#N's blurb is purely self-indulgence lmaoo

[rimefucker]

winter UB blurbs 💙❄️

where M eats cigarettes for breakfast & hallmark movies are explained to N. kinda am sorry about it this is a whole mess but cozy up n read for me ok 🥺

🌲 mason/morgan

“i’m coooold.” 

they’re being domestic under their duvet - one brought with them out of bed and into your kitchen - with their hands anywhere and everywhere for warmth. on your shoulders, to your sides, and ontop of your stomach. fingers pressing into skin with their chin in the crook of your neck - watching you brew today’s breakfast. 

“i know,” you say, emptying out a sugar packet into your cup of coffee. they are cold. either its because the apartment’s damn heater gave out again or they’re not yet used to these wayhaven winters. either way, you let yourself be a furnace as they fumble for their morning fix. 

a certain clingy vampire follows you to the dining room table - with coffee for you, cigarettes for them - your cold morning becoming a little more calm. 

🏔️ adam/ava

what goes unsaid in this conversation is said through watery eyes, red noses, and chapped lips.

they insist now, more than ever, to walk you home in these wayhaven winters. something about the equinox and the sun or the moon and pitch-black afternoons. snow falls fast and frivolous around them, with you taking image of their strides through sleet. 

then they’re not on your side anymore. and you’re centimeters from cold cobblestone as they hold you under your arms, momentarily stunned from the sensation of falling on ice.

“you should be more careful.” they say, with pride on their reflexes. ignoring the direction and intimacy of their action, they bring you up by the waist. and you, wallowing in what that moment couldve been, continue on with them, the warehouse on the horizon. 

yet they keep an arm extended - between your back and the space of the cold night - incase you succumb to the snow again. 

🧣 farah/felix

supposedly there’s no such thing as the cold. only absence of heat.

you know you’ll feel it during your walk to work. when your hatchback refuses to start and your favorite jacket won’t cut it  — but for now you’re content with the soft kisses and sleepiness — the overall warmth  —  you feel with them beside you. and with you stirring from your slumber, they wake up too. 

“where are you going?” they sigh, swiping the sleep from their eyes..

“we’ve got work.” your hand is already cupping their jaw, thumb rolling across their cheekbone. their hand holds your own wrist steady, both sheepishly and sluggishly. 

their yellow eyes open  — yellow like the moon that’s still up early this morning — silently begging for five more minutes in bed.

and you turn back over, complying, settling in for a slow start to your day. taking in the heat of them before the cold. 

🧤 nate/nat 

cold cups of chai are between the both of you, on a table tucked away from rows of bookshelves and store-display windows. paper bags of old literature classics, once loved and ready to be loved again, sitting at their feet. 

“let me get this straight.” they say, “it’s the same plot, just reused over movies?” 

“mhmm. yeah. small city girl meets big city man. they hate eachother, start to come around, something happens, and then it ends with a mistletoe moneyshot.”

“do they ever write about a detective and a vampire?” it could very well be an honest question, knowing them, their disinterest in technology — including television  — getting the best of them. 

you laugh, heartily. a warm winter laugh saved for book store cafe dates with them. “no!” 

they shake their head, their brunette snow-flake ridden hair now out of their eyes. “i think i’ll stick with pride & prejudice.”