#and then i stepped in melted snow inside in socks

[writteninthebinds]

Tommy and Joel Miller nsfw.

Pt. 2 of “You think they’d make me choose?”

The ride back to Jackson is uneventful, although quiet. Dina throws you a few silent looks. You both shrug your shoulders as if to say what’s their deal?

Luckily, forever the extrovert and queen of I’ll talk myself out of this, Dina does. She talks and talks and ask questions the whole ride back. The weed is a sweet kindling for her attitude, her energy.

She ask Joel about the latest things he’s been building for himself, his woodworking. She gets Tommy talking about his rifle too and the last time he got to go practice long range.

Dina doesn’t miss a beat. She never acknowledges the difference in tension, the thickness in the air. You can feel their eyes on you, peering back ever so often, lingering.

You tell yourself it’s just because you’re being a little more quiet than normal. You know them, how they worry and pick up on any little thing.

Deep down you know you’re wrong.

It’s not until later, until you get back to Jackson, with the horses put away and fed, sun setting fast behind the mountains. It’s not until you’re finally back in your house, standing in front of your fridge, that there’s a soft knock at the back door.

A peek through the curtain shows Joel. He gives the smallest hint of a smile, nods.

You pull the door open with a sigh, the words already tumbling out of your mouth as you start to explain, “Listen, Joel..I know, I know how you feel about the weed..”

Your sentence trails off into the frigid air of the night when you notice it’s not just Joel, but Tommy too.

He stands a little farther back, leaning against one of the pillars of your porch, shoulders dusted lightly with fresh snow. Tommy’s got this look on his face that you can’t read.

Your body language drops, face pulling back. A scoff shoves past your lips as you say, “Oh come on, I’m not in that much trouble, am I? Over a little weed?”

“Ain’t here about the weed.”

His response is immediate, kicks your words in the heels with how fast and sure it comes.

Joel’s voice is unnervingly warm despite the cold. There’s no clattering of teeth or stutter to his breath. It’s just smooth, like velvet, like syrup. Something about it heats your belly from the inside out.

You stand there frozen for a moment. The looks on their faces, the lack of words, it scares you a little.

They notice. They always notice.

Joel hums, drawing your attention back to him from where your eyes had drifted to Tommy.

He gives you a blinding smile. It’s brief, but one that could melt the panties off of a nun.

“We just wanna talk, ‘s all.”

You blink. Swallow.

But before you can say anything else, Joel’s coming in. The steps he takes are dominating. He walks you backwards into your own house without a hand on you.

“Joel.”

You breathe his name more than speak it.

He doesn’t stop.

The fuzzy socks on your feet slide easily against the hardwood floors of your kitchen. Joel’s boots echo loudly, thumping against the wood.

The Miller brothers are not small men. Joel towers over you, shoulders broad enough to cast shadows over your entire frame.

The sound of more steps follow you both inside. Tommy’s.

A soft thud, a click. The door shuts.

Locks.

There’s a thundering in your ears, bending sound and muffling everything. It takes you a minute to realize it’s your heartbeat.

Joel crowds you until your lower back collides with the kitchen island. He cages you in, smelling like winter and smoke and the bay hale from the barn. Cold fingers clasp your jaw, puckering your lips. He gets close. He gets in your face.

“Tell me you meant it,” Joel rasp.

The words sound like they’re being scrapped from his throat. Raw and ragged. He breathes heavily through his nose.

There’s something raging in his eyes. It’s not arrogance or cockiness lacing Joel’s words. He’s not angry. No.

He’s desperate.

He looks like he’s barely holding back.

You try to shake your head, jaw still held tight. Your lips open and close in confusion. Eyebrows drawn, your gaze flickers to Tommy.

He steps closer, slower than Joel had. Who doesn’t budge by the way. No. He stays crowded in, all while Tommy joins.

Your heartbeat jump starts, back fires like a shit box car behind your breastbone.

With gentle fingers, Tommy pushes a few stray hairs from your eyes. His southern accent digs deep, rich and decadent when he finally, finally, speaks.

“All you had to do was ask, sweet girl…If you wanted us both. All you had to do was ask.”

It clicks then.

Panic floods your veins like ice water, but then Tommy’s mouth is on yours.

It’s a whirlwind, a heady combination for one hell of a high. The feeling of Joel’s grip stays on your face, his body heat bleeding into you, but it’s the warmth of Tommy’s mouth that meets yours.

You open up for him immediately, lips parting. Kissing Tommy feels as easy as breathing. Like crisp mountain air, a gentle creek, lazy Sundays. He smells like cinnamon, tastes like whiskey, like they had a drink before they came here.

The kiss is languid. You know it’s barely a fraction of what Tommy’s feeling, but you don’t have time to ask for more, or time to even open your eyes before Joel’s twisting your head, and slotting his own mouth over yours next.

This kiss is different. Joel’s different. He’s more..intense.

It’s still slow but it’s deeper, like he’s trying to swallow you whole, breathe you in. He tastes like whiskey too, and something else, something spiced.

And that’s how you ended up here.

Your head spins, heart slamming against your ribcage with the same rhythm that your pussy throbs.

Bare legs stretched wide and draped over the outside of Joel’s thick thighs. Your back sits flushed with his chest. You’ve never felt anything like this. The way he holds you. It’s not rough. Hands built from years of hard work, a lifetime of violence, they caress you, sweep along your ribs and belly with a soft reverence.

And Tommy..

Tommy’s facial hair scrapes against your bare pussy. He drags the flat of his tongue from your hole to your clit, again and again, like he’s trying to lick right through you.

A moan slips from your throat, head falling back against Joel’s shoulder. He lets out a little teasing laugh, nose brushing the delicate line of your jaw.

Joel purrs, “You like his mouth, pretty girl?”

Tommy Miller is on his knees, eating your pussy like he’s starving for it, like you’re something to worship, all while you sit in his brother’s lap.

Wild black curls fall loose from his ponytail. His own eyes are blown wide, something dark swirled within. He hums straight into your sopping wet cunt.

Your nails dig into Joel’s arm where he holds you steady. You whimper, “Oh fuck. Joel..”

He coos at you, Joel, a little mockingly as he whispers, “I know, baby. I know. Who do you think taught him how to eat pussy like that?”

Joel pinches one of your nipples before he ask softly, “You want more?”

Like a cue, Tommy’s tongue isn’t the only thing touching your pussy anymore. He pulls back, bringing his fingers up and splitting them into a V, spreading you open.

You squirm, and whine a little when Tommy just holds you there and stares.

There’s a heavy beat of silence, a pause.

And then Tommy spits audibly.

Right onto your pussy.

It’s nasty, dirty. It makes your cheeks flush and burn. It even drags a moan from Joel, and it’s like he can’t stop himself anymore.

“Fuck..let me feel her,” Joel grunts.

His hand is sliding down before the words finish leaving his mouth. He was never asking.

Calloused fingertips slip over your clit just as two thick ones push inside. They both curse beneath their breath and yours is stolen from you.

A beautiful stretch that rearranges your mind, your priorities. One that leaves you wondering why you don’t spend all your time like this. Hell, quit your damn job just to stay stuffed full of these beautiful, beautiful men.

There’s a chuckle that rises from beneath you, warm breath that ghost over the wet skin of your inner thigh. Tommy presses a kiss there, eyes playful and sparkling up at you when you manage to unroll your own.

Tommy’s voice is teasing, “If that’s the way you react to just two of my fingers, sweetheart..”

A bone deep shiver runs through you. A blissful little smirk blooms on your face.

You already sound wrecked, voice shaky when you ask, “What? You don’t think I can take cock?”

Simultaneous moans bounce off the cabinets of your kitchen, making you giggle. Joel gives your pussy a light slap, mouth right by your ear when he promises, “You’ll take them either way..won’t ya, baby? You’ll give us whatever we want?”

Tommy curses, feeling you clench around his fingers. You turn your head as much as the position allows, nose bumping somewhere near Joel’s beard before he leans forward. Slick mouths brushing, tongues swirling. You whimper for him.

Your eyes are glazed when you pull back, when you answer boldly, and honestly.

“…Give you whatever, let you both take whatever you want. Just use me,” you breathe.

That shifts something. All the oxygen gets sucked from the room. You feel it crackle and split the air. Tommy and Joel go tense, and then they melt, groaning like you’ve promised them both heaven and hell.

Joel’s hands are already gliding back up your body, wide and firm, finding the heated skin of your exposed chest, your hard nipples. He sounds different now.

“Make her cum,” he demands.

And you feel bold, a little head-rushed and giddy. So with your fingers still buried in Tommy’s hair, you tug hard.

“Yeah, make me cum,” you tease.

Tommy’s eyes snap like a whip with how fast they fly to yours. A shocked bark of a laugh burst from his mouth. You watch in real time as Tommy’s demeanor changes. Like a door opening or a thin curtain being drawn back, the warm light of your kitchen reveals something dark there. Your blood chills.

Joel chuckles behind you, spilling words of warning into your ear.

“Oh, you shouldn’t na done tha’ sweet girl.”

Still locked in the strangest, horniest, staring contest with Tommy, you ask quickly, “Why?”

Joel’s chest rumbles with more amusement.

“Cause he’s gonna wreck that pretty cunt now. Just remember you asked for it.”

And that’s the last thing that’s said before Tommy curls his fingers, with just a little cruelty. He digs into that spongey spot inside you, pulls at it, like he’s gonna pull his fingers out but he doesn’t. The motion tries to jerk you down Joel’s body with the force of it, but he holds tight.

Your pussy screams, squelches and drips, and talks to Tommy in the filthiest manner. He pivots. Pulls away from the spot that’s bound to bring you release, and he buries his fingers as far as they’ll go. He adds another, making your guts jump.

Three deep and dragging deliciously against your inner walls, the heat of his mouth returns as well.

“T-Tommy,” you gasp. Your nails scratch his scalp. He growls into your pussy.

It’s contradictory. Fingers ruthless, rough and speeding up, versus the steady suction on your clit.

It bows your back, heats your belly but cools your skin. Tommy suckles on your clit in sweet steady pulses, like it’s candy coated and like he’s got no where else to be.

You feel it, hear it too. It’s shameful. The noises he’s pulling from your mouth and your cunt. The soft but persistent torture to your nipples from Joel only douses everything in gasoline, building onto that fire in your belly.

It’s hot and sharp. This isn’t an orgasm you’re giving anymore, but one that Tommy’s hell bent on taking. His knees ache from the floor but it’s distant, numb, like he can’t really feel it. All he knows is the taste of you, and your orgasm that’s just out of reach. It’s close enough to nip with his teeth.

He pulls back suddenly and quick, delivering a single loud, hard and echoing slap to your clit. It sings, and he soothes it almost immediately with his tongue.

The sparks light up behind your eyelids and hipbones. Tommy’s fingers catch one last time, shoving hard and grinding against that ridge.

Like glass, you shatter. Thighs shaking, lungs tightening with the pleasure. You cum hard and messy on Tommy Miller’s tongue. He drinks all of it.

You come back to reality with the soothing motion of Joel’s palms running up and down your ribs. His beard tickling your shoulder.

There’s a smile on his face even though you can’t see it. He’s slowing everything down. He hums, “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

Your eyes crack open, limbs heavy and fuzzy.

Tommy’s finally slipped from his knees to sitting on the floor completely, leaning back against the kitchen island. He hadn’t stopped, shoving you further and further into your orgasm when it hit, and he played with your pussy, cleaned you up until you were shaking and jerking in Joel’s lap.

He looks wrecked, almost high. For the first time, you see the hard line of his cock still trapped behind the zipper of his jeans. You can feel Joel’s pressing into the small of your back.

You heave a breath, a cracked hum slipping from your chest as you turn your head to Joel. You bury your face into the space beneath his jaw, nuzzling him like a needy kitten. The words finally come.

“More..can we..?”

He answers with a tightening squeeze of his arms, “Yeah? You sure, baby?”

You nod quickly but soft, almost shy. Joel chuckles at your sweet sated behavior. He delivers two firm pats to your hip before ordering you, “You can have more, sweetheart. Thank Tommy first.”

And just like that, you’re slipping from Joel’s lap. Tommy practically has to catch you as you drop to meet him on the floor. Your legs are still trembling.

Tommy’s got this starry look on his face now, like he loves seeing you like this, post orgasm, all cuddly, a little silly. The crinkles by his eyes are prominent as he smiles.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he whispers back.

You kiss him this time. Quick, before he can take charge. His beard is still soaked with your juices, slicking your own face when you crash your mouths together. You moan at the taste of yourself. Tommy groans at your desperateness, at the way you chase the taste of your pussy on his tongue, like it turns you on.

He has to grip your jaw, rip you away when his lungs burn too deeply. You fight him, trying to pull him back.

“Easy..easy, sweet girl. You can have all you want. I’m not going anywhere,” he promises against your lips.

And then you’re being lifted. Joel’s arms slip beneath your knees and your back, carrying your naked body towards the hall that leads to your bedroom.

This ended up being way longer than I thought it’d be. I tagged a few people who wanted part 2. Might eventually make an actual tag list. Let me know if you’d like to be on it! Thank you guys. 🫶🏼

Pt. 3 of what goes down in the bedroom??? 😏

[just1cefor4ll]

—Don’t dream it’s over

Tobias Rogers x reader

summary. you have a night terror and Toby comforts you

A/N. idk i feel like this whole fanfic is stupid😭😭 this will flop so bad i alr know it

word count. 2.4k

You woke up choking on nothing—no sound, no hands on your throat, but the pressure was there, heavy in your chest, pressing down like something had followed you out of the dream and pinned you beneath it.

It took you a moment to realize you were awake.

The room was dark and quiet, but your heart thundered like the most violent of thunderstorms, hinting at the pure terror you had just woken up from. You sat up, fingers trembling against the sweat-damp sheets, trying to shake the residue of the terror still crawling under your skin. The dream itself was already blurring at the edges, melting into a vague collage of shadows, breathless panic, and something unseen that knew your name.

You looked over.

Toby— sprawled in the mess of the blanket, one leg hanging off the bed, hair sticking up at every angle. Mouth half open. Asleep.

At that moment you felt jealousy eating at you. You would’ve done anything to fall back asleep, peacefully in Toby’s arms but there was no going back to sleep. Not now.

You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could, grabbing warm clothes, thick socks, and the old blanket from the foot of the bed. You wrapped it tight around your shoulders like it might muffle the buzzing in your brain. The kitchen had the morning sun seeping through the small window above the stove, giving you a sort of comforting feeling. You filled your kettle with shaking hands, every creak of the floorboards too loud, every shadow flickering like it moved just before you looked at it.

The tea helped. A little. Steam rising, warm between your palms, a tether to something real.

You stepped outside into the cold before your thoughts could follow you.

The forest greeted you in silence. It stretched far in every direction, tall black trees cloaked in white, the snow turning the world into a frozen cathedral. The porch creaked under your weight as you walked to the hammock strung between the two thick posts. You climbed in slowly, careful not to spill the tea, and let it sway.

The cold didn’t bother you—it felt cleaner— less suffocating than the air inside. The fear didn’t go away, not exactly, but it dulled.

You sat there, eyes fixed on the edge of the woods. Every crack of ice settling in the trees made you flinch, but you didn’t move.

The sound of snow crunching approached from the thick fog, your heart stopping for a moment. At first, your chest seized, convinced it had come for you again—but no.

Deer. A small herd stepping into view a few meters out. Their coats were thick and dusted with snow, their breath fogging the air. One twitched its ears toward you, head tilted. Another bounded a few steps and scattered snow like glitter.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

It was quiet. Beautiful. Fragile in the way things are when you know they can’t last.

Then the cabin door clicked open behind you.

You didn’t flinch, you knew who it was.

Toby’s voice cracked the silence. “Well this is ju—just sad.” You closed your eyes for a second. Of course.

He took a slow step forward. “Blanket. Anxiety tea. The thousand-yard stare. You look like one of those tragic Russian poets about to dramatically fre— fr—freeze to death.”

You sipped your tea. “Well, good morning to you too.”

“Morgen,” he muttered, like the word tasted bad.

You felt the hammock lurch violently as he climbed in beside you, socked feet brushing against your leg, and then he was pulling you into his side without ceremony. He muttered a string of curses when the blanket bunched under his elbow, then yanked it over both of you, tugging you closer.

“Up at five in the goddamn morning, sitting out here like a rejected snow elf,” he grumbled, pressing his cheek to your temple. “Are you trying to die of exposure or just emotionally spiral wh—where it’s scenic?”

There was quiet again. The deer had disappeared back into the trees. The sky had started to shift— pinks and yellows shifting into a light blue softening at the edges, hinting at morning.

Toby’s voice was lower now, less sharp. “You should’ve woken me.”

“You were sleeping.”

“I’m a— always sleeping. Doesn’t mean you g— get to wander out here like a s— sad little frostbite fairy.” He shifted, resting his chin on your head. “Du bist so ein Idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot.” You never understood when he switched to his mother tongue— but that phrase had been etched into your mind after the countless of times he had said it. “Really? Because it somehow keeps b—be—eing true.” He was silent for a beat. Then added, barely audible, “Mein Idiot.” And he wasn’t even wrong.

He stayed pressed close, twitching now and then, whispering little nothings—Liebling, Schatz, mein Herz. Pressing soft kissed to your cheek, jaw and temple.

You took another sip of your tea. The heat had dulled, but the spice still lingered, sharp on your tongue. It anchored you. Toby cupped your cheek, making you look at him. “What’s going on Y/N?” He stared into your eyes, brows furrowed.

Eventually, you exhaled slowly and said, “I’m fine.”

“Right,” he muttered. “Because drinking anxiety tea on a frozen porch at ass-o’clock and staring into the snow-covered woods like you’re auditioning for a tragic ghost story is the perfect description of being fine.”

You gave him a look. “It’s just tea.”

He raised his eyebrows. “It’s cinnamon-clove-nightmare juice. That’s not casual sipping tea, Liebling. That’s ‘I woke up in a cold sweat and now I’m contemplating mortality’ tea.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t argue. Because you knew he was right.

And, annoyingly, so did he.

“I see you don’t wan—wanna talk,” he said, quieter now. “And I get that. I do. But don’t pretend you’re okay when you’re o—out here breathing like the world’s gonna collapse if you make t—too much noise.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” he cut in, but not sharply. “I’m not mad. Just.. don’t lie to me. Not about that.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. His eyes weren’t mocking or smug or teasing like usual. They were serious. Focused. A little tired, maybe, with the shadow of something soft and bruised underneath. He kept looking at you like he was memorizing this version of your face. The quiet one. The one you usually kept tucked away.

“You’re doing that thing with your jaw,” he said suddenly. “The one when you’re trying not to c—cry.”

You blinked.

His fingers traced down from your cheek to your jaw, tapping it lightly. “Rig—r—right there. Tight. Like you’re ho—holding something in your teeth.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. Don’t argue, Schatz, you’re terr—terrible at it.” He leaned his head back against the edge of the hammock, letting out a long breath that steamed in the cold air.

“I can’t always tell what you’re feeling,” he said. “I know I mess up sometimes. I say the wrong thing. I make it worse. But I notice. I see y—you.”

The words settled into the cold like something heavier than they should’ve been.

“I know,” you said, voice rougher now.

He looked over at you again. “You don’t have to pretend, Y/N. Not with me. You can be a wreck and I’ll still—” His voice caught slightly, so he covered it with a twitch of a grin. “I’ll still annoy the hell out of you.”

You breathed in through your nose and let your eyes fall shut for a moment. His words were the kind that didn’t demand anything from you. They just landed. Sat beside you like a warm coat you didn’t realize you needed until it was there.

Then you sighed.

“I said I’m fine Toby.”

And just like that, he blinked—expression flickering from open concern to exaggerated disbelief in one beat.

“And I call bullshit Shatz.”

You rolled your eyes, but the effort to keep your expression neutral was already slipping. Something in your throat pulled tight.

You didn’t say anything for a while and Toby decided not to push.

The sky was starting to change—slow and subtle, grey giving way to soft blue, like someone was brushing light across it with the edge of their thumb. The trees didn’t move. The world was still holding its breath.

“Y’know,” he said finally, “you’re allow— allowed to not be okay.”

You didn’t answer.

“I’m serious. Even if you wanna be the emotionally cryptic badass a— all the time. I still notice.”

You looked down at your entwined fingers.

Then up at him.

You didn’t mean to say anything. You meant to sit in silence, like always. But your hand tightened around the mug until your knuckles went pale, and the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I feel like something followed me out of it.”

Toby stilled beside you.

You kept your eyes forward, locked on the snow-laced trees, but your voice dropped into something quiet and raw. “The dream. It—something in it.. it didn’t stay in there. It crawled out with me. I know how that sounds.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. Just shifted slightly, the hammock creaking.

“It’s like—” You hesitated, breath fogging in the air. “Like there’s something just outside my vision. Watching. Waiting. I know it’s not real, but I can’t convince my body. It’s like my skin knows something I don’t.”

There was a long silence.

And then your hands started shaking.

“It won’t go away,” you whispered. “That feeling. That something is wrong. That something’s here. With me. All the time. Even now.”

The tears started then—not loud, not dramatic. Just slow. Relentless.

Toby didn’t say a word. He just moved—gathered you up in his arms like it was instinct. Like it was nothing. Like it was everything.

You buried your face in his chest, hands gripping his hoodie. “I can’t make it stop,” you said into the fabric. “My brain knows there’s no one watching. That it was just a dream. But my body—my body is stuck. I keep checking the shadows. The windows. I feel like if I blink too long, something’ll be there when I open my eyes.”

He let out a quiet sigh, shifting closer to you, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand.

“Look at me, Schatz.”

You hesitated, then slowly turned your head. His eyes were softer now, focused on you with something almost tender—a rare calm in his usual storm of teasing.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said again, this time a little more firmly. “You know I—I’m right here with you. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

You nodded slightly, still feeling the unease tugging at you, but his words grounded you, like an anchor you hadn’t known you needed.

“Stop looking ov—over your shoulder,” he said softly. “Whatever it was, it’s not here now. You’re not in that dream anymore. You’re right her—here with me, in the cold, on this stupid porch. Not in there. Understand?”

You swallowed, still hesitant but feeling a little lighter, just by the firmness in his tone.

“Okay,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“You think I’m letting some ghost take you? N— nah,” he said with a soft laugh, though it wasn’t light. “No chance. Not as long as I’m around.”

You didn’t laugh, but you felt the weight on your chest lighten just a little bit.

Toby shifted so that he was fully facing you, his body pressing just slightly against yours. He didn’t pull away or try to make it less serious.

“Listen to me,” he said, a bit more forceful now. “I get it. I really do. That shit lingers. It sticks to you like sap, and it’s har—d to shake off. But if you think for one second that I’m gonna let you be alone with it, you’re wr—wrong.”

You finally looked at him, meeting his eyes—his gaze was steady now, no teasing, no nonsense. Just the familiar softness of someone who understood.

“I’ve got you, Liebling,” he said, the words simple, but there was weight in them. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re not doing this alone.”

For a second, you just stared at him, blinking the last of the tears away, the unspoken understanding passing between you.

“I don’t know how you do that,” you murmured, a shaky exhale escaping your lips. “Make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is,” he said with a quiet confidence, though his words were steady, like a promise. “The ghosts? They don’t st— stand a chance against me.”

You couldn’t help the half-smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. “You’re an idiot.”

“True,” he agreed, his grin finally breaking through. “But I’m your i—idiot.”

His arms tightened around you, the warmth of his touch the only thing that seemed to push the icy feeling away. He didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the silence stretch comfortably between you.

“You’re safe, Schatz,” he murmured after a while, voice low. “I don’t care what the dream says, or how it feels. Nothing’s watching you. Just me. And trust me, these eyes can never get enou— en— enough of you.”

You let out a quiet breath, something in your chest loosening just a little.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he said, the word solid and final, like a vow. “I’m here, sweet thing. Nothing’s taking you fro—from me.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder, allowing the tension to slowly, slowly start to fade. The world was still cold, and the paranoia lingered at the edges of your mind, but for now, in the quiet of the moment, it felt easier to breathe.

“Okay,” he said. “Now that we’ve sh—shi— shared our souls and cried into each other’s hair, I vote we go inside.”

You sniffed. “You don’t have hair long enough to cry into.”

He blinked, mock-wounded. “So rude. My hair is the perfect length to cry into, thank you very much.”

You smiled weakly, which, for Toby, was a challenge—to make you at least giggle. He kissed every inch of your face, covering it with the love he had for you. Slowly, he began to tease, making his way from your jaw to your neck. You chuckled softly, pressing your hands against his chest.

“Enough, Toby. I get it,” you laughed—not too energetically, but it was still a laugh.

“Five more minutes,” he muttered. “Then I’ll go burn toast for us.”

“You always burn it.”

“It’s got layers, Liebling. It’s com—complex. It tells a story.”

“It tells a story about fire hazards.”

He gave you one final kiss to your temple and scooped you into his arms, going back into the warm embrace of the cabin.

“You know you love it,” he murmured.

And like always, he was fucking right.

© just1cefor4all— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

[luveline]

hi jade!! could we get some kbd!steve where r has had a long week at work or something like that and steve makes her favorite for dinner and she just gets all clingy and a little teary and all that mushy ushy stuff

KBD —mom!reader, 2k

The drive home feels longer, roads you’ve taken each week day for years metamorphosed into winding lanes and long stretches of tarmac. You stop at the small store just outside of your neighbourhood and attempt to pick out a treat for each girl and your sweet husband. 

It costs more than the tags say it will. Your bag breaks on the way to the car. You have to go back into the store to buy Steve another glass coke, but he deserves it. If you think about crying on the street that leads into yours, it’s your secret. 

The door opens before you’ve parked the car. Avery waits on the stoop, shifting from foot to foot in excitement. The second the car is off, she’s barrelling down the step of the house without shoes. 

“Ave! Babe!” you say, laughing as she pins you in place. “No, go back inside! It’s so cold out here!” 

“I couldn’t wait to see you!” she whines. 

Steve is there and down the steps immediately. He grabs her up and tosses her over his shoulder, laughing but clearly disapproving, “I didn’t even hear the door, just you yelling,” he says. “Shit, come on, come inside, it’s freezing!”

“Steve, you’re not wearing socks either.” 

“I had to save my girl. Where’d she go, did you see?” 

Avery giggles roaringly against his back. “Dad, put me down!” 

Steve gets Avery unharmed back inside of the house. He lets you pass and locks the front door, it’s creaking, stuck handle slammed up and key turned. He puts the chain on, like you’re being followed, checking the peephole before turning to you with this look, arms out and hands up, a sign of relief coursing through him. “My girl,” he says, cupping your face in both hands. 

You give a surprised smile. 

“I thought I was your girl!” Avery says.

“You are my girl,” Steve says, tipping your head to one side. He’s smiling like it’s his birthday, or like you just told him you found a hundred dollars in one of your pockets. “But mom’s my girl, I have a couple, you know?” He talks to Avery, stares at you. “I’m glad you’re home. I have a surprise for you and I hate waiting.”

“You do?” 

He squeezes your cheek and parts from you. “Ave, go get some socks. I’m gonna turn the heating up. Wait, let me feel those feet before you go.” 

“You are not touching my feet, you tickle.” 

“Then go get some socks on them! Gosh, you’d think I just left the front door unlocked or something, the way she ran out.” 

He shares a big smile. 

In the kitchen, the shutters are open. The lingering piles of yet to melt snow in the back yard make the whole room white, illuminating the family table, the fridge covered in magnet-pinned drawings and appointment cards, the sink and all the drying dishes. Poor Steve, he must do the dishes three times a day before you get home. 

There are things covered on the stove waiting to be reheated, and in the oven, you can see a large ceramic baking tray. 

“What are you making?” you ask. 

“That’s your surprise, honey. That and one more thing.” 

You shake your head, nonplussed. “What?” 

Steve opens the cabinet under the sink to unveil a bouquet of flowers. Which means he must’ve gotten four girls dressed to take to the store on a day where he hadn’t needed to. He must love you a whole lot to bother.

“What’s in the oven?” you ask. 

Steve puts the bouquet in its vase on the table for you to inspect. “Your favourite, duh. All the trimmings. Enough for you to have three helpings, if you want.” 

“What’s the occasion?”

“Since when do we need an occasion?” he asks, taking your wrist across the table. 

You give the flowers a good long analysis. Your favourite flowers too, with baby’s breath, carnations and peonies to bulk it out, all light pinks or whites, the odd light blue one tucked throughout. 

“I think I was having a bad day,” you say. 

“What?” he asks worriedly. “What’s wrong?” 

He should know not to ask you like that when you’re upset to begin with. He’s lucky you don’t burst into breathless sobs there and then, but your eyes go hot, your waterline fills, and he’s all to easy to collapse against for a hug. The bag at your elbow clinks against him. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

“Sure, honey, but what happened?” 

You sound squeezes as an orange for juice as you explain it, wobbly in his arms, “It’s just been such a long week, m’sorry, and I had a bad day, and I got you a glass coke from Ernie’s but the bag broke, so I had to go back in and tell them I smashed glass out there–”

“Maybe Ernie should get better bags,” he says. 

“Sorry. I shouldn’t cry over coke.” 

“No, you should never cry.” He encourages you back to kiss your nose, still smiling as he says, “Ever. They should make crying illegal, I don’t wanna see you doing it ever.” He taps you under the chin. “You’re home, cool? Nobody can bother you for the next two days, it’s just me, and your daughter, and your other daughter, and your other,” —he starts laughing as you do, infected— “daughter, and that baby. Also a daughter.” 

“Oh, yes. Who can forget my troop of girls,” you say, sniffling as he swipes under your eye with his thumb. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

You could tell him everything now, or you can save it up for tonight, tell his shoulder after dinner and a shower and a few hours of TV and chips. It’ll all feel less shitty then. And he’s drawn your attention where it should’ve been —where are your girls? 

“I’m okay. Thank you, handsome.” 

“Handsome.” He feels down your arm, pretty and warm among a cool-white kitchen. “Flirt. How about you go give your kisses and I’ll set the table?” 

“You sure?” 

He’s all smiles, it’s crazy. “The quicker I feed you the better, I’d wager. Kiss for luck?”

What luck? you think, but pout softly for a kiss that rocks your world regardless 

I’m a princess, you think, pushing the door that leads to the living room. Inside, Beth, the second eldest, is sitting with Wren, the baby. Wren is sitting on a playmat in a duckie covered onesie, smiling and giggling as Beth puts on a show. Beth’s holding an octopus toy and a Barbie, making them talk to one another in different voices. 

You don’t want to interrupt them, but Wren sees you over Beth’s head and starts doing the wiggly, nearly frantic things babies do when they’ve missed you. If you don’t grab her quickly she’ll burst into tears. 

“Beth!” you say, kneeling down beside her as you grab her sister. “Hi, bubby. What are you playing?” 

Beth reminds you that you’re beautiful, your smile on her lips as she says, “Mom! When did you come home?” 

“Just a few seconds ago.” You situate Wren on your chest for kissing, popping a few spares on Beth’s temple. “Okay? Good day?” 

“Great day!” 

“Good, I’m so glad.” 

Beth crawls to you to give you a hug from the side. Somewhere in the background, Avery calls, “Daddy! Dove is making a mess in my room AGAIN!” and Steve’s calling back, “Okay! I’ll be right there, Avery! Just gimme a minute!”

“DAD!” 

Wren gurgles at you. “Da?” she says. 

“Heard that, did you?” you ask her. 

Steve takes the long way, pushing into the living room and throwing a grin at the three of you on the floor. “Honey, I’ll be right back. The table’s set, okay? You can go sit down and I’ll start plating up.” He doubles back before he can leave, again staring at you with a smile. “Jesus, you’re perfect. I could just look at you forever.”

“Isn’t he charming?” you ask Beth. 

She gives an agreeable nod.  

The moment he’s gone you realise you actually don’t want him far away from you. It’s a strong feeling to understand it while bathed in love from two beautiful kids who missed you. Wren tries to kiss you, surely wanting one of her own, while Beth gets up and tries to persuade you too. 

“Come on, mommy. We can sit at the table.” 

So you go, mostly because she sounds adorable. You carry Wren to the table and find Steve’s already made her her soft food. You try to make baby food a few days worth at a time, but it’s nice to let her have little tastes of the same meal as everyone else. He’s blended some of the veggies into a bowl, sat cooled and waiting for her with a bib on the high chair. 

“Your daddy’s in great form today,” you mumble into her hair, sitting her down, and attempting to get the bib on her before she can grab her spoon. She’s enthusiastic, but not actually coordinated enough to use one yet. You sit down by the high chair to feed her. 

“Is it okay if I sit here?” Beth asks, taking your usual seat. 

“Yeah, of course. Want me to serve you now, or could you wait, bubby? Just until dad comes down.” 

Beth shakes her head. You forget sometimes that she’s not a baby, not a toddler, but a child big enough to grab her own knife and fork. “I’ll wait, just have some bread.” 

“Okay, bubby. Thank you. You gonna butter it yourself?” 

“Yeess,” she drags out. 

Steve brings Avery back, along with your last, grumpiest daughter, Dove. She isn’t necessarily miserable, just contrary. When she was Wren’s age she’d already mastered the word no, when she sees you, she glares at you, crying out in disbelief, “You’re in my seat!” 

“Come and sit on my lap, big girl, I gotta feed your sister.” 

“I don’t want to sit on your lap.” 

“That’s hurtful.” You pout at her with loving eyes. “Dove, didn’t you miss mommy? I missed you soooooo much.” 

Success. She climbs into your lap and lets you rub her arm while you can. Steve takes the seat on Beth’s other side, further away then you would’ve liked. He serves everybody their dinner, does it all beaming and fawning over his dinner guests. 

Your bad week fades away. By the time Steve’s stolen Wren-duty and you’ve finished your dinner, you’re feeling delightfully full and doubly loved. Like they know you need it, each of your daughters capable of doing so gives you a hug (or in Dove’s case, a kiss on the arm). 

Leaving you, and Steve, and baby Wren. 

“What do you think, milk?” he asks her. 

She seems to think it over. “Ba?” she asks. 

“Buppy? You want your buppy?” 

He pulls her out of her high chair, makes her a bottle of milk with her held to his chest, and then sits down in the chair next to you to cradle her and feed her a few ounces. 

“So,” he says, as though he isn’t exhibiting frankly audacious levels of dad-stamina and esteem, “about that long week, are you feeling okay?” 

You hold his wrist where he holds the baby. Wren’s getting so big, she takes up the length of his arm, a healthy chub around her neck and on her tummy. 

“Y/N?”

“I’m okay, yeah.” 

“Just got on top of you?” 

“Yeah, I guess so. Shit, I didn’t get you your coke or anything for dinner. I got the girls chips.” 

“It’s okay, we have time to spoil them. They ate tons.” 

“What was breakfast like after I left?” 

“Avery was so happy she didn’t have school I don’t think she noticed there were no fruit slices.” 

You fall into conversation. He leans against your shoulder as you rub the length of his arm, encouraging your clinging to the fullest extent. 

[seellove]

X Games // sukuna x female reader // Ski/Snowboard AU

Masterlist

// (3.5k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3

You and your husband, Sukuna, visit your vacation home at your favorite ski resort for a ski and snowboarding trip. You get in an argument the first morning with Sukuna pushing your buttons like usual. However, you exact your revenge by teasing your husband throughout the day until he snaps and can't take it anymore.

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Human Reader and Sukuna, established relationship - marriage, explicit smut, skiing and snowboarding AU

Note about Resort Lingo: greens - the easiest ski runs / blues - intermediate level ski runs / blacks&double blacks - expert level ski runs

AN: It’s cold af where I live and everyone keeps going up to the mountains to ski lol, thus this AU was born

“Sukuna, can you not wear your boots in the house?” you groan as you see him appear in the doorway of your bedroom. He’s all bundled up in warm pants and a coat and those godforsaken snow coated boots that have surely tracked ice all through the house just to become pools of melted water. His rosy cheeks and watery eyes hint at the frigid weather outside.

“I was bringing our stuff inside. Do you really expect me to take my shoes off with every trip I make?” he retorts, dropping the bags on the floor as if to prove a point. You had gotten in late to your vacation house at the ski resort and had only brought the bare minimum inside to get ready for bed. 

“And I very much appreciate you bringing everything inside, however, now there are puddles all over the floor that I’m going to step in with my socks,” you cross your arms and sigh. You feel like you rehash this every time you come up here. 

You know your husband is stubborn and hard headed, but also devious enough to know what gets under your skin and do it anyways. You’ve been together almost 8 years now, married for the last two. You know how he is by now, and based on your past experiences, you know he’s doing it on purpose by the way his mouth curls up into a smirk. 

“I’ll try to be better in the future sweetheart,” he flutters his lashes jokingly before turning around to go back outside. 

You roll your eyes and go back to putting both of your clothes into the sleek dressers. You loved the furniture in the house, Sukuna had bought it just before you got married two years ago and let you lead the charge with the interior designer to fill the space. It was the perfect combination of modern and rustic, well suited for a multimillion dollar house in a high end ski town. 

You hear Sukuna’s heavy footsteps coming back to the room. You tense up at the sound of his wet boots squeaking on the hardwood floor. 

“Sukuna. Take. The. Boots. Off.” you snap at him.

“I am, I’m done now,” he shrugs before sitting down on the side of the bed. 

You clench your jaw at his response, shooting daggers at him from behind. You can almost feel the smirk he’s surely sporting knowing he’s riled you up.

“I put your clothes into the dresser by the door,” you mutter at him.

Sukuna whips around and beams at you. 

“Thanks babe, what would I do without you?” he winks, slicking his pink hair back. You want to slap those face tattoos right off his cheek at the moment. You love him to death but boy he aggravates you sometimes. 

You roll your eyes and head down to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. It’s spacious and modern, opening up to the living room with floor to ceiling windows, showing off the snowy Mountain View that seems to stretch on forever.

Then it happens, the cold wet feeling of water seeping through your sock. 

You’re gonna fucking kill him.

No, a better idea, get your revenge. You’ve got some ideas up your sleeve on how you can get back at him. You put on your best happy poker face and head back to your bedroom. 

“Honey I got you a cup too,” you place a mug down on the nightstand. Sukuna is in the process of pulling a tight black shirt over his washboard abs, the tattoos that snake down his stomach disappearing as he gets it situated. He’s annoying but fuck he’s hot. He’s gonna get even hotter in a little while…

“Thank you dear,” he smiles, tugging you towards him and planting a kiss on your forehead. He could be sweet when he wanted, which honestly is most of the time with you. You never would have married him if he treated you in the same cold and cocky manner as the rest of the general population. 

You run your fingers down his abs that are visible through the tight base layer, relishing the sharp ridges that indicate how shredded he is. You keep going until you find the bulge in his boxer briefs that is half hard, delicately running your nails along his clothed length before giving it a few good squeezes. 

“Oh fuck,” Sukuna hisses, pushing himself into your hand.

You release him as soon as he indicates he wants more, much to his disappointment. Turning away from him, you walk across the room to get into your ski attire. You make sure to strip down and stay naked for as long as possible, not bothering to look his way, bending down for longer than necessary to fish your clothes out of the bottom drawer.

You hear Sukuna clear his throat behind you, and now you sport your own hidden smirk, knowing he does that when he’s getting restless and turned on. You turn back around so your bare chest is facing him, glancing up momentarily to meet his wide eyes, hand palming himself through his boxers.

“Are you gonna finish getting ready?” you say nonchalantly as you pull your sports bra on, never breaking eye contact.

You can tell his jaw clenches by the way his cheek scrunches up towards his eye. 

“Seems like you might want to finish some other way,” his voice has deepened with that familiar lusty tone. 

Good, everything is going according to plan. 

“We had sex last night, I’m good,” you respond, remembering how in the middle of the night you’d had one of those sloppy, barely awake fucks that sometimes just happen at 3AM. 

“Hmph,” he grunts.

***

You are waiting out on the slope, poles keeping you steady while Sukuna is on the ground, clipping his snowboard bindings in. Another great thing about the house was that it was ski in ski out, something you never dreamed you’d experience until your successful and wealthy husband. 

You’d met him at this very resort during your sophomore year of college. Your college was only an hour away from some of the best ski resorts in the country, so you and your girlfriends had rented a house for a long weekend while some of your frat friends had rented one next door. 

As frat trips usually do, more people show up than anticipated, including Ryomen Sukuna, well known heartthrob with bad boy energy. You knew him as the cocky loud guy that pulled way too many women and did way too many drugs, “DO NOT APPROACH” practically plastered all over him.

Come to find out, he and you were by far the best at snowsports from your large group. You’d kept up with him on a black diamond with ease, proving to him that you could ride with him that day….and that night as you both opted to stay behind when everyone got dinner in town, riding him on the leather couch as he licked and sucked at your tits in his face. You’d snuck around everyone playing this game all weekend, blowing by everyone during the day as you raced down the mountain while Sukuna was blowing his load into you every night. 

It didn’t stop that weekend, and hasn’t stopped since, you were inseparable after that weekend and here you are, eight years later, getting ready to shred your favorite mountain together for the nth time.

You do a few warm up runs, riding the blues near one of the smaller chair lifts to get loosened up. 

You reach the bottom, aiming for Sukuna’s red and black helmet, easily recognizable from afar.

“Ready to go up to the blacks?” he asks. He’s already unzipped his coat, always getting hot when he boards. 

“Yeah,” you answer, making your way together towards the large chairlift to carry you further up the mountain. 

You get settled on the lift together and begin the ascent, your skis and his snowboard clacking against each other as they sit suspended below you both. 

You’ve got about 7 minutes until you get to the top, just enough time to move into your next phase of revenge. 

You take off your helmet and gloves, the cold air biting at your bare skin. Without warning, you slip your hand into his exposed waistband, grabbing his dick which hardens almost instantly under your touch.

“What the fu-ohhhh,” he moans as you start to slowly pump his cock.

You feel the sticky pre cum beneath your skin, slicking everything up, allowing you to more easily glide along his length. His head falls against the back of the chair, making it sway lightly.

You watch his eyes close and his jaw tighten as he starts to thrust himself up into your hand, meeting each stroke of yours. 

You keep up the pace, keeping an eye on how close you were to the end of the ride. Probably another minute. He jerks under your touch, a deep groan leaving his lips. 

“I’m close, keep going,” he utters, eyes scrunching up in the familiar way when he’s about to finish.

That is if you’d let him, which you don’t as you release him and pull your hand out of his pants. 

“Wha’? No, why’d you stop?” he whines as he whips his head up to look at you, a distressed look on his face. 

“We’re almost at the top,” you say innocently.

“We still have like one more minute,” Sukuna says in that same whiny tone. 

You are loving this. 

“My hand was cold,” you lie, “we can keep going on the next ride up.”

“Fine,” your husband huffs, pulling up the lap bar as you approach the exit point. You both ride off to the side so Sukuna can strap himself in. He lays down on his back, staring at the sky.

“Ready?” you stare down at him.

“Gimme a minute, you got me all hard back there and it won’t go away.”

You giggle, waiting silently next to him. After another minute or so he speaks again in his scratchy voice.

“Can you go over there? Or somewhere else? Not here?” 

“Is my presence keeping you bricked?” you joke, giving a sultry tone to your words.

“Fuck off….yeah it is,” Sukuna scoffs, averting his gaze from your eyes. 

You turn your skis downhill, carving your way down the slope until you hit a bend in the run, losing sight of your poor husband. 

You’re sure he’s going to lose it on the next ride up…

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sukuna ripping down the slope, kicking up powder into the air with each sharp turn he makes. He’s fucking good at this, there’s no denying it. He passes you by and you turn to follow him, both of you carving and weaving your way down the steep slope until you reach the bottom of the first run. 

“Let’s take this lift so we can get back up faster,” Sukuna tugs at your arm.

“No I wanna ride all the way back to the bottom of the mountain,” you say, standing your ground.

Sukuna sighs.

“Alright, let’s go.” 

He turns and leaves you behind, barely missing a child as he recklessly bombs down the hill.

You laugh to yourself as you follow him down, finding him already in line waiting for you at the big lift.

You go through the usual motions: Let the operator scan your pass, push yourselves out in front of the next chair, fall back into the cushion as the seat hits the back of your legs, pull down the lap bar, Sukuna pulls his cock out-

What the fuck? Not part of the routine.

“What are you doing,” you look at him as he pulls his helmet off and sets it next to him, his sweaty pink hair plastered to his forehead.. 

“Can you touch it again?” he’s almost pleading. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” you wink at him as you start on the next phase.

This time you lean down into his lap, Sukuna cursing through his teeth as he realizes what you are about to do.

You take him in your mouth, his skin warming up quickly as you take him all the way to the back of your throat. His dick is so big, even though you’ve sucked him off more times than you can count at this point, it still takes some time to adjust. 

The high altitude makes the air already thin and hard to breathe, his thick cock being down your throat doesn’t help. You bob up and down on his length, swirling your tongue around his tip each time you come up. 

“Fuckkkkk baby,” Sukuna groans as you feel his hand on the back of your head, not pushing down yet but insinuating he’d like it a whole lot if you did. 

Your steamy breath is clouding your vision with each deep exhale. Sukuna has his own cloud above him as he gasps with each thrust into your throat. He’s thrusting up into you again, babbling under his breath.

“Thas right baby, fuckin’ suck my cock, in fron’a all these people. Makin’ me feel so fuckin’ good, fuckin’ love you, holy shit,” he stutters as you feel him starting to harden even more. 

You keep going, knowing he’s getting close. He accidentally kicks his board against your skis as he starts to swell in your mouth. 

“Fuck fuck baby keep goin’, gonna cum ba-“

You pull off with a pop of your lips, his erection staring back at you almost as angry as your husband’s face. 

“Baby! What the fuck! No! Keep going!” Sukuna’s exasperated voice cuts through the low hum of the chair lift.

“It was getting hard to breathe, do you really want me to keep sucking your dick every time I feel like I’m going to pass out?” you use a similar phrase that he used this morning.

Sukuna’s mouth falls open as he glares at you. 

“Is this still about my boots in the house? You gotta be fuckin' kidding me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stare at him with calm bold eyes, your poker face so on point.

“You’re such a fuckin’ bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he starts to pout. 

You are doing fucking cartwheels in your mind seeing him all hot and bothered. 

“We’re doing the trees this time,” Sukuna growls next to you. 

“Okay!” you smile.

You love riding the trees, the skill needed to anticipate three steps ahead of you to wind through the forest floor successfully is a fun challenge. 

Sukuna takes off immediately, sailing past the double black diamond sign without much of a glance. You follow him, following his path through the trees. This run is usually deserted, so challenging that it’s almost unenjoyable, so you are a little annoyed that Sukuna went this direction. 

Up ahead you see him slow down and seemingly fall onto his side.

Sukuna never crashes, so you are a little concerned at the sight. You quickly but safely make your way over to him. He’s out of his bindings now, he must have come unclipped.

“Are you ok?” you ask when you come to a stop next to him. 

He doesn’t answer you at first, instead pulling his helmet off, tossing it on the snowy ground.

“What are you-“

But you can only finish that thought with a squeak as he rips your poles out of your hands, jamming them into your ski bindings, releasing your boots from the skis.

He picks you up in one arm as if you weigh nothing, his other arm flipping his snowboard over and pressing it into the snow. 

“Had enough of your little antics on the lift back there,” Sukuna growls into your neck as he bites and sucks on the sensitive skin. You gasp at his dominant actions, clinging your body against him as he shoves his snowboard pants and boxers down to his knees. 

He doesn’t even seem to be phased by the sharp cold air, his one goal now to do the same to you. He doesn’t pull yours down as far, he knows you’re more sensitive to the cold.

“Oh my god,” you moan as he shoves two of his massive fingers through your folds and into your soaked cunt. The moans and cries coming from you slice through the still silence of the forest, no one close enough to hear the way he’s fingerfucking you in the freezing cold.  

He quickly withdraws from you, the sudden emptiness making you whimper.

“Gonna fuck you, ok?” Sukuna groans as he falls backwards onto his board, knees bent so you can lean your back against his thighs. 

The cold snow on your exposed skin shocks you as some gets kicked up from his weight hitting the board. 

“Sorry,” he says, quickly brushing it off of you.

He wastes no time lining you up with his massive cock, slamming you down on his full length until your ass hits his thighs.

“Oh my god,” you cry out at the sudden stretch as his fat tip bullies its way through your walls and slams your cervix. 

Sukuna’s eyes practically roll back as you clench around his length, fingers digging into your hips. He bites his lip as he starts to thrust slowly up into you, each drag of his cock along your walls making you shudder.

The slapping sounds of his skin against yours gets louder and louder as it echoes through the forest. The deep snow absorbs most of the sounds coming from your mouths as he fucks up into you with a punishing pace. Your whole body is at his mercy as you just let him have his way with you. 

Your eyes meet, his own softening as he gives you a smirk. You can feel the depths of his love for you, you can’t explain it, but the way he makes you feel like the most important thing in this moment says it all; the way his eyes look at you with such reverence, the way he keeps your body from touching the cold ground, instead sacrificing his own, the way he shallows up his thrusts when you grimace from the depth, he’s so attuned to you and your comfort always.

You start to feel his thrusts falter, becoming more frantic, losing the rhythm he’d set as he careens toward his release. 

“I’ll make you cum after this at the house,” he says through heavy breaths as you feel his cock harden even more inside of you.

“I’m not gonna cum anyways, too cold,” you chuckle, eliciting a knowing grin from Sukuna. 

“Figured, I’ll take care of you though,” he jokes, as he pulls you down to him, capturing your lips into a desperate kiss, devouring you from the inside as he shoves his tongue into your mouth.

You try to kiss him back, but normally it’s futile when he’s close like this. The man goes absolutely feral and loses all restraint when he’s at the brink of his orgasm, so you’ve learned to just go with it instead of attempting to assert any type of control over the situation.

He grips your hips like a vice as he pulls you down hard to meet a final deep thrust, spilling himself inside of you with hot ropes of cum. His pulsing cock throbs against your walls as he empties himself within you, groaning your name loudly. 

He finally stills, the fog thick from both your mouths as you try to catch your breaths. He peppers your face with soft kisses as he pulls you tightly against his chest.

“Holy fuck I love you. That was so hot,” Sukuna sighs, letting his arms fall to his sides, sinking into the snow.

“I love you too, I’m so cold though,” you shiver against his body. 

“Oh yes, right!” Sukuna sits up quickly, pulling himself out of you, his hot cum falling to his lower abs, the steam wafting off as it hits the cold air. He pulls your pants back up and takes off his coat, wrapping it around you.

“Better?” he asks as you fall back into the snow to face him. He’s practically sitting in the snow with his pants still pulled down to his knees.

“Yeah I’m fine, but what about you? Get your bare ass out of the snow!” you gasp at him, worried he’ll get frostbite or something.

“Babe I’m fine, I’m fucking sweating,” he chuckles as he pulls his pants up.

“Even worse! Let’s get back to the house and warm up.”

“Yes ma’am,” Sukuna jumps up and pulls you up easily with him. You both strap back in and quickly make your way back to the house. 

Stopping at the back door, you both remove your gear and lean it against the exterior wall. Sukuna unlocks and goes to open the door.

“Sukuna!!” 

“What?”

“Take your fucking boots off!” 

Masterlist

[bradshawshawaiianshirt]

the bodyguard | part 9

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Famous!reader AU

After joining Maverick's security team once he left the navy, Rooster had become the best bodyguard around. He never thought too hard about it, he'd go in, protect whoever he was assigned, and leave. The threat against his client never really went anywhere if he was on the job, and he always put it first. All until your assignment came along. Suddenly his biggest threat might not be the stalker watching your every move, but rather trying not to fall for the world's biggest pop star.

warnings: stalker, threats, toxic parent, anything else let me know

length: 3k

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Over the next few days, Rooster felt more and more tormented.  

Every move you made, every smile, every laugh, every damn bit of skin that was exposed drove him mad. He tried to keep his distance, to ignore it, but it was a battle he was losing. It didn’t help that yoga had now become a regular activity for you and each morning, as he fought to keep his composure, he felt his resolve crumble more and more. 

It also didn’t help that he could have sworn you were doing it purposely, teasing him like it was fun for you.

And it was. You’d gotten a real kick out of watching Rooster struggle, giggling to yourself every time he’d leave the room while you did your morning stretches, his cheeks red and his eyes avoiding you. It was satisfying to know that you could make the big serious bodyguard lose his composure, but of course, you’d never take it any further. 

Even if you thought about it. A lot. 

Every night, Rooster led on the couch and listened to you get ready for bed in the next room, his mind filled with visions of you. He couldn’t give in, not while he was on this assignment, even though he could feel the need to remain professional rapidly declining. 

-- 

He stepped into the cabin one night after his evening patrol. A swirl of cold air chased him inside and he shut the door firmly behind him, brushing flakes from his shoulders as he peeled off his gloves.  

His eyes immediately found you, curled up on the couch with your knees tucked under you and a blanket thrown over your legs, book in hand. He stood and watched you for a moment, like he couldn't help it, the slight shift of your body as you turned a page, the way your hair fell across your face, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He couldn’t help but wonder how the hell he got himself in this position. One minute you’re the most irritating person in the world, and now...

Well now, you were irritating for a much different reason. 

You glanced up from your book and noticed him standing by the door. “How was your perimeter check?” you smiled tiredly. 

He nodded. "Fine. Same as the last few days.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but his body was itching to close the distance, to pull you into his lap and lose himself in you for a few moments. He shook his head, “How’s your book?” 

You shrugged and closed it, placing it onto the coffee table beside you as you sat up to face him, “Good. I never usually have time to read in LA, so this has been nice.”  

As you properly looked at him, you couldn’t help but start to giggle quietly to yourself. Snowflakes were stuck to his mustache, and for some reason, on such a serious man like Rooster, it made him look almost goofy.  

Maybe the isolation of the cabin was really getting to you. 

Your giggles only increased when his brows furrowed and his head tilted, making him look adorably confused.

He raised an eyebrow, “What’s so funny?” 

You shook your head a little and tried to stifle your giggles, “You’ve got something... on your face.”  

Rooster frowned. “What?” 

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Hold still.” you stood, padding over to him in your thick fluffy socks. 

Before he could move, your fingers were at his face, brushing gently at the melting snow caught in his mustache, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Weirdly, it did feel natural for you, being with Rooster felt easy. At first, you’d tried to blame it on the isolation of the cabin, but that was getting harder to do.  

Rooster’s breath hitched and his eyes roamed over your face. Your touch was soft and tender, and it sent his mind spiraling right back to the gutter. He swallowed hard and his gaze dropped to your lips for a moment, almost on instinct. 

The moment lingered – just a few seconds too long. The fire cracked in silence. You didn’t step away. 

Neither did he. 

Up close, you could see the faint line between his brows, always there when he was thinking too hard – or feeling something he didn’t want to. Your hand slowly came to a stop by his mouth, and you suddenly realised how close you were to him, how intimate this felt. He stood there with you, completely still, his gaze locked with yours, unable to think of anything other than what it would be like to kiss you. 

Your hand dropped slowly to your side, but your gaze stayed fixed on his. “You’d make a terrible snowman.” you whispered, smiling a little. 

That should have broken the moment.

It didn't. 

Bradley didn’t smile. He just looked at you like you were a problem he didn’t know how to solve. One he wasn’t sure he should even try solving. 

His voice was quiet, almost pleading. “Princess...” 

You swallowed. “Yeah?” 

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hand lifted – just slightly, like he might tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. But it hovered, half-raised, caught between impulse and restraint. The distance between you was barely there now. Your breath mixed with his. Your heartbeat thudded too loud in your ears. 

He leaned in- 

Then stopped. Just shy of your lips. He was so close you could feel the warmth of him, the tension radiating off his skin. His jaw was tight, eyes dark with something that felt a lot like want – and something else too. Fear, maybe. Or guilt. 

He stepped back. Hard. “You should get some rest.” 

You blinked. The spell shattered. All you could do was nod. 

He quickly turned away, reaching for the fireplace. “I’ll put more wood on.”  

You stood there for a long moment, not moving, not speaking. The silence between you now wasn’t empty – it was full of everything you hadn’t said. It struck you in that moment just how much you’d wanted him to close the gap between you. 

Outside the snow kept falling. Inside, the room was warm.  

Rooster had never felt the chill more. 

-- 

The fire had burned down to embers.  

Rooster lay on the couch, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He’d tossed and turned for a while, trying in vain to shut his mind off, before eventually giving up on sleep altogether. The blanket draped over him was warm enough, but his thoughts weren’t quiet, then again, his thoughts had been hard to control since the moment he first saw you.  

There was no way he could sleep now. Not after the way you’d looked at him earlier. The way he hadn’t stopped you. The way he’d almost -  

The floor creaked. 

He didn’t move, just listened. Soft footsteps. The sound of the fridge opening, then the clink of a mug against the counter. You were awake too. Were you unable to sleep for the same reasons as him? He wanted more than anything to find out. 

He debated for a moment whether he should go to you. His mind told him to stay on the couch and maintain the distance between you, that would be the smart thing to do after all. Maybe before this assignment, he could have done that easily, but now his every instinct pulled him to you.  

He sat up slowly. 

In the dim kitchen light, you stood in an oversized shirt and thick socks, hair loose around your shoulders. You moved quietly, stirring the pot on the stove like you were trying not to think too hard.

He could relate. 

He leaned against the doorframe and watched you for a moment, before he spoke softly, “Can’t sleep?” 

You turned to face him in surprise, even though a part of you had hoped he might have been awake enough to follow you. You told yourself it was all a part of the little teasing game you’d been playing.

“Something like that.” you replied sheepishly, your eyes roaming over his tight-fitting shirt and lose sweatpants. Your imagination ran wild. 

He studied you, taking in your sleep-tousled hair and the way your oversized shirt hung loosely over one shoulder. His gaze dropped to your legs briefly, the sight of your bare thighs sending a wave of desire through him. “Me neither.”  

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“You didn’t.” He padded over and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You’re making warm milk?” 

You chuckled a little, feeling silly, “Its... what my mom would make me as a kid whenever I couldn’t sleep.” You reached up to grab two mugs without looking at him. “I was gonna ask if you wanted some.” 

The undid him a little – just the quietness of it. The offering. Not a command, not a tease. Just... kindness. 

“Warm milk sounds nice.” he said, “Thanks.” 

You poured slowly, then handed him the mug. Your fingers brushed, and neither of you moved for a second too long. This tension was going to drive you mad, but you were too stubborn to break it. 

He cleared his throat, “So, why can’t you sleep?” 

You looked up at him, wondering how honest you should be. Of course, the real reason was all because of him, because you couldn’t stop replaying the moment between you earlier, couldn’t stop wondering if he had been thinking the same things you had, or if the isolation of the cabin was getting to you both.

You settled on something vague. “Too many thoughts, I guess. You?” 

“Yeah,” he admitted, thinking back to his own inner turmoil that had been keeping him awake, “Just can’t seem to shut my mind off.” 

“Sometimes it helps to share.” You shrugged and leaned a little closer on the counter, “What were you thinking about?” 

He hesitated, his mind whirling with thoughts of you. He was half tempted to just admit it, get the weight off his chest. “Just thinking about...” he began, trailing off as his gaze roamed your face. There was that crease in his brow again. A part of you was beginning to like it, being the one thing he couldn't work out.

“About?” you murmured, almost pleading him to give the answer you hoped for. 

He watched you carefully as the distance between you got smaller. His mind was still racing, but one thought dominated them all. He took a deep breath, “You. I can’t stop thinking about you, actually.” 

His eyes locked with yours, and in that moment, he found himself torn between vulnerability and caution. His eyes briefly glanced at your lips, and he knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but the pull towards you was impossible to resist. 

You could feel the weight of his stare in his words as you looked back down at your mug. “Stop looking at me like that.” you said, barely above a whisper. 

He didn’t move. “Like what?” 

“Like that. Like you’re thinking about something you shouldn’t.” 

His voice came low, heavy. “I am.” 

Your eyes met his and the air between you seemed to tighten. His gaze was intense, the room felt heavy, but you wouldn’t be the one to make the first move, not after last time.  

You swallowed and straightened up. “It doesn’t feel professional.” 

Rooster took a step forward, slow and deliberate. His gaze didn’t leave yours. “It’s not.” 

Your breath caught, but you didn’t move away. You held your ground, even as he came close enough that your knees almost brushed his. 

“You’re looking at me like you’re about to do something stupid,” you said, quieter now. 

He stepped closer. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I am.” 

Your fingers tightened around the mug, but you didn’t back away, didn’t look away. He took it gently from your hands and set it beside his on the counter. 

Then his palms gently found your hips, his touch light at first, grounding him – grounding you – and his forehead dipped to rest against yours. 

“What are we doing, princess?” he whispered, almost like a plea, “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. I’m supposed to protect you, that’s it.” 

You took a shaky breath, your throat going dry as you whispered, “You can walk away. You can leave this kitchen, and... we can pretend this conversation never happened, even go back to hating each other... If that’s what you want.”  

The sensible part of him – the part that had held onto duty and professionalism for so long – screamed at him to turn away, to do exactly what you’d said, protect himself from the potential heartbreak and complications. You were a celebrity after all, a guy like him could never make it with someone like you. He was sure you'd find someone better, someone that suited your lifestyle. He was just the guy in the shadows, the guy protecting you.

Right?

But the other part – the part that couldn’t deny the connection that had formed between you both, that was willing to risk it all – couldn't bring himself to move. He craved something more, something real. 

With you. 

Maybe in reality, that was impossible, but in the cabin, it felt inevitable.

The weight of the decision was heavy on his shoulders and for a moment, and his feet shifted as if preparing to turn and leave, to follow the sensible path, to push aside the feelings that threatened to consume him. Then, he shook his head slowly, “I can’t.” 

“You can’t?” 

“No, I can’t.” he whispered roughly, his eyes roaming over your face and his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. He gripped your waist tighter, almost like he couldn’t help it. “I can’t walk away from you. It’s not just about protecting you, not anymore.” 

Then his mouth was on yours. 

There was nothing tentative about it – no hesitation left between you. The kiss was deep, immediate, full of all the things you hadn’t said. His hands gripped you like he couldn’t get close enough, like this was the only moment that existed. You responded just as fiercely, fingers gripping onto his shirt, pulling him harder against you. 

Your back hit the counter, but you didn’t care. 

It turned messy – heated – like you’d both run out of patience at the exact same time. You gasped when his hand slid up your spine, and he caught the sound with his mouth, groaning low in his throat as if holding back had actually hurt. 

He kissed you like he’d been starving for you. And you kissed him back like you felt it too. 

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead resting on yours, both breathless, neither of you spoke. Your hand was still on his chest, while his thumb traced gently along your waist. 

Outside, the wind howled low against the cabin walls. 

Inside, Rooster looked at you like there was nothing else in the world he needed to figure out. 

You didn’t look away; you didn’t need to. 

Slowly, you reached for his hand, and he let you take it. 

You backed away slowly, step by step, leading him down the short hall without a word. He followed. 

The bedroom door clicked softly shut behind you. 

And the fire kept burning long into the night. 

-- 

As the soft light of the early morning seeped through the window, Rooster’s eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he didn’t move, and his mind slowly pieced together the memories of the night before. A part of him finally felt calm, like he’d gotten everything off his chest, his thoughts finally quiet and at ease. 

He turned his head to see you next to him, your body hidden under the tangled sheets, your features peaceful in sleep. He couldn’t resist the urge to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch light and tender. He took some time to observe you, and his gaze traced over your features, trying to commit every detail to memory. The sunlight filtered through the room and casted a gentle glow on your face, making you look even more beautiful. If that was even possible. 

God, he was in trouble, but in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

The intensity of his emotions from the previous night still lingered, but there was also a strong sense of protectiveness mixed with admiration for you. He was reluctant to move, not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the moment, so instead he gently pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, a silent gesture of affection. 

“Good morning.” you smiled sleepily, and your eyes fluttered open to see Rooster leaning above you. It was a sight you didn’t want to forget. He had a warm, tired smile on his face and his hair was ruffled from sleep (among other things). You felt almost giddy at how good he looked. 

He propped himself up on his elbow beside you, “Morning, princess.” He reached out and his fingertips gently traced the line of your cheek, almost in awe. 

You placed your hand over his, thumb stroking his knuckles gently. “You’re not gonna freak out again, right? Tell me I’m... what was it? Just a client?”

You were teasing, but there was a vulnerability to your voice that made Rooster’s heart ache. He should have never said that to you. 

He gently cupped your face, his fingers gently caressing your cheek, “No.” he said, his voice firm and sincere, “No more pretending you're just a client. That ship’s long sailed, princess.” 

You felt your cheeks grow warm under his touch. “Good.” you replied softly, “My whole life is about pretending. I like not pretending with you.” 

The honesty in your voice, that admission that you felt comfortable being genuine with him, touched him deeply, and he leaned forward, placing another tender kiss on your forehead. “No masks, no pretending. In this cabin, it’s just us.” he murmured against your skin. 

“Just us.” 

That was the moment, you were sure. 

You had fallen for your bodyguard, and it was looking like he’d fallen for you too. 

---

A/N: Rooster finally gave in I've been waiting to upload this part for ages!! Next part will be a lot of fluff :)

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[peachiejeongin]

Sleepless Storytimes | Jeongin

Day 5 of the 12 Days of Staymas!

Synopsis: Jeongin cannot sleep on Christmas Eve, so you read him a bedtime story to help him doze off.

Pairing: bf!Jeongin x reader

Genre: Fluff!

Warnings: None!

Notice: Hello, darlings! Welcome to day 5! Enjoy this cozy story, and make sure to go check out the other fictions!

Snow fell softly outside, blanketing the darkened world in a layer of stillness that could have lulled anyone to sleep. Yet, Jeongin was not just anyone - not tonight, at least. He sat curled up against the headboard, his legs tucked under the red-and-white plaid blanket. He had a faint pout plastered upon his lips, which was illuminated by the overhead light of the ceiling-fan.

He traced patterns onto his pajama pants absentmindedly, his fingers moving as if they had no other place to reside. The weariness in his eyes contrasted the playful grin he had beamed all day as he helped decorate the Christmass tree, snuck cookies from the kitchen, and hummed Christmas carols under his breath.

You stood in the doorway, watching him for a moment. He did not notice you; he was too caught up in his silent battle against insomnia.

"Innie?" you called softly, breaking the silence. His head snapped up, his dark, tired eyes meeting yours.

"Oh," he replied, his voice just above a whisper. "Hey." You stepped inside of the room, the wooden floor chilled under your socks; you gently glided to the bed.

"Still can't sleep?"

Jeongin shook his head, his hair falling messily over his forehead. He looked almost younger like this, as if he was a vulnerable, innocent child.

"I don't know why," he admitted, the pout in his voice matching the output of his lips.

"Well, you'll never fall asleep just sitting there," you teased, perching on the edge of the bed. "Scoot over."

"What are you-"

"Just scoot!" you insisted, grabbing a book from the nearby shelf as Jeongin reluctantly made room for you. You slid under the blanket beside him, the warmth immediately seeping into your skin. The two of you fit snugly together, and the faint scent of Jeongin's shampoo drifted towards you; it was fresh and soft, like pine needles dusted with snow.

"What are you doing?" He looked at you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

"Hopping into bed with you," you responded innocently, cracking open the book. The cover gleamed faintly in the fluorescence: 'The Night Before Christmas.'

"You think a story will help?" Jeongin quirked an eyebrow.

"Absolutely," you retaliated, settling into the covers. "Now, hush. I'm doing this for your sake."

Jeongin huffed, but leaned against you nevertheless, his head resting on your shoulder. As you began to read, your voice soft and steady, his body relaxed bit by bit. The story wove a cozy spell around you both, every word painting vivid pictures of sleigh bells, snowy rooftops, and a quiet household.

At some point, Jeongin had shifted, draping an arm lazily across your lap.

"You're warm," he mumbled, his tone heavy with drowsiness.

"You're clingy," you teased playfully, though you did not pull away. His cheek pressed against your chest as he turned, and your heart stuttered at the feeling of his breath ghosting over your collarbone.

"Not like you care," he murmured, a faint smile washing over his lips.

You sighed, threading your fingers through his hair without thinking. It was softer than it looked, and you could feel the tension melting out of him with every pass. The weight of him against you was comforting, grounding, as if he was anchoring you in this silent moment.

The story continued, your voice filling the silence, but you were not sure he was even listening anymore. His breaths were slower now, his body was slack against yours, and his lashes were resting against his cheeks. His expression was so peaceful, and it made your heart speed up.

"Baby?" you whispered, not wanting to wake him but feeling an urge to check. He hummed in response, his arms tightening slightly around your waist.

"Don't stop reading," he uttered, half-asleep.

"You're already asleep." A soft laugh escaped you.

"Mm-mm," he protested weakly, nuzzling impossibly closer to you. "Almost, though."

It was impossible not to smile as you fixed the comforter overtop the both of you, tucking it around his shoulders. The lights cast a halo around his face, highlighting the soft curve of his lips and the faint flush on his cheeks. You traced an imaginary pattern along his back, marveling at how perfectly he fit there, curled up against you like a missing puzzle piece.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, muffling the world in a peaceful hush. It felt like nothing else mattered - not time, not the place - just the two of you cocooned together in warmth and solitude.

As Jeongin's breathing finally evened out, you leaned down to press a feather-light kiss to his temple.

"Merry Christmas, Innie," you whispered gently, caressing his cheek softly.

His lips curled into the faintest smile, and though he did not reply, the way he held onto you said everything he could not.

You stayed like that for the rest of the night as the comfort of darkness wrapped you both in its embrace. You glanced down at Jeongin once more before you yourself fell into dreamland.

He was silent, perfect, and entirely yours.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

No Longer Alone

Summary: Logan Howlett x Fe!Reader -> Logan shows up for you even when you think you don't need him.

Disclaimer: Lot of angst, reader has painful flashbacks and finds out about her hidden past. Mentions of torture and being experimented on. Happy ending of sorts. Logan shows up for the reader -- kind of more on a platonic level but could be interpreted as more. Not Proof Read.

You’d been standing in melting snow for fifteen minutes. 

Wrapped up warm from a tank, long sleeve top, zipper hoodie, leather jacket, jeans, thermal socks and boots, the snow and the cold air wasn’t making its way into your skin. But there was still a chill. 

All around you it was as if no time had passed at all. The door had rusted a little with time, but its green colour still remained. Weeds still sprung up around the edge of the grass patches outside. The netting around the grounds couldn’t be used anymore, but they were still there. 

Your nose was already turning red from the cold air, and the tips of your fingers were starting to feel the chill, but it still didn’t equal anything you were feeling inside. 

You sniffed and took a few steps back, looking at the same concrete blocks you’d looked at for almost two years. Then you looked up and took a breath. 

You could still hear the noises, see the lab coats running around, hear the whirring of machines and the screams of all those who were tested before you, and after you. 

Yet you survived. 

“Are you going in, or did you just plan to stand out in the cold all day?”

Your head whipped to the right and you were met with Logan walking towards you. You hadn’t even heard him before he spoke. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, looking around before looking back at him. 

“Freezing my ass off.” He answered. “Relax, no one else is here. It’s just me. So, this is it then?”

He took a look over the building in front of you as he stood beside you. You didn’t know what to say but your emotions landed on annoyed. A stall halt in your breathing forced you to look away from him and back at the building. 

“Yeah, this is it,” you said. “How did you-”

“Rogue. She saw you leave this morning.” Logan told you honestly. 

“Oh.”

Logan stayed with you in the short silence that followed. 

“Why are you here, Logan?”

He could lie, he could be sarcastic. But he opted for the truth. 

“I’ve done this once before, on my own,” he said. “I figured I wouldn’t let you go through the same thing. You don’t have to do everything alone.”

You knew that was true, but despite being alive for decades, you still hadn’t come to fully accept the concept for yourself. You were there for everyone else; they just couldn’t be there for you. 

“I don’t know what’s gonna be in there, or how it’s going to affect me,” you warned him. 

In recent months, your persistent headaches have been getting more vicious. From the odd dull ache behind one of your eyes, to full blow migraines that would make you want to sleep for months, if you could even get to sleep. All the while small noises and pictures would flash across your mind. 

On the rare occasion you did get some sleep, you’d wake because of a nightmare. Well, that you had thought was a nightmare until two weeks ago when it became clear your nightmares were actually memories. 

It happened in your classroom. 

One minute you were teaching your kids about the history of the British Empire when all of a sudden the attack happened faster than you could comprehend. It sent you to the floor and a second later Rogue had gone to find a teacher. She had found Logan and Storm in the hallway. 

Your grip on the leg of your blackboard was turning your knuckles white from how fiercely you were holding on, all in the hopes you wouldn’t scream out in pain. 

“Storm, get them out of here.”

She started ushering concerned and scared kids out of the classroom as Logan ran over to you and knelt on the floor beside you. He was calling your name but it was almost as if you couldn’t hear him. 

The whirring and bubbling and crashing noises ringing in your ears were too loud, then the screaming started. Before you knew it, pictures joined the noises. An abandoned army base, subjects locked in clear box rooms, each one getting sicker than the last. 

Then it was your turn. 

Eventually, Logan’s voice broke through and you managed to push past the pain and open your eyes in order to remind yourself where you were. The noise drowned away and so did the images of people in lab coats in your classroom. 

Then all you saw was Logan. 

“Hey,” Logan said to you as his arms came around you, pushing the hair from your face so he could see your eyes clearly. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

“I-I don’t know.”

Logan looked over his shoulder. “Rogue, run and tell Jean to go to her lab.”

“What about Y/n?”

“I’ll take care of her, just go.”

The young girl nodded and ran directly out of the room, shouting behind her to Storm about what she was doing. As Storm came back into the classroom she was met with Logan lifting you from the ground as you stood weakly. 

It was two days of tests and talks with the Professor before being given time away from teaching – Logan offered to cover your lessons – and having more conversations which led to a reading from the Professor and another attack that provided you with more information to piece together. 

Then, one evening, smaller, less intense memories came flooding back giving you the full picture. 

Still standing beside you, Logan just gave you a reassuring smile. “I’ve lived for a long time. I don’t think there is anything that can happen that I won’t be able to deal with.”

You had to look away from him as your mind had a war with itself. You wanted to do it alone; you felt you had to. You’d been alive for a long time, too, and for most of it, you’d been alone. You’d faced a lot of fears alone, so why couldn’t you face this one alone, too? 

But the other part of you wanted to grip onto Logan’s hand for dear life and let him join you so, for once in your life, you didn’t have to be alone when facing something. Even if he didn’t know what would happen by the time you both walked back outside, you wouldn’t be the only one carrying that information. 

Looking at the door, you took in a deep breath and let it out, trying to force away the tears long enough to be able to see everything clearly. 

Then you took a step forward, and another, and another. 

From behind you, Logan smiled softly before following behind you as you walked towards the doors and reached for the handle. With your second hand over the middle of the doors where they met, you both heard a small click before you pulled at the door handle and the door creaked open and scraped against the ground a little. 

Inside was damp and cold, water dripping from the pipes that were running above your heads. You looked around before finding the mains switch and lifting up the lever. All the lights came on and whatever machinery was inside the building came to life for the first time in, probably, fifty years or more. 

You looked at Logan for reassurance and he nodded. He couldn’t hear anything, or rather, anyone that you couldn’t. You continued walking down the hallway, everything slowly becoming more and more familiar. 

On the ground, both yours and Logan’s boots either clicked against the drying concrete or splashed in the small piles of water that were gathering. 

“Recognise anything?”

“Too much.” Your voice was quiet, if a little hard. You continued to look around, more and more memories flooding through your mind. Then you powered through a set of doors, Logan jogging a little to catch up to you. 

“Where are you going?”

You turned down a few more corridors. Logan called out your name but it fell of deaf ears and you made it through a final set of metal doors. 

The lights came on inside but he couldn’t see anything but your silhouette.

“Where are you-” 

As Logan stopped by your side, he looked around. Two sides of the hallway, boxes no bigger than single prison cells lined the walls. Slowly you started to walk down it and the further you and Logan got, the more lights flicked on with the motion. 

The hallway seemed to just get longer and longer, and it just kept going, but you stopped a little over halfway down. 

Logan seemed to spin on his feet. “How many are even-”

“Three hundred and sixty. One eighty on each side, one research subject in each. Some men, some women. Some were just kids. All were those without family. Nobody misses or mourns them if something happens. No one asked questions about them when they went out one morning to pick up a loaf of bread or some eggs.”

Then you said something that sent the dagger in Logan’s heart ripping straight down with a blunt edge. 

“This one was mine.”

You could still feel what it was like; cowering and shivering in the corner, begging for death. All you wanted was for the pain in your veins to stop. Eventually you blacked out and woke back up strapped to a cold metal table because you were like five others. You’d survived the first night. 

The tests continued like that for weeks until one morning you woke up in a bed. It was lumpy and hard but it was better than the cold metal table. 

Until you collapsed in the Professor’s office ten days after your first attack in the classroom, you’d had no idea what had happened before you woke up in a stuffy motel room confused and in pain. 

From the stuffy motel room, you’d kept the knowledge of your sudden powers under wraps and signed up to help fill in the numbers at the motel owner’s club. The woman that ran it was a doctor at the hospital and they were looking for more nurses. Since you didn’t know anything other than your name, you signed up and found yourself a natural. 

From that moment on you built a life into one that you recognised. Eventually, your life from ‘before’ became nothing but a passing thought. Nobody had come looking for you, so maybe it wasn’t important to know what happened before. 

Eventually you were found in a hospital in New York by a man in a wheelchair complaining of a chesty cough. Then he told you the real reason he’d come to find you. 

Eventually you moved away from the clear box and walked back down the hallway towards the doors and started going in and out of each different room. Some of them you explained to Logan, others he could recognise himself.

Then, as you stood at the side of the metal table, you touched the surface and talked to Logan. 

“Why was I the only one to survive?”

Logan turned around from the file littered desk and looked at you. “How do you know you’re the only one?”

“Because I remember.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. “They were running me through more testing when they got word someone had found out what they were doing. They piled everyone into ex-service trucks. Between the screams…I happened.”

“You?”

“The tests they were running…it caused me more pain than they’d been expecting so I’d…I don’t know what I did, but I know it wasn’t good because when I woke up more places were being burned down.” You closed your eyes as tight as you could before continuing on. “I turned on the sprinklers before I left. I knew they were dealt with manually because one of the lab techs had been complaining about if something went wrong, what would happen. By the time I got outside everyone was gone. They either died of pain or in fear. Probably both.”

“That’s not your fault.”

The tears were falling from your closed eyes. “No, I know. I know, just…”

Logan came to your side and laid a hand on your shoulder. “Y/n, look at me.”

You didn’t.

“Please.”

After a while, you did. 

“What happened here is not your fault.” Logan told you. “They used and tortured you. And they did the same to countless others. None of that is your fault.”

“Why was I the only one to survive?” 

As you repeated your question, you stepped back and walked away from Logan. He remained still, watching as you paced around the room. 

“Why? Out of everyone, out of every single person they ran tests on, why was I the only one it worked on? Why was I the only one to survive? I know there’s survivor's guilt, but it’s a genuine question. Why? Why was I the only one to survive?”

“Because you already had a mutation.”

You stopped pacing and looked at Logan. “What?”

Logan didn’t bother explaining. All he did was walk over to where he’d been standing previously before he flicked open one of the files. There were nearly thirty pages worth of drug tests being done. 

“Do you remember these?” Logan held up a faded prescription bottle with small blue and black capsules. 

You flicked through the file yourself. “Yeah, they were given to some of us twice a day.”

“They’re suppressors.” 

The further you got in the file, the more you understood. 

“You had a mutation and they couldn’t risk it coming through at full force whilst they ran whatever sick tests they already wanted to run.”

Logan was right. 

There was a list of patients with different mutation abilities. Some labelled premature, others labelled late. But all were placed on the blue and black pill. Suppressing the mutation ability allowed for the lab coats to check if forcing a new mutation through could work. 

You didn’t know what to say, so Logan made a decision for you. 

“We should collect what we can and take it back to the Professor. And lock this place back up before some asshole decides that this place was a good idea.”

You took a breath and wiped away your tears. “You’re right.”

Whatever wasn’t burned or completely destroyed you either took back with you or took pictures. 

By the time you’d gathered what you could from the two smaller offices, you waited for Logan at the top of the stairs that overlooked where you’d both previously stood. 

After all those years wondering, after all the pain and fear and terror. After all those years of being alone, you finally had answered to what was before. In truth, you didn’t know if it helped. You could only hope that by walking inside, by having a confirmation to all the memories you’d been burdened with, the pain of not knowing would be gone. 

The pain from your head was gone. Even if it was replaced by a pain that came from the smell of the damp and the singe of ashes. 

“Ready to go?”

You took one final look around before looking back at Logan. “Ready?”

You led the way out before shutting out the lights and welding the lock back into place. 

It was odd, the feeling you got as you walked back into the cold and away from the bunker. You had a burning curiosity growing in your stomach and mind, but the coldness you’d felt before you’d walked inside, unsure of what to expect was slowly disappearing. 

You also knew the life you’d led. Only now you’d learned of a life you’d had before you made one of your own. No lab tech could take the life you made for yourself away from you. 

You and Logan pulled up at the school long after the sun had set. As you stepped out of your car, Logan switched the engine of his bike off and you rushed down the hallway where you found one light on at the end of the hallway. 

“Professor?”

He looked up with a smile. “Ah, you’re back. I must tell you, you’ve missed dinner but Hank has left two plates in the oven for you. All they need is warming up. Did you find what you were looking for?”

Looking away from Logan, you looked at the Professor. “And then some.”

As the hours passed, you’d come to an agreement with the Professor. Storm and Nightcrawler would go back to the base you’d been kept at. Perhaps they might find something that let them know there were other survivors. But other than that, your past would remain just that. The past. 

“I made a life for myself. The only one I’ve truly known. I’d like for it to stay that way. If I want more answers one day, I know where to go.”

The Professor agreed. “I’ll keep these files safe. I assume you’ve looked through them already?”

You nodded. “There’s a lot I’d rather not have remembered, but I got my closure.”

“Very well.”

Twenty minutes later, you and Logan were sitting down in the dim light of the kitchen eating your dinner. 

“Thank you for finding me today.” It felt a little awkward leaving your mouth in your voice. “And you’re right…about not having to be alone, so…thank you.”

Logan just graced you with a smile and a nod. “I meant it. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

You didn’t know what to say so you just nodded and went back to eating. You and Logan remained in silence as you ate, washed and put away your plates. And as you both walked up towards your rooms, you took in the pictures that lined the walls. 

Previous students, past christmases, birthdays, sunday dinners. A plethora of memories scattered across the walls; all of which made you smile. 

All of which made you realise you might have done things alone for a long time, but you’d never truly been alone. Not only did you have friends, but you had an entire family behind you. 

One that would never leave you to be lonely, even when you wanted to be alone. 

[apple-yan]

Fate and Family

Akari (Yandere Dilf Kitsune) x (G/N) reader

TW : death of children, implied pregnancy, gender of reader is not specified but they are implied to look like Akari's late wife, implied reincarnation, ANYTHING TO DO WITH YUKIKO IS STRICTLY PLATONIC AND NON-ROMANTIC

Apple's Note : I enjoyed working on this one a lot. Writing for Akari's daughter was genuinely a delight, I definitely want to return to this concept soon.

The wind howled mercilessly while the kitsune wandered the mountain, lost and empty now that his anger had settled. A child-shaped hole had carved itself into his heart, and the hands he had used to avenge his son and beloved trembled.

Snow fell quietly around him, muffling all but his own heartbeat in his ears, when he sees something twitching in the snow.

An orphaned rabbit, the runt of the bunch. It was barely breathing, abandoned by its mother to freeze.

His eyes soften, picking up the small, helpless creature and holding it close to his heart, cooing and hushing it, "it's okay, it's okay sweetheart," he whispered.

"Papa is here, Papa will help you..."

---

You had to accept it. You were terribly, horribly lost.

You had wandered too far whilst foraging for mushrooms. You were completely turned around and no longer had any idea of north or south.

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose irritatedly as you sit on a stump nearby, taking a small break. The sun was setting and it would get cold soon, the autumn breeze nipping at your cheeks already. You needed to figure something out soon.

As you thought this, you hear the rustling of leaves nearby, turning to see a young girl peeking out from behind a tree, hiding behind it adorably poorly.

The sight brings a slight smile to your face, the cute gesture melting your frustration a bit, and you call out to her, "Hello? Are you lost?"

The girl shakes her head, tilting her head a bit at you and walking closer, curiously glancing over you, "You are though."

You sigh, and nod, "I am. Could you help me? I lost the trail a bit far back."

She nods, smiling at you, showing off the adorable gap between her front teeth. At any other moment you'd likely be fawning over her to her parents, but as you glance around you don't spot anyone else.

"My Papa lives here, he can definitely help! He's really strong and nice, and he's smart too, he probably knows how to get to your home really fast!"

She holds out a hand for you to grab and you accept it, taking her small hand in yours and feeling a warmth in your heart at how tiny it was in comparison.

She looked only about 8 or 9, and you briefly wonder what a small girl like her is doing alone in these woods. That's when you take notice of the ears drooping on the sides of her head, which you had thought were just pigtails from a distance.

For some reason, this realization doesn't shock you like it probably should.

You follow her, leaning down a bit so she can drag you forward while holding your hand, her cute kimono a bit dirty at the edges from a day of playing in the dirt. Leaves and petals lay in her hair and she dismisses them, cutely unaware of how messy it had gotten.

Halfway through, you lean over, helping her resecure her obi and shake some of the leaves out of her hair, chuckling as you smooth her hair out and she gives you a big grin.

"Whats your name anyway, kiddo?"

"I'm Yukiko!"

You smile introducing yourself in return. You continue to follow, as she leads you to an old shrine.

You glance around in wonder, the shrine seemed quite old, but was clearly taken care of well. Wind-chimes jingling softly as you take in the sight.

Yukiko runs up excitedly to the door, kicking off her sandles quickly and removing her socks before stepping in. You follow, clapping your hands in a silent thanks as you apologize for the intrusion before closing the door behind you.

The inside, just the same, is clearly aged, but clean and well maintained. Whoever cared for this shrine did so diligently you noted. The inside was warm and welcoming, lanterns lighting the room.

Yukiko skips excitedly into the next room after sitting you down on a kitchen, coming back dragging a man in a similar way to how she had dragged you just earlier.

The purple haired man had streaks of gray peaking through, chuckling as she excitedly tells him to follow her.

"They're lost and need help, Papa! And don't worry they aren't a.. a tresedpaster."

"Trespasser?" He corrects.

She nods, then excitedly gestures to you, as if showing off a big accomplishment, "see? They asked for help so I took them here because you'll totally help them, right?"

He chuckles at the praise, nodding, "of course, dear," he looks over to you, glancing over you quickly. Something flashes over his expression that you can't quite catch and for a moment you feel cold, before he smiles at you, "Welcome to my home, Little Mouse! My Little Yukiko is just ecstatic to have company all the way out here."

You smile politely, shifting nervously, "Ah- yes- thank you for the hospitality. I'm sorry to bother you so late in the day."

He makes a dismissive wave, smiling at you so widely his eyes seem closed, "All is fine, Little Mouse, if my Little Yukiko likes you, you may as well be family."

Something about the way he phrased that makes you shiver, but you aren't sure why. You nod, glancing up at him and meeting his gaze for the first time.

Embarrassingly, this is the first time you notice the ears on his head. Purple fox ears, standing tall and making the impossibly tall man just a bit larger, "a kitsune..?"

"Ah, yes, sorry for being rude and not explaining before! I am Akari, a fox spirit who has resided in this shrine for many hundreds of years."

Beside him, Yukiko nods excitedly while leaning on the low table, "Papa is so cool, he has a bunch of really pretty and soft tails! I only got one."

Akari chuckles, ruffling her hair carefully, his sharp claws never even getting close to scratching the rabbit's head.

You smile fondly, it was clear from the gentle look on his face how much he cared for his daughter.

Suddenly, you remember what you came here for, snapping, "oh! I'm sorry, but I need help getting back to my village. I got carried away while foraging and got all sorts of turned around."

Akari pauses, turning to look at you as he tilts his head. "You're quite a bit far out then, Mouse, the nearest village is about a two days trip."

You pause, confused, "no, I couldn't have been wandering for more than a few hours.."

Yukiko glances between you two before piping up, "Hey Papa, isn't the mountain all weird for human people? Because you don't want them stealing?"

He hums, nodding, "yes, I did place a curse on it... though that should keep people away, not allow them to get here faster. Unless..." he pauses, looking at you as that same confusing look flashes in his eyes. This time you see it clearly.

Possessiveness. Protectiveness. Like a man looking at a precious jewel he keeps in a glass box or a beautiful fish he keeps in a tank.

He smiles again, "I believe I misspoke, Dearest. Silly me in my old age, I forget things so easily."

"Papa isn't that old though,"

"Hush, Yukiko, it's a joke between grownups." He pats her softly as he smiles at you, "I should be able to get you home in the morning, Mouse. But as of now, the cold is quite unbearable for mortals. I'd hate for you to catch your death."

There's something distant in his tone, as if he isn't really speaking to you. You nod anyways, figuring that it's better to accept an offer of a place to sleep than to try getting home by yourself and freezing.

He hums again, "I almost have dinner ready for me and Yukiko. Would you like to join us? I always make too much."

"Ah, I don't wanna intrude-"

"You should! Papa's cooking is really, really good!"

You pause, heart melting at the little girl's insistence, before nodding, "alright, I will. Thank you."

Dinner is delicious, just like Yukiko told you it would be, and you laughed as Yukiko rambled on about her day playing outside to her dad. Telling him stories about the toads she'd seen and the leaves she'd been jumping in.

After dinner, Akari gathers the dishes, silently excusing himself while Yukiko drags you to her room to take a bath with her. It's only once the girl has nearly gotten you there that you hurriedly stop her,

"Yukiko, I don't have any change of clothes-"

"It's alright, you can use her mother's." Akari speaks from behind you suddenly, and you startle, not having heard him approaching.

"Ah- she said that's okay?"

"I'm sure she would have." He smiles at you, not quite meeting his eyes as he hands you a clean, white kimono. It was soft as silk, with detailed embroidery on the cuffs and edges.

You pause, unsure what he meant, "where is Yukiko's mother?"

He hums, "she slipped through my finger long ago, along with Yukiko's older brother." There's a silent pain in his eyes, and you frown, awkwardly patting his shoulder.

You walk away, following Yukiko to take a bath. After tucking her in for bed, you leave to get some fresh air on the porch.

You're surprised to find Akari sitting there, laying back as he stares at the clouds silently. There's a loneliness about him, but as he glances at you his gaze softens.

"Hello, Mouse. You seem as if you have something on your mind."

You pause, shifting nervously as his golden eyes seem to look right through you, "I'm so sorry for your loss," you move to sit beside him, glancing up at the clouds and stars with him, "I can't imagine the kind of pain that put you through."

"It's alright. Time moves on and fate has plans for us, you know? In my time of greatest need, the world gave me Yukiko," He sighs contentedly, smiling, "and now the world has given me you."

You pause, "excuse me?"

He hums, "you look just the same as last I saw you, Mouse," his eyes are soft as he holds your cheek, smiling gently at you, "you're different, so very different, but you still love our children. And I'm sure you will remember to love me as well, soon."

"I'm not-"

"No need to speak, Mouse. It's late. Thank you for settling Yukiko down, she's usually such a handful before bed." He chuckles, "when I found her, cold and orphaned I just knew.. it was you and Sora and guided me to her. That rabbit runt has grown into a spirit, and she'll live forever here. I couldn't have asked for a better gift, Mouse."

As he speaks, you feel your shoulders slack, your eyes drooping as your head falls on his shoulder.

He laughs softly, moving some of your hair from your forehead, "I've lost you once dear, but I will not lose you again. Say..."

"Why don't we give Yukiko a younger sibling, hm?"

[forgeofthenine]

Ohh, how about the Tieflings experiencing snow? And how do they make sure not to freeze off the tips of their ears and their tails? Also with how they are more fine with heat, I feel like Rolan is the type of bitch (affectionate) to already complain about it being freezing at 15°F

I have to admit Anon, I'm also the type of bitch that thinks 15°F is freezing. I'm used to a nice temperate climate (with awful weather) and the idea of being outside in almost -10°c horrifies me, I do hope you like the headcanons though :)

The bachelors experiencing the snow

Dammon

I feel like Dammon runs hotter than most tieflings, they all already run hot but Dammon even more so

It honestly probably helps in the forge

It also means that when he steps foot into the snow it tends to slowly melt under the thin soles of his boots

Dammon loves the snow and thinks it's beautiful, but it tends to leave him with wet socks if he doesn't wear the right footwear

You'll find it's still very easy to drag your lover out into the snow with you though for a bit of a winter romp

Just don't be surprised when this cheeky tiefling decides to try and ball up some snow as soon as your back is turned

As soon as the powdery snow breaks against your back you know all vets are off, the two of you desperately trying to one up the other

You'll need to find a space were you won't bother anyone because Dammon gets very into his snowball fights

He's a fierce opponent but eventually, when you're both feeling the chill, there will be a truce

Dammons also the type to always wear his scarf when it snows outside, but only so he can wrap it around you if yours is forgotten at home

Zevlor

This paladin loves the snow

He doesn't run particularly hot or cold so he's able to spend a fair amount of time out in the chill

He loves to bundle you both up in cold weather clothes and go for a stroll

Walking along the water, hand in hand, he likes to admire the way your breath freezes in the air as you speak to him

It's all very relaxed and domestic, perfect for a retired hellrider like Zevlor

When the two of you make it back inside he's quick to warm you both back up, wrapping you in a blanket and making hot chocolate on the stove

You spend the rest of the even cuddled up to his side on the couch, watching the snow fall as you drink steaming mugs of cocoa

Zevlor also strikes me as the type of guy to know about the pouring maple syrup into snow to make a maple lolliepop thing

He'd definitely do it to surprise you with a homemade sweet treat

Please give Zevlor a kiss, he spoils you so much

Rolan

Rolan hates the snow

He runs cold as far as tieflings are concerned and he strikes me as the type to have poor circulation that just mildly annoys him

If you want to get him out in the snow you'll have to recruit his siblings to come help

Don't worry though, Cal and Lia love to drag him out into the winter wonderland despite how much he tells them it's 'freezing'

Rolan is also very glad his ears are covered by his hair, or they might just get cold enough to fall off

It's not uncommon for you to be issued with a challenge to see who can make a better snowman, you and Rolan or Cal and Lia

And so the wizard reluctantly spends his afternoon playing in the snow with you and his siblings

As much as he loves his siblings, Rolan also wants to get his own back at them, so he uses his magic to beat them every single time

Just be glad they only dared to challenge him to a snowball fight once

[starlightiing]

loscar, pg, 1.2k words, fluff - if i got you here with me, then let it snow

Title: If I got you here with me, then let it snow

Pairing: Loscar (Logan/Oscar)

Summary: Logan and Oscar get snowed in a few days longer than anticipated. But they have a warm cabin, plenty of food, a little extra time, and most importantly: they have each other. Written for F1 Family Secret Santa in my F1 Discord Server! (All are welcome to join, if you want F1 chatter without the drama!)

Secret Santa Recipient: @yuki-tsunodas Yun, my friend, I sincerely hope you enjoy! This was a delight to write out for you. Happiest of Holidays, and may the New Year bring you much joy!

Huge shout out to @allphatauri for thinking of the event, hosting it, running it, and handling all the logistics. This is his baby, and I'm grateful for everything he does to keep us all engaged <3 !

AO3 Link

The snow is more than a foot high when Oscar takes his first peek out the window. It’s not too surprising, given the way the flakes had been pummeling down to the ground for the past few hours, relentless and yet oddly silent in the way snow always seems to be (not that he’s seen a whole lot of it in his lifetime, but nonetheless). 

It’s beautiful, really, the way the light from the sunset hits the crystals just right and makes it look like the entire ground is sparkling. The urge to open the door and jump out into the soft, pillowy snow like a child is overwhelming, but he doesn’t want to spend the rest of the vacation with a cold because he let his impulsive thoughts overtake him.

Especially now, with his and Logan’s plans to leave before the New Year foiled by this comically timed blizzard. 

“They’re saying the snow should stop in a few hours, I think.” Logan’s voice filters in from the kitchen area, the gentle thumping of his socked feet audible as he pads over towards the couch. “But it could take some time for the temperature to rise enough for it to melt. We may be here a while.” 

Oscar hums thoughtfully as he watches the snow continue to pelt the already blanketed ground, still in absolute awe at how serene and quiet everything is. It’s a different sort of silence, one that brings him a peaceful feeling in his chest that he knows he shouldn’t be entertaining. He should be agitated that this very same snow is blocking his exit from this stuffy cabin and preventing him from going home to spend New Year’s Eve with his family. He should be fretting over their stock of food and whether or not the pipes in the cabin will freeze with snow piled this high around them for what could be a few more days at the very least.

But he isn’t. In fact, there’s not a single bother at all. They actually have plenty of food and water to last another two weeks at least, and getting to spend another few days locked inside a warm cozy skiing cabin with Logan sounds more like a blessing than a curse.

“Well, there are worse things than being stuck in a skiing cabin with you, I suppose.” Oscar says after a moment, smirking slightly when he hears Logan chuckle under his breath from a few meters away on the couch. 

“You suppose? Ouch, man.”

“Well, I don’t want to boost your ego too much, you know. I’ve got to keep you tethered to Earth somehow.”

Logan tilts his head back and cackles, “Right, as if my ego has ever been a problem.”

Oscar shakes his head, stepping back from the window and padding over to the couch where Logan has made himself a little blanket cocoon in the corner of the sectional. It’s fairly warm inside the cabin, Oscar has made sure to stay on top of the heating so they don’t freeze, so he raises an eyebrow in amusement seeing Logan swaddled up like an infant. “Cold?”

“A little. Everywhere else in the cabin is fucking freezing except for right here.” 

Oscar shakes his head in amusement, letting himself fall back against the cushions right beside where Logan is cocooned. He opens up his arms, reaching over and pulling Logan, blankets and all, into them almost eagerly in an attempt to warm him up (and perhaps satisfy his own want to be close).

“Wait,” Logan says after a moment, worming around inside of the blanket until he’s managed to shed it like a second skin, “we’ll be warmer if you’re underneath the blanket with me.”

“Now you’re just making excuses to touch me.” Oscar points out with a grin, though he makes no move to get away. In fact, he helps dislodge the blanket from behind Logan and then pulls him into his arms with the utmost delicacy. Logan then carefully fluffs out the blanket, laying it across them in such a way to trap their shared body heat so it cannot escape. It’s warm, but Oscar doesn’t mind as long as Logan is comfortable.

“Something like that. But it is also warmer this way, so just sit there and look pretty while I leach all of your warmth.” Logan mumbles, his voice barely audible from where his mouth is pressed against the side of Oscar’s chest. “You’re surprisingly comfortable.”

“Surprisingly?” Oscar shoots back, looking down at Logan with a raised eyebrow. “My chest is the epitome of cozy, I’ll have you know.”

“No objections here. Now hush.”

“Hush?”

“Yes, hush. I can’t hear your heartbeat when you’re yapping like this.”

Oscar is stunned into silence, then, unable to formulate a worthy rebuttal. How can he, when Logan is being so painfully earnest and painfully adorable? Instead, he sighs softly in contentment and wraps his arms a little tighter around the small body in his arms. Logan lets out a small hum as he nuzzles his head further against Oscar’s chest, something like butterflies rudely flapping their wings at a frantic pace from deep within Oscar’s stomach. 

This is precisely why he cannot be upset by the blizzard snowing them in. How could he ever construe more personal time with Logan as a negative thing, especially when they’re both happy, healthy, and comfortable? 

In fact, there is simply nothing better. Nothing better at all.

“You reckon we’ll be out by next weekend?” Logan asks after a few moments of peaceful silence. Oscar rests his head back against the couch, looking up at the intricate chaos of the popcorn ceiling, and shrugs. 

“Don’t know. Depends on how fast the snow melts, I reckon. You in a big rush to get out of here?”

“No, not really.” Logan replies, gently rubbing Oscar’s arm beneath the blanket. “I was kind of hoping you’d say no.”

Oscar chuckles softly, then, tracing circles into Logan’s shoulder. “Well, to be the bearer of good news, we could always just extend our stay. We don’t need to wish for horrible weather to keep us together.” 

Logan seems to consider this for a moment, letting out a long, thoughtful sigh as he shifts himself in Oscar’s grip to a more comfortable position. “Yeah, I guess we could. At least until duty calls - I’d imagine you’ll be needed soon.”

“Soon, but not yet.” Oscar says, his lips pressed to the top of Logan’s head as he speaks. “I can pencil you in for a few more days, if you ask really nicely.”

Logan snorts, reaching up blindly to poke Oscar in the nose. Somehow, he manages on his first attempt, and Oscar wiggles his nose in retaliation, despite the fact that Logan cannot see him.

“What, like, ‘pretty please will you spend another few days with me after the blizzard melts?’” 

“Just like that, actually.” Oscar confirms, pressing a warm, loving kiss into Logan’s hair. “And yes, yes I will.”

“Perfect.” Logan whispers into Oscar’s chest, softly adjusting the blanket. “I had no plans to let you go, anyway.”

“Consider me trapped and happy, then.” comes Oscar’s content response, watching as Logan’s eyelashes flutter closed with ease. 

His chest feels warm and full in the best possible way, knowing he still has a week and change here to spend with Logan in the midst of his favorite season. After the New Year, he knows things will pick up again. There will be more gym training, and car testing, and meetings, and sponsorship responsibilities, but for right now?

For right now, he gets a brief moment of peace amongst the madness, and he couldn’t think of a single better person to spend it with.

[noctiva]

Damn that’s a whole juicebox anon worth of snow straight up 😧

Ahh the woes of having like 9 months of the year be covered in bullshit snow and bitter cold. Not even the picturesque snow, like the kind that mixes with the road grime and just becomes nasty ugly slush 👎 (she said as if she didn’t actually melt today)

-🧃

no forreal where I live it’s either:

horribly cold and icy to the point where if you step outside you’ll bust your ass

snow/slush hell that soaks through all your socks

TOO HOT. GO INSIDE.

flood levels of rain

there’s no winning

[kinetic-elaboration]

December 30: D/J, Warming Up

Daria/Jane, ~750 words, 32 minutes

"Warming up" from the Fluffcember 2024 prompt list

From the Complex College Mating Rituals 'verse

*

The fastest way to warm up after being very cold is to take off all of your clothes and take a nice, hot, steam-producing shower.

Daria stomps the snow off of her boots, claps her gloved hands together a few times. Outside, what she can only hope is the last horrid winter storm of the season is just starting to really pick up. Inside her dorm, the air is slightly warmer but the cold draft is still seeping in under the door.

She raises her eyebrows.

"This is a ploy to get me naked," she says.

Jane nods once and doesn't argue.

"Yes. This is a ploy to get you naked."

Because of course she isn't suggesting that they shower separately, even if that would make considerably more sense and be considerably easier, too. When Jane notes that she's blushing, Daria shakes the melting snowflakes out of her hair and says it's just the cold. Terribly cold out there. She can't even feel her extremities anymore.

The annex hallway off of the main hallway where she lives has a small bathroom with one large shower stall, two toilet stalls, and two sinks. It's the grungiest of the bathrooms and even the people who live closest to it never use it, and it's empty in the middle of a cold, quiet, Saturday afternoon. Daria does reconnaissance first, and when she returns to her room, Jane is already pulling off her shirt.

"Woah!"

"What? You said your roommate was gone all weekend."

"She is, I just—"

"Come on, Daria." Jane smiles, a little teasing, a certain encouragement underneath. "You've felt my boobs before. No harm in seeing them."

She's felt a lot of Jane before, and felt Jane's touch, but they've never undressed in front of each other before, not like this. She's never let herself be seen fully, casually, and outside of the hot, desperate, worked up context of actually making out with her. Making out with her girlfriend, Jane.

Halfway to the closet to grab them both towels, she's distracted, unmoored in the middle of the room, by the sight of Jane shimmying out of her pants.

"Hurry up there, ice girl," Jane grins, as she balances awkwardly on one foot to pull off her sock. "I'm freezing all my delicate parts off."

"Uh. Right." Right. Daria throws her one of the towels from the top shelf, then half-hides herself behind the closet door as she takes off two layers of shirts and then her socks and her pants and her underwear. She pretends that Jane isn't watching her, though she knows she is. And she knows she's not really hidden, that from Jane's angle she can pretty much see everything.

"I guess that wasn't much of a strip tease," she tries to joke, as she wraps her towel around herself.

She expects Jane to laugh, at least in a deadpan way, but she's watching Daria like she's completely serious. "Yeah, it was."

They slip down the hall, around the corner, into the bathroom and then into the shower stall without running into anyone, and Daria would say the adrenaline of it was enough to warm her up, except that her toes and her fingers are still white and numb. Finally, she hangs her towel up on the hook at the edge of the stall, and turns the shower on.

"Oh yeah, that's the stuff," Jane says, low and murmuring, as she steps carefully in under the spray.

"Yes," Daria agrees. Yes. The stuff. She's watching the water slide in drops along Jane's smooth, naked skin. Watches the steam already wafting around them, feels the edges of the shower spray teasing along her shoulder and her side. Watches as Jane's hair get wet and she slicks it away from her face and then turns so that the water falls along her back.

It takes her a while to remember that she was supposed to be warming up under the water, too.

It takes Jane opening her eyes, then reaching out and tugging on Daria's wrist. "Well, come on, Daria. I don't want to hog all the water here."

She almost trips over her own feet, stumbling in under the hardest, most direct part of the spray. And it feels so good. So damned good. She lets out a deep, satisfied breath, vaguely hears Jane's satisfied laughter, and then feels a pair of slick, wet palms slide down along her sides, and two arms envelope her in a hug.

[a-bit-too-silly]

Cold

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

note: I'm so happy people liked the writing! I've never shared it anywhere before so I'm really grateful. This has been in my drafts for a bit, hope it's okay :]

The weather was growing colder, snow falling down in thick white sheets over the ground, covering all of the leaves left on the trees. The sky was overcast and grey, heavy flakes of snow falling down as Johnny returned to the apartment, Ghost must've come over, his car parked in the community driveway near Soap's and some scuffled footprints in the freshly fallen snow leading to the door. Johnny patted himself down and tapped the snow off of his boots before stepping inside. He took off his coat and hung it up on the hook next to Ghost's, then took off his boots to set them on the tray to dry out.

He didn't see Ghost anywhere, which wasn't too unusual for him, but he would normally come out when Johnny got home to say hi or help carry groceries or something of that sort.

Instead, Johnny carried the groceries into the kitchen himself and started putting stuff away when he heard some shuffling and coughing from the bedroom. "Simon?" He called out, trying to figure out what he was doing down there. He didn't get a response, at least not until a grumpy looking Ghost peeked around the corner. He was in his balaclava and some civvies. A pair of thick jeans and a hoodie, likely wearing a t-shirt underneath since he 'never feels cold' and doesn't bother dressing warmly.

"Hey there, Si." He said with a small smile, restocking a cabinet with some general baking supplies he'd been running low on. Flour, caster sugar, vanilla, just general items. Simon sniffled and made his way over to Johnny. Hugging him from behind and resting his head against Johnny's shoulder. He was warm. Very warm.

Johnny shifted slightly so he was facing Ghost, who whined a little at the vague loss of contact."You feeling alright, hun? Yer warm."

Ghost wasn't feeling alright. His head hurt and his tummy hurt and his skin was prickly and he was sniffly and coughing and gross. But he didn't have the words to explain it so he just clung back to Johnny.

"Mh... mo leanabh.. [my baby..]" he hummed, rubbing Ghost's back gently. "Did the cold catch you?"

Ghost whined, trying to keep from coughing. Nuzzling deeper into Johnny's shoulder with a sniffle, only strengthening Johnny's assumption.

"let's get ye some medicine.. then I think a somethin to eat?" He offered, his hand tracing small hearts on Ghost's back, drawing out a sneeze from Ghost who promptly grimaced and started whining again. "And some clean up. Ye cannae be wearing that all the time, baby, certainly not when yer sick."

Ghost took off the balaclava, sniffling and whining, his face scrunched up in discomfort that words can't express. Johnny walked off briefly to get a cloth, dampening it with some warm water from the sink and gently wiping off Simon's nose and chin before turning back to the cabinet to grab the blister pack of cold medicine. He popped out two of the small pills and handed them to Simon, who managed to take them decently well with a few sips of water despite the regression. "Good lad. Can ye go get into some comfy clothes now or do ye need baba to help?" He asks, tossing the cloth into the laundry room and washing his hands.

"Baba.." Simon mumbled, his voice small and soft, melting Soap's heart in an instant.

"Okay. Let's go get some jammies, leanabh. [baby.]" He said, gently patting Simon on the back to get him moving. Simon shuffled along down the hall and sat on the bed, Johnny started looking through the dresser. He pulled out some socks and a set of soft clothes, glancing at Simon, "does this all look okay, lad?"

"Mh." He nodded a little, letting Johnny help him out of his clothes and into the fuzzy clean ones. Johnny settled him in the bed with a stuffed cow affectionately named 'moo' by Simon, and a baby blue pacifier before leaving the room to get him something to eat.

He came back with a warm mug of soup, full of chopped up veggies and chicken and little star shaped noodles whose name Ghost couldn't pronounce even when big. He removed the pacifier to gently spoon-feed Simon petting his hair and cleaning up any dribbles. It helped calm him, settling the ache in his stomach and throat, and the gentle touch from Johnny helped the pain in his head and muscles.

They stayed like that long after the soup had been finished, Johnny gently cleaning up any boogies that ran down Simon's face and gently running his hand through Simon's hair. Adjusting the blanket every now and then and peppering small kisses to his forehead and rubbing his back after coughing fits as Simon whined and made a mess of Johnny's shirt.

Eventually Simon slipped into a shallow sleep, snuggled up to his baba, safe from the nightmares that normally come.

[thesmokingguns]

Joy and Peach: Jackets

Taglist: @ayablackwood @rocknrollsoul76 @greeneyezblackheart @lady-jane3 @rocketgrrrl27 @slutforstradlin @theoutsiders25 @fispapercrafter @bbyamberx @brezeblog @samanthasgone @aggressive-slytherin @clover270 @grayxiu @another-obsessed-with-duff @badfvith @bia003 @queenbae18 @axl-roses-rose @d-ahliaa@beebemarie @guns-n-roses-gal @themoonbelongstome @pinksweetgirl18 @cemmia @bieberhoodforever

There was currently five feet of snow on the ground, enough that when Nikki looked outside he knew he would need to make peach a neon colored hat when she eventually woke up and decided to go play in the snow; she would vanish in the piles.

As if on cue she came barreling down the stairs. Thick socks over her leggings and a hoodie that she was pulling the hood up on. Nikki side stepped as she slid on the floor grabbing the winter boots by the door.

“Peach, wear a hat and gloves.” He was helping her put them on, shaking his head how she was like a puppy dog when it came to snow. He reached for her coat as she tried to duck away from him, “it’s freezing you need to wear a jacket.” But the way she narrowed her eyes, shaking her head made Nikki sigh.

It was going to be a fight.

“Nikki, the snow is still falling and it’s so fluffy and-“ he held up her jacket, the one she had picked out and he had spent too much money on. It was puffy and pink with bows on the elbow. The perfect cutesy look for his girl.

But the cute jacket was too bulky for the girl who wanted to swim in the snow.

“Peach.” She stomped her door, mitten hands balling into fists as she glared. She was going to fight this, “If I go out with you will you wear the fucking jacket?” Her eyes widened.

Nikki notoriously hated the snow. He would watch it, maybe stand out on the deck in it, and sometimes throw a ball to their dogs in it but when Peach would rush out to get drenched he would watch from inside, shaking his head at her energy.

“Promise?” He nodded as she jumped, throwing her arms around Nikki as she peppered surprising kisses on his face, “I love you.” She said as Nikki set her back down.

He always forgot how easily excited his girl was at the easiest of things. As much of a brat as Peach was what she craved above all was his attention.

“Just give me five minutes to get ready.” Nikki nodded as he watched her, blue eyes seeming to shine out as he saw the excitement glowing so bright there.

He would be sore from the snow but his Peach was worth it.

-

“Joy, I did some research for Wyoming.” Peach and Nikki had invited them to spend some time with them and they were planning on driving the few hours to see them once the storm passed tomorrow. “I bought you a jacket.” joy, looked up from where she had been watching TikTok videos to see the traffic cone orange jacket Izzy was holding up.

It was hideous.

“Oh…Izzy, you didn’t have to do that.” Peach was going to cackle when she saw her. Joy could see the way her friend would calm her a traffic cone, see the way she actually looked like it.

But Izzy, looked at it like he had solved a puzzle and was going to be the hero of this trip. His smile so wide as he motioned for her to try on the jacket.

Joy slid her arms into it, being wrapped in the near color that was bright enough that she felt like she needed sunglasses when she wore it. But Izzy was looking at her like she was a diamond, precious and valuable.

“Do you really like it?” The uncertainty in his tone made Joy melt.

Her lips pressed against his, a promise in the kiss as she nodded her head.

“I love how you take such good care of me.”and she did. She loved knowing that he wanted the best for her.

She just needed to let him know in a nice way that it wasn’t through Birkenstocks and dad clothes. But she’d wait another day for that.

[sseanettles]

nothing grows in corpses (in the earth of me)

dream x hob gadling | mature | Finally cross-posting my take on the fandom classic of the show progresses as the comics do, even to The Wake. Until Death resurrects Morpheus and forces the choice of "redemption" upon him instead of suicide. It goes...horribly. No good. Very bad. Instead of learning the lesson, Morpheus (in his infinite wisdom) opts instead for a highly effective existence strike until one day Hob Gadling stumbles upon his ghastly handiwork and immediately decides that this just won't do. Man Who Refuses To Die vs. Man Who Refuses To Live: fight.

Dead Dove, Do Not Eat for the following: graphic depictions of starvation, illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, blood and gore, loss of autonomy, etc. etc. This is some classic old world whump, folks! But I promise it's also supremely healing in the end.

CH. 6: the rockrose and the thistle, pt. 2 | 3 k | AO3 link | prev part | next part

(or: the one where we meet Gwen, & Morpheus finally comes inside.)

“Oh, thank fuck,” Hob gasped at the tail end of a particularly splendid ramble of affection. “We’re here, friend.”

He took the entry two steps at a time and with a groaning, heavy sigh of relief, braced himself against the column beside the door. His foot was numb enough that he didn’t feel the pain as he kicked the inky wood in a frantic tattoo and did not let up until he heard the rush of thudding footfalls down the stairs inside. A fumbling at the lock soon followed, along with the low, muffled sounds of his girlfriend’s voice as she egged herself on. Hob’s teeth began to chatter until his whole body shook. The warmth of inside was so close, yet so far—

The door jerked open and hit the end of the still-locked chain in a grating gnash.

“Shit!”

“Oh, fuck’s sake, Gwen—”

The door slammed back shut, the chain slipped free, and in the threshold stood Gwen. She was as tall as Hob, broad shouldered, curvy in a way that drove him mad and had her looking phenomenal in her Faire corsets and gowns. Her paint-spattered, polka-dotted bandana pulled her heavy head of long microbraids back from her face that had clearly been midway through her end-of-day make-up removal when he called. She was dressed down in her sweatpants with the hems tucked into her thick, wooly socks, and her lovely, baggy-sleeved cardigan of goldenrod yellow opened like wings as she took in the image before her and then zeroed in on the body in her boyfriend’s arms.

His Stranger’s rattling breaths seemed as loud as gravel now.

“Oh fuck, Robbie,” she blurted and cleared the door.

“I know, I know.” He hefted Morpheus once more in his arms as he rushed inside and winced at the strangled whimper of pain that sounded from within the coat and quilt at the jostling. “I’ve gotta get him—”

“I know,” it was now her turn to say, and she hissed as she rocked onto the balls of her feet and caught a glimpse of their guest’s face. “Up, let’s go. Bath’s ready.”

What followed was a haphazard rush up the stairs as Hob’s legs slowly regained sensation after his frigid dash through the snow and as such also began their treacherous turn to rubber. Gwen followed at his heels, practically pressed right up against him all the way, and did her best to guide his wobbling ascent with one hand on his hip and the other hovering by his stranger’s head in case they stumbled too close to the wall. He’d always hated this staircase. It was narrow, the steps were too close together, the ceiling was too low, and he felt like a human crammed into a child’s dollhouse.

He hated it even more now, and he grumbled and swore as he had to maneuver on the upper landing and heft Morpheus as high as he could manage within his burning arms to give Gwen clearance to duck beneath them and open the inner door to their flat.

Warmth, the smell of soup and fresh bread, of something cozy and sweet, the sharp, woody scent of a slowly melting candle and something else that was perhaps incense, the aroma of old paper and leather and binding glue, the faint residue of paint—the individual hues all melded together into a single amalgamation that Morpheus’ frayed, human nerves could hardly process, and he found the only name he could give it was safe. It settled over him like a final, numbing shroud of sensation that whited out much else as he was carried and maneuvered further into what he could only assume was Gadling’s home. The lights beyond his crusted eyes brightened, dimmed, and then brightened once more. He felt himself maneuvered further, felt first one grounding layer come away, then another, and he was suddenly so cold once again. His body ached to shiver but couldn’t summon the strength for so much as a twitch.

He felt himself lowered by two sets of firm but careful hands, and Morpheus screamed as the world lit on fire.

Hob had heard a great many harrowing sounds in his life. Men, women, children, animals, the very earth itself: he had heard all shriek at the hands of agonies best left to the imaginations of Hell. He had felt those very sounds grate along his own throat, had felt them shred his vocal cords to rawness and blood at the hands of man’s cruelty. He had drawn those sounds out of others himself. The sound of breath gurgling from crushed lungs—of boys still wet behind the ears dragging themselves across battlefields with severed limbs that poured their lifeblood into over-saturated earth, crying out for their mothers all the way until they stopped crying at all—the crunch of horses’ hooves on skulls and ribcages and spines, the ring that followed the deafening boom of cannons and later artillery, the spray of blood against skin and cloth as the person beside you was replaced with red mist and viscera…

…the wail of a parent over their dead children…the wail of children over their dead parents…of newly forged widowers and widows…the wail of watching your homeland disappear in blood and smoke.

Robert Gadling had heard it all.

The sound that ripped from his Stranger’s throat as he submerged beneath the hot bath water landed itself easily in the worst seven. It dragged from the depth of his skeletal chest, anchoring somewhere between his navel and his sternum, and the force of it jerked him upright and partially out of the water. His arms flailed, trying to grab to something or to beat it away with those clawing, boney hands, and Hob pushed an already retreating Gwen back with a loud swear that was lost beneath the banshee shriek of confused agony and betrayal that echoed through the tiled room. His Stranger’s eyes were now wide open, and Hob nearly retched at the state of them.

Blind. His Stranger had to be blind with eyes like that, or as good as. 

“Rob, Mrs. Williams!” Gwen cried from where she had slipped and toppled into a collapsed seat against the sink cabinet.

“I-I know, alright?!” His heart hammered in his throat, his voice trembling under the organ’s breakneck speed, and he surged forward to seize Morpheus by the shoulders as the man tried to haul himself out of the tub. Murky maroon blossomed into the water from his wounded gut as the strain ruptured his cobweb-frail tissues anew, and the more he struggled, the faster the red poured, brightening at an equally alarming rate. “Wait, stop! My friend—”

Those foggy, rubbery eyes latched onto him, and the scream choked into a strangled, desperate howl, like a doomed animal still trying to fight to its last. He moved fast, faster than Hob had imagined he could have moved in this state, and all he saw was a flash of grimy, pale skin before pain knifed across his face.

“Fuck!” he shouted, jerking his head back, but still was not quick enough. A shockingly iron grip snagged his hair at the roots as he went, and his Stranger’s nails, which had always been on the longer side, turned to talons at his scalp as he tried to slam Hob’s head down into the edge of the porcelain tub.

Hob had no doubt that if this had happened a year ago, he would have been on the floor with a shattered nose and split skull, watching with paralyzed eyes as his blood and brain matter oozed into the bathmat and onto the tiles. But that was then. And this was now.

He moved with a soldier’s instinct, a mercenary’s swiftness. His soaked hand clamped down on the tub’s edge in a flash, his elbow tightening but not locking stiff so that he moved with Morpheus’ grip without catching porcelain in the teeth or ripping his hair out at the roots. He felt his scalp burn and tear all the same, and Morpheus’ free hand raked down his face again, gouging more tracks into his cheek and temple and nose, going now for his neck, his chest, his hands—anything he could reach with all the speed and ferocity of a feral cat.

Hob snapped his eyes shut at the last second and cried out in pain as he felt Morpheus’ nails rip open the fragile skin.

“Robbie!” Gwen shouted and started forward.

“No!” he grunted and blindly caught hold of Morpheus’ wrist. The man cried out, struggling to pull away, sloshing the bathwater until it spilled everywhere, and it took everything Hob had to keep from letting go at the pitiful sound. The crack…the crack he’d heard from within the bundled layers in his arms…. “Wait outside!”

“God, you’re bleeding—”

“Please, Gwen, wait outside!” he begged. The grip in his hair tightened, pulling him sideways and down, and he stiffened the brace of his arm and winced as more of his hair tore. “I’m alright, you know I’m alright!” He tried to open his eyes and groaned through gritted teeth as blood blinded his right eye, dripping down to his beard. He screwed his eye shut against the burn and tucked his face into his shoulder to stem the flow as he tried to keep his other eye on the man in his grip. Morpheus continued to make those feral, desperate sounds, his blinded sight searching wildly for something only he knew. The stranglehold on his scalp tightened further, and Hob had never been more thankful to have trimmed his beard down to something less grabbable. He forced his voice to calm, even as the nerves in his face and skull shrieked in objection. “I just want you safe, Gwen,” he said. “Please, wait outside. I’ll call you when we need you.”

Morpheus began to quiet until only ragged, groaning breaths remained. His grip trembled but did not relent.

“…Are you sure?” Gwen asked softly from the floor.

“There’s nothing he can do to me that won’t be gone by morning, love,” Hob promised. “You, on the other hand….”

“Yeah,” she conceded and got her feet under her in the same unsteady manner. “Yeah, okay.”

He listened to her socked steps retreat, to the creak of the door opening and the click of it shutting behind her. His one non-blinded eye never left those of the undying man beneath him, and his nose burned as tears flooded his already stinging eyes. His Stranger’s eyes looked fake, like half-melted, age-fogged plastic, like an old teddy someone lost to attic storage. It broke his heart, filled him with such helplessness that for a moment, safely alone, he was not certain of the right path forward.

So, Hob Gadling did the only thing he knew how to do.

He did the stupid thing.

He let go of Morpheus’ wrist and the edge of the bathtub in a single, cautious release, taking care to keep his expression calm as he did. Morpheus snatched his hand back to his chest, and Hob kept himself from flinching in even the slightest as the man yanked hard on his hair at the same time, as if trying to pull himself from the tub by Hob’s scalp alone. He bowed under the pull, watched his friend’s body tremble with the effort of his attempt, but did not yield. He raised his hands slowly to his shoulders, fingers splayed with his palms facing his Stranger. And as he did, Morpheus sagged into the water with a heartbroken, devastated huff that left his chin trembling and his chest quaking in its rises and falls. His fingers tangled deeper into Hob’s hair.

Hob took a deep breath and the plunge that followed.

“Dream,” he called, as soft as a parent to their sleeping child. His friend’s eyes landed on him in a burst of swift, clumsy shifts, struggling to pinpoint Hob through his blindness even though he was firm beneath his hands. “Morpheus.”

His friend blinked. His parched throat worked, moistened fleetingly by the steam of the bath, and the sounds he made turned a little less animalistic, a little more human.

“Stranger,” Hob pressed.

Those air-starved pneumonia breaths shook Morpheus’ skeletal frame, his body rattling with fever shakes that Hob knew well, until both culminated in hacking coughs that brought up nothing but bits of red-tinged phlegm. The blood continued to spread through the murky, filthy water from Despair’s wound as months of grit began to lift from his clothes and skin.

Cautiously, as if approaching an injured bird, Hob lowered his hand to Morpheus’ where it was fisted into his hair. The fingers tensed, tugged his scalp in warning. But Hob let his touch settle anyway; his warm, calloused skin settled into a soothing pet along the back of his friend’s hand to his wrist, to his elbow, and back up.

Slowly…in…out….

Like the breaths Morpheus struggled to take. Like the tides that had welcomed him back to life.

“ ‘S okay,” Hob whispered. His face throbbed along every track mark his friend had left upon him. He could feel the blood gluing his eye shut, and he fought the urge to rub at it. The wounds needed to be cleaned and tended, not scrubbed into an equally dirty blazer, and any unexpected move at this point would probably undo the precarious peace they had forged. “ ‘S just hot water,” he soothed instead and hoped he didn’t look too beat up. “ ‘S just me.” His hand continued to move up and down Morpheus’ arm, his touch as warm as sunlight to the chilled skin. “Just us…”

Another breath, deeper this time, shuddered out of Morpheus in something dangerously close to a sob. Hob let his hand drift to a pause atop his friend’s wrist. He sank a bit closer to the tub’s edge, leaning against it in as relaxed of a pose as he could manage, grappled and mangled as he was. His thumb swept across the knobs of Morpheus’ bones in time with his own metronomic pulse. He could feel the other man’s heartbeat beneath the pad of his ring finger. It was as swift as a hummingbird’s, as unsteady as a breaking rainstorm.

“…D’you know who I am?” he murmured after a while.

Morpheus had relaxed into the water by infinitesimal increments, though his grip to Hob’s hair remained just as firm in silent threat. He watched Hob with glassy, overwrought eyes that remained as sightless as frosted windows beneath their heavy lids, and when he swallowed, a wincing shadow darkened his face at the pain it brought. But he swallowed again despite it, swallowed a third time. His Sahara-dry lips parted as he breathed a little harder. His brow furrowed, in confusion, in effort, and he forced his exhausted vocal cords to come to life beneath one threadbare exhale.

“…Hob?”

It was a whisper of a word, a dying croak of a syllable. It was the normalcy of an oh-so-sick voice that Hob had heard countless times over the centuries, and it shattered his chest like a battering ram.

Human. Wholly human.

He had not expected the loss of that something more beneath his Stranger’s voice to hit him quite so hard.

He forced his face to crease into a gentle smile anyway that left his one good eye shining and exuded a warmth like a restful sunrise. And when he blinked, he forced himself to re-open both eyes in the end, to beam through the tears and blood. Maybe the pain of faking it would ground him. Maybe his Stranger wouldn’t be able to see him mourning through it.

“Yeah,” he smiled, and his voice broke in the most pitiful way as he moved his hand down Morpheus’ arm to touch his cheek, his hair. “Yeah, ‘s Hob. ‘S your friend.” Another wracking breath punched from Morpheus’ chest. The grip in his hair began to loosen, and Hob began to inch his hand back down his friend’s arm to his fingers. “Your annoying, immortal drinking partner,” he winked, “and I aim to have so much to tell you in 2089. So…” Living, loved skin smoothed over Morpheus’ battered hands, its fingers tracking his until they interlaced. “Will you let me help you?”

Morpheus stared at their hands for a long time and when he finally blinked, something prowled with disquiet in Hob’s gut. It was a different sort of blink than before, just as the way his head tipped and his attention drifted was wrong, or at least more wrong than it had been thus far. It was as if he were trying to break free from something settling over him, to shake loose a dark shadow.

“I…”

The hand in his hair went slack, and that was all the warning Hob got.

Morpheus’ eyes rolled back in his head as the bath finally did him in, his near-empty blood vessels dilating with the water’s heat until there was nothing left to circulate. Hob surged forward and caught his head with a cradling hand at the base of his skull while the other plunged into the water to snag him beneath his arm. Death had come for him, again. Hob knew the feeling well. The drifting oblivion would reassemble to unconsciousness first, then to dreams and delirium, and finally once more into wakefulness. And for as horrid as the experience of dying was, it at least afforded them one small mercy.

It meant that he and Gwen could finish their work undisturbed.

“Gwen!” he called over his shoulder, taking care to keep his voice soft, though the consideration wasn’t necessary. His friend was quite literally dead to the world, no matter the agonal gasps that tugged his jaw with plummeting frequency. The door opened immediately, and she peered at him from the partially opened threshold, a heavy apron fastened protectively about her. “I just—I-I need more hands, if you….”

He stopped. Gwen was just staring at him from the threshold, a well-meaning but cruel mix of horror and pity and sadness upon her beautiful face as she took in the state of him, tears glistening in her beautiful dark eyes. He bowed his head. Tucked his bloodied face into his arm.

And Hob Gadling began to cry in earnest.

[final-girl96]

Firefly Chapter Forty-Four

Flashback

Winter 2009

I sat in the chair beside the window, legs curled up, a blanket draped over me, and a cup of hot cocoa in my hands. I don't know where or how Joel found it, but he did. He came how one night and pulled one of those big tins of it out of his bag. He also pulled out a few oversized sweaters he said he found in a department store, along with gloves, hats, a pair of fluffy socks, and new boots for me since mine were beginning to fall apart.

The snow was coming down in big, fluffy sheets. It was hard to see anything with how heavy it was, I was almost a complete white out. Everyone was staying inside their homes. Not everyone was lucky enough to have some source of heat. The QZ had electricity, but it was mainly used for FEDRA purposes. The residents had electricity, but not all of them. We were lucky enough that Joel found a space heater while he and Tess were out on one of their trips that he forbade me from going on. It was just enough to keep the small apartment warm through the cold nights.

We didn't use it during the day unless it was that cold out. We only used it at night when the temperatures would drop below zero. We weren't used to the cold like this. I mean, during the winter it would get cold at night and sometimes in the morning it would be chilly and by the afternoon it would warm up. But it was nothing compared to Boston winters.

I sat waiting for Joel to get home. It was already dark out, and the temperature was dropping. I set my mug on the stand beside me and pulled the blanket tighter. The sound of the door being unlocked grabbed my attention, and I looked over to see Joel pushing it open and stepping inside. He was covered in snow. His dark hair wet from the melted snow. He took his boots off and set them beside the door after he shit and locked it and hung his jacket on the back of one of the dining chairs.

"Hey, what're you doing sitting in the damn cold?" He asked, walking over to turn the heater on. "I didn't feel like I needed to turn it on," I said. Of course, I didn't really realize how cold it was in the apartment since I had my blanket wrapped around me, so it was also covering my head like a hood. "Well, I doubt you can even feel how cold it is in here, with how you're bundled up."

He came over and pulled up off the chair, sat down, and then pulled me onto his lap. "It's getting close to Christmas," I said. Joel hummed and wrapped his arms around me tighter. "How was your day?" I asked. He sighed, "It was long. There were a lot of bodies to burn today. Some were infected, but there were some that died from the cold, more so the older people," he said quietly.

When someone died, they weren't buried. That wasn't a thing anymore. You didn't get to have a funeral for your loved ones anymore. All bodies were burned now. Joel did the job of pulling those bodies off the back of trucks and putting them in the fire. You were paid in ration cards. That was the currency now. Joel always made sure we had what we needed. He worked any job he could get, but he also went outside the walls. He and Tess smuggle stuff in and out all the time. Me, I do whatever I can get, too. Joel doesn't usually let me go out with him and Tess.

I stood up and grabbed Joel's hand. "Come on, let's go to bed. It's late." We walked over to the bed, and I threw the blanket I had wrapped around me at the bottom, then slipped under the covers. Joel pulled his jeans off and climbed in beside me, pulling me into him and wrapping his arms around me. His hand slid down my stomach and into the sweatpants I was wearing.

He moved down to my panties and found my covered clit. He pressed his finger over it, drawing small circles, and started to kiss my neck. His fingers were moving my underwear to the side when someone started to bang on the door. "Ignore it," I begged, holding onto his wrist. The pounding stopped and Joel continued. He ran his fingers through my wet slit. I turned onto my back, spreading my legs apart so he had more access. His lips connected to mine as he slipped his fingers inside of me.

The banging on the door started again, but Joel ignored it, pressing his thumb against my clit and pumped his fingers in and out of me. It didn't take long for my release to come. I groaned when the banging started again and Joel started to pull away. "Just ignore it. Please, Joel." I pulled down to connect our lips but as soon as the person on the other side of the door spoke he was pulling away again.

"Joel! Joel, open the door!"

He gave me an apologetic look, got off the bed, and pulled his jeans on. The banging kept going until he yelled out to them. "Alright!" He reached the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. Tess stood on the other side. I sat up on the edge of the bed, sighed, and slowly stood up. She was talking fast and pacing back and forth. Joel grabbed her by the shoulders and made her sit down.

She slowed down and started explaining something about one of the guys they deal with. Apparently he fucked them over on a deal. Something about supplies they were supposed to be smuggling out of the QZ in a few days. I walked into the living room and picked up the mug I left on the table. I was pissed, it was late at night. Why couldn't she have waited until the morning. I didn't miss her watching me as I walked past them to the kitchen.

"We need to get this tonight, or we will lose everything."

I slammed the mug on the counter and spun around. "Are you fucking kidding? There is a fucking snow storm going on outside! There is no way that he is going out there to fucking smuggle something that you set up! You're the one that wanted to do this and now you want to head out in a snowstorm?! Just take the damn loss!"

An argument broke out, and in the end, they ended up leaving anyway. "Joel, please, don't do this. Stay here with me," I begged. He was pissed off at my outburst but kissed my forehead and opened the door. "I'll be back in a few days."