#Seasonal cold and blocked nose

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

I’ll Take Care Of You

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: sick Lando, smut

You weren't supposed to show up at the Las Vegas GP because you had your own business commitments, but knowing the state Lando was in, you decided to drop everything and come with him. You knew he needed you there and there wasn't a second of doubt in your mind whether or not to go with him when you saw how sick he really was.

After Brazil, Lando was not feeling well mentally. He couldn't sleep, he wouldn't eat or drink, his mood was at zero and all of this affected his immune system which resulted in him falling ill just before the Vegas GP.

Your heart ached seeing him like this because you knew there was nothing you could do except be there for him until he got through it. The only good thing about all of this was taking the pressure of being a world champion off his shoulders until next season at least.

Before the Vegas race, Lando could barely function, to be honest. His nose was blocked, his head was pounding, and he could barely hear in one ear.

As you closely followed the race in the garage, it no longer mattered to you which place he would take, you just prayed that he would finish the race safely and successfully so you can get him out of there.

So once the race was finally over, you were relieved, and so was he. When he got out of the car and took his helmet and balaclava off his head, he immediately looked for you with his eyes.

"Baby.." You looked at him sadly, approaching him and extending your arms towards him. "Are you alright?"

"Hey, love" His head fell onto your shoulder as he buried his face in your neck, pulling you closer to him. "I feel so sick" He sighed quietly and you immediately put your palm against his forehead to check his temperature.

"Lan, you're burning"

He was exhausted, so tired he could barely keep his eyes open and head up. He desperately needed to rest and all you wanted was to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Go get changed and we're going to the hotel, okay?" You tell him.

"No, I don't wanna go to the hotel, I wanna go home." He says.

"Lan, you can't get on a plane like this. You need to get some rest first and then we're gonna go home"

"No, please baby, I just wanna go to our home, please. I really need it. I know I'll feel better as soon as we get home." He whines. You sigh for a moment just looking at him as you ponder if this really is a smart decision. "Please" His eyes plead and you finally agree.

He was clinging to you the entire flight, holding his head in your lap and trying to sleep. He still had a fever so you improvised compresses to put over his forehead.

Lando wasn't sick often, but once in a while when he caught a cold, it would wipe him out. It was the same this time. He was bedridden for a week, and you were there every day taking care of him. He wasn't even exaggerating, he was really sick and you were worried he would get dehydrated or his condition would get worse. You even wanted to take him to the emergency room, but he promised he was fine and just needed you by his side.

Once he finally felt well enough to get out of bed and go further than the bathroom, you felt a pair of arms hug you around your waist as you prepared lunch in the kitchen.

"Hey, baby" Your eyes lit up when you saw him.

"Hey" He smiled nuzzling his head into your neck and leaving a kiss.

"Are you feeling any better?" You asked.

"Mhm. My throat is still a little sore, but I feel much better." He says in a hoarse voice.

"Well, good then." You rise on your tiptoes to leave a kiss on his cheek. "You have no idea how happy that makes me. You really got me worried."

"Thank you for taking care of me" He smiles putting your face between his hands.

"You don't need to thank me for that. I enjoy doing it."

"I know, but that's my job - to take care of you and me."

"You know how they say, 'in sickness and in health'." You both laugh considering you're not even engaged yet, let alone married even though people around you keep asking you about it all the time.

"Do I hear the wedding bells?" Lando asks.

"I don't know, do you?"

"I think I do." He smirks biting his lip before pressing his lips against yours knowing it's only a matter of time before he proposes to you.

Although he felt better physically, he still hadn't mentally recovered from the 'defeat', even though he didn't want to admit it. But it gave him away when you looked for him on his side of the bed in your sleep and couldn't find him.

You squinted at your phone to see what time it was and when it showed 2 a.m. you found it strange that he wasn't there because he usually sleeps all night.

You headed straight for the living room where you found him on the couch in front of the TV. He was lying down in his boxers, watching TV, but his gaze was thoughtful and you knew something was bothering him.

"Lan?"

"Baby, what are you doing awake?" He asks extending his arm for you to lie down next to him.

"I have the same question for you." You say taking a place next to him and leaning your head against his chest.

"Couldn't sleep, I was tossing and turning the whole time. I got up so I wouldn't wake you up."

"And why couldn't you sleep?" You ask, but he stays silent. "Baby, what's bothering you? Talk to me, please."

"You already know what it is" He sighs tracing his fingers over your shoulder. "But I don't wanna talk about it anymore. I really don't, I just need to get through it."

"Is there anything I can do about it?"

"You're here with me. That's all I need." He says placing a kiss to your forehead.

But you were determined to do something, anything, to make him feel at least a little better. And what's better than satisfying him to relieve him of frustration and tension.

Besides, it's been over two weeks since the last time you fucked. You'd be lying if you said you didn't need him in the same way and you thought tonight was the perfect opportunity for both of you so you straddled him and started kissing him gently.

He gave in to the kiss, not yet realizing what you were up to. It was only when you slowly started grinding your hips against him that he smiled into the kiss.

"What's on your mind, baby?" He asked gripping your hips.

"Just wanna make you feel better" You said moving your lips to his neck. He moaned throwing his head back and you felt him starting to get hard underneath you.

You soon positioned yourself between his legs and pulled his boxers down. He quickly got rid of them, throwing them aside, and you began to kiss him around his length.

"Wanna please you" You said between kisses.

He took his cock in his hand and tapped it against your lips. You stuck out your tongue and licked his tip making him groan in response. You teased him by slowly licking him up and down and he was starting to get impatient.

"Baby, please" He whispered stroking himself against your lips.

"Please, what, Lan?" You asked innocently, stopping his hand and cupping his balls.

"Put it in your mouth"

His breath catches as your lips finally wrap around his cock. He collects your hair into a ponytail and tilts his head to get a better look at you taking him all the way in.

You keep taking him deeper and deeper until his tip hit the back of your throat and you gag around him.

"Oh fuck.." He moans while his fingers keep raking and twirling in your hair. Your hand soon replaces your mouth as you spit on his tip and stroke him up and down. You don't want him to cum this way, you want him to cum inside you and you know he's close so you straddle him again guiding his cock to your entrance.

"Fuck, baby, fuck" His hands are pulling your night dress up to reveal your ass and grab it. He lets out a low groan as you slowly sink down on him. Leaning back, he shifts his hips up to adjust how he's sitting.

"You feel so good, so big inside of me" You whine as your rock your hips back and forth.

"Yeah?" His eyes are stuck on you as he grips your hips tighter and presses his lips against your neck.

"Stretching me out so good, Lan, shit" You make special effort to compliment him tonight as you keep on riding him quickening your pace.

He grips your ass tighter pulling you down harder on him. His breath is ragged in your ear and it makes you take him deeper and harder needing him to lose control. And you know what's coming next when you feel him twitch inside you.

"I'm cumming" He chokes out triggering your own orgasm. You clench around him as he fills you up biting his teeth into your skin.

He hugged you tightly, kissing your forehead while you lay leaning against his chest, barely catching your breath from the sweet release you both needed so desperately.

"I love you" He whispers. "I love you more than anything"

[bjlipss]

— bug, part vi.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe. fem reader should be mentioned. THE KISS IS GONNA HAPPEN THE NEXT CHAPTER I PROMISE AHHAHAHA

part v <- part vi -> part vii

you don’t mean to ask him out. technically, you don’t even ask him out. you’re too dense to realise what is happening anyway.

you just mention that the ramen shop off campus has those seasonal tofu dumplings again. and that it’s been a weird week. and that your roommate keeps microwaving fish in the dorm kitchen and you’re worried about brain damage.

he doesn’t even hesitate.

“friday, six,” he says. “i’ll meet you there.”

you blink. then nod. “okay.”

and just like that��it’s a date.

except neither of you calls it that.

you don’t dress up. not really. just a clean hoodie and your favorite socks and an extra bandaid over the scratch on your cheek because it kind of looks like a heart and you think that’s funny. he’s already there when you arrive, slouched in the far corner booth with his hood up and a straw in his mouth, glancing up only when you flop into the seat across from him with a little wheeze.

“ran here,” you say. “was scared they’d run out.”

“they never do,” he replies, but his mouth twitches when he says it.

you order two bowls. yours with double noodles, his with extra spice. he rolls his eyes when you ask the server for chopsticks and a spoon, and you roll yours when he tells you he’s going to judge your slurping technique.

and then you eat.

it’s messy. loud. delicious.

you talk about nothing. about your neighbor’s haunted kettle. about a bird that followed you for two blocks. about how you saw a rock that looked like a little shoe and you cried for five minutes.

he doesn’t talk as much, but he listens closely.

his arms are folded on the table and he keeps dipping his head when you laugh, like he’s trying not to smile.

you poke at your broth with the spoon. “this is fun.”

he shrugs. “sure.”

“like, this is nice. you know?”

he looks up.

you’re not smiling when you say it. not teasing. not even trying to be cute. just honest.

and it hits him suddenly—oh.

this is a date.

like, actually. shit.

he clears his throat. sits back a little. “…yeah. it is.”

you blink. then grin. “whoa. are we, like… dating?”

he snorts. “don’t ruin it.”

you slurp your noodles loudly in retaliation, and he pretends to gag.

you walk back together after. slowly. full and warm and a little fuzzy around the edges. it’s cold, and you keep bumping into him on the sidewalk like a pinball, mumbling something about centrifugal force and proximity bias. he just lets you.

when you reach your dorm steps, you turn to him. tilt your head. squint up at him.

“so,” you say. “was this a date?”

he looks down at you. at your crooked glasses. your noodle-stained sleeve. the little dumpling sticker on the back of your phone.

“…guess it was.”

you smile so wide it makes your nose scrunch.

“cool,” you say. “you’re a good date.”

he stares at you.

then—quietly, like he’s not thinking—he tugs your hoodie strings just enough to bring you close and taps his forehead against yours. not a kiss. not yet.

but something that feels as intimate as it.

“shut up,” he murmurs.

and you giggle. you giggle, like a little kid, like someone who has no idea how much damage they’re doing to him.

you pat his chest. “okay.”

and you bounce inside like it’s nothing. like your heart isn’t thudding against your ribs.

he watches you go.

smiles to himself.

and doesn’t stop smiling the whole way home.

—

it hits him on a tuesday.

a boring, gray, too-quiet tuesday, where the sky looks like wet cement and his hoodie won’t dry right and everything feels kind of half-muffled.

you’re not around.

you’re not sick or avoiding him—just busy. you texted him that morning something about a lab partner crisis and a professor who talks like a sleep paralysis demon, and he told you to make sure you eat something that isn’t soup out of a thermos.

you sent back a thumbs-up emoji and a blurry picture of what might’ve been a cucumber sandwich with googly eyes.

and that was it.

it’s not like he needs to see you every day. he doesn’t.

he’s not needy. he’s not weird.

but then it’s halfway through the afternoon and he’s sitting on a bench outside the rec center with his earbuds in, scrolling aimlessly, and suddenly he realizes: he’s waiting.

for something. for nothing. for the sound of your voice. the little bug-hum you make when you think. your shoes squeaking. your notebook slapping against your leg.

he’s waiting for you.

and you’re not coming.

he scowls. shifts in his seat. yanks his hood up like it’s your fault the air feels too empty.

and then—out of nowhere, like a sneaky little parasite—a thought creeps in:

you should be here.

you should be beside him, rambling about conspiracy theories and handing him weird snacks and drawing bats on his wrists in pen. you should be near enough to poke his arm or steal his drink or lay your head on his shoulder and mumble something incomprehensible and kind of brilliant.

he stares down at his hands.

his phone buzzes. it’s a text from you.

i yelled at my lab partner. i’m eating apples now. they taste like betrayal.

his chest does something weird. he doesn’t smile—but he stops frowning.

he types back:

bring the betrayal to my dorm later. i’ll order dinner.

there’s no hesitation. you reply instantly.

ok!! will you braid my hair if i ask nicely

he rolls his eyes, but only a little.

sure. but if you cry, i’m shaving it off.

you send back a string of bat emojis.

and just like that, the day doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. he sits back, breathes in, and realizes—shit—he’s not just used to you.

he wants you.

around. near. always.

like a background song he’s memorized by accident. like a room that only feels right when you’re in it. like a part of himself that he didn’t realize was missing until you showed up and handed it back covered in glitter and gum wrappers and love.

he stares at the screen again.

and this time, he really does smile.

—

you show up at his dorm with your hair half-braided, one sock falling down, and a tupperware full of aggressively half-sliced apples.

“look,” you say, holding them out like evidence. “they even look smug.”

sukuna leans against the doorframe, eyebrows raised. you’re already talking like you live here. like this is normal. like you belong.

he doesn’t say it, but he thinks it. you do.

you kick your shoes off without asking and flop onto his bed like it’s yours. “do you want an apple? i wiped the betrayal off.”

he takes one. bites into it. chews.

“…it’s fine.”

“ugh, exactly,” you groan, dramatically flinging an arm over your eyes. “it’s the beige of fruits.”

he tosses the rest of the slice in the trash and grabs the takeout bag from his desk. “your weird mushroom noodles are gonna get cold.”

“you remembered my order,” you say, mock-swooning. “romance isn’t dead.”

he rolls his eyes, but his ears go a little pink.

you eat sprawled out on his floor, legs overlapping his, chopsticks in one hand, drink in the other. you talk about your cursed lab partner and a dream you had about a haunted slurpee machine. he listens. and then you start humming under your breath while you doodle a centipede in his notebook, and sukuna just—watches.

you’re wearing one of your strange oversized sweatshirts again. your glasses are slipping down your nose. your bangs are crooked from where you cut them yourself. and you’re so close.

after you’re both done eating, there isn’t much to do. there’s a movie playing, something old and weird you insisted on watching, but he hasn’t been paying attention. not really. he’s been watching you. the way you giggle at the dumb parts. the way you hum along with the background music. the way your socked feet wiggle when you’re happy.

he likes you.

he really likes you, fuck.

he’s been trying to tell you for days—hell, weeks even—but every time he opens his mouth, you derail it. you hand him a juice box or start talking about snail mating habits and he forgets how to function.

but now. now you’re right here. leaning against his pillow like it’s your rightful throne, looking soft and a little sleepy, and his heart’s rattling in his chest like it’s trying to punch its way out.

“hey,” he says, voice rough.

you glance at him. “hm?”

he swallows. “i was thinking…”

you blink at him, wide-eyed. always listening. always waiting for the next weird thing to say or do.

he exhales through his nose, tense. “maybe we could go out sometime.”

your expression doesn’t change. “okay.”

his brow twitches. “i mean like… out. like a real thing. you and me.”

you tilt your head. “like… to the grocery store?”

he stares at you.

“oh!” you perk up. “do you mean one of those friend-dates again? because i was thinking of bringing a list this time. i always forget—”

“fucking hell,” he blurts, bolting upright. “are you this dense on purpose?”

you freeze.

his chest is heaving. eyes dark. jaw tight.

“i’m not asking you to hang out. i’m not your classmate. i’m not just some guy you sit next to and hang around. i like you. i want you. i think about you every day, and i wait for you to show up like some idiot because being around you is the only thing that makes me feel—fuck, i don’t even know. normal.”

you blink. then you blink again.

and suddenly, your face crumples.

his whole body stills. “what—”

a tiny hiccup escapes your throat, and then your eyes well up with tears, and you duck your face into your arms like you’re embarrassed to cry in front of him.

“hey. hey.” his voice is sharp with panic, but his hands are already on you. warm and steady. “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, breath catching. “n-nothing, i just—”

“why are you crying?”

you sniffle. “n-no one’s ever said that to me before.”

he freezes. “what?”

you keep talking, rambling now, words tripping over themselves. “like, i know i’m weird, and i say too much stuff, and i don’t—i don’t usually get invited to things unless it’s a pity thing, or like a group thing, or unless someone wants answers for an assignment, and i just thought—i thought you were being nice, and i didn’t want to ruin it—”

“hey.”

you look up.

he’s close. crouched in front of you now, face level with yours. his hands cradle your knees, his thumbs brushing little circles against your shins.

his voice is low. uncharacteristically gentle.

“you didn’t ruin anything.”

your lip wobbles.

he sighs. then reaches up and pushes your glasses up your nose like he’s done it a hundred times. it’s second nature now anyway.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “i just suck at this.”

you stare at him, glassy-eyed. “but you yelled.”

“yeah. because you weren’t getting it.”

he softens, almost visibly. his thumb reaches up to brush a tear from your cheek. “i like all your weird shit, you know. even when you hum and draw bugs on my notebooks. even when you show up with cursed apples and call my hoodie ‘your son.’ it’s annoying and insane and it makes my day better.”

you blink at him.

he huffs. “and if you don’t wanna date me, that’s fine. but you crying isn’t allowed.”

you let out a breathy laugh through your nose.

he taps your forehead, annoyed. “so stop doing it.”

you sniff, smile wobbly. “okay.”

he hesitates, then cups your face in both hands. “okay.”

and then, like it’s the scariest thing in the world—he leans forward, presses a short kiss on your temple, and lets out a long, shaky breath against it.

“you’re the worst,” he mutters, half-hearted.

“you’re the one who likes me, stupid.” you whisper back and grip him closer.

he groans. but he doesn’t pull away.

and neither do you.

[leashybebes]

bucktommy sickfic(let)

Tommy squints at his phone, rereading the message carefully, checking closely for tone and spelling. The last thing he wants is to worry Evan. Satisfied, he hits send, and flops down into his bed, immediately regretting the even slightly vigorous motion when it sets off a round of coughing that makes his head throb.

****

It's been a full-on shift. Not bad, but busy, so Buck only sees Tommy's text when he's in the parking lot, ready to leave and head over for date night. It takes him a minute to parse it, because Tommy is normally a very clear texter with impeccable grammar (old man, Buck thinks fondly).

Hi baaby i sosorry can't tonight I ill just a cOld not to baD. Little demon baby snézed in my FACE. Wont die!! Make you up s00n. Like you!

Buck can't help laughing, and then immediately feels bad about it. His first text is to Eddie to ask for Abuela's home cold remedy - a vile tasting but highly effective concoction that still haunts Buck. Then to Hen to double check he's not missing anything obvious from his pharmacy shopping list.

When he pulls into the parking lot outside CVS he dialls Mrs Lee.

"Hey Mrs Lee, it's Evan Buckley - no, no, everything's fine! I was wondering if you could help me out. You know that spicy soup you make, god, please forgive my pronunciation, is it dakgaejang? Could I get the recipe? Yeah, uh-huh, my boyfriend's not well and I can't think of a better cure. Oh, you're an angel, yep, let me grab a pen."

Ten minutes later, he has a recipe, and instructions on the best places to pick up the ingredients. It'll add a bit of time to his journey, but it'll be worth it if he can come up with anything close to the soup she makes. Tommy likes spice anyway, and Buck's always relied on spicy instant noodles to blow the lid off a cold.

When he makes it to Tommy's via Mrs Lee's favorite store on the outskirts of Koreatown, the sound of snoring from the master bedroom is practically shaking the walls, reminding Buck of a plane roaring by only feet above his head. Regardless he bypasses the door, opting to take the pillows and blankets from the guest room instead, setting them up on the couch before he heads into the kitchen to get started on the broth.

****

When Tommy wakes up an indeterminate amount of time later, he feels, if anything, slightly worse. His head is pounding, his ears are ringing, every inch of him aches, and his mouth and throat are the kind of dry and prickly he only usually associates with wildfire season. He's also...maybe experiencing multi-sensory hallucinations because he'd swear he can hear - very faintly through the horrible underwater feeling in his ears - music, and even more faintly smell something like food.

If it really is the world's most considerate burglar, Tommy knows he's in no fit state to fight them off, but he should at least try, right? He fights his way out of the cocoon that his sheets have become, and gets to his feet, only wobbling a little. Before he's even reached his bedroom door, he hears a familiar cacophony of footsteps on the stairs, and when he opens the door it's to see Evan on the other side.

"You're...here?"

"I sure am."

"Did you not get my message?"

"Oh, I did," Evan says, with an inexplicable smirk. "How are you feeling, babe?"

Tommy groans. "I'll never take clear sinuses for granted again."

"Aw, sweetheart. C'mere."

Tommy shakes his head, turning his face away as Evan approaches. "Plague."

Evan's insistent, pulling Tommy into a careful hug that honestly feels amazing. "What's a little plague between boyfriends?"

Tommy lets his head rest on Evan's broad shoulder for the few seconds of relief he gets before his blocked nose makes the position untenable.

"Can't breathe," he gasps out, and Evan rubs his back. It would be soothing, except, "skin hurts," he says, and Evan backs off.

"Okay, hon. C'mere, do you want to come downstairs? I made you a plague nest."

Tommy blinks stupidly, lets himself be steered down the stairs, Evan's hands hovering to steady him the whole way. He's guided towards the couch, which is replete with pillows and blankets. The coffee table has been dragged closer and is home to a box of those tissues infused with balm that are meant to prevent that horrible rubbed-raw feeling, cough sweets in what looks like every available flavour, one medicated and one menthol nose spray, three bars of his favourite chocolate, a carton of orange juice, and a bottle of water with a straw.

"Evan," he manages, and his voice wobbles alarmingly.

Evan's fingers stroke through his disgusting, sweaty hair without even a flinch. What a perfect man. "Don't cry, honey, it'll make your head worse."

Tommy nods and lets himself lean into Evan's touch.

****

Buck gets Tommy settled on the couch, covers him with blankets and squats down next to him.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

Tommy shakes his head, looking revolted by the very idea.

"I know. But it'll make you feel better. It needs another twenty minutes or so, so try to take a nap, okay? I'll be right back. You want the TV on?"

"Nuh," Tommy manages, his eyes already closing.

Buck pushes himself back to his feet and heads into the kitchen. The soup smells pretty damn good, and has that vibrant orange-red colour that promises a punch of heat. Abuela's cold remedy is adding a weird dimension to the smells, so he keeps the door closed in case it bothers Tommy. He also turns the radio off, and finishes up in silence, responding to a few check in texts from the 118 and sending Mrs Lee a photograph of his efforts for her approval.

He gets a cup of the cold remedy, a small bowl of soup, a spoon and a fork, and a range of medications onto a tray and makes his way back out. Tommy is snoring again and Buck nudges stuff around on the coffee table to make room for the tray before waking him with a gentle touch to his cheek.

"Hey, beautiful. Can you sit up for me? I want you to take some pills and eat some soup."

Tommy looks pitiful, his hair sticking up in all directions, his pretty eyes red-rimmed and puffy, his skin clammy.

"'kay," he mutters, and lets Buck brace him as they get him upright in the corner of the couch. Buck rearranges the cushions and pillows around him, tucks a blanket in around his shoulders.

"Okay. First up," he says, handing Tommy the cup of Abuela's home remedy. "This is via Eddie's abuela. There's a lot of ginger and also a little tequila and it's hot, so it'll taste, uh - interesting. But I promise it'll help."

Tommy knocks it back without even a wince and Buck squeezes his shoulder.

"Good job."

He hands Tommy the pills - decongestant, painkiller, anti-inflammatory - and Tommy takes them dutifully.

"Whatsit?" he asks, nodding towards the bowl of soup.

"Dakgaejang. Spicy chicken noodle soup. I got the recipe from Mrs Lee."

"Evan."

"Yeah?"

"You're too good to me." He sounds desolate and Buck feels, not for the first time, like he wants to go back in time and fight Tommy's dad, his CO, every terrible boyfriend he's ever had.

"No such thing, honey. Let me know if you want any help with the soup."

Buck sits next to Tommy on the couch and presses a kiss to his sweaty temple, not letting Tommy duck it.

"Evan. Stop it. I'm so gross."

"Nah," Buck promises. "You're the handsomest plague victim I've ever seen."

[retrosabers]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄.

logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: when you wake up sick on your favorite day of the year, logan tries his hand at a romantic gesture

OR the time logan howlett gave you the best at home halloween you could ask for

contains: so!! much!! fluff!! soft logan, friends to lovers, some angst, mentions of past trauma, reader has telekinetic powers, kissing, swearing

!! there’s a scene in here inspired by “room for rent” by @hauntedhowlett-writes ! go check out their amazing work !!

word count: 5.5k (i got insanely carried away)

a/n: sorry for this little period of inactivity!! i’ve been feeling under the weather and lacking some inspiration and motivation, but luckily i think i’ve got my groove back! i hope you all have a happy halloween & enjoy this sweet story of everyone’s favorite wolvie <3

mutant feelings on halloween were fairly divided.

it was a love or hate kind of thing. many viewed the holiday as a hypocritical mockery; how could humans be so outward in their distaste for mutants while dedicating an entire day to parading around as the very creatures they despised? others, like yourself, saw it as a joyful occasion. a day where everyone could be as authentically themselves as they wanted to be, and not get judged for it.

safe to say, it was your favorite holiday. something you looked forward to every year, especially since you never really got the opportunity to properly celebrate it growing up.

you had the whole day planned out for weeks. your costume decided far before that. much like how a child felt on christmas eve, you felt a similar excitement and anticipation building within you on the night of october 30th.

but it would appear the powers at large weren’t feeling too generous. because at a little bit past 8, your throat started feeling scratchy.

it was easy to blame it on the changing weather, maybe some seasonal allergies if you were feeling particularly delusional. you knew exactly how your body behaved when you were feeling sick, and it always started with a sore throat. still, you snuggled under the blanket in hopes that it would pass by morning.

by the time the sun rose, your nose was blocked and it felt like you were swallowing glass.

so much for a happy halloween.

you stumble out of your room in sweatpants and a cardigan, significantly less presentable than your normal attire. all you wanted was to stay in bed, but there was a group of young students that weren’t going to teach themselves. so you dragged yourself from the comfort of your cocoon, splashed some cold water on your face, and hoped you looked presentable enough.

the glimpse you catch of yourself in the mirror on the way out didn’t appear very promising. it seems your suspicions are confirmed when a familiar face spots you.

“you look like hell,” logan calls from the other end of the hallway. he makes his way over to you in long swift strides, the heavy sound of his boots echoing in the rather quiet space.

“sure feel like it too,” you utter back weakly, your voice hoarse and tired. unexpectedly, the back of his palm presses gently against your forehead, a crease forming between his brows when he feels how warm you are.

“jesus, you’re burning up.”

“funny, because i’m absolutely freezing,” you croak, wrapping your sweater tightly around your body to prove your point. when you suddenly sneeze, everything in the hallway shakes. from the paintings on the walls, to the vases on tables scattered about. you flush in embarrassment and logan frowns.

he places his hand on the small of your back, nudging you in the direction of your bedroom door.

“logan, i have a class to teach,” you argue weakly, followed by a nasty sounding cough.

“you can’t teach them anything if you’re like this the whole time bub.”

silence on your end, because you know he’s right. you just hate caving when you’re feeling under the weather, always trying your hardest to persevere. especially, on today of all days.

“but it’s halloween,” you counter with a whine, on the verge of pouting because you were so annoyed and fed up. “i had a fun lesson about edgar allan poe planned.”

“had the whole damn day planned,” you huff to yourself, though you should’ve known logan’s enhanced hearing would catch it.

he shoots you a sympathetic glance, unlocking the door and motioning you inside.

“i know,” he soothes you with the rubbing of his thumb against the base of your spine. “maybe if you get some rest now, you’ll feel better later, yeah?”

you sigh, flopping onto your mattress dramatically.

“i suppose you’re right.”

logan chuckles at your grumbling against the bedsheets. he makes his way over to you again, brushing away the hair that was stuck to your forehead. crouching down, he presses the sweetest kiss against your temple, and his heart swells at the tired little smile you give him.

“i’ll come back to check on you in a bit,” he promises. “in the meantime, you try and get some shut eye.”

you nod from your position against the pillows, eyes already fluttering shut in hopes that maybe logan was right. you’d feel better in a few hours, and today could be saved after all. in your mind, you were optimistic.

your body, however, had other plans.

before it was even noon, you went through a whole box of tissues, and sneezed so hard and violently that it damn near shook the whole entire floor. any glimmer of hope for getting better was snuffed out quickly, meaning you’d be a prisoner to this bed until you got better in a few days.

when logan came back to check on you, he was surprised to see the state of your bedroom. the usually clean, tidy space was ridden with tissues, your comforter was on the floor, and everything hanging on the wall had been turned every which way. and to top it all off, you were curled on the side of your bed, sniffling with washed out cheeks and a bright red nose.

“do not, say i look like shit,” you warn him, though you lack any sort of intimidation. logan shoots his hands up in defense from his place in the doorway.

“wasn’t planning on it.”

you open one eye and raise an eyebrow.

the corner of his lip turns up in a smirk. “i was going to say your room looks like shit.”

one of your throw pillows feebly comes into contact with his head. not nearly as hard as you intended, but your powers were always a little out of wack whenever your immune system was.

“s’ not funny logan,” you squeak, fully peaking your head out from it’s place in your blanket burrito.

logan picks the pillow up from the floor, mindlessly tossing it between his hands as he walks towards your bed.

“you know i can’t help teasing you when you’re grumpy,” he jokes, coming to sit on the corner of your mattress.

“i’m grumpy because this is my favorite day of the year and i’m stuck in a purgatory of snot and mucus,” you groan. the pout on your face is unmistakable, and logan would think it was the cutest thing he’s ever seen if there wasn’t genuine sadness in your tone.

“why do you even like this stupid holiday so much anyways?” logan questions. it comes out a bit meaner than he wants it to, like he’s making fun of you. it only adds to your upset state, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“because it’s fun,” you bite. “especially when you’re a kid that never got to experience it until you became an adult. i do the same thing every year because it brings me comfort. people like us don't get a lot of that.”

logan knows how true that is better than anyone.

“plus it’s a day mutants don’t have to worry as much,” you continue. “we can be ourselves and it looks like we’re just blending in with everyone else.”

you mumble this last part with a glumness he’s never heard from you before.

“it’s like we’re normal.”

logan doesn’t say anything in rebuttal. he just nods his head in agreeance, letting your words sink in. he never thought about it that way, and a wave of guilt suddenly washes over him for not considering that your feelings about today ran deeper than he initially thought.

the sound of a pill bottle shaking snaps you from your wallowing. your eyes flick back to logan, who’s holding medicine in his free hand.

“stole these from the infirmary,” he gets up to place the bottle on your bedside table, picking up a few stray tissues and tossing them into the small trash can next to your bed. “figured you could use something to help you feel a little better.”

you croak out a “thanks” before that dreaded tickling in your nose starts again.

“oh no,” you whisper, bracing for impact. logan looks at you with a puzzled expression at the exact moment when you sneeze. the entire room shakes, sending the wolverine stumbling back a few paces. there’s a couple seconds of vibration afterwards before everything returns to normal.

after regaining his footing, logan makes a beeline for the bathroom. you hear the faucet running and he returns to you with a glass of water.

he nods at you wordlessly, head motioning back and forth between you and the cup. you sniffle as you shuffle yourself upright. you take the medicine without a word, letting the cold water soothe your irritated throat. logan’s eyes don’t leave your face the entire time. he stares at you with something unfamiliar, to both you, and to him. it makes a new kind of warmth coat your body, one that has little to do with your current state.

your relationship with logan was hard to explain. you weren’t quite lovers, and labeling what transpired between you as friendship didn’t feel adequate. friends surely didn’t kiss each other on the cheek, or occasionally doze on each other’s shoulder during long sleepless nights. it was so painfully obvious to everyone else that there was something between you two.

but knowing logan and his track record of emotional unavailability, you always doubted whether or not he really shared those feelings.

clearing his throat, he dissolves any buzz you were feeling. logan offers you a tight lipped smile before slowly backing away. there’s a part of you that misses the closeness already, but you shove it down.

“if you need anything else, you know where to find me,” he says quietly, his body halfway out the door.

you nod with tired eyes. “thanks again logan.”

he simply nods his head once more before shutting the door completely.

you slink back under the comfort of your blanket, allowing the weight of your own words to take their effect. today wasn’t just special because it was a way to heal your inner child. today was important to you because you could feel safe in a world that normally didn’t accept people like your family. people like you. as cliche as it sounded, it was the truth.

as you try to fall back to sleep, you can’t help but dramatically wonder if being sick today was the universe’s way of punishing you for your optimism. for believing there could ever come a time where people accepted mutants.

it was a silly notion that would have to be pried from your cold dead hands. because though you didn’t have much comfort, you always had hope.

when you succumb to the drowsiness, you dream of being a child that didn’t have to be locked away in a lab on all hallows eve.

the smell of cookie dough rouses you from slumber.

slowly, you come to, stretching out your tired limbs as you shrug off the blanket that was wrapped around your figure since this morning. you’re still tired, but the fatigue that burdened your body was much less than it was a few hours ago. the medicine that logan brought you had worked. you smile to yourself, remembering to thank him the next time you saw him.

orange light bathes your room in a sunkissed glow, signaling that the day is coming to an end. the disappointment from before creeps its way back in, a reminder that all your plans for today were a wash. you squint your eyes in the direction of your alarm clock, trying to make out the time.

6:37 pm.

it was still early enough that you could try and put on a movie at least. scott, jean, and ororo, were set to take all of the kids trick or treating around 6. you were supposed to be joining them, but from the stark silence that seeped in from under the door, it was clear they were already well on their way without you.

you know it's because you weren’t feeling well, but that didn’t make it sting any less. you stare at the costume hung over your desk chair, and suddenly it feels like you’re a little girl again, sad and disappointed because you couldn’t go out with all the other kids.

maybe next year, you tell yourself.

after a moment of self pity, it hits you just how gross you’re feeling. staying in bed all day always sounded good in theory, but in practice, it just made you feel like a slob. in a flash, you kick all the covers to the foot of the bed, making your way to the bathroom and stripping off your clothes as you went. you were in desperate need of a hot shower, a leg shave, the whole nine yards.

steam cakes the mirror with condensation, the soft sound of water trickling down the drain relaxing you almost immediately. you take your time washing the day away, letting the scalding hot droplets soothe your tired muscles. you stand beneath the stream until the water goes cold, shutting the shower off and reaching for a plush towel.

the cold air of your room erupts goosebumps on your skin. whether it was from the change in temperature, or the fact that your room was now completely back to normal, you’re not sure.

strange. you don’t recall hearing anyone enter. surely this much reorganizing would’ve created some noise, something audible over the sound of running water, but you can’t remember hearing the slightest peep.

you cling to the towel around your body like a lifeline, afraid someone was going to jump out from a corner and startle you. after a quick once over of the room, you accept the fact that it’s empty. your eyes settle on a set of clothes folded neatly on the corner of your bed.

your comfiest pajamas. an old baggy t-shirt with yellow and orange plaid pants.

too tired to question it, you slip them on without a second thought, relishing in the feeling of the soft fabric against your skin. you felt more like yourself than you have all day.

the sweet aroma from before catches your attention again. no one was supposed to be here still, not anyone you’d expect to be baking anyways. curiosity gets the best of you, and you make your way out of your bedroom and down the main staircase to the kitchen.

the last thing you expect to see is logan howlett fussing over a tray of cookies.

he grumbles something incoherent under his breath. probably a swear word or two, given he looked frustrated and out of his element.

“what are you doing?” your voice manages to startle him, a first you have yet to see since logan arrived at the mansion.

the man scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, gesturing to the tray before him on the counter.

“i was uh,” he stumbles over his words. another logan first. “just pulling these out of the oven.”

you eye him mischievously. “since when do you bake?”

there’s a beat of awkward silence that passes while logan struggles to conjure up a logical answer. because no, he didn’t bake, not now, not ever in his life. but what’s the alternative? the much scarier conversation about his feelings?

from the knowing glint in your eye, it might just have to be the latter.

logan sighs. a sound of defeat, coupled with a flash of teeth. he leans back against the edge of the counter, thick arms folded across a broad chest.

“marie helped me put ‘em in,” he admits a bit sheepishly. “was afraid i’d burn the place down if i tried to do it myself.”

you laugh at the memory of scott storming into the kitchen with a fire extinguisher last month after logan tried to cook eggs. it sparks a fondness in your chest, connecting the dots as to why logan would go through all this trouble.

“i’m glad she stepped in before you could manage to start a fire,” you joke, stepping further into the kitchen. it grants you a better look at just how messy it was, from the flour sprinkled across countertops, to bowls thrown askew. your brows pull together in confusion, a question on the tip of your tongue before you turn in the direction of the common area.

your eyes nearly water at the sight.

the living room had been turned into a heaven of pillows and blankets, little tealights placed around the edge of the table in the center. there was a stack of movies nearly as tall as you sitting in the middle, and when you squint, you could make out a few of the titles.

a nightmare on elm street, hocus pocus, friday the 13th.

they were all your favorite halloween movies.

logan comes into your peripheral vision, carefully gauging your reaction with nervous eyes.

“what’s all this?” you breathe out, a surprised smile forming on your face. it brightens even more when you see how shy logan looks from his place against the wall.

“i know you were bummed that things didn’t go how you wanted today,” he speaks lowly, somewhat unsure of himself. it was almost heartwarming to see such a rugged, brooding man be so timid. clearly this was something way outside of his comfort zone.

and yet, he did all this for you.

he looks around the room, stalling on meeting your gaze out of nerves. when he finally does, there’s so much adoration, so much tenderness in your eyes that he’s overwhelmed by it.

it’s something so foreign to logan, but it feels so right. something that he’s unknowingly longed for, and now that he has it, he’s determined not to let it slip from his grasp.

he’s got a little bit of his regular confidence back now. it's evident in the way he straightens himself out, his natural smirk returning.

“figured this might cheer you up a bit.”

the warmth in your cheeks is inevitable. it always was whenever logan was around, but this felt different than your normal exchanges. you thought maybe you had been imagining the lingering touches and stolen glances, that you were a fool for thinking logan could reciprocate the feelings you harbored for him.

but as he stands before you, with a small bashful smile and hazel eyes filled with warmth, you know that it’s not one sided. never was, and never could be.

logan nearly falls over when you jump into his arms, his hands coming to wrap around your waist on instinct. the embrace is unexpected, but not unwelcome. once logan takes a second to get his bearings, his body relaxes and molds into yours, lifting you an inch or two off the ground as he envelops you fully. your own arms wrap around his neck, face buried in his shoulder as you take in the feeling that you’ve wondered about for so long.

“thank you,” you whisper against the fabric of his shirt, smiling into the worn material.

with his enhanced senses, logan can feel the rapid thrum of your heartbeat against his own. months and months of dancing around each other finally coming to a head. he gives you one final, tight squeeze before pulling away, though he makes no move to let go of your body.

when he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and caresses your cheekbone with his thumb, your knees feel like they might buckle.

“s’nothing much,” which was essentially logan speak for “i’d do everything in my power to keep you happy.”

you’re well aware that he’s not the best with expressing how he felt. but this simple, sweet gesture was worth more than any lengthy monologue in your book.

you catch him eyeing your mouth briefly, and you do the same, letting your mind travel to that familiar place of wondering. thinking about how his lips would feel against your own. how they would feel in other places. just as you find yourself leaning in, a kitchen timer buzzes, startling you both.

logan can’t hide his annoyance at the interruption, reluctantly removing himself from you to stop the incessant chiming.

“this damn thing,” he grumbles, shaking his head.

you stifle a laugh when he throws the timer back onto the counter a bit too harshly, sending it bouncing into a stray bowl.

deciding to take the reigns, you walk over and reach for his hand. logan’s eyes widen a bit at your outstretched palm, even more so at the confident grin you wear. he doesn’t hesitate to lock his hand in yours, trying his damndest to ignore the electricity he feels from such a small thing.

“come on,” you nod your head in the direction of the couch, playful sarcasm in your tone.

“we’ve only got all night.”

“i don’t see it.”

you whip your head in logan’s direction, shrieking out a “what?” as you look back at the tv screen.

“you look just like him,” you argue, leaning forward to grab a cookie from the plate he brought into the room. “it’s uncanny.”

logan laughs to himself, shaking his head at your antics. “you keep telling yourself that bub.”

as the credits of van helsing start to roll, you decide to try your hand at a bit of flirting.

“y’know, you should take that as a huge compliment,” you state, sinking further into the couch cushions.

logan raises a brow, taking a sip of his beer and experimentally scooting closer to you.

“and why’s that?”

you try to maintain your confidence, but logan doesn’t make it very easy. not when he’s a human furnace that’s inching into your space. not when he already makes you warm in the face in nearly every situation.

clearing your throat, you shrug a shoulder, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible.

“i had a huge crush on him growing up. thought he was super hot.”

oh. if this is the game you’re playing, logan knows for sure he’ll win.

“really?” he exaggerates, placing his arm on the back of the couch. the tips of his fingers brush against your shoulder, and he relishes in the goosebumps they create.

“mhm,” you hum, eyes not wavering from the screen. “you should be super flattered right now.”

logan chuckles again, reaching for a cookie of his own. he decides he’ll space out his teasing, be a bit generous. you were in a poor position right now, still being a little sick and all.

he’d much prefer to see you really keep up with him anyways. still, he can’t help himself.

“whatever you say darlin’,” he murmurs.

your breath hitches ever so slightly.

jesus christ it feels like this couch is on fire.

you can see his smirk out of the corner of your eye, and you feel like a schoolgirl over the way that one simple word was making you feel so giddy. tucking your legs underneath your body, you shift more to your side so you were now fully facing logan.

as you take in your surroundings, from the coziness of the living room, to the beauty of the man beside you, the inquiry that’s been floating around your head for the past couple hours falls from your lips.

“how did you even know all of this?” you question him while biting the head off of one of the bat cookies.

“know all of what?” he repeats, half of his mouth filled with cookie dough.

“that this is what i do,” you gesture to the television screen and the plate that was sitting on the table. “movies and cookies, specifically these, every single year?”

logan feigns realization, despite knowing what you meant the first time you asked. he was just too self conscious to explain the reason why. his coyness from earlier returns, the apples of his cheeks showing a tinge of pink.

“overheard you talking with ororo a couple days ago,” he begins, sliding his palms over the expanse of his denim clad thighs. “about the movie thing and stuff.”

you think back to that conversation with vague memory. you recall discussing your halloween plans, but never diving into such specifics.

logan answers your next question before you can utter it.

“i asked her this morning what all your favorite things were.” he clears his throat a bit awkwardly. “i wanted to do something once i realized you were sick.”

he trails off, not sure if he should venture into this territory again after his remark from earlier. he moves around so his position mirrors yours, making you both unable to avoid each other’s faces.

“i didn’t mean to be a dick before,” he starts to apologize. you know it’s taking a lot for him to admit his faults, and it makes all the effort he put into this even more meaningful.

“this,” he motions around the room, “was my way of trying to say i’m sorry.”

you tilt your head to the side, eyeing him empathetically.

“you don’t need to apologize for that,” you reassure him, placing a hand on his arm. “though i’m enjoying it. these cookies are really good.”

he smiles a little at your joke, soft crinkles forming in the corner of his eyes.

“i can’t take credit for that,” he admits, cocking his head in the direction of the staircase. “it was all marie.”

the thought of logan recruiting the teenager for assistance was sickly sweet. knowing marie, it was probably her idea to help. you can picture the pair of them in the kitchen, her seeming more like the adult and him like the child.

“still,” you assert. “just the fact that you thought of all this means a lot.”

his thumb rubs featherlight circle on your exposed skin. “it’s nothing, really.”

there he goes again with the undermining.

sighing, you drag your fingers up and down the expanse of his arm, eyes drawn to the motion rather than the man. you feel like your heart might burst if you go a second longer without being a bit more direct. but god was it nerve wracking. especially when logan looked at you like you were the only thing in the whole entire universe.

“this is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” you admit lowly, toying with the hem of his sleeve, too nervous and overwhelmed to meet the wolverine’s intense gaze.

your hand moves towards his again, lightly tracing the outlines of his veins. you muster up the courage to look back up at logan, who somehow moved even closer to you in the 15 seconds you’ve spent fixated on his flannel. the soft glow of the tea lights illuminated the amber flecks of his irises, highlighted the structure of his nose, the curve of his muscles. made him look like something out of a dream. it sure felt like you were in one.

when his hand clasps around yours, you realize that this isn’t a dream. it’s your reality, and you better take advantage of it.

you let ten words convey everything.

“i’m really glad the person who did it was you.”

that’s all logan needs to hear before he decides he can’t hold back any longer. his lips find yours with a tender urgency, like he wanted to savor the moment and devour you whole all at once. the hand that was once on the couch moved to cradle your jaw, just about entirely encompassing the side of your head.

that place of wondering was correct in its predictions. despite all of his rough edges and gruffness, logan’s lips were softer than you ever could’ve imagined. your hands find purchase in the strands of hair at the nape of his neck, your bodies smushed together on the couch. logan wants nothing more than to pull you onto his lap, but he knows that’s more than likely to lead to some rather ungentlemanly activities. no, he wants to do this properly, take things nice and slow. so he settles for keeping his hands above the collar, and from the soft sighs he can hear you let out, it seems to be doing the trick.

it feels like you’re on cloud 9 as your lips move together, your disappointment of today’s plans long forgotten. all you could focus on was how perfect this moment was, how perfect logan felt. his thumb teases the corner of your mouth, a silent command that he wants to explore you further and you open yourself up with ease. his tongue prods between your lips gently, a contrast to the feeling of his calloused palm against your skin.

you move slow and syrupy, not wanting time to pass. if your mutation was time manipulation, you surely would’ve halted it, letting yourself stay in this little bubble of bliss for as long as you wanted.

but of course, all good things must come to an end. because as much as your brain had turned to jelly for the time being, the tiny functioning part that was left blossomed a new worry.

logan fears he’s done something wrong when you pull back quick and unexpectedly, your eyes wide with something he can’t quite place.

“everything okay?” he asks cautiously, frozen in position. the answer you provide is far from what he had in mind.

“i don’t want you to get sick,” you mutter, clasping a hand over your mouth. the fact that that’s what you’re worried about right now, makes logan’s heart flutter a little, as silly as it was.

all of his anxieties fade in an instant, amusement taking its place instead. logan barks out a laugh, probably one of the most sincere sounding ones you’ve ever heard from him.

“what’s so funny?” you ask, confused as to why he’d be laughing when you were dead serious. the saliva swap that just transpired was sure to pass along whatever germs your body was still harboring. the last thing you wanted was for logan to feel as shitty as you felt this morning.

“honey,” he cuts through his laughter, clutching at his sides. “i don’t get sick.”

“what do you mean, ‘you don’t get sick’?”

“regeneration,” he states matter of factly, calming down a bit. “anything that could harm my body, my mutation takes care of.”

right.

for what feels like the millionth time today, you blush. not in flattery, but in embarrassment. you hide your face behind your hands, cursing yourself for halting a damn good makeout.

“i’m such an idiot,” you mumble into your palms. “i cannot believe i just ruined the moment like that.”

“hey, hey,” logan coos, gingerly pulling your hands away from your face. your eyes are still screwed shut, not wanting to face any more ridicule than necessary, even if it was only playful. the feeling of logan’s thumb and forefinger lightly grasping at your chin causes your eyelids to flutter.

“look at me.”

slowly, you open your eyes. logan’s grip on your chin is firm but gentle. it’s to keep you from running from him, forcing you to be on the same level.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he tells you in the most caring tone of of voice.

“promise?”

logan leans in and gives you a long, lingering kiss. it’s somehow even more maddening than the first one, and your stomach feels like it’s on a rollercoaster you’re not sure you ever want to get off of.

when he pulls away, he shoots you a wink, and you fight the urge to melt on the spot.

“promise.”

he presses airy little kisses to both of your cheeks before settling back against the couch.

“now, where were we?”

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, watching closely as logan’s eyes lingered on your mouth again. in a flirty move, you tease him by moving in impossibly close, your lips barely a centimeter apart. just as he’s about to close the gap, your press your pointer finger to his mouth, catching him by surprise.

“i think it’s time for another movie,” you sing song, prancing off the couch and in the direction of the dvd player.

you tease.

logan simply shakes his head, beaming at you as you scan over your movie selection. he’s come to know and notice a lot of things about you. the way your nose wrinkles when you get excited. how you take your coffee. the thing you do with your hands when you get nervous. your pet peeves. he finds something new to admire about you every day. right now he’s soaking in the joy that radiates off you in bright yellow waves, unavoidable to those in your orbit.

in that moment, logan decides he always wants to be in the path of their warmth.

when you pad back over to the couch as the opening credits start, you tuck yourself into his side. logan’s arm pulls you close, anchoring you to him in more ways than one. you fit together like puzzle pieces, soon to be inseparable now that you knew just how well you connected.

in the glow of the television and the tea lights, snug by his side, he thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

maybe halloween wasn’t so bad after all.

thanks for reading! <3

bat divider by @saradika-graphics

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

The head of the GDA sees an opportunity but things don't go as expected. [Invincible Variants x reader]

TW: Sinister is a walking sexual harassment lawsuit. Implied abuse.

I ain't calling him Sinsiter in yns head because what kind of name is that. Header art's mine, will be posted in full later.

[Part one]  [3] [Ao3] [5] [Full Piece Here - It's My work]

4 * Bomb Dot Com [5.3k]

"I'm so fuckin horny circling in for the kill,

I'm a duffel bomb wired up propane off the grill,

My throat is roadkill burger raw,

In the season of the Benadryl."

Meat Carcass Evaluation - Go Hang Music

        They collided in a hot heap. The Viltrumite's heels cracking Emperor's back. Lensless's fist twisting his jaw hard to the left. Mohawk tackling his midsection. Phantom's arms close around the space where you'd just been. 

        The fight goes out about a minute before all of them catch up like Phantom had. You're gone.

        Mohawk grabbed Shoulder Pads by the front of his suit, "What'd you do?"

        "Nothing! It was that old man." Shoulder Pad replies, blood drooling out of the corner of his lips. He shoves Mohawk, surveying their surroundings, all the zombies had dropped dead in piles of flesh. Coating the drug store ruins in blood, making a new graveyard. Puppet strings cut.

        "What old man?" 

        Phantom rises above the city. Their bickering falling away with the thinning atmosphere. Pulling up his digital map of the world, scanning for the dot that was you. It took a moment before you reappeared in the heart of the pixelated Pentagon. Your vitals were slowing. He had noticed unusual shifts after you'd drank the bottle of that substance. But he had to deal with the threats you'd thrown at him first. He was going to help you- why did you have to leave?

        With you gone, the Viltrumite uniformed version of himself floated to the sky. Hovering close, watching Phantom from behind his back. 

        Your location changes again to the middle of the Southern Atlantic. He waits, seeing if you'll be shipped anywhere else, but your dot doesn't move.

        He shot off right as the remaining screens in Times Square light up with Cecil's face. The Viltrumite follows silently at his heels. 

        The message blares through the city. To haunt the survivors as they pick their guts off the ground and try to keep their friends and family from dying in the rubble. "Invincible, the people of Earth surrender..."

        ***

        The muzzle won't budge. You press the back of your head to the pole to try and loosen the straps. They're reinforced, unwavering even as you slam your head back in frustration. The power-cuffs are just as unrelenting. Slamming them into the concrete block holding up the light pole did nothing but send vibrations up your arms. 

        Your head swims. Nose burning from the Narcan and body shaking with a cold sweat. Two bottles of codeine in your pocket but no way to drink it, no one to use your powers on. 

        You scramble to get your legs under your ass and stand. Looking up, you find the pole reaches up ten feet. Ending with a simple cage that housed a dead bulb. If you could shimmy up somehow, you could get your arms in front of you. Not like you hadn't escaped handcuffs before. However, these things trapped your entire hand and were way sturdier.

        You try. Wrapping your legs around the pole, holding it between your shoulder blades. Three inches is all you get off the ground before your boots slip and you fall. You try again. Six inches. The power-cuffs lose their friction on the pole. Again. Two inches. You're weak. Again. You don't even get your legs properly wrapped around the pole.

        You slump. Going back to banging the cuffs and trying to push the stopper out of your mouth with your tongue. 

        Minutes pass. The sun dips lower and lower on the horizon, overlooking the sea. Reds and yellows painted on rippling deep blue. So pretty, you're absolutely sure you're going to die. People don't get good things like sea breezes and private islands without dying right after. Just the way of the world. 

        Silver-lined clouds burst apart. Waning light at his back, framing him in red-gold. He comes down so quick the abandoned pavement cracks underfoot, a burst of wind stinging your eyes.

        "I was wondering where you ran off to." He prowls closer. In the light you can make out his shape, not his uniform colors so you couldn't scale exactly how fucked you were.

        His cape billowed in the breeze. Narrowed it down to two options. Sexual harassment guy or the vague head smasher. 

        Only inches in front of you, he lowered to his haunches. "Is this how your little GDA friends treat you here? Instead of a leader you're just some piece of meat to dangle in front of my nose. I mean, you were before, but this-" he gestures to your slumped form, "this is gratuitous."

        You couldn't tell if he was disgusted or intrigued by your predicament and you didn't want to know. You looked anywhere but at him, didn't move, didn't breathe in the humid mask- like he was a dinosaur in a movie. The only reason you'd lived so long under Machine Head's thumb was by shutting the fuck up (no other option at the moment) and staying still, unnoticeable, until you didn't have to be.

        His hand reaches forward, bloody fingers under your chin and forcing your head up.

         "Look at me." You only do out of fear of him snapping your neck. 

        Eyes immediately fall to his lips. The right side of them in particular. The gash deepset into his muscles, pale pink and pulling at the skin around it. Up close you could really see the damage. His mouth couldn't fully close. Sections of top and bottom lip gone entirely, exposing too-long canines and deeply rooted gums that rolled up into scar tissue down his chin and up his cheek. 

        Ah, the sexual harassment lawsuit. Somehow you felt you'd lost the really shitty lottery not getting the other guy.

        "You did that." He says, following your gaze, "Dropped all the quantum bombs your planet had right on my head and all I came out with was this kitty scratch." His tongue darts out, running over the exposed teeth and gums. "I think it's nice to have a momento of the fight you had in you before I fucked it right out." A thumb comes up from under your chin, tracing down the mask, mirroring his scar. "I killed every useless little human in your little club." His voice is deceptively sweet, sickeningly sweet. "And I was going to kill you too but you begged so pretty. Said you'd do anything." You don't see but his cock stirs at the memory. "So much for the head of global defense." His laugh is mocking. You want to scream at him, tell him you know he's lying. You'd never.

        He goes on, "I paraded you around that planet. I showed the world who you really were and you fucking loved it." 

        You don't care. You don't give a fuck if you were his sugar baby in another world. Your head reels back and cracks into his. Your own skin splits open, a single tear of blood dribbling down your forehead. 

        He is unfazed. Somehow more manic than before. "It's good you're angry. I was almost sad when you gave up and killed yourself in front of all those people. I was just about to cum too." He sighs, rolling back on his heels, "You knew I'd kill the whole audience if you pulled a stunt like that but you did it anyway. Did you think you were doing them a favor making me kill them? Does it make you feel heroic?" He's in your face now. Breath rolling over the muzzle. Not talking to you, but some sad dead thing.

        "I didn't come back for you, you know." He whispers like you're surrounded by people when you're clearly alone. You already knew he was fucking crazy but him leaning into your ear made your skin crawl, a tremor in your body. "I came for something else, but you? I was hoping you'd be alive so we could do things right this time." Cold fish lips press to the shell of your ear. He sways back, speaking normally, "So, who's head hauncho here? Cuz clearly, it's not you." He makes no move to release the muzzle. He has no idea what you can really do. Wasn't there when you killed Seventeen. He knows you can pull out truths at best. To him, you're a harmless bug. 

        "I can't kill the guy who did this to you if you don't speak up." He laughs at his own joke, at the hatred in your eyes. "Wait, don't tell me. It's Cecil, right? He's normally better at making plans than whatever this is, gift wrapping you just to drop a nuke on the both of us, so obvious."

        At that you stiffen, more than you already had. Nukes?

        His fingers crawl up your muzzled cheeks, squeezing them through the material. "Aww, poor thing. Did they lie to you? Say you'd be okey dokey?" 

        Cecil had. Offered a job even. You shake your head anyway. Of course, you hadn't fully believed him but still, the betrayal, obvious and clear as it was, stung. 

        His thumb rubs circles into the mask. Smile mocking as he acted out soothing. "Shhh, don't cry. It'll be alright. You know more than anybody bombs don't do shit to me." You pointedly look at his lip. "Please- I let that one hit me head on just to see how it'd feel." Under the black lenses his eyes crinkle with delight, "Like a kiss."

        You doubted that.

        "So, we've got a few minutes 'fore at least a half dozen of the other me's show up." His fingers moved from the front of the muzzle to the clasps. "How 'bout we pass the time," under his most feather-light touch the metal started to bend, "a little," you lean forward, faking eagerness, "bit," he grins at your compliance, "faster?"

         The first buckle is about to break when the sound barrier does. You feel the presence behind you. Only see the red glove come over your shoulder, tightly cinched over a yellow glove. 

        "Don't touch my wife." Comes the assured voice. 

        Scars (because hey, the guy needs a name that isn't Mark and it's as good as any) snarls. Trying to pull back, both of their arms shaking, pushing back and forth staying at an uneasy equilibrium. "Don't you think we should have a pissing contest where we don't accidentally kill her?" Scars says.

        "I'd prefer not to do anything unnecessary," the other Mark says, "but the way you were talking to my wife leaves me little choice."

        "Your wife?" Scars laughs. "You never met the bitch and now yer engaged?"

        "Do not call my wife that." A growl breaks through his even innonation at the end. 

        Scars leered at the challenge. "Or what? You'll put me in time out?" He throws out his other arm, caught by the red. You're caged in by two powerful bodies, shaking with force, barely contained restraint. "Really shows how much you love 'er if you're gonna fight me right here. Isn't the bitch dead in your universe too? Haven't you learned your l-"

        The red gloves fall away. Scars falls toward you, expecting the sudden loss of resistance. But he doesn't fall on you. A fist under his jaw launching him into the air made sure of that.

        Scars bounces on and off the ground, spinning. Whereas the newcomer hovers where Scars had just been. He turns to you, gelled hair shining in the remaining slips of daylight. "Are you okay? He didn't harm you, did he?"

        "Nowhere close to how I'm about to beat the shit outta you!" He's back. A bumblebee blur that catches his doppelganger by the midsection and sends them careening off into dilapidated buildings. 

        All you can do is watch. Hope they don't come crash landing onto you.

        They almost do. Spinning through the air, trading blows, tangled together like a human bowling ball coming straight for the pin that was the light pole. You braced for an impact that never came. At the last few feet, your savior had dug his heels into the ground, stopping the both of them two feet shy from crushing you. 

        Scars laughs, ready to lunge again but pauses when his counterpart dips down to your side.

        Mentally, the Mark bearing his father's colors beats the shit out of himself. He noticed too late. He could've lost you again. He wants to hold you. Love you. Tell you it's going to be okay, but he can't. 

        Instead, his arm comes out to the side, slicing through the air like a blade. "Apologies."

        You wait for your head to roll off your shoulders but instead the pole comes down. Cut a razor's difference above your head. Thrown to the side like it weighed nothing.

        His hands, thick and wide and gloved, come to your sides, help stand you up. "How did you get here?" He asks like there's not a guy right behind him he just tried to murder. "Who did this to you?" 

        You can't answer. Eyes sliding to the O on his chest. Remembering what you saw on TV months after the breakup. You wonder if they're on the same side. If this... Omni-Mark or whatever the fuck is just as evil as his daddy.

        "Of course." He reaches for the straps.

        You move. Not voluntarily, but because someone came barreling into you. Slow for a Viltrumite, dizzying for a human. White sleeved arms coil around your person, squeezing.

        "God." He says, head buried into your shoulder. "God, oh God." You're crushed against a wall of absolute muscle. "I thought I'd be too late."

        Your feet are off the ground. Kicking at his exposed heels. You reel your head back much as the hold would allow and deliver an awkward headbutt to the top of a warped bald head.

        The grip loosened, he raises his head. Skin discolored, stretched thin in some places, piled on thick in others. Black lenses heat-fused into his skin. He's wrong, like the others, disfigured, but unequivocally, Mark Grayson.

        He sets you down gently. "Lemme get that thing off of-"

        A hand shoots over your shoulder. Grabbing him hard by the throat with a blue-clad hand. Baldie is sent off, thrown to the sky. "Well, what do we have here?"

        ***

        "How many can you get those on in the next," Cecil checked his watch, "three minutes, Sinclair?" 

        The man's head whipped so fast Cecil was surprised it didn't crack. "Three minutes? You want all of them with these things? Are you daft?" Cecil watched him over the railing, the pimply, weaselly little man he'd recruited into the GDA ranks almost five years ago. At first working with him was impossible. Delusions of grandeur so thick he cut open fourteen people's heads with a garden saw before being caught by Invincible.

        "Not all of them, just enough." Cecil says, eyeing the tech spread across the operating tables. "We need as much man power as we can get if we're going to pull this off."

        "I'm not sure if you've noticed Cecil, but half my lab was just on fire. I have bigger problems to deal with than putting speakers on my re-animen." Sinclair spat but still, he worked away. Wiring the speaker to the corpse's mechanical chest.

        Cecil's eye twitched. "Just tell me how many re-animen we have left."

         "One, two, three, four, five," his finger bobbed and bobbed and bobbed, counting over twenty before he said, "not nearly enough. I need more time."

        "Two n' a half minutes before we need them at the teleporter."

        ***

        You were spun around to see another, unsurprisingly, version of your ex-boyfriend. This one had the sense to hide his hair under a skin tight blue swimcap- or whatever it was- he looked like a bowling ball. An evil bowling ball.

        "Man, I haven't seen you since I killed you!" He laughs, contempt boiling in eyes you can't see behind black goggles. "You really shouldn't have broken up with me."

        Many'a time after you and Mark were done, you found yourself in the shower. Acting out the breakup, flipping the script, breaking up with him instead. Being the one on top. Once the last of the water spun down the drain and you stepped out, you were back to reality. Where you were the loser who got broken up with. 

        You headbutt him hard as you can. Feeling your skull vibrate. The cut on your forehead deepening. When you open your eyes, you're hoping his lip would be busted or his nose would be bleeding. It wasn't. He grips your shoulders harshly. "Didn't work then, won't work now." Fingertips dug in, he started to pull, barely at first, then so hard your skin started to stretch. "I'm going to enjoy this." He was going to rip your arms right off your body. Let them drop, still attached by the power-cuffs and you couldn't do shit about it.

        You're dropped before any real damage can be done. A white blur rams into Swimcap. Ramming him so hard into the ground, they shattered abandoned foundations. You don't wait to see who it is, you get your feet under you and run. Slowly, awkwardly, arms heavy behind your back. Weighed down by the cuffs.

        You get maybe five feet. Before someone swoops from above and lifts you off the ground by the midsection. "Let's get you to safety." You recognize the even tone, the red gloves.

        "Where do you think you're going?" You know it's coming. Another wave of violence, because that's all the last hour had been. You're braced for impact but it's still a shock. 

        Someone punching your savior in the back, cracking something inside him. The arms holding you give involuntarily. You drop, wind whistling in your ears. He'd climbed so high so fast, a hundred feet, two maybe, either way, when you hit the ground you were going to paint it red.

        The aggressor snapped down, catching you like a fairytale princess before you could crack open your skull. "Can you believe that guy?" Scars sneers, "Trying to take you away before the bombs even launch?" He lands, dirt kicking up in a ring around his boots.

        You worm wriggle in his hold. Chewing on the muzzle bit, trying to tell him to die. 

        "Say we've got about a minute before things get party girl crazy and I don't want you to miss that." He cradles the back of your head. Cape swirling around you both. "You used to love dropping bombs on all your problems, it's only fair you have to stay for the show."

        ***

        Cecil watched a handful of the other Marks reach the island. Some hovering ahead, assessing. Some searched, (Y/n) no longer on the pole. Some touched down, curious. Looking to the sky, waiting for the very obvious bomb to drop.        

        The plan didn't hinge on just the nukes.

        Still, he said, "Send everything we've got." Tech's entered in codes at their computers, opening missile silos across the world. Some hidden in barns, some underground, others in plain sight. Air quality around the globe dropped a percentage, but Cecil couldn't care. This was their best shot.

        The remaining re-animen stood in line before the teleporter. Sinclair fussing over them one by one. Psychopomp waiting as the techies ironed out the kinks. 

        "Can you revive them remotely?" Cecil asked.

        "No," she said, "I'll have to be there as well."

        He was expecting an answer like that. A well-rehearsed request was on the way off his tongue when she said, "I'll go, but you better pull me out before those bombs go off."

        "I'll need you to get a hold of (Y/n)," Cecil said.

        Psychopomp frowned. That Dregs bitch was lying about her brother, she could feel it. She also stole her cat. There was no reality in which she wanted to save Dregs from a nuclear blast but there was only one way to get the truth about her brother. For Dregs to face justice, much as she enjoyed watching you squirm on screen. "Fine, but I won't guarantee she'll be alive when I do."

        "Is that a threat?"

        "I'm not so stupid to kill the best shot the planet has." She says, "But they are trying to destroy it- so."

        ***

        "The fuck are you doing with my girlfriend, piss boots?" 

        You were swung around, still in Scars arms. Bound and gagged. 

        "Piss boots?" He says, "Is that the best you can do?"

        Mohawk hovers above the earth. Hair wild on his head with the speed he had to use to get from New York to the southern Atlantic. Fingers twitching to fists. "I can do a whole lot worse if you don't put her down right fuckin' now."

        Your captor grins, scar stretching on his cheek. "What're you gonna do if I don't, tough guy?" Which was a much better jab than piss boots. Sure, his boots were yellow, but come on. 

        Mohawk's knuckles crack. Chest heaving with exhaustion. Muscles rippling under his skin tight suit. 

        "Cracking your knuckles won't kill me, you know. Which I doubt you can- I'm better than you. All of you."

        They were going to wind up fighting, killing you in the crossfire. So you do the only thing you can. Lean your head on Scars shoulder and look at him with batting lashes. Rubbing the side of your head into him so he could feel the straps. A quiet suggestion with a hint of affection to soften him up.

        "See, even she knows it." His arms shift, going for the buckles. You breathe in the last of the humid, leathery air inside the muzzle. Finally.

        Scar's wrist is seized by a hand over shoulder. "It's on her for a reason." Emperor looks down at you from over his doppelganger's shoulder with mingled disgust and disappointment. At least he's not trying to pop your head off anymore.

        "Let him take it off," Mohawk says, "let 'er tell this dick how much she really likes him." He catches your eye, his own glittering with mischief and malice. "Won't you, babe?"

        You don't nod or shake your head. The whole point of the ruse is for Scars to feel bad. To take the mask off without thinking. Now he was thinking, looking down at you through his lenses, gears turning.

        "I was so excited I forgot what a manipulative thing you can be." Scars hand falls from the clasp. "Did you really think you could bat your eyelashes and make me forget what you made me say?" You don't react, don't move. Terrified that if you do, they'll converge on you like hungry animals. 

        "I like this look on you anyway." Scars says, "Makes you look as pathetic as you really are."

        "What look?" A new voice, cherry when the situation was anything but. Lensless came from the sky, landing in a trot that stopped him by Mohawk's side. He tapped the throbbing wound in his head, "This one?"

        You look anywhere but at him and his cum-stained suit. Finding more of him in the sky, looking down at you. A pair, Swimcap and Baldie, duking it out by the shore.

        "You." A hand grabs Scar's shoulder, veins pulsing.

        "Me." Scars doesn't let you down, doesn't even look at the man bearing Omni-Man's sigil on his broad chest. 

        "Let her down and let me take her to safety." Omni-Mark reasons, another fight brewing in the air. More being passed around like a ragdoll to come, oh joy.

        You wondered when this prolonged torment was going to end, when the first missile head pierced the clouds.

        Many Marks surge for the bombs. The air splits in blue-white wounds over their heads, dropping machined flesh atop them. Thickly, muscled, mostly skinless monsters that took them to the ground with a crash. Then they were everywhere, coming out of holes in reality. Battle cries an unholy screech. 

        Scars drops you on your ass. "Stay here." He hisses before shooting forward. Splitting one of the monsters in two with a single punch. The rest of your company had already started to shred. Keeping the closest monsters away from you through death. 

        The Marks taken to the ground ward off their aggressors. The Viltrumite uniformed warrior and Phantom try to shoot into the sky to stop the bombs, curb them away but the re-animen leap. Grappling their feet, hanging. They could keep flying, deal with the threat no problem, even with the re-animen clawing at their ankles. Except- for the piercing sound that came out of their torsos.

        The men drop like flies, hands clamped tightly over their ears. World-ending strength or not, all of them drop like flies.

         Groaning, backs arching, kicking at the ground uselessly. The bombs fell. So many of them, the sky could be a connect-the-dots puzzle. The re-animen pounced. Two per Mark, sometimes three. Pistons hissing under their muscles. 

        You don't run because there's no fucking chance you'd get anywhere. You were done. No shitty apartment. No cat. No job at the GDA. No life.

        The best chances you had for living were all getting beat so bad that-

        The screeching lessened. Your eyes shooting around, searching for the cause of the partial quiet. You find it in a gloved hand punched through a metal chest. Mohawk was still being walloped by another re-animen, but he didn't seem to care much now. His personal speaker-shrieker dropped dead. 

        The other speaker-shriekers, two by the sound of it, went on. Weakening him and his counterparts, but far enough away he was able to understand. Was able to dislodge the other re-animen atop him. Barley, but at least he wasn't about to get his brains splattered anymore.

        The others didn't see, but caught on. If the thing on top of them was shrieking, kill it. They did. Alone at first, then together when there was only one left. Just barley able to manage moving. Sighing in collective relief when it stopped. They'd be fine, just had to toss the bombs into space like it was any other weekday.

        Across the planet, Cecil Stedman frowned. He didn't want it to come to this but he knew it would.

        Not all the re-animen came out. Some sat in reserve waiting for this exact contingency. They came now, zapping into existence right behind you. Arms thrown overhead ready to come down and crush you into putty. 

        "No!" You don't know who said it. Don't know who was flying to your rescue because again, your ears were being assaulted by the horrible ringing coming from the monster's chest. Your potential saviors fall to the ground, groaning, but this time with a twinge of hysteria. This ring louder than the others, so high pitched you could barley hear it, but it made your ears twitch.

        "You think this can stop me?" Scars peels himself off the ground, muscles pulsing in his arms, coated with blood so old it'd gone black in the re-animen's bodies. He flew toward the thing, cringing, nose bleeding, much slower than before, but certain to take the cyborg down. "I'm fuckin-" A re-animan rose from the ground, grabbed him by the leg and smashed him face first into the concrete. With the sound weakening him, he couldn't get up. 

        You jump barely out of the way as the re-animen's arms come down for your skull. Knocking into another re-animen who'd come into existence behind you. The Mark's notice. The Mark's that can move, move. The Mark's that can't, try. The bomb relocation missions is abandoned in lieu of saving you.

        Phantom was on his way. A device laced in his suit's ears able to block out the noise. He knows he can save you. Knows he can withstand just the one remaining shrieker.

        Beside you the air split apart. Psychopomp stood, arms out, palms glowing. The dead re-animen rise again. Grab ankles of moving Mark's. Slam them down. Pounce, tackle, bite, distract. All the while you're running from the sole re-animen set on killing you. Versions of your ex give the best chase they can before being tossed aside or thrown into another fight. The bombs are going to go off any second. None of them can get away to move one, let alone the whole fleet. 

        Despite death on it's way, the pain and inevitability of it all, so many of them look to you. Wishing to burn your face into their eyelids. Wanting to see you one last time before you're gone, again.

        The first bomb goes off, setting off a chain that lights the night sky all the way from Madagascar to the coast of Chile. 

        You're not there to see it. To get your skin burned off your bones. Because you're on your knees in the control room of The Pentagon. Psychopomp's hand falling off your shoulder. 

        You watch as all the screens monitoring the detonation go white. Most lost connection. 

        Behind you, the weight around your hands and wrists falls away. Clinking to the ground. Followed by the feel of the muzzle tipping forward. Falling off your face. Spit congealed white on the bit. Your lips chapped, indents on your wrist. 

        You turn, ready to kill, to get revenge for whatever the fuck that was. 

        "You can't talk faster than my boys can put a bullet in your head, so save it." Cecil says, hands in his pockets. Black and green clad armored men on either side of him. The fool wasn't wearing his noise canceling headphones. You swallow nothing, mouth gone dry. "After getting Narcaned you're definitely too weak to control more than one person. Think, kid, it's not gonna work."

        You nod, shallow and slow, just so the gunmen know not to shoot when you open your mouth. Still, their safety are off, muzzles pointed between your eyes. "What was that?"

        "The best we could do given our current situation." Cecil says. "Hopefully all that radiation'll kill the little bastards but-" he looks to the screen and sighs, "God damn it. Somebody zoom in."

        Your attention follows his. To a sole camera capturing dissipating dust and atmosphere. Silhouettes float above where the island had been. Now just a hole with ocean water rushing to fill it. Some shapes wait for the debris to clear. Some are rushing through the wreckage, diving into the hole. 

        "They're looking for you." Cecil clicks his tongue. "Somebody get that cuff off her ankle."

        An energy pulse fired from the guard's gun cracks against the metal. Pushes it hard against your ankle but the bracelet Phantom had thrown at you falls away. Lights inside ceasing their blinking as soon as a solider crushes it underfoot. 

        "Sir," a half-man, half-robot approaches, "what are we going to do?" You don't ask but he helped you up. Leads you to lean on an unoccupied desk for dignity's sake.

        "I don't know, Donald."  

        You watch the screens clear. Watch them search the island, whooshing around, landing momentarily. Flies on shit.

        It makes you think aloud, "Where's the real Invincible?"

        That gives Cecil pause, "Come with me."

[risuola]

LOOKS LIKE WE'RE SNOWED IN FOR THE NIGHT — F. READER x KAMO CHOSO, with whom you got stuck in a cabin

A fireplace, a nice blanket, a bunch of snow and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree… for some it might sound like a perfect way to spend the night during the festive season, but not when you’re stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with your biggest enemy. And it’s cold.

cw: smut, enemies to lovers, oral (f. receiving), angst-ish vibe, death mentioned (I put it as a warning, but honestly, if you're into jjk you're probably used to it, just sayin'), reader discretion is advised — 2,9k words

kissmas masterlist

“Looks like we’re snowed in for the night,” Choso pointed, making few futile attempts to push the doors open. “I can force the way out but I doubt you’re gonna survive it.” He added, venomous tone evident in his otherwise calm and low voice.

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. This is horrible, you thought, it couldn’t possibly get worse than that. The cabin, secluded and nestled deep in the woods, once a welcoming refuge from the cold, was now a claustrophobic cage trapping you and Choso inside. The doors, blocked by the snow piled high behind them were impossible to open and the windows – old and grime-stained – covered with ice, offered no escape. The interiors, now cleared out of the cursed spirit that resided in here scaring the owners away, were as cozy as they could be with warm colors of the creaking wooden floors and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, that funny enough was the only thing that still was working inside. The furniture was faded and worn-down by the humid air, the cobwebs decorating every corner.

The task at hand was simple enough – get in, exorcise, get out – but the snow and the cold were making everything more difficult, not to mention the man you had to share the experience with. It was a part of introducing the Death Painting into the jujutsu society and a silent attempt to make the two of you fonder of each other, but the result proved itself to be starkly different, when you got stuck with him for the night, or god knows how long.

“Damn,” you groaned finally, realizing there’s nothing you can do to make the situation better. No escape, no signal, not even a goddamn kettle that would work.

“Looks like you’re really screwed, huh?” Choso mocked you, a smirk twisting his features because he knew – he just knew that you’re not gonna make it through the night and though he enjoyed the idea of watching you freeze to death, he involuntarily threw some more wood into the fire to keep it alive.

“I’m perfectly fine, fuck you,” you snapped, glaring at his stupid handsome face from your place across the room, hoping silently that maybe once in this world a glare could kill.

You and Choso had always been on opposite sides. Your fights always end up in blood, there was little to no respect between you two, and though in a fight you two were able to work together, outside of it, it was a much different story. You just couldn’t stand each other, you could never put a finger on the reason why, but you just never clicked. Always having different opinions, always too stubborn to let go and not even once agreeing on a plan of work. You trusted him just enough to know he will most likely not kill you in your sleep.

Now, as the sound of the howling wind outside was constantly reminding you on the dire situation, the storm outside showing no signs of letting up, the pressure between you and him seemed to reach a breaking point. At first, you moved through the cabin, walking back and forth, avoiding each other’s gaze and trying to ignore the fact you were trapped together. “Sit quiet and stop being annoying,” you growled at him, hating the way he was sprawled comfortably on the little sofa while you were feeling more and more cold as the hours were passing by. Kamo and his damn temperature regulation.

You had been fighting constantly since you arrived, each blaming the other for the predicament you were in. You argued and hurled insults at each other, both trying to assert dominance over the other. You were constantly on the edge, you bickered until both of you were that close to exploding. You fought about everything, from the mission to the tiny space you were forced to share. You could barely stand the sound of each other’s breathing, much less the sight of each other’s faces and the constant, near proximity. It was only a matter of time one of you snapped.

It felt claustrophobic, nearly – the way only four walls were surrounding you and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite navigate yourself through the treacherous environment. You had no idea what exactly was oh-so wrong with this place. A desolate cabin with nothing but cold air and the palpable tension between you and Choso was slowly taking a toll on you. Harsh winter wind howled outside and it was clear that your spirits matched its bitterness. The twinkling, colorful lights adorning the mismatched Christmas tree in the corner did nothing to warm up the bleakness of the place.

Hours passed and you got tired of the banter. Choso noticed how slowly you became, quiet, less talkative. It became easier and easier to outsmart you as the cold was taking a toll on your body. Your retorts were less sharp, a little delayed as the temperature went even lower along with the night progressing.

“You’re gonna die in here?” He asked, his tone as nonchalant as ever, but it was getting to him that you might actually die that night. It was fun while it lasted and you did an excellent job in making him believe that you’re gonna survive the night, that you’re fine. He allowed his eyes, that up until that point were closed as he was resting on the sofa, to look at your form. You were shivering, seated on the furry carpet near the fireplace and though you were as close to the heat as it was possible, it didn’t do much to help you. Your breath was visible and you were constantly rubbing your hands together in hopes to stop them from going numb.

“I’m fine,” you said again, your voice much punier than you intended it to be and Kamo found it amusing how you forced yourself to sound strong, when in reality, you were so small and weak and vulnerable.

“Oh, are you?” The question had mocking qualities that Choso couldn’t hold back. “You know, all it takes is for you to ask nicely and I might consider warming you up.”

“Fuck you.” Oh, you were so stubborn. He shrugged and kept observing you.

The cabin fell quiet. The air was thick with tension and the only sounds were the occasional drip of water from the ceiling, crackling of fire in the fireplace and the soft tickling of a clock. The rattling of the windows in the wind accompanied the cacophony.

“Isn’t the big, strong sorceress now uncharacteristically quiet?” He joked once again, and you could have sworn that even in the freezing cold, he had an ability to make your blood boil. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I miss the times when paintings were not talking,” you retorted, wrapping yourself tighter in the imitation of a blanket you found laying around. “You have no idea how much I’d love to exorcise your half-cursed ass.”

“As if you were ever gonna be strong enough to put a harm onto me,” he said, pushing himself up from the couch. “Besides, you might wanna pick your words carefully. You’re at my mercy right now.”

“I’d rather be eaten by a polar bear than be at your mercy.”

“Oh, that would be a cool death, right?” He laughed, a taunting tone piercing the air and your soul, it seemed. “Or a curse. It would sound much better in the report later if I told your friends that you lost your life in battle, with bravery and strength, yeah? For sure it’s more appealing than a lame reason like freezing to death.”

“Oh, shut up…” you sighed, leaning your cheek on one of your knees. You kept them tightly pressed to your chest, a desperate attempt of storing any leftover heat along your torso, but it did little to nothing. “Come on, get your ass over there.”

“I already told you, you have to ask me nicely.”

“That’s as nice as I’m gonna get.”

“So that’s as close as you’re gonna get me,” he smirked, teasing you beyond decency, well aware of how delicate was a situation you were now in. To him, cold was nothing more than an inconvenience. In all honesty, he could break the doors open and just go through the snow during night and he would be just fine, but you… it was a different story and truth is that he stayed in the cabin only because of you.

“Choso, please, don’t be a dick, I’m freezing to death, literally,” you whined, forgetting about your pride and prioritizing the survival. “Please?”

“Much better,” Choso chuckled and moved from the sofa to the floor, sitting behind you with his legs on both sides of your frame. “Loosen up a little,” he ordered, throwing away your blanket and as his arm sneaked around your waist, he pulled you into himself, your back now pressed against his chest.

“Oh god…” you whimpered, shifting your position and wrapping yourself around him. He was hot and it felt like the heat was emitting from him, seeping onto you the moment you made contact with his muscular frame. You pushed your face against his neck, nuzzling your cold nose into his warm skin.

“Aren’t you a greedy little thing?” He commented, putting on an indifferent, snarky mask but inside, he was feeling things. It was odd, it was new. He wasn’t exactly an expert in romantic situations, in fact besides few really brief adventures with women, it was the first time he was actually somewhat intimate. Choso’s mind was in a limbo, trying to fight the thoughts of his body which were going crazy. The way your frame fit so closely to his, the way you turned your face and melted into him… it was almost too much. Thoughts raced around his head a mile a minute.

“Aren’t you a scrooge for letting me freeze while you’re that hot?”

“Well, I’m your partner on the job, not your personal heater,” he shrugged, allowing his hand to run along the curves of your waist and hip. “Also, I’d assume that the low temperature is a natural habitat for a cold bitch like you.”

“Ouch,” you acted hurt but couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “I have a great idea, why don’t you shut up?”

“Oh, did that sting you, princess?”

„I’m serious, you should shut the hell up,” it was a mumble, an unharmful one, but Choso must have gotten a different impression.

It was a flash. It took you few seconds to even register what just happened and once you did, you were already helpless beneath him. The soft, furry carpet now tickling you in the face as Choso kept you, chest down and pinned to the ground. It annoyed you how easily one of his hands kept both of your wrists pushed up above your head. You felt his weight on top of your thighs, his crotch pressed tightly to your ass and his other hand supporting his weight on the wooden floor.

“Now, if you’re gonna act like a brat, I’m gonna treat you as one,” he said, his voice low and close to your ear as he leaned down and gathered some of your hair to the side to uncover your face to his eyes. Your hopeless pulls and wriggles did nothing to loosen up his hold. If anything, his fingers only tightened their grip around your wrists.

“Get off me,” you groaned, trying to find your way out of the situation, but the movements of your body seemed to make it worse. The man hummed darkly, aiming a mean slap at your ass.

“Stop wiggling,” he warned, smirking at the way your body tensed for a moment. He couldn’t tell what’s gotten him into such a playful mood. Maybe it was all the thick air between you two finally exposing its true colors – something once filled with anger and hostility, now crackled with an undeniable sexual tension.

“Did you just slap me?” You couldn’t believe it, but you’d sooner be dead than you’ll admit out loud that it somehow felt good.

“I did,” he said nonchalantly. “You whined you’re cold, huh? Well, guess I’ll have to warm you up for real,” Choso added, now grinning mischievously. “Be a good girl, I know you can do it. Now I’ll let go of your hands and you’ll turn around, yeah?”

You hummed in response, not really sure what’s gotten into him but you were far from minding it so you flipped to your back as soon as he gave you a chance. Still on top of you, Choso kept a controlling grip over your hip, his touch burning your bare skin over there.

The fire crackled and flickered, casting warm, dancing shadows on the two of you but you couldn’t tell if the sparkle in his eyes was a reflection of it or just pure lust. The latter, you thought, catching his gaze as it scanned your form, paying a little more attention to your lips, chest and the little strip of skin that showed from underneath your blouse.

Kamo was enticed by you, fascinated even, by the way his body was suddenly yearning for you. The unusual desire overflown his senses and he found himself inching closer and closer, until he was just one, mere breath away from your mouth. He could feel you gasp, see the look of your eyes and if he wouldn’t know better he would be convinced there was lust in them too.

“Nervous?” He whispered, with a slight shadow of teasing painted all over his stupidly handsome features. His nose, now brushing against yours initiated the touch, a prelude of sorts to what was going to come and Choso chuckled at the lack of response from you. It was, in a way, an opening for you to push him away, to set a boundary, to lay down the consent but you made no effort to do any of that. Instead, you let your fingers to find his hair and once you pulled at them, there was no going back.

His lips pressed into yours. The kiss and the heat from your bodies warmed the cold air around you, melting the icy tension that lingered between you as you, too, melted below him. The time seemed to slow down and the melody of howling wind and fire was now a white noise to the soft sounds and whimpers you were making. Your mouth parted and Choso took the invitation eagerly, running his tongue along your lower lip and reaching yours. They twirled and twisted, danced and explored each other and you swore at the moment that the world around you had fallen away.

It didn’t take long since you were bare, completely exposed underneath his muscular body; the cold air around you a stark contrast to the extreme heat that was coming off of Choso. He was all around you, exploring your shapes with touches so tender, you couldn’t help but feel worshipped. The way he touched you, the way he kissed and drank every inch of your skin made your heart rumble against your ribcage. He went down, tracing the ups and downs of your figure with wet, sloppy stamps of his lips until he reached your thighs – both of which he kissed with as much attention.

It was intoxicating. Kamo felt as if everything around him twirled and he was drowning in the soft feeling of your plush skin. The curves of you filled every bit of his mind. Addicting, you were, so addicting he couldn’t find a strength to pull back and before he knew it, his tongue was already lapping at your clit. The beautiful melody of your moans filling his ears as he worked his mouth over the puffy bud, sucking and licking simultaneously. Waves and waves of pleasure you felt, spreading from your core and reaching every part of you. It was hot, it was like nothing else you’ve ever experienced.

“Oh god, Choso~” you were whining, a surprise to you cause up until this time you would swear you’re not the one to make such lewd noises during sex. All of that went out the window when it came to the man between your legs. He was flicking his tongue, twirling it and pressing it flat; every movement centered and focused, sharing one objective – to abuse the most sensitive, sweet spot on your body. He took his time, it was wet and sloppy, it was messy. The silky sensation of his tongue, warm and soft… oh, man has a talent.

Your breath was stuttering, hands grabbing the fluffy fibers of the carpet as your thighs were trembling and the urge to squeeze them over Choso’s head was slowly becoming irresistible. The way he was making out with your clit drove you insane, it brought you to the edge and pushed you over. You came undone and you came hard. He wasn’t stopping, just slowing down and leading you through the high as if it was his job and the very core of his existence.

“Feeling warmer?” He asked, once slowly coming back up above you. His face was now a real painting, covered with your essence and his lips, swollen and wet, stretched into a grin of satisfaction as he was taking in the sight of your breathless form. You nodded, barely registering the subtle teasing undertone he had in his voice. “Good. But I’m going to make you even hotter.”

[salemofthe0pera]

you against yourself !! ; mark lee smau

➺mark lee has a serious problem. his writer's block is getting the best of him and the deadline to his midterm creeps closer with each passing day which means his jam sessions get pushed to late nights.

➺y/n also has a serious problem. she can't get sleep because of the low hum of an electric guitar and faint voices coming from next door and she has an 8am chemistry lecture in the morning...

➺in which two college students and their friend groups find fun and solace in each other. no sleep is involved unfortunately…

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

[mark lee x reader smau, including lots of humor and silliness. “dark”(?) humor and swearing, NOT A ROMANCE FIC.]

status: ongoing!!

❝going out almost every night, and you wonder why you feel fucked up❞

[0] apt 9301 || [00] apt 9301

season 1

[i] do your dishes ; [ii] weednesday

[iii] the dean’s list ; [iv] aye don’t flip out but

[v]double stuffed ; [vi] bros beautiful

[vii] soph on my cles okay ; [viii] tequila rose

[ix] jaemin's cowlicks ; [x] witch theme

[xi] feet plsss ; [xii] parasitic relationship

[xiii] scissoring… haircuts!! ; [xiv] biochemical engineer v musician

[xv] air fryer ; [xvi] jaem’s chronically single

[xvii] your nose looks better ; [xix] #### you

[xx] cafeteria slop ; [xxi] cinnamon crush

[xxii] obama prism ; [xxiii] bumpin that

[xxiv] baja blast ; [xxv] yearning

[xxvi] chai and chocolate milk ; [xxvii] xtra most bestest friends

[xxviii] koi ; [xxix] period cramps, leave her ALONE

[xxx] aita? ; [xxxi] walmart supercenter

[xxxii] pregame ; [xxxiii] hawaiian pizza

[xxxiv] waffles and french toast ; [xxxv] suit and tie

[xxxvi] lets meddle ; [xxxvii] wednesday doll

[xxxviii] perfect :) ; [xxxix] shitamon toast crunch

[xl] speak skibidi ; [xli] ransom

[xlii] you can’t just say perchance ; [xliii] int.

[xliv] fuck Ethan ; [xlv] friendsgiving p.1

[xlvi] fuck mark ; [xlvii] PISS URSELF

[xlviii] moves like jagger ;

season 2

[l] brat v beat ; [li] free the markple

[lii] blocklist copypasta [liii] spring break 20xx

[liv] ig notes ; [lv] cold foam ???

[velvetlilith777]

Snow Angel

Haley x Fem Reader

18+ NSFW 🪽 MDNI

Author's Note: It's entirely unrelated to this fic, but ask me how many times I listened to Snow Angel by Reneé Rap while writing this 🤭 Anyways I really hope you guys enjoy this one because it's one of my favorite works so far!

Synopsis: Haley is a summer girl at heart, you love nature in all its forms, even snow. What better way to get her to love winter than a silly, snowy escapade?

CW/TW: subby Haley, loose exhibitionism, oral (female receiving), fingering (female recieving), nipple play, slight religious imagery (a lot of angel illusions and references, nothing more), heavy pet name usage, I think that's it?

Minors and ageless blogs do not interact! I will block you.

Word Count: 2k

Dividers by: @anitalenia (bow) and @animatedglittergraphics-n-more (snow) 🖤

🎄Ficmas Masterlist! 🎄

Smut under the cut!

“Do we have to be out here? It’s a lot warmer inside, you know!” Crunchy steps quicken behind you as Haley protests your choice of activity.

“Mmhmm, but it’s not near as pretty.” You retort.

The sight of the Cindersap forest under a fresh blanket of powder is certainly a sight to behold. Pines glisten with small sparkles as light reflects off the crystals. Still silence falls over the landscape, with most animals tucked away in their little homes for the season and the snow absorbing any remaining noise.

Your pace stops, taking in the scene in front of you in awe. When you left the city all of those years ago, you knew you had always had an affinity for nature. Even still this was breathtaking beyond your imagination, like something out of an internet wanderlust post that seemed too good to be true. But this was real, and it was practically your backyard.

Your attention leaves the scene as you grin at the blonde beside you. “See! I told you it was pretty,” you beam.

She playfully purses her lips and glances away from you. “Maybe you’re right.” She drags out before closing the gap and batting her lashes at you. “But I still think I’m prettier, don’t you?”

Huffing out a laugh at her proposition you grab her hand, enclosed in a carefully chosen mitten that perfectly matches her outfit.

“Of course you are, angel.” Leaning in to place a chaste kiss on her flushed nose before continuing your thought. “But I don't think that means we shouldn't appreciate this, too.”

Giggling like a couple of school girls, you keep your hands together and stroll through the frosted forest, letting the quiet envelop you. Studying differently shaped footprints freshly marked in the snow, recounting the paths of animals still stirring despite the chill. Serenity overtaking your senses, it remains uninterrupted when the saccharine voice of your girlfriend cuts the silence.

“It really is stunning out here. I can't believe I haven't ever been in the winter.” She muses.

Your head tilts, eyes finding hers before cutting a teasing response back. “Me too, it’s literally a short walk from your house.”

Haley's face forms a fake pout at your remark, her bottom lip jutting out while the corners of her mouth creep slightly upward. Almost unable to hide the snicker creeping in at the realization.

“I know, I know. You're built for summer and tan lines, not the cold and ice.” You huff out a laugh and shake your head.

A glint of light strikes your eye, the sun reflecting off the angel wing necklace you’d gifted her, matching the endearment you frequently called her. The illuminated white gold reminding you of a wintery pastime you loved as a child.

“Hey!” A wave of excitement overtaking your voice. “Have you ever made a snow angel?”

“No, I haven't. Cold, remember?” Her eyebrow raises, grinning as she pokes back at you.

“Well that changes today!” You’re practically bouncing up and down as you drag her toward a small clearing in the woodland. It was perfect, flat with no debris and plenty of soft powder.

“Okay, want me to show you?” Crinkles forming in the corners of your eyes from how hard you’re grinning.

“I mean, I think it’s pretty self explanatory,” an affectionate laugh slips through her lips.

The pair of you lie on your backs together, ready to craft holy impressions of your bodies in the powdery blanket covering the earth.

“Okay, ready? Go!” You instruct.

Immediately, you're a couple of giggly messes, swiping limbs against the ground together in unison. Wings and perfect skirts forming around human forms, projecting a sacred image. Once you imagine the artistry has reached its full potential, your movements settle in tandem. Your head rolls to the side to catch her gaze, laughs still leaking from your mouth.

Replicating a heavenly form better than your nostalgic activity ever could was the sight of the woman next to you. Sunshine is pouring in through the trees into the clearing where you lie, illuminating her in an otherworldly fashion. Golden curls shine in a messy halo around her face, while her cheeks flush the most beautiful shade of pink any artist ever labored to craft. She’s glowing, the true depiction of the divine feminine beside you.

Forgoing any preservation of the shape you carved into the snow, you roll to face her, your fingers carefully cupping her cheek as you breathe in the scent of coconut and orange perfume.

“Have fun?” Your voice is small and breathless as you take in the sight of her, unable to believe that something so beautiful is real and yours.

Haley grins up at you, lashes fluttering as she leans into the touch of your hand.

“Mmmm, yeah,” she pauses, “but I think you make everything fun. Even snow, somehow.” A slight snicker inflecting on the end of her thought.

“Trust me, it’s all you angel.”

Your lips take hers in a soft, chaste kiss. Her peach flavored lip gloss coating your mouth as you push to deepen the kiss, tongues dancing together delicately. It’s sweet and longing, not harsh and needy. Born from the reverence you share for each other. A small moan travels from her throat into yours, her core beginning to tingle under your affection.

You pull away from her lips, trailing yours down her rosy cheeks into the side of her neck. Tenderly, you begin nipping and kissing the soft spot at her collarbone, eliciting whimpers from her.

“Wait.” Haley gently grabs your face and pulls it to her view. “Won't we be seen out here?” Her brows are furrowed together with worry.

“No, we’re far enough out from everyone and Leah is visiting Elliott today, so we shouldn't run into anyone.” You explain between breaths.

“Lucky us.” A smirk flits across her lips before she gasps as you work your lips against her skin with a bit more purpose this time.

The tips of your fingers burned red from the chill in the air. Coming underprepared for an activity that was your idea would prove to be useful today, having not thought to grab your gloves on the way out the door. As you continue to peck at her neck, your frigid hand works to undo the buttons on her coat before lifting her sweater up. Her skin feels as if it’s on fire, the effect a combination of her layered outfit and lust for you. You evoke a tiny squeal from her as your mouth encloses around her nipple, while your icy fingers twist and pinch the other. Aiming to work her up, you switch your attentions, your hand and mouth swapping breasts. Eventually, her hips begin bucking up, her squeals becoming more desperate in nature.

“Use your words, pretty.” Your voice is melodic as you coax her.

“Mmmnh, need you please.” Your angel whimpers.

Your fingers slide down her stomach before hooking under her pants, carefully pulling them off and setting them aside. She spreads her legs for you, the sight enough to take your breath away. Her core is glistening in the sunlight against the sparkling snow, soaked with want.

You waste no time, dipping your fingers down to her entrance to gather slick and dragging up to her clit. The pads of your fingers begin tracing out light circles around the bud, icy digits enhancing the sensation. Puffs of breath rising in the air as Haley’s mouth falls open, gasps spilling into the chill air. Slick increasing as you speed up your motions, steadily increasing the tension in her stomach and the volume in her moans.

Two cold fingers on your free hand tease her entrance, lightly ghosting the outside before plunging in, immediately tingling with warmth from her supple walls.

“O-oh my god,” she pants, leaning up on her elbows to watch you work away at her.

“Yeah, angel? Feeling good?” Pushing snow around under your weight, you perch on your knees leaning over to kiss her while your hands fervently continue their efforts. Slipping your tongue against hers to pull her closer, you wait until she’s blissfully unaware before curling your fingers up into her satiny sweet spot. Obscene moans and squeals descend from her mouth, your tongue stealing every last one before pulling away. A mischievous expression finds your face as you watch her eyes roll back into her brain, your hand warming despite the frigid temperatures as her sweet little hole starts gushing around your fingers.

“You're doing so good angel.” You coo. “Think you can cum for me?”

“Yes, yes, god right there!” Teardrops roll down her temples as her head drops back, staring up at the sparkling trees around you. “Please, please don’t stop.”

Movements speeding up the slightest bit in effort make her brain go numb and her eyes see stars, you give her more encouragement to find her release.

“I love you so much, gorgeous. Can’t believe that you're mine, that this beautiful body is mine. You're perfect, angel. Cum for me, I know you can.”

Your sentiments seem to help bring her to the edge, the tightrope in her stomach finally snapping as her cunt pulses and grabs at your fingers. The sight below you is blissful, gorgeous cream oozing into the palm of your hand down onto the powder below you.

When she finally comes to her senses, Haley cups your face hard, kissing you with urgency. Small whimpers exchanged as your tongues fight a long battle for dominance.

“Your turn.” She huffs between lips meeting, her hands frantically pulling at your jeans to unbutton them. Lifting your knees to assist her in getting them off, becoming aware of how slick you are in the thin winter air.

The blonde slides down between your silky thighs, your knees straddling either side of her head as her hands snake around your hips before yanking you down to sit on her. Her tongue teasing your entrance before slowly dipping in, slurping up your juices. She carefully makes her way up your folds, licking and kissing at a leisurely pace, drinking up the mewls crying from your lips. When she finally reaches your clit, flicking her tongue against the pert bud, you feel like you're ascending. White hot tension building inside of you as she switches from

gentle little flicks to light suckles.

She’s building you up despite your every wish for her to go faster. Already feeling impossibly worked up as you beg “please, please Haley. Need more.”

Vibrations rumble deliciously through your want as she laughs against you at your eagerness. But Haley is forever going to give you what you need, when you need it. It’s how she loves. So she obliges, tongue assaulting your bundle of nerves rapidly as static overtakes your vision. Thighs trembling with pleasure, you add to it by pulling your sweater up and grasping at your breasts. Haley lets out a whine beneath you, snaking one hand from your hips up your form before reaching her destination, taking a nipple into her nimble fingers, rolling it in between them. Lewd howls spill from your lips, your impending orgasm bubbling over as her fixed pace hits you in the perfect spot.

“Angel, go-go-gonna cum,” you pant, hand locking your fingers in the mess of hair beneath you. Fighting your thighs that desperately want to close around her pretty face while also struggling to hold yourself up at any rate.

Your gaze meets hers as your waves crash against the shore, gasping for air, a slurry of her name and obscenities muttering from your chest.

Haley glides out from underneath you, both collapsing side by side. Content giggles leaving your throats as your fingers intertwine.

“See how much fun the snow is?” You poke at her, heavy eyelids giving away your exhaustion.

“I’m still not fully convinced,” she shakes her head. “I guess we’ll have to do this again… so that you can really prove it to me.”

[maximoffwitch]

She’s the Best Remedy

pairing: emily prentiss x reader

warnings: slight mention of canon typical violence

summary: when you don’t answer your phone, emily thinks the unsub’s gotten to you. little does she know the only unsub that’s gotten you is the flu.

word count: 2.4k

a/n: so excited to be writing again! and for my fav fbi agent nonetheless :) and btw this is not rly proofread at all so pls forgive any mistakes !

request: not sure which character to choose for this prompt so feel free to choose whoever - it’s nearly winter where i am so it’s flu season and everybody’s got a cold and sniffling. so maybe r catches a horrible cold and is unresponsive to texts and calls because congestion, tiredness, all the symptoms we love so much so character comes to check on them and help them get what they need

As the morning light shone through the curtains, you let out a low groan.

Usually, you weren’t one to object to a slow weekend morning—a relaxing, warm shower and a nice steaming cup of coffee before heading off to do some errands. Mornings with your girlfriend were especially your favorite, when you could just cuddle into her side, basking in her warmth. However, unfortunately for you, neither of those were options today. Emily had been working non-stop this past week on a local case, and on top of that, your body felt like it had just gotten hit by a truck and then run over.

Pulling the covers over your head, you blocked out the light, trying to soothe the pounding in your head. You knew it was flu season, and as a pre-school teacher, you were bound to catch the sickness at some point. You just wish it wasn’t so bad. The occasional sniffles and cough you could handle, but this felt like death was on your doorstep.

You could barely breath out of your nose and your throat was dry as sandpaper. Another groan escaped your mouth, as the ringing of your phone echoed throughout the room. You had no energy to move, let alone talk to anybody, and you needed the ringing to stop, your headache only getting worse as the sound continued. Grabbing your phone, you blindly shut it off before throwing it across the room. Before you could hear it start to ring again, your body gave way and you fell back into a deep slumber.

— — —

On the other side of town, Emily was desperately trying to get a hold of you. Local cases always made her nervous, even more so when she started dating you. Knowing you could be put in danger, both because there was an unsub on the streets of Virginia and because you were connected to her, made her guts twist. However, this case particularly hit home, as the unsub seemed to be targeting women your age who worked with kids–pediatricians, nannies, teachers.

Emily needed to know you were safe; she needed you with her. After asking Hotch if she could bring you in, she stepped away to call you, only to be met by your voicemail. Any other time, Emily would’ve laughed, as she always did, at the ridiculous message you left on your answering machine, but now, she needed to hear your actual voice. Calling again, she was met with the same response. Emily tried one more time, biting her lip when you didn’t pick up, again. Typing out a few texts, she slipped her phone back into her pocket before rejoining the team.

“What’s wrong?” JJ asked, immediately noticing the worry knitted in her friend’s brows.

“(Y/N)’s not answering her phone,” Emily replied as pulled out her phone again to check for any message from you. “And she hasn’t replied to any of my texts.”

JJ frowned, knowing how that was unlike you. You would always respond to calls or texts, especially your girlfriend’s. Sensing Emily’s concern, JJ stood up and placed a soothing hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sure she’s fine. She probably just forgot her phone when she went to the store or something,” JJ said with an assuring smile. “Come on, let’s have Garica track it.”

Emily nodded, liking that idea. The two women made their way through the bullpen and into Penelope’s bunker.

“What can I do for you two lovely ladies?” Penelope chirped, not bothering to look away from the screen, her fingers still flying across the keyboard.

“Pen, I need you to track (Y/N)’s phone,” Emily said. At the mention of your name, Penelope immediately stopped typing and snapped her head around.

“What happened? Is she alright?” The technical analyst’s eyes were wide. From the moment Emily introduced you to the team, Penelope adored you, your bubbly personalities meshing quite well.

“She’s not answering Em’s calls or texts,” JJ explained calmly, ever the level head.

“On it.” Penelope swiveled back around. Emily rang your number again, so the blonde could trace your phone.

As the dot flashed on the map, Emily leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in on the location.

“She’s at home,” Penelope said lamely.

“Her phone is,” Emily corrected, her thoughts already starting to spiral. What if the unsub had kidnapped you? What if he’d hurt you? Or worse…

— — —

Back at your apartment, you had barely moved an inch. It was now nearly noon, and you knew you had to get up at some point, if not only to get some water. Mustering up all of your will and energy, you slipped out of bed and dragged your feet down the hall, steadying yourself against the walls.

After gulping down some water, you leaned against the counter, hanging your head in your hands. You could barely even think about anything other than your bed, the feverous state fogging your mind. As a wave of chills wracked your body, you knew you had to get in the shower and regulate your body temperature. Besides, your hoodie was starting to cling to the thin layer of sweat that coated your body.

Peeling off your clothes and throwing them haphazardly on the floor, you made your way towards the bathroom and into the shower. Somehow, you managed to take a shower–if you could call standing under lukewarm water, your head resting against the cool tile, for fifteen minutes a shower–without falling asleep. With a one track mind, you changed into another pair sweatpants and one of Emily’s old Yale t-shirts, and climbed back into bed, completely ignoring the flashing missed notifications on your phone.

— — —

“Hotch, I need to go over there,” Emily argued as she paced in the roundtable room, where the team was working through existing evidence. “She is not answering any of my calls or texts, and she fits the victimology. I was going to have her come in to keep her safe, but now the bastard may already have her.”

Hotch remained silent, his eyes narrow and stern, as he weighed his options and observed the woman before him. He knew Emily was too emotional to be anywhere near your apartment, especially if it was in fact a crime scene, but he also knew that she was too stubborn to stay away.

“Fine,” he relented, his voice calm and quiet as usual. He turned his stare towards Derek. “Morgan, go with her. And vest up. If the unsub is or was there, I want this done by the book.”

Derek pushed himself out of his chair and quickly followed Emily, who was already out the room and halfway down the stairs.

“Prentiss, wait up,” he called after her as he narrowly slipped through the elevator doors. Seeing the ground level button was already lit up, Derek turned his attention to his partner. “She’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that,” Emily snapped, still staring ahead.

Derek remained silent, knowing she was right. He knew better than to make false promises, but it hurt him to think of something happening to you.

The two agents made their way over to your apartment, turning on the lights and sirens as they weaved through traffic. Not wanting to make a scene and disturb the rest of the residents, Emily and Derek calmly but quickly made their way into the lobby of your apartment building and rode up to the eighth floor, not drawing their guns until they reached your door.

Emily knocked loudly first. “(Y/N)! It’s me!” She was met with silence. Leaning in closer to the door, she heard no motion whatsoever, causing her insides to twist. “(Y/N)?” Emily tried knocking again. Still no response.

Derek started to back up, getting ready to kick down the door. But before he could even lift his leg, Emily swatted his shoulder.

“Don’t even think about it,” she scolded him, knowing how pissed you’d be if he broke your door. “I have a key, dumbass.”

Derek furrowed his brows as an offended look appeared on his face. “Okay, ouch,” he mumbled, but nonetheless straightened and redrew his gun.

As Emily unlocked the door and entered your apartment, Derek close behind her as he cleared the first room, the silence enveloped her body. It was too quiet; something was off. While Derek was clearing the kitchen, Emily observed your apartment—clothes strewn on the floor, dirty dishes in the sink and on the counter, your unfolded blanket tossed over the side of the couch. The mess was so unlike your usual tidy apartment, and it made Emily even more on edge.

“Prentiss,” Derek called, catching her attention as he motioned towards the hallway. “Bedroom?”

Emily nodded and followed him down the hall. When the reached the cracked door to your bedroom, she moved to enter, but Derek stopped her. “Let me.”

Emily gulped, knowing her partner was looking out for her. If something had happened to you behind that door, she shouldn’t have to be the first one to see it.

Derek slowly pushed the bedroom door open, immediately checking the closet for any sign of you or the unsub. When he turned towards the bed, he noticed somebody was in it, buried under the covers. Cautiously, Derek pulled the blankets back, his gun still pointed at the figure.

You immediately noticed the lack of warmth and the sudden brightness. Groggily, you opened your eyes, ignoring how heavy your eyelids were. You saw a face standing above you, one you recognized.

“Derek?” You croaked, your brain still catching up with what was happening. When you saw his gun pointed at you, you woke up, your eyes widening. “What the hell?”

Hearing your voice, Emily rushed into the room, pushing Derek aside, who immediately lowered his gun, turning on the safety. “(Y/N),” she sighed in relief as she kneeled at the side of your bed, carefully caressing your face. “Are you alright?”

“Besides being bedridden by a nasty flu and waking up to a gun in my face?” You tiredly let your head drop to the pillow, leaning into Emily’s cool touch against your skin. “Just peachy.”

“You’re sick?” Emily asked, another wave of worry washing over her.

“Mhm.”

“Oh, thank god.” She sat up and pressed a long kiss to your forehead, which had cooled since this morning but was still quite warm.

“Relieved I’m sick?” You quipped, though you lacked your usual sass and playful smirk, too drained for a real conversation.

“Relieved you’re not dead,” Emily deadpanned, causing you to open your eyes and frown.

“Dead?” You frowned, clearly confused.

“Yeah, sweet cheeks,” Derek piped up from behind your girlfriend, where he stood holding your phone. “You weren’t answering your phone, and we thought the unsub took you.”

He tossed the device over to you, narrowly missing your face. As you turned it on, you winced at the brightness, but then your lips parted when you saw the amount of missed calls and texts from Emily, and even a couple from JJ.

“Sorry, Em,” you said sheepishly, offering her a small smile, hoping she wasn’t mad at you for wasting her and her team’s time.

“Don’t apologize, honey,” Emily soothed as she brushed your hair from your face. “I’m just glad you’re here for me to take care of.”

You hummed contently at the thought but then weakly protested when you remembered why she was there in the first place. “Don’t need to stay. Have work and chasin’ bad guys.”

Derek snorted amusedly. “Eloquent,” he teased, earning a glare from Emily.

Turning back to you, she smiled softly. “You’re sick, (Y/N). Of course I’m gonna stay and take care of you.” She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and you felt your body warm—this time not because of your fever.

“Sure?”

“I’m sure,” Emily chuckled as she gave your forehead another kiss. “Let me just wrap some things up with Derek.”

You nodded, closing your eyes blissfully. You could hear the two agents murmuring about something–probably Emily leaving work in the middle of a case–but you could barely make it out, as you drifted back asleep, feeling a lot better now that your girlfriend was here.

— — —

The next time you woke up, your head felt a lot lighter and you could tell your body had returned to a normal temperature. As you opened your eyes and saw the sun had long set, you felt a presence weighing down the other side of your bed. Rolling over, you were met with a sight you’d never tire of.

Emily had changed out of her button down shirt and dress pants, settling for some yoga pants she’d probably left here and an old crewneck of yours. She’d pulled her hair back into a loose messy bun and wiped off the light makeup she’d been wearing earlier. You swore she had never looked prettier.

“You stayed,” you whispered as you nudged her hip with your head, causing her to look away from the files she was reading and down at you.

“Hi, my love.” Emily ran her hand through your hair, scratching your scalp. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here.” You moved so you could rest your head in her lap, her warmth comforting you. “‘M sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t worry,” she cooed. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“Well, tell Hotch I’m sorry.”

Emily couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her. She knew you felt bad about the whole misunderstanding and were probably embarrassed. She’d tell you later that the team was just as worried about you and just as relieved when it was only the flu. “Okay, I will, honey,” she agreed.

You stayed quiet for a moment, doing your best to breathe through your lingering congestion. Despite the horrible day you’d had and the ache that persisted throughout your body, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be than here with Emily.

“You didn’t have to stay,” you mumbled as you traced patters on her thigh.

“Of course I did,” she said, tossing her files onto the side table. “You needed me, so I stayed. Where else would I be?”

You turned your head so you could look up at her, meeting her gaze. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Emily affectionately poked your nose, causing you to scrunch it. “Do you want anything to eat? I made your favorite.”

“Not yet,” you replied as you closed your eyes, the feeling of Emily’s fingers combing through your hair soothing you. “Can we just stay here together for a little?”

“Of course, darling,” she agreed, content to just cuddle with you. “As long as you want.”

Feeling loved and cared for, the illness starting to slowly leave your body, you knew that Emily Prentiss was absolutely the best remedy. Thankfully, she was yours to keep.

[coichii]

WHITE CHRISTMAS

—(🎧)—> y/n seeing snow for the first time

pairing - bf!seungmin ♥︎ fem!reader

genre - fluff

word count - 1.2k

warnings - written by a girl who’s had like 3 good snows in her lifetime, this is bad I’m in writers block

series note : hello !! welcome to part seven of my winter series, “winter records of love” where there will be 8 individual short stories for each member :) these stories are based off of songs I deem “winter” feeling ! this story is based off of “White Christmas ” by Bing Crosby. enjoy <3

“It’s seriously freezing.” You shiver, burrying your self into Seungmin and the warm, plaid blanket layed upon both of you.

It’s winter, of course, frost nipping at your nose. On top of that, it was Christmas Eve. Carolers roamed the streets of your neighborhood, knocking on doors and singing their cheery carols.

You loved it. The atmosphere of Christmas always made you feel like a little kid receiving a toy you had on a wishlist for years. Even like a kid sitting on Santa’s lap in one of those crappy mall photoshoot places.

It was magical, but there was one tiny issue that messed with your Christmas ideals.

You had never seen snow before.

It’s hard to believe, but you’ve only ever seen those intricate flurries of soft ice on screen before. It’s been on of your dreams to see it, to play in it, to feel it. All you can hope is that it snows.

It sounds childish, but you don’t care. A snowy Christmas would make the holiday even more cherish-able, which will be hard to top ever since you started dating Seungmin.

Christmas with him was...un describable. He knew how much the season meant to you, and would always do whatever he could to make it enjoyable for you. You loved him for it.

“I can go turn the heat up, baby.” He replies, preparing to stand up. You groan and pull him back down to you, holding on to his shoulders with all your strength.

“Noooo,” you mumble into his chest, pouting as you hear him chuckle. “Don’t leave me. You’re warm. Plus, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

He smiles, rubbing his hand over your hair. He swears you’re always so cute like this, but he’ll never let you hear that.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be right back.” He retaliates, pushing you off of him despite your dismissal, giggling cutely at a soft groan that tumbled out of your lips.

You watch him as he walks to the thermostat and turns it on heat, the bitter cold eventually evening out to a toasty warm as you sigh in content.

He settles back down next to you, snuggling comfortably into your side.

It’s blissful like this; you don’t get much alone time, so this Christmas break with him feels perfect. He’s not working, you’re not studying. It’s amazing.

“You excited for tomorrow?” He asks, voice suddenly soaked with sleep.

“Is that even a question, Minnie?” You giggle, mind wandering off to that warm, home like place you feel whenever the weather gets cold and jingle bells begin to ring.

“I know, I’m just messing with you.” He laughs back, eyes slipping closed and lips parting in a sleep like matter.

“You tired, bubs? Wanna go sleep?” You ask, and Seungmin flushed pink. He always gets so nervous whenever you call him buns, but he doesn’t know why. You’ve been dating for 2 years, he should be used to it by now, but he’s not.

There’s just something about you that always erupts butterflies in his stomach. Maybe it’s the way you sound and feel or look, but it’s something about you that makes him so bashful and shy.

“A-are you sure? I know you wanted to stay up.” His voice is lower now, his words mixed with a yawn. What type of girlfriend would be if you sat here and let him stay up like this.

“Of course I’m sure, min. C’mon let’s go.” You chuckle, climbing out of his warm embrace and standing up, proceeding to help him stand up himself and leading him to the bedroom.

He’s not sure where he got so lucky.

◂—♥︎—▸

“Wake up, baby! It’s Christmas!”

The sun had began to peak its way into your room beyond the shades, the birds chirping and traffic roaring.

Seungmin began to groan, twisting and turning and grabbing onto your waist tightly. He rest his head on your chest, sighing in content before peeling his boba brown eyes open.

“Mhm.” He mumbles. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

He laughs slightly at your excited smile when you leap out of bed to quickly shower. He gets out soon too, body finally acclimated to the new day.

He swiftly opens the blinds, hoping to get some light into the room.

And there, he sees it.

“Y/N!” He shouts, mouthing dropped in shock. You hum back at him, heading peaking out the bathroom. “Baby, it snowed.”

Your heart stops for a while. He’s playing with you, right? He has to be.

“Y-you can’t be serious.” You stumble, walking towards him clad in nothing but a light robe. “H-holy shit.”

You eyes are blinded by the sight, white crystals still fall as the green turf is absolutely filled with snow, children outside already playing and making snowmen.

“Baby! Oh my god we need to go outside! Where’s my coat?” You squeal, practically jumping up and down with excitement and glee.

You’re so overjoyed with happiness you could almost cry. Snow. It’s really, really snow.

“Hold on. I know you’re excited, but shouldn’t you open your gift first?” He ask, tipping his head to side.

“Ughhhh, but it’s snow!” You groan, rolling your eyes and shaking his shoulders with your hands. You look so adorable to him, but he really just wants you to open your damn gift.

“I promise, you can go out immediately after. But please, open your gift first.”

“Ugh.” You sigh, finally giving in. “Fine. I’ll do the gift first but immediately after, it’s snow.”

◂—♥︎—▸

“B-baby. I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful.”

You open the gift to find a beautiful, heart shaped diamond necklace with Seungmin’s name engraved inside. It was gorgeous, the light blue tint shining, and shimmering with the highlights from the overhead light.

“L-look. I got a matching one too.“ He shyly, mumbles, covering his face with one of his hands and pulling out a matching but smaller necklace from his pocket.

“Seungmin, it’s beautiful. I fucking love you so much.” You say, crashing into him with a tight embrace and snuggling your head into his chest.

“I love you too, baby.” He giggles, becoming flustered at your excited reaction. “ C’mon, Let’s play in this snow.”

◂—♥︎—▸

“Oh my gosh, Seungmin! It’s so fluffy!” You shriek, laying on the snow and pressing it to your face.

“Hold on baby, you’ll catch a cold.” He laughs, moving to sit next to you. He watches as your eyes sparkle with admiration and happiness, heart being warmed by the sight.

“I don’t care. It’s so fluffy And cold and lovely I just love it so much.” You go on, drawing even more laughs from the man beside you.

“Oh baby baby! Let’s make a snowman!” You jump up and down, grabbing a ball of snow and meshing it with others.

“Whatever you want, Y/N.” He goes with the flow, helping you put together pieces of the tiny snowman you created on your front lawn.

He lets you do most of the work, watching with a spark in his eye as yours mirror his.

He loves the side of you, he Loves how childish you can be, How excited and happy you get over the smallest things.

It just makes that birthday present of a ring he has even more special.

[merumis]

kuroo loves thunderstorms.

the first time he tells you this, he's standing just before the threshold of your balcony—the door cracked open but the screen still closed, feeling the wind curl its way around your building.

it's early november and he's wearing a sweater you gifted him last christmas. you bought it two sizes too big and he insisted on wearing it again the moment the weather started to get colder anyway. it's a rich blue and warm and soft enough that you constantly find yourself leaning into him—on the couch, in public, even before your balcony's screen door—sometimes you wonder if he wears it just for that.

between that and the way your cat swirls around his feet, his tail dragging along kuroo's calf, he seems to almost melt into your apartment. your first place post-grad, that weird mix of childhood, college, and new-adult decor muddling the whole of it: a couch that you got at a discount furniture store but fell in love with anyway; stuffed animals your friends send you every birthday; a childhood favorite of a book sitting on an old thrifted coffee table, a dark oak that you wouldn't be able to afford otherwise.

and kuroo. warm, thunderstorm-watching kuroo, whose mug of herbal tea has been long forgotten on one of your homemade coasters.

you're never quite sure what to call him. the man you sleep with some nights; the guy who will always match your halloween costume if you ask; your cat's favorite of your friends; the name your grandmother keeps asking you about every time you call. you know you told you him you loved him once—really loved him—in some drunken college stupor that feels more like watching a movie from across an open-concept's kitchen island than a memory now.

(that's a lie. you know every detail. the rum warm in your throat, being fresh off the high of his birthday. it was the first snow of the season but the rain the next day mingled with it and turned it to muck that ruined your favorite pair of boots. his breath was hot against your cheeks, the stoop of his apartment building a hollowly adored wind tunnel that decorated your instagram—stone chipped away at the corners, moss growing up the sides, a buzzer that only worked if you pressed the button three times. you kissed him like you always have and his nose was cold as it pressed into your cheek. you whispered it to him and he laughed. you didn't text him for three days.)

there's a familiar pull at your tongue now. a burst of lightning briefly illuminates your apartment and is then followed by the crack of thunder.

"you should probably close the door," you say—instead of i love you.

kuroo shrugs, turns back with a lazy smile on his face. "if you say so," he replies, like every word is a game that the two of you play. he swings the door closed and twists the lock shut. he moves in a way you want to describe as "moseying" tonight, like all of his limbs are relaxed four times more than they should be.

"you should stay here tonight," you tell him as he moves to your couch. your cat follows after him, pawing up his leg as he sits down. he jumps up and settles deep into his lap—there's a brief moment where you envy him. "rain and all."

"so you're telling me i brought my umbrella for nothing?" he teases.

you laugh. "you can use it on the balcony."

he has a pair of sweatpants in your top right drawer of your dresser. you reluctantly washed them last week after spilling apricot jam on the third wear. you never choose to dwell on how a pair of sweatpants gets left at your apartment—you can imagine what his answer would be.

kuroo hums, "it's almost like you want me here."

"i don't," you lie, "just figured my apartment had a better storm view with how much you've been lingering." his apartment is about four stories higher, a few blocks down—closer to his work. it has more windows, a larger living room, a leather couch that you can feel sticking to your bare back if you close your eyes.

it's the better view. it gets fog in the early mornings so you can only see the bounce of headlights from the street below. his bedsheets like to twist between your legs at night in a way that pulls them from the mattress, though—so you suppose you always win there.

"it's homey here," he replies, and you feel the smile tugging up at your lips, "smells like spruce." he eyes the candle he bought you on your kitchen counter, lit and melted to the edges. three wicks, because he knows it's your favorite.

the candle, your favorite expensive lamp your professor gifted you last summer, and the range hood are the only lights in your apartment at the moment. kuroo calls them homey, you call them headache-reducing.

he pulls a hand away from your cat to gesture towards you over the back of the couch now. a palm upwards towards the ceiling, fingers outstretched in a subtle beckoning of your own. your tongue curls with that sickly desire as you step towards him, slip your fingers into his as you round the couch, settling into the cushions as his arm slides across your shoulders.

you reach up to play with his fingers—absent-mindedly. you swore you would do better when you graduated, that maybe things would start to fall into place and, for once, you wouldn't find yourself chasing after a man you could have if you would just allow it to happen.

but you don't know how to say i love you on a thursday—because you swear friday will feel right. you don't say it friday because it's too young, a whole weekend ahead of you that you can't mess up. a movie on saturday, brunch on sunday. you don't say it sunday night because you won't see him until wednesday, but then you catch him for happy hour on tuesday. and you don't know how to to say it.

"you know my grandfather loved spruce," kuroo says, and you look over to catch his eye. he's staring out at your coffee table, looking at nothing in particular as he speaks. "he used to whittle—before arthritis and tremors and whatever—but his dad told him that spruce was the hardest to work with. something about how soft it is or the grain or whatever." he shifts with your cat, letting him crawl up his arm onto the back of the couch. his tail falls over kuroo's shoulder, and now you get the curl into him a little more.

he pulls you closer before you really get the chance to move.

"but he always loved spruce. the smell, the needles, the look, all of it, you know? it was just one of those things, so he learned to whittle with it.

"and when he met my grandmother, he started whittling her all these little things. a duck for their first date, a wooden box for her jewelry, eventually toy blocks, when she was pregnant with my dad." kuroo pauses, and for a while, you think you have something stuck in your chest. you thumb traces up his forefinger and he catches your hand, finally moving to look you in the eyes.

"it's nice to come here and remember him sometimes."

there's another burst of lightning and it crackles across the whole sky behind him, dodging in and out of buildings and making the texture of the clouds pop out against the whole open expanse of it all.

his breath is hot against your skin, his ears are tinged with a bit of red and for a moment you consider running to your thermostat to turn it down a few degrees, but then his lips find yours like they always do.

and in the muddle of lips, you don't even think before you whisper an i love you, murmured into his mouth as his nose traces frigid shapes against your own.

you don't have to listen to know he says it back—though you do, listening for the timbre of his voice and feeling the vibrato of it against your throat—but you can smell it, you can hear it, some days, you can taste it.

spruce-scented candles, thunderstorms that make the whole city colder, the burning of rum against the back of your throat.

you think you can feel it: leather that sticks to your skin, hands that only whittled while his grandfather was alive, but are calloused anyway, a sweater that you'd buy him in the right size if he asked.

you tell someone you love them without ever saying the words. you know he drinks three drinks at happy hour and you only have one—he insists on walking you home anyway and he always stays the night.

and you know he never brought an umbrella, that he works from home tomorrow and his laptop is sitting in his backpack next to your door.

you know that he's warm, that he's kissing you, and that he told you he loves you on the thursday evening as a thunderstorm turned into rain and fog.

[buzzcutlip]

11 J and Carmy because I love the fluffy stuff.

I've written something rather romantic for you, the title can't be anything else than:

December 1st (Prompts from my seasonal prompt list: "Thank you for spending time with me today" & "First kiss") Carmen x gn!Reader 2000 words

“Good morning,” Carmen Berzatto greets you with a tentative smile, his breath clouding in the frosty morning air.

Your heart jumps, like every time Carmen comes, instead of Tina, to pick up the fresh dairy products.

“Hello,” you wave from the open door, the sun shining into your eyes, unable to stop yourself from smiling back. “Come on in,” you beckon him as you see his red nose and cheeks, holding the heavy metal door open to let him inside the storage room.

Carmen steps inside, shoulders tense against the chill. He rubs his hands together briskly, the friction sending little clouds of warmth into the air. “Colder than I thought it’d be,” he mutters, glancing around at the neatly stacked crates of milk and cream, along with various types of cheese.

You grab a clipboard from the hook near the door and pretend to study the inventory, but you’re acutely aware of every move he makes—the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the subtle dip of his head as he surveys the shelves.

“You get used to it,” you reply, even though the truth is, you’ve never really adjusted to the cold. It’s just something you tolerate.

“Do you wanna take something extra?” you ask, and as you look up, you find Carmen already watching you. His eyes quickly dart away. He looks skinnier than the last time you saw him, his cheekbones protruding.

Carmen does want to take something extra, and he asks you a surprisingly huge amount of questions regarding butter and mature cheddar and Swiss cheese from Stockton. Usually, Carmy barely speaks — he quickly loads the crates and is off. Not today.

“Swiss, huh?” you prompt, watching him as he shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “You planning a fondue night, Chef?”

Carmy huffs a laugh through his nose and shakes his head. “No, just… experimenting. Trying to see what works with, uh, some new ideas.” His explanation comes out fast, like he’s rehearsed it, but the way he avoids your gaze makes you think there’s more to it than that.

You glance over at the neatly wrapped blocks of Swiss cheese, then back at him. “Alright. But you usually know exactly what you want. Today’s… different.”

That gets his attention. His eyes snap back to yours, wide for a moment before narrowing like he’s trying to read what you mean. “Different how?”

“Dunno,” you shrug, though you absolutely do. “Just… you’re asking a lot of questions. Usually, it’s just a quick ‘hey’ and ‘thanks.’” You keep your tone light, playful, but there’s a part of you that wants to ask why he looks so worn down, why his usual confidence feels frayed at the edges.

Carmen glances at the crates and lets out a breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m—uh—“ He pauses, scrubbing a hand down his face. “It’s ... the first of December.”

“It’s the first of December,” you repeat slowly after him. Surely, there must be more to it than just the beginning of a new month.

Carmy looks immediately regretful, his boots shuffling on the concrete floor. “Family trauma,” he explains plainly. “Christmas. It always seems like once it’s December, I can’t avoid it any longer.”

“Oh.” For a moment, you don’t know what to say. Carmen doesn’t look at you, his eyes fixed on the floor like he’s bracing himself for judgment—or maybe just for silence.

He huffs a bitter laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to dump that on you.” He shifts his weight, his hands digging deeper into his coat pockets. “It’s not your problem.”

“Maybe not,” you say quietly, watching the way his shoulders curl inward, like he’s trying to make himself smaller. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

You lean back against the shelf, crossing your arms to ward off the cold. “So… Swiss cheese, huh?” you say, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground.

Carmen blinks, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to decide whether to let you change the subject. Finally, he gives a small nod. “Yeah. Swiss cheese.”

You add the extra products to another crate, noting them on your list. Carmy pays, and you put the money into the cash box, then help him with the lighter crates into his car. Well, it’s Richie’s car; you already know that. Tina uses it too. Carmen shyly asks you to come along, explaining that they want to give you Bear Christmas Cookies, just as they do for all their suppliers. He shivers when saying “Christmas,” but you agree, quite happily, and get in the passenger seat. The car is cold too; the heating clearly doesn’t work. You intentionally don’t look around too much, just in case you spot something exceptionally gross in the clutter.

“I’m sorry for the state of the car. It’s Richie’s,” he adds quickly. “The only available car at the moment,” he winces.

“It’s fine,” you smile at him.

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence for a moment, the hum of the car’s engine filling the space between you. The city streets blur past outside, with festive lights strung across lampposts and storefronts, their warm glow a sharp contrast to the December chill.

At the restaurant, you help Carmen get the products to the walk-in fridge. The kitchen is empty, being Monday morning, and gives off a completely different vibe—a bit sad, maybe. It makes you wonder if that’s one of the reasons Carmy’s been stalling so much today.

When you bring in the last crate, setting it on the metallic counter with a clang, Carmen’s there with a round, dark blue tin. As he hands it to you, your fingertips touch, fueling your well-nourished crush, and you can’t help but want more of him.

“Thank you,” you say, studying the Bear logo on the lid. “I’ll make sure to share it with the rest of the team,” you tell him. “Even though I don’t want to.”

That makes Carmen bark out a laugh, one that sounds genuine for once.

As there’s nothing else to do, the moment starts to stretch awkwardly.

“You know, maybe it’s not my place to say this—” you start bravely, “but I think a cup of coffee or tea would cheer you up.”

Carmen’s brows lift slightly, his lips parting like he’s about to respond, but he hesitates, caught off guard. “Yeah?” He looks down at the tin still in your hands, then back up at you.

You shift your weight, feeling the sudden urge to backpedal, but you’ve come this far. “Yeah,” you say, steadier now. “I mean, it’s cold as hell, it’s Monday, and you look like you could use… I don’t know. A minute to just breathe.”

Carmen huffs a small laugh, though it’s quieter this time. “Is it that obvious?”

You tilt your head, giving him a playful look. “Let’s just say you’re not exactly radiating holiday cheer.”

Carmen snorts and then says, decidedly, “Okay.”

It’s not a surprise to find out that the chef doesn’t know any nearby places that specialize in beverages, so you lead the way to the first decent-looking coffee house one street over. You order an almond milk latte, while he has chamomile tea, and then pays for both of you without hesitation.

The two of you lapse into a hesitant talk at a corner table with two armchairs, the hum of conversation and the clinking of cups filling the space around you. Outside, the festive lights strung across the street sway gently in the breeze, their glow reflecting on the window.

As much as your heart is ready to give out, with your fingers tapping nervously against the ceramic mug, a careful conversation develops. You talk about your job at the Home Produce shop, sharing gossip about all the other restaurants and chefs that buy from you.

When Carmen does speak, you can’t help but sneak glances at his tattooed hands, the ones you can’t get out of your head. Unfortunately, you’re pretty sure Carmen catches you on one or two occasions but doesn’t say anything.

The conversation moves on to other topics, like favorite dishes, shared horror stories about difficult customers, and even the occasional joke. You’re pleased to see Carmy relaxing, taking off his quilted coat. Meanwhile, you’re wearing only your thick woolen jumper and a long red scarf, the coffee adding a very pleasant warmth to the mix.

Things take a turn when Carmen starts sharing half-explained stories about his family and the Seven Fishes tradition: festive cooking, car crashes, divorces, moving to New York—all without mentioning Christmas once.

You listen carefully, letting Carmy know you’re there, willing to help him carry a bit of the burden.

“Everything was always… too much,” he says, his gaze fixed on his tea, now lukewarm. “Loud. Messy. No one ever sat still long enough to actually… enjoy it, you know?”

You nod, watching him carefully, letting the words settle in the air. “And New York?” you prompt gently, sensing that he needs a nudge.

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I thought it would be different. It wasn’t. Just… louder. More people, more pressure. The only time I really liked Christmas was when I was on shift. Cooking. It was the only time I could control anything.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice, the way he talks about control like it’s both a lifeline and a curse.

“You’re good at it, though,” you say softly. “The cooking, I mean.”

Carmen fidgets with his sleeve, his fingers brushing against the edge of the table, and you realize he’s looking at you—not quite directly, but close enough that your pulse quickens.

“You’re easy to talk to,” he says suddenly, like the thought just slipped out.

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh. Well, uh—thank you.” Your nervous laugh fills the space as you grip your mug a little tighter.

You feel like you’re dancing around each other a little, trying to figure out where you stand or if there’s any affection coming from the other person. It’s exhilarating and a bit terrifying at the same time. You really want Carmen to like you, and you have nothing else to offer but honesty and openness.

It’s almost 1 p.m. when you get up, your stomach rumbling, murmuring something about having to get back to work. Carmen offers to drive you back, which you accept gladly. As soon as you both get into the car, you can’t help but shiver from the cold outside—and inside, as well.

“Oh, here you go,” Carmen shrugs off his warm jacket and drapes it over your arms before he starts the engine. The gesture takes you by surprise, and you blush furiously into your sweater’s neck.

When he parks and shuts off the engine, the sudden quiet feels almost intimate. He turns to you, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it. “Thanks for spending time with me today,” he says, his voice sincere. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t have to,” you cut in, a little sharper than you mean to, but his self-deprecation stirs something protective in you. “But I wanted to. Because it’s you.”

The words hang there, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve said too much. His eyes search yours, and you can tell he’s caught off guard, maybe even a little unsure what to do with the kindness.

“I’m not great at this,” he finally says, his voice low, like it’s a confession. “Talking about… stuff.”

“Clearly,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood, though your smile is gentle. “But you don’t have to talk, you know. Not if you don’t want to.”

He exhales slowly, his breath curling in the frosty air like smoke. You’re unsure if he’s about to speak, but then he does something else entirely. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips, plain and sweet. Instantly, it ignites a fire inside of you, the flames making your cheeks burn despite the cold.

For a moment, the world narrows to just that touch—fleeting, but enough to send your heart racing. When he pulls back, Carmen looks almost as surprised as you feel, his cheeks flushed, eyes wide like he’s already second-guessing himself.

“Sorry,” he mutters, voice barely above a whisper. “I—I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice steady even though your pulse is anything but. “Don’t apologize.”

His eyes dart to yours, searching, as if he’s trying to figure out if you mean it.

“I… I’ve been wanting to do that,” he admits, his voice rough and hesitant, like the words are being pulled out of him against his better judgment.

You bite your lip to keep from grinning too wide. “Me too,” you confess.

[daycourtofficial]

Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 7.2k | warnings: depictions of violence, poison, death, blood, slight gore

Summary: Eris tells his mate to stay with his mother, the Lady of Autumn, while he sets plans into motion to become the new High Lord.

Note: this is apart of my gingerfucker series and is a companion piece to ‘Cold was the steel of my axe to grind’.

Author’s note: happy day 3 of @erisweekofficial - it’s the best day of the year!

A cold chill racked through your body, something tugging in your chest causing you to wake up. The scent of burnt cedar and apple cider filled your nose. Wide eyes investigated the room around you as you stayed still, the brown walls unfamiliar to you. The spike of anxiety was quickly soothed as you spotted a redhead a few feet from you, the bright hair calling to you like a flame.

You softly pulled yourself from bed, silently observing him as he moved about the room, his steps quiet as he thought you slumbered. The bond in your chest hummed at seeing him, so happy to be so close to him. You stood with the blanket around your shoulders, arms crossed waiting for him to notice you.

The minimal light that caused his torso to shine dulled your joy at seeing him.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was hoarse from sleep, but it stopped him immediately, your mate frozen in place before he turned to face you. Warmth crept over you beneath his gaze, blocking out the cold air.

“Going for a stroll.”

Your eyes roamed his body, trying to convey without words how idiotic that excuse was. Did he think that excuse would actually work? He moved closer, his steps deceptively quiet with all that he wore. He placed whatever items he was carrying on the bed behind you before he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his mouth opening and closing as if he were unsure where to start. You waited, not pressing for more detail, knowing he’d open up to you.

“Please.”

It was all that came from him, despite the look in his eyes. Depths lay within them, a single word conveying so little and so much at the same time. Your mate was layers and layers of complexities, several centuries of a life you only saw tangentially. You knew Eris - your mate, the one whose song echoes through your ribcage whenever you woke every morning, the one you spent centuries to earn his trust. But you had never seen this version of him in person before - the one who held his side of the bond on a tense lockdown, a fortress not allowing any feeling in or out. The one who does what he has to to survive. You can know something about someone and never have to see it.

He was imperceptibly different. His hair tousled as he had been pulling and tugging at it. The purple and blues beneath his eyes, the wild energy he had about him. 

Everywhere he went, Eris carried an air about him that screamed I know how this ends. The air often contorted around him, as if it blew in his favor. But now he stood with an air of unease around him, no breeze to stroke his ego as he moved.

Every other part of his body was honed and trained for this. Muscles taxed and well-defined from years of use, a determination in his jaw that he would see this through to the end. 

But his eyes always gave him away.

Mor had once described his eyes as a pit of despair, a never ending labyrinth of pain and suffering. She was right, but she had the wrong intentions. She thought he was the beast within the maze, searching for his next meal, the darkness pushing him forward. But Eris played both parts to that story: the beast and whoever was unlucky enough to be trapped within. He had been stuck in a labyrinth of suffering and his eyes shone with light from the exit.

You watched as his fingers trailed over the features of your face, his touch leaving a trail of heat on your skin. Your gaze took in everything about him - his sunken shoulders, the fire simmering in his eyes, the thousands of freckles you once spent an entire evening comparing to the constellations.

“My mate.”

You never thought belonging to someone would feel so freeing. Your parents were mates -  growing up you watched your father always sling that phrase around as if your mother was merely an accessory to him. She wasn’t yours or Rhys’s mother, nor was she her own person, but rather a vessel for your father to use whenever he found it appropriate. 

Eris made the words sound decadent, a place of honor, the greatest title one could receive. As if it were a second name that had been etched into your soul and only he could discern the engraving.

“Stay with my mother. Please.”

An argument laid on the tip of your tongue, staying there as you took in how he looked at you, his eyes betraying him only to you. His shoulders straightened as he looked at you. Holding his gaze, your mind swirled with thoughts to go with him, to be with him. You were a pair, bounded by fate through this life and the next. 

His eyes were pleading to stay, as if you could make out the word in smoke reflected through his irises. Your mouth closed before you nodded, your decision finalized as he gripped your jaw lightly. 

Eris kept all of his plans close to his chest, a quality you admired but also loathed about him. You weren’t sure if he got lucky or was incredibly clever. A mixture of both, perhaps. Maybe that mixture is what has brought Eris here, what has led him to this moment, this opportunity. He’s outlived two brothers, survived centuries of horrific events he only just recently began opening up about, two wars, and being held captive underneath Amarantha. 

Eris was cunning and intelligent. Despite his sharp tongue, he does care about the people of Autumn and his brothers and mother. 

But you would be lying if it didn’t keep you up at night when the luck would end, when Beron would find out about some hidden scheme and go too far to punish Eris.

You had taken your step forward to that fate, Rhysand discovering your secret mateship and being so furious at your refusal to step down that he banished you from his court. You had made your move and now he had to make his. This was Eris’s fight. This was Eris’s father. A male so awful in public to the point you wondered constantly how far his cruelties extended to in the privacy of the Forest House - his servants, his family, courtiers. Perhaps his cruelty contained no bounds, opting to injure anyone if it meant progress or amusement for him.

Eris clutched your face, this brief moment of time extending into a small eternity. The fate of the day was unknown. His arms wrapped around you, clutching you to his chest as you wrapped your arms around his back, fingers gripping the armor, searching for something to grasp onto. The string that tied the two of you together pulled taut, begging for there to be no space between your bodies as you clutched each other.

The last moment of vulnerability before a coup.

He pulled away just enough to cup your jaw, his warm lips meeting your own. Your hands moved up into his hair, clinging desperately to him, giving everything you have to him, wanting him to tuck it away somewhere and give him some form of protection.

Eris was the first one to pull away, his thumb swiping your cheek as he slowly pulled his head back before moving up to give one final kiss on the top of your head. He pulled away, your heart leaping at your rib cage, reaching for him as he collected his things from the bed and departed without looking back.

You stood in the quiet room, not moving from the spot he had left you in, watching the sun rise through the light streaking in across the door. It brushed across your skin, the warmth an echo of Eris’s heat. The hustle and bustle of servants on the other side of the door finally jolted you from your ruminations, your mind pulling from your heart’s desire to lay in his bed, inhaling his scent until he returned. 

You were in the dark about Eris’s plans, stuck to wait until Marigold found you. You were ill-equipped for front line fighting in Autumn: you had no armor and little experience fighting fire wielders, and while you were skilled enough in hand to hand combat, it was nearly impossible for you to know who was friend or foe to Eris. An entire court made of sly foxes, several of them who would salivate at the knowledge the Princess of the Night Court was in their midst. You had a handful of names of those you could trust, but no faces to match them to. So you waited for the one person Eris has always said you could trust no matter the circumstances. 

Eris had slipped out into the darkness, off to set plans into motion you were certain nobody knew the full extent of, everyone involved getting their own sliver of orders and nothing more.

It was morning now and you had cracked open his window, offering prayers to the stars, the moon, the Mother, the cauldron, ancient war gods whose names had been lost to time. All beings who existed outside of your sight at the moment, but you hoped they could hear you nonetheless. You even sent some words to your own mother, hoping wherever she was, she too would watch over your mate.

Wait for my mother.

It was all you clung to as you waited until your voice had grown hoarse with spoken prayer, one task you could accomplish, no matter how impossible it felt. You turned your attention toward Eris’s desk - a neat and tidy thing that you were sure contained several hidden compartments, many nights spent staring at various parchments, writing letters to you. You wondered briefly if he kept your letters somewhere, a hidden stash bundled together, any hint of your scent having been removed from repeated reading and rereading.

That had been your downfall. But you were a much more sentimental creature than Eris was. The letters would be a trail, a link between the two of you. A link one couldn’t afford. Your chest panged in agony at the notion that Rhys likely hard burned your letters, the ones you could recite from memory now. The ones that would have been the only physical proof of your bond if things don’t go well today. 

You shook your head, needing it clear as you grabbed parchment and a pen, writing quickly with only slight hesitation. It was early - the sun was barely risen, and you were certain if he were out he would be in shortly. You didn’t even bother creating a seal - it didn’t need one, and matches weren’t something Eris likely kept around.

You sent the letter off before you could second guess yourself, hoping he would understand and come anyway. You didn’t know what the day would yield, but something in your gut churned at the thought of him not being here. You had pleaded in your letter that things were in motion you couldn’t stop and there was potential for loss of life - from both you and the servants and children who occupied the Forest House. 

You prayed his need to protect and help would override the immense anger he was feeling. Your mate would be livid if he found out, but he would get over it. You both were making choices today, and any choice that furthered your safety isn’t one Eris could be too upset about. 

A knock on the door pulled you from your ruminations, turning to find a young female opening the door but not entering. Her light brown hair was wrapped around her head in an elaborate braid, a simple smock covering the brown, high neck dress that covered her body.

She bowed to you, a slight curtsy as she dropped, “morning, miss. My Lady wishes to see you.”

You looked her over, noticing no weapons from what outlines the clothes afforded her. She stood out with how plain she looked - maybe the Vanserras stood out with how ornately they dressed.

“No.” Her brown eyes widened, her mouth opening to argue, but you continued. “If she wishes to see me, she will come here.”

Eris gave you three warnings: stay safe, stay with Marigold, and if you feel the bond die, get the Hel out of Autumn. 

Two of those were implied, but you knew him well enough to know what he would want. You weren’t certain about the last two points, but the first you could comply with. This room was warded - only those who shared Eris’s maternal line or a mate could enter, and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to use what Eris had given you to your advantage.

The servant bowed unceremoniously before shuffling off, closing the door before her quick footsteps moved down the hall. A few moments later a soft knock caused you to turn before the Lady of Autumn herself entered the room, her long red hair making her both enchanting and comforting to look at. Eris’s brothers all carried elements of Marigold in their faces, Cormac even carried the soft edges of her voice with him.

But Eris was his mother’s son. 

It had been years since you last saw her - the last High Lord’s meeting when Feyre had lost control. She had looked so downtrodden then, as if pain didn’t faze her, a reality of everyday life. The sight had nearly made you nauseous, dreams littered for the next few months of a similar fate for you should Beron discover your mateship.

The female that stood before you today looked resolute and determined. She was practically glowing with excitement, but her eyes held the same look that Eris’s did whenever his mind was overflowing with possibilities.

“How lovely it is to properly meet my son’s mate.”

Her voice reminded you of your own mother, some maternal charm laced her words. A five minute conversation was likely all she needed before fae decided they trusted her completely, despite the personas her sons and husband wore to the public.

You bowed to her, offering a greeting fitting as visiting royalty. Visiting banished royalty, you supposed.

“Good morning, Lady Marigold.”

She curtsied deeply before rising. “Good morning, dear. I presume based on your presence here that your High Lord knows now.”

Her eyes were striking as they took you in - so lifeless the past few years, but now so bright and full of hope.

No one loves a boy quite like his mother does.

“You would be correct. I’m uncertain if he knows of my exact location, but he is less than thrilled about this Cauldron-made match and is in need of time to adjust.”

You could be diplomatic. Eris was off somewhere, Mother knew where, doing Mother knows what. But you had to be careful. Every step you took today had to be carefully placed - either for the outcome of your becoming Lady of Autumn or for becoming whatever Eris’s death will make of you.

She nodded her head as if she understood Rhysand’s feelings perfectly. “It was quite a shock to learn of. I had a hard time with it myself.”

You tried to keep the surprise off your face, not knowing that Eris ever told his mother about the two of you.

“It wasn’t Eris who told me.” 

You were worse at hiding your shock at that statement. Speaking to Marigold felt like she could hear the truth pouring out of you, as if your truths were whispered on the wind and straight to her ears. 

“It was that night all those years ago when the new High Lord of Spring brought you here.”

Memories dumped over you like a bucket of ice, that night only a few flashes and blurs of images, all red hair and blood. You never knew that she had been there that night.

“I didn’t know that things between you and my son had progressed. I knew you were mates, but Eris has always been a startling private person.”

She stood with such poise it was impossible to compare her with the shell she was the last time you had seen her.

“It was my youngest who told me the two of you were still involved.”

Lucien, you thought. Slimy little devil.

Lucien was the only one who knew - he had found out a few months prior having caught the scent of his brother lingering on one of your cloaks. You had been so furious with yourself - a century of hiding meant nothing when a little brother became invested.

“He was quite thrilled at the match, actually.”

That surprised you. Lucien had been quite short with you when he found out, that mechanical eye whirring and clicking at you as if it were admonishing you in a tongue you didn’t understand.

“He was hopeful for you to become a part of this family. Hopeful that perhaps a new addition may help us recognize how awful things have become.” 

She walked about the room, looking at the walls you were certain she had seen for centuries as if for the first time, her leisurely stroll giving no indication of the time crunch you were all in.

“My family is… not what I expected when I was young and full of dreams.” Her voice was just as sweet, but lost in the haze of centuries of time. “I had dreamt of a loving husband. I knew children were expected of me, but I could never imagine the direction my life would take.”

Her voice soured, that honey glazed warmth of nostalgia was replaced with something close to a reprimand.

“I will not pretend as if I know you or your motivations with my son, but I know Lucien. He is the most like me. At least, a long forgotten version of myself.” She took a staggering breath before continuing, her stride uninterrupted as she paced around you. “I know my sons. And while I don’t want to believe Eris could be fooled, mating bonds are tricky, overpowering things. One could fool Eris or Lucien, but not both of them.”

She fixed her eyes on you, looking for something you couldn’t see. It felt like being beneath the gaze of Lucien’s mechanical eye with a lack of clicking to accompany the scrutiny.

“Do not take their trust lightly.”

You nodded, swallowing harshly. She was very maternal, but there was something lurking beneath the surface you couldn’t pinpoint. It felt full of resentment, as if her perfumey smell was an attempt to cover up some rotten part of her long forgotten.

“Yes, Lady.”

“For today, you may call me Marigold.”

“And tomorrow?”

“If there is a tomorrow for the both of us, we shall figure that out.”

-

You had just a moment to yourself in Marigold’s chambers, opting to use it to send an additional letter, letting him know that if he didn’t come now, it’d be next to impossible to find you again.

Other than Eris, there was no one you trusted more. You fiddled with your bodice, ensuring it was in place as you waited, your hands straightening the front of your skirt, itching to tug at the collar of your dress. It felt suffocating, like you couldn’t take a proper breath.

A cool breeze came through the room before he materialized in the shadows of the room behind you. You turned to meet his hazel eyes full of anger as they looked up and down your form, taking in the plain servants clothes you wore. You quickly moved to turn on the faucet, blasting the water as harshly as it would go.

“Hi Az.” You waved a hand slightly, attempting to dispel his cold anger that flooded the room.

He didn’t move, hardly a corporeal form as only his face was tangible through the shadows.

“I need your help. Please.”

Anger swam in his eyes, undeterred by the pleading in your voice. He stood silently, the shadowy blob staying in place and it was then you realized he was waiting for more information.

“I need you to just follow me. In the shadows. I don’t know what the day will entail,” your voice was hushed, trying not to be heard over the running faucet, “but I wanted you nearby in case anyone got hurt.”

His eyes still burned with fury, but one of his wings twitched ever so slightly before his body melted into a pool of shadow that swam around your feet. You decided that was the best outcome to receive from him before you looked once more in the mirror, using a glamour to hide your violet eyes before you left the bathroom.

You followed Marigold out of her chambers, the glamour over your eyes making your vision slightly murky. Violet eyes would give you away, but light brown eyes caused you to blend in with the other staff of the Forest House.

The two of you had a mission - starting from the top and trickling through all of Beron’s more trusted advisors. This was always her initial plan to help Eris, but it felt good to assist her as she had meetings with each and every one of them throughout the day. She had been ruthless this morning before retrieving you, practically bullying these males into seeing her for a cup of tea at some point during the day. 

She developed a routine with each one, as if she were in a performance that she had been doing nightly for years. You would follow in behind her as she sat with whoever it was, the males much too worried about Beron to deny his wife anything. They had an air of annoyance about the disruption, but Marigold never stayed long enough to let it fester beyond that. 

It was perfectly choreographed - her insistence that they try this new delightful tea she had been working, your bow before pouring it for them. You used your own powers of charm to aid Marigold’s, manipulating the emotions of the unsuspecting advisors to feel fully at ease, enticing them to drink the tea.

It was genius, truly. She told you she had been doing this for years, spending her free time experimenting with different tea flavors, noting who liked what flavors to better entice them when the time came. Ultimately she had four different flavors, most every advisor drinking from the cup readily.

Each time you listened for them to slump from their desk as you walked through the halls, quickly locking the door behind you to keep them from being disturbed before bustling after Marigold’s retreating form. 

It was lucky the males didn’t look too closely at the new servant girl with a dark shadow trailing her figure.

-

It had taken hours, but you and Marigold had made it through your list of adversaries to take out. The only ones you weren’t able to take down were those that were scattered throughout Autumn, too far to reach, but Marigold assured you Eris had them taken care of in one way or another. 

The Forest House was calm as you slipped into Eris’s chambers, Azriel barred at the door. The shadow remained on the floor as you chuckled, agitation clear at the shadows movement on the ground. You waited as he moved across the hall, searching the room before returning, a silent request to follow. You quickly obliged, shutting the door behind yourself before the shadowy blob on the floor took more of an Illyrian look as he towered over you, his wings tight in agitation.

“I know you’re mad but-“

“Mad? I’m furious. I- him? Him? I’ve been following you around all day to ensure you didn’t die.”

You understood where he was coming from - you did little to help Eris’s reputation amongst the Inner Circle over the years, but the bond inside of you still yearned to claw at Azriel’s face for how he was speaking about your mate. A hand ran over your face, a deep breath to soothe the bond within you.

“Yes, well, the night is far from over, Azriel. I need your help to ensure the children and servants are safe. I don’t know how this will play out-”

“Oh, you don’t know how this will play out?” His eyes were wide with rage, his words clipped as he interrupted you. “You mean your “mate” didn’t tell you the details of his plan?”

His fingers went up in air quotes around the word ‘mate’ and it made you see red as you slapped a hand over his mouth. “Shut up, Azriel. I don’t know the specifics of this plan-”

He laughed through your hand, pushing it off of him. “Of course you don’t - he’s fooled you! He’s using you to-”

“To what, Azriel? Protect the defenseless fae inside the Forest House? Oh no, he’s so terrible.”

Your tone was mocking. The shadowsinger began tugging at his hair, looking away from you. 

“How long?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes it matters.” He was quick to whirl around, his eyes wild in fury. “You have been lying to your family, to me, for gods know how long!”

It was silent between the two of you, the only sound was his heavy breathing. You toed the ground slightly, knowing exactly how this conversation will go.

“Do you remember the night my wings were cut off?”

The words sent Azriel spiraling, the scent of copper and fear tinging his nose. It was always there, lurking in the back of his mind. His wings branched out, urging him to grab you and fly far, far away from here.

“No.”

It had never made sense before. His one word was full of disbelief, his face slacken with shock.

“Az, Tamlin found me and-“

Azriel used his hands to block his ears, “no, you have to be kidding me. This is a joke.”

Irritation rose in you at how childish he was being, the large Illyrian before you looking absurd as he paced the room. “This is all some stupid joke that you’re pulling because you and Cassian thought it would be funny.”

You shook your head, shaking his shoulders slightly to get him to look at you.

“No because that- I always knew something was off I-“

He was spiraling, his thoughts a whirlwind of realizations and things he overlooked. Several moments passed before he finally looked down at you, eyes full of understanding. “I have spent centuries trying to figure out that night. How I found you in a clearing not far from the site.”

Your silence was enough for him to determine your guilt, the final piece clicking into place.

“You lured me away. You manipulated me into feeling calm and not looking at what I knew made no sense!”

You bit your tongue. It was the one loose thread that could unravel your careful secret. It was the one thing you felt awful about over these centuries.

Any mention of that night immediately caused you to gauge Azriel’s emotions, never allowing them past sadness or grief over the events. 

Rhys and Cassian were too full of happiness that you had survived, never looking at the details. But Azriel thought over every last detail of events, even centuries down the line.

You felt the anger seep through the shield you kept up, allowing his emotions to swirl inside you.

Betrayal. Anger. Devastation.

His nails dug into the skin of his palm, and guilt washed over you. 

“It’s why you couldn’t find me until the next morning. Tamlin had brought me here because I kept asking for Eris.”

Azriel growled at the mention of your mate and you snapped your teeth back at him, the action surprising him, his shadows skittering in fear.

“He and Marigold healed me and the bond snapped for him but it didn’t snap for me until later. He is my mate and while the choices I made hurt you, I did it for him.”

He stepped back as if your words had physically wounded him, but you kept advancing forward, the truth finally spilling from your lips.

“You have every right to be upset with me and the choices I made. You are my family, Az. I hated lying to you. But he is my mate and anyone knowing would jeopardize our lives.”

He scoffed, standing his ground, but you could see understanding in his eyes.

“If anyone knew and it somehow had gotten back to Beron-“

His harsh tone cut you off. “Don’t try to convince me you did this for anything other than selfish reasons.”

“Okay fine, I was selfish! If Beron knew, he would have demanded that I be in Autumn. I spent years trying to figure something out. Everything would have ended up with Beron using me to keep Eris in line.”

His cheeks were red, from anger or being out of breath you couldn’t tell. “You could have told me. I would have helped. I’m a spymaster for cauldron’s sake! My job is full of secrets.”

“And maybe I wanted to keep you unburdened,” you snapped.

“You’re excusing your lies by not wanting to burden me? You’re unbelievable!” He threw his hands up in the air, anger seeping from his pores. Angry at the betrayal and maybe a little at his own shortcoming for not figuring it out.

“What I did was wrong, Az, but would you not have done the same?”

Azriel would think about this fight, many years later, his own mate wrapped in his arms. How resolute you had been in doing whatever you thought was necessary to protect your mate, even from the scrutiny of your own family. Time would soften his anger, offering a new perspective on your actions that can only come with shared experience. 

For now, he was so overcome with his anger it felt nearly impossible to even think about understanding your viewpoint.

“Even if tonight is a disaster, and Eris dies,” the thought has you catching your breath, the string connecting him to you almost cutting off your circulation, “it will all have been worth it for the chance to be with him.”

Azriel’s icy resolve met the determined look in your eye, his demeanor changing very little. Your argument was halted by screams in the hall, the unmistaken sound of  swords clashing with each other. His eyes shifted to the hallway the same time his hand moved toward Truth-teller strapped to his hip. His other hand moved to the dagger strapped to his chest, unsheathing it before handing it to you. His eyes didn’t move back down, still unable to look at you. But the dagger was a bridge. It was full of hope. You took it. It was also the preferred weapon of the Autumn Court, a fact you can’t decide if Azriel was thinking of when he picked it for you.

Azriel moved to the door, sending shadows beneath it to get a better grasp of what was going on outside of it. You heard distant barking and the sounds of fighting, swords clashing against one another in combat. Screams of pain and fear, none of them sounding like Eris.

“You and I will round up anyone not involved in this and we’ll bring them back here. Some of my shadows will stay behind, barring anyone from entering the room without our say so.”

He looked at you, his face hard and ready to move on your word. Azriel could hold a grudge so tightly it caused him to lose any sense of self, any sense of rationale. His anger often became an untamed thing - wild, free-roaming.

But he came. He came because you asked, certainly defying any orders from Rhysand about your punishment. You were sure your brother had told everyone not to engage with you - to not even speak your name until you came crawling back, begging for forgiveness. But there was one thing Azriel would always put above his court - his family.You took a deep breath before nodding, the sounds of life and death getting louder as Azriel opened the door. 

“I’ll go left, you go right.”

You turned to move, but Azriel grabbed your elbow, unwilling to let go. “We move together or we don’t move at all.”

His gaze was unflinching and you knew the two of you didn’t have long at all until the winds of chaos picked the two of you up and whirled you into its orbit. You nodded and he followed as you went to the right, trying to find Marigold’s chambers once more. 

The two of you moved further from the clanging and screams, but the sounds were following you slowly as you moved down the hall, checking each room as you went. Some of Azriel’s shadows moved ahead of you, searching each room up and down as you went. 

A few doors down, a shadow wrapped around your wrist, tugging you to a door on the left. You softly padded in, looking around the empty bedroom, calling out a soft hello to whoever was in here. The shadow swirled past you, moving toward the wardrobe that stood in the room. You felt someone in it, felt their nerves speak through you as you sent soothing strokes to them, calming their heart rate as you spoke.

“We’re here to help. We can get you to safety.” The anxiety spiked in the person once more, your powers working to soothe them again. “Really, we are. We just want to move you to another room that we have protected.”

Azriel remained quiet, tucking his wings into his back to appear much smaller. The person in the wardrobe shifted, the creak in the wood giving their spot away. Your voice was a soothing balm, a siren-like quality to the way it called out, “please, we won’t hurt you.”

The wardrobe door swung open, a small boy of probably ten crouched inside, hiding behind several long forgotten coats. You held out a hand, which he gladly took as you helped him from the wardrobe.

“We’ve secured a room for anyone we find. Can we take you there?”

He nodded, flinching at a loud sound from the other side of the door. You continued your grip on his hand as you led him down the hall to the room, the shadows moving to allow the three of you entry.

“What’s your name?”

He sniffled, fidgeting with his jacket, looking around the dark room. “Jasper.”

“Jasper, we have to go find others who may be hurt. But we need you to stay here. You’ll be safe.”

He looked up at you, bright golden eyes pleading for you to stay. 

“It’ll be scary, but we have to try to save as many fae as possible. Do you understand?”

He nodded, his eyes looking all over the place. His cheeks were red and stress oozed out of him with every inhalation.

“Jasper, we will be back. We’ll come back with others.”

Azriel grabbed your elbow, pulling you away from the boy. Jasper nodded, his dirty blonde hair shaking with the action. Your chest caved a little at leaving him, but Azriel was right to pull you away. Back outside the door, once the shadows reappeared as a barrier, you blinked away the tears before looking back at the shadowsinger.

The two of you continued moving, dodging the sounds of chaos as you moved through the enormous house, finding servants and whatever bystanders you could. The fighting lasted for hours, yours and Azriel’s hunt for innocent fae lasting as long as possible. The two of you even had to secure a second room on the opposite end of the house because the first became so overcrowded.

The halls were in a state of chaos - furniture was everywhere, broken bits of wood littered the floors. The two of you tried to keep pathways clear, moving broken bits out of the way for safer passage. The two of you were bringing someone back to your safe room - a young female - when a harsh tug on your chest brought tears to your eyes, the bond feeling so strong since it was quieted. You turned to Azriel, words getting lost as a tear fell down your cheek. Your chest whirled with emotions, a constant tugging calling you away.

“Thank you.”

For coming, for his eternal friendship, for his loyalty, for everything. 

He nodded, still too mad to accept any gratitude for his presence. “Are you going to tell him about what you got up to tonight?”

You couldn’t even say his name, still so incredibly pissed off at him and how he handled everything. How the past 24 hours have seen a complete change in not only yourself or your mate, but an entire court, all of Prythian forever changed.

“He knows very little of how I spend my nights, and he made his feelings about you very clear yesterday.”

His eyes softened as he looked at you as if seeing you truly for the first time. Despite his anger at you, you surged forward and wrapped your arms around his torso, squeezing him tightly to you. He folded around you, his shadows swirling around you as he deepened the hug. 

“Please, never wear brown again. Red and orange suit you much better.”

It was a peace offering. You didn’t know how long he’d stay mad at you, and everything in you wanted to hold him close to you until he forgave you. But this was centuries of lies, half-truths, and emotional manipulation. Things you knew Azriel had to work through. You could practically see him in his study, late at night hunched over journals going through the past century in hopes of untangling your lies.

Tonight proved two impossibles: Azriel helping Eris ascend the throne, even in such a minor way, and Eris finally defeating Beron.

You squeezed him one last time, muttering more thanks into his chest.

“I have to- to go find Eris.”

His arms slackened as you pushed off of his chest, sprinting through the halls, not watching Azriel disappear back into the shadows, looking forward and following where the tug kept pulling you. Turning corners, jumping over overthrown chairs, ignoring fae until you came to grand doors to what you assumed was the throne room. The doors were slightly ajar and you pushed them open with reckless abandon, running in before quickly halting.

The scene before you was startling. Six heads of red hair, one on the ground not moving, one curled into someone’s lap, breathing heavily.

You nearly collapsed at the sight, your brain trying to parse out what you were seeing, but someone was quick to hold you up. Lucien’s dark chest blocked your view, and you quickly pushed at him, your feet carrying you until you saw Eris’s face downturned to the body in his arms.

“Eris.”

He didn’t act like he could hear you. He kept shushing his brother, holding him tight in his arms. The room was coated in grief, the smell of blood so pungent your head began spinning. You looked to Beron’s body, finding a gruesome scene of a decapitation, his head nowhere to be found. The room was quiet, not even the sound of feet shuffling in anticipation could be heard.

Marigold appeared from behind you, rushing as she moved to the male in Eris’s arms.

“Flint,” Marigold cooed. You couldn’t see her well, your knees had sunk to the floor behind Eris. You rested your head against his back, the armor so cold against your skin. You listened to Eris’s breaths, letting them calm the surge of emotion inside of you.

Alive, alive, alive.

“Come on, wake up. You have to tell her.”

Eris jostled beneath you, attempting to move his brother you were sure.

“I did it for you, Mother.” The voice was weak - Flint, most likely. He sounded so small, his heart aching with so much pain it made your throat close up. Big emotions coated the air in the room, forming a haze of grief, longing, and regret. So much regret. 

“I know, sweetheart.”

He coughed, his entire being so full of pain. You hated being around the dying. It was nearly impossible as an empath - the feelings of death were so powerful it was impossible to block them out. 

“It was all for you.”

He moved fully into Marigold’s lap now, but you remained fixed behind Eris. His armor began warming or perhaps it was getting accustomed to your temperature.

“I know, I know.”

You placed a hand on Eris’s back, rubbing softly as he gently cried into his brother’s head. Blood was pouring from his brother, covering Eris’s armor. Your fingers tangled in his hair, covered in dirt, sweat, and blood.

His eyes stayed on his brother, his chest moving slower and slower.

Lucien moved toward Beron, picking up the crown that had fallen from his head. It looked like an endless supply of berries and twigs, so enticing like you could pop one into your mouth. He moved toward Eris, his steps loud to ensure he was heard. He placed the crown on Eris’s head, reaching over you to do so. 

When Lucien pulled back, he gave you a pained smile. His own armor was covered in blood, but none of his movements looked painful. He looked so worn down, but the Autumn armor he adorned looked perfectly molded to him.

A true son of Autumn back even if for a short moment.

Flint stopped breathing in her grasp and once she knew he was gone, she began sobbing into his head. Your chest filled with emotions, nearly impossible to assign sources to. Every feeling spiderwebbed from your chest, pulling you to multiple fae at once, but you only focused on Eris, his breathing even save for the occasional shudders.

Marigold’s cries filled the room, none of the other brothers dry eyed. A song was being carried on the breeze, mixing with the Lady of Autumn’s cries to produce a haunting melody. As her cries softened, the song became louder. Your ears twitched in recognition, a tune that carried you off to sleep each night.

The song that tied your souls together was a duet and what played on the wind was Eris’s portion. It was deep and quick, a song that took many turns, carrying the listener on a journey. You looked toward Lucien, his raised eyebrows enough for you to know he heard it too.

It was a beautiful song. It sounded like when you were first mates - conversations that often led nowhere, the both of you too worried to be truthful. It sounded of midnight meetings, stolen glances, moments the two of you had tucked away so deep you weren’t sure where memory and dream bled together.

The song would carry you through your life. You had heard it through the worst moments imaginable. As your wings were cut through your body, the knife uncaring as it shredded through bone and skin. And it was one you would hear years from now, the song being carried on the wind, coming in through the open window the lull your babe to sleep. It was a bridge from the vastly different lives the two of you had led. 

The song would carry you everywhere you needed to go, the changing chords so familiar to you they would follow you in death. And yet every time you heard it, your heart filled with curiosity, wanting to know where the song would go next.

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124

[blakeswritingimagines]

I'm A Project Baby *SMUT*

Summary: During the heat of the moment, you both forget about your initial disagreement and focus solely on pleasuring each other.

Warnings: Angry sex, Wall sex, Unprotected sex, Make-up sex, Fem reader, Teasing if you squint, fluff at the end!

Word Count: 2.8k

Little things had been adding up, especially during the busy hockey season. It started on a Friday evening. Juraj had just gotten home from work and you were watching TV. You seemed distracted and didn't respond to his attempts to make conversation. He got annoyed and snapped at you. "Or just don't listen too, that works so well." You listened to his words carefully, your face remained stoic and quiet. You take a deep breath before slowly exhaling from your nose, you then look up at him directly into his eyes, clearing your throat, and speaking, her voice calm but firm as you give the attitude right back at him. "Perhaps I would be more interested in having a conversation if it was actually… you know… stimulating." Rolling his eyes with a scoff. "You know, perhaps I would be willing to put in more of an effort if I wasn't exhausted coming home from work. Maybe you could try to empathize with me, just a little." He started walking over to the shared bedroom, while he talked just so he could change into more comfortable clothes before coming back. "Oh, right, because you're the only one who works," you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "Perhaps you should stop whining and act like a proper adult."

You both started arguing about nothing in particular and even though he knew it was petty, It got heated quickly. You kept going at each other and saying hurtful things that you didn't mean. Things felt really tense and you both started to feel overwhelmed. It was a fight that just kept building up. "You're so stupid, you shouldn't even open your mouth." He spoke as he rolled his eyes and started to walk away again. You took a step forward, blocking the way. "You are not going anywhere. This argument is not finished." You listened to every word, and your smile slowly faded into anger. You clenched your fists, your face becoming hard. You flinched visibly, your teeth clenched together in a grimace. After a moment you looked at Juraj with a cold stare, your heart beating quickly "You take that back."

You caught Juraj off guard. The words hit him like a truck, the look of contempt and anger on your face shook him. He backed away, not willing to take a step forward again. The words you said hit him hard, he regretted calling you stupid, and he regretted that stupid fight. He wanted to say something back but he didn't know what. His mouth was dry and his throat had become tight. He wanted to apologize but he also wanted to walk away, he couldn't bear looking at your face right now - such a strong display of emotions left him speechless. Juraj looks stunned. He stares at you for a moment, unsure what to do. He feels a sudden rush of fear and anger. "You heard me." He clenches his fists, his voice tightening. "I'm not taking anything back." He raised his eyebrows and glanced at you with eyes slightly narrowed, his expression neutral. "I take nothing back. As a matter of fact, I stand behind every single word I have said." He stares at you, eyes narrowing. His body trembles, anger coursing through his veins.

You and Juraj stared hard at each other, neither willing to be the first to back down. The tension hung heavily in the air, both of your breath's coming in short gasps. Your lips pressed together tightly, your eyes narrowing further as you met Juraj's gaze. The anger in his eyes threatened to burn the whole place down. The two felt a sudden rush of anxiety and fear, neither knowing what was going to happen next. As you watched each other with cold intensity. You had never been so angry at him before, and your expression scared him a bit. He looked away, realizing that he had gone too far. "Just leave me alone." his voice was laced with frustration and anger. You walked up to him and grabbed his arm, your tone full of intensity. "Apologize." You squeezed your fingers around his forearm and didn't let go. He stared down at your hand gripped around my arm, his face set into a scowl. "No." He tried to yank his arm free of your grasp, but your grip was tight. He grits his teeth and looked down at you, an air of anger radiating from his whole body. "Why should I apologize? If you want me to apologize, then you should apologize first." He looked away from you, his frustration growing hotter by the second. He can't believe how angry he had become. All of this over a stupid argument.

It started out over nothing. Just a silly argument. Neither of you would back down, and things just escalated. The tension between you rose until it felt like you were drowning in a sea of anger and hurt feelings. You didn't know what to say to smooth things over, and you both felt more hurt with each passing moment. It was like you had dug yourselves into a deep hole, and couldn't climb back out. Your rage increased as his attempt to break free failed. You were not going to let him or this go. He couldn't just walk away from this fight. Your eyes flashed fire before you spoke in a low whisper "You should apologize because you hurt my feelings. I'm willing to forgive you," your eyes narrowed. "But only if you're sorry."

He looked down at the floor, unable to meet your eyes. Something inside him softens, but he's too angry to let it show. This argument has gone on too long, and his anger has only flared up hotter. Why can't either of us just leave the other alone? The thought of walking away again crosses his mind, but knowing he can't let this go. Not yet. He looked back at you, his face softening. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry I hurt your feelings." "I think I need you to prove it." Your eyes burn with intensity as you stare right back at him. You swallowed hard, your breath coming in short gasps. You felt your heart pounding in your chest and your hands shaking by your sides. You wanted to pull away but at the same time didn't want to. The attraction you felt for him was overwhelming and you can't help but want more from him. Your mischievous grin teases the imagination. You watched, your eyes widening with anticipation.

He had let out a chuckle at your response, knowing that you were now fully invested in the little power struggle "Oh really? You want me to grovel for your forgiveness? That's a bit much don't you think?" His voice drops even lower, and he moves closer to you so that you are almost nose to nose "Maybe I should show you just how sorry I am to you." He gave you a wicked grin and licked his lips, teasing you with the idea of what might happen next. Your eyes flared up again with anger, but this time it was mixed with a hint of arousal as well. You felt your heart racing faster than ever before, and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. You didn't know why, but you found yourself completely turned on by the situation "Show me how sorry you really are." Your breath was heavy as you spoke, and you couldn't help but lick your lips nervously.

He smirked and nodded, acknowledging the challenge. Feeling desperate to be allowed inside of you now after everything. He reached down and grabbed onto your hips firmly, pulling you close so that your bodies were pressed together tightly. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and dip while maintaining a dominant grip on you. "Alright then, here's how sorry I am." He leaned in and kissed you deeply, taking control of the kiss and showing you who was in charge. As you continue to kiss passionately, he reached around and started massaging your ass cheeks firmly, making sure you can feel every stroke of his fingers digging into your flesh. His tongue eagerly explores every corner of your mouth as he deepens the kiss further. You both can taste the anger and desire mingling together as your tongues dance together in perfect harmony. As the kiss goes on, he can feel your body responding to his touch, becoming more pliant and submissive with each passing moment. "Mmm... There we go, sweetheart... Letting all that anger out makes you taste so damn good..." As he says this, he started to slide his hand down between into your pants and began to massage your clit through your pants.

The combination of the intense kiss and the stimulation on your clit left you unable to think straight. You moaned into the kiss as you felt yourself getting wetter by the second. You couldn't believe you were allowing this to happen when a fight was just happening, but you found yourself unable to resist. "Fuck… Yes…" Juraj heard you saying between gasps for air as you gave into the pleasure of the moment. As the kiss continued, you could feel your heart racing faster than ever before. You could also feel the pressure building up between your thighs as you began to squirm uncontrollably. You knew that you needed relief, and you hoped that Juraj would be able to provide it for you. "Mmm... Look at you all ready for me like this... So fucking perfect..." He continued to kiss you deeply, and his fingers continued to stroke your clit, feeling the heat radiating off of your sensitive skin. He can hear your soft moans and whimpers filling the room, and it only serves to fuel his own desires.

As he pulled back slightly from the kiss, he looked deep into your eyes and spoke with an authoritative tone "Now who's the one begging?" He asked with a smirk on his face, knowing that he had complete control over the moment at this point. "Tell me what you want, sweetheart. Tell me how bad you need my cock right now." You looked at him with a mix of anger and desire in your eyes as you spoke through heavy breaths "Fuck… I need your cock… I need it deep… I need to feel it stretching me… I need to feel it throbbing inside of me…" You said between gasps for air, unable to contain your lust any longer. The thought of being completely under Juraj's control excited you more than anything else you had ever experienced before. "Please… Give me your cock… Make me yours…"

He chuckled at your response, loving the fact that he had brought you to such a vulnerable state. His cock throbs against his pants, eager to be released and buried deep within you. He reached down and undid his belt buckle, quickly pulling down his pants and boxers before stepping out of them completely. His massive erection springs free. He reached down and started undoing the buttons on your pants, working quickly to get them open so that he can reveal your bare pussy beneath. Once they were open, he pushed them down along with your underwear, leaving you completely exposed to him. "There we go... Nice and ready for me." He said with a satisfied grunt as he admired your wet pussy for a moment before pressing you against a wall and positioning himself at her entrance. He slid one finger inside of you slowly, teasing your tight walls with gentle strokes while looking deep into your eyes. "You're so fucking beautiful when you're like this."

He pulled his finger out feeling like he couldn't take anymore and grasped onto the base of his cock, and guided it towards your entrance slowly, savoring every moment of anticipation. "Alright, sweetheart. Here comes my dick. Are you ready for it?" He asked teasingly, watching as you looked up at him with wide eyes filled with both excitement. "Yes… Fuck me… Deep and hard…" You whispered between labored breaths as you watched him position himself. The anticipation of finally feeling his cock fill you up sent shivers down your spine, and you can't help but squirm with impatience. "Yes… Fuck me…" He smiled at the request, and with a slow, deliberate motion he pushed his hips against your dripping entrance, feeling the heat envelop him as he prepared to enter you. He paused for a moment, savoring the sensation of being surrounded by your warmth and slickness before finally pushing inside of you with one swift motion. "There we go... Enjoying the feeling?" He asked rhetorically as he began to thrust into your tight, wet depths. He can feel the tight grip of your inner muscles wrap around him, pulling him deeper into your body with each stroke.

"Make me yours…" You whispered between gasps for air as you looked up at him with an expression of both neediness in your eyes. "Always been mine, love. Always will be." He said as he pushed inside of you with one final thrust, the feeling of you wrapped around his cock like a glove sent a surge of pleasure through his entire body. "Mmm... Fuck... This feels so good..." You let out a loud moan as he continued to push inside of you, feeling his thick length filling you up completely. You gasp for air between labored breaths. Despite everything that has happened between you both, you can't deny the way that his presence seems to bring out a primal desire within you so easily. As he started to move against you, driving himself deeper into you with each thrust, "Yours… All yours… Just take me… Please…" You begged, "Fuck…" You moan loudly, losing yourself in the moment and finding it difficult to maintain any sense of control or resistance.

He let out a low growl as he felt your walls tighten around him, signaling that you were fully embracing the sensations he was providing you with. He can see the pleasure etched onto your face, and it only serves to fuel his own desire. "Mmm... Yours... All mine..." He said with a grunt as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, slamming into you over and over again. He could feel his cock throbbing inside of you, desperate to unload his cum deep within you. He let out a long groan as he felt his orgasm building up inside of him. He knew that he wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. "Close... So close..." He said as he increased the speed of his thrusts more, wanting nothing more than to fill you with his cum and mark you as his forever. "Gonna fill that little cunny up until there's no room left for anything else..." He said as he felt the first hot streams of precum dripping from the tip of his cock.

He knew that soon he would be unloading inside of you. "Always yours... Forever..." As you felt the first waves of your orgasm crash over you, you couldn't help but let out a long, drawn-out moan. Your body shook slightly as you rode out the intense pleasure. The thought of being filled with his cum sent shivers down your spine, and you knew that you would never be able to forget this moment. "Cum inside of me… Mark me as yours…" You whispered between gasps for air, arching your back as you rode out the waves of pleasure. "Oh god… I'm cumming…Please…" A wave of satisfaction rushes through him after you're done. His body was still trembling from the rush of adrenalin and emotions. He looked at you, smiling. You're both satisfied and content. Your bodies are still pressed together, your breathing heavy and quick. The intensity of the moment is still there, lingering in the air. He reached and started to caress your cheek, his large hand was soft and gentle. He looked into your eyes and smiled softly before softly whispering. "I'm sorry…for real this time."

You gaze up at him as he caressed your cheek, your eyes softening with pleasure at the touch. You feel a flutter of excitement in your heart and close your eyes, enjoying the sensation even more. As he whispered sorry to you, the intensity of the moment grew warmer. Leaning forward and pressed your lips against his, savoring the moment as you breathed in his scent. The intensity of the moment only grew as your bodies pressed closer together. You inhaled sharply through your nose. Your heartbeat sounded in your ears as you looked at him now more shyly. Your eyes met, and your breath caught in your chest as the intimacy between you was palpable. "I love you."

He nodded lightly as you pressed your lips against his. The intensity and passion between you both fill the empty space, your skin soft and smooth. His heartbeat pulsing loudly in his ears. He looked into your eyes and smiled gently, taking in your beauty. You're not only beautiful on the outside, but on the inside as well. "I love you too." He spoke tenderly before leaning in again, kissing you softly. His love for you is undeniable.

[stevie-petey]

Had an idea and wanted to pester you about it (I’m kidding, I hope I’m not actually pestering you). What if you were to write a cute snow day blurb for Stug? Set in between S3 and S4? I ask because it’s currently snowing where I’m at and just thought “dang, that’d be so cute.”

you could never pester me i loooove answering blurbs <33 now if i may pester you i changed the timeline to between seasons 2 and 3 because i couldnt resist the idea of pre-dating steve n bug playing in the snow together n being all shy n cutie ugh

enjoy !

"its snowing," steve leans your desk chair back, nearly tipping over completely as he peers out your window. "like. a lot."

theres a mound of assignments on your desk and you only spare a quick glance outside. "oh," your absent minded tone doesnt go unnoticed by steve. "thats nice."

he narrows his eyes. "i thought you loved snow."

"i do," this time more genuineness comes through your voice. you look outside again and ache when you see just how snow has fallen. "but..."

your head tilts down to the work scattered between you and steve. youre insanely behind on calculus assignments and steve has a lab report three weeks overdue and today is the first real day your injuries from demodogs and billy have healed enough to even attempt to understand what a derivative is.

jonathan is stuck at home taking care of will and promised you hed help you with the math as soon as he was able, but now, with all the snow that inevitably will block the roads, you know youre doomed.

steve sees the stress that tenses your spine and an idea pops into his head. he snatches the homework from you and is running out of your room.

"what the-?" but hes already gone, annoyingly fast when he wants to be.

you run after steve, having no other option, really, and find him and dustin rushing to put their coats on.

"shes here!" dustin screeches when he sees you. he shoves at steve, urging him to hurry up, and your mother watches fondly from the kitchen.

you push past your brother. "what is happening?"

steve zips up coat and winks at you, giving no response other than flinging the front door open and chasing dustin through the snow. theyre gone in a heartbeat, giggling like children as they fucking prance through the falling snow.

"id join them if i were you, y/n." your mom says with a slight chuckle. "steve told me to hide your homework until you were 'soaked in snowflakes'."

your jaw drops. "mom-"

"im sorry, sweet girl." she laughs at you now. "blame that handsome boy of yours and go play with your brother outside. itll be good to get some fresh air!"

"but-"

"wear a coat!"

and then your mother shuts her bedroom door, leaving you to watch steve tackle dustin into the snow as they shriek and wrestle in the slippery ground.

"my eye!" steve squeals in pain, rolling around, and dustin giggles menacingly. feeling your eyes on him, steve flings a distressed hand towards you. "y/n, help a guy out here, would ya?"

even though he cant see you, you still roll your eyes at steve. dustin echoes his own sentiments of wanting you to join. the boys plead with you over and over and youre weak to them.

sighing, you grab your heaviest coat. "if either one of you even thinks about tackling me, youre dead."

dustin salutes you. "yes, ma'am."

you help steve up. his hand is cold and his nose red and eyes shining and you cant help but giggle slightly at the sight of him. theres flecks of snow that line his brown hair and hes a delicate kind of pretty that rivals the spiral of snowflakes.

"saved me again, angel." he winks at you again, causing you to blush.

"shut up." you shove at his chest, avoiding his tender eyes. they reveal more to you than you know hes ready to admit.

steve laughs and dustin throws a snowball at your face and everything is warm and soft.

“COME HOME” BLURB MASTERLIST

if you’d like to buy me a coffee ☕︎