think

current casette : lovers rock - tv girl (anything by tv girl is a tsr song okay?)

The dorms at Tokyo Jujutsu High operate on one solid rule.

All lights out by ten, no exceptions, no buts, ands, ifs or becauses. Curfew is at ten, be in your damn room by ten.

Naturally, Satoru and Suguru mistake ten for twelve.

It’s 9:53 when you walk into your dorm room, and the first thing that greets you are hushed whispers and a smoky smell.

Why is it so dark in here?

From your place at the door frame, your eyes flit to the back of Satoru’s head, silver white strands tickling his nape, uniform replaced with a blue hoodie. Suguru’s sitting across from him, slouched, cross legged like Satoru, hair tied into a ponytail and lips twisted into a thin scowl.

“—wasn’t yours.” Suguru grumbles beneath his breath, a pair of dice clinking softly in his palm, the light from your bedside lamp giving you a sneak peek of the numbers resting.

Three and six. Oh, no, that's definitely five.

“Cost me six hundred yen to get it.”

Satoru seems to ignore him, letting out a huff in defiance.

Suguru grunts, leaning over the side of the bed to pick up a half smoked cigarette, pressing it softly against the edge of your favorite incense holder to collect the stray ash.

“Broke ass.” Satoru mumbles, and though you can’t see his expression from here, you know he’s rolling his eyes. “Freeloader.” Suguru counters, cigarette lodged between his middle and index, and he brings it up to his lips and draws in softly.

He leans forward to drop the dice on Satoru’s leg.

“We’re supposed to split it equally.” You hear a clinking noise coming from Satoru’s lap.

“Like hell we are.” Suguru scoffs, a wisp of smoke leaving his mouth.

“I should get first share, it’s only fair.”

Suguru gets up from the bed, back turned to you as he slides the window open halfway. “We’re not sharing anything.” He flicks the cigarette outside. “I don’t know where your mouth’s been—”

“You tryin’ to fight—”

“Are you two getting high in my room?” Your voice makes them both freeze, and Satoru folds over the bed backwards, head upside down and staring straight at you with a guilty grin, all while Suguru is discreetly trying to fan the rest of the cigarette smoke out the window.

“What gave you that idea?” Suguru murmurs, squinting his eyes to make out your expression in the dim light with a faux innocent smile.

You breathe a chuckle, dropping your bag by the door and clicking it shut behind you. “How did the studying with Nanamin go?” Satoru asks, as if you can’t see him folded over the bed like he’s hiding something while Suguru fans the smoke through the window.

“I fell asleep halfway through, we got boba with Haibara instead.” You say, feeling blindly on the wall for the light switch.

“And you didn’t bring some back for me?” Satoru gasps, near offended.

“Don't change the subject,” you roll your eyes, pinky finger bumping against the light switch, and you flick it upwards with your index. When the light comes on and you face them, your jaw drops.

“Surprise…?” Suguru’s cheeks puff up in a wide thin lipped smile, almost mockingly. Satoru is still hanging off the edge of the bed, cigarette ash curdled on your incense holder, the pair of dice laying on the bedsheets and sure, they kinda made a little mess of your room.

But it's the bottle of vodka sitting between Satoru’s legs that takes the cake.

“You have to be kidding me—”

Suguru shrugs his shoulders, sliding the window fully open, the night air wafting inside.

It's almost curfew. And here they are. You're not even surprised, this is totally in character for them. “Wow, no, Satoru, you're such a rebel?” Satoru kicks his legs back and forth, voice mimicking a girly pitch. “Bad boys are so hot! Tell me all your secrets, toru-kun! None of that?"

“I was there too, idiot.” Suguru grumbles, shoving one of Satoru's legs aside as he steps over to the bedside table to grab the ash covered incense holder.

Satoru flails his legs like Suguru just smacked him, ever so dramatically. “How did you do it though?” You ask, with a near wince, exasperated but curious.

Unexpectedly, Satoru swings the vodka bottle sideways and into Suguru’s arms, the glass making a soft set of clink! sounds from Suguru’s rings as he catches it, both your eyes going wide as Satoru stands on the bed, striking some sort of elaborate pose.

“The date, June fifteenth ‘06—”

You turn to Suguru, confused but he only shrugs in response. “My assistant Sugi-san and I walked into Shinanoya—” Satoru continues his elaborate presentation, meanwhile you and Suguru whisper between his words. "Never call me that again—"

“So that's what you two were doing while you were supposed to be exorcising that curse?”

“He forced me to go along—”

“With these!” Satoru pulls out a mini plastic card, which is supposed to look like an ID, but really it's as flimsy as a piece of paper. You had to admit though, they really did get his good side in the picture. If he even has a bad side, that is.

“And we got the liquor at half price.” Suguru mumbles as you nudge him, and he pulls out his own fake ID, which looks the same as Satoru’s — you think you might want to print these pictures for a scrapbook or something some other time.

“I thought you said it was six hundred yen!”

“I added my service charge.”

“Service? What are you, a whore?”

You take the bottle from Suguru to feel the weight in your hands, and the liquid inside sloshes a little to the side.

Out of sheer curiosity and despite your better senses, you mumble, “Let's play a drinking game then.”

Forty minutes later.

It's drawing near to eleven. The lights are turned off and all that's coming from your dorm room are the sounds of yours and the boys’ whispers and hushed giggles from time to time, barely drowned out by a soft song playing from Suguru’s phone, playlist laying open on his phone, one of Satoru’s picks.

Are you sick of me?

Would you like to be?

“—turn it to your head if you can't answer.” Satoru grins, cheek resting on his palm as he lays across the bed. “Have you ever gotten freaky with a milf?”

A chortle leaves your mouth when Suguru twists his lips into an expression of shock and utter disgust, and you have to cover your mouth to not laugh out loud.

“A milf? Like… forty or something?”

“Not really — just like a hot older woman.” You say.

“Oh, she was around that age then, I guess…” Suguru grumbles, clutching the half empty vodka bottle in one hand, eyes squinted. “I didn't sleep with her though— I don't just… sling dick around like Satoru— I have morals.”

“Says the one who sucked tongue with an elderly woman.”

Suguru scoffs and takes a swig from the bottle, passing it over to you.

You shrug, coming to Suguru’s defense with a mumble. “I mean, Satoru… you are common—”

“Don't pretty it up, he's ran through—”

“Like hell I am!”

The three of you fold over in a fit of laughter, gasping for air, faces hot from the alcohol and the sheer idiocy of the moment.

It takes all your energy to muffle your combined laughs, and Satoru leans over Suguru’s phone to increase the music volume just a little, lightheaded and nearly knocking the vodka out of your hand, mouthing the lyrics with a lopsided toothy grin.

You like a pretty boy

With a pretty voice

“Your turn.” Suguru nods to you and the liquor in your hand sloshes to the side. “Make it good—”

Satoru tries to interrupt but has to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh when you take a whiff of the vodka, head tilting back and mouth forming an ‘o’ shape — sure, you three were already a little tipsy, but you’re pretty sure this is way past your limit.

Not like you could hold your alcohol anyway.

Suguru was the only one who could survive, you and Satoru were certified lightweights by default.

“Dare me to do anything and I’ll throw up on you.” You huff, and both boys raise their arms up in surrender.

It’s these things, small moments like these that make you want to live forever.

Minus the aging part, or maybe with the aging part — if it meant doing stupid stuff with Satoru and Suguru, young or old, you’re sure you’d have no complaints.

Because it’s them.

“You scared?” Satoru chuckles, drawing you out of your thoughts.

The way he says it, in that tone – it’s the same tone that would make you follow him anywhere.

The same tone that makes Suguru roll his eyes so far in the back of his head you’d think he had a leading role in The Conjuring.

“Should I be scared?”

It’s paired with bated breath, and the way Suguru looks up at you, dark eyes glazed over with a hint of inebriation, waterline bordering on crimson from the lit cigarette tucked between his middle and index – it makes you feel naked.

In a way you’ve never felt before.

“That depends,” he murmurs. You gulp. It’s like the air in here has changed, foggy with a foreign feeling surrounding you three. “Do you wanna be scared?”

Suguru takes a deep inhale of his cig, leaning over to breathe out a plume of smoke. You and Satoru inhale it like you’ve neglected oxygen your whole lives.

Maybe if it were anyone else you’d call it want. Or need.

Something in your soul tells you it transcends that.

She might want a kiss before the end of the song—

“Suguru—” His name doesn't get the chance to leave your mouth entirely, Satoru’s thumb and forefinger already have your chin in his grasp, turning your gaze to him instead.

“What’re you looking at him for?” Satoru mumbles, and you hear Suguru stifles a laugh across from you.

“You think he’s gonna save you?”

You want to laugh, it’s a running joke anyway.

No matter what, you run to Suguru to put Satoru in his place. That time Satoru got you kicked out of a movie theater, or the time Satoru tripped you up during a mission in front of the first years, or the time Satoru ate the cheesecake you hid in your mini fridge —

Whenever little name gets her strings pulled by Satoru, she goes running off for Suguru to save her, right?

But it doesn’t feel like he’s talking about that.

“You need me to save you, name?” Suguru chuckles, and from the corner of your eye, you see him pull his hair loose, dark strands cascading over his shoulders.

“Gonna let him call you weak like that?” He chides, and the cool pad of Satoru’s thumb taps against your bottom lip twice, as if challenging you to say something – to give him your attention instead.

“Nah, don’t need a hero.” You whisper, a soft laugh leaving your lips. “Toru might though.”

Suguru bites back a snicker, head tilting back as he draws in another inhale of smoke. “Aw, don’t bully him, name.”

Because love can burn

Like a cigarette

“C’mon, don’t look at him,” Satoru tilts your head in his grasp, a soft grin forming on his face, dimples on showcase. “Look at me.” He whispers, tugging you closer, and you have to tighten your grip on the neck of the bottle so it doesn’t slip, your palms sweating from the proximity.

“Satoru—”

“Don’t double back now, you laughed a bit too hard at me just now, y’know?”

You open your mouth to protest, shivering when the tip of your tongue grazes the pad of his thumb. Satoru makes a noise in the back of his throat, something between a groan and a scoff.

You wonder if the vodka made you imagine the way his pupils dilated. “Just ask the stupid question—” You try to turn your head away in vain, and this time, Suguru laughs at your expense.

“You ever been kissed before?”

And leave you with nothing

You stiffen, gaze snapping up to meet Satoru’s, only to find him dead serious.

Ofcourse you’ve been kissed before. But not like that— not like—

Like… oh no…

And if you start to kiss—

You bring the bottle of vodka to your lips, and both boys watch with amused gazes, and hint of something you don’t have a name for yet.

“You could’ve just—” Satoru’s hand falls loose over your shoulder as you take a swig, and Suguru shifts forward in curiosity. “—said no.”

“Nobody’s kissed you?” Suguru echoes and you grimace from the alcohol and the sheer embarrassment, shoving the open bottle to stand in the space between Satoru’s legs.

“Your turn,” you grumble, wiping remnants of the sweet liquor from your mouth with the back of your palm.

And the record skips—

Satoru and Suguru exchange a look, one you immediately assume is them reading each other’s minds and gearing up to laugh in your face.

Truly, you wouldn’t blame them — because here you are about to graduate in a year and still haven’t gotten your first kiss.

And it’s not like you haven’t like… gotten close to it— it’s just that the circumstances are never perfect and other things always get involved and you get all in your head and your mind just starts to do the thing—

“Hey,” Satoru’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, and your palms go clammy, folded over your lap. “We don’t care about it, it’s nothing.” He whispers.

“Pretty sure there’s nobody who even deserves to kiss you anyway.” You glance over to Suguru, who’s already outing his cigarette and scooting closer.

Flip it over

And sit a little closer

If anything, it makes you swell with shame rather than comfort.

“Not like that, I didn’t mean—”

“Great job, Suguru—”

“As if you were doing any better—”

And despite yourself, you chuckle. They’re idiots. God, they’re fools.

Now, how many men have you kissed?

Satoru’s fingers dip under the collar of your shirt, playing around with the loose thread.

They made you laugh, that’s enough for him, always has been. He knows Suguru feels the same, but why… why doesn’t he feel satisfied with just that? Like there's something else he should be doing?

“Not fair,” he mumbles beneath his breath, cheeks flushed as he slumps forward, resting his head in the crook of your neck. You think he might be past his drinking limit, he always gets all babbly like this when he is.

“Not fair?” Suguru questions, resting a hand over his knee.

“Yeah, ‘s just not fair — who wouldn’t wanna kiss her?”

“I’m literally right here—”

“Keep listening then, it’s not like I’m lying or nothing.”

You’re not strong like Satoru and Suguru.

You’d say you’re not as beautiful either, or eve half as smart sometimes – you never compare yourselves to them but in the great grand scheme of things— you’ve never wanted to be kissed anyway, not by anyone you don’t feel for.

Not by someone who doesn’t know you in the ways you don’t want to be known.

Very few

In the way you know Satoru hates alcohol, but he only ever drinks it when you and Suguru are around. The way Suguru never likes taking pictures but manages a smile when you and Satoru pull him in for a group photo.

“If I kissed you, I’d never stop.” Suguru breathes, laying back on the bed, rumble of a sigh leaving his lips.

But you offered me a kiss

In the way they both know what you’re thinking before you even say it. The way grocery runs, 24 hour mart stops, week long missions, midnight talks, belly laughs and breaching curfew feels like a love language – something only the three of you speak – like something so foreign yet so familiar.

Why?

“I don’t think I’d remember to breathe again if I kissed you.” Satoru grumbles in the crook of your neck, somewhere between a yawn and whine. “You could have anyone you want, name, a whole line full of kisses…”

“Never really wanted to be kissed to be honest,” leaves your mouth in a whisper, your eyelids drooping shut.

Such a foolish reason, I’m afraid.

I just wanted… to kiss you.