#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

[sundropflowerr]

You, Me, and Our Tree | Steve Harrington

★ Warnings: no use of y/n, post s4 where there’s a happy ending, fluff, sweet domestic vibes, established relationship, holiday cheer, cozy moments, cute banter and playful teasing (especially about christmas trees), soft kisses, mutual affection, gentle kisses, light humor, with a dash of sarcasm, comforting moments, deep connection, and a touch of nostalgia, lots of christmas decorating chaos and mismatched ornaments, cuddling, the warmth of being in love, snowstorm, cozy apartment setting.

★ Summary: On a snowy December day, you and Steve curl up together to decorate a lopsided tree, laughter filling the air as you argue over the perfect placement for each ornament. It’s warm, it’s simple, and it feels like everything you wanted. 1.7k

★ Pairings: steve harrington x gn!reader

★ Fic Inspiration: “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” - Frank Sinatra

★ Dividers: thank you to @strangergraphics for the adorable divider, it’s greatly appreciated!

★ Author’s Note: i love christmas and i love steve so two and two together brought this love child. though short, i had a blast writing this. i need to set up a christmas tree with steve asap.

The first snowstorm of the season had rolled in sometime during the early hours of the morning, soft and steady, a blanket of white slowly swallowing Hawkins.

You hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten until a snowplow rattled by just before dawn, shaking the windows and dragging you out of sleep. By the time you got up for coffee, the street outside had disappeared beneath a foot of snow, the world outside pale and silent.

It was the kind of day you’d both hoped for—one where you could stay home, tangled in blankets, too lazy to do anything but exist together. Steve, being Steve, had insisted you stay inside, warm and cozy, while he braved the cold to get a Christmas tree for the two of you. He didn’t want you dealing with the snow or the chill, though you argued you’d be fine. But Steve was relentless, refusing to let you leave the comfort of your apartment.

That’s how you ended up here, curled up on the couch, waiting for him to return with the tree.

“Don’t slip and break your neck,” you’d said, still half-asleep, as Steve grabbed his coat that morning.

He turned to you, his usual overconfident grin spreading across his face. “I’ll be fine. It’s just snow. You think it’s gonna stop me?”

You weren’t sure whether to roll your eyes or smile. Three years together and you still couldn’t decide if Steve was brave or just plain stubborn.

Probably both.

When the buzzer crackled through the quiet of your apartment, you weren’t at all surprised—it was exactly what you’d been waiting for.

“Can you let me in? I’m freezing out here.”

Steve’s voice cut through the receiver, muffled and shivering, and you buzzed him in without a word. By the time you opened the door, he was halfway up the stairs, carrying a thin, lopsided Christmas tree under one arm like it weighed nothing at all.

“Ta-da,” he said, breathless and grinning, as he kicked the door shut behind him. Snowflakes dotted his hair and shoulders, melting into tiny drops. His nose and cheeks were pink from the cold, a scarf you knitted two years ago wound haphazardly around his neck. “Look at this beauty.”

“That’s what you call a beauty?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you stepped aside to let him in.

Steve shot you a look as he leaned the tree against the wall, shaking snow out of his hair with one hand. “Don’t start. This guy’s perfect.”

“It’s leaning.”

“It’s got character,” he argued, already shedding his wet coat and boots by the door. His socks were damp, his jeans dusted with snow, and he looked entirely too proud of himself.

“Three years of this and you still pick the saddest-looking tree every time,” you teased, crossing your arms as he toed off his boots.

“Consistency’s important,” he said, straightening up and flashing you that grin that made your heart flip like it was ‘85 all over again. The grin you first fell for when you were both crammed into those stupid Scoops Ahoy uniforms, trading banter and ice cream scoops while monsters lurked under Hawkins.

Steve looked at the tree again, hands on his hips like a dad surveying a new lawn. “It’ll look better once we decorate it. Trust me.”

“Your track record isn’t great, Harrington.”

He ignored you, instead stepping closer, brushing his cold hands against your arms with a soft, teasing smile. “Missed me?”

“You’re freezing,” you muttered, but you didn’t step away. You never did. His hands were cold, his hair was wet, and he still managed to feel like home.

Before you could say anything else, Steve leaned down, his lips brushing softly against yours, a sweet, familiar kiss that felt like everything. His cold lips melted against yours, and for a moment, it was just the two of you—no snowstorm, no responsibilities, just him and you, wrapped up in the warmth of each other.

The tree didn’t take long to set up—mostly because Steve insisted on doing all the heavy lifting while you watched with an amused smile. By the time it was finally in the stand and mostly upright, he was on the floor, legs sprawled out, glaring up at the crooked branches like they’d personally wronged him.

“You think it leans more to the left or the right?” he asked.

“It’s pretty balanced,” you lied, trying to bite back a laugh.

Steve turned to you, his expression dry. “You’re lying. I can tell.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, sinking onto the couch with a mug of hot chocolate in hand. “It’s perfect. Really.”

He squinted at you for another second before shaking his head with a chuckle. “Unbelievable.” But he stood anyway, brushing snow-dampened palms against his jeans as he moved toward you. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you, y’know.”

“You tell me that like it’s news,” you teased, and Steve dropped onto the couch beside you, letting out an exaggerated groan as he stretched his legs.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, mugs warm in your hands, the soft hum of the radiator filling the quiet. Outside, snow continued to fall, casting a pale glow through the window that made the room feel softer somehow, almost golden.

It was strange, you thought, how this had become your normal—Steve Harrington, tangled up on your couch, feet brushing yours under a blanket that barely covered the both of you. You remembered when all of this was still new: the way he’d knocked on your door that first Christmas after Starcourt, holding a scrappy little tree he’d picked out himself because, in his words, “Someone’s gotta keep the tradition going.”

That was three years ago. Back when you’d both been bruised, uncertain, and still trying to find something steady after everything you’d been through.

But now, as Steve leaned closer, stealing your blanket and grinning when you protested, you realized how far you’d come. How easy it was to love him after all these years.

“You know,” Steve murmured, his voice quieter now, “I think this might be the best tree yet.”

You tilted your head to look at him. “You say that every year.”

“Yeah, but I mean it this time.” He was still looking at the tree, his expression softer now, like he wasn’t really talking about the tree at all. “Just feels… right, y’know?”

You did know.

Decorating the tree turned into a whole production. Steve pulled the box of ornaments out of the hall closet, insisting on playing Christmas music from the cassette player on the bookshelf—old, crackly tunes that filled the apartment with warmth.

You handed him the lights first, watching as he tried (and failed) to untangle the string from the knot he’d stuffed it into last year.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” you asked, biting back a laugh as he scowled at the mess of wires.

“Because I’m an idiot,” Steve replied, deadpan.

“You said it, not me.”

Eventually, you took pity on him and helped untangle the mess. The two of you strung the lights together, Steve holding the tree steady while you wrapped the glowing strand around its crooked branches. By the time you plugged them in, the entire room felt warmer, the golden light spilling across the walls.

Steve grinned, hands on his hips as he admired your work. “Not bad.”

“You mean my work,” you corrected, bumping his shoulder as you reached for the ornaments.

The box was full of mismatched decorations you’d collected over the last few years: a little snowman you’d found at the flea market, a glittery star that Steve insisted on buying last year, even a couple of hand-painted ones from Dustin and Max. You handed them to Steve one at a time, watching as he placed them carefully on the branches, sticking his tongue out in concentration.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you said, smirking.

“I’m a professional,” he replied without missing a beat.

You didn’t realize how close he’d gotten until you turned to hand him the last ornament, and he was already looking at you, that soft, lopsided smile on his face.

“What?” you asked, heart skipping.

“Nothing.” He shook his head slightly, still smiling. “Just happy.”

You paused, fingers brushing his as you handed him the ornament—an old glass bauble you’d found at Scoops one summer, forgotten in a box in the stockroom. You’d kept it ever since.

“Me too,” you said quietly.

Steve turned to hang the ornament, his movements gentle, almost reverent. When he stepped back, the tree glowed softly in the corner of the room, its crooked branches dripping with lights and mismatched baubles.

It was far from perfect, but it was yours.

Later, after dinner, the two of you ended up back on the couch, wrapped up in the same too-small blanket, watching the tree flicker in the dark. The apartment smelled like pine and leftover takeout, the kind of cozy warmth that made your eyelids heavy.

Steve’s arm was around you, his thumb tracing slow circles against your shoulder. You could feel him breathing, slow and steady, his cheek resting against the top of your head.

“You know what I was thinking?” he murmured after a while.

“Hm?”

“We should get a bigger place next year. Like, with a fireplace or something. I feel like we need one of those.”

You smiled, tilting your head up to look at him. “For what? Stockings?”

“And hot chocolate,” Steve replied, smirking. “And to impress everyone when they come over.”

“You mean the kids.”

“Yeah. And Robin.”

You laughed softly, curling closer into his side. “We’ll think about it.”

Steve hummed, his hand still moving gently against your arm. “Good. ‘Cause I was already looking at—”

“Steve.”

“Right, right.” He grinned, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “We’ll think about it.”

Outside, snow tapped faintly against the windows, the streetlights casting long shadows across the floor. And as you sat there, wrapped up in Steve and the quiet of your shared apartment, you realized there was nothing else you needed.

The tree might be crooked, the lights uneven, but everything about this felt perfect.

It always did, with him.

thank you so much for reading! please like/reblog or comment if you did, it would be greatly appreciated. have a great day!

[luveline]

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

KBD —mom!reader, 2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You give a surprised smile. 

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

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

“You do?” 

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

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

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

He shares a big smile. 

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

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

“What are you making?” you ask. 

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

You shake your head, nonplussed. “What?” 

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

“What’s in the oven?” you ask. 

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

“What’s the occasion?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you say. 

“Sure, honey, but what happened?” 

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

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

“Sorry. I shouldn’t cry over coke.” 

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

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

“Okay?” he asks. 

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

“I’m okay. Thank you, handsome.” 

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

“You sure?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Great day!” 

“Good, I’m so glad.” 

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

“DAD!” 

Wren gurgles at you. “Da?” she says. 

“Heard that, did you?” you ask her. 

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

“Isn’t he charming?” you ask Beth. 

She gives an agreeable nod.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeess,” she drags out. 

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

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

“I don’t want to sit on your lap.” 

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

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

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

Leaving you, and Steve, and baby Wren. 

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

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

“Buppy? You want your buppy?” 

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

“I’m okay, yeah.” 

“Just got on top of you?” 

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

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

“What was breakfast like after I left?” 

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

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

[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.

[peachiejeongin]

Sleepless Storytimes | Jeongin

Day 5 of the 12 Days of Staymas!

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

Pairing: bf!Jeongin x reader

Genre: Fluff!

Warnings: None!

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Still can't sleep?"

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

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

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

"What are you-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was silent, perfect, and entirely yours.

[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

[z3r0b1tch35]

It snowed a little here so I’m coming here with my little/cg hcs with snow!

-Hashira-

Gyomei:

Loves bundling up with scarfs and beanies and fuzzy socks, hates trying to walk. He’s adapted to his blindness over the years, but ice and the cold ground are hard to tell the difference. Definitely falls a lot, and the tears make his face very cold. Stresses him out as a cg because he isn’t able to know where his littles are as easy.

Tengen:

Hates it. Every single piece of winter he hates. He much prefers sitting inside cuddling his partners while drinking hot coffee by the fire place. Him and his partners have a weighted blanket for their bed just for this occasion. He is definitely not a happy flip whenever snow is involved.

Kanae:

She loves it, I don’t think there’s a stronger word to show how excited she gets for the winter months. She loved winter decorations, specifically the deer, she loves making hot chocolate, and making snowmen. She doesn’t need to worry about her littles too much as they stay mostly in her line of sight.

Obanai:

There isn’t a word to explain how much he hates winter. He loathes the snow. He’s already as cold as a reptile during the summer, the winter is just added salt to the wound. Every time he’s outside he’s the grumpiest toddler ever, he’s got three layers minimum and is just overall upset about the ordeal.

Giyuu:

He’s pretty “eh” about snow. He does like watching it melt in his hands though. Watching snowfall is his favorite activity. Seriously, he would just sit at the window and watch snow accumulate on the ground. When he’s little he likes just standing and watching others play in the ice.

Sanemi:

Adores it. He loves snowball fights, and it’s even better because he can get away with it. Loves watching people slip and fall, doesn’t love it when he’s the one to slip. As a cg he enjoys it simply because kids falling humors him, though he gets cold easy.

Kyojuro:

Due to his heightened natural body heat, he adores the cold. Fall and winter are his favorites because spring and summer gets him sweating. He hates having to wear gloves though, always putting up a fight. Little and big him get very excited when it snows, he loves making snow castles but he has to be fought into clothes.

Mitsuri:

Also due to heightened body temperature, she loves the snow. She does get a bit upset not getting to wear her normal skirts, but she loves her hakama pants that Kyojuro got her. Little her likes making snow pops, specifically the strawberry flavor ones.

Shinobu:

Hates it. Hates it all. She hates the decorations, hates the cold, hates the warm drinks. Loathes winter in its entirety. Hates having to clean up the wet floor from peoples shoes. Her as a cg has her getting much more snappy with littles.

Muichiro:

The most neutral guy in the world. He doesn’t care for seasons and doesn’t have a favorite. He doesn’t like having to wait for his hair to fully dry before stepping outside, that’s frustrates him. When he’s little he’s a bit happier about it, but his fingers get numb and he gets upset again.

-Kamaboka Squad-

Genya:

Very similar to Sanemi, he adores snow ball fights. He never starts them, but he does enjoy participating. His nose gets cold and red fast and so his cg (typically Gyomei) carries around tissues at all times. When he’s little he gets very eager to go outside and tries to get his clothes on as fast and physically possible.

Zenitsu:

This isn’t even a headcanon, he canonly hates the cold and snow and anything winter lmao. When he’s little it’s much much worse, he’s clinging to his cg and wears earmuffs the entire time he’s outside. The cold hurts his ears and hands and he lets everyone under the sun know about it. Has his pacifier in the entire time

Kanao:

She enjoys making snow angels, but having to get the frost out of her hair is a pain. She once cried because she lost her butterfly teether in the snow and couldn’t find it for over thirty minutes. When she’s little she doesn’t like straying far away from Kanae, so she waddles in the snow around her.

Aoi:

The biggest snow lover behind Kanae. She loves waddling around and helping with the decorations. If Kanae ever tells her she doesn’t need help she gets so sad. She doesn’t like snow ball fights because her hair always gets wet. She makes hot dark chocolate.

Tanjiro:

The hottest temperature naturally, they’ve learned to allow him a light jacket and he’s okay. The snow melts in his hands extremely fast, so snow ball fights are boring to him; he does enjoy making snowmen because of this though, the snow melts into compact. He gave a snowman his teether and got upset when Kyojuro took it away and cleaned it.

Inosuke:

Starts a snowball fight whenever he’s outside. He hates when he forced into heavy thick clothes because he can’t sense things as well, forgetting that his cgs have him protected. Constantly wandering off following animal tracks until a cg has to go and get him. Eats all the carrots on the snowmen, makes Tanjiro very upset.

Nezuko:

Similar to Tanjiro, her body is very hot so she only needs a jacket and pants. She loves helping Tanjiro in whatever he is doing. But when she is by herself, she loves finding hidden acorns and putting them in her pockets. Also finding little rocks that have surfaced near the river bend. Her pockets are filled by the time she’s picked up to go inside. Her paci falls all the time and she secretly just picks it up, she gets sick by the next day.

Senjuro:

He is identical to his brother in the fact that he’s much hotter than a typical person. He doesn’t mind the warmer seasons because he prefers staying inside, but it’s nice taking a walk and not getting home drenched. When he’s little he wants to only be outside in the snow like a little husky, even hollering like one when dragged back inside.

Kiyo:

She sits on the porch painting her, or the others, nails because the cold makes them dry in a neat pattern. She loves wearing her skirt even though you can see the goosebumps. Her as a babysitter consists of her just running around with her older sisters.

Sumi:

She is doing all the littles hair, Nezuko adores her. She is watching over the littles taking a break inside. She isn’t too keen on the cold, but the decorations are very nice to put up. She also has fixed up some scraps from littles that fell.

Naho:

Unlike her sisters, she hates the snow similar to Shinobu. She gets mad because her face gets numb and her teeth hurt under cold winds. She is also inside but she’s cooking food or cleaning the laundry so she doesn’t have to worry about mopping the snow off the ground. She is very opinionated on snow, she wishes it didn’t exist.

[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.” 

[starlightiing]

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

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

Pairing: Loscar (Logan/Oscar)

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

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

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

AO3 Link

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You suppose? Ouch, man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No objections here. Now hush.”

“Hush?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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.

[kinetic-elaboration]

December 30: D/J, Warming Up

Daria/Jane, ~750 words, 32 minutes

"Warming up" from the Fluffcember 2024 prompt list

From the Complex College Mating Rituals 'verse

*

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

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

She raises her eyebrows.

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

Jane nods once and doesn't argue.

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

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

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

"Woah!"

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

"She is, I just—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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