#It never really snows here more than an inch and it's been a long time since that anyway.

[thetomorrowshow]

love is such a drag ch. 3

hehehe they go on a date.....

cw: an unnamed character uses homophobic and transphobic slurs

~

Grian pulls into a parking space slowly, peering over the dash to ensure that he doesn't hit the piled-up snow in front of the curb.

Here he is.

The Cheesecake Factory.

He's been doing vocal warm-ups in the car for the entire drive (ten minutes), pitching his voice gradually higher until he feels comfortable in a higher register. Luckily, his voice already isn't the deepest, and he's never found it too difficult to flip up to his Ariana voice.

He'd spent a little too much time picking out his outfit, but he's happy with his choice. One of his classic looks—a magenta skirt that stops about three inches above his knees, almost pencil-thin, which works well to accentuate hips that he doesn't really have. He's matched it with a lacy white crop top, a pale pink cardigan halfway buttoned up over it to protect his bare stomach from the cold. His winter coat is his normal black one, but he thinks it could pass as a girl's coat, so he decides to wear it inside instead of leaving it in the car (and that way, if he gets cold during the date, he won't have to borrow the man's jacket or anything grossly romantic like that).

Grian checks his make-up one last time in the rearview mirror. It looks good, subtle in a non-subtle way. A typical face of make-up, a dab of light lipstick, some autumn-toned eyeshadow (which compliments his skin and eyes) and a bit of mascara. Nothing too special, the biggest flair being a bit of glitter here and there.

There's a bit of a spot where he hasn't quite blended it right, where it leads to his neck. He clicks his tongue, reaches into his little purse for his beauty blender.

He dabs at his chin, fixing the lacking spot, then closely examines his skin for any other irregularities in his make-up. Too much glitter here, perhaps? Uneven mascara? Or—

He's procrastinating.

Right.

This doesn't have to be a long date. An hour. Long enough that he can get his food, eat some of it, and bring the rest home in a take-out box.

Besides, this man won't notice if his make-up isn't quite right. After all, he's oblivious enough that he didn't realize Grian wasn't a girl.

So Grian does one more vocal warm-up, just a quick sentence in his girl voice, and pushes the car door open with the toe of his sneaker, hopping out onto the asphalt.

Pearl has been trying to convince him to let her get the car jacked up, but if they did that he would have to jump to get out of the car, and it's a 2004 silver Ford Focus and that would just look ridiculous. He isn’t strong enough to defend such an ugly car, and he isn’t tall enough to get into and out of it.

He slips his purse onto his shoulder (after, of course, stowing away his phone and his beauty blender and his keys) and clicks the lock button on the inside of the door before pushing it shut.

He can go on a date, for goodness’ sake. He's going to be fine.

And if all goes poorly, Mumbo's going to fake an emergency.

Grian picks his way around the snow, grimacing as he can already feel his converse soak through. He hates wet socks. Does anybody like wet socks? Probably weird people. The kind of people that Mumbo goes on dates with.

Should he wait outside?

Grian looks around at the cars, none of which look quite like what he's imagining. In his mind, he sees the man pull up in a Ferrari, or a Tesla, or something fancy to match his gold-tipped cane. Everything here is pretty average, with the most expensive being some sort of Volkswagen thing.

Then, as he's waiting, a car pulls in.

It isn't anything that he expected. It's a station wagon, older than Grian, some of the brownish-red paint on the sides peeling. The windshield is cracked, a long line along the bottom, sending a distortion through the little parrot plushie sitting on the dash.

The license plate is bent, and as Grian watches this car pull in a little too fast and the tires hit the curb, he can guess why.

The driver doesn't bother with backing up and trying again. He parks it there, and Grian almost can't bear to look.

That can't be him.

That can't be.

But the door opens, and in a maneuver that almost cracks the windshield even more, the driver pulls a cane out over the shoulder of the passenger seat, familiarly gold-tipped and used to push open the door a bit further.

“Sorry I'm late!”

The man scrambles out of the car, tugging soft leather gloves off his hands and stuffing them into the pocket of his brown leather jacket. “I had to make a stop—took longer than I expected—how are you?”

He looks pretty much the way Grian remembers. His brown hair is just the tiniest bit long—it still looks fine, but it's meant to be shaved short on the sides, he thinks, and it’s started to outgrow that sheared state. The same brown scar trails down the side of his face, but that doesn't stop his face from stretching in a wide smile, teeth even and almost sparkling.

He's good-looking, at least. Grian isn't going on a date with someone who looks like they just crawled out of the ocean and was instantly bit by a zombie.

Honestly, though, the date with that one sea-monster-from-the-dead-looking man wasn't his worst date ever.

The man hurries forward, his cane almost slipping on a patch of ice, and halts just before he reaches Grian, slightly out of breath, one side of the collar of his leather jacket tucked in.

The man doesn't notice his errant clothing, just stares at Grian, mouth slightly open and green eyes wide.

“Hi,” the man breathes. “I—well—um . . . should—go in?”

Oh, this man is absolutely enamored.

Grian will be able to order anything he wants.

The man insists that Grian go first, so Grian starts down the sidewalk toward the restaurant, checking behind himself to make sure that the man's cane doesn't slip again.

The man, of course, hurries ahead right as they come to the restaurant and pulls open the door before Grian can even reach for it, and he flashes another toothy smile as he nods his head for Grian to pass.

Grian steps in and moves to the side, pretending to check his phone while he waits for the man to figure out their seating. He isn't going to give any impression that he's willing to pay.

Soon enough, a waiter leads them to a small booth, tucked away near the back of the dining room.

Great, they aren't sitting in public view? He was hoping to be more visible to the other diners, deterring this man from any unwanted displays of affection.

He sits reluctantly, on the end of the booth seat closer to the door, leaving no room for his date to sit beside him. He isn't taking chances with this one.

Luckily, his date doesn't try to squeeze in next to him, settling down (slowly) in the seat opposite. The waiter leading them sets down two menus, then steps back with a cheeky grin.

“Can I get you two anything to drink?” he asks, and Grian's date practically bounces up in his seat.

“Two Strawberry Blossoms,” he says, clearly quite excited.

And that—

Nope!

No, that's alcohol, that's got to be alcohol. Grian is underage, he can't get carded right now.

He hadn't even thought to bring his fake ID. They were going to the Cheesecake Factory, for goodness’ sake!

Not only that, but both his real and his fake have his face and name. It would entirely blow his cover to have to pull out his ID.

“Just—just pepsi, please,” Grian says before the waiter can ask for his ID.

“But—”

“Pepsi,” Grian says firmly, ignoring his date's protests.

The waiter nods, and when he reaches out for the other man's ID, the man shrugs morosely, looking quite like Grian had just confessed to being a drag queen.

He needs to stop thinking about blowing his cover if he doesn't want to actually blow his cover.

“I'll just have ginger ale, I guess,” the man says dramatically, valiantly going for a smile through his clear disappointment. His shoulders are hunched, his face the picture of weary-but-I-shall-do-it, his eyes somehow still sparkling through the hair that has drooped into his face.

Grian stares.

How can this man exude the same energy as six different cartoon characters combined? How can this man be the Voltron of over-expressive cartoons?

Why is he on a date with Voltron?

“I just want to be sober,” he finds himself explaining, even though he doesn't owe Voltron an explanation. “With driving in this weather, you know?”

The man perks up, reanimated by the simple sentence, even his hair seeming revitalized. “That makes sense!” he declares. He pushes Grian's menu toward him, fingers tapping on the plastic. “Is there anything—oh, wait, almost forgot!”

He unzips his jacket all the way. There’s a pocket on the inside of his jacket, and from it, the man pulls out an entire vase.

It’s thin, and red, and there’s a handful of multi-colored wildflowers stuck in it, and Grian can’t help but stare.

“How—how did that fit—?”

The man doesn’t answer, just places the vase between them with an odd flick of his wrist, then beams at Grian.

“Flowers!” he says, as if that explains and makes up for the absolutely insane act of pulling a whole vase of flowers out of your jacket.

Grian’s got to give him points for creativity.

“I was hoping they’d have pink and white,” the man says with a shrug, “but it is January, so I suppose I can’t expect the flowers to have much variety. But I think red and purple are just as nice—sunset colors, you know?”

“Mhm,” Grian answers absently (even though those are not, actually, sunset colors), his eyes darting from the vase to his date’s jacket. There’s no way. That had to have been some sleight of hand, or something.

He dated a magician in high school. Grian had been highly impressed by the tricks he performed, until they went on a date to the city-level robotics championship (to support Mumbo, of course) and Mumbo had been so distracted watching his magic tricks that he nearly lost the points that carried his team to the win. The next day, he awkwardly informed Grian that the magic his boyfriend was performing was actually a weird cover for ulterior motives, and that one trick that involved him dropping his phone and picking it back up to find the chosen playing card inside his phone case was part of an elaborate ruse to take pictures of Grian’s feet.

Maybe Mumbo wasn’t the only one serial-dating fetishists.

“I . . . they reminded me of you,” the man says, something bashful in his face as he sneaks glances at Grian over the top of his unfolded menu. “So I grabbed them. That’s why I was late.”

That’s. . . .

That’s actually very sweet.

When Grian doesn’t respond, the man clears his throat. “So. Um. Is there an appetizer you’d like?”

Grian flips open his menu, resolutely ignoring the flowers between them. He can’t find anything about this man sweet, or cute, or anything. He is the enemy. Grian’s just here for the free food.

“Er, the spinach dip?” Grian suggests, picking the first thing he sees. Spinach dip is always delicious (even if it hurts his stomach something awful every time he eats it).

“Perfect!” the man grins at him, and it’s quite a nice grin. It’s big, and lopsided, and his lips crack just the slightest bit to show his teeth.

Grian almost smiles back.

He doesn’t, but it’s close.

Grian’s been to the Cheesecake Factory twice in his life—once as a middle-schooler for his birthday (after he had won a coupon), and then again with Mumbo back when they were sixteen and they both scored jobs at Texas Roadhouse, as a treat with their first ever paychecks. He’s wanted to go back ever since, fascinated by the expansive menu. His first time, he’d gotten some boring pasta or something. With Mumbo, he’d tried the cheeseburger spring rolls. This time around, he knows exactly what he wants.

The Macaroni and Cheese Burger.

His mouth is watering just thinking about it. It sounds horrendous. It sounds beautiful. It sounds like everything he needs to make this date well worth his time.

“So! Do you live on campus?”

Grian’s eyes dart up—his date has set down his menu, fingers steepled before him, waiting for Grian to answer.

A simple, basic, getting-to-know-you question.

He can do that.

He can do this. He has to keep his eyes on the prize. Macaroni and Cheese Burger. He’s playing Ariana because it gives him the chance to taste his dreams.

How on earth does small talk work?

-

Two days later finds Grian back at the Aquetown bar, a blue drink set in front of him at the booth where he'd decided to sit.

He's not here as Ariana, this time. He's done with creeps for the night.

He'd worked a show at one of his normal venues. He wasn't the main feature of the show—he works with a group of five other guys, and there's generally three or four of them together at one show. Grian's pulled his own show several times, of course, even though he hasn't got near as much experience under his belt as some of his fellow performers—though, that may be part of the draw. Grian usually plays Ariana as a young, relatively innocent pop star, and there are plenty who find that desirable.

That does, unfortunately, bring in some . . . less than savory characters. Grian can usually shrug it off, worm his way out of uncomfortable situations, but tonight hadn't been a good crowd at all.

He'd left as soon as he had finished, exchanging grimaces with the two others that had performed, not even taking the time to change more than throwing on a set of sweats over his Ariana getup. In the car, he'd unclipped his hair extensions, and he wiped off the lipstick with a napkin once he sat down in the bar, but he really just looks a mess. His base makeup and eyes are still done, a bit of blush highlighting his cheekbones, and there’s still glitter in his hair, and—

Grian frowns at his own reflection in the dark screen of his phone. His dangly earrings. He unscrews those and shoves them in his sweatpants pocket, surely losing the back of at least one of them.

He really does love dressing up as Ariana. Drag is one of his passions! There are just are some nights where he can’t stand to be in it a second longer.

His hoodie is baggy enough to hide his cleavage, luckily. And the white tennis shoes he'd worn on stage are innocuous enough to not be out of the ordinary.

Stressful night, he texts Mumbo. Stopped for a bite.

As if on cue, his food arrives: nothing fancy, just some chicken fingers and fries. He starts on them, too tired to worry about washing his hands of the sweat and glitter left on them from the show.

Despite the night, his thoughts are elsewhere.

Namely, on the date with the man.

He had never figured out the man's name, because he had been so stupidly polite that he barely talked about himself. He just listened to Grian, eyes fixed on him, occasionally making an excited comment, utterly enraptured in whatever few stories Grian felt safe telling.

And when he had talked, it hadn't been bragging. It hadn't been overplayed boasts, or clearly false stories.

It had been a surprisingly informative discussion about what an Imagineer was (which was the man's dream job).

Which . . . that was kind of cute. Come on, who didn't secretly dream about finding a man who was attractive but hadn't lost his sense of whimsy? A man who loved cartoons and would sing in the car at the top of his lungs? A man who elected not to talk about himself in place of weaving an interesting and factual tale about the Disney parks?

It was nice. It was nice, for once, to have a guy that was actually nice.

Of course, Grian had ghosted him. There was no such thing as a man that perfect. And even if there was, there's no way such a man would be interested in him. Even if the man's intentions seemed perfectly genuine and chivalrous, at the end of the day he'd been on a date with Ariana, not Grian. He liked Ariana. He wouldn't have given the time of day to Grian.

He feels maybe a little bit gloomy, then. Not really, because he isn't actually into this nameless man, but it had been fun and now he probably won't ever go to the Cheesecake Factory again. Or anywhere else expensive.

Such depressing thoughts, combined with the mediocre bar food, keep him distracted enough that he doesn't notice the shadow of a person approaching him.

“Hey, fag!”

Grian winces, pushes his still-sweaty bangs out of his eyes and looks up.

The man before him is an older guy, his hair graying, his once-handsome face now a bit weathered, laugh lines carved around his eyes. He isn't laughing, his face twisted in a sneer.

There's another man behind him, a bit shabbier than this one, but just as condescending.

“Leave the dress-up to the girls,” the first says, and Grian should have just skipped grabbing dinner and gone home. Going out for food is one of his favorite comforts, but it isn't worth this.

“Or do you think you're a girl?” The man leers. “Tranny.”

Grian stares at them.

Just a level, tired stare, praying that the men will get bored with the non-reaction and leave.

He's way too tired to deal with this. And he needs to take off all his make-up when he gets home, still, which is probably the worst part of all of this. There’s so much he needs to do before he gets into bed.

He isn't hurt. He isn't even really offended. He's just so tired, and everything feels just a little too overwhelming, and he isn't too surprised when his itchy eyes start to burn with tears.

“Even his drink is girly,” the second man says, picking up whatever blue thing it was that he'd ordered. He swirls it a little, then spits in it.

A tear slips from his eyes, as frustrating as it is.

One of them touches his hair, pulls at it a little bit, and Grian just knows he's saying something about its length, and it isn’t that long, really, he’s been meaning to get a haircut but this works so much better with the extensions and why can’t they leave—

“Hey! What's going on, here?”

The two men step away quickly, and Grian hurries to rub his napkin over his face (which he'd avoided, not wanting to use the cheap napkin on his skin), scrubbing off as much make-up as possible while drying his tears.

He knows that voice.

He knows that voice, and he is keeping his face covered as much as possible.

A tall, rakishly handsome man with a scar trailing down his face stands before the men, leaning heavily on a gold-tipped cane, looking oddly intimidating in his green waistcoat and button-up shirt.

Because of course he does. Because Grian’s night can’t get any worse.

It’s the man, the one that asked Ariana out on a date in this very bar, and why didn't Grian think he might be a regular patron here?

“Nothing,” both men say at the same time, but one of them shoots a smirk toward Grian.

The man seems entirely unimpressed. “Sure,” he says. “I think it's time for you two to head out.”

“What? We're just chatting with—”

“You can't do that!”

Grian's former date draws himself up self-importantly. “I happen to know the owner of this establishment,” he declares, “and if you aren't gone in thirty seconds, I will be informing him that you are not welcome back.”

With surprisingly few additional mutinous mutters, both bullies leave, and Grian lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Great. He can wait a couple minutes, then leave as well. Then he can go home and rant to Mumbo about how terrible the night was while he gets cleaned up. Mumbo will know just what to say.

But the man, curse him, slides into the seat opposite Grian and holds out a hand.

“My name's Scar,” he says, and that cannot be true.

Scar? Scar? It has to be a nickname.

Grian coughs into the napkin, unable to restrain his surprise. “For real?”

Grian does not shake his hand, and after a moment, Scar turns it into a smoothing of his hair (which would be cool, if he hadn't held his hand across the table for a solid ten seconds before). 

Scar smiles winningly. “Born and raised! I'm sorry about those guys. If it helps, I'm here every weekend and I've never seen them.”

“Do you really know the owner?”

“Yep! He's one of my mom's friends, consulted me on the interior, all that. I even worked here for a while!”

Grian doesn't pull down the napkin, instead choosing to scrub at his eyes with it. At least his make-up is a decent bit more excessive than it was on the date, though the rhinestones pull off with little jabs of pain as they get caught.

“I like your make-up,” Scar says, in a tone of voice so chipper that Grian isn't sure if he's being honest or lying to try and boost Grian's mood.

He shrugs. “I don't usually wear make-up.”

“You're good at it, though. I don't know the first thing about make-up—I wouldn't be able to tell a foundation from a—well, what's that little screwdriver thing that they use on the eyes?”

Despite himself, Grian snorts. “What? Like—mascara?”

Scar shrugs. “Maybe! But it's just amazing that you can do that. Whatever those other guys said, they're absolutely wrong. And terrible people, if I may be so bold.”

Scar stands again, grimacing as he shifts his weight to his cane. Grian had assumed it was cosmetic, but he definitely needs it for some purpose.

“I'll let you get back to your dinner,” Scar tells him, offering a soft, warm smile. It’s a nice smile, just like it was on the date, genuine and happy and well-meaning. “I ought to head home, anyway. My roommate hates it when I drive after midnight. See you around, I hope!”

With that, he leaves, picking up a backpack from a table a few booths away from Grian, giving a nod to the barista before exiting the building.

No.

Grian lets his face fall to the table.

No, no, no, no, no!

Why is that man so—so nice? So well-intentioned?

Grian's never dated nice guys before. He's dated quite a few bad boys, the kinds with motorcycles and leather jackets and cigarettes. He'd even been a bad boy himself for a few months his senior year of high school, but his sunglasses became eyeliner and his leather jacket became boobs and cute skirts before too long.

And then he'd gone through a phase of only dating bears, but that had never coalesced into anything substantial. He and Mumbo had gone on one date, back in high school, but they were both looking for the same kind of man and that kind of man was not each other. In fact, after that date with Mumbo, Grian had entirely written off the idea of dating nice guys, seeing as Mumbo fell firmly in that category in his mind and he and Mumbo are nowhere near romantically compatible, codependent as they are.

Scar is different, though. Different from every man he's been on dates with. Scar is nice, chivalrous, caring—and that isn't to say Grian's had a ton of bad relationships where his partners weren't those things, but Scar is all those things to everyone. He respects Ariana and her decisions and seems genuinely interested in getting to know her; he protects random men he doesn’t know from harassment and does his best to help them calm down.

He smiles the same way to both of them.

Scar is kind, plain and simple. He's kind, and has a good heart, yet is totally secure in his masculinity. What kind of man can stand up to bullies while wearing a waistcoat, swagger with unreachable confidence around a bar that he doesn't own or work at, then turn around and gush about Disney parks and movies?

After a long moment of contemplating, Grian decides that he isn't attracted to Scar. Not really. He's just . . . the man is odd, is all, and he wants to know more!

So he stands, chicken and fries forgotten, and heads up to the bar.

The woman tending the bar raises a brow, flicking her blond hair behind her shoulder. “Need another?”

Grian hops onto a barstool, his toes barely touching the ground. “No, I have a question.”

He looks back toward the door, back toward where Scar had just exited.

“That man,” he asks slowly. “Scar. Do you know him?”

“Oh, yeah. He used to work here. We exercise together, sometimes.”

Grian leans forward. “What's he like?”

The smile on the woman's face is calculating, knowing. “Scar . . . boy, the stories I could tell.”

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

I need to see Finn and Axlerod's raw reaction to me crying over snow. I need to know how they would react.

[heich0e]

"can i call you later?"

the wind bites at your cheeks, but the sting you feel is as much from the smile on your face as it is from the chill.

"dunno," you muse, pursing your lips as though you're contemplating the question deeply. "can you?"

rintarou groans, but the sound isn't half as plaintive as it ought to be. you watch as his head hangs down defeatedly where his frame is folded over the railing that lines the front of the train station, his body pitched forward over the barrier like he's trying to reach you on the other side.

you've been saying goodbye for the past twenty minutes—or, you've been trying to. sort of. maybe. the train you'd planned to catch has already come and gone, and the next is set to soon arrive. one more and it will be the last of the night, but not even knowing that fact seems to be moving you closer towards the door to the station—content to stay here, like this, as the wind of the late fall night nips at your cheeks and the two of you muddle through your goodbye with the inelegance of two people who couldn't be less committed to it if they tried.

rintarou lifts his head to meet your gaze.

"i mean it, though." he says. "can i call you tonight?"

your stomach flips when he looks at you this way. when he keeps looking at you this way.

"we just spent hours together," you remind him, but your words are too breathy to make impact. too elated to be reproachful.

you've been on three dates with rintarou now. you think they're dates anyway, though it's never explicitly been stated. his invitations are always casual, sandwiched in between all the other texts he sends to you these days, so you might be reading into things too closely for your own good. but dinner doesn't just feel like dinner when rintarou has this way of looking at you like you're the only person he's ever laid his eyes on.

"i know," he answers. it's not an explanation, or an excuse, or even an apology. it's plain acceptance. a shamelessness you find wretchedly endearing.

you glance back at the station behind you, biting the inside of your cheek to temper your delight.

"my train is coming," you say.

he looks a bit crestfallen. laughably glum, considering the circumstances.

you drag the heel of your shoe back ever so slightly, not quite a step—at least not in any meaningful way—but inching in the direction of the doors at a glacial pace. continental drift seems positively hasty in comparison to your retreat.

"bye," he calls, his tone dejected. you watch as he lifts his hand weakly, still slumped over the railing, and waves at you with only a few fingers raised.

you want to laugh, but your chest is so full of something else—something syrupy and fluttering and good—that it's like there's no space for it underneath your ribs.

you call back to him just before you step into the station.

"rintarou—"

there are other people around, stepping between and around you both—rushing into the station to escape the cold, or moving briskly as they brace themselves and step out into it—but you hardly notice them when your eyes meet.

you smile.

"—call me later."

he calls you almost every night after that.

even as the cool autumn winds change with the seasons; carrying flakes of snow as winter blankets nagano, warming with the spring, turning heavy with humidity in summer, and then repeating the cycle anew.

even as your reluctant goodbyes turn from late nights outside of train stations to early morning words whispered under blankets as rintarou leaves for practice or away games.

even as the uncertainty of whether or not you're getting your hopes up—of whether those meetings were even really dates at all—melts away into nothing more than a memory.

you're not even sure what the two of you manage to spend so much time talking about on the phone. nothing, really. everything in its own right. rintarou's phone calls are something you come to look forward to at the end of a long day. something you anticipate when you have exciting news to share. a comfort when you're missing him and a relief when you need him most.

"is that the last one?" you ask, turning just in time to see your boyfriend—your live-in boyfriend now, officially—flop back on the sofa after he drops the last moving box atop the stack piled near the balcony door.

"yeah," he wheezes, evidently winded from the exertion—from the exhaustion—of moving house. you laugh a bit to yourself as you shuffle over to the sofa, leaning over the back so you can peer down at him where he lays sprawled against the cushions.

"aren't you a professional athlete?" you tease him. "shouldn't you have better stamina?"

rintarou cocks a brow, something sly swimming behind his gaze.

"i need better stamina?" he drawls. "you're usually complaining about the opposite."

you roll your eyes in the wake of his remark, grabbing a throw pillow from beneath his head and yanking it from under him unceremoniously, only to press it lightly against his face.

you shuffle back towards the kitchen where you'd left the box you were unpacking abandoned. you grab a plate from inside the cardboard and turn to place it on the shelf you'd decided would house your dinnerware.

"it's late," you tell him, reaching for the next plate in the box. "you should go wash up first."

you don't get a reply, and that surprises you. you creep over to the sofa again, only to find rintarou staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"hey," you laugh a little, leaning on your elbows against the back of the couch. "where'd you go?"

rintarou's gaze snaps back to yours. he still looks at you like he did on your first date. like he did outside the train station on your third. he smiles, bit it's a bit sheepish.

"sorry, was just thinking," he answers quietly. he reaches up from where he's lying on his back, brushing his thumb against your cheek. his smile turns a little bit giddy, then. boyishly charming. "can't believe we finally got a place together."

you lean into his touch, huffing a little breath through your nose—halfway to a laugh.

"guess you won't have to call me anymore," you joke, and rintarou's expression changes—falls slightly—but only for a moment. you realize what you've said, or at least think about the implications more, and you sort of understand the shift.

you fell in love through those phone calls.

you'll miss them—the ritual, the familiarity, the comfort—even though you know they've been replaced by something better.

you turn your face, pressing a fleeting kiss to rintarou's palm. "go wash up," you tell him again, heading back towards the kitchen and your (now twice abandoned) box of plates.

he seems to heed your advice this time, peeling himself up off the sofa and shuffling off in the direction of the washroom.

"don't use all the hot water!" you call after his retreating frame, and you hear him reply noncommittally under his breath before the door clicks closed behind him.

you've only got three dishes left to unpack before your box is emptied, but the shelf you'd been organizing doesn't seem to want to accommodate all of your bowls in the way you wanted, so you're left arranging and rearranging them as you try to find a way to get them to fit.

in the back pocket of your jeans, your phone begins to ring. with three plates balanced in one hand, you reach for it with the other—the movement muscle memory now, instinct more than volition, after all this time. you answer the call without even looking at the screen, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you continue juggling the dishes in front of you.

"oop—hello?"

you pause after you answer the call, realizing for the first time that you shouldn't be getting a call at all. not at this time of night. not in this apartment.

the line is quiet, just the sound of breathing that you could recognize anywhere to be heard from the other end of the call.

"why are you calling me?" you ask rintarou, but the words are light. too fond to be reproachful.

you hear rintarou laugh—from the other end of the call and from the other side of the bathroom door.

"just wanted to hear your voice," he answers you (the same way he has a thousand nights before when you've asked him that same question.)

"you're ridiculous," you tell him, completely enamoured.

"i know," he replies.

it's quiet for a moment as the two of you stand on opposite sides of your apartment. on opposite ends of your call.

you shift a stack of bowls a little to the left. it all fits now. just the way you wanted it to.

"y'know, the hot water won't run out as fast if we shower together—"

you hear the bathroom door open, and when you look over your shoulder, rintarou is peeking at you from around the edge of the door—his phone held to his ear, a smile on his face you know is mirrored on your own, and a look in his eye that's never once wavered.

he tilts his head.

"—wanna join me?"

[wolfierot]

❝ 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 ❞

thinking about pussydrunk ceo!natasha. she’s your boss, for fuck sake she’s the one who made the mistake of hiring someone she was attracted to. it’s obvious from the moment the two of you lay eyes on each other, there’s something bubbling beneath you two. she’s always been the assertive type, but that’s what happens when you run things. you have to make the right decisions, the tough calls, fire the ones that just don’t make the cut. you’d been on her chopping block, a long list of layoffs to be made and yours in bold, along with the others but the overly stubborn, red-haired, business woman couldn’t stick to the guns she’d been given.

not like the many men who worked under, all of this, her company that she started, every single effort was made by her. five years of missing holidays, her best friend’s birthday, the big moments she wished she could be a part of being the people she did have in her life was the only family she knew, until her company found it’s footing.

yet, when it comes to firing you, she can’t do it.

the entire staff at the annual ski trip, snowed in the lodge rented out for all personnel yet here she was tearing you apart body from soul, her nimble fingers thrusting in your warm and inviting cunt. what she said last time, would be the last but it was a bold, blatant lie — the both of you knew, accepting her words for what it was, a person yearning to achieve the moral and just action but never quite achieving it. natasha romanoff has traded with the devil, atoning for her sins at a later moment, firmly finding fallen grace as she lapped and fucked your slick in and out of you.

both of your bodies slippery wet, her toned and firm muscles in her forearms hard at work as the pearly white tile in the shower gave her knees a slight bruise, not that she really minds. a temporary marking on her body, tortuous as it reminds her of the one thing she hates to admit to herself….she’s too weak to give up these moments with you. she wears she sees god and all the constellations placed in the midnight sky when you cum for her.

you’re holding back, that much is clear, your grip on her hair tightens, pulling at the wet strands as the waterfalls on her perfect ass, the one you love so intensely. last night, she let you fuck her for the first time in this nine month arrangement, it’s more than you had bargained for, but fuck hearing her sing for you. delicious chants of your name spilling from her perfectly plump, heart shaped lips as you plowed her like she was a farmer’s daughter, your strap flirting with her cervix as she sunk into the bed. she took every bit of it, demanding for more and you weren’t one to argue, not when slight murmurs of mommy fell from her sinful tongue.

“this is what you wanted, right?” with greed in her eyes, she sucks your clit in your mouth, suckling on the bundle of nerves. practically living in her mouth, she spells her name out with her tongue, her fingers at a rapid pace as you grind against her face.

“nat—” involuntarily, you whine. your natural brat behavior comes boiling to the surface. her blunt fingernails claw at your abdomen as her hips grind against the hair. the louder you get the more needs she becomes for release.

at the very least, she needs to bring you to one. deep in her bones, natasha’s sure she needs your cum painting her face like you were made to do.

“that’s daddy to you, fucking brat.” she slips a third finger into your weeping cunt, your tits bounce as you ride erratically, pretending it was the nine inch strap, the baby blue plastic cock that fades into pink, filling you up.

“daddy, thought you said you didn’t want this pussy again?” natasha almost doesn’t catch it, to pussy sucking your slit back in her mouth when she’s not barking orders at you. it’s what you fucking deserve, her cruelty, fondling her breasts in the kitchen when anyone one of her employees could have walked in. devastatingly, there wasn’t one plea to stop you. she let you touch her, slowly unbutton the white crispy button up as you sucked on her nipple, your teeth grazing the sensitive pierced flesh, tongue circling the pebbled bud before moving on to the next. intentionally, your free hand squeezing the one not being used. there was nothing in the world you love less than her tits.

for just a moment, you thought about how full they must have been when she had her daughter, lactating onto her shirt. fuck, you’d suck every last drop if she would have let you, but back then you were just some bright-eyed assistant pining after a married woman. now, you’re getting fucked by her, post separation from her wife. the woman whose lack of sex drive killed their relationship, along with the cheating natasha later found out about, so she did the one thing that knew would piss off her now ex-wife.

fucked the assistant she always knew that pissed her off to no end.

was it really your fault? secretly, she took pride in blaming you for the situation at hand. you had the perfect tits, the supple ass she could spend hours fucking her tongue with, the pussy she would fuck into your folds were puffy and whiny, the clit she would rub and pinch until she saw those pretty eyes roll back. as if it were fate in the stars, or just the fact she loves fucking you, natasha would make it happen more often than not.

she told herself it would just be a one time thing but then she tasted your pussy, sending her into an insatiable frenzy. the first time she heard you moan, hands gripping her desk tightly as she spanked your ass with every thrust of her hips, her cock hitting you with such a brute force, you didn’t even know it was capable. natasha didn’t even know she liked being called daddy until she heard it from you, now she needs it like a fucking fix. if she doesn’t get it, she become irritable, yelling at any and every staff member, hounding them to send you to the office to your office, m’gonna to ream her fucking ass, but little did anyone else know she meant it in a literal sense.

“mhm, i think someone is ready to be good for daddy. so fucking close, aren’t you slut? c’mon yeah? think you can be extra good and cum on my tits? i’ll let you clean it up with your tongue, yeah?” her sinful, deprived, fucking hot words make your body slump against the shower door, your pussy squirting instantaneously as she purposely buts a bounce to her movements, perfect breasts taunting you as she nudges your puckered hole with her pinky, rimming some of your slick with it.

natasha peaks up through her eyelashes, hooded eyes drunk on the sweet taste of your cunt, watching as you crumble into yourself. your hips bucking, even convulsing as you paint her face, her throat, and more gloriously even your tits. even more so, you’re thankful the water from the shower head is cascading down her tattooed spine, wanting the privilege of cleaning it up herself.

the older woman is unrelenting as her fingers rub over your clit at a rapid rate, your cunt unwillingly to stop as your cum coats her in it.

“good fucking girl, oh fuck, so good for me. soak daddy’s tits, yeah?” you whimper out her name, another cry of pleasure is released when she fucked your cum back into you. reminding you of just how violently she can make your orgasms be.

quickly you muster as much strength as you come down from your high, pinning her against the glass door, licking and sucking at her full breasts. you spend even more time sucking on them than you did before. pushing them together as you suffocate yourself motor-boating the most perfect pair of tits in the world as natasha moans and slightly giggles as you do so. natasha throws her head against the glass as your skilled tongue flicks over her sensitive nipples, pulling at the barbell, pushing it back and forth as you suck it back into your mouth, releasing with an obnoxious pop before moving to the next.

“m’gonna cum if you don’t stop.” you’re surprised from the confession but you move past it before gently whispering in her ear after you’ve licked every last bit of your cum off of her. “can’t have that now can we? not when i know you’re dying to have my cock inside you, again.”

natasha lets you fuck her on the bed, then against the dresser as she sits on the top holding her knees to her chest as you piston fuck her into another dimension, and when the two of you are finally spent for the night, she wonders why she thought she wanted to get out of this. if she has to pay for your salary herself so be it, the last thing she has on her mind as she falls asleep holding you is if she’s going to fire you.

natasha knows now she never will. 

[love-at-first-sight-23]

Baby It’s Cold Outside

JJ Maybank x reader— song by Idina Menzel

Warnings: Contains sexual content, oral receiving, unprotected sex, penetration sex, JJ uses manipulation tactics, creampie, mentions of alcohol, 18+ MDNI

Plot: You tell JJ you have to get home, but he insists on you staying especially considering it’s snowing outside. The evening turns heated quickly. Fem!sub!reader

You lounged on the couch, sipping a glass of red wine and gazing at the red-and-orange fire flickering in the fireplace. You leaned your head against JJ, who was smiling down at you.

You took a taste of your wine. The intoxicated buzz in your veins added to the cozy ambience of the night. Tinsel hung from the branches of the Christmas tree in the corner of the room and a golden garland sparkled on the mantel. You were surprised JJ had taken the time to decorate the place when he had invited you over.

Speaking of which, you had to have gotten here at least two hours ago. You checked your watch and started. “JJ, I’ve got to go. It’s well past 10 already.”

“What do you mean? You’ve only just gotten here, haven’t you?” JJ’s comforting manner was nearly convincing as he stroked your hair.

“I’m sorry, but I promised my mom I’d be home much earlier. She’ll be worried sick.” You sat up and put on your bag, intending to leave out the door. You felt JJ’s hand on your shoulder, halting your movement.

“Please, babe, just a little longer. It’s freezing cold outside.” He gestured as if to prove a point out the window, where the snow was falling in a thick white sheet. Wind blew harshly against the frosted glass.

You hesitated at the sight. “Well, I have got my winter coat.” The large fur coat, which your mother had bought for you, was hanging on the hook by the door waiting to be used.

JJ pffed. “That won’t keep you warm one bit. It’s a snowstorm out there.”

It didn’t seem very enticing, you supposed… “Alright, alright, I’ll have one more drink. Then I must be going.” You told him firmly.

JJ smirked at you while he poured you another glass of wine. “I’ll play your favorite songs.” While Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas began playing in the background on the Bluetooth speaker, you let yourself relax. You could stay just a bit more, couldn’t you?

After you had downed more than a couple drinks, you forced yourself to get up from the couch. “Ok, JJ, I really can’t stay. It’s been nice, truly, but my father will kill me if I’m not home.” JJ’s hand was on your chest in an instant, pushing you back down. He tilted his head. 

“Just one more? I’ve got some good whiskey for you to try.” When you protested, he insisted, “C’mon, it’s below freezing out there. I would never forgive myself if my baby got frostbite.”

You grumbled to yourself. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” But you didn’t argue. How could you, when he was so persuasive with those blue eyes capturing yours? The ones that always took you in and put a spell on you that you couldn’t escape?

“You’re very pushy, did you know that?” 

“I like to think of it as opportunistic.” He chuckled as he got out a new bottle from the fridge.

And so you stayed, longer and longer, your family’s suspicions long forgotten. The warmth of the fireplace continued to crackle and you lost count of how many drinks you had. At some point you felt JJ’s lips pressed against yours, mumbling  “Your lips are delicious, did you know that?”

And then somehow your clothes were off, and JJ was devouring your pussy, tongue lapping up your wetness as it flicked in and out.

You moaned through the haze of the alcohol and… well, Christmas spirit, your sounds filling the night. JJ’s mouth latched over your cunt possessively, tongue digging deeper and swirling against your sweet spot as he brought you closer to your edge.

“JJ,” you cried out as the wave of pure ecstasy sparked every inch of your body. 

“You’re so beautiful, letting me do this to you,” JJ praised. His voice was hoarse with desire. “You never fail to make a man like me need you.”

He spat on his cock, making sure you were lying over the sofa spread out for him, then pressed gradually against your entrance. You whined at the sudden pressure.

“Please, Jay.” You didn’t care how obscene you sounded. You craved the feel him more than anything.

“You want me now, don’t you baby,” JJ said lowly, his eyes glimmering down at you completely exposed underneath him.

“Yes,” you pleaded.

Your head fell back with a gasp as he slammed into you, his delicious size filling you up with anguish and pleasure. He thrusted harder and more aggressively, both of your senses clouded and all thoughts filled with animalistic drive.

Tears streamed down your face and sweat slicked your forehead, his hands tangled in your hair. With every movement you grabbed onto his hips, trying to find something to stabilize yourself with. He quickly detached your fingers and pinned them above your head.

“Stay still for me, beautiful,” he commanded. Your pretty gasps made him want to cum inside you so badly, but first you had to follow by his rules.

You obeyed against your will, unable to resist or even lift your head from the pillow. You absolutely loved the way his hair was mussed and strands of it falling in front of his face. His eyes were closed as he slapped against your walls deeper still. JJ’s moans served to turn you on the most and rip away any sanity you still retained.

An exclaimed “Ouhh” released from your mouth as you came again. Not long after you felt JJ’s warm cum spreading through you, spilling down your thighs. 

Fucked out, JJ, gasping hoarsely for breath, pulled his cock out of you and kneeled in between your legs for a few minutes. Then, painfully, he stood up and got a damp cloth from the kitchen. 

As he cleaned you up, loving and gentle, you batted your eyelashes at him sexily. “You’re going to get me pregnant, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I will.” The deep promise sent shivers down your spine.

Later that night you snuggled up in his lap, falling asleep with JJ’s arms wrapped protectively around you. Who cared if your parents wouldn’t be seeing you for a while yet? You would be spending Christmas here, sleeping soundly and tightly with the one you loved.

A/n: Hope you enjoyed <3 Merry Christmas everyone! Rest up and relax with your loved ones!

Tag List:

This tag list is new!! Comment if you want to be added or removed!

@idfcaboutaname, @dirtyslag96, @gillybear17, @agnxstic, @scrappybear89, @redhead1180, @k-k0129, @lucifersgirl, @immyowndefender, @eddxemxnson, @siriusly0guys, @outerb4nkss, @lanasturns3

[thealbatrovss]

ghosts in the leaves // worst wolverine x reader

summary: you’ve been stuck in the void for years, and logan doesn’t even seem to care.

one shot: ANGST, then fluff of course. I love a sadass story with a happy ending. swearing lol. suggestive material. This is my favorite one I’ve written so far. Enjoy!!

word count: 1k+

masterlist

He was too busy drinking to notice your silent pleading.

You and Logan sat against the rocky wall of your hideout base. The rest of the group of forgotten heroes were planning the final showdown with Cassandra in the next room over.

They left the two of you alone, noticing the tension growing more and more intense. Logan tried to protest, but they shut him out. He wouldn’t stop grumbling to himself about it. That, you noted, hadn’t changed about him.

Wade would occasionally poke his head out from behind the wall, hoping the reunited couple would get back together already. He loved jumping into other peoples business, you noticed. He seemed like a troublemaker.

Johnny would’ve really loved this guy.

You still didn’t understand why Logan was refusing to talk to you. He looked like hell, but so did you. Did he even care?

You just wanted to wipe the blood from his suit and the dirt from his face. Tell him about the hell you’ve been through down here. Ask him about the hell he’s been through back home.

But Logan would rather gargle piss than talk to you at all. That, you were beginning to realize.

He wouldn’t even look you in the eye. He only looked at you when he first arrived. That familiar glow returned to him at that moment. You thought you saw the love of your life return to you right then and there, eyes and mouth wide open. But by the time you ran over to him, throwing your arms around his body, tears streaming down your face, he was pushing you off him and opening a bottle of bourbon.

You could see him fighting the urge to open another one. He balanced it on his hand, and spun the bottle on the floor like it was a game. Guess he won by the fake smile on his face as he placed the lukewarm drink to his lips.

“Are you going to talk to me? Or are you just going to keep drinking?”

He picked up another glass after downing the last one, licking his lips. “I don’t talk to ghosts.”

Your stomach dropped, like a stone in a pond. Your lips fell, a weight dragging them down. “Logan-”

His fists balled up, face turning red. “Don’t fucking say my name.” All the venom leaking from his mouth seemed to form a weapon meant for himself, but he kept aiming it straight at you. “Just don't.”

You held your head high. “Why not?”

“Because,” he took a long drink before continuing. “Your voice is drilling into my skull, that’s why. I don’t talk to ghosts and they don’t talk to me.” Logan shifted his body, facing away from you.

You closed your mouth, letting the words die inside. Instead, you watched the leaves fall from beside the open door.

The trees here never changed. They were stuck in a perpetual autumn. It was haunting to look at. You forgot there were other seasons sometimes. You missed the snow in winter. Icicles hanging from the roof of Xavier’s mansion. You missed the spring flowers and that early summer rain. All you had was autumn, and Logan had the rest. He didn’t seem to like any of it at all anymore.

The Logan you once knew and loved, if he saw you alive and well, he’d come running to you, holding you tight, whispering words of comfort.

This Logan though…He was tired. And angry. So angry. Grief radiated off every inch of him. It almost became a superpower on its own. You weren’t a stranger to that power. He kept you at a distance too, back when you first met.

You had the outline of his back memorized like the back of your hand. This was your Logan. He was just jaded now. Years of believing that you were dead and that he had failed not only his friends and family, but you, the most important person in the world to him, had changed him.

Down here, your one goal was to reach him. Well, you had accomplished that. But not in the way you had wished.

“If there’s any ghosts here, it’s you.” You said it without looking at him either. Just watched the leaves fall.

Logan shut his eyes tight, the veins in his neck growing stronger. His jaw loosened, the bourbon missing his mouth and spilling all over. “Fuck!” He cursed himself.

“Did someone wet the bed again?” Wade's red head popped its way into the room. “Jesus, you two look like you fucked with the lights off. Does this place even have lights? And have you made up yet? I’m sick and tired of this meeting and I wanna join in.”

He sure knew how to make an entrance. It was almost amazing how annoying he was. Again, Johnny and him would’ve gotten along. But Cassandra got to him first.

“Turn around and walk back in there before I pop that tomato of a fucking head of yours.” Logan spat, taking another swig.

Wade gasped, putting his gloved hand to his mouth. “I’d let you pop just about anything, Wolverine.” Before he could say anything more intrusive, Blade's hand grabbed his head, pulling him back behind the wall. Wade still kept ranting all the way back into the other room.

“I’m glad you have a friend.” You tried, shifting uncomfortably in your super suit. “I wouldn’t of made it if it wasn’t for my friends down here.”

And the thought of you. You wanted to finish with that.

“He’s not my friend.”

“Seems like he’s your friend.”

He shook his head, leaning against a rocky pillar. He wanted to keep the distance between you and him as far as possible. You were going to keep running towards him anyways.

“As soon as I arrived it was too late.” You started. “They were all dead.” You paused, letting the grief settle in. Logan sat there as still as a ghost. “I was going to find you before you found them. I'm so sorry you had to see them like that.” You let the tears flow this time. “But then the TVA- they got me. Said I killed one of their own a few days prior. Which is bullshit. But they didn’t care, and they sent me here. I’ve been trying to get back to you ever since. I'm sorry, Logan.”

It happened as quickly as he drank those bottles. He got up, wobbled a bit as he stood, and walked out the door, crushing autumn leaves under his feet.

The silence he left behind was worse than his venom.

Wade popped his head back in, the other four following as well. “We did it! Operation, Stealing Cassandra’s Wii hidden underneath their bed, is underway!”

“What’s under Cassandra’s bed?” Elektra questioned.

“Oh, all kinds of stuff.” He started counting on his fingers. “Video games, velveeta cheese, a bunch of those for some reason. Cowboy hats, pixie sticks, a signed dvd of The Green Lantern. Truly an evil monster, my god.”

Gambit leaned over to Laura. “Do you think one of my missing cards could be hidden under there?”

Laura ignored him, walking over to you, noticing your wet, red eyes. “Hey, are you okay? Where’s Logan?”

“I’d like to know the answer to that question too, Laura.”

Logan’s daughter nodded, squeezing your shoulder before going to look for the shadow of her father.

It was growing dark now. Night was here and all you wanted was to sleep. Maybe you’d wake up in Logan’s arms again and he’d pepper light kisses across your face, taking all those years without him away. Like they never even happened. Like you never lost anything or anyone.

It was still night out when you woke up. Wade's snores were keeping everyone else up, so they moved him outside. You walked by him as he was passed out in a pile of leaves, making your way towards the burning campfire.

Logan sat slumped over the smoke, chin cradled to his chest. You could’ve sworn you saw tears disappearing into the fire. But you didn’t want his dagger like words again, so you turned back around.

And then you heard your name.

It was whispered so softly, like a strong wind. You waited a few more beats, hoping to hear it again. And you did. His voice was strained. Calloused over like he had said your name so many times before that it hurt so bad every time you never said his name back.

But you did this time.

“Yes, Logan?”

“I was just thinking-” His voice was wavering, like he was on a tightrope, wondering when he’d fall off. “I was thinking about your birthday. I’ve missed so many of them.”

Your eyes glazed over, a well of spring water washing away the autumn you still adored. Before you could run to him, he was already there. Strong arms found their way around you. Those lips kissed every inch of your face. It was like returning home again.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He was barely keeping it together. “I thought you were dead. And then I saw you and all I saw was another failure. I’ve failed you. You’ve been trapped here. And I didn't come to save you. All I did was punish you.”

“It’s okay.” You held him tight, but he held you tighter. “You didn’t know. You had to go on thinking everyone you loved was dead. Logan, you didn’t deserve that.”

He held your head, finally meeting your eyes with his own. “I love you.” He rarely said it. But he didn’t have to. You always knew. “And I’m sorry.”

“I love you too.”

“I’ll be sorry forever.”

“Then I will be too.”

A mix of sorrow and happiness clung to his face. He laughed, as if he was laughing for the first time. “You’re here. You’re not a ghost. I’m not a ghost.”

[thecharacterchronicler]

Playing With Fire (Part 2) || Coriolanus Snow || Smut

Outline: After working together on an assignment, Coriolanus still can’t seem to get along with her, but that doesn’t stop them from enjoying each other’s company.

Word count: 2’526

Warnings: Mostly unhinged and explicit shameless smut ✨

Author’s note: Here is the 2nd part of this story. It’s also my attempt at writing the requested prompt # 12, hope it’s a good one!

He stood in front of the metallic door leading to the lab, no stranger to the scientific department of the university. He was used to having private conversations with Dr Gaul, benefiting from her reputation and expertise when it came to university matters and his part time involvement in the Hunger Games. This time though, he wouldn’t be facing her alone. He was patiently waiting for her to show up, knowing she had been told the head gamemaker requested to talk to both of them immediately… However, it was taking her a while to get there, a proof that she had no idea what kind of lunatic she was about to speak to.

He anxiously looked around, wondering if the fact that she was running late was going to cost him some points on their assignment, or worst, cause Dr Gaul to lose the hard earned respect she now had for him.

When finally the sound of some heels clicking against the marble floor at the end of the corridor reached his ears, he slightly relaxed his posture. It didn’t take long for him to see a familiar face around the corner, cheeks flushed from rushing up the stairs and hair in a mess. Their eyes met and it served as a greeting, the girl silently taking place next to him in front of the door while adjusting her clothes.

With his hands behind his back, he risked a glance at her, just in time to catch a glimpse of her chest as she fixed the collar of her shirt, instantly giving him flashbacks of their study session and the way she had demonstrated exactly what she liked to him. He remembered how she had squeezed her own boobs, in a way that probably elicited a bit of pain, and how he would have been ready to beg to be the one to touch her like that. He had spent the last few nights thinking about it - about her - to the point that he barely was able to cum in his hand anymore, milking his erection while thinking about her way too often for it to be healthy.

Just seeing her again, feeling her presence next to him was enough to make him hard, a physiological response of his body that he simply couldn’t fight off… Even if the moment definitely wasn’t right.

“You were wrong, it seems our professors and Dr Gaul herself are more interested in my ideas than what you thought.” She said, without looking at him, with a victorious tone that amused him.

He didn’t have time to reply anything, the door opening for them.

Without anyone to welcome them, they stepped inside a large room, where glass cages were on display, filled with the most interesting creatures. Coriolanus was used to it by now, he even had had the privilege to care and learn about some of Gaul’s mutts as part of his training and had his mind set on creating his own muttation to add a bit of action in the next Hunger Games.

But his classmate had no idea what to expect. She surely thought that the creatures on display were some kind of monsters and maybe she was right in a way. But her opinion on the matter wasn’t important, the only thing that Coriolanus really cared about was how she had inched closer to him for reassurance, her arm brushing against his and following his lead with wide eyes observing their surroundings. He stood taller, enjoying the way she was visibly relying on him for protection.

When Dr Gaul appeared from behind a big aquarium filled with flesh eating insects, she jumped in surprise and almost hid behind Coriolanus as the impressive head gamemaker walked up to them.

“Well, well, I must say I wasn’t surprised to see another brilliant idea for my Games signed by Mister Snow but you never seemed very passionate about the subject.” Dr Gaul declared, eyeing her in a way that caused a cold shiver to run down Coriolanus’ spine.

He still remembered what she had done to Clemensia when she suspected that she took advantage of his ideas, was she planning on doing the same to her ? As much as he hated her way of seeing things, he wasn’t sure that he wanted her to get hurt.

“I’m passionate about changing things for the better.“ she said, smartly.

Dr Gaul made a sound but Coriolanus wasn’t sure if she approved or suspected she wasn’t being honest.

“I want another paper on how you’re planning to make your idea work, then my team will take it from there.” She demanded, still busy observing the young woman like some kind of predator. “If we provide better care to those kids, I still want them to be on display somehow for people to place their bets before they enter the arena.”

“Kids ?” She repeated, turning to look at him with a panicked expression. But when she saw him staring right back at the gamemaker, unwavering, she understood.

“I know it’s hard to consider them as children, some of them are so different from us.” Gaul shrugged. “But there’s no better representation of innocence for my games.”

Coriolanus glanced at her, wondering if she was going to protest and attempt to defend her original idea of putting notorious criminals from each district in the arena instead of innocent children but she proved to be smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

“Now chop chop, I’ve got work to do.” The influent woman suddenly exclaimed, waving them out of her lab.

They both turned around and left, a heavy silence settling between them. When finally the door closed behind them, she left out a sigh of relief. But the relief didn’t last long, as soon as she seemed to have put her thoughts back in order, she turned to Coriolanus, glaring at him with fury.

“You said we would go with my idea of sending criminals into the arena for our assignement but you didn’t keep your word!” She accused. She crossed her arms over her chest, visibly upset but all he was able to see was the way it brought her breast up, making them look even more voluminous.

“I still took what you said in consideration by suggesting we give them decent living conditions.” He retorted, which was the truth. He had only presented different points than hers to support this idea.

“Only because you think it’ll make a better show!” She exclaimed, a bit too loudly. Coriolanus nervously glanced in direction of both ends of the corridor before answering.

“And so what ? It’s still an improvement for them, it means 23 of them will experience a comfortable bed, good food and care before dying In the arena, it’s an honorable reward for their sacrifice.”

“It’s not and you know it!”

After taking another look around, weary that they might be spied on, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in direction of a door further away.

“What are you…” She started, trying to free herself from his grip but his time as a peacekeeper clearly gave him an advantage on her. “Don’t touch me…”

He only let go of her once he had shoved her inside the bathroom and closed the door behind them. He took a look at the three stalls, making sure none were occupied before focusing his attention back on the young woman, still fuming with rage in front of him.

“I don’t think this is the kind of conversation you want to have so close to Dr Gaul’s office. In fact, I don’t think this is the kind of conversation we should have at all.” He explained, standing tall in front of her, blocking her inside.

“Why ? Because pleading for the Capitol to stop sacrificing children is an act of treason ?” She snapped, shaking her head.

“It should be.” He retorted, feeling the little patience he had left fading away.

“I don’t understand why someone like you, who has so much power and the ability to charm anyone, refuses to stand up for what is right. You really are a coward.”

“A coward ?” He repeated, taking a step closer so that his threatening silhouette could tower over her as a warning for her to shut up before taking it too far. “You had the opportunity to tell Gaul exactly what you think of her games and yet you stayed quiet, nodding and smiling like a good girl. So who’s really a coward between the two of us ?”

Coriolanus always believed that he had fairly good reflexes, however he didn’t see it coming when she slammed her hand across his face, a stinging pain immediately setting his cheek on fire. He huffed, fixing his pale blue eyes to her and trying to suppress his primal instinct to defend himself.

Her face suddenly shifted from pure and uncontrolled rage to a saddened guilt, eyes desperately searching his before she launched herself into his arms and crashed her lips on his, hungrily kissing him as a way to let out all her pant up emotions.

Even if it took him by surprise, he didn’t push her away, his hands finding her hips and pulling her even closer against his body as he reciprocated the feverish kiss.

She placed her hand on the back of his neck, tugging his face closer and he felt the bit of restraint he still managed to keep on himself melt away. Was she giving him an opportunity to show her that he could do better than her toy ? Or maybe she had been as haunted by their study session as he still was ? Regardless of what it was, he was determined to not let such a chance slip away from him.

He guided her to the sink until the back of her legs pressed against it. Then, he momentarily broke their hungry kiss to lean down and grip her thighs, lifting her up and placing her on the edge of the sink in front of him. His hands disappeared under her skirt and she shivered in reaction to his gentle but cold touch. Once he felt the lace fabric of her panties under his fingertips, he tugged it down her legs, helping her take one leg out and carelessly letting the delicate piece of lingerie hang over her other ankle.

He forced her to pull her legs back slightly, pushing them against her chest because that’s how he had imagined he would fuck her if he ever had the chance to. It was how she had positioned herself while using her toy, a scene that has been playing through his head day and night since. Even if there were many different ways he wanted to thrust his cock inside her, he knew that for the sake of his sanity, this was the best place to start.

He looked down at the bulge in his pants, this time determined to let it free instead of enduring the irritation of constricted fabric over his growing erection. His pants dropped to his knees, his cock gloriously standing up, rigid and throbbing with desire.

He smiled at the way she stared at his length, with wide eyes and mouth slightly hung open.

“Does it look familiar ?” He chuckled, pumping his cock a few times in his hand to help it grow even harder and bigger.

She didn’t say anything, simply spreading her legs wide open in front of him, as a silent invitation to do with her as he pleased. He still felt amused by the mix of emotions that passed on her face as he stepped closer, as if she couldn’t believe that she was about to take his cock inside her already wet and needy pussy.

She leaned back, pressing her back against the mirror behind her as he gently pushed his tip into her, his gaze focused on what he was doing. She gasped and he kept slowly pushing himself in, the feeling of her warm folds engulfing his erection even better than what he had imagined it would be.

He buried himself all the way in, both of them gasping at the sensation. He knew she would take him in easily - after all, she was already trained to perfectly accommodate his size - but he never thought it would be this intense for him.

He slowly rocked his hips to get his cock sliding back and forth inside her, causing her to gasp a few more times as he already tensed and fought the urge to cum right away. He didn’t want this to be over, not this quickly, and especially not before proving her that he was capable of giving her more pleasure than her toy ever could. Who knew, maybe she’d like it so much that she’d use him as her new toy whenever she was in need of relief ?

When he finally felt able to peel his eyes away from the spectacle of his cock repeatedly plunging inside her, he reached for her shirt, popping a few buttons open with one habile hand so that he could have a better view of how her boobs were moving in synch with his thrusts.

“Maybe we should move to the stall, what if someone walks in on us ?” She said, breathless from how much the force of his thrusts had increased.

“Didn’t you say you liked the idea of strangers watching you getting mercilessly fucked ?” He replied, a smirk on his lips as her body tensed in reaction to his words, proving that she enjoyed the possibility so much that it was about to push her over the edge. “I wouldn’t mind either, as long as I’m the only person allowed to shove my cock inside you.”

She moaned, louder than what she ever did, feeling herself slipping away into bliss. She closed her eyes, completely losing control over how loudly she enjoyed herself, reaching the peak of her pleasure so violently that her whole body shook.

Her walls tightened around his shaft, so tightly that it forced him to stop his thrusts and immobilize his body as hers contracted around him and she cried out his name once again except that, this time, he really was the reason why she felt so good. His cock instantly reacted by shooting loads of warm cum inside her, until his balls were left empty.

He tried to catch his breath, suddenly feeling dizzy from the intensity of the orgasm that seized him. He held himself to the sink under her still shaking body, and gently pulled his spent cock out of her, a ribbon of his sticky seed still connecting his tip to her glistening folds.

“You could have had the curtesy to pull out.” She complained, her chest still heaving and her legs still numb.

“Sorry.” Was all he managed to say, even though he wasn’t sorry at all. There was something utterly satisfying in knowing that he had filled her up with his load, marking her as his, if only for a moment.

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[winchesterszvonecek]

could i please request ‘sex in a pool/hot tub’ for rafael barba

fem!reader :)

Hot Tub - [ Rafael Barba ] 18+

Prompt: Sex in a pool/hot tub

Word Count: 2678

Warnings: female!reader, smut - [vaginal fingering, semi-public masturbation]

A/N: this is my first oneshot in a while so yk, be nice :) also it’s my first one for rafael too, both in general and with smut so yeah… i wasn’t even going to post it but i figured why not? it might not be that bad so maybe yall can still enjoy it

Masterlist | Rafael Masterlist

After a long day spent on the icy slopes of Switzerland’s most famous ski resort, you were in desperate need of relaxation. 

It wasn’t easy at times, keeping up with Rafael. Of chasing his constant need for adrenaline and following through on the utter thrill of hitting the ramps, landing with perfect grace in the thick snow each and every time. To be honest, it was rather frightening. You’d never skied before in your life and the entire time you were too afraid to hit any jumps that were higher than a foot or too. Most of the time you just sat there, making small snowmen in the snow as you waited for time to tick by.

Rafael didn’t mind though. He knew the only reason you’d come here was because of him, so he was more than happy to let you stay in your safety zone whilst he got the chance to show off around you — something you’d rolled your eyes at in the beginning but by the second or third day, had secretly grown to love. And he knew it. It’s why he kept going the rest of the day, gliding and zipping through the air like a damn expert and finding amusement in the way you’d dramatically roll your eyes each time he did. 

To tell the truth, you didn’t like skiing one bit. It was scary, and dangerous, and you, for some reason, kept imagining that the Abominable snowman from that one Scooby-Doo movie was going to rise from the ground and kidnap you. It made you shiver just thinking about it. About some giant snowman's hands picking you up and carrying you away. 

Terrifying, honestly. 

But really, the only true reason you kept shivering was merely because it was freezing. It was so utterly cold as the snow fell around you that your nose was always red, you couldn’t even feel your ears and most importantly your skin kept stinging even beneath your snowsuit. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, and all you ever wanted, from the moment you woke up, was for the day to be over so that you could finally get back to the cosiness of your cabin and slip into the blazing heat of the hot tub. 

It may have been outside as well, and it may have been rather chilly as you ran to it but once you slid into the bubbles, it was like ascending into heaven. Or hell, given that it was warm, but whatever. It was simply perfect, and even more so when Rafael’s arms wrapped tightly around you, allowing the two of you to do nothing but bask in the comforting heat of the bubbles as you relished in each and every touch he would grace you with. 

Only tonight, as you sunk happily into the cosy warmth of the water and felt the first sharp shiver of the goosebumps that riddled every inch of your skin at the sudden change in temperature, you got an idea. A far, far better idea of how to warm yourself up — Of how best to warm yourself up, and without the sole use of the jacuzzi’s bubbles… as by the time you’re done, they’re gonna be the very last thing present on your mind. 

“Mi cariño, what are you doing all the way over there?” Rafael asked, tilting his head curiously as he watched you settle yourself opposite him, which was unlike any other night before when you had practically placed yourself on his lap and sucked all the heat from beneath his skin.

“There’s better jets on this side,” You said plainly, biting down on your bottom lip as you spread your legs as wide as you could. 

He couldn’t see you clearly though, it was too dark. The bulb on the porch didn’t provide much actual, usable light but the two of you never really cared. You were always close enough for him to see, yet tonight he simply couldn’t see anything but the partially darkened shape of your figure sitting there quietly. He couldn’t see the small quirks of your mouth at the forceful brush of the jet against your sweet spot, the one that made you bite down hard on your lip in order to keep quiet. He couldn’t see the scheming glint that got lost in the lust that swallowed your eyes as you watched him, that one, small ray of light cascading over his face perfectly and allowing you to see the utter confusion that riddled his eyes.  

He hadn’t figured it out yet, that much you were certain of. He didn’t know what your agenda was. What you were planning. It was all completely unknown to him, and quite frankly it was completely unexpected too, given your job. You were a sex crimes detective. You were well aware of the consequences of public masturbation and public sex, and never once would Rafael have ever thought you would risk your career to simply try it. But if you were being honest, that innocence he thought you had… That shyness you gave off mixed with your secret rush for knowing what it would feel like to tick public sex off your bucket list only made you that much more hot under your metaphorical collar and you couldn’t stop yourself from expressing it.

You spread your legs further, allowing the brute force of the jet to hit so right… So toe curlingly perfect against your sensitive clit that you threw out your arms to grip behind you, splashing water over the edge of the hot tub as you leaned your head back, letting the sweetest, most breathy, most arousal inducing moan pass over your lips. 

Rafael was by your side in an instant, the water shifting so furiously around you that your body jerked back against the hard surface of the tub as settled himself down next to you. His eyes were wide from shock. From lust. From pure and utter deviance as he knew all too well what you were doing. He’d heard stories of women using water jets to get themselves off but he never so much as expected to hear you talk about doing it let alone actually see you. And in a public space such as this. 

“You’re taking a big risk, mi amor,” Rafael whispered, leaning in to brush his lips lightly over your neck as he delved his hand down into the water, running two fingers painfully slowly over the thin cover of your bikini and stopping the jet from reaching you. “Exposing yourself out here like this?” He shook his head and tutted. 

“It’ll be worth it,” You whispered, pushing his hand aside as you knew it would rile him up real good to see you get off on something other than his cock, his fingers or his mouth. And you were right, his eyes darkened the second you rocked your hips over the jet and as each sweet sounding whimper left your lips, his right eye would twitch in frustration. “Because God does this feel so, so good for me.” 

As the pleasure driven words left your lips and only added to Rafael’s ever growing desire for you, you reached behind your neck and undid your bikini top, allowing it to fall gracefully forwards and expose the soft mounds of your breasts. Rafael’s eyes fell to them instantly like a heat seeking missile, his pupils blown wide with hunger and his need for dominance as he watched you trail your fingertips slowly up the valley of them. 

You knew he always loved your breasts. Caressing them. Kissing them. Having them roll over his chest with every thrust of his cock inside you, anything he could do to simply feel them, he would, and you could tell by the way he clenched his teeth that it was driving him mad to see you be the one to touch them. To see you kneading them. To see you pinching and rolling those hardened buds between your fingers as you began to pant softly from the pure heat bubbling down around your pussy had him all but drooling with rage. 

“You better stop that,” He demanded, his tone ripped right out of the courtroom as though you were a simple perp he was trying to break. You did nothing but grin mischievously at him, a soft, throaty whimper leaving your parted lips that had him thrust one hand down through the surface of the water and go straight to his hardening cock, rubbing it through the thin lining of his shorts and thinking of all the things he could do to you tonight. “Mi amor… I’m warning you.” 

“You want me to stop?” You teased, mimicking his motions and happily going to touch yourself as even though the jet felt incredible, it wasn’t anywhere near what you needed tonight. You kept eye contact as you slid beneath your bottoms, the sloshing of the water slowly picking up around you as you drew faster and faster circles on your clit, making your own eyelids flutter in a way that drove Rafael crazy. “You're… Fuck… You’re gonna have to make me.” 

Lifting off his seat with such force that it sent a wave of water spilling over the edge of the hot tub, Rafael grabbed your body and lifted you effortlessly off your own, a rather surprised squeal leaving your lips at the sudden rush of anticipation that flew through your veins. He spun you around, falling back onto the very jet that you’d just been pleasuring yourself on as you straddled his strong thighs, his mouth already working its way along the length of your neck, leaving hot, fiery kisses the whole way down as he headed for the delicious sight of your inviting breasts. 

As his lips trailed down between the valley he shifted right, his tongue instantly swirling hot around your nipple as he got to work unravelling you. You gripped the back of his hair immediately, holding him closer to your chest as you tightened your legs around him, rolling your hips over his rock hard erection in a way that had him moan against your breast and take your nipple firmly between his teeth. 

The sound that left your lips as he tugged at it was indescribable, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled back, taking your lips in his as the desperate urge to feel every single part of you he could at once washed over him. You hummed softly into his mouth as he began to gently caress your waist, grazing his soft palms so slowly across every inch of your skin before dipping his fingertips deep into the flesh of your hips as he tugged you forward, one hand slipping down as you moved and quickly making its way beneath your bikini. He spread you open in an instant, your soft gasps escaping into his mouth as he ghosted his fingertips across the throbbing bud of your clit, feeling as you ground down against him for some much needed stimulation.  

It was only then, when you whimpered out of dire need to have him inside you, did he plung himself right up and into you, his two thick fingers sliding so easily and so swiftly into your soaking pussy that you had to draw back. A long babble of swear words left your lips the second you did and he lingered inside you, his thumb teasing your aching clit before he curled his fingers ever so slightly and slowly began to pump them into you. 

Even submerged in the water he could feel how wet you were. The slight thickness to your arousal as it coated his fingers and spilled out over his knuckles each time he thrust hard into you was unmissable and every drop of it that landed on him made him twitch beneath his shorts. God, he simply couldn’t wait to feel it around his cock and so he picked up the pace, your breathy pants like music to his ears as he pressed his thumb even hard atop your clit, moving in such slow, teasing circles compared to his thrusts that he could already feel you clenching tightly around him. 

“Fuck… You’re even better than the jets,” You whimpered subconsciously, the mere sound of you alone, mixed with how truly senseless he was fucking you, making Rafael shudder fiercely as he leaned in to kiss you, wanting to taste the rest of the moans he was about to pull from you. Your hands slid up the length of his arms, clinging to his shoulders for much needed support as you moved your hips along with him, feeling as that pressure deep inside you quickly began to build at the new sensation of the ride.

“You think you can take a third, mijo?” Rafael whispered against your lips, yet he didn’t even wait for your desperation fuelled head nod before he slipped it snugly into you, having you cry out in sheer pleasure at the sudden way you stretched wider around him. 

You dropped your head forwards, pressing your face into the crook of his neck as he quickened his pace. You’d truly never felt anything like this before in your life, the way his fingers slid so quickly and so easily into you was sending you to further reaches that you’d ever felt before, and you knew it wouldn’t be long until toppled over.

And you were right, as after one last thrust of his fingers that he paired expertly with a perfectly pressured rub of your clit, he sent you hurtling over the edge into a pure and utter mind boggling pit of pleasure. 

Your hips stilled as you practically burst on top of him, your deep, breathy moans unfortunately muffled against the crook of his neck as he carried you through it, causing him to tilt it slightly in order to hear you. And once he did, his own eyes rolled back into his head as he continued to circle your throbbing clit, prolonging your orgasm as much as humanly possible so as to squeeze every ounce of pleasure out of you as he could.

As you slowly began to come down, your chest heaving rapidly against his own, Rafael finally stopped, having brought you to the very brink of overstimulation with only one perfect orgasm. He pulled his fingers from inside you, giving your clit one last gentle rub before his hand left the water, where unfortunately for him you already were washed off by the time he could get his fingers to his mouth. 

“Are you warm enough yet, darlin’?” Rafael asked, a slight smirk tugging on his lips as he watched you lift your head like it weighed a ton, which to you, it might as well have as your whole body felt twice as heavy as normal with the weight of pleasure that had just come crashing down atop you.

That didn’t mean you weren’t willing to play along with his cruel game, though, and so you smiled, leaning forward to press a sloppy, lopsided kiss to his lips before directing them towards his ear. 

“I’m freezing,” You whispered, feeling the way his hips jerked beneath you at the mere notion that he hadn’t warmed you up enough. You pulled back a touch, just to see every twitch of his lips as he slowly began to press his fingers, almost possessively, into your thighs again. “I think you might need to try again to help warm me up.” 

“Well in that case,” Rafael replied, a soft groan leaving his lips when you ground down against him. “I think we better take this inside. Because the things I’m about to do to you…” He sucked in a breath, drawing his tongue up the length of your neck and towards your ear in a way that had you quivering already. “There’s no doubt in my mind that they’ll land us both on the registry… for the very rest of our days.”

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[goosita]

young!politician!snow enjoys making you squirm, knowing how easy it is to get reactions out of you

it’s so easy for him to throw you off balance, to surprise you at every turn. ever since the night he drove you home, with his hand resting so warm and heavy on your thigh, you’ve barely been able to focus at work. every time your mind starts to wander, it ends up settling and fixating on the same thing; him.

you wonder if he can sense it, if he can feel your eyes trailing over every inch of him when he breezes out of his office for another coffee break. your gaze lingers on his broad shoulders when his back is turned, or on his pretty profile when he’s looking the other way. you try not to let it be obvious, politely averting your eyes when he spins to face you again or return to his office.

it’s been several days since the night you let him drop you off at your apartment, and coriolanus takes up about 98% of your thoughts. he’s on his third cup of black coffee for the day when he pauses and turns to face you, speaking up.

“do you have plans for this evening, miss y/n?” he asks, smiling kindly at you. you’re not sure what to say, caught off guard by his question.

“nothing other than melting into my couch with a book, sir,” you answer honestly. your heart kicks up in pace at his question, wondering why he’d want to know.

“well, you do now.”

you blink and furrow your brows, looking at him unsure. you can tell he’s a little frazzled today, hair slightly out of place from running his hand through it several times. he takes a long sip of his coffee and sighs.

“i have to go to a gala tonight, something they only just told me now at the last minute,” he explains, looking down into his cup. “of course, i’ll need a date.”

you stare at him, not sure if the world is playing some sick joke on you or not. coriolanus lifts his eyes and stares right back at you, waiting for you to say something.

“…..me?”

it comes out as a pathetic squeak, but he doesn’t point it out. he simply nods, icy gazs still boring into you while you scramble for an answer.

“uhm. y-yeah, yeah okay,” you stutter, feeling small under his stare. he gives you an easy smile then, his whole demeanor seemingly going more lax.

“excellent. finish whatever you’re working on and log off for the day, we have time find you a dress.”

dress shopping with coriolanus snow is something you never thought would ever happen, yet here you are. he had slid you into your coat at the door after you’d logged off your computer, whisking you down to his car which he again drove himself. as you’d opened your mouth to say you didn’t really have money for a new dress, he’d cut you off easily, telling you that if he was the one to drag you to this gala, the least he could do was pay for your outfit.

now, you stood in front of a wall of mirrors in a green silk gown that hugged your body in all of the right ways. it fell to the floor, but bared your shoulders and arms. coriolanus walked in a slow circle around you, scanning every inch of your body carefully. he stopped then and nodded at one of the fitting room attendants, who brought him a black velvet box. inside, a white diamond necklace sat with a single, small pendant. a snowflake.

you tried as hard as you could not to shiver when coriolanus stepped behind you, carefully moving your hair to clasp the necklace around your throat. you could feel his breath on the back of your neck and you kept your eyes down, almost afraid to catch his gaze in the mirror.

“beautiful,” he whispered, so soft that you were certain that you were the only person who heard it. his fingertips slowly trailed down your spine and it was impossible not to shudder.

“look at yourself,” he said quietly, reaching around to your front, lifting your chin. you looked over your reflection, tilting your head to the side. he was right; the dress was absolutely stunning, the pendant resting on your sternum sparkly but understated, tasteful.

“its lovely, coryo,” you said, finally meeting his eyes in the mirror. his plush lips stretched into a dazzling smile, clearly pleased at your use of his nickname.

“yes, you are.”

you didn’t notice as the fitting room attendants all exited, leaving you alone with coriolanus in the secluded dressing room. his hand traveled down from your chin to your shoulder, fingertips brushing down your arm before taking your own hand in his. he smiled again and led you over to a seat, gesturing for you to sit.

coriolanus grabbed a box and lifted it open, revealing a pair of silver heels that looked more expensive than a year’s worth of your rent. and then, he did something you would never imagine.

coriolanus snow kneeled before you.

you stopped yourself from inhaling sharply at the surprise, at the image of who everyone knew to be the eventual future president of Panem, dropping to his knees at your feet. he carefully lifted the hem of your dress, just enough to wrap a hand around your ankle and place your foot in his lap. then, he picked up one shoe and slit it on, taking extra care to clasp the strap around your ankle. his eyes lifted to yours, gazing up at you almost reverently as he stroked over the bone on the inside of your ankle. he held your stare for a long moment before repeating the action on your other foot.

“coriola—“

he cut you off as he rose to his feet again, taking your hand and pulling you up.

“do they fit alright?” he asked, breaking the intimate bubble he had created a moment ago. you nodded, swallowing hard.

“yes,” you breathed, searching his eyes curiously. what was he playing at here? what was he thinking?

“perfect. i suspect it’ll be a lovely evening, hm?”

[ann-writes-universes]

Darkstar (Azriel x Reader)

Warnings: Gore (?), Mentions of Suicide, Angst, Vampires (?)

w/c: 4,981 (damn im sorry)

A/N: Hey everyone. I know its been a long time. Expect an explanation, catch up, FAQ later on this evening possibly. Anywho- here is a really weird halloween short with Az. Its spooky, its weird, its deff not cannon. Trick or treat I guess? Missed you all, more soon <333

---

Deep within the frozen woods of the Winter court, a blizzard had begun to brew. Ice-capped limbs whipped wildly against one another, wind flew furiously like a hound through the trees, and night dark ravens screamed against the surmounting crescendo of the living wood. In the midst of it all, a cabin stood firm against the four winds. It would have been a quaint sight to any who made it far enough into the wood to witness it. It’s owner never had many visitors- those who came had purpose, and did not come often. Even the fae- immortal and ferocious, dared not to visit the cabin in the wood. For it was not fae that inhabited the four walls which were being observed now. From no less than a hundred yards away the Spymaster could see warm light seeping from behind shuttered windows. Despite the howling of the wind he could hear the soft hum of music whispering from behind the latched door. From deep within- a voice, soft and lilting sang along. 

He had been here several times before. Always this time of year, right when the temperatures began to be so unbearable not even Kallias’s most loyal soldiers would dare patrol this far north. Azriel stayed on the edge of the wood, letting his shadows creep about. All around him the blizzard raged- desperately trying to urge him inside. Just as the winged warrior was about to step forward, the cabin door swung open. With the motion snow swept upward, and light cascaded onto the dark woods beyond- illuminating the master of shadows fully. Before him- she stood. 

The owner of the cabin was a creature unlike any the spymaster had encountered in his centuries of living. Dressed only in a silken gown she was unaffected by the harsh temperatures outside. She stepped barefoot into the snow and approached the armored male in her yard. Compared to the illyrian, this creature was small- nearly half his height.  He straightened as she approached, called back the shadows that had scattered into the trees at her abrupt entry. 

“Its been so long, shadow singer.” She whispered- and when she spoke the wind silenced. Just as abruptly as the storm had come on, it receded into the wood. The limbs halted their dance, and the ravens ceased their songs. Every creature in  the forest seemed to quiet so that she could speak. Azriel smiled crookedly at her words. 

“I have stayed away at your request.” He reminded, stepping backward as she made her way toward him. Each movement she made was  predatory in nature. She vexed him in ways unimaginable- the sway of her hips with each step, the lotus soft lips that curved so innocently into a smile as she crept forward. With a quickness almost unfathomable to even his eye, she was upon him- sinking her fingers into the layers of his leathers to pull him impossibly closer. 

Instinctively his arms swung around her, inching the navy fabric of her slip up over the arch of her rear. Large hands gripped at her hips, steadying him as she reached upwards towards his face. 

“How I miss you when you are away.” The enchantress hummed in his ear, pressing her lips softly into the shell of it before slipping out of his arms. As if she were dancing she spun backwards towards the cabin, beckoning him to follow. 

It had changed very little since last winter- in fact he struggled to remember if it had changed at all. She had created more pottery- the new pieces fiery and bold in color. Each piece was smoother on the edges than the last, becoming more elegant with each creation. A fire blazed in the hearth, casting the interior of the home in a warm glow. Azriel had always found this place so comforting. It was entirely too small for his demeanor, scaled perfectly for the inhabitant, he had to refrain from letting his wings relax fully in the space. Despite the cramped feeling the cabin had always been a welcome sight for the shadow master. 

As Azriel made himself comfortable on the large and well worn lounge, she began to make tea. Peppermint and lavender began to permeate his senses, his muscles suddenly growing weak. As he molded into the lounge and began to let his mind wander off his shadows nipped angrily at his sides, urging him to alertness. From the kitchen- he heard a chuckle. 

“Entirely unfair my Star.” He muttered, blinking away the newfound dreariness from his eyes. Like snowflakes personified she floated into the living space, a cup of tea in hand. Pale lips crept back into a smile revealing only one of two razor sharp canines beyond. He took the mug she offered and made room for her to sit beside him. 

“I just wanted to see if it still worked on you.” She quipped, reaching upward to tuck a stray hair behind his ear. Her fingers lingered a moment on their round tips, as they always did when she touched him. “Clearly it does.”

She was of course referring to the odd ability she had to affect the mood of those around her. Even with trained guards such as Azriel’s the forest woman had immense effect on his emotion. He had never outright asked her what she was, for that had never been his place. Physically she appeared mortal though lacked a heartbeat and the warmth human beings possess. Azriel was privy to the information that the madame did not eat but survived on blood much like Amren did. For twenty winters Azriel visited this cabin- never once asking for more than she offered in ways of personal information. He knew her name (or at least the one she had offered), her appetite, and he chose to believe he knew her soul. 

To him she was incredibly warm despite the general temperature of her skin. He would spend days with her at a time, unbothered by the world outside of the cabin in the woods. He slept when he was with her, and had even been visited by dreams while in her presence. Whether or not these were brought upon by her general nearness or her ability he was unsure, but that was another mystery he really had no interest in solving. 

This particular eve of visiting was different in feeling. She had sidled up next to him on the couch as she always did, laying her head in his lap and staring at the pattern the fire’s flames had licked upon the walls. It was silent for a while, the only sounds were the crackle of the embers and the wind which had picked up once more outside. The two of them had always been able to slip into this comfortable silence, him always mesmerized by the softness of her hair or the curve of her waist, and she always caught up in the detail of his marred hands or the soft smattering of freckles that painted his brow. But tonight was different somehow. She was now perched on his lap, straddling his waist as she traced the outline of his lips with her finger. His hands rested loosely around her waist, his eyes closed. Her brow was pinched together, her finger dragging downward to his neck where it rested upon the collarbone, sensing his beating pulse beneath. Azriel cracked open his eyes, watching her watch him. 

“I was a girl once you know.” She mumbled, her eyes not really seeing as they found his. The shadow singer chuckled under his breath and closed his eyes once more, relaxing back into the lounge. 

“You are a girl, my star.” He mumbled, beginning to trace circles into her hips. With a single hand she stilled his motions and used the other to urge his attention. She grasped his chin gently between her thumb and forefinger- and he opened his eyes once more. 

“I mean a living and breathing one, Azriel.” And there was a sadness in her tone he had never heard before. Gone was the musical echo it usually possessed, in its place a haunting trill that chilled him to the bone. He straightened his posture in preparation for this possible revelation. Never once had it occurred to him she could have been anything other than what she currently was. 

“Before I was this I was a human girl. I had a family, and I had friends below the wall. I attended church and I wrote poems and learned to sew.” When she spoke there was a manic light in her eyes, and her small hands were gripping his shirt so tightly they were shaking. “I was engaged too you know?” She stood then and moved towards the fire, arms swinging limply by her sides. “He was a nice boy. So lively, and he loved me deeply.”

She sounded far away, as though she were speaking to him from oceans away. Azriel supposed this could all be true, Feyre and her sisters had also been human once. In all of his research he had never heard of anything like this before. What Feyre had become was high fae, as had her sisters. But (y/n)... she was not like them. Nor was she like any other fae he had ever encountered. 

“Do you know how old I am Azriel?” When she asked him this she turned to face him, and her irises were black- welling with tears. Her arms raised to cross over her chest, and the straps of her nightgown fell low upon her shoulders. Leaning forward he propped his elbows upon his knees and shook his head. 

“I do not, I presume older than I.” 

This made her laugh, a sorrowful yet amused sound that allowed him to relax slightly. 

“No. Not quite that old Azriel. I am two hundred years old.” 

Azriel was not quite sure why this number struck him as hard as it did. For why would it matter if she was more than half his age? Perhaps it was the sorrow in her voice when she revealed this to him or the look in her wide eyes as she turned away from his gaze.

“Which, now that I say  it out loud, it is not incredibly old to your kind.” And it was that phrase that truly struck him. Your Kind. He had known all of those years that they were different, silently she had too, but the admission of such a fact made the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge. “But it is quite old when you were never supposed to be such an age.”

He had never thought too deeply about the fact that he had no clue what she was. There were very few beings in Prythian more feared than an illyrian, especially Azriel. But as he sat on the lounge facing the woman he had known for two decades a primal fear crept in his chest. 

“What do you mean you were human?” He dared ask. Her shoulders slumped over slightly and she sighed, moving towards the frost covered window near the front door. Her fingers traced its edges, gathering the frost as they went. Long tendrils of hair cascaded down her back, illuminated in a soft glow by the dying fire. 

“I mean that I was once a human girl, and now I am something- other.” Her hand stopped its movements and she turned her head over her shoulder slightly to reveal that coy smile and far off look once more. In the window beyond- the blizzard raged on, inky darkness shrouding the tree line. The wind howled fiercely now, surmounting in rage as the seconds ticked on. “Would you like to hear about the night I died?”

⥈ ⥈ ⥈ ⥈ ⥈

Late one winter’s evening three sisters eagerly awaited for the clock to strike midnight. For it was the eve of the youngest lady’s wedding- a day most patiently awaited by all three. Both Theresa and Cecilia had been married the two winters prior, and finally it had become the youngest sister’s turn. A gown of Prythian’s finest silk and lace hung on a dresser door, awaiting the morning hours. Neatly placed on the floor below, a simple pair of ivory heels. 

“Do you think Lestat will cry?” Said Cecilia, pausing in her efforts to brush through the thick tendrils of Theresa’s hair. Theresa peaked at her youngest sister over the top of her cross-stitch, awaiting a response. 

“I think so. He is so sensitive about things.” The youngest replied. Both Cecilia and Theresa fawned at this answer.

“You are so lucky, Lamb.” Said Theresa, which Cecilia followed with a sigh of agreement. 

“Oh so are you Resa, as are you Cece. Phillip and Charles are most charming gentlemen indeed.” Said Lamb as she made her way over to the window overlooking the front lawn. Snow had blanketed it weeks prior, and the inky night sky above was clear enough to see an assortment of stars. She had dreamed of her wedding since she was a little girl, and had fantasized about it for as long as she could remember. When her sisters had married their beaus she had decided that she was destined to fall in love and have a day just as special as they had. As she watched the snow twinkle in the moonlight beyond she was called to walk amongst her father’s gardens one last time. After tomorrow she would become Mrs. Lestat Montgomery, and it would be a very long time before she would step foot upon these grounds again. 

“I think I will go on a walk.” She stated, interrupting the mindless conversation her sisters’ had fallen into. 

“At such a late hour?” Theresa questioned. 

“My mind is restless, I think the cool air would calm it to sleep.” A reply that settled both Cecilia and Theresa enough to let her leave. 

Stepping into the night she was shocked at how much the temperature had dropped since her bridal dinner earlier in the evening. Mere hours earlier the garden she now wandered through had been littered with people. Now, it was silent- only fading impressions of footprints in the snow were left to mark their presence. The girl made her way through the snow coated gardens, imagining what they had looked like each spring when it was full of life. She reminisced on each spring she had spent here growing up- especially those in recent history she had spent with Lestat in this same garden they would be wed in tomorrow. Preparations for the event had already begun. At the furthest edge of the garden, near the frozen swan pond an altar stood tall. It had yet to be decorated with foliage- that would come tomorrow to preserve the delicate lamb’s breath and roses from the winter’s chill. She made her way towards it now, down the imaginary aisle. As she walked she stared at the snow, imagining how she would conquer it in staggering heels tomorrow. The soft wind chilled her skin and swept her hair from her face- the scent of amber and magnolia wafting off of the strands. 

Suddenly, as if all life had been sucked from it- the air went still. Even the sound of her footsteps seemed to grow silent. Dragging her gaze upward from the snow she sucked in a quiet gasp when her eyes fell upon a man standing at the end of the aisle. 

Illuminated by moonlight he stood with his hands clasped in front of him. Dark hair cascaded down his back, and night dark eyes peered at her from behind thick lashes. He was breathtaking, so inhumanely gorgeous that she began to scream and stumble backward. Before the sound could even escape her he was upon her, gripping her by the waist before she could descend into the snow beneath. With a hand clasped firmly over her mouth he stared into her widened eyes. Where his skin pressed against hers, she had grown ice cold. 

From what little she knew about fae she did not understand why this one appeared the way he did. Up close his features were entirely human. While beautiful- he did not have the same high features and bright eyes that fae did- and while he was larger than her he did not stand as tall as fae of legend. 

“That is because I am not fae, girl.” He drug out a on a voice that sounded like tar personified. The noise sounded as though he had not spoken in centuries, and judging by the way it seemed to pain him when he spoke she gathered he probably had not. 

“How?” She whispered, he had read her mind. Hadn't he? She did not remember voicing her confusion.

“I am a creature entirely other dear girl.” That grating voice came again. He knelt in the snow- handling her weight easily as he gathered her into his lap. She fought against his grasp- a primal fear now taking over every sense she had. Darkness clouded her vision and with as much strength as she could gather she began to thrash her limbs against the solid form of his body. The man did not flinch, in fact he did not move a single inch. He let her thrash for a moment and then with great anger he growled and squeezed his arms around her waist until a terrible cracking was heard. Every bit of air in her lungs escaped in a silenced scream as the man slapped his hand over her mouth. 

“A pity you are so loud. I would have loved to tell you more.” The stranger muttered with a click of his tongue. Pain splintered across her ribs, and her breath was coming in uneven pants as she tried to process it. He drug a dirty nail down her tear soaked cheek. Silently she sobbed in his arms, realizing sometime between meeting him and now that she was going to die. His eyes were dark as they watched her cry, leaching over every piece of skin he could see exposed beneath her nightgown. Flicking out from behind his teeth he wet his lips with his tongue, and that is when she saw them. Two fangs, razor sharp in the place of his canine teeth. Unable to make a sound, her eyes widened- a reaction that lit an excited blaze behind his eyes. 

They spoke no longer from that point on. He descended upon her form so quickly that there was no chance to put up a fight. In one swift motion he tore into her throat with shinning teeth. Crimson and sticky, blood began to pool in the snow- soaking the white of her nightgown in a sickly pink. For some time she tried pushing against him, but as he gripped her tighter and drank more deeply from her throat- her efforts weakened. 

Her betrothed would find her the next day, in a pool of her own blood at the altar they were to be married at. Her family would be told she was killed by an animal, and they would take her body into the family morgue to be prepared for her funeral. It was there that she sat for three days in the frozen dark, awaiting a family member strong enough to bear witness to what had been done to her corpse. 

Within these three days her body began to change. While air no longer permeated her lungs, and blood no longer flowed through her veins- she began to move. A finger would twitch, and then a toe, followed by an entire hand and eventually an arm. On the second day she found herself nearly able to stand on her own. 

The world had changed when she awoke from her slumber. Sounds were deafeningly loud, the sunlight creeping from behind closed shudders was unbearable, and her mouth was so dry she feared she would choke. A dull pain was left in her throat, and upon inspection there was no wound. As the time ticked on she began to wonder if the entire incident had been a horrible dream. Perhaps she had been so ill her body had gone into a death like state and that's why she was in the morgue. 

As she muddled over the possibilities of what could have led her here, footsteps approached. Swinging open the doors of the room she occupied- a woman stood. The girl recognized her as one of her father’s maids, Wren. 

“Oh Wren! I am so happy to see you, where is my father?” The girl exclaimed, rushing towards the woman on unsteady legs. Still unsure of her creaking limbs the girl collided with the maid much more forcefully than intended. In a tangle of limbs they fell to the ground. As they fell the woman began to scream. Hastily she scattered across the floor, scraping her hands and knees against the stone as she went, blood beginning to seep from the wounds. 

The girl was confused by this reaction. Rocking back onto her feet she watched as the servant righted herself and stared in horror at the girl who had been dead only days before. Blood, vibrant and hot was now seeping from the woman's hands at an extreme rate and the coppery scent was wafting through the air. 

Hunger, primal and strong overtook the girl- and her eyes zeroed in on the gaping wounds. Racing forward too quickly for the woman to comprehend, the cold one grasped her hands and brought them greedily to her lips. Horrified, the servant tried to rip her hand away- in retaliation the girl grabbed a fistful of her hair and ripped downward- a sickening snapping following the motion. Limply, the servant woman fell to the ground. Shock overtook the girl momentarily as she looked upon what she had done. This feeling was quickly overcome by the hunger she felt and within seconds she had descended to the floor and begun to greedily drink from the dead woman’s wounds. 

She drank until there was not a drop left, and this left her feeling only slightly less ravished than before. She could hear voices above- no doubt belonging to those of visitors meant for her wedding now attending her wake. Amongst the cacophony of voices the girl could hear thrumming heartbeats, and blood rushing aimlessly through millions of veins. 

Dripping in the blood of her father’s servant she rose from the floor of the morgue and made her way upstairs to the somber gathering in the main hall of her family estate. As she neared the large mahogany doors hiding her relatives from view she was overcome with the hunger. Every cell in her body was on fire with want and her skin felt sallow and dry. 

Ice cold hands clasped the doorknobs and flung open the doors before her. Silence overtook the room as each person gazed upon the animated corpse of their Lamb. Theresa and Cecilia watched in horror as their youngest sister stared at the room- her eyes void of light. Blood caked her face and hair, the pretty blue dress they had picked for her burial had been turned a putrid shade of purple. 

“Lamb?” Cecilia called faintly, the glass of champagne she held falling to the marble below in a cascade of broken glass. The sound of its shattering seemed to snap the girl out of her trance and without a sound she rushed forward, sinking her teeth into the throat of a townsman in front of her. Screams erupted in the hall and deep within her an animal raged onward and tore through the entirety of the gathering hall. In moments the floors were slicked with blood and people lay motionless everywhere as chaos continued to erupt. 

Outside a blizzard raged, so fiercely that it would be recorded as the worst event to happen on that  night in history. The massacre at the Marsipone Estate would go unspoken about for centuries after.

⥈ ⥈ ⥈ ⥈ ⥈

“I dont remember what really happened after that.” The woman whispered, finally turning away from the window and back to Azirel who had been sitting motionless on the lounge for the entirety of her story. 

“I know I killed my sisters. It took me two days to dig through the carnage I caused to find them. I had-  I had broken their necks. Killed them quickly, I think to spare them.” Her voice had a soft tone, defeated as it spoke of the horrors she had committed. “At some point during it all I made my way over the wall. I figured whatever I had become originated from here. Kallias found my abilities freakish but useful, he was the first high lord I encountered and was smart enough to get into my good graces. He allows me to stay here as long as I leave his people alone, stay hidden. I have been trying to figure out what I am ever since.”

“Why wait all of this time to tell me this?” Azriel finally spoke. Turning his head to follow her as she made her way back towards him. She did not sit on the lounge, but leaned on the wall nearest the fireplace- observing him. 

“Because it is not something I am particularly proud of Azriel.” Was her simple response.

“I mean… why tell me now?” He rephrased. 

“Because I finally know what I am. I did not want to share my story without being sure first.” The finality in her tone urged him not to question her words but the shocking admission urged him onward. 

“What could you possibly mean?” He stood then, his stance guarded.

“I do not sleep, I do not eat, I dream not- and there is a hunger that resides in the deepest parts of me. I can never quell it- even being in this room with you shadow singer I am starving.” She placed her palms flat against she wall behind her and closed her eyes- sucking in a deep breath as she did so. “I thought surely when I began to grow older and not age that it was simply part of my curse- and then I did not die when I turned one hundred. I did not even feel as though I had aged at all.” She shuddered then and slowly sank to the ground. 

She was so small before him. An immortal creature, doomed to an eternity of hunger and solitude. Gradually he inched his way forward, and sank to his knees before her. 

“Azriel I am not alive.” She spoke firmly, opening her eyes wide to stare into the warm depths of his own. 

“But you speak, Star- and you cry, feel remorse, and daresay you even love.” Azriel challenged, grasping her hands as he spoke. She laughed at this, but it was not an amused sound- more one of anguish. 

“I am an animated corpse, Az. Cut me, I do not bleed. I have tried to die in countless ways- yet none have released me from this. I am able to do things I should not be able to achieve, it is not right.” 

Two hundred years. Only 182 spent as an immortal. 

“And imagine spending eighty two years wondering when you will die, only to realize you wont.” She whispered, searching his eyes for any kind of response. 

Azriel for the first time in many years was struck to silence. He was known for his silence, but silence had always been his upperhand, something he sought out. Within the quiet Azirel could listen- ponder. There were very few moments in his life where the silence had found him. In this moment, as he stared into her widened eyes the quiet hit him full force. He swallowed thickly, trying not to choke on the realization that she was something entirely new to him. 

“I am what human’s call a vampire. I am what your kind call an enemy.” Defeat layered her tone and she relaxed against the wall- her hands falling limp within his own. Her choice in words triggered something within the spymaster. She was many things mysterious to him- but an enemy was not one. In two decades he had never seen her harm anyone, nor had she confessed to such a crime to him. 

“Thats because I have not committed any.” She confided, smirking weakly when the shadowsinger huffed at her unannounced entry into his mind. 

“If you are in my head then you know my feelings.” He spoke, cupping her cheek with his hand. The skin was ice cold, a feeling he welcomed against the rough texture of his palms. 

“It matters to me not that you know now what you are. In the past three years my perception of what should be and what is has changed completely.” His next thought came to him so quickly she could not even spy upon it before it was verbalized.

“I would like for you to come to the night court with me to meet some friends of mine. I believe they will change your perspective on what you are feeling currently.” 

It had been decades since the enchantress had left the cabin in the wood. Yet staring into the eyes of the spymaster she craved the world beyond it. 

That night, shrouded by shadow and snow the spymaster and his darkstar made their way into the Winter Wood, never to return to the cabin again.

[oh-nostalgiaa]

thank you to @therebelcaptainnetwork for hosting secret santa again, which is the most wonderful time of the year (and the only time i muster enough energy to write, wah)!

my gift is for the lovely @toooldforthisbutstill, who asked for fluff, snow day/rest day, green/earth tones, or hope. i'm sorry i couldn't manage historical or fantasy, but i hope this small slice of life pleases nonetheless.

you can also find this fic at ao3! without further ado, here is:

you're gonna lead me home

The thing about peacetime is this:

There is no manual. There isn’t a set of instructions to follow in order to live in it to the best of one’s ability - especially if one (or two, in this case) are far more used to (and suited for, all things considered) doing whatever it takes to survive wartime.

You are simply taken from everything you’ve ever known and thrust into an entirely new situation with no guidelines and you are told ‘hey, good luck’.

While Cassian concedes that it’s not entirely true that he and Jyn had been airdropped into the unknown since they had been offered an apartment in glittering Coruscant and declined, but it still feels overwhelming at the best of times. This small, nondescript home on a small, temperate, mid-rim world is theirs to do with as they please.

At first, what they do is take stock of their new surroundings, taking careful note of what needs repairs or upgrades, what they can realistically immediately renovate and what may need to wait. More importantly, they examine every inch of their home and the land that surrounds it and they make intricate plans for how to keep themselves and this place safe.

You can take the soldiers out of the war, after all, but the war never really seems to end.

Cassian used to like to pride himself on how quickly he’s been able to adapt to any number of situations during his years as a spymaster, but another thing he’s learning is that the skills he’s gained from years of doing the hardest work imaginable don’t always translate to his new life.

And learning on the fly isn’t always quite so easy when there’s not the threat of death hanging over his head if he fails. Still, sometimes he thinks that death might be slightly easier to bear than disappointing Jyn.

Okay, so that’s a little dramatic, but not entirely inaccurate.

They have both spent most of their lives never staying anywhere long enough to put down roots. The relationships they have built have been superficial at best, because no matter how much it’s hurt to do it, they knew that disappearing was always what they were best at and what was necessary in order to survive another day. They have kept to the shadows and engaged in distasteful things they’d rather forget because there simply wasn’t any other option at the time. They looked over their shoulders constantly, because they never knew when a blade might be plunged into their back, metaphorically and literally speaking.

And that mindset is perhaps the hardest thing to rid themselves of.

Some days are easier than others. With no strict timetable to follow, new routines must be created, otherwise they both bristle at having so much free time and nothing to fill it.

Cassian finds that he’s rather adept at some of the repairs that need doing - the leak in the water filtration system comes to mind - and what he can’t figure out on his own, the holonet helps him learn. The same with cooking, actually. As it’s turned out, for as capable and dangerous as she can be in other areas, Jyn Erso is a complete disaster behind the stove and doesn’t quite possess the patience to want to learn to be otherwise. So Cassian has shooed her out of the cramped kitchen and taken over the cooking duties. He’s surprised by the natural affinity he seems to have for it and sometimes (when he’s feeling maudlin) wonders if in another life, that’s a path he would have gone down.

Some days, life doesn’t feel quite so difficult to navigate. Some days, he’s almost convinced that they’ll manage just fine.

And then there are the bad days.

There are days when one or the other or both of them revert to a state of readiness (and paranoia) that something’s going to happen if they are not hyperaware of every single thing in their immediate vicinity, every tiny noise more than enough to ramp emotions to the point of no return. And stars help them when they cross that point, because the blowup is not pretty. Neither is the aftermath.

If they’re lucky, the result is simply snapping at each other and then pointedly avoiding the other until their tempers settle. They would never put hands on each other, but when snapping turns to worse - well, they can wound each other terribly using just their words.

Icy little shards of insults that hit their target with startling accuracy every single time.

What’s worse is that neither are accustomed to apologizing, despite knowing when they’re in the wrong or when they’ve taken one step too far.

Sometimes, Cassian chooses to focus on repairs to keep himself busy, and if he feels like a particular argument requires more of a distance between he and Jyn, leaves a message letting her know he’s heading into town for supplies. Despite any simmering bad blood between them, he’s perceptive enough to know that not leaving that note would only just make everything all the worse. The sense of abandonment still runs deep in her veins, even though he has promised over and over again that he is with her come what may.

He leaves her to get her aggression out in her garden, or chopping wood, the type of hard physical labor that results in a good, deep sleep once the day is over with.

Repairs get done quicker than anticipated when there are a spate of bad days in a row, and soon, the barebones skeleton of their new home starts to come together in earnest. He only hopes that in time, they’ll both learn how to enjoy it without the fear of everything falling apart hanging over their heads, and that they’ll be able to build the life together that neither believes they truly deserve, deep down.

Sometimes, when the blood runs hot, not bad, they find themselves taking their frustrations out on each other physically - not sparring, although that is an option, but in a much more intimate and pleasurable way. All they need is the closest room or free surface and eventually, verbal jabs turn into gasps and moans, and when all is said and done, they may be disheveled and sweaty and breathless, but any annoyance felt toward each other has disappeared, replaced by satisfaction.

Things are still awkward afterward, as they are wont to be when a real apology hasn’t come, but Cassian’s learned that he and Jyn still find ways to offer one without words.

He’s learned to read her body language like a book and knows when she’s got a headache. He doesn’t say anything, but gently sets a steaming cup of tea down in front of her that he’s sure will alleviate her symptoms enough to allow her to participate in her usual activities. Thanks, holonet.

And Jyn's observation skills are unmatched. Even if Cassian never complains out loud, he will sometimes find exactly what he needs waiting for him, and he knows there’s only one person that could have done it. He tears his favorite pair of gloves, and later finds them stuffed in the pocket of a jacket, carefully darned back together and stronger than ever.

A tool needs replacing or a knife needs sharpening? He’ll find them exactly where he’s left them last, brand new and glittering or looking sharp enough as though it’s never been used countless times before.

I’m sorry may not come very naturally to them, but by stars, they are doing their best. As far as he’s concerned, that’s got to count for something.

Sometimes, on particularly clear nights, an apology can look like curling up together on the soft grassy hillside to silently stare up at the sky together, letting the peace and stillness wash over them as they watch shooting stars overhead. Those times, nothing needs to be said. It’s enough that Jyn’s resting her head over Cassian’s heart, letting the steady beating of his heart lull her into relaxation. It’s enough to be able to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head and be assured that even if he can’t see it, she’s smiling.

Sometimes, it’s enough to know that through it all, the good days and bad days, the lessons they’re still learning about how to live, the love always remains.

The rest will come in time.

[the-sweet-madame]

ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘʟᴇꜱꜱ ɴɪɢʜᴛꜱ (𝘟𝘪𝘢𝘰 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳)

(Let me defend myself by saying this is one of my earlier fics that I forgot about 🧍so it's really bad lmao)

Warnings: None.

Summary: You couldn't sleep, so you call for Xiao.

Female reader! Happy reading :)

[Y/N] stared at the ceiling, counting all the cracks there was before losing count and starting again. How long has it been? Hours? A light groan erupted from her lips as she tossed and turned. She thought maybe she could bore herself to sleep but no! The world hated her, as always. She found herself huffing in annoyance, perhaps was it the lack of warmth or comfortableness? Or was it both?

Or did the Archons feel like making everything harder for her? Sleep was the only escape from such troubles.

She gazed back into the darkness, the darkness reminding her of a certain male. Xiao. His eyes displayed no emotions, only darkness that rivalled the night sky. [Y/N] softly smiled at the mental image of him, he was truly a view to behold. His rich amber orbs glimmered with such horror, hiding away the deepest secrets of the world. His skin fair and pale like snow, pillowy to the touch. His green frosted tips always danced with the breeze alongside with his mask, softer than wool and silkier than Eri Silk, it made her envious.

"If you awake to a knife at your throat. If monsters dig their claws into you. If death comes knocking at your door, call out my name, Adeptus Xiao. And I will be there when you call," He spoke with his usual cold tone, his gaze piercing a hole into her skull before he hid away his face with his mask, disappearing into thin air, leaving the (H/C)-haired girl speechless.

She chuckled at the memory. That was probably the first time he spoke more than one sentence to her. She found it funny when he waited for her to abandon him, who the hell said she was going to leave a precious find like him? Only such fools would. And when he finally realised that. He begun to warm up to her to the point where he shared his Almond Tofu with her.

"Xiao," She whispered to the darkness.

With a gust of air, the adeptus stood in front of her, spear in hand, ready to fight off any monster. His eyes widened when all he saw was the female resting on her bed. Of course, he was relieved that no harm overcame her, but it irked him that she called him for no reason.

"There is no danger, why have you called for me?" The said male glared at her through his mask, giving [Y/N] shivers even though she couldn't see him.

"I couldn't sleep," She replied, snuggling deeper into the covers.

His sigh was laced with annoyance, "Why are you mortals so bothersome?"

He would admit that she was quite the bold one, she was truly extraordinary for a mere mortal. Her presence was overwhelming, not like his, fearsome and full of hatred. It was more of a peaceful one. With a mix of excitement, which explained her bubbliness.

"Awh, do you not love me?" Her tone mocked sorrow as she stifled a chuckle.

The sound of light footsteps approached her, leaving her question unanswered as he set his polearm against the wall and his mask on her bedside table.

"Move over."

His demand left the female shocked, he never did anything like this, but she wasn't complaining. After all, she wanted this anyways. She shuffled under the covers, lifting up the heap blankets for him to come in. The mattress dipped next to her as the adeptus laid next to her, his face inches away from hers. His hair sprawled over her pillow as her gaze trailed down to his lips. The corners of his lips barely tugged upwards; they were sternly pulled into a thin line all the time.

His arms slithered around her waist, pulling her into his chest, "Stupid mortal, always messing with my head," He mumbled softly as he watched her eyelids hide away her (e/c) hues. Seeing her so peaceful gave him a sense of warmth somehow. He raised his hand to ghostly caress her cheek, his touch could be compared to a feathers'.

"Go to sleep, I will be here."

[y/n] smiled, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks at his words and the affection given from him, she knew she was the only one he trusted enough for him to do so. And she was grateful for it.

"Goodnight, Xiao," She whispered, falling into a peaceful slumber.

[ken-dom]

Christmas Kisses

↳ with Lars, Driver or Six x gn!reader

⋆⁺₊❅ Total 2k words. Lars 880 words, Driver 670 words, Six 500 words.

⋆⁺₊❅ I’ve been wanting to write some kisses and thought, what better time is there than the holidays? So here’s a collection of festive smooches. Six was written as a little surprise for my beloved @heresthestorymorningglory – merry Sixmas, darling!

⋆⁺₊❅ Relevant content warnings listed under the header of each one shot, but generally these are NSFW.

⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

⋆⁺₊❅ LARS LINDSTROM — First Kiss

⋆⁺₊❅ Contents: interrupted make out, mention of the uncomfortable side of the history of mistletoe traditions

☾ * ˛ ㅤ ˖ ⭑ ㅤ.ㅤ ❆ㅤㅤ *ㅤㅤ ˖ ㅤ❆ㅤ . ㅤ * _Π______ ˛ * ˖ ࣪ ⭑ * ˖ ࣪ . ❆ /______/~＼ ࣪ ☃︎ 𖢔 ❄︎ ˛╬╬╬╬╬˛ ° . ｜田田 ｜門｜ ╬╬╬╬╬

‘Look, Lars, Mistletoe!’ you beamed, stepping through Gus and Karin’s front door before him.

Lars’s heart always skipped at the way his name slipped from your tongue so easily, but this time his blood ran hot and cold at once, too. He had been hoping beyond hope for the right time to initiate a kiss. He couldn’t do that here, though, could he?

He wanted to. So much that his tongue licked along his bottom lip without him really meaning it to. His breath quickened, he could feel his pulse beginning to race-

No, not in Gus and Karin’s hallway. Not your first kiss together, right here on the threshold of his family home on the spur of the moment. He’d dreamed of your first kiss coming naturally one romantic night, after dinner and dancing at home, or under the fairytale moonlight at the lake, or even in his car after you’d been out somewhere together and had a good time.

Mistletoe was festive at least… this could be kind of romantic given the snow and the season, but all the scenarios he’d daydreamed about shared a common factor: you were in private when you kissed.

Lars offered a tightlipped smile and zero eye contact when you turned to see why he was still frozen to the spot on the porch.

‘Lars?’ you said quietly, coaxing him back to you, watching his eyes squeeze shut and his fists clench tight.

Before he could think up an excuse that summed up his inner turmoil and still let you know he wanted you more than anything right now, Karin unwittingly saved the day.

‘Lars, honey, is that you?’ she called down the stairs, ‘We’ll be down in just a minute, come on in!’

The only thing standing in his way now was the small complication that Lars wasn’t sure how long he could sustain a kiss without pain, but for you he would at least test it, and a whole minute seemed like a good start. A minute was plenty.

His hands unclenched, his eyes locked on yours, and he marched forward until he was an inch from you, where his gaze and his voice dropped.

‘You know what they used to say about standing under mistletoe?’ he said, so huskily you unconsciously squeezed your thighs together at the sound. ‘They used to say it’s bad luck to refuse a kiss. But I don’t believe that, not one bit. If you don’t want to kiss me, it’s okay. Nothing bad will happen.’

‘I’ve never wanted to kiss you more than I do right this very second,’ you breathed, so quickly the words almost slurred together.

Lars closed the gap, knowing any pain he felt from his skin against yours wouldn’t really harm him, that he could do this just the way he’d wanted to for so long. But there was no pain, only your lips soft and enticing against his, the trace of your scent filling every breath he took, the subtle heat building between you both warming his cheeks.

He felt you pull the hat from his head, your fingers threading into his messy hair, and as if that didn’t drive him wild enough, the way your body pressed closer, begging for more ignited something inside, like a fire in his belly.

While the kiss didn’t speed up, it certainly heated up; tenderness laced with desperation. Your tongue slipped along his bottom lip, and you guessed he must have liked it because the hands ghosting carefully at your shoulders dropped and gripped your waist hard instead.

He hadn’t meant to, and he was mortified at the volume, but it felt so good when your tongues met – you felt so good, he couldn’t stop a moan making its way into your mouth, either.

You hummed back and it reassured him enough that he confidently pressed a thigh between your legs. The kiss broke for barely a second, during which you both panted and puffed and sought out the other lips again-

Until everything came to a halt at the sound of a creak, a gasp and a scuffle. 

Startled, Lars abruptly pulled himself completely away to see a flustered Karin and wide-eyed Gus paralyzed on the stairs.

You held your breath and bit your lips together, not sure whether to laugh this off or apologise profusely. Lars opted for the latter immediately, so you settled on hoping the ground would open up and swallow you whole instead.

‘No, no. We should be sorry,’ Karin gushed, while silent Gus’s brow raised. ‘We’ll just let you two finish up- I mean- well, we need to uh- we’ll be back in a moment.’

Karin ushered a reluctant Gus back upstairs, and Lars, beet red, huffed out an awkward laugh.

Letting out a breath of relief yourself, you bent to pick up Lars’s hat and stepped toward him with a smile, thumb delicately brushing over his burning cheek.

‘How about we hang some mistletoe at your place?’ you soothed as you smoothed his hair back into place and slipped the hat back into place on his head.

All the breath left Lars’s body, and he nodded, hurried and eager.

You leaned up to leave a soft peck on his cheek as you reached up and pulled a little off the sprig hanging above you. You knew Karin would only encourage it anyway.

⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

⋆⁺₊❅ DRIVER — Gift for The Holidays

⋆⁺₊❅ Contents: kissing, blood (from an unknown source), if you’ve read my Driver before you’ll know he has a kissing kink so a big dose of that because frankly I can’t resist and I will write it again, hand job (over clothes)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

‘What are you doing up so late on Christmas Eve?’

Driver never startled, certainly not easily anyway, so he only raised an eyebrow and smiled as he stepped out of the elevator.

‘I could ask you the same,’ he said, coolly sliding the key into his apartment door while he considered you. You captivated him endlessly, but something was different tonight. ‘Waiting for me?’

‘You caught me!’ you grinned, ‘I actually have something for you… a gift, y’know, for the holidays.’

‘I don’t celebrate,’ he said, not intending it to come off as blunt as it might have to someone who didn’t know him. The glittering of fascination in his eyes told you otherwise, though.

‘It’s something you can do anytime of year,’ you teased.

Driver, interest piqued doubly, nodded his head to the side in a signal to follow him inside as he opened the door.

His apartment was bathed in complete darkness except the lights from the street vaguely glowing in through the window. He stood in front of it to face you, and it was then that you saw the splatter of blood, dark against the white of his jacket, and a pleasantly chilling shiver ran through your body as his shadow cast over you.

He tilted his head — You have something for me? — and you realised you’d almost bitten clean through your lip just watching him.

‘It’s not something I can give you, not really. It’s something I’d like to share with you.’

Driver stared at you, willing you to go on.

‘I don’t want to spoil it but I also need to know you want it first.’

His eyes widened, waiting patiently.

‘It’s… a kiss.’

God. You knew him. He swept forward, crushing his lips to yours with bruising precision that turned you dizzy, opening your mouth with his and pressing his tongue to yours.

Your head spun. This was an art form, elegant and needy in equal measure. Driver knew how to kiss, and he knew how he wanted to do it.

He snaked his arms around your middle and pulled you flush to him, somehow deepening the kiss and feeling you shudder against him.

You managed to prize your mouth off his long enough to take a much needed breath, and in the brief moment his lips weren’t sealed to yours, a almost inaudible whimper filled the inch between you.

With an influx of oxygen came enough clarity to realise you could feel his arousal pressed against your hip. You slid a hand down between your bodies and his breath caught in his throat. He nodded when your hand paused at the waistband of his blood soaked jeans, head dropping as he tried to hold back.

When you pushed your hand lower, you could feel that the fabric was wet, but it wasn’t blood you were touching. This was warm and sticky in a different way.

Your fingertip tracing the outline of his length drew another delicious whimper from between his kiss-swollen lips, which he bit closed when you palmed his twitching length over the denim. You rubbed slow and steady; gathering by the way his fingertips were digging into your waist he wouldn’t last much longer and you didn’t want to rush him to it.

You pushed him to the bed in the corner, resuming the kiss — and the touching — the moment you were on top of him.

He writhed in heated silence beneath you until the inside of his jeans was coated in his release, hot and thick and thrillingly uncomfortable against his skin, and he couldn’t even bear to kiss anymore until he’d caught his breath.

When his heart had slowed and his breathing evened, he slipped away to clean himself up, at least you presumed, but not without telling you, ‘Stay there. It’s my turn to give you a gift.’

⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ⋆⁺₊❅. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

⋆⁺₊❅ SIERRA SIX — A New Tradition

⋆⁺₊❅ Contents: making out, dry humping

☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎☃︎

‘You know I’m okay with doing nothing and eating Skittles in front of the TV, right?’ Six called through while you unloaded your bags and bags of festive items.

‘Yep, and we’re doing that, but I want to start some traditions with you, too.’

Six wandered into the kitchen where you’d already unpacked a gingerbread house kit, various types of cheese, and cookie cutters in the shapes of trees and stars and holly leaves.

‘Gonna pull a snowman out of there next?’

You ignored him, mid-search for the most important item of all.

‘I’m not really one for baking…’ Six grumbled, inspecting the cutters as you dug around in another bag.

‘Aha! Close your eyes.’

Six did as you asked, although not without a little sigh of protest. A moment later he could feel you standing closer, your warm breath on his cheek as you whispered, ‘Open them.’

You could see him thinking, What? when his eyes locked back onto you, until he followed your gaze up, to where you were holding a little sprig of leaves dotted with pearly white berries and tied up with a pretty red ribbon, and his eyebrows raised.

‘Oh…’ he breathed, and then he was straight back to you, his lips brushing yours.

It was almost chaste. Almost. His kiss was so soft and lingering, so gentle, you dropped the mistletoe as you melted against him instead. 

Six shifted forward, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him in one swift motion. Easy, like he’d done the action a million times before, and who knows, perhaps he had by now.

He could feel your heart racing, your chest heaving for breath, and he chuckled against your mouth. All he’d ever needed to do was take it slow to have you turn to putty in his hands? Noted. 

Also noted was the way it was working for him, too, heat pooling low in his gut as your lips parted.

You sighed when his tongue smoothed against yours, so delicately that your fingers clutched at his shirt tight enough you could have ripped it, and Six moaned. Actually moaned. 

As swiftly as he’d pulled you to him, his hands found their way to the back of your thighs and he lifted you seamlessly onto the counter, sliding between your legs as you wrapped them around him and the cookie cutters clattered to the floor.

The kiss hadn’t broken all but for a brief moment, when you laughed together before his hips rolled into yours and your fingers might have actually torn the fabric of his shirt this time. The gasp you let out at the shudder it sent through you was cut short, his lips seeking yours again like a man possessed.

Six pulled away deliberately this time, resting his forehead on yours when he realised how dizzy all this had made him, but not ever ceasing the slow rocking of his hips.

Managing to retain just a hint of sarcasm betrayed by his own arousal, he cooed, ‘So, how’s this for a tradition?’

[sparklingyandere]

Cabin Anthology

Childe/GN! Reader

summary: a somewhat broken darling reflects on their captivity

word count: 2.5k 

warnings: stockholm syndrome, violence, asphyxiation, childe is called ajax, manipulation, abuse, dissociation, codependence, anxiety and paranoia, neglect

Sometimes, Ajax went away for long periods of time.  

He would leave the pantry barely stocked, forcing you to ration for yourself for archons-know how long, and he'd lock away all the matches and kindling so the cabin was always freezing. 

In your first few weeks in your new home, he left only for hours or days at a time, returning with food or firewood, never warning you when he'd come back.

At first, you used that time to the fullest, scrambling through every inch of the little cabin he kept you in, searching for any secrets you could exploit.

You thought about escaping so often then, your every waking moment spent contemplating how you'd do it, convincing Ajax you could be left alone, and biding your time until the perfect opportunity. 

Then, your opportunity came. Ajax, seemingly out of nowhere, gifted you a novel written in your home country, which he must have had imported just for you.

"Here, to keep you entertained while I'm gone," he said, the word ‘gone’ attracting your attention more than the gift itself, "I'm going on a… a trip. For a week." He was coy about this 'trip,' as if you were dumb. "Can I trust you here by yourself for that long, darling?" he asked, cupping your cheek tenderly, in stark contrast to his threatening words. His tone was playful, but you picked up on the ‘hidden’ warning. Regardless, you nodded your head eagerly, promising good behavior, ushering him out the door. A whole week! You could be halfway to Natlan by then. 

-

The following attempt was such an explosive failure, you remember it like it was yesterday. Ajax unexpectedly came back from his trip several days early, swinging the wooden door wide open with a call of your name- only to see you knelt on the floor before him with a pin in hand- you had been caught red-handed picking the lock.

Time seemed to be still in that moment, you remember struggling to read Ajax's blank expression, his dead eyes seeming to look through you, not at you. Then, without warning, he grabbed you by the arm and flung you out the door into the Snezhnayan winter. 

It was cold. You held your arms out to catch your fall and they were buried almost to the elbow in freezing snow. You turned back to look at Ajax, who was glaring at you from the doorframe.

"You want out there? Fine." He slammed the door shut and clicked the lock. 

Shivering, you looked around and saw, for the first time, the outside of your cozy prison. It rested in a wide clearing surrounded by a dense pine forest that seemed to stretch forever. Over the trees, distantly, you saw mountains. 

You tried to stand up on your wobbly, trembling knees, struggling to find balance in the thick snow. You quickly came to realize that you were severely underdressed for this cold, in only thin, loose fabric. No worries, you could still make this work. After all, you were outside, that was the hard part, really. 

Luckily, you could see Ajax's trail of smushed snow and walk through his bootprints. Every barefooted step towards the treeline was pure torture, but hopefully you could follow the trail to wherever Ajax was coming from. 

The frosty air seemed to seep quickly through your flesh and into your bones. You could barely feel your feet, extremities already becoming numb and legs getting stiff, but you forced yourself to keep going. You had to try. 

You looked back towards the cabin; smoke was now pouring from the chimney. You thought about the warm fire Ajax must have lit, you longingly pictured the thick fur coat he had been wearing when he opened the door, and you felt… 

Hopeless. You were never getting out of here.

You took a few more wobbly steps, so close to the treeline. Maybe I can use sticks to make a fire, you thought, the snow is thinner under the trees, surely it will be smooth sailing from there. You managed another step before your knees gave out and you felt the cold hug of the snow. Snowflakes melted instantly against your warmer skin, leaving you freezing and wet. 

You close your eyes. At least you tried.

Some time (minutes, hours?) later, you felt your cold body being lifted from the snow and wrapped in something soft and warm. Instantly, you cuddled into it, coherent thoughts slowly returning to your mind. You're so relieved that you're alive, you forget where you are, you don't even bother to open your eyes and simply snuggle closer into the warmth. 

You yelp in surprise when you're suddenly dropped onto the hard, dry floor. 

Ajax kneels over you, his usually sharp features downturned with concern.

You stared at him blankly for a moment, your still-foggy brain swirling with conflicting emotions. You struggled over whether to be angry or thankful, but in the end, the only thing that mattered to you in that moment was that you were so cold, and Ajax was so warm. 

You crawl forward into his arms, which wrap around you perfectly, like two thick, heavy blankets. He hugs you tightly, a warm hand gently combing through your hair. “‘m sorry,” you whimper, bluish lips barely able to form the words you want to say. 

"What did we learn?" He asked gently, his voice was barely a whisper, but his hot breath against your neck felt like a kiss.

You didn't try to escape again after that. 

-

Ajax's love was like quicksand. It sucked you in and suffocated you, much like the man himself. When he wasn't out for 'business' (he always tiptoed around the subject, like you didn't know who he was) he was attached to you at the hip. 

Tonight was one such night. A blizzard raged outside, making it impossible to see out the frosty windows. The cabin was dark, and you sighed through chattering teeth, these stormy nights were among the creepiest, the gravity of your situation being significantly more difficult to ignore. Ajax had his arm slung over your shoulder, a thick quilt- sewn by his mother as a housewarming gift- settled around both your shoulders. You could barely make out the curves of his face in the dim lighting, but you didn't need to see him to feel his gaze.

He lifted a nimble hand to stroke your face. His calloused hand was cold too, freezing and rough, and you flinched away, shivering. Despite that, he smiled. "Is my bunny cold?" he teased. 

"No," you whined, unconvincing, curling the blanket ever tighter around yourself as Ajax pulled away from you, taking his body heat with him. He strode over to the stone fireplace along the far wall of your small living den, and you watched him kneel before it, lamenting the Ajax-shaped emptiness in the seat next to you. 

You intently watched Ajax strike a match, a small, orange light illuminating his face. The dark shadows contrasting the warm glow made his face look strangely creepy, but also accentuated his sharp, strangely handsome features. You couldn't help but smile weakly as he kindled the little match into a flame. Ajax always kept you warm, you couldn't survive a place like this without him. you wouldn't be in a place like this without him, part of you thinks, a small, quiet part that gets quieter every day. You smother the thought. 

The fire steadily grew, warmer and brighter, and Ajax turned to you, smiling expectantly. You snapped out of your thoughts and sit up straight. "Thank you, Ajax," you mutter, obediently.

He opens a storage chest by the fireplace and pulls out a hardcover book and some pillows. "Won't you come sit with me?" he orders, and you crawl off the sofa, pulling the blanket alongside you, to sit on the wooden floor next to Ajax. The warm light of the fireplace allows you to see his book in more detail. Snezhnayan Fairy Tales, it looks old: faded, greyish-brown covers and a fancy title typed in an outdated font. It's edges were slightly frayed, worn down from being held by so many hands. 

Ajax settles a pillow between his legs and invites you to lay in his lap. You do so, letting the heat from the fire combined with his warmth sink deeply into you, making you sleepy. Ajax cracks open his dusty book- literally, it makes a crack sound as it opens, possibly for the first time in years- flips the pages to a random story and starts reading to you in a gentle, coddling voice.

Naively, you think to yourself that this perfect evening could only be better with a warm cup of cocoa, as if this was normal, cute even, like you were lovers on a couples retreat. You don't have much time to ponder before Ajax's voice lulls you soundly to sleep.

-

Ajax was haunted by a hunger you could never sate; his dull, deep-blue eyes glazing over with a need you didn't understand. He would suddenly vanish, unannounced, in the middle of the day, often leaving you wondering how long you'd be forced to fend for yourself in your freezing hellscape. 

Hours later, he'd stumble through the main door, cheerful like nothing had happened, the light having returned to his eyes, making him look almost sane. Usually, you were so happy he hadn't left you for dead, you could ignore the mysterious stains on his clothes- they were probably there before- and the faint, rusty odor he carried. 

(If you dared ask where he went, he'd dance around the topic, merely chastising you for poking your nose where it ‘doesn't belong,’ changing the topic to something he deemed appropriate for you. The double life he had, for some reason, he was desperate to keep it secret from you, like he thought you couldn't handle it.)

You recall one dark day in particular, in which you had awoken from a peaceful slumber to a completely empty house…

-

Ajax rarely let you wake up alone, so you were instantly on edge. Tentatively, you explored each room, one by one, calling out Ajax's name. Each second you couldn't find him, your yelling became increasingly panicked, breathing becoming more and more erratic. So what if he isn't home, you tried to console yourself, to no avail, he leaves all the time… except, since the incident, he never left without saying goodbye. 

Where had he gone? What if he was finally bored of you- you had been settling a bit too much into routine lately- and he abandoned you here to freeze to death? 

You paced back and forth through the house for what felt like hours, mind racing with worst-case scenarios. In truth, you had no idea what time it was, but when the faint glow through the windows transitioned from yellow to orange to silver, you officially feared the worst. 

Unable to control your anxiety, you sank to your knees and let out a desperate scream. It was over, Ajax was gone and you'd either freeze or starve- 

The door creaked open, Ajax's concerned, but chipper voice echoing in your ears, “Bunny? You okay? I heard-” 

You jerk your head up, teary eyes making contact with Ajax's beautiful face as he finally walks in, and you start sobbing with relief. You leap to your feet and throw yourself onto him. Seeing your sorry state, Ajax chuckles and wraps his arms around you, “Aww, I missed you too, cutie” He teases, and even through your hysterics, you find the energy to be angry. 

“You left! How could you laugh at me-?” You hiccup through your sobs, only tickling Ajax more. You beat your fists against his chest angrily, to no effect. “I was so…” you trail off with a sniffle. 

Ajax manages to quiet his blatant snickering long enough to cajole you, taking your swinging fists in his hands to still them. “It's okay, Bunny, I'm here now… I would never leave you, silly.” His condescending tone is not lost on you, but you are too exhausted from bawling to care, finally giving into him. Just as you always do. One of his hands presses against the back of your head, holding you against his chest and gently stroking your scalp. The soothing gesture makes you just sleepy enough that when he scoops his free arm under your knees, you don't resist. 

-

You and Ajax both worked quite hard to maintain the flimsy illusion that this relationship was any kind of happy, any semblance of normal. Your sanity depended on it, but even so, the facade sometimes slipped. 

The murky, cold dishwater swallows your hands up to your wrists. You mindlessly scrub porcelain, staring at the reflective metal basin. Your reflection is warped by the water, you barely recognize yourself. Not that you could anyways.  

You look back at your failed attempts to resist or reason with him and cringe. Each night spent locked in the cellar, until your fists ached from banging the door and your voice was raw from crying out to him, still haunted you. 

That cellar- he must have had it built just to torture you- it had never been used for anything else. It was a wide, empty room with four concrete walls and a filthy dirt floor. Once, you stupidly tried to exploit your cellar time by digging a hole in the corner, trying to burrow out like some…

Like some kind of bunny. 

Of course, you got caught, when Ajax came down the creaky steps to fetch you (maybe he found your lack of wailing suspicious) with a storm lantern in hand. By the light of the lantern, your little crater, only a few inches deep, was all-too visible. He was so angry, he…

…You put your hands over his, not prying them away, just holding tightly onto him. Though you are pleading with your eyes for him to let you go, secretly, deep down, you hope that he won't, because the warmth of his hands and the burning in your lungs makes you feel alive. It makes adrenaline course through your nerves in a terrible, exciting way that you learned to love, because if you didn't, you wouldn't survive…

You shudder at the memory. Best not to think about it. 

A warm hand resting itself on your shoulder pulls you out of your thoughts. You jump away from the touch, skittish, and Ajax laughs. Over the years, you had come to hate that melodic sound, as it always seemed to be at your expense. 

You pull your hands from the water to see that they were pruned and wrinkly. How long have you been standing here?

“S-sorry, Ajax, I don't know what's gotten into me…” you mutter, still coming to terms with the reality you were in. 

His hand on your shoulder trailed down your arm, eventually clasping your still-wet hand. “That's okay, Bunny, you'll make it up to me,” he remarks playfully. Before you can ask how, he starts pulling you with him down the hall. 

In the end, though, you know it doesn't matter. You'd do anything to keep him happy, and not just because your life might depend on it. You were hesitant to admit it to yourself, and certainly never to him, but you knew why. 

Sometimes, you think he knew it, too. 

[sunflower-author]

I Win (Yandere Todoroki)

Basically yandere Todoroki after the fact that he had kidnapped you, and one day you guys have a fight, and then the aftermath...

~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~~^~^~^~^

"Listen, Y/N, I am getting sick, of you always being so ungrateful, towards me," Todoroki almost yelled out. Stepping back a little, this was the first time he had ever come this close to yelling at me, feeling all the panic and anxiety rise up in me.

I am really starting to regret almost hitting him, I mean I had my hand up until I realized what I was about to do I stopped, but Todoroki was more mainly focused on what I was about to do rather than what I really did. So right now he is mad at me because I almost hit him.

"Do you know how lucky you are for me to care about you so-......" Todoroki said almost yelling again, but this time stopping in the middle of his sentence, it was weird, it was like he was about to say something but got distracted by something.

Pausing a second for myself, I wonder what is Todoroki thinking right now, all I know is that it can't be good. Seeing him and the paused expression on his face, he starts to smirk a little. I already don't like where this is going.

"Let's play a game actually, a game where if you win then you are free to leave, and call the police on me, I bet you would love that wouldn't you," Todoroki says walking closer to me, with that smirk of his starting to fade. Stepping back, listening carefully to what he is saying.

"What will you get if you win?" I ask him, getting backed up by the wall. "Does that really matter, I mean you'll get what you've always wanted," He said, pinning me against the wall. Only inches are separating us, and even with all the tension between us I still, manage to do some kind of glare at him.

"But if you'd really like to know, if I win, then you'd have to do what I want you to do for a whole day without any of your complaining, but if you do complain... well, I guess, you'll have to say goodbye to one of your dear friends," he said, with a small smile on him now, grabbing the top of my shoulder...weird.

"What even is the 'little game' you want me to play?" I ask him, with a little irritation in my voice. "Well since you really want to escape so bad, I'll let you," He says stepping back. "What do you mean? What is this game?" I ask, puzzled.

"If you can escape from me, and not get caught, in the time span of 6 hours, I let you free, but however, if I am able to catch you within that time, I win, it's as simple as that," He says, plainly.

"If you do accept, I'll give you a 15 min head start," He says. "How will I know if the 6 hours pass, and you say you win," I say. "Here," He says, holding up a yellow watch. "This watch has a timer on it, so you'll know just how much time you have left," He says, putting it on my wrist.

"So is that yes, to this game?" He asks me. "...Yes," I respond, hesitantly. "Once I start this timer run, okay," He says, finishing up putting the watch on my wrist.

"3....... 2......... 1, "He says, starting the timer. Just like that, I start running to the nearest exit outside. Fortunately, for the last time, I tried to escape, I know exactly know where to go from here.

Seeing the door, I look at the watch, it has already been 9 minutes, and I need to hurry up. Opening the door, it is cold, I see snow on the ground, and the sun is up, Winter must have just passed. Todoroki definitely has the upper hand now.

I just start running off in any direction that is away from this house. I just need to stay away from him for 6 hours, which is going to be hard, considering that whenever I tried to escape, he always found me within 5 hours.

5 hours Later:

I have been running away from Todorki for a straight 5 hours, I just feel so exhausted, considering I never really ran in like forever, being kept up in that house for so long, it feels nice, but draining at the same time. Plus it is not really helping, that it is freezing cold and I am only wearing long sleeves and sweatpants.

Right now I am currently in some kind of forest, the ground is mostly made out of small rocks, and dirt, some big rocks around everywhere. The pine trees are small with some cut-down weird. Suddenly I make a stop, as I see there are 2 different paths in front of me.

The first is like the one, I am walking right now, but with more dirt than rocks, with a little bit more trees, that are bigger than the one behind me. The second one goes uphill, I think, and from what I can tell has a little snow...

If I go the first way I will be able to run faster and get away, but Todoroki will expect me to go this way. But if I go the other way then Todoroki won't be expecting it, so will hopefully go the other way.

Plus the snow is in patches right now, so I can take some time to avoid it, by running on the rocks and dirt, but it is safer going the first way because he does follow me to the second path he will definitely have the upper hand...

Fuck it, I turn to run the way with the patches of snow, running far enough from the two-way path, I step on one of the patches, it is icey, like shaved ice. Continuing my path, I see that now it is all filled with 'snow' and ice.

Todoroki Pov:

Following Y/N's path is really easy, I mean, when they left the house they left the door open, and judging by their sense of character it's pretty obvious that they would go straight. But following the path, I am stuck, there are 2 different paths.

Knowing Y/N, they'll probably play it safe, and take the path with no ice, but before I make my move, I check the tracking device, to see if they actually went the other way... strange, normally they would have more self-doubt, and take the safe path. They must really be desperate.

Anyway walking in a straight path, now knowing I will probably catch up to them now that they will be avoiding all the snow, taking up time, even though I have less than an hour, I know for a fact I will catch up to them. Plus I just can't let my little snowflake go that easily.

Y/N Pov:

Only 10 mins left, I think that I might actually be able to escape from him, even though I am still slowly going up this hill of ice and snow, I am still making progress.

"Snowflake~" Shit, I don't even need to turn back to know who it is. Trying to rush as much as possible, is hard, without slipping.

"Did you really think that you'd be able to escape me?" Looking back at my watch, only 1 minute left. He might not make it.

Suddenly, I feel the ice starting to move... Shit. It's starting to become a slope, trying to stay up for as long as possible, but it doesn't last long. Slipping and sliding down, seeing Todoroki at the bottom, I already know I lost.

Closing my eyes, preparing myself for whatever impact might come to me. Surprisingly it wasn't too bad but still had an impact. Opening my eyes, seeing that I landed in a pile of snow, with Todoroki right in front of me.

Feeling him grab my arm. "I win," He says, pulling me out of the pile of snow, and right on cue, I hear the timer go off.....

.

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[dsireland86]

The 6th Day Of Christmas:

Baby, It's Cold Outside

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The party was winding down, and most had already gone home. A handful of people remained at Matt's house, mostly close friends, and you. You were one of the few to stay simply because it was the night before Christmas Eve, and you didn't want to go home to be alone. Matt was your friend, so staying here felt natural.

"You alright? Want anything?"

Matt leans over your shoulder while you sit on the couch, watching Noah and Nick play a round of Super Smash Bros.

"Nope, I'm good," you smile up at him, looking away from your phone. It was almost midnight. Maybe it was time to go home.

You stand up and stretch, turning around to face Matt. He's looking at you in a way you'd never seen before.

"Are you okay, Matt?" you ask, walking around to the other side of the couch. 

You stand a mere inch or two from him, close enough to smell his cologne, and it makes you weak in the senses, more than it probably should.

"I'm," he hesitates, dragging his eyes down and then back up your body, "I'm good. I'm just," he pauses, licking his lips. Huffing a light laugh, Matt takes off his hat to scratch his head, putting it back on quickly.

"Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

Matt glares down at Noah, who looks from him over to you, then back to Noah, shaking his head.

You simply have no idea what's going on at the moment, so you give a nervous chuckle before speaking.

"I, uh, I think I'm going to head home. I told my neighbor across the hall that I'd be home an hour ago." "Why?"

Matt's "why" comes out a little harsher than he means for it, earning him a smack in the leg by Noah along with a glare.

"Because," you drag out, trying to hide your laugh, "he checks on my dog for me while I'm out."

Matt's head snaps up quickly.

"He?" "Yeah, why?"

You can sense the jealous tone in his voice.. He shrugs, trying to play it cool.

"No reason, I was just asking."

But his brown eyes say something completely different.

"Relax, Matt. The guy lives with his seventy year old wife," you smile, resting a hand on his arm.

Matt won't look at you now, and you find his embarrassment adorable. But you really should be leaving now; it's past midnight now.

"I'm going," you say, telling the others goodnight and wishing them a Merry Christmas.

"Wait, I'll walk you out."

Matt follows behind you, gripping the door handle before opening it.

"Are you sure you have to go right now? I mean, it's really cold out. Might even be some snow out there."

You do your best at hiding your sudden excitement at the idea that Matt likes you. He's trying to play it coy, but failing miserably, and that's okay.

"Matt, California doesn't get snow. And, yes, it is cold, but I'm going to have to go home at some point, so now is just as good a time as any, right?"

Matt thinks while skimming your body with his eyes again.

"How about something warm to drink? Maybe we can talk for a bit. We didn't really get to do that much tonight."

You narrow your eyes at Matt, completely aware of what he's doing, but give in anyway.

"Okay, sure," you agree with a quick nod and a grin, making Matt's face light up. 

"So, how long have you been at your apartment?"

Matt sets a hot steaming mug of tea down on the table in front of you. The smell of peppermint invades your nostrils, making you think of candy canes.

"Two years. I moved out of my parents' house just before my birthday."

"You like living alone?"

You look at Matt, puzzled.

"I mean, without a roommate."

You can't help but laugh, and Matt follows, covering up his face. For the next hour the two of you get to know each other a lot more than before, and for some reason, breaking the spell you're under, caused by his charming and sarcastically sweet personality, is a very hard thing to do. You discover all the reasons why you really like Matt, and they make your heart race and the butterflies come alive.

It's past one in the morning, when you look at your phone. The living room is quiet indicating the others either left or fell asleep, so it's just you and Matt, alone in his kitchen. He reaches over and takes your hand, startled by the coldness of it.

"God, your hand is freezing! Just like ice," he chuckles, rubbing it between his to warm it up. 

The simple gesture makes you giggle. Matt can't take his eyes off you. In fact, you think he wouldn't even if he could. And to be honest neither can you. The fact that the guy you've been crushing on for the last year is right before you, holding your hand between his is mind blowing you. It's a dream that you don't want to wake from. But reality calls, and you really must go. 

"I really should go now, Matt, it's late."

Matt moves in a little close when you stand up, and having him this close to you has you weak in the knees.

"Alright. I'll actually walk you out this time," he chuckles. 

The air is frigid when Matt opens the door, and the thought of going out in the cold makes you shiver. You'd rather just stay here where it's already nice and warm, but you know that's not an option. Together, you and Matt trek down to your car where you start it then stand outside and wait for it to warm up.

"I had a great time tonight, Matt. Thanks for inviting me." "You're welcome. Thanks for coming. I hope I didn't bore you too much with all my tech talk." "No, you didn't. Not at all. I loved listening to you talk about it." "Really?" "Really."

You smile at Matt, reaching over and rubbing his shoulder. He looks at you as if your touch has some kind of magic in it, but you pull back quickly realizing what you did and feel a little awkward now.

"I, um, I guess I should go."

Matt's expression falls, and it hurts your heart a little.

"Okay, well, um, Merry Christmas." "Merry Christmas, Matt," you smile, wishing he'd beg you to stay some more. "Here," taking his hand after grabbing a pen from your car. You take his hand and write something in it, smiling as you do so.

"What is this?" "My address, just in case you need to escape," you say with a wink.

Matt looks up at you with a sparkle in his eyes that was never there before.

"Okay, just in case."

His smile is genuine, making your heart skip a beat. Taking a chance, you lean over and kiss his cheek, feeling the coldness of his skin against your warm lips, and you hear the slight hitch in Matt's breath. He surprises you by turning his head just enough until your lips almost touch.

"Merry Christmas, Matty," you whisper in his ear. "Merry Christmas, Y/N.

It's past two in the morning when you finally get home. A note under your door said your furbaby had been walked and fed and was signed with a "Merry Christmas" by your neighbor across the hall. You take a quick shower and slip into some warm, cozy jammies, flipping on your TV to finish the Christmas movie you didn't get to finish earlier, but a quiet knock on your door keeps you from doing so.

You freeze, wondering who in hell could be at your door at this hour, and then it hits you. Your heart starts to race just like before as your body fills with the same excitement you felt earlier in the night. The knock comes once more, and this time, you don't hesitate to answer it.

Matt is standing at your door, looking absolutely frozen. The smile he's wearing makes you absolutely weak in the knees, giving you the most unholy thoughts.

"It was a "just in case" emergency. After you left, I stood outside, contemplating on what to do next, but nothing felt right. You were the only thing that felt right. So, here I am."

Matt's honesty hits you right in the chest, making your insides melt for him. You want him, all of him, and obviously, he wants you, too. 

"Well, then, I guess you'd better come inside, Baby. It's cold outside."

Reaching out with the biggest smile you can muster, you grab Matt by the jacket and pull him inside your apartment, closing the door behind you.