#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

[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!!

[adverbally]

Now My Bedsheets Smell Like You

Written for the @stmarchmm prompts “fake dating/courting” and “scenting” | wc: 1,645 | rated: E | cw: sexual content | tags: Steddie, Omega Steve, Alpha Eddie, mating cycles/in heat, intersex omegas, getting together, scenting, first time, vaginal sex

———

Steve splashes another handful of water into his face, scrubbing at the dried sweat along his hairline. He’s still flushed, pupils still blown wide, but maybe Eddie won’t notice. Maybe Steve can sneak out before Eddie even gets up.

It wasn’t Eddie’s fault, after all. It had been Nancy’s idea for the two of them to pretend to court. Steve’s family name made him an Omega of high standing, and being seen with him could only improve Eddie’s reputation. It would only be until the end of summer, until everyone in Hawkins could accept that Eddie was innocent and let him go about his business without constant harassment.

Steve couldn’t blame Nancy, either. He was the idiot who had agreed to the plan. What could be so bad about spending more time with his new friend? Steve would make sure nobody bothered Eddie and keep an eye on his progress as he healed from his injuries. A little more touching in public, a little more scenting, sleeping over at Eddie’s occasionally, none of it was a hardship.

Until this morning, when Steve woke up in Eddie’s bed with the Alpha clinging to him, surrounding Steve with his smoky-sweet scent.

Steve knew Eddie smelled amazing. He’d spent many an evening curled up in his nest with the shirt he’d worn to hang out with Eddie that day, breathing in the mix of their scents— cardamom and vanilla layered with Steve’s sage and citrus. But to wake up with a nose full of Alpha, so warm and thick that it drowned out Steve’s own scent and made him lightheaded?

Well, that’s why Steve is hiding in Eddie’s bathroom now, half-drowning himself in the sink in the hopes that the cold water will bring him back to his senses. He should shower, probably, scrub any trace of Eddie from his skin so he can think clearly, get out of the trailer and breathe in the fresh summer morning instead of wanting Eddie so bad—

A knock on the bathroom door. “Steve? You okay?”

God, why does Eddie have to sound good, too, all raspy and deep with sleep? It makes something clench in Steve’s gut, makes him want to whine and lick the spicy sweetness directly from Eddie’s scent glands until Eddie gives in and fucks Steve cross-eyed…

Oh. Steve isn’t just regular horny, he realizes like a slap in the face. He’s going into heat. Eddie smells so damn good that he’s causing Steve’s hormones to riot.

“Steve?” Eddie’s next knock is more insistent.

“Don’t come in,” he blurts, burying his face in the nearest hand towel.

“Uh… okay?”

Steve sighs and braces himself on the edge of the sink. “Sorry, I know it’s early but I have to go.”

He can hear Eddie’s bare feet shuffling on the carpet in the hallway. “Was it— did I do something?”

Eddie’s voice sounds small, scared, and Steve made him feel that way. His heart breaks a little. “No. No, Eddie, of course not.” He needs to see him, touch him, reassure his Alpha. Before he can think better of it, Steve throws the door open and launches himself into Eddie’s arms.

“Oh. Oh, oh my god, Steve, you—” Eddie buries his face in Steve’s neck, lips grazing the swollen scent gland there until Steve shudders beneath the touch. “You smell so good,” he mumbles into warm skin.

Steve’s head swims at the feel of Eddie’s body pressed up against his, but he tries to stay focused. “I think you triggered my heat. So unless you want me to jump you in about ten seconds, I need to—”

“You don’t want me to help?”

When Steve meets Eddie’s gaze, all he finds is genuine confusion. “You want to?”

Eddie bites his lip. “I haven’t been pretending. The fake courting thing, I’ve been… I wanted to do it for real, so I treated it like it was real. And I know you’re not in charge of how your body reacts to stuff, but if this heat means you’re interested, too—”

Their lips crash together with too much teeth but Steve doesn’t care when Eddie is groaning and licking into his mouth like a starving man. His Alpha tastes as good as he smells, a little more peppery but complemented by the vanilla that bursts on Steve’s tongue.

“Yeah?” Eddie breathes when he pulls back. He cradles Steve’s face in his blessedly cool hands, running his thumbs across Steve’s feverish cheeks. “I’ll take care of you, I just need you to say—”

“Yes, Eddie, please,” Steve gasps, rolling his hips against Eddie’s so he can feel Steve’s cock, hard and needy. He’s wet, too, wetter than he can ever remember being. He wishes Eddie would just push him up against the vanity and fuck him right there.

Like he’s reading Steve’s mind, Eddie guides him back into the bathroom and steals another kiss. “Okay, baby, how do you want me?”

Steve doesn’t hesitate to hook his fingers in the waistband of Eddie’s boxers and yank them down to his knees. He does the same to his own underwear and leans over the sink, catching Eddie’s dumbfounded expression in the mirror. “Here, just like this.”

Eddie catches on quickly, crowding Steve against the counter and sliding two fingers through the slick between Steve’s legs. “Fuck, sweetheart. Is all this for me?”

“Uh-huh,” he confirms, nudging his hips back into the pressure of Eddie’s fingertips circling his hole. Steve can’t hold back a gasp when they breach him with an easy glide.

“Can’t wait to taste you,” Eddie murmurs in his ear. His lips trail down Steve’s neck, leaving little nips and kitten licks along the way until he reaches his scent gland. “Gonna be so sweet, so good for me.”

Another finger slips into Steve’s pussy alongside the other two. The fullness is just right, enhanced by the promise of more to come when Eddie finally gets his cock in him. Steve can’t wait much longer. “Eddie, c’mon, fuck me!” he pleads.

“Give me a minute, Stevie, I don’t wanna hurt you. Gotta make sure you can take me.” Eddie nips at Steve’s neck as he scissors his fingers apart.

Steve keens at the stretch, clenching down when he imagines how much better it will feel once Eddie fucks him, knots him. “I can take it, I can take it,” he babbles. “Please, let me take it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie hisses to himself, his free hand dropping from Steve’s waist to squeeze the base of his cock. “Baby, I don’t know how long I can last.”

“I don’t care, we can go again. Ed, I need you, please—” His begging suddenly turns into a disappointed whine when Eddie’s fingers leave him, only to be replaced by an involuntary chirp as Eddie notches the head of his cock at Steve’s entrance.

“Okay, okay, oh, fuuuuck.” Eddie buries his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, gulping in breaths like the Omega’s scent is the only thing keeping him sane as he sinks into the tight heat of Steve’s pussy.

It makes Steve burn with jealousy, the fact that Eddie can smell him but not the other way around. He fumbles behind him to grab one of Eddie’s hands, drags it to his nose and huffs the sweet warmth of his scent straight from his wrist like a drug he can’t get enough of.

“Steve, oh my god, how are you even real?” Eddie’s hips jerk against his ass, grinding into him helplessly. There’s no real rhythm to his movements yet, caught up as he is in the whirlwind of heat pheromones, but it’s everything Steve wants at the moment.

“Alpha, smell like mine,” he purrs against Eddie’s pulse point. The skin is thin at the inside of his wrist, practically begging for Steve to bite until he draws blood and tastes cardamom and vanilla on his tongue.

“You, too,” Eddie groans, sucking hard at Steve’s scent gland as his thrusts find a steady cadence that knocks Steve’s hips against the edge of the sink. “Mine.”

It should be embarrassing how quickly Steve’s orgasm creeps up on him but Eddie is thick and hot in his cunt, and Steve’s cock is grinding against the countertop, and Eddie’s scent is right there in his face and in the stale air of the Munsons’ trailer and—

Steve can’t even choke out a warning before he’s coming, clamping down on Eddie’s cock and clutching his wrist for dear life as he makes a mess of the sink.

Based on Eddie’s strangled growl, he’s not far behind. “Ohjesusfuck, Stevie, I’m gonna—”

His knot catches painfully on Steve’s rim, just this side of too big, but Steve shoves back against him until it breaches him with a wet noise and a curse from Eddie. He can feel each spurt of the Alpha’s come filling him up, Eddie’s hands shaking against Steve’s hip and mouth, his hips grinding deeper and deeper where they’re locked together.

It’s good, so good that Steve’s knees go weak and Eddie has to hold him up as they both tremble through the aftershocks. It’s even better when Eddie starts whispering to him, sweet nothings like, “So good for me, honey. Felt so good, made me pop my knot so fuckin’ fast. Just a few more minutes and then once my knot goes down, we can go back to bed, nap some more before the next wave.”

Steve just purrs, content to be surrounded by— and full of— Eddie’s spicy-sweet smell. His Omega is satisfied for now, finally settled on Eddie’s knot, and the urgency bubbling in his veins calms. For once, Steve is looking forward to the rest of his heat, knowing he’ll be cared for by an Alpha with calloused hands and a soft heart and a scent that feels like a warm hug.

[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

[dedeinthewild]

evan buckley x reader, roommates to lovers

“Feast your eyes on the newest star of the 118!”

summary : Halloween at the 118 firehouse gets hilariously spooky when Buck's quirky surprise steals the show...

The locker room at the firehouse had always been a safe haven for the crew, a place where they had grown up together and become a family.

How many times had they found themselves sitting on the benches after a tough call, the smell of smoke still clinging to their noses, their eyes burning as they tried to close them for just a moment? It was also where they often joked around, and where _____, the team’s star paramedic, would bring trays of cookies that Buck inevitably “borrowed.”

“Halloween,” she announced, stepping into the locker room, followed by the firefighter who had left the surprise they’d picked out for decorations by the entrance.

“Don’t say anything,” Eddie warned, knowing that a phrase like “let’s hope for a quiet shift” would jinx them and inevitably turn into their worst day.

“I wasn’t going to,” she replied, shrugging as she dropped her bag on the bench next to her roommate’s.

“Cap isn’t exactly fun when it comes to decorations,” Chimney said, sounding a bit disappointed as he sipped his coffee, the shiny name tag on his chest catching the light.

She looked over at Buck, already knowing that in ten minutes, the decorations they had chosen would turn Bobby’s plans on their head. Buck grinned, shrugging off his uniform shirt and stretching his shoulders, looking far less tired than he should have after a night shift.

“We’ll be The Wizard of Oz characters,” Hen chimed in with a smile, talking about her family, where Mara would be Dorothy and Denny the Tin Man.

The woman smiled, loving how proud and happy Hen sounded as she talked about her kids and Karen.

“Jee is Pluto,” Chim added, making Eddie bow his head slightly. Ever since his son had gone to stay with his grandparents in El Paso, he had felt alone, as if he were losing precious moments with him.

“You don’t have kids yet, so I won’t ask,” Hen teased Buck and the woman as they were changing out of their smoky uniforms into the clothes they had grabbed from home.

“You could always ask about our costumes,” the firefighter quipped, leaning against the locker behind him with a smirk.

“Guys, what’s with the coffin?”

Captain Nash had walked in through the glass door, pointing at the coffin the two had left by the entrance alongside a cart. Buck sprinted out, positioning himself behind the coffin to open it dramatically, excited to show the others what he’d found.

“Okay, everyone!” Buck announced, grabbing everyone’s attention as he wheeled the cart into view.

“Feast your eyes on the newest star of the 118!”

Buck opened the wooden sarcophagus to reveal a fascinating mummy, its head tilted to one side, draped in cobwebs.

“Good Lord, Buck, what is that?” Bobby asked, hands on his hips as he stared at the decoration.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Chim said approvingly, while Buck explained that he had picked it up from an old Hollywood prop warehouse near his apartment.

“Do the pow-pow thing,” the paramedic whispered in his ear, referring to the presentation they had rehearsed in the car on the way back to the station.

“I figured we could give him a cowboy hat and a vest, maybe even a six-shooter,” Buck added, his grin stretching ear to ear. “Pow-pow!” He mimicked firing pistols with his hands.

“It looks...” Hen rested her chin on the woman’s shoulder, tilting her head as if analyzing the mummy.

“Awfully real?” the woman whispered, arms crossed and feet slightly apart, dressed in the base layer of her black costume.

“Like he’s been dead for 200 years,” the experienced paramedic chimed in with a laugh, just as Eddie arrived carrying the last of the skeletons for the decorations.

It was the perfect opportunity to outshine the 126 and establish themselves as the best-decorated station, delighting the kids who would do anything for candy. Most importantly, it was a day to set aside their uniforms and enjoy some fun before their shifts began.

“They’re supposed to be for the kids.”

“God, Buck!” the woman exclaimed, clutching her chest in surprise when she turned around to find him standing right behind her.

“I’m a cowboy. I shouldn’t be scary,” Buck teased, stealing a piece of chocolate from her hand.

“Nice mustache,” she joked, running her fingers over the fake mustache, feeling the synthetic material against her fingertips.

He would let her touch him forever if she wanted.

The way she pressed her lips together, assessing the realism of the mustache, and those eyes—soft and sweet despite the bit of makeup she wore to look spooky—captivated him.

“And what are you supposed to be?”

“I literally told you two hours ago, dummy,” the paramedic teased, holding up the mask in her hand.

“A cowboy and a plague doctor. That’s... kinda nice,” Buck remarked, popping the chocolate into his mouth, unaware she hadn’t yet realized he’d stolen the whole thing. As he walked away, her laughter trailed after him.

“Welcome to the spookiest night of your short, little lives!” Bobby’s voice boomed as he welcomed the kids. “I am your guide, Cap Dracula.”

The team suppressed small chuckles at their captain’s enthusiasm as he grinned at the kids, fake fangs on display. Most of the children were entranced, though a few looked bored, which made her smile as she donned her mask and took her designated position.

The walls shimmered with colored lights cutting through fake fog, and amplified footsteps added to the eerie atmosphere. The air made the hanging skeletons sway, completing an impeccable setup that was sure to secure their win.

“Have a terrifyingly good time!”

As ultraviolet lights revealed Hen dressed as a mad scientist, the kids gasped, their white costumes glowing blue. The woman, already chuckling sinisterly, addressed them in her most haunting voice as they approached her station.

“Step closer, little ones... I see sickness in your eyes. Let me check...”

She examined their hesitant gazes, following them into the maze. “Beware, there are whispers of the dead... they’re calling for you!” she murmured into the ears of the older children, who appreciated the scare without being overwhelmed, while the younger ones eagerly pressed forward into the next section.

At the maze’s end, the team’s newest “member” awaited, holding a giant bowl of candy. Beside it, Buck stood tall, hands resting on his cowboy belt, his hat casting a shadow over his bright blue eyes. He tried a Texan drawl as he encouraged the kids, understandably hesitant about the mummy, to take some candy before heading out to trick-or-treat around the neighborhood.

“He��s creepy,” one little girl whispered, clutching her fairy wings.

“He’s not creepy,” Buck insisted, only to receive a pointed look from the paramedic. “Okay, maybe a little... but he’s harmless,” he conceded, kneeling to her level and offering to move the mummy’s hands so the kids could take candy without fear. His soft smile shone even through the large brown mustache tickling his lip.

But when he grabbed one of the mummy’s arms to move it, it came off in his hand, revealing something disturbingly lifelike.

“Are those worms?” a boy in a giant baseball helmet asked.

The paramedic stepped forward, removing her mask and crouching beside Buck to get a closer look. Her face hovered just past his shoulder.

“I think those are tendons,” she murmured, as if even she doubted her words.

“Oh my god, he’s real.”

The first time, it was as if someone else had said it. The second time was to process the realization. The third and fourth were for convincing themselves that what they held was, in fact, a real arm, complete with ligaments and tissue. The fifth time was purely instinct as Buck stood, tossed the arm to her, and screamed while running away.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the paramedic yelled, clutching the arm as if she too wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

By the time the police hauled the mummy away and the team glared at Buck, who had undeniably spiced up their Halloween, she was leaning against the ambulance, arms crossed, holding Buck’s fake mustache.

“Billy Boils, huh?”

“He was a showstopper, at least,” Buck said with a sheepish grin.

She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder before carefully reapplying the mustache under his nose, pressing the adhesive to his fair skin. Once again, her fingers brushed his cheeks, and he silently wished she’d run her hands through his hair and leave them there for as long as possible.

“Wait, have you washed your hands?” he asked suddenly.

“For what?”

“You literally held Billy’s arm,” Buck replied, horrified, stepping back.

“You’re such an idiot,” she laughed, chasing him with her “tainted” hand raised dramatically, just to see his mock-scared reaction.

The following evening, she was in the locker room with Hen, who seemed visibly shaken by what had happened to her son. Hen had come to talk to the captain but found her colleague sneaking snacks away from the giant firefighter with blue eyes.

“You know they say your hair curls when you’re in love,” Hen teased, leaning against the doorframe, noticing the oversized fire department shirt the woman wore—one she recognized as one of Buck’s old ones.

“Whose hair is curly?” the woman asked curiously.

Hen pulled out a photo from Halloween, taken just before the swarm of kids arrived and the chaos of Buck’s mummy erupted. It showed the woman sitting between Buck and Chim, smiling towards Buck as she held her mask. Her hair, resting on her silk cape, fell in soft curls at the ends, as if someone had gently twisted them.

“Maybe it’s the shampoo. I’ve been using Buck’s for a while now.”

“Is he trying to save on that?”

“I got tired of him using mine,” she laughed.

Hen was serious. She had practically watched those two grow together, despite the paramedic only joining two years ago. From the moment she arrived, she brought a unique energy to the station, seamlessly blending in as if she had always been part of it. Slowly, she had also changed Buck. He’d always been hesitant about relationships after so many failed ones and doubts about how he expressed love. But when it came to her, none of that mattered.

She was the one he’d asked to share his huge loft. She’d chosen the couch they often ended up napping on together, and she was the one who made breakfast for both of them every morning. They knew each other better than anyone else did, and despite spending almost every moment together, they never got bored of one another.

“I like your hair lately,” Buck said, seated in his armchair, watching the morning news with a cozy sweatshirt and a temporary leave for his sprained shoulder.

“Is that sarcastic?” she asked, tidying up the kitchen, organizing what had piled up during the past few hectic weeks.

“Why do you always think I’m being sarcastic with compliments?”

“Because you always sound like it,” she teased, approaching him with the little gift he had left for her on the kitchen counter.

But as she walked around to stand in front of him, the sight that greeted her left her stunned.

“Holy cow,” she whispered, wide-eyed, holding one of his dirty socks between her thumb and index finger.

“What?” he asked, reaching for the sock in her small hand, which seemed frozen in place.

“Are those boils?”

The first time was to convince herself. The second was to comprehend the hilarious coincidence between the mummy’s name and the rash erupting on his face. The third, fourth, and fifth were spent teasing him as her fingers brushed over his skin—despite her reluctance and a fair amount of healthy disgust at the blisters.

“You’re disgusted,” Buck said, smiling, ignoring the boils on his face.

“I’m totally not,” she lied, setting the sock down and abandoning the idea of scolding him for leaving it where she baked the cookies he always stole.

“I can see it in your eyes,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“Is my hair really that different?” she asked, changing the subject.

“You’re dodging the topic.”

She smiled, locking her gaze with his bright eyes.

“Say it—I’m disgusting.”

“Disgustingly irresistible, yeah.”

Buck, my beloved. This doesn't make sense, not even closely, and I'm not sure that I like it but I dreamt about this kind of fic last night and I had to write it down (it feels so dumb god). There are too few Buck fics! give me some recs pls

[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.🎄

Read Finding Angel here

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

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[whizzing-fizzbee]

I Remember

Sebastian Sallow x GN!Reader

Rating: PG (death, mild violence) Words: 5,339 Tags: G/N reader, G/N MC, angst, grief, mourning, death, love, hurt no comfort, heartbreak, sad Sebastian Sallow

Summary: You died during your seventh year at Hogwarts before you could tell your best friend, Sebastian Sallow, how much you loved him. But when he discovers a box of your pensieve memories, he learns the comforting, yet cruel truth.

Notes: This is a little different from my usual smutty crackfics. So enjoy a bit of angst and have no fear, I’ll be back with more of my usual work soon.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Sebastian Sallow hadn’t been a fan of birthdays in years. He shared his own with a twin sister who no longer cared to speak to him. Their parents hadn’t been alive to celebrate with them in ten years, and now, you – the only person he ever loved romantically – were also gone.

Now, people couldn’t help but whisper and wonder if death favored poor Sebastian Sallow.

Life had been far too cruel to Sebastian for him to care about something as flippant as his seventeenth birthday – especially when it was the first birthday he’d spend without you.

Sebastian never told you how he felt. He could never quite find the words or the right time. A teenage boy plagued by so many misfortunes couldn’t be expected to understand such love anyway. All he knew was his eyes constantly searched for you in every room. He knew he craved lapsang souchong tea, because that’s what you drank – bold and smoky, just like you. And he knew that he would have died for you, without question, if he’d only been a little faster.

It happened three months ago, though it replayed in Sebastian’s mind with such frequency and clarity, it could have happened three days ago, for all he knew. 

The two of you had ventured into the Scottish Highlands in search of dittany leaves for a potion. It had been a soft, serene morning punctuated by a mild breeze and the maternal kind of sunshine that embraced you with warmth, offering no inclination you’d endure your demise that day.

After all, you’d eliminated Ranrok and his loyalists. You’d saved Hogwarts – and wizardkind – all while helping the Keepers preserve the secret of your ancient magic in the repository. Your biggest fears these days were Potions exams and Imelda Reyes’ taxing quidditch practices.

But poachers and Ashwinders remained, operating under new unscrupulous undertakings. You knew that – you eliminated them whenever you encountered them – but you hadn’t expected them to be camped outside of Keenbridge that day.

You and Sebastian laughed and joked, unaware that those three Ashwinders were very aware of your presence. So while the two of you cackled about Puffskein Duncan’s hideous new haircut, those Ashwinders were watching. They observed as you gathered your potion ingredients and stashed them inside your bag. They saw the way you tried to shove Sebastian in a creek when he teased you. They noticed the way Sebastian’s eyes lingered on you as you drank from a canteen you’d nicked from Gladwin Moon.

But they didn’t care. And then they struck. 

They ambushed you both when your guards were down, your eyes too busy clinging to each other and your thoughts too consumed by your pounding hearts.

An Incarcerous spell struck Sebastian first, whipping ropes around his hands and feet so that he fell at your side. You knelt to help him, shielding you both with Protego until you managed to hit one Ashwinder with a stunning spell. 

Another Ashwinder drove you backward with a slew of spell combinations, leaving Sebastian bound and helpless in the grass. He writhed and jerked in desperation. You took the second Ashwinder on, your eyes shifting between her and Sebastian. And when you saw the third Ashwinder approaching him, you lost all regard for anything but him. 

“Expelliarmus!” you shouted as you disarmed the third Ashwinder. You sent another cast at Sebastian, freeing him from his bindings so that he could scramble to his feet. You caught his gaze, admired those deep brown eyes, and he smirked at you. The two of you had been in similar scenarios more times than you could remember. And you always walked away unscathed.

And then, the explosion sent you backward. The Ashwinder you had been fighting seized that opportunity when you were lost in Sebastian and sent you flying off your feet until you toppled over the edge of a cliff.

You fell and fell, a slow-motion stage exit to the grand production of your short life. It was quite a letdown of a finale. Surely someone with experience like yours would die in a much more grandiose manner than a few lowly Ashwinders.

The last thing you heard was Sebastian’s scream before your body returned to the earth. Your soul never did, though.

So while Sebastian managed to escape those Ashwinders with his life, he walked away from that day drained of his will to continue surviving.

He’d lost nearly every person close to him. It made him question everything – his purpose, his resolve, and every choice that had led to so many devastating conclusions.

He had to be the one to apparate back to the Hogwarts grounds with your body. He could still hear the whispers – then the screams – as your fellow students realized what had happened. He sat through your funeral while Headmaster Black prattled on some performative prose about how wonderful you were. Then he clung to a corner of the Slytherin Common Room while your housemates drifted past, mumbling their condolences. 

And then, whatever spell had been placed on the world was lifted. Hogwarts was no longer frozen in time. Your classmates returned to their studies and professors went about their lessons. The morose hallways reignited with their old energy, ringing with jubilant chatter. Even the weather moved on, its summer blossoms and laughing waters wilting amid a cold cast of clouds and decay.

Life carried on for everyone but Sebastian. He remained there with you, rooted to the spot in time where he watched your spirited life reach its screeching halt. While everyone else drifted forward, Sebastian lingered in place, searching for you in every new moment while the old ones anchored him to his anguish. 

It had become a canon event in Sebastian’s life, a familiar foe he couldn’t outrun. He lost someone he loved, the world felt sorry for him, and then it moved on. It left Sebastian lonely and isolated, smothered by a grief few others could comprehend. Hogwarts had been his home for years, but your absence made him homesick.

That’s why no one blamed Sebastian for hating his birthday today. No one even dared to approach him, except Ominis in the morning. He urged Sebastian to eat but left when he was met with a cool response. It made no difference. Sebastian had mastered the art of saying words he didn't believe, even if Ominis saw right through them. Instead of attending classes, Sebastian retreated to the Undercroft.

The dark, damp dungeon missed you desperately. When Sebastian first introduced you to the space, you had insisted on tidying it up. You used scrubbing spells to clean the surfaces and fire spells to clear the cobwebs; then you used Professor Weasley’s conjuration spells to add furniture and desks. You even placed thoughtful little trinkets to a tabletop, a touch that reflected your desire to add warmth and comfort wherever you went.

But now, the Undercroft was achingly empty in your absence. Though the traces of your previous presence lingered, the room’s creaks and groans seemed to whimper for your return. The surfaces had collected dust and the floors were dingy again, desperate to be disrupted by your tread. The braziers were dimmer, begging for a blast of your fiery existence. 

Sebastian hated that room now. It was once his recluse; his safe space meant only for him and the three people he cared about. But now that your handprints were all over it, it was lacking the life you had once breathed into it. 

Sebastian left the Undercroft and ascended the Astronomy Tower. When the Room of Requirement appeared for him, he strode right in. It would provide him with whatever it was he needed.

He visited your room often, simply to stand and feel its pulse. You were everywhere. And unlike the Undercroft, you lingered with life here. Sometimes, Sebastian sat on a sofa in the side room until he dozed off. Other times, he’d venture into the vivariums to check on its inhabitants. Most times, he merely felt ; the room seemed to know Sebastian wanted to remember you, and it often hummed with a calm, quiet murmur reminiscent of your soothing tone.

Today, the room seemed to know Sebastian was in need of a birthday gift. As he wandered toward the side room, his eyes scanning the bookshelves you’d filled with your – and Sebastian’s – favorite novels, his eyes fell on a trunk. He had never noticed it before. 

Sebastian frowned and eyed the trunk’s lid. There was no lock on it. 

After you died, your friends had been careful with your belongings. Sebastian kept everything of sentimental value in a trunk of his own, from your school robes to the notebooks containing your scribbles about ancient magic. Everything that mattered to you was in his care now, so it struck him as odd that there’d be a secret trunk in your Room of Requirement.

Sebastian swallowed, unsure of what he would find as he kneeled over the trunk and waved his wand. The lid clicked open and he lifted it, revealing some old clothes. Sebastian blinked. It all seemed rather anticlimactic. But as he lifted an old sweater from the top of the pile, he stilled.

The familiar S.S. initials were embroidered across the left breast. He had wondered what happened to this sweater and assumed it was lost in the laundry ages ago. Beneath it, was a scarf. His school scarf. 

At the very bottom of the trunk was a package – a small box wrapped in brown paper with your familiar scrawl in ink. You had written his name across the top.

Sebastian stared at it, as if lifting it from the trunk would shift the paradigm of his universe. But curiosity was Sebastian’s Achilles, and he soon found himself setting his old clothes aside for the package.

He brushed dust from the top of the wrapped box, his fingers tracing over his own name as if the ink you’d left would leech into his fingertips, absorbing you with it.

He treated the paper with the utmost care, peeling it slowly away from the box to ensure it wouldn’t tear. It revealed an old wooden box, unremarkable and unassuming. Sebastian turned it over carefully, the sounds of delicate glass tinkling from inside. Once he confirmed there were no markings or inscriptions on the box, he flipped it back over and snapped the top open.

Inside was a folded sheet of old parchment and a set of tiny glass vials, each filled with clear liquid. Dust clung to the vials, leaving Sebastian’s fingers dingy as he examined each one for clues revealing their contents. Each cylinder was labeled with a date so small, Sebastian had to squint to see them.

He set the box on the floor next to the trunk and carefully unfolded the old parchment with both hands. Again, your familiar handwriting revealed itself.

Dear Sebastian,

Happy birthday! Please view these pensieve memories on your own time, in private. You’ll understand once you see them. Then come find me when you feel the time is right, no pressure. 

Love always, Your kindred spirit

Sebastian smiled. Your voice echoed in his mind and ears, like you were reading the letter aloud right next to him. He hadn’t smiled at the memory of you since you died.

Instead, his grief had crawled into every crevice of his brain and body, constricting him into a body bind of immobilizing heartache. It clamped down on his veins and arteries and cut off his blood supply. His brain screamed for some semblance of life. It left his nerve endings void of all sensation and pooled in the pit of his stomach, an omnipresent offering of torment and guilt.

Sebastian scrambled to his feet, cradling the box in his arm as if it contained the most important secrets in the world. To him, it did.

He scurried from the Room of Requirement and retreated back to the Undercroft, now grateful for its quiet seclusion. He set the box carefully on a table and sorted through each vial until he found the one with the earliest date.

After he uncorked it, his hand shook as it hovered above the pensieve. Its swirling liquid seemed to beckon him, pleading for memories to resurrect it back to life. But Sebastian hesitated, fearful for what lay on the other side of this moment.

He trusted you more than anyone, but you clearly had meant for these memories to remain a secret until the right moment. Sebastian was sure you’d packaged them up under the assumption you’d be alive for his birthday. What if your death had changed everything and these memories were supposed to die with you?

The last thing Sebastian wanted was to betray or dishonor you. Your life had been so full of intention – from your determination to stop Ranrok to your sincere endeavors to help cure Anne’s curse. Sebastian wanted to preserve your memory with love and admiration. But these were his memories now. You’d wanted to share them with him and he would honor that, no matter their contents, no matter the cost.

Sebastian tipped the vial and watched a single drop ripple across the pensieve’s surface. It glimmered and swirled, stirring wispy trails in its gentle wakes. Sebastian didn’t wait to plunge his face in.

More smoke swept past him and he hurtled straight into the Slytherin Common Room. He immediately spotted himself, pacing in front of the fireplace with his nose in a book. He recognized this moment better than his own wand. 

And then you appeared. You paused behind the sofa and watched Sebastian curiously. He had never noticed that. Your eyes studied him until he finally looked up from his book.

Sebastian had to watch himself meet you for the first time all over again. It tugged at his heartstrings, twisting and tightening them inside his chest. You were right there, mere feet from him, but he couldn’t reach out and touch you.

He watched as you introduced yourself and smiled as you inquired about his book. He told you not every useful spell could be found in assigned textbooks, to which you expressed your intrigue. And that was when Sebastian declared you kindred spirits; the phrase that would connect the two of you by an unseen thread for life.

Sebastian was uncertain why you chose to return him to this particular memory. He remembered it far too fondly to need a refresher. But as he watched your first meeting come to an end, he noticed as you walked away and paused to turn, your gaze lingering on his form long after he had returned his attention to his book. 

He hadn’t known that happened.

The memory ended and thrust him back to the Undercroft, where Sebastian stilled to process your replay of your first meeting. What was he meant to take away from such a simple moment? Of course, the events that followed had been anything but simple. You became the most complex person to ever enter Sebastian’s life.

He fumbled quickly through the remaining vials for the next and wasted no time tapping another drop into the pensieve. This memory seemed to shimmer and sparkle as it dispersed across the pensieve’s cloudy waters. Sebastian drew a breath and dipped his head.

This one was clearly Christmastime. You, Sebastian and Ominis were cozied up in the common room. You were seated between the two boys on the sofa, a blanket thrown across your lap while you clutched a mug of cocoa in your hand. Ominis looked relaxed, a rare change from his typical poise. Sebastian slouched lazily in his seat, a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans in his lap. The fire crackled as you laughed at one of Ominis’ dry remarks, though your eyes were on Sebastian.

He watched as you smiled at his pensieve form, warmth radiating from your gaze. Your lips curved as you teased him about his tousled hair, to which he became indignant and tossed a jelly bean at you. You squealed and nearly splashed your cocoa on Ominis, who squawked in displeasure.

You picked up the jelly bean and chucked it back at Sebastian, who caught it and popped it in his mouth before his features contorted in disgust.

“I think that one was dirt-flavored,” he whined. 

“Good, serves you right,” you declared happily. Sebastian’s pensieve version reached toward you to give your hair a sharp, playful tug. You swatted his hand away and laughed wildly, all while Ominis chided you and Sebastian for making a mess.

It was another moment Sebastian had committed to his own reserve of memories with clarity and fondness. But again, your version was different. 

This time, he noticed the way you noticed him. Your eyes never left him, even when Ominis spoke. You leaned closer to him, your body nearly touching his when you teased him. And then there was the moment your hands brushed – completely innocuous – but Sebastian noticed the way your breath hitched and your cheeks flushed. His did the same.

He watched as Ominis yawned and declared it was time for bed. Your mutual friend said goodnight and disappeared toward the boys’ dormitories, leaving you and Sebastian’s pensieve form in each other’s company.

The pair sat and talked quietly, an occasional giggle interrupting your murmurs, until the fire waned to soft embers and you dozed off on his shoulder. That was one of Sebastian’s favorite memories.

But he remembered the subtle smell of your hair, the warmth of your body and the soft breaths that sighed from your lips during your slumber. He didn’t remember what happened once he fell asleep.

And so he watched as the memory shifted like a leap in time, and then you stirred, likely in the middle of the night. You lifted your head and peered upward at Sebastian, smiling as you watched him sleep. Your chest swelled and eyes softened until you gently returned your head to his shoulder until the morning.

As the memory came to a close, Sebastian began to wonder. What were you trying to tell him? What did those stolen glances and secret smiles mean? 

The third memory surged inside the pensieve when the liquid met the surface. This one stirred a storm of dark and volatile streaks, which made Sebastian scared to see its contents. But once again, he dipped his head with bated breath.

He recognized the Feldcroft catacomb immediately. And in a sudden rush, he watched himself sprint past, toward the exit. Sebastian couldn’t forget this moment if he tried – and he often did.

“Sebastian!” you cried as you jogged into view. Tears streamed down your cheeks and your face was bleeding from your fight with Solomon. You begged Sebastian to stop, but he was far too gone – in every sense of the phrase – to even acknowledge you.

Shame surged through Sebastian as he relived one of the worst moments of his life. He followed after you as you pleaded with his pensieve version to wait until you eventually stopped calling his name.

But when you reached the exit, the memory shifted and Sebastian was thrust to your dormitory. This scene was new to him. 

His expression fell as he watched you sink to the floor, your body hitching with violent sobs. Your hair was still disheveled, robes torn and tattered, and blood streaked across your cheek from the fight in the catacomb. Sebastian had never seen you so anguished. The sight would haunt him the same way your death would. 

He stood in the corner of the room, tears welling in his eyes as he watched you unravel, scared and alone. You sobbed so hard your chest heaved and your stomach lurched. 

The scene blurred again until Sebastian was returned to the Undercroft, this time as a voyeur. He caught his breath as he watched you plead with Ominis to refrain from turning him in for killing Solomon. 

“I don’t want to lose Sebastian, but I don’t think we have a choice,” Ominis said. 

“We do have a choice,” you insisted. “What good would it do if we turn him in now? He clearly regrets everything. He’s not going to do anything like this again.”

“We both heard that before,” Ominis argued. 

“But we also need to think about Anne. She’s lost her health. Now she’s lost her uncle. Do you really want to take her brother away from her too?” you pushed. 

When Ominis finally relented, Sebastian watched as more tears streamed over your cheeks. Your eyes were empty, no longer brimming with your bold energy. Sebastian had drained it from you. The realization shattered his heart. 

“You really care about him, don’t you?” Ominis asked you. 

“I care about them both,” you answered. “I know Anne doesn’t much care for me, but Sebastian needs her… and I need him.”

“You love him, don’t you?” Ominis asked quietly. 

You nodded in response. “I do.”

Ominis sighed, though it was evident he wasn’t surprised by your revelation. You and Sebastian were as clear as diamonds — and as hard as them, too. As much as it frustrated Ominis, he knew it was also what made the two of you so simpatico. You understood Sebastian on a profound level few others could even scrape.

“You’ve got to save him,” Ominis whispered. “He can’t save himself. He’s too far gone. You have to be the one to help him. You’re the only one.”

You nodded in understanding, your cheeks now raw and red from the salty sting of your tears. 

“I will,” you said softly. “I love him too much to lose him to this.”

The memory ended and Sebastian swished back to the Undercroft, now in its present state. He gripped the edge of the pensieve to hold himself upright, its cold stone pressed hard against his fingers. He was crying now, his breath shaky as he fought for air. 

His legs gave way and he collapsed to the floor on his knees, his body bent in child’s pose as he choked on his own sobs. He remained there until his bones seemed to disintegrate. His body felt like a vacant home left to rot into ruins.

You loved him. He watched you admit it. You loved him, and you fought for him. When others wanted to give up on him, you were ready to step closer. You vowed to save him because he had meant that much to you. 

And you had succeeded. Because once your fifth year ended, you inserted yourself to Sebastian’s side, an extension of his own body. You resurrected him from the cavernous clutches of dark magic and desperation, and revived him with renewed energy. You let him lean on you in the days that followed Solomon’s death. You talked him through his guilt and reminded him he was worthy of a good life that shouldn’t be defined by his past. You refused to allow him to punish himself, but ensured he was remorseful for what he did. You showed him what it meant to become redemption. 

Your empathy and understanding nursed Sebastian back to his old form – the charming, friendly and resourceful boy he was before your fifth year – the boy you had never even met. You were his savior, not because you needed another person to rescue, but because saving Sebastian from himself also saved you.  

After all the evil you’d endured, you needed to believe that people could still be good. You needed reassurance that light could still outshine dark. And you needed to know if your love would be enough for someone, even if it wasn’t reciprocated.

Because the one thing that saved you and Sebastian Sallow both was your best shared attribute: your optimism. 

Sebastian lay curled up on the floor of the Undercroft for a good hour. He was overcome with grief, guilt and regret, and they all clashed at once, straining his heart until he was certain it would sever inside his chest.

What if he had simply told you he loved you? Maybe it wouldn’t have prevented your death, but at least you would have known. At least you would have died with a full heart and the comfort that the boy you cared about the most needed you in all the same ways. 

And selfishly, maybe you would have told Sebastian you loved him, too. 

When silence returned to the Undercroft after Sebastian’s sobs subsided, he sat up, his weight supported back on his hands. There was still one vial remaining.

He wasn’t sure he had the energy to witness any more monumental memories, but truly, he had no choice. He wouldn’t rest until he understood every message you were trying to send him. He owed you that, at the very least.

Sebastian gathered himself up off the floor to retrieve the last vial. He was cool and clammy, which caused him to grip the vial particularly hard amid concern he would drop it. As he tilted it over the pensieve with a shaking hand, it splashed and shimmered streaks of gold that reminded him of sun rays.

He recognized this memory instantly. It had taken place a week before you died. The two of you snuck out of the castle to explore another old cave. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, other than an adventure. Sometimes, the two of you merely created your own expeditions for old time’s sake.

This one led you all the way to the Clagmar Coast. Once you determined the cave housed nothing more than a chest of old spectacles, you and Sebastian decided to sit and watch the stars under the cover of the cave’s secluded opening. It overlooked the sea, which shimmered beneath the moon. You could hear the churns of the waves smashing into the cliffside below, but not even the surf’s rumble could drown out the slamming heart inside your chest.

You hugged your knees as you sat close enough to Sebastian that you could feel his warmth. The salt air whipped through your hair and he laughed as you struggled to keep it in place, finally admitting defeat when it plastered itself to your face.

Sebastian watched as you shivered. He had chided you for wearing only a knit jumper, even though he had done the same. What he hadn’t known was that your shivers weren’t from the cold. As so when he draped an arm around you and pulled you close against his body to keep you warm, your own body shuddered more. You welcomed its response because it meant he’d hold you even tighter. You did this more often than you’d ever admit – sometimes you pretended to be cold just so Sebastian would hold you.

Sebastian had dwelled on this memory at a damn near obsessive rate. His head had become a vast vault of moments with you, each one stored away in meticulous order that would make Madam Scribner proud. But this one sat on the nearest shelf, within easy reach so that he could call upon it often.

He hadn’t known it would be one of his final fond memories of you. 

But again, your version was different.

Because this variant exposed everything. The moonlight cast itself over your eyes, which softened every time Sebastian glanced at you. But as you snuggled closer to him, Sebastian watched as you squeezed them shut. They looked like a camera shutter, committing the moment to the film inside your head.

And then you stole one more glance up at Sebastian’s pensieve form and your eyes screamed louder than the waves below. You gazed at your freckled friend with so much love, it made Sebastian’s chest cave as he watched.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t utter the words that were perched on the tip of your tongue. You didn’t have to. Neither of you did. 

Finally, Sebastian understood. 

That was the beauty of it all. For all of your unspoken words, your silent declarations, and your desperate desires, you were both enough. 

You and Sebastian adored each other in secret and in silence. But you lived and loved out loud. 

And though you both wished you could have experienced that love to its full extent and in its truest form – raw, real and unrestrained – what you did share was enough.

So when Sebastian returned to the Undercroft for the final time, the last of your pensieve memories complete, he sank back to the floor with his back pressed against the wall.

Because even though he understood now, even though he realized he’d always carried your love, he was in mourning.

He mourned the romance you’d never have. He mourned your future cut short by the sharp, cruel blade of an unfair fate. And he mourned your memories – all of them – because this wasn’t how you’d intended him to see them. 

He was supposed to view them and then sprint to you. Had you been alive, he likely would have found you tucked away in a quiet corner of the library or en route to the Three Broomsticks for butterbeers with Poppy and Natty. He would have chased you down and told you he’d seen all the memories. He would have told you he loved you, too. The two of you would have laughed at how silly you’d been. And then he would have kissed you and stolen you away from whatever endeavor you had going on to make up for lost time.

But now, you’d lost more than time and nothing would make up for it. It would gnaw away at Sebastian forever. 

But the worst part was he couldn’t save you. He could return to your memories to see you again, but he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t feel you, couldn’t speak with you or reach out to pull you to safety. He couldn’t bring you back.

Soon, those memories would be gone, too. The vials you left were no bigger than Sebastian’s index finger. They’d run empty if he revisited the pensieve too often. He hated how he had to ration you like this. You loved each other. He deserved you with boundless abundance.

And though you’d found a way to tell him how you felt, he would never have the chance to tell you. He silently prayed you somehow secretly knew, but you deserved more than the cowardice of unspoken words. You deserved a loud and vibrant love, obnoxious to those who envied you and beautiful to those who understood you.

And then Sebastian realized. 

He scurried from the Undercroft, your vials left in their box to be retrieved later. Right now, he had to get to you.

You were buried just south of Hogsmeade, near the observation platform that overlooked the South Hogwarts region and the castle. It was your favorite place, because you said it presented you with a perfect view of home and everything you loved. 

When Sebastian reached your grave, he fell to his knees before it. Tears returned to his eyes and he choked back a sob.

“I saw them,” he sputtered. “I saw everything – all of your pensieve memories. I wish you’d told me. I wish we could have known how it felt to be together. And I wish I could have told you how much I love you, too.”

And then he wept. He wept for himself, for you, and for the universe that had to continue its existence without the privilege of your presence. 

He cried until every emotion had poured itself from his eyes into the soil of your grave. He prayed his tears would seep six feet under and find their way to you. You had given him your tears – they now sat in those tiny little vials that Sebastian would treasure forever. The least he could do was gift you with his, even if it was his birthday.

He stopped celebrating for good that year, electing to instead spend every birthday returning to your pensieve memories until one day, those were gone, too. 

[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˚₊✩‧₊

Taglist: @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @whimsicalwadewinstonwilson @marvel-ous-m

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[the-cosmic-cauldron]

🪷 Healing Astrology: Chakra Astrology 🪷

ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴋʀᴀ ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴀꜱᴛʀᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟ ꜱɪɢɴꜱ

𝙐𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙎𝙪𝙣, 𝙈𝙤𝙤𝙣, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙍𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙣�� 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