#and then i stepped in melted snow inside in socks

[sunflowerrboyy]

never have i been more grateful to have noise cancelling headphones bc our dishwasher flooded the kitchen and now we have massive industrial fans and a dehumidifier running and the sound scratches against my brain like nails on a chalkboard

[seattlesellie]

⋆˙ ♡ b l u e b e r r y p i e ♡⋆˙

pairing: farm!ellie williams x fem!reader

an: drabble based on a small request but i cannot find it ᥫ᭡

warnings: smut (mdni), daddy kink, housewife kink, slight spit play, dom!ellie, sub!reader

ellie's breath hung in the frigid air, visible puffs of white against the backdrop of the forest. the thick layer of snow muffled her steps as she treaded cautiously, her boots sinking with each weighty stride. she gripped her bow tightly, fingers calloused, the biting wind whipped through the trees. she scanned the landscape with piercing eyes, hoping to spot even the faintest trace of movement. but the forest, remained still, its inhabitants hidden away. ellie's grip tightened on the bow, her resolve strengthening amidst the disappointment. she wouldn't return empty-handed; she wouldn't let her promise slip away like the snowflakes that melted against her heated skin.

the sound of her boots stomping against the floor enter the house before she does. you hear her steps, as she paces on the entryway— right on the porch. she takes a deep breath, opens the door and it creaks. it fucking sucked out there, it was bone chilling cold, she couldn’t find a deer to kill, not even a goddamn rabbit, and it dawns upon her. you had told her you’d wanted a feast, it was nearing on christmas time, and she failed, again. dough filled pastries and pasta is all you two were going to eat for the next two weeks, until the snow starts clearing up and the animal’s crawl out of their sheds.

she doesn’t need to huff, or to even mutter a word, for you to know the state that she’s in. all it takes is that deep sigh, as soon as the door bangs and shuts close behind her. she doesn’t greet you with her usual “look what i got, babe” wiggling her eyebrows— because she knows how much you dislike seeing her hold those animals whilst they’re hanging dead from her hand, their fur disheveled and spotted with blood. all she does is throw the keys on the table, and takes her mud filled boots off of her feet, placing them right besides the door. she crosses her arms over her chest, and watches you intently.

warm, vegetable soup is boiling inside the pot, and besides it, lay two warm bowls of white rice. it’s below forty degrees outside, and yet— your body is impeccably adorned with a milky white, frilly apron. two tiny cream-colored bows are nestled on the sides, right where your waist meets the string. her lips almost curl up to a smile, because no matter how cold it is outside, no matter how glossy her eyes get from the wind, nose red from the snow laying atop it, your home will always be warm— you, will always be warm, and truthfully? that’s all she truly cares about. you grant the soup one last swirl, before turning the flame down, and you give ellie a moment to herself too, before you turn around and greet her. you know she doesn’t like it when you see her upset. a moment passes, and then two, and there’s that deep sigh.

“hey” she murmurs, and her voice is a tad harsh, it has a raspiness to it from the weather outside. you do not respond, nor do you turn around. you signal her to come closer with your hand, and again— there’s that thing her lips do, when they curl up to a smile that she’s trying to hide. she’s not supposed to be smiling, she came home empty handed, but damn you, always making her body form those involuntary reactions. she paces towards you slowly, small steps as her socks meet the wooden floor, and again— it creaks, this place is so damn old.

you take a wooden spoon, give the soup another swirl, and this time, you scoop it out with some warm, liquid deliciousness for her to savor. you can’t help but smile, when she stands besides you with her hand on the countertop and her legs crossed together. “have a taste” you grin, and your voice is warm and saccharine and it makes her forget— that she came back home empty handed. she shuts her eyes for a moment, before blowing on the spoon. you swallow a giggle, as her red-from-the-cold lips form a small puckering movement, and she responds with a huff and a small giggle herself. she can’t help it, and a drop of the soup leaks out of the spoon from the air her nose blows.

she takes it in her mouth, and hums when it hits her tastebuds. “taste’s amazing”; and you know it does, but still, your cheeks heat up at the compliment. “thank you” you reply, and it’s small but it’s sweet. she wants to tell you that you’re fucking adorable, standing here in your apron and cooking her food, but she feels quite shitty, so she doesn’t. “and… made some rice too” you note, gesturing with a finger, poking at one of the bowls. she smiles softly, but its not a real one. she blinks, and breathes deeply. “i’m not really hungry”. ellie looks down, and tugs at the bottom of your dainty apron. you stand there for a while, and it’s a moment of understanding. she stares at the floor, and the corner of her mouth twitches. it’s gnawing at her, and you know it. she feels guilt ridden, and you know that as well. you don’t begin the conversation yourself, tiptoeing around it as if it doesn’t exist. “ellie…” you sigh, breathy— and she immediately turns her face around to the opposite direction. you’re presented with her left, freckles splattered cheek. you caress it with the pad of your thumb, slowly, delicately, her skin still cold, and she winces. her eyebrows furrow, and a small line forms between them. she grabs your hand, places her calloused one on top of it, and peels it off her face. she doesn’t get abrasive, she’s gentle, but she needs it off. she feels too culpable, to deserve your touch. “i feel fucking useless” she puffs, and she doesn’t look you in the eyes when she says it. her eyes are closed, her bottom lip between her teeth. you bring your hand over again, to brush a short hair strand away from her face, and it’s still wet from the rain, or from the snow— you wouldn’t know, it’s coal black outside, it’s only the wind that sneaks itself inside from the tiny hole on the window’s glass, that turns the weather in. you can't help but smile, a soft chuckle escaping from your lips. useless, would be the last thing you could describe ellie as.

“i’m sorry… ellie, you’re being ridiculous”, and this time, she doesn’t push you away, she lets your hand play with the loose strand of hair, twirling it around your finger. she sighs, and lifts her chin up. it quivers slightly, and she rolls her eyes. you notice a certain twinkling glisten in her them, and god— she’s trying to halt the tear threatening to stream down her cheek, and flow like a bantam river. it doesn’t leak out, just finds home on her waterline. before she replies, she shakes her head. “i’m not being ridiculous, you… you fucking do everything for me— you cook for me, and you fucking clean, and…” she stops, and finally, she looks at you. “and i know your fucking back hurts, because you hang the fucking laundry— every day“ she’s rambling, and you’re watching with a soft expression, tilting your head. “every day, you do all of these fucking things, and i’m supposed to provide for you” she points at your chest, and the tear on her waterline finally gives in and takes a drive— lands directly on her top lip.

you’re speechless, doe eyed. you know she’s wrong, but you let her finish. “you… were…” with your finger on her lip, you wipe the tear away. she sighs deeply, and takes your hand in her’s, intertwining her fingers with yours. “you were supposed to bake that… shepherds pie, for christmas. and you were so fucking excited about it, you told dina, and fucking maria and tommy and now—“ she stops, and looks down on the wooden floor. its killing her. “because of me, you can’t” you open your mouth, attempting to sneak a word in, to protest, but she doesn’t let you. she’s stubborn. “because i’m fucking useless” and it stings, but it also… tugs, at your heartstrings, in the warmest, possible way. a tear threatens to erupt from your form as well. throat feeling clogged, you want to coo at her, explain, again— how ridiculous she’s being. how much you love how she cares, this… this is better than a shepherd’s pie, her love is better than everything you’ve ever tasted, you don’t need anything, anything other than her. instead of telling her that, instead of bursting into tears in a declaration of love, you mutter something else. you know that she knows how much you love her— now, you need to be practical, find a solution to the problem she had created.

“blueberry pie”

her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“blueberry pie?”

you bob your head up and down twice before continuing, and now— it’s getting harder to hide your smile.

“i’ll bake a blueberry pie.” your voice is even sweeter than you had intended for it to come out, dulcet, dripping with honey… and blueberry jam.

she scoffs and adverts her look to the side, before placing her forehead on yours.

“but you were so fucking… excited, about having maria taste your shepherds pie…”

you cut her off, again, and nudge her shoulder. “are you saying… my blueberry pie isn’t as good?”

she rolls her eyes, playfully, you know that’s not what she meant. “everything you cook is fucking delicious…” she takes a deep breath, and the soft smile plastered on her face washes off. she’s grounded with reality, again. “but… i just… feel fucking powerless, like i can’t do shit for you” it’s foolish, really— she had just fixed the doorknob in the upstairs bathroom, built a goddamn patio, all by herself, and… powerless? you about pout, taken back from what she had said.

“powerless?… oh, ellie…”

she sniffles, and she wants to reply, determined to explain, she is powerless, this is all her fault, no fucking shepherds pie, she practically feels like the grinch who stole christmas, but you won’t let her succumb to her own wrath. you plant a kiss, a small, delicate one, right on her cheek. your bottom lip strokes her skin before you pull away, only to form a nest on her the crook of her neck. when you breathe her in, she smells of mud, of leaves, leathery and smokey. you take her in, brush the tip of your nose on her pulse, and you can feel, and almost see— the fine hairs standing up. she shudders, and places a tremor held hand on the small of your back. with one palm on her left shoulder, and the other on her right one, you pull her in. her mouth airs a small noise, almost a whimper but barely a sigh— a mixture of both. it escapes from her throat, and she brushes her thumb on you waist, up and down.

“you are everything…” now, you whisper in her ear, and she shudders. “but powerless” you breathe in, and kiss that one sweet spot behind her ear, you know it’s her favorite. a low grunt escapes her lips, and she squeezes your waist. as you trail soft, gentle as butterflies kisses on the side of her neck, she closes her eyes, and lets you soak her in. your soft chest is pressed against her’s, and she feels that “powerless” feeling depart from her body, like a violent swarm fleeing her chest. “do you know… how much power, you have over me?” your voice is ever so soft, and ever so… submissive. oh, she thinks she knows, but she's not sure.

her hand, maneuvers itself from the small of your back to lay just above your ass, her palm just resting there, caressing the fabric of the soft skirt you donned. with her chin resting on your shoulder, you continue your submission. “do you?” you mewl, and you want her to say yes, to accept it, but she doesn’t. “no” she replies, and truthfully, she only yearns to hear you say it. you plant another kiss on her neck, but this time, it’s an open mouthed one, with your tongue poking out, the soft muscle licking her flesh, making ellie let loose of a long, suppressed groan, to bite her lip as her eyes roll back.

“i think you do know…” and you truly can’t find the words, not when you’re that close, not when you breathe in her scent— not when her hand is on top of your ass, kneading the flesh now, just above the skirt. you whisper, a soft, breathy string of “you know… ellie” and when she takes the soft globe between her fingers, and squeezes, you finally breathe it out, oh god—

“daddy”

the low, throaty groan escapes almost automatically, a knee-jerk reaction, she feels the obscene nickname send a lighting strike between her legs, in her heart, in her brain— this is exactly what she needed to hear. your daddy, the only fucking one who can make you go like this, go this dumb and this needy and this eager to please. a harsh, ringing slap on your ass, still covered by the soft material, follows that very same groan. her other hand moves lower to knead it between her fingers again, clawing at the flesh, marking it as her’s. you mewl it again, “daddy”, and its breathless now, unable to stop, longer and needier— and the ring of the word “fuck”, that she mutters as a response, is bordering on primal.

“yeah?” she voices, raspy and deep, and you know you have clouded her mind now. powerless… who? you hum, when she grabs your tit between her hand, tugs at it and squeezes, twitches the nipple right over your bra, she knows exactly where it is, and exactly how hard to pinch it for her to hear her favorite sound in the whole entire world, that high pitched moan of her name. “let me show you, y—eah?” you stutter, and although it is not even a question, it sounds like you’re begging. “say it again” ellie orders, and although it is phrased as an order, it sounds like she’s begging. “daddy…” you whisper in her ear, kissing and licking her lobe, making her whimper a long, breathy sound of your name.

it is again, primal— how quickly and fervently she peels off the straps of your top, letting the skirt cascade off of your body— and when it comes to the frilly, little apron; “keep it on”, only taking the top part of it off, so your tits can spill out, on full display for ellie. before she takes the soft, silky smooth mounds between her lips— she spits, letting the string of her own saliva stream on the flesh, before it reaches your nipples, teasing her and flowing oh so slowly, before making the tender, now-hard buds glisten with slick. with her forehead on yours, her gaze is fixated upon them. you can feel her heartbeat, growing faster and faster. “fucking christ” she huffs, before smearing her spit on your nipples with the pad of her thumb. you wince and squeal when she flicks them left and right. “so sensitive, s’fucking cute” she coos, before latching her needy mouth onto them, sucking them in, leaving dark, purple marks the harder she sucks. she takes the nipple between her teeth, bites— here’s that fucking squeal of yours again, so she moans, never neglecting the other tit, her fingers toying with the nipple, moving it in small circles so you fucking cunt can feel it. with a loud “ahh” sound, she takes the sensitive bud out of her mouth.

when she looks at you, staring into your eyes, with a look that’s so impatient, and hungry, with a look that says “you’re fucking mine”, and "i fucking own you", you bite your lip so hard it almost draws blood. doe eyed, she takes your chin between her index and her pointer. she doesn’t need to mutter a word, before you’re down on your knees, hitting the floor with a thud. that’s ought to leave a mark. nevertheless, she’d love it, all of it. when she towers over you, with that dark gaze and those burning green eyes, it’s hard not to feel small, and powerless. except, you have all the power in the world. letting her have this, have you, that’s more powerful than it all.

she pats the top of your head, rubs it, and waits for your next move. you place your head on her thigh, and caress it, letting the harsh material of her jeans burn through your cheek. “there she is…” she coos, teasingly so, and places her thumb on your lower lip. she grazes it from side to side, toying with the plush, damp flesh.

“suck”

oh, you do. you suck it so hard you’re almost biting it, your cheeks hollowing, keeping your eyes on her while the obscene noises of her thumb inside of your mouth fill the room, wet and nasty and loud. she stares down, nodding to you, her nods saying “that’s my good girl” but her mouth shut and formed in a tight line, groaning as if you’re sucking on her goddamn cock, making that tickling pain right between her legs, covered by too many layers of fabric, grow more and more distracting. you can feel it too— that sensation, deep in your core. its hard, it's almost impossible, not to begin humping the floor. her pupils grow even larger in size when you start moaning around her thumb, worshipping it, worshipping her. she watches you, her mouth agape, chasing your eyes, and when you close them ever so slightly, she takes a sharp breath. "look at you..." she coos, and you know she means look at how pathetic you are, look at the drool running down your chin, making a mess, all for her. she gives a hum of satisfaction, and takes her thumb out of your mouth.

when you look at her again, you're transfixed, mind foggy with your eyes lazily half shut. she nods her head up and down, because she knows what you yearn to do next. you don't have to say a word, before she yanks the belt off of her pants, in one swift motion, and then— undoes the button, and the zipper as well. ellie throws the belt on the floor, violently so, and it makes your whole body jump with a squeal.

"awh... did i scare you?" she coos, and caresses her hand slowly, from the top of your forehead, running it all along the pillowy skin of your cheeks, to the bottom of your chin. with her index and her pointer, she grabs your chin, and lower's your head over so your eyes fixate on her jean-covered cunt. poor you, you wait for her to take them off. except, she doesn't. with her hand on the back of your head, she pushes you forward, making the tip of your nose graze her heat, and you swear to god himself— you can smell her already, you know that she's soaking, getting off on you sucking her thumb like that, getting off on your absolute submission to her. she has to restrain herself from using you fully, from bumping your head forward and forcing you to get her to cum through her pants, she knows she can— but instead, when she looks right into your eyes, those poor, glassy eyes, she gets down on her knees to face you. her expression softens, and she rubs her thumb on your cheek. you almost purr, tilting your head so you fit perfectly in it.

"you're so good to me..." she whispers, and chuckles softly when she sees the curl of your lip. "so good..." she repeats, and you hum, accepting her praise. she plants a soft, loving kiss on your forehead. "pretty little housewife... always takin' care of me, huh?" you nod, accepting again, although now, it feels as if she's purely speaking to herself. "always" you whisper back, nodding your head softly. "you wanna make me feel good?... hm?" she murmurs, trailing small circles on your cheek, moving her finger downwards lightly, so that it grazes over your sensitive nipple, and again— she toys with the bud, awestruck at how sensitive you get, chuckling when the sweet little squeal escapes your lips again.

"yes..." you reply softly, and it's breathy, the eagerness oh so apparent in your voice.

"f'course you do..."

she gets up from her knees, bit by bit, and leans her back on the fridge. you look up at her, and place your thumbs inside of her jeans. she nod's softly, signaling you that it's time now. take them off.

when you do, you whine.

her grey boxers, perfectly tight on her thighs, have a delicious, wet patch right where the fabric meets her hole. "mhh'ellie..." you whine, and she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, inhaling deeply. "you're so wet..." you murmur against her skin, taking in what you did. you're copying her, imitating, she knows that. "all for me...?" you whisper, and then she tsk's. "dont play with me" she breathlessly huffs— but why? it's so much fun, after all.

"are you shy, daddy?" you question, and she feels her cheeks burning a crimson red. "shut up" she murmurs, and it's a half chuckle— half threat.

"you're so cute" you tease, a soft, adorable smile when you speak. "hey... hey—" she takes hold of your chin again.

"quit being a fucking brat, ju— oh... my.... god" in the midst of her sentence, your tongue met her clothed clit. eagerly, you teased it up and down with the tip of your pink muscle, and you felt ellie shaking.

her whole body tenses, as soon as you begin flickering it, taking her button between your teeth, not once daring to break your eye contact. your eyes scream submission, but your movements— scream mine. you flatten your tongue against her slit and her knees almost give in. with a fist on your scalp, her body— involuntarily, slips down slightly off of the fridge, her ass meets the metal with a thud, she's almost squatting.

her mind is clouded with chants of "fucking needed this"

you kiss it, nice and wet. "you like it, daddy?" bold, full on cocky and bratty is what you are. you know you made her desperate so you have the power to dare— and tease her on and on. she doesn't reply, a choked out whine coming from her throat. she mumbles incoherently, something that sounds like "you wait for your fucking turn and then you'll see" before she pulls down her boxers, grabs you by the back of your neck and pushes you in.

"fuuuuu" she chokes out, barely able to continue her words, when your lips wrap around her swollen clit, messily sucking it in. "just like... fuck— just like that..." now, she's purely controlling your motions, grinding on you. you flatten out your tongue with a whimper and incoherently breathe out; "da— ddy". with your voice choked up, mouth swollen and used, she looks down at you, her eyes threatening to close, and yet, she smiles. darkly so, and teasingly. "such a—" she grunts, a "psh" noise escaping her lips, "good— fucking girl..."

you can't help but let your hand wander down your skirt, squeezing and pinching and caressing your thighs like she'd do, teasing yourself all over your panties, rubbing your leaking hole as she fucks herself on top of you. when she notices your little hand circling your clit, she wants to coo, wants to warn you— but she doesn't. she chuckles, "can't fucking help... fuck—" you barely let her finish her sentence again, before you take her clit between your teeth and gnaw at it gently. "s'fucking much— can't even fucking help yourself— can you?" every word that leaves her mouth feels as if it's being held hostage, trying to escape, sounding muffled and choked up.

of course you need to cum when your mouth is on her cunt, of course you need to cum when she's using you like this, it's so obvious, it's so... you, she attempts to be feigned by it, but instead, she laughs. "go on... make yourself cum— g-go on" she stutters, and when she does, you suck harder on the bud than you've ever sucked in your life, with a sweet, high pitched moan. you almost have to physically push your fingers out of your cunt, whining as soon as the feeling of being empty washes over you, and then— you push them deep inside ellie’s tight, warm hole.

she barely has time to response, jolting at the intrusion, muttering a string of curse words under her breath, pulling her head back. "dirty— fuckin'..."

your juices mix with her's, and the sounds that your mouth leaves are obscene, wet and sticky, moaning like you've never tasted anything better in your life— which you probably hadn't. "you gonna cum, daddy?" you probe, breathlessly so, and it's humorous, that brave attitude that washes over you when she's a mess splattered against the fridge, bucking her hips and— cumming. all over your mouth.

you lick it up, suck all of the juices in, from her tight hole and then all over her slit, swallowing every last bit.

before you manage to get up, she lifts you up.

you both stand there for a while, forehead to forehead, not talking, barely breathing on each other.

you blink twice, and then once more.

"powerless?" you quip, silently.

she's breathless, and before she replies, she attacks your neck with sweet, soft kisses.

"you fucking.... you fucking—", she picks you up and you squeal. she pushes you against the counter and she... giggles?

"how did i fucking..." she pecks your lips, and pecks it again, and again, and again— you can't stop laughing, she's tickling you all over and the tears start forming in the corners of your eyes.

"how did get so fucking lucky?" she pecks again, on your cheek now. "huh?" she repeats, and fuck— that smile.

"how did i get so fucking... lucky"

how did she, truly?

"go upstairs and grab it" she orders, but waits for your response. "what?" you speak, in between sweet as honey giggles.

"up... stairs"

"what's upstairs?"

she tilts her head, and smirks.

"what's upst—... oh"

oh.

[macfrog]

wish you were here | one shot

thank you lovely anon for this gorgeous request which felt like a huge mug of hot chocolate and a pair of socks fresh from the dryer to write. i hope you enjoy.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel skip jackson’s annual holiday party in favor of some alone time. (not that kind you filthy animals it’s the HOLIDAYS)

warnings: fluff lmao, thirty-year age gap and u can stay mad, set around the holidays but no mention of christmas etc, nothing but love and two hints of sex. that's all. oh and no guitars were harmed in the making of this - joel canonically goes and gets the guitar after the fic ends. dw.

word count: 1.9k 

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🤎

Jackson is alive with a thrumming heartbeat. Pulsing through the air, bumping gently against the quick-lying snow and filling the otherwise silent night. A steady, rhythmic heartbeat.  

A heartbeat which sounds a lot like Blue Monday, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

The holiday party is in full swing down in the Tipsy Bison. Seven o’clock ‘til late! on flyers plastered all over the commune for the last month. Tommy had tried relentlessly to convince Joel this morning on patrol – It’ll be a good night; You oughta come along, show face at least. At the same time, Maria was on your back about it in the stables.

Y’all hardly come to anything fun, she’d argued.

We come to stuff.

When’s the last time you came to anythin’?

We were – we were at Mike’s birthday dinner.

What – five months ago?

We like alone time.

Alone time? You’re never apart from one another.

Alone time – together.

Neither attempt had been successful. Tommy and Maria had exchanged a disheartened glance as the two brothers passed their horses to you on their return. Joel clipped your cheek, took his gloves off and fixed them onto your frozen hands before making off for home, a proud grin on his face. You’d held your own as well as he had: you two had a clear evening ahead.

He had lit and nurtured a fire, had made himself a coffee and heaped half a damn bag of tiny marshmallows into a hot chocolate for you, but when he’d come through to take his place on the couch, you were already stood out front.

It’s bitter out – a soft breeze, but a thick chill on its wings. The sky a washed gray, heavy clouds overhead. He slips outside, setting the mugs down on the table, and slings a blanket over your shoulders. Kisses the curve of your neck, scruff of his beard tickling your skin.

‘s freezing, pretty bird.

Then keep me warm, you whisper, turning into his arms. He steps back, settling into his chair, flicking his fingers for you to fall down into his wide lap.

You curl up against his torso, your head hooked beneath his jaw. Wonder how drunk Tommy is by now. What is it – nine?

His wrist lifts, moonlight gleaming in the reflection of his broken watch face. Just gone ten. I bet he’s on his ass already.

You giggle into his shirt, breathing in the scent of the pine trees, the smoke from stoking the fire inside, the bite of hot coffee. The echo of voices swelling in merry song turns your attention down the street – two figures hooked onto one another, stumbling through the powdered snow. Some slurred rendition of September melting into All Night Long before the smaller of the two tugs their partner off into a darkened house.

Joel laughs to himself, the bristle of his beard catching on your hair as he shakes his head.

You ask him softly, Will you play me something?

His breath soars, a cloud hot and pale white, past your temple and up into the pastel sky. Gets swallowed somewhere overhead by the wash of warmth from the porch light. He turns his mug until the owl faces the street, the bottom gnawing against the wooden armrest of his chair.

I’m serious.

What do you wanna hear?

That one you’re always practicin’. The plucking one.

Another rumble between your shoulder blades. His chest jolts with a solid laugh. The pluckin’ one.

You know the one.

I know the one.

Will you play it, if I go get the guitar?

Baby, his lungs nudge on your back as they fill, it’s late. We’ll wake the neighbors.

Everyone’s at the dance. C’mon.

And he can’t argue with that. The entire street lies dark, vacant. Yours is the only house with soft-glowing eyes, the muted orange of the fire flickering behind closed blinds. Two figures, tangled in a chair on the dim front porch; a hunting jacket around his shoulders, and his body around yours.

You tug on the blanket, wrapping it around your elbows as you stand. Just once. Play me it once.

Joel’s looking up at you, setting his mug down on the table. Play you it as many times as you want, pretty bird. Just – quietly.

There’s a spring in your step that drags another chuckle from Joel’s lips: the kind that drips like honey down your throat and warms the pit of your stomach – a sweet, comforting thing, a sound you swear was made purposefully for you. Divine and deliberate.

Like – all of him. Like the shape of your name in his mouth, the curl of his tongue as the sound surfs over it. Like the curve of his hand and the way yours so neatly molds into it.

The way it did the day he found you, crouched in the gray backroom of some butchers deep in the city, and took you all the way back to Jackson. Let you cling to him on the back of his horse; your weak arms around his waist, anchored by the heavy jacket he’d thrown over your back. Your ear between his shoulder blades. And that was that.

Fifty-six. One brown-turned-silver hair away from thirty years your senior. He still remembers before. Talks about movies, talks about computers. Talks about Sarah, when the sun hits the wall at a certain angle and he reckons he could see her standing right there, the soft shadow of her hair dark against the golden wall. When you make a joke and he laughs a ghostly sort of laugh, like he’s hearing the echo of her voice make the same quip three decades ago. He always says she would’ve loved you; you like to think he’s right.

He found you: a lonely little broken heart, and he pulled you to your feet with a rough palm against your own. Hands calloused only from years spent carving wood and pressing the hard strings of his guitar into the fretboard, and nothing else. No violence and no bloodshed; no survival or threat. Music, and patience, and kindness.

And maybe you found him, too, in the same sort of way: roughened up, awkward and messy stitches holding him together. Maybe the two of you nursed one another back to life; each brush of your hands in the dining hall and each meaningful glance while out on patrol sewing those wounds up a little tighter, a little safer.

He sits forward when you hold the instrument out, sweeping a broad palm down the slope of the body. Pinches the pegs one by one, twisting them while his thumb taps on each string.

Come here, he says, beckoning you forward with a flick of his chin. He taps on the seam of his jeans, widens his legs for you to curl up between them at his feet – the way you always do.

Your elbows hook over his thigh, ear pressed against the inside of his knee. Staring up, blinking slowly, eyes glazed with the cold and with the light and with love.

He plucks gently, slow at first. Letting the strings snap with a twang, vibrating enough that you feel the small rattle in your jaw. Your eyes fall closed, head rocking with the light tap of his heel on the porch. When you peer at him through your lashes, he’s watching the skilled movements of his fingers intently; as if he’s as much a spectator as you are – his body doing all of the thinking and working for him.

 So, he sings, and your stomach melts to a puddle, so you think you can tell –

Your eyes close again, the low rumble of his voice crisp in your ears. Like thunder, like the promise of something great and mighty. Something moving, something rolling and changing the landscape of your body, your mind and your soul. The lines between living and dying begin to blur, the seam tearing between this plain and the next.

Did they get you to trade – your lips parting to whisper the words with him – your heroes for ghosts?

His thumbnail dragging down the strings, his strong fingers flitting between chords. Like he was made to sit here, in the dead of night, and carve a space in the world for himself and his voice and for you – lain in the safe scope of his body, protected by his breadth and brawn and lulled by his sweet song.

His breadth and brawn – the parts of him which have kept him standing here. His skeleton, his muscle. But the thing that keeps you warm at night, buried side by side under a threadbare woolen sheet together, the thing that you link your arms around as he leads you home from the nights you dare to visit the Tipsy Bison: are his heart, his flesh, the gray-singed hair which falls in a featherlight wave over his forehead. The hair you sweep from his eyes when he’s on top of you, his hips cradled in yours, that all-encompassing feeling of every part of him filling every part of you.

It all feels that way. The warmth of him, the feeling of being wrapped around him. Hooked around his body, bones intertwined. Absorbing one another, his words breathing life into yours, slowly growing louder and braver with each pluck and strum of music.

We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year.

Your makeups entangling, ribcages locking together, flesh meeting flesh and hair twisting until one day, Tommy will come looking for his brother and find the two of you here on your porch, your arms still draped over Joel’s thigh and his fingers still mid-song. Stuck, alone, together.

What have we found? Joel looks down to you as though asking the question – his eyebrows raised – and you reply, a dumb smile across your lips, The same old fears, and then, together –

Wish you were here.

He plays until his fingers must start to hurt, the way he clenches and loosens his fist. Setting the guitar against your chair, hands hooking under your arms to pull you back up to him.

That one your favorite? he asks, the cold tip of his nose circling yours.

You nod. Only when you sing it.

I like the way we sound together.

You smile, shrinking into his chest again, your fingers surfing back and forth on the worn shirt. I like the way we do a lot of things together.

His hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, massaging your waist. He dots a trail of light, damp kisses along your forehead, dipping to your temple, the angle of your cheek until your jaw lifts and his lips are against yours, his tongue parting to lick purposefully at yours.

I love you, pretty bird, he whispers, the words falling sweet and fair on your tongue.

You take a moment to let them seep into your skin. ‘s the first time you’ve ever said that, you tell him.

Joel smiles. He knows. But you knew it already, he counters.

You know, too. Mhm.

Alright, he groans, slipping his hands under your thighs and hoisting you up to his height, bedtime.

It’s only ten, you complain, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders as he carries you inside. It’s too early to sleep – Joel.

Didn’t say we were goin’ to sleep, he mumbles, kicking the door shut.

[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

[lottiecrabie]

warm me up – matty healy

after a freezing date, you and your boyfriend matty must find a way to warm yourself up

warnings: 18+, cockwarming, fluff

1445 words

The cold bites your cheeks. It seeps beneath your winter coat and the sweater you stole from Matty, beneath the two pairs of wool socks you put on, beneath even your blue mittens you’re rubbing together for a sliver of warmth. Matty chuckles at you as he unlocks the door, unfairly slow from his own numb fingers. 

He has a dust of snow over his dark curls unraveling from the merciless wind. You tried to tell him to wear a hat, but he’s always been more about style than function. The tip of his ears are bright red, so you feel a little vindicated. 

Your hand reaches out to tickle the icy skin, laughing as he scrunches into his neck, shaking you off. The door opens wide. Snow falls into the house as you step through with your wet boots. 

“Shit, it’s freezing here, too,” you say, unspooling your red scarf from your neck. Matty drops the two pairs of skates from his shoulder with a sigh of relief. The sound rings through the house. You wince at the poor floors. 

Matty racks a hand through his snowy hair. For a blink of a moment, it storms in the house. It feels just like him; creating blizzards from the tips of him, making the universe from inside a house. He tiptoes over your ridiculous collection of shoes, checking the thermostat. 

He frowns at the sight, pressing buttons at random. “I don’t think the heating is working.” 

“No way.” You’re still shivering for God’s sake. Matty looks back at you with an apologetic smile. You groan, dropping on the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Winter sucks.” You sniffle, digging your red chin under his sweater. 

Matty laughs. He falls on the couch beside you, sighing with bone-heavy exhaustion. Any fight for righteous heating seems to fly out of you. “You literally just said you loved winter.” 

Your head rests on his shoulder. His skin is cold too, of course, but just the idea of him warms you up. You mumble, “That was when I was making snow angels and winning the snowball fight.”

“You didn’t win.” 

You gasp, sitting up. “I so did! I had you eating snow.” 

“Only because you cheated!” And, sure, maybe you did seduce him, sat in his lap, and then shoved handfuls of snow in his head, but that was a fair strategy. It’s not your fault he didn’t try very hard to push you away when you were giggling in his face, shifting your hips to keep him in place.

“You would too if it worked on me,” you huffed, nose upping. 

Matty laughs at you. It’s easy and open, some sort of secret shared between the sugar sweet space between you. His hand sneaks under his sweater, cold fingers pressing against your stomach. You squeak, pushing him away. “You’re freezing.”

“I know,” he breathes, nipping at your cheek. Even the tip of his nose is frigid. “Warm me up.” 

You roll your eyes. “How am I supposed to do that? I’m freezing, too.” Matty hums. He takes your leg, dropping it over his lap so you fit snugly against him. His smile rises as he watches you, hair falling around you like some lingering snow angel. “Want a rematch, huh?” You whisper cheekily. 

“Always.” His thumbs rub over your clothed hips. “I think I have a chance this time.” 

Your fingers bury in his hair. He sighs, eyes closing in relief. “Never,” you say against his lips, kissing him. He tastes like the hot chocolate from the walk back home, like thousands of specks of snow melting on his tongue, like the wind ringing through your ears. Maybe you do love winter after all. 

“I know,” he says back and it sounds a little like adoration. His hands climb up under the hem of his sweater again and you let him, only shivering slightly. 

His lips do a good job of distracting you, slow and languid and lazy like you. There’s no rush in this heatless space, nowhere to go but this beat-up couch. There’s something terribly satisfying about it. 

Time on tour, bouncing between two award shows, sloping through sleepless nights are all exciting. Being with him is like having a finger on a pulse; electric and alive.

But you love the quiet. When the world gets slow enough to pause, to breathe. When you hold him between two greedy hands and don’t wonder where he’s going next. 

“Warm me up,” Matty pouts, hands rising to your back. He manages to be everywhere around you, swallows you with his limbs like one of his sweaters. You want to drown in the feel of him. 

“Okay.” You can’t even hide a smile. It breaks across your face, a little too eager and crooked. 

Your fingers are still a little numb. They work sloppily at his belt buckle, frowning down at your work as Matty slips the hem of your leggings past your ass. You gasp at the cold air, giggling into his mouth. “Sorry,” Matty says. You shake your head. 

You draw him out of his trousers. He echoes the same gasp, which you laugh openly at and don’t apologize for. He’s already hard. You draw a delicate finger down the length, grabbing the base as you line him up. 

“Fuck, babe,” Matty moans, head falling against the back of the couch. 

He watches you; not your hands working him slowly, not your already wet cunt as he enters you, you. Your face as you settle down on him, breaking open with a breathy moan, laughing with relief. The smile coating your lips, giddy and lazy. 

He bottoms out with a glorious coil of pleasure. Your pussy throbs around him, finally full. Matty was right, infuriatingly so. The room feels hotter already, flames licking up your limbs. 

You don’t bother rolling your hips expertly, chasing a climax you know you can get under five minutes. Sitting there with his cock buried so deep, you enjoy the feel of him, the warmth of him. The mere fact that he exists and he’s yours. 

Matty kisses your cheek. “Didn’t even have to touch you to get you wet,” he says cheekily, though immediately contradicts his point by rubbing slow circles over your clit. You bite your lips, shuddering. “Thought you weren’t affected at all when you were using your feminine wiles to win the fight.”

“Feminine wi—” You laugh, tracing the shape of his elbow with a finger. “You make me sound devious.” 

He gives you a deadpan look. “Yeah, I make you sound devious.” 

Your finger travels to the apple of his cheek, swirling around the bone. You want to memorize him. Carve all the scars and dents in a wall for archeologists to uncover like some paleolithic cave painting. Make them wonder which God you were worshiping. 

You draw the edges of his jaw next. It tickles him, face scrunching as he shivers. The shift reverbs inside of you. You gasp a little, moaning, feeling a streak of hot bliss climbing up your veins. Still, you want to stretch the moment like toffee. You’ve always been greedy; wanting more than time can give is just like you. 

Matty doesn’t seem to be any more in a rushing mood anyway. He breathes heavily, chest rising and falling with yours. You caress his lips next. Don’t need to memorize those; you know them by heart. 

“Are you warm?” You whisper into him. It suddenly feels awfully unnecessary to speak any louder than this.

“Yeah, love,” Matty smiles. Sunshine drips on his cheeks. It’s not winter after all. “You warmed me up.” 

You blush, burying your head in his neck. The move resonates inside of you again. You gasp in unison, hot breath on his jaw. Your skin is frenzied, aware of every minimal motion like some heavenly butterfly effect. You’ve swallowed a live-wire, lighting up with electricity every time you shift. 

You are so perfectly full and complete. It’s like he was made for you, like he had been created to lay between your thighs. Your heart flutters. 

“I love you,” you say in his neck. You can’t hold the words; you burst at the seams. Sometimes you think he stretches the shape of your heart to fit all of him. 

Matty kisses your temple. “Me, too.” His hand grazes your back, raising the hair. Another shiver that buzzes through you. You sigh, clenching around him. Matty whines, grasping your back. “God, I love you.” 

You don’t want to let this moment go. “Can we lie like this still?” Chest opened, heart leaking out of your ribs. 

He laughs, nuzzling your cheek. “No other way to heat the place, darling.” 

[denjjisgf]

college student armin thoughts:

armin lives in the last room on the right at the end of your floor. although meeting a fair share of your floormates, he’s the last to introduce himself.

one wednesday, you round the corner for the elevator and collide into his backpack. he has a navy jansport, the kind with the tan suede padding on the bottom. he smiles an apologetic grin and steps into the now arrived elevator. divine timing, right?

it was silent on the way down. the normal scent of last friday’s activities and mud from the melting snow was replaced by pine and laundry softener lingered in the tight space. armin shuffles in place, swinging his arms low at his side and kicking at pieces of road salt with his camel birkenstock clogs. *ping* the metal doors slide inside the wall and you step out first. as you’re walking out, thinking of conversation starters and hoping fate might bring you back to this moment in another life, you give up on this chance to say hello to the nice smelling, pretty eyed boy on your floor. disappointed you make your way to your room for the night. a flash of blond flies past your peripheral. armin leaned into the door in your path with a shove, popping it open to both of your surprise. the owner of the room sat at their desk, shocked at the two strangers standing in the frame of the once closed door, “can i help you?”  

“sorry! just looking for the bathroom!” he sputtered out, face red like a tomato. he smiled and you found it contagious.

“we haven’t met yet,” in his head, he counted to ten to regulate his heart rate. “i’m armin.” his voice had the cutest inflections, perfect little cracks of nervousness caught in his throat.

his eyes followed you, taking you in up close. it wasn’t until that last second, really, that he decided to spark this interaction. it had been a long semester, one where his best days were in passing with yours. he dreamed of softly knocking on your door to wake you in the morning and carrying your laundry down to the laundry room, a pocket of change jingling, ready to pay for your loads. in the library, he yearned for you, seated in the chair next to his, where you both study and mostly distract the other. he searched for your face in every crowd and always walked a little faster to the one class you both had three semesters ago when he first saw you. he watched the weeks turn into months, waiting for the perfect moment, but it was never the right time. that was until now.

“hello armin, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

—

“come sit with mee,” he pouts with a pushed out lip. he starfishes his legs out in the center of the bed, swishing them open and closed. his cropped shag sticks up in all the right places as it rests on the headboard. god is he lucky for being so cute; a short sigh slips out of your playful smile while you circle the room, ditching your socks and slipping into a tshirt.

“can you wait a second? i just got back,” you shimmy off your jeans, “and last i checked this was my room.” you finger through a drawer and take out some sweatpants.

“i actually cannot wait. it’s been hours. i thought you only had the one class today. where have you been? you have responsibilities here: me!” he’s gleaming, patting the bed with both hands and urging you closer. “i’ve been waiting to watch our show all day. can we pleasee?”

he’s so damn needy. but he’s so damn needy for you, so who are you to deny. you plop down in the space between his legs where the blanket is warm from his presence and you settle in, palms pressed flat over his thighs and his arms linked with yours in a hug. he kisses along your temple and takes a deep breath, “i needed this.”

he continues to play with you, adjusting the shoulders of your sleeve and pulling at lint on your pants, tugging on your hair and swishing his feet at the foot of the bed. you reach for the remote and a small projector screen illuminates the low lit room, “armin, do you remember what episode we left off on?”

“ i have it all set up and ready. all you gotta do is press play,” he’s so smug, a mix of nerdy matter of factness and what you know as puppy love. you play your show and smile at the familiar theme song— it reminds you of moments like this with your boyfriend. your eyes drift to scan the room; your mugs neatly stacked on the drying rack, makeup brushes resting back in their jar, and a freshly folded pile of laundry sat on the corner of your desk. had he done all this while you were gone? you swell with adoration, a cold tingle racing through your body as you paw for his hands with a squeeze.

“truly, love, what would i do without you?”

“i think you mean what would i do without you?” he smiles and kisses you, soft and sweet, light like breathing for the first time and overwhelming in every sense of the word. “now pay attention, you fell asleep again last night and i don’t think i can bear to watch this episode for the fourth time.”

[nyradragon]

Afternoon delight — Ellie Williams

Summary: patrol has pushed you to your limits luckily ellie is able to help you relax a bit more.

Warning(s): drug use (marijuana), pet names, shotgunning, light touching, suggestive actions, mature themes.

authors note: had this bouncing around my brain like the old dvd logo so i thought i’d share! NOT proofread

reblog’s and feedback would be much appreciated!!<3

It was freezing and you were exhausted as you trudged your way through the thick snow to Ellie’s place cutting through Joel’s front yard before making it to her front door and lazily pounded on it till you could hear shuffling from inside.

Letting out a deep sigh when Ellie comes into view a weak smile pulling across your lips as you let your eye scan over her form. She’d look a bit dazed hair pulled into a messy bun..— if you can even call it that having the majority of it falling over her shoulders. Her dopey form slouched a bit as her oversized sweater swallowed her upper body and the tops of her thighs the shorts she was wearing slightly peaking out from the bottom of the sweater and her feet clad in some thick wool socks.

“Hi gorgeous, i didn’t think i’d see ya’ tonight“

Ellie would shift her weight from foot to foot as she hugged her own frame trying to keep warm as she shivered from the bitter cold air flooding into her warm room.

“—get your ass in here m’freezing.”

You’d smile fondly looking back up into her eyes with a giggle before stepping forward with your arms out ready to snuggle into her. Ellie would give you a goofy smile pulling you into her arms while swinging the door shut behind you with her free hand. Ellie would hum quietly wrapping both her arms around your middle tightly while her lips pressed against your forehead, then your cheek and lastly your nose causing you to scrunch it up at the touch laughing loudly as your try to shove the freckled girl away with no avail.

“Ellie! —Ellie stop! you’re getting your slobber on m-me!”

You stutter between giggles as ellie pulled away letting you have a good look at her. Her freckled cheeks were flushed a deep shade of pink along with the tip of her nose, her pupils blown— almost completely void of colour, she was chewing on her bottom lip trying to keep herself from laughing at your flustered state.

Tugging one of your hands free from her hold you’d rest it on Ellie’s cheek lightly letting your fingers brush over the scattered freckles. Ellie let out a quiet sign her body seemingly relaxing almost melting into your touch before she’d lean into your hand making you smile fondly. You were absolutely in love with this girl.

You’d stay like that for a couple moments letting your eyes glance over the room catching the jar of pre-rolls you two had found at Eugene’s while on patrol. Your eyes landed on the mostly smoked joint in the makeshift ash tray before putting two and two together.

“bug.. you smoked without me?”

You fake pout, jutting out your bottom lip as you let your eyes travel back to hers seeing them soften at your words. she reached up brushing her thumb over your bottom lip chuckling quietly before leaning in and pecking them.

Wordlessly ellie would drop her arms before grabbing your hand in her rough and callused ones. Tugging you over to the worn out couch that she had spent most of her day off occupying seeing a couple blankets and snacks scattered on the couch and small coffee table.

Ellie would plop onto the couch with a huff dragging you down with her almost landing in her lap you’d laugh loudly breaking your fake facade from moments ago. Ellie would be all teeth, smiling from ear to ear as she watched your face light up.

“ahh there she is! No more pouting.. here ya’ go baby—“

She’d reach over to the jar plucking out a fresh joint and her lighter before scooting back into the couch and turning her body so she was facing you with her leg up on the couch. She’d lean her body closer to yours raising her hand with the joint between her fingers, she’d tap your bottom lip with her knuckle. You feel almost transfixed by her mannerisms— biting her lip as she studied yours.

Slowly parting your lips to accept the joint your eyes fluttering up to hers again as you watched her slightly she tilted her head a small smirk forming on her lips as she flicked the lighter to life. Her thin fingers inched closer to your lips eyes trained on the small band of silver you had given her months prior that never seemed to leave her index finger.

She’d lean in closer as she lit the joint dropping her free hand to lay on your thigh as it sizzled to life. You’d inhale deeply letting the smoke fill your lungs, your eyes fluttering closed as your shoulders relaxed into the couch more. You’d pull it away from your lips dropping your head back to let the thick smoke drift from your mouth slowly.

Ellie would be lost in thought mesmerized by every mundane action coming from you, her high making her brain foggy and her lips feel dry. She’d lick her lips letting herself focus on the way yours moves, wrapping around the joint again to take another drag as the cherry glowed ellie would take a sharp intake of air leaning forward again.

The freckled girl chewed on her bottom lip out of habit reaching her hand up to your chin pulling lightly to have you look at her again.

“god— you have no idea how beautiful you are do you?”

She’d guide you closer to her by her icy fingers on your chin only inches apart the smoke you exhaled still lingering in the air between you two.

“—Drivin’ me crazy.”

She’d say in a hushed tone her voice sounding more rough then normal causing you to silently thank the budding flower you two were smoking. You could feel her breath on your lips and her hand sliding further up your thigh causing you to let out a shaky breath your eyes trailing from her eyes down to her lips causing Ellie to let out a chuckle before pulling further away from your frozen form.

She’d snatch the burning joint from your finger to place it between her lips with a smile, her hand on your thigh making it feel like your skin was on fire as she tapped her fingers lightly.

Ellie truly had you wrapped around her fingers just watching her as she inhaled deeply reaching over to stub out the glowing end into the ashtray the smoke still lingering in her lungs as she leaned back into you. Her hand raising to your hip tugging you closer as well causing your breath to hitch as you realized what she was doing.

Your mind was hazy as the freckled girl pressed her lips to your parted ones exhaling the thick smoke into your mouth as your eyes closed melting into her rough touch. It burned as it filled your lungs that and just the mere touch of her lips on yours setting your body aflame. You reluctantly pulled away feeling slightly light headed from the smoke and her lips, you’d let out the smoke trying to avoid Ellie’s close face.

“Now, how are ya’ feeling baby?..— a little more relaxed i hope.”

She’d have a shit eating grin on her face, her eyes darker then normal and her cheeks extremely flushed though you mirrored her look perfectly. Your mind was fizzling with how much you wanted her and to just have her lips on you again.

You took in a sharp breath as she inched closer to you yet again this time towards your ear her breath and her next words sending a shiver down your spin and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“—If not.. well.. i do have other means to help you relax.”

[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.

[ameagrice]

Capsize

chapter twenty | back to camp

—

Camp covered in snow was a strange sight, but not an unwelcome one. Since the climate inside the border was controlled, it always had been pretty sunny and warm. This winter, snow fell lightly like icing flour through a sieve on a cake. The cabins in the far distance were decorated with tiny flickering lights, with no visible strings, so you guessed they were some kind of magic. If camp had done this before, you hadn't been around to witness it.

The woods lit with the same circular balls of light, giving the trees a warm but slightly eerie glow. Nico, however, seemed to think everything was amazing.

"Woah!" he said, clambering down the bus steps. "Is that a climbing wall?"

"Sure is," you nodded. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"You bet! Let's go now!" He grabbed your sleeve, and you hummed.

"Uhh, we should wait a bit. I think Chiron might want to talk to you..."

"Who? Oh, awesome! Is that real lava?"

You gently pulled your arm away from Nico's hand. "Go ask Percy. I'm sure he has the patience."

Percy's deadpan brought a sly smile to your face.

The Hunters headed off to the Artemis cabin, the reason behind having it finally making sense.

"Take care, sweethearts!" Apollo called after them. One of the girls turned and pretended to vomit. Apollo turned to Percy, still standing next to the bus. "Watch out for those prophecies, guys."

You pulled a face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Instead of answering, Apollo hopped back in the bus, standing in the doorway. "Later, Thalia. And you...I can't remember your name." Your mouth dropped in slight offence. The guy gave you serious nightmares only to not remember your name at the end of them? "Be good!"

You all looked away as he drove off. Looking back, the bus was a red Maserati instead.

Nico sighed childishly next to Percy. They both looked as equally upset, Percy a little more downtrodden than sad.

"Who's Chiron?" Nico mumbled. "I don't have his figurine."

"He's a talking horse."

"He's the activities director," Percy corrected, giving you a look. You couldn't help snickering. "He's...well, you'll see."

"If those Hunter girls don't like him, that's good enough for me," Nico grumbled.

You turned and started walking, hands in your jacket pockets. "Those Hunter girls don't like anyone."

--

You set off walking up the hill. Halfway there, you caught Travis and Connor thinking they were being sneaky, attempting to pick the lock on the camp store door. You didn't shout for Travis, just wanting to see how far he would actually get into the store.

The last two winters since being introduced to camp, you had spent with your family at home or in Sydney. Compared to the summer, camp was relatively quiet. All you saw on your walk to the Big House was a couple of Ares kids having a snowball fight at the edge of the woods.

The Big House had been turned into the perfect lounging pad. It smelt of hot chocolate and was decorated with red and yellow lights which, upon closer inspection and a humoured "try not to touch them, child," from Chiron, you figured out were real fireballs.

Inside, he and Mr. D. were playing a card game in the parlour. Mr. D. as usual was pudgy, red-eyed, and drinking a can of Coke, dealing cards like his life depended on it. Chiron's brown beard was shaggier than in the summer. His curly hair had grown a little longer. He wore a fuzzy sweater with a hoofprint design on it, and he had a blanket on his lap that almost hid the wheelchair he sat in completely.

"Ah!" He smiled. Mr. D. rolled his eyes. "You're back. And this must be--"

"Nico di Angelo," Percy said. "He and his sister are half-bloods."

Chiron breathed a sigh of relief. "You succeeded, then."

You chuckled humourlessly. "Well..."

His smile melted away when you turned your eyes back to him. "What's wrong? Where is Annabeth?"

"Oh dear," said Mr. D. in a bored voice. "Not another one lost."

He talked as if this was a perfectly normal case as a sock going missing in the laundry. Surprisingly, it filled you with anger.

"What do you mean?" Thalia stepped forward, a harsh line between her brows. "Who else is lost?"

The door behind you flung open, and a cold bout of air hit you in the back. You all turned. You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you.

"What happened to you?" you smirked, looking him up and down.

Grover had a black eye and a mark on his cheek that looked unmistakably like a slap mark. Just imagining it forced you to hold in your giggles. You met Percy's eye above Nico's head, and his solemn expression twitched. He looked away quickly.

"The Hunters are all moved in," he grinned crazily.

"The Hunters, eh? I see we have much to talk about."

"Which one slapped you?" You asked, still grinning wickedly. You couldn't help it.

"The tall one, Zoe. Ah..." he sighed, smiling like a lovesick fool.

"Grover," Chiron frowned. "Perhaps you could take our young friend to the den and show him our orientation film."

"But...Oh, right. Yes, sir."

"Orientation film?" Nico asked, looking between the elders in the room. "Is it a G or PG? 'Cause Bianca's kinda strict."

"It's PG-13," Grover said.

"Cool!" Nico dove under Grover's arm holding open the door.

When it closed, and quiet took over again, Chiron turned to you. "Now, perhaps you three should sit down and tell us the whole story."

—

You hadn’t ever taken much of a fancy to being under scrutiny. Nobody really did. But there was something about the way that Chiron blinked at you as Percy explained your poisoning and Annabeth’s saving trick that had you uncomfortable in your seat.

“Look,” you said. “I know I shouldn’t have wandered off—”

“You young ones never listen,” Mr. D. sighed, dealing out some more cards.

You side-eyed him. “But Nico and Bianca wouldn’t be here otherwise. If I had left them with Thorn, they’d have been either killed or taken to some army the guy talked about. I did us all a favour.”

“You made us lose Annabeth,” Thalia sneered. “If you had just waited for us—”

“Like I said!” You burst out, leaning forward in your seat to look at her on the other side of Percy. “If we waited any longer the kids wouldn’t be here! I mean, Bianca joined the Hunters, yes. But at least she’s alive, right?”

Chiron nodded slowly, in thought. Percy was weirdly quiet. He had this odd, solemn look on his face, and you had a feeling it had to do with Annabeth.

“Come on, guys,” you leaned back, resting your elbow on the armrest and setting your head on your clenched hand. “Annabeth’s smart. She can survive. But until then, I say we go look for her. Why wait?”

“Yes, we should start a search for her immediately,” Chiron agreed, looking to Mr. D.

“I’ll go!” Thalia burst. “The three of us will. That’s enough for a quest, isnt it?”

“Certainly not!” Your attention fell back to the old god in the corner. Your eyes narrowed. Instantly, Thalia and Percy began complaining, but Mr. D. simply held up his hand for them to fall quiet. He had this angry look in his eyes that said if they didn’t quit arguing with him, something bad and godly was going to happen. “From what you have told me, we have broken even on this escapade. We have—ah, regrettably lost Annie Bell—”

“Annabeth,” Percy bit sharply.

“Yes, yes, and you have procured a small, annoying boy to replace her.”

“She’s not an object!” You fumed.

“So I see no point risking further half-bloods on a ridiculous rescue,” he raised his voice to cover yours. “The possibility is very great that this Annie girl is dead.”

“Annabeth may be alive,” Chiron said, but you could tell he was having trouble sounding upbeat. He’d practically raised Annabeth, Percy had told you one day. “She’s very bright. If...if our enemies have her, she will try to play for time. She may even pretend to cooperate.”

“That’s right,” Thalia said. “Luke would want her to be alive.”

“In which case,” Mr. D. said. “She will likely have to be smart enough to escape on her own.”

Percy got up from the chair, running his hands through his hair. Something wasn’t sitting right with you. He and Annabeth had been on the quest last year together. They were bound to be closer after that. But he was acting like Annabeth was more than a close friend, here. The stress on his face told you a tale.

Something twinged in you, and it wasn’t worry.

“You’re glad to lose another camper!” He exclaimed, waving his hand at Mr. D. briefly. “You’d like it if we all disappeared!”

Mr. D. stifled a yawn, looking at him with bored eyes. “You have a point?”

“Yeah,” Percy ground. “Just because you were sent here as a punishment doesn’t mean you have to be a lazy jerk! This is your civilisation too! Maybe you could try helping out a little!”

For a moment, everything turned still. Mr. D’s expression changed from boredom to anger as quick as match could be lit. Just as he opened his mouth to say something—

The door flung open again, hitting the wall. You and Thalia turned.

“SO COOOOOL!” Nico roared excitedly with a lot of hand movements. He held his hands out to Chiron. “You’re a centaur!”

Chiron managed a tense smile. “Yes, Mr. di Angelo. Though I prefer to stay in this wheelchair for, ah, first impressions.”

“You didn’t for me,” you lazily cast your gaze to him.

“That was—”

“Woah!” He yelled, “and you’re the wine guy!”

Mr. D. turned his head slowly. “The wine guy?” He didn’t sound impressed. He gave Nico a look of pure loathing.

“Dionysus, right? I’ve got your figurine!”

“My figurine?”

“Yeah, in my game Mythomagic! And a holofoil card, too! And even though you’ve only got like five hundred attack points and everyone totally thinks you’re a loser, I think your powers are sweet!”

“Ah. That’s��gratifying.”

“Percy,” Chiron said quickly, while Mr. D. was caught on Nico’s comment. “All three of you go down to the cabins. Inform the campers we will be playing a game of Capture the Flag—” You groaned, and he smiled gently. “Tomorrow evening.”

“But we don’t have enough—”

“It is a tradition,” Chiron said. “A friendly match whenever the Hunters visit.”

“Friendly?” You jabbed your thumb in Thalia’s direction. She glowered. “Have you seen Thalia talk to them?”

“Yeah, they’re real friendly,” she looked like she was about to smash you with her shield.

Chiron jerked his head to Mr. D. who was caught up with Nico, still frowning as the kid explained his attack powers. “Run along, now.” He turned his eyes to you as yourself and Thalia stood. Your back popped as you stretched. “I believe Travis Stoll has been looking forward to your arrival. I suggest you drop by the Hermes cabin first. It would do all of our ears some good,” he smiled.

Percy was the first to burst out the door.

Thalia went next, and then you, rushing after your friend. You couldn’t get his anger off your mind. Anyone would be able to even feel the waves rolling off of Percy. He was livid inside, you could tell.

“Don’t listen to the old bag,” you ran up to him. “Who really gives a—”

“Why does he act like a life is disposable?” Percy fumed. “Annabeth is a person. She’s our friend. She’s not something that can be thrown out like—”

“Alright, dude.” You set your hand on his shoulder. It was hot under your own colder one. “Getting angry over things isn’t going to help. We need to use our brains and figure this out.”

The three of you slowed to a stop outside the armoury. Thalia joined your side. Percy sighed, looking out over camp.

“Sorry. I just couldn’t help it. It’s so unfair.”

The pine tree guarding camp was covered in snow, and the Golden Fleece glittered settled on its lowest branch. Your hand came up to your camp necklace, two painted beads on it now. One for Percy’s appearance, and the other for the quest they went on last year to get the fleece.

“Percy, lots of things are unfair. Sometimes I wish…” Thalia trailed. You looked at her, but she didn’t look at either yourself or Percy. She seemed in lost in a trance, some kind of memory.

“Let’s not get mopey, guys,” you settled on, trying to lighten things up. “We’ll find Annabeth. A hundred percent. Things always work out, don’t they? She’s my sister. We’re not just going to leave her wherever she is.” You looked between he and Thalia.

“You’re right,” Thalia agreed for once, shockingly. “We’ll find a way.”

The basketball court in the distance was raging. Some kids were arguing, a taller boy shoving a younger one.

“I’ll go sort that out,” Thalia said. “You guys circulate around the cabins and spread the news about Capture the Flag.”

“Alright. You should be team captain.”

You tried not to let your emotion show, but it almost always slipped on your face. Why Thalia? It felt a little childish, but why should Thalia be team captain when you were stood right here, holding the brains and the smarts strategising capabilities. Thalia had never faced camp games before—and simple as they could be, she didn’t have experience with them. If anyone had the best bet at getting the team to win, it would be someone from the Athena cabin.

Why purposely pinpoint Thalia to be the head of something, when you were standing right next to her?

“No, no. You two have been at camp longer than me. You should pick between yourselves.”

You couldn’t help yourself. You waved a hand Thalia’s way, looking at Percy.

“Right. We’ll…co-captain or something.”

CO-CAPTAIN?!

“Sure, Percy. Whatever floats your boat, man.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you drawled. You stepped around them, heading off down the hill. “That I’m going to find Travis.”

“You’re not coming with me?” Percy frowned thoughtfully. “Meet me after?”

You threw up a peace sign and turned back around, starting your hike to find your friend.

—

Travis could be found in the most random of places. He’d told you once that maybe his love to wander was something inherited from his dad. The outdoors was a love of Travis’s.

Which was probably why, you thought, he looked bored now. You’d both retreated to your empty cabin, laying on your bed with your back to the mattress and feet on the wall. It was a bit of squeeze to try and fit Travis’s taller figure out the way of the ladder, but with your sides pressed together and your elbows knocking, you managed.

“I thought you joined them, at first,” he said, unafraid to be loud in the empty space. You guessed your siblings were out there doing something, some class. “The coat sort of sent me into shock.”

“Well,” you said, wriggling to try and get more comfortable. You hit Travis in the ribs and he knocked his bony ankle with yours. Boys were always skinny at this age—along with having great eyebrows and eyelashes. It wasn’t fair. “I heard they have to swear off of boys for life and I thought nope.”

“That’s good to know, Brains.”

You turned your head to look at Travis. He had his eyes pinned to the wall. You had one blue sock and one yellow one, while Travis’s were a plain black. The meaning of his words settled on you, and your heart jolted.

“Is it?”

He hummed. Since you’d been gone his voice had changed too, like Percy’s had. Except Travis’s was definitely deeper than the last summer. You missed his fifteenth birthday, unfortunately, but there was no negative emotion on his part. You had shipped over a kangaroo plushie for laughs, with one of those detachable hats with the corks on the edge, and a letter. He wrote back and said it was the best gift he’d ever had.

“You can’t get rid of me,” you muttered, trying to change the tension. “I’m here to stay, sorry to say.”

“Oh man, I was starting to think I’d finally gotten rid of you.”

“No such luck, I’m afraid,” you smiled.

“Damn,” you looked at him, eyes widening; he was already looking with a peaceful expression. “Guess I’m stuck with you.”

You smiled. “Guess so.”

I didn’t know where to end this, so have some Travis action. The interactions with Travis does add to the plot, don’t worry guys. It’s not completely random :D Percy x you is 100% this fic, it’s coming.

Taglist:

@bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @hawkeye12 @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @luckydragontriumph @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @bugsys-bubble @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281 @mrswang17 @jessiegerl

[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.

[fawnandshadows]

First Dates + Ice Rinks

Gifting this one to my friend @tswaney17! Merry, Merry, Merry Christmas my love!!! I’ve enjoyed getting to know you so much this past year 🥹 I hope your December is warm and cozy and all good things <333

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: language, slight age gap

Rating: T

Azriel was going to vomit. 

As he stood on the porch to the Archeron house the flowers he bought were limp in his sweaty hand, and the lights posted on either side of the door caused little beads of perspiration to slide down his neck and forehead. 

Fuck, it was close to snowing and Azriel was at risk of a heat stroke. 

How long had he been standing here? Did he even knock? His hand was balled into a fist, but if he knocked, then surely someone would have answered the door by now? He raised his hand to knock again, but before his knuckles made contact with the wood, the door pulled open from the inside and Rhysand's smirking face was revealed to him. 

“What are you doing here?” Azriel said sharply, not expecting to see the face of one of his best friends before his date. 

“It’s my girlfriend's house,” Rhys said with an eye roll and opened the door fully for his friend. 

Azriel swallowed nervously as he entered the house and looked around. It wasn’t the first time he had been in the cute, colonial house…but it was the first time he had been in it to take Elain Archeron on a date. Their Christmas tree was up and decorated by the fireplace — a collection of ornaments they made in school and ones picked up throughout the years — and garland was wrapped around the wooden staircase. The smell of burnt sugar came wafting from the kitchen, where Feyre and Nesta were arguing. 

Azriel opened his mouth to speak, but a loud, booming voice called out of the kitchen 

“Fucking A.”

Cassian. 

“Is everyone here?” Azriel asked with a raised eyebrow, his free hand coming up to rub his temple. 

“Like we would miss this,” Rhysand said and clapped his shoulder. “It’s Elain’s first date…Which reminds me,” his violet eyes darkened as he poked Azriel in the chest. Hard. “You’re dating my girlfriend's sister.” 

Azriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Not dating. It’s one date. She could tell me to fuck off by the end of the night.” Azriel said, his fingers clutching the plastic wrapped flowers. 

“Hopefully,” Rhys said darkly, probably remembering the half naked girls he had seen leave Azriel’s room in the early hours of the morning. The downside of living with your best friend. “She’s sixteen, Az,” His brother poked him in the chest again. “That’s three years younger than you.”

“Thank you, brother, but I can count.” 

Rhysand’s expression clouded at his tone. 

“Now’s not the time.”

Azriel took a deep breath to calm himself, and then another. The tension growing in the room as they stared each other down. 

It was the sound of soft socked feet pattering down the wooden steps that caused Azriel to look away, and his breath caught in his throat as he watched Elain scampering down the stairs. 

“I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry,” She said as she rushed towards him, her cheeks flushed and golden curls wild around her face. “It took me a while to get ready and I wanted to greet you at the door to save you from,” Elain raised one hand to gesture at Rhysand who rolled his eyes. “Him, but I couldn’t find my skates,” She raised her hand to show off two well-loved white skates. “Hi.” She breathed with a smile. 

“You’re lovely,” Azriel said, loving the way Elain’s eyes warmed like melted chocolate and the way her cheeks rounded as she smiled. “These are for you,” He raised the bouquet to her and watched as her smile suddenly turned shy. “They’re probably not as good as the ones you grow, but the florist recommended them.” 

“My favorite,” Elain whispered as she took the bundle of red roses from his hands. Her eyes briefly meeting his before fluttering away. “I’ll put these in water and then we can go,” Her eyes drifted to Rhysand as she said, “Be nice.” 

Elain quickly spun, her black skirt flouncing behind her, and her tight-clad legs hurried into the kitchen, and Azriel could hear her whisper yelling to someone he couldn’t see, but two seconds later Feyre’s smiling face rounded the corner and greeted him. 

“Hi Az!” Feyre said, walking up and wrapping her arms around her boyfriend. Rhys didn’t seem annoyed by the interruption in the least, just happily amused as he tugged Feyre closer to his chest. 

“Are you here to supervise, Feyre Darling?” He asked, smoothing some of the flyaway hairs on her head. 

“Are you admitting you need supervision?”

“Most definitely.” 

The two smiled at each other and Azriel shifted from foot to foot, his eyes trained on the door. 

“She’s really excited, you know,” Feyre said softly, and Azriel turned to see her smiling at him. “She spent all day getting ready for you.” 

For the first time that night Azriel relaxed.

He looked at the kitchen and saw Elain walking towards him holding a thing of Tupperware, smiling brightly. 

“I baked us cookies,” Elain said bashfully, handing Azriel the container as she pulled on her navy peacoat. “And they were upset I didn’t give them any, so they’re making their own. I promise I didn’t burn them.” 

Just then the shrill fire alarm sounded, and Cassian’s loud voice yelled, “It’s ok!”

Azriel turned to look at his date, watching as she tied up her converse, and said, “Should we leave before someone catches on fire?” 

She nodded and clasped the hand he held out. 

——

“You’re good at this.” Azriel said, delighting in the way Elain beamed at his compliment. Her gloved hand clutched his tighter, and Azriel suddenly felt a burning hatred for whoever invented mittens for keeping Elain’s hand away from his. 

“Do you want to know a secret?” Elain whispered conspiratorially, leaning into him just a little. Azriel raised his eyebrow, silently indicating for her to continue. “I was going to act like I’ve never skated before,” Her cheeks turned red and Azriel knew it wasn’t from the cold wind. “Just so you could teach me.” 

A smile bloomed on Azriel's lips as he gazed down at her, silently declaring her the cutest person on the planet. 

“And why didn’t you?” Azriel asked, using their joined hands to tug her closer. 

“I forgot,” Elain admitted, blushing harder. “You looked really handsome and I was so focused on not embarrassing myself that I forgot my plan.” She laughed at herself and Azriel felt his heart lighten in his chest. 

“Was there more to this plan?” Azriel asked, slowly maneuvering Elain so that she was skating backwards and that both of their hands were connected between them. Her cropped purple sweater showed the barest hint of her belly, but Azriel tried not to focus on it. 

“Yes,” Elain said, her smiling growing and splitting her face. “Obviously, I was going to be so bad at skating that I needed your hands on me at all times, for my safety. And then when it was time for our cookie break, I was going to — “

The sound of tires turning over snow and the blare of an overly loud stereo followed by the opening and slamming of doors caused Elain to break off. The rush of voices redirected Elain’s attention, and Azriel watched as her face fell — like something was snuffing out the light inside of her. 

There were maybe three other people using the outdoor rink, and Azriel didn’t relish the thought of a big group disrupting their date, but Azriel wondered what she could have possibly seen that caused her expression to dim. He looked over his shoulder and saw bright, blonde curls attached to a tall, curvaceous body and nearly stumbled. Elain’s small hands pressed into his chest to keep him upright. 

“Do you want to say hi?” Elain offered in a small voice, her eyes cast down to her skates. 

“No.” Azriel said firmly. Silently cursing whatever God hated him. 

“Az! Elain!” Mor called in a bold, friendly voice. 

Az looked back again, and calculated how realistically he could play off as if he didn’t notice her, but she was nearly six feet tall and wildly gesticulating — Azriel didn’t think it was likely. 

Mor leaned over the barricade as she waved to them, her party of people hanging behind her. Her long, red, woolen coat made her stand out even more. 

“We don’t have to…” Azriel said, trailing off as Elain shook her head. 

“We don’t want to be rude,” Elain said meekly, and Azriel wanted nothing more than to make her smile again. “Do you want to?” She nodded at their hands, suddenly unsure  

“Of course.” Azriel said, squeezing one of her hands tightly while dropping the other so that they could skate over. 

A small amount of tension left Elain’s frame as they skated to Mor.

Mor leaned over and engulfed them in a hug, one arm around each of their necks. 

“I haven’t seen you guys in ages,” Mor exclaimed, hugging them tightly before pulling away. “Where’s everyone else?”

“At home,” Azriel explained to Rhys’s cousin. “We’re here together.” He raised their clasped hands to her. 

Mor’s mouth formed a surprised o. 

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Mor said, forcing a smile. She pulled her arms away and made a shooing motion with her hands. “Pretend like I’m not even here.” 

So they did. They skated away, but the ease between them was gone and an awkward, heavy weight settled between them. Mor had presence more than she had anything else, and even though it wasn’t her intention, she kept interrupting them. Her voice would carry over to them, or she'd skate by and accidentally brush into them. She was just there. 

The ride home was quiet. Elain sat in the passenger seat with a half full container of cookies on her lap. No one was talking except for the DJ on the radio introducing the next Christmas carol. 

They were about five minutes from the Archeron house when Azriel pulled off to the side and put the car in park, with one arm behind her seat he twisted to face her. 

“We need to talk about this.” Azriel stated, noting how Elain wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Talk about what?”

“About how my ex-girlfriend interrupted our date.” Azriel said in an even tone. 

“Well, you guys broke up, right? It’s in the past?”  Elain asked uncertainly, her fingers traced the lid of the container.

Azriel bit his lip and stared at Elain intently. He recalled those months vividly — after years of silently pining after Mor she finally agreed to go out with him. They dated for only two months before Mor broke up with him, and a week later she introduced her family to her new girlfriend. It stung, that he could care for someone so much and be so easily replaced, but he was glad she was happy. Truly. He just hated himself for being so blinded by his childhood crush that it made Elain question him. And after the breakup he lost himself in casual hookups - and he didn’t bother hiding them. Inwardly, he cringed, knowing how it must look to Elain.

“Yes,” Azriel said confidently, not hesitating to lean over and take her hand. “I like you, Elain, there’s no one else I would rather be with.” 

“If you say so…” Elain said, forcing a smile. 

Azriel thought for a second on how to convince her, and only one thing came to mind. So, without a second thought Azriel dropped his lips to hers. Not kissing her the way he wanted to, with the full force of his emotions, he held himself back. Just pressing his lips to hers. But it was enough, he felt Elain melting at the contact. He himself felt lighter. 

“I wouldn’t waste your time, Elain, and I wouldn’t waste mine,” Azriel said, leaning his forehead against Elain’s. Her soft pants caressing his face. “I want to be here with you. Do you believe me?”

Elain nodded, a small smile on her lips. 

Azriel was about to pull back, but Elain lunged at him. Her lips frantically moving over his and after a moment of surprise Azriel couldn’t hide his smile. It was an awkward kiss, to say the least, Elain hungrily moving her lips against his, but Azriel’s lips were pulled back because he was unable to stop smiling — she was basically kissing his teeth. Skillful or not, it was the best, most memorable kiss of his life. 

“If we don’t get back,” Azriel whispered, pulling back. “I’m afraid Rhysand might have an aneurysm.” 

Elain nodded, but kissed him again before he had the chance to pull away. 

By the time they broke apart their lips were bruised and the windows fogged and misted over. 

“Ready to go home?” Azriel asked, catching his breath. 

“No,” Elain admitted with a small smile. “But it’s a Saturday night, what do you say to watching some Netflix?” 

She wasn’t ready for their night to be over, and neither was he. 

“I’d love to, but I can guarantee my brothers will be overbearing assholes.” Azriel said. 

“Well, just shove your tongue down my throat and they’ll be too uncomfortable to say anything.” 

Azriel choked on his laughter. 

“Baptism by fire?” 

“Exactly.” Elain said and placed a kiss on his cheek before settling back into her seat. 

Azriel shifted the car into drive, his hand on her thigh as he drove them home. 

____

@thefangirlofhp @sakurakittypeach @nikethestatue @tswaney17 @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @feyredarlinq @alwayssara @nyxreads @rinadragomir @secretpuppyflower @captainbrucebanner @ultadverb @irisesforelain @shedoessoshedoes  @magnolia-blossom87 @sheena-beene @nivem565 @casuallivi @rhysiedarling @elain99 @athena-85 @swankii-art-teacher @nyxreads @reverie-tales @jujugirlfrombookstore @shadowflorecita @shy-violet-soul

[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.

[wizardofarles]

For the ask game -

LYKMC and the LYKMC bonus christmas story!

💙 thanks for playing, here are your snippets!

LYKMC ch17:

It seemed that the longer he practiced, the worse he played. His fingers started to feel clumsy, and he found it more and more difficult to maintain the speed at which he'd begun playing. An ache was blooming in his neck, and in the wrist of his bow arm. Laurent knew that he needed to relax his muscles, but found himself unable to. Since Loyse had pointed it out, he couldn't stop noticing how tense he was when he played. And the more he noticed it, the more he tensed, and the worse his playing became.

He furrowed his brow and kept going, convinced that he just needed to push himself harder and eventually a breakthrough would come. As he had been doing for days, Laurent practiced for hours without pause. He didn't stop to eat, he didn't check his phone; he didn't allow himself a moment that wasn't dedicated to practicing. He hadn't even been to the stable to see Pyrrha all week. Messages from Torveld, Ancel, and Damen piled up on his phone as the days melted into one another, and Laurent ignored them all. Only the shifting light outside his windows and his occasional need to use the bathroom tethered him to the passage of time and the world outside his bedroom.

~~~

LYKMC Bonus Christmas Chapter:

“Laurent!” his mother called from the kitchen. “Would you get the door?”

Laurent skated down the hall in his socks, sliding to a stop when he reached the front door. He threw it open and was blasted by the frosty breath of winter. A man stood on the step with his hands shoved inside his pockets, his cheeks and nose pink from the cold. His breath was a white cloud in front of his face and snowflakes dusted his brown hair and the shoulders of his coat. He smiled at Laurent.

“Uncle Berry!” Laurent leapt, and Berenger scooped him up into a hug as he stepped into the house.

“Merry Christmas, Laurent,” Berenger said with laughter in his voice as he set him back down on his feet.

Laurent giggled when Berenger unbuttoned his coat. “Did you just come from an ugly sweater contest?” he asked, pointing his chin at the cable-knit monstrosity that couldn’t seem to decide if it was brown or dark green. “You look like a grandpa.”

Berenger threw his head back and laughed heartily. “I never did have an eye for fashion. I suppose that hasn’t changed.” He ruffled Laurent’s hair.

“Berenger,” Hennike greeted him with warmth as she stepped into the foyer, wiping her hands on a towel. “Thank you for coming.” A red apron was tied around her waist, the straps looped double around the front. Laurent could see the bones of her hips outlined beneath the fabric.

He turned back toward Berenger. It was easier to look at his Uncle Berry in his ugly sweater and plain brown pants, looking much the same as he ever did, than it was to look at his mother’s bony frame, or the festive green and red beanie on her head that Grandma had knitted her to cover her baldness. Though Laurent was only twelve years old, he wasn’t stupid. He knew his mother was dying.

“Thank you for having me,” Berenger said as the doorman, Huet, took his coat. “I hope I’m not late.”

“No, not at all. The turkey is still in the oven, and the Fortaines haven’t arrived.” Hennike gave Berenger a quick hug, then glanced out the window where the wind was thick with swirling snow. “Is it getting terribly bad out there?”

“The main roads are still being well-plowed, but it’s getting messy on the back roads.”

“Oh, dear,” Laurent’s mother clicked her tongue in distress. “I hope the Fortaines are close. Laurent, would you text Aimeric?”

“I texted him when you asked me ten minutes ago,” Laurent complained. “He said they were on their way.”

“Did he say if they were on the road?”

“He just said, ‘we’re on our way’.” Aimeric’s response had actually been, we’re on our way, buttface, calm ur tits, but Laurent thought it better to paraphrase for his mother.

Her brow wrinkled in worry. “Okay. Well, tell him they should be careful. Have him tell his father to stay off the back roads.”

Laurent rolled his eyes, but sent the text.

“Where’s Clarence?” his mom asked Berenger. “Did you two take separate cars?”

Berenger bent to pull off his boots. “No, I’m sorry, Hennike, but my husband won’t be able to make it after all. It turns out he had a prior engagement. He sends his regrets.” He handed the snowy boots to Huet and offered an apologetic smile to Hennike.

“Oh,” she said, “that’s too bad.” Her bony fingers fluttered over the hand towel like the legs of a restless white spider.

“Uncle Berry, is that you?” called a voice from the living room. The three of them walked in to meet it. A Christmas album was playing on the stereo and a log burned merrily in the fireplace, filling the room with warmth and the rich scent of burning pine.

“Where’s my godson?” Berenger smiled and spread his arms wide. “Come here, you.” Auguste crashed into him and they wrapped each other in a fierce hug.

Laurent went to stand beside his uncle—his true uncle by blood, unlike Berenger who wore the title as an endearment. Dressed all in black with a stiff white clerical collar around his neck and his thick brown beard neatly trimmed, Uncle made a handsome figure, Laurent thought. He smiled down at Laurent and slid a pale hand onto his shoulder. A ruby glittered on his finger, red as the blood that bound them to each other.

“You look well,” Berenger told Auguste as they broke apart with laughter and claps on each other’s back. “How’s the mechanic job treating you?”

“Good,” Laurent’s brother said, beaming. “It’s good work, and rewarding.” He glanced at their father, who was sipping champagne on the couch beside Grandma, and his grin faltered. “But I don’t know if it’s what I want to do forever. Actually, I’ve been thinking … Dad and I have been talking about it, and I think I’m going to enlist.”

~~~

(Fun fact: I intended to post this bonus chapter last Christmas but didn’t finish it in time. Hopefully I’ll have it ready to post by next Christmas!)

[fxlling13]

Time away <3

13 x fem reader

Warning: self harm scars

Synopsis: the doctor takes you on a holiday, a very cold holiday

When the doctor had suggested an actual relaxing trip, I hadn't expected it to be so cold. Apparently she'd landed the tardis half an hour away from the destination. How fun. So now, we were stuck walking in the snow. Yaz was fine, donning her usual leather jacket and a jumper. Dan, well he was a man, they're naturally warm anyways. Of course, the doctor was an alien so the cold didn't bother one bit. On the other hand, I was freezing half to death. She'd told is there'd be clothes there so none of us had bags. Right now, I was wishing we did so I could throw on a few more layers. A sneeze erupted from me, halting the blonde in her steps. She paused and waited until I'd caught up to her.

"Everything okay?" Nodding, I tried my best to seem decent. Though, it was obvious she didn't believe me at all.

"Bit cold." I stuttered out weakly. Pressing a hand to my cheek, she look shocked and immediately stepped closer.

"You're not kidding. Here." Surprisingly, she tore her coat off and wrapped it around me. Blushing at the action, the doctor helped me to put it on properly before taking hand in hers. Slipping it into the pocket of her blue pants, we carried on walking. Yaz looked back and snickered as she saw how red I'd become. Not passing up the opportunity to be close to the alien, I pressed myself into herside and relished in the warmth.

Eventually, we came to a cabin. It was wooden and looked to be about three stories high. Once inside, the doctor didn't let go of me. The living room was huge with a big TV plastered on the wall and a fire beneath. Opposite was a brown, fabric couch with matching arm chairs on either side. There was also blankets dropped across all three.

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" Dan asked, hanging his coat up on the hanger.

"Well, I was thinking you three could decide? Something chill and human." She suggested, sadly pulling away from me to inspect her surroundings. Aware I was still wearing her jacket, I took it off and hung it up also.

"How about a movie night? I bet there's hot chocolate here." Yaz seemed really enthusiastic so we all agreed. First however, we all went up to get changed. Except the doctor of course. The wardrobe was full of jumpers, leggings and the most cozy pyjamas you could imagine. So, I picked out a fluffy jumper that came with matching shorts. Seeing as we'd be in the dark, I didn't need to worry about anyone actually seeing my thighs. More specifically, what was on them. Shaking those thoughts away, I slipped on some socks before heading downstairs. Luckily, there was only a dim lamp lit. I grabbed a blanket and plonked myself on the couch. Yaz and Dan were sat on an arm chair each. Maybe because they'd bicar if they were next to each other all night. The brunette flicked through movies before settling on "the boy". Of course, always a lover of the horror genre.

"Mind if we share?" A voice came from beside me, making my head shoot up. The doctor grinned and took her place besides me. Opening up the blanket, she draped it over the both of us. We were extremely close, our arms pressed against each other. Trying to focus on the movie, my body was rigid and the doc noticed that quickly.

"You seem uncomfortable, here." Before I knew what was happening, her arm slipped round my waist and she pulled me into her chest. Face heating up, I watched as she pulled a mug from the coffee table and handed it to me. I took it gratefully and smiled once I saw the melting marshmallows. Deciding to make the most of this, I leant into her hold and sipped at my drink happily. I'd had dreams like this, where I was being held by her. How stupid is that? The dream became more real the minute I felt her hand slip beneath my jumper. She drew circles on my waist lazily and I thought I might of imploded at that very moment. At this point, all I could focus on was her, the movie long forgotten. Nuzzling my face into her chest, my heart stopped once she began moving her hand south. It settled on my thigh and, for a moment, she didn't move at all. Slowly, I pulled away and gazed up at her anxiously. Feeling across the surface of my thigh, I could tell she knew what was there. Now everything was going to be ruined. Turning fo look at me, I could see the worried expression on her face thanks to the tv lighting. Before she had chance to say anything, I stood up; causing both our mugs to fall to the wooden floor and smash. Everyone stared at me with wide eyes but I just bolted up the stairs without giving them any time.

Alone in my room, I hugged my knees to my chest tightly. I felt overwhelmingly depressed. The exact reason for this whole drama. Now the doctor would view me as weak and pathetic. Only someone stupid would hurt themselves. Right? Tears rolled down my cheeks, no matter how hard I tried to stop them. Hearing the door open, I didn't look up. If I did, I'd have to face whoever it was and I didn't have the strength for that. Without a word, the person crawled beside me and wrapped both arms around me gently. Recognising the scent of old books and custard creams, I knew it was the doctor. Why wad she hugging me? Shouldn't she be laughing? Or yelling? Or just ignoring me? My shoulders shook, sobbing as quietly as I could manage.

"Come on." Her voice was gentle as she hooked her hands under my arms and brought me between her legs. Head resting on her chest, she held me against her front securely. Making me feel instantly safer, I couldn't help but to fully let go and cry properly. One of her hands came up to play with the shorter strands if my hair. It proved to be relaxing as I could feel myself calming down.

"Take a deep breath love." Sniffling, I tried to listen and do as she said but my mind was in other places.

"The mugs, did they smash?" I stuttered, remembering how they had fallen.

"Dont worry about that right now." Nodding, I took that breath in and out. Being cradled in her arms, I almost forgot why I was crying or why I was scared. Almost.

"Why are you being nice to me?" I asked, mumbling due to the fear in my thoughts. Brows furrowed, she gazed down at me confused.

"Why wouldn't I be nice to you?" Forcing myself to sit up, I took a wobbly breath and rubbed my face harshly.

"You felt it. Now you know how weak I am an-"

"You are not weak." The doctor cut me off with a firm tone in her voice. Cupping my cheeks, she made me look at her and gave me a reassuring smile.

"May I?" One hand hovered over my thigh as I nod at her. Delicately, her fingers traced the many scars over my pale skin. A single tear dripped onto my lap but I chose to ignore it.

"Why did you do it?" Her question cought me off guard, even though I should of expected it.

"I went through a period where it felt as though everyone hated me. I was so alone. I didn't want to live that way." My explanation was short but the doctor didn't mind. She hummed and wiped my cheeks dry.

"I think, you're very strong." Shocked, I stared up at her with wide eyes. Placing a kiss to my head, the blonde simpered.

"You are extraordinary. Brilliant and beautiful." Lip wobbling, I reached up and wrapped my arms around her neck. I clung on tightly, my face nestled in the crook of her neck. She didn't seem to mind. In fact, she fully sat me on her lap, my legs round her waist.

"Dont you ever think, that I will treat you badly. Because I'm always going to be here for you." Nodding, I smiled to myself. Her words meant so much to me. She had no idea. Not thinking, I kissed her skin softly. Freezing up, I got anxious again. Was that too much? Before I could apologise, she pulled back and looked at me. To my surprise, she was blushing. The doctor was blushing. Stroking my cheek, she leaned in so our faces were an inch apart. I could feel her breath fanning my face.

"Can I kiss you?" I didn't respond. Instead, I pulled her in by the back of the neck and kissed her deeply. It took seconds for her to melt into it, hands holding my waist. Our bodies were flush against each other. My hands tangled in her hair, refusing to pull away just yet. I wanted to savour the moment. Unfortunately, my lungs began to scream and I had to pull back. Completely breathless, the doctor chuckled at me.

"Yaz wasn't lying then?" Guessing that said woman had told her my feelings, I giggled.

"No. Not at all."

[randonauticrap]

🥰 ~ with Clavis Lelouch (Christmas Twist!)

Part of the Kiss, Hug, or Cuddle? event

~~~

Pairing ~ Clavis Lelouch x Reader

Word Count ~ 1938

Author's Note ~ I have no idea what happened, but I got sooo carried away with this one. Thank you for the request, Mary Ellen (@rhodolitesrose)! It was a joy to write, and I hope you enjoy it!

Christmas twist: keeping each other warm

-

You much preferred your room; quiet, peaceful, and beautiful. The window sill in your room at the palace was big enough for you to sit in, perched on the precipice between the inside and outside worlds, with only a thin veil of glass separating you. Sometimes, like in the current winter chill, you breached the wall of glass and pushed one side open, letting the crisp breeze of the night air reach your legs under the blanket. It was snowing, everything was frozen, even you. But that didn’t stop you from letting the fine, ephemeral flakes swirl into your bedroom before hitting your blanket; the carpet; the bed; and sticking, then slowly melting into nonexistence. Snow was a beauty you didn’t get to see often, and if getting to see its beauty up close meant freezing your limbs, so be it. 

A soft knock at your door pulled you from your reverence and you padded, sock-footed, over to the door and opened it to reveal a certain plum-haired prince in your doorway. “Good evening, Clavis.” you gathered him in your gaze, searching for any obvious clues as to why he had arrived here like a lost puppy at some poor unwitting woman’s doorstep.

“I couldn’t help but notice, my lady, that you have your window open despite it being unbearably cold outside.” Mischief glinted in his eyes and you stepped back involuntarily. 

“I do, yes.” you replied hesitantly. “Were you watching me from the garden?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, taking the space between you as a sudden invitation to cross the threshold, and strolled over to said open window. “But what’s the point if you can’t sprawl out in it, am I right? Tsk tsk.” he chided, the ghost of a smile haunting the faux disappointment on his face. 

Whereas normally yours and Clavis’s ideas of fun were vastly different, you couldn’t help but agree with him here, and let out a soft sigh. “Sariel would kill me. It’d be too easy for me to get sick and fall behind in my studies.” 

“Well then, little kitten.” Clavis turned abruptly to face you. ��Isn’t it just perfect that Sariel isn’t here right now?” 

“You know he has eyes everywhere, Clavis.” you admonished.

The 3rd Prince’s grin widened into that Cheshire smile you were so used to seeing blooming on his lips. “Not in the places I know about. Come on! We’re gonna have some fun tonight, and Mr. Grumpypants will be none the wiser.” Before you could even consider disagreeing, your hand was folded in Clavis’s and he was tugging you out the door. 

You should have been rolling your eyes; you should have been concerned about what Clavis was up to; you should have missed the novel you had left discarded on your window sill. But all you could think about, as a blush crawled its way up your neck and face, is how soft Clavis’s hand felt as he laced his fingers with yours, and how your heart lurched at the idea of him letting go. 

Squeezing through a cabinet in the kitchens, down back stairs that had no flames to light their descent, through a small alleyway between two of the palace towers, and down into the courtyard below, Clavis led you, taking care to keep you upright and unharmed. “It would ruin the fun if we had a blood trail,” he had said, but a small piece of you hoped he simply wanted to keep you from getting hurt. You yelped in surprise when he lifted you off your feet and settled you into his arms, bridle-style. 

“Shhh!” he chuckled softly. “Don’t wake the guards. The Devil will really have our heads then!” he was chastising you, but there was mirth in his gaze, and you tucked your head in his neck to keep from giggling foolishly. 

“So why are you carrying me?” you whispered into the warm skin of his neck.

“This way, there’s only one set of footsteps leading out of the castle, not two. No incriminating evidence of you disobeying orders, milady. Just me.” you could feel his triumphant grin without even looking at him, and snuggled closer to his chest. 

“And you’re okay with that?” you whispered again.

“Of course!” he replied under his breath. “I am an expert at evading the Devil’s wrath.” 

“And what of your secret passageway? It’s practically ruined now.” you murmured, almost feeling guilty at the absurd notion.

“I have plenty.” came his simple reply, and your guilt vanished instantaneously. Of course he did. After several moments where you heard nothing but the crunch of Clavis’s shoes in the snow and the consistent beat of his heart against your ear, you reached a secluded part of the garden that he had shown you once before, in the spring. The wrought iron gate was decorated in a collection of icy flakes, making it sparkle and shimmer in the pale moonlight. Even in the winter, this tiny corner was ripped straight from the pages of a fairytale. You had every intention of walking in yourself, but Clavis made no moves to put you down as he fiddled with the key in the lock to the gate, merely shifting you so he could hold you with one arm instead of two. 

Your giggle finally escaped your lips and you clapped your hands over your mouth, until you looked down at Clavis, who had ceased in his war with the gate and was gazing up at you with- no, it couldn’t be, could it? Your hands lowered from your face absentmindedly, gravity returning them to where they belonged. Clavis’s smile was no longer that of an unruly wildcat, but of an arduous lover, and suddenly this rendezvous felt forbidden in a different way entirely. A clank beside you pulled his gaze from you at last, and he cast his eyes down at the lock that had haplessly fallen from the gate. “Shoddy piece of rubbish,” he mused, shaking his head. 

A moment later he had whisked you inside and closed the gate behind you, setting you down with a distinct crunch as your sock feet collided with the wet snow. “Ah!” you yelped at the stinging cold and hopped over to the bench in the center of the alcove, brushing the mound of snow away and sitting down, much preferring your rear to freeze than your feet. Clavis laughed, trudging over to you. 

“What a show you always give me,” he muttered, a tender smile on his face as he pulled a pair of slippers from his coat. 

“How did you-?” you muttered.

“I wasn’t planning on letting you say no.” he grinned up at you as he bent in front of you and took your foot into his hand, eliciting a surprised gasp from you. Winking, he slipped the shoes onto your feet and shrugged off his cloak, wrapping it around your shoulders instead and tying it at the base of your throat. It was warm, and smelled like him: lavender with a hint of cinnamon that drew you to close your eyes and absorb it without any other sensory distraction. When you opened your eyes, he was leveling you with that look again; the look that stoked a fire inside of you, hot enough to burn away the remnants of the chill.

“Clavis-”

“How do you like the snow?” His sudden and sharp change of pace threw you out of orbit and you sputtered for a moment, unsure of what to say. 

“I- uhm, it’s beautiful. Thank you for bringing me out here.” you replied, at last forming a coherent sentence. 

“Good, I’m glad you like it.” he turned away from you, as though he were admiring something within the bushes, then he bent low like he was examining something. 

“Clavis, what are you- ah!” you screeched as a splat of something distinctly cold and wet hit your cheek. Upon recovery, you realized that Clavis had flung a snowball at you, and was now grinning cheekily at you from where he stood. Once the shock wore off, you began to laugh; an unruly, unfettered laugh that very well could have carried on the wind to the palace guards. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, because you were already picking up a snowball of your own to hurl back at the 3rd Prince, who livened up immediately once he was sure the game was on. 

Snow was volleyed back and forth, defensive walls were made, and laughs exchanged. The snow had long since ceased its descent from the sky by the time the white flag was raised, and you were a mess of wet snow and incessant giggles. You met Clavis in the middle of the alcove and shook his hand in mutual surrender, then the prince burst into laughter too. “Alright, let’s get you inside before you catch your death - or I catch mine.” he said with a more serious tone. You nodded, remembering his weak constitution, and let him lead you back to the gate. But before he exited, he turned, holding his arms out. “No evidence, remember?” he smirked and you tittered, nodding. He hoisted you into his arms once more and you laid your head against his chest without even thinking. You heard his melodic chuckle above you and you realized what you had done. Despite the fact that your cheeks were burning, and not from the cold, you didn’t move. You laid against him willingly the whole way back to the castle, snuggling as close to his damp skin as his clothes would allow. 

Once you were back at the door to your room, he made a little mockish bow. “Milady,” he said curtly and turned to leave. But your hand shot out without warning even you, and your fingers curled around his bicep. He turned to look at you, surprise written in his shadow-cast features.

“Do- do you want to warm up?” you asked sheepishly. “I can light the fire in here. It gets warm pretty fast.” A beat of silence. Two. Perhaps you were mistaken? Perhaps the heat between you was yours alone. You loosened your grip on his arm and pulled your own back to your body, subconsciously curling into yourself. “I apologize. I crossed a line. Goodnight Pr-” but before you could even finish the word, he had pressed up against you, pushing you to step back until he stood in the room with you. 

“I’d love to.” he murmured softly, tracing your features with his perceptive gold eyes. “Warm up.” he added, his voice barely above a whisper, and your heart began to race.

“Okay,” you replied, a small smile catching your lips up in your heart’s erratic hoping.

That is how the night ended with a roaring fire in your fireplace, and two bodies tangled closely together under the covers of your bed, fingers tracing every available inch of skin with reverence and vulnerability, and lips gracing lips with unspoken words of ardor and desire. The cold had melted away in the arms of the man that never failed to make you smile, and you snuggled impossibly closer to him, your heart swelling when he beat the odds of pulling you in even more, his hand crawling under your nightshirt to splay his palm against your back, his touch as smoldering as his eyes before they closed so he could kiss you again. You sighed, relinquishing your will in the long battle against sleep, and drifted into a world where no number of beautiful dreams could possibly contend with your reality in Clavis’s arms.  

~

[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."