#can’t get over everyone thinking it’s a JOKE at first… and then a cold rush on the back of your neck and your stomach drops

[moonshynecybin]

[sarahs-secrets2]

okay doctorˋ♡ˊ

dr jack abbot x resident!reader

jack pulls rank during a shift, angsty with happy ending! obv medical inaccuracies, mean jack but only for a little for the plot :) (not my gif!)

inspired by this tweet/scene

wc: 1.6k

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

“That’s enough,” Abbot’s voice was strong, it hammered through your head.

“Just give me a second, I just need-” 

“You’re done.” Abbot moves behind you, waiting for you to back away. The room falls quiet. Only the sound of beeping monitors echoes through the room. Everyone is too afraid to get in between whatever is going on between you and Doctor Abbot. 

Your eyes are pleading, hoping he’ll just give you a few more minutes with the patient so you can fix it. His gaze is sharp and unforgiving, giving absolutely nothing away as he stands, gloved hands up, ready to take over. 

“Jack,” it slips out, you’re desperate. 

“You’re off the case. Out. Now.” He doesn't even look at you, which is rare, as he moves in front of you to take over the patient. The room has gone cold, along with Doctor Abbot’s demeanor. You’re too embarrassed and upset to argue, and you need fresh air immediately. Jack’s voice echoes orders as you head towards the doors, only stopping at the bin to dispose of the trauma gown and gloves. 

The ER is chaotic, but it was easy to navigate even in your state of agitation. Weaving through nurses and gurneys being pushed through the halls, you almost miss Doctor Ellis calling your name from across the nurses' station. 

“Hey,” she looks concerned but knows better than to push, “You wanna join me?” Her thumb juts over her shoulder.

“I’m…” You think for a second, running your hands down your face, trying to hide your defeat. “I’m good, gonna get some fresh air.”

“Okay.” Ellis, still unsure, lets it go. “Feel free to join when you're ready.” 

You nod back and continue towards the doors of the ambulance bay. The sun still hasn't even begun to rise, you steal a glance down at your watch as the automatic doors slide open as you approach. It’s only 3:14 am, Jack is pissed at you, and you’re not sure if you’ll even survive the rest of this shift. 

The air is cold, and the small gusts of wind don’t help either. Grateful you went with the long-sleeved shirt to go under your scrubs, you tug down the sleeves you had previously rolled up during the rush of the last case. Your hands run up and down your arms, trying to get warm. Going inside wasn't an option right now, not after the debacle with Jack. 

He was frustrating, usually right, but that’s what made him frustrating. He had given you the chance to try, and you failed, but couldn't admit it. Not to him and definitely not to yourself. You hadn't realized it, but you had begun pacing around the ambulance bay. Thankfully, there were no incoming traumas, which gave you plenty of time to mope and replay the events over in your mind. 

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath looking towards the city. Hands running down your face, which feels warm despite being in the cool air. 

“Don’t let a patient hear that, can’t risk our scores getting any lower.” 

His voice makes you jump; it’s low and gravelly, which doesn't help you as you try to decipher his mood. Jack’s hands are stuffed in his pockets as he walks towards you. He’s returned to his normal, intense eye contact, making you squirm. You’re the first to break it, looking down at your shoes, kicking some of the loose rocks near your feet. 

“Ha,” it's a forced, short laugh at his joke. Abbot doesn’t speak, he lets the silence build, making this increasingly difficult for you. You can’t pinpoint what he’s waiting for, and you know he won’t be the first to speak. 

You steal another glance at your watch, 3:21 am. 

“I had it,” your voice is sharp, cutting through the cold air. Your eyes finally meet his. 

“Hm,” it’s all he gives you. His eyebrows are raised, and his eyes look darker outside. 

“I just needed more time.” 

“No,” Jack shakes his head, now his turn to look at the ground for a split second before he looks back up. “You tried, and time was running out. You weren’t putting the patient first. You need to learn it's okay to step away.”

“That’s not true-”

“We are not doing this.” He lets out a dry laugh, but nothing is funny. “You can’t do that, you are a resident. I am your attending,” he pulls a hand out of his pocket and rubs the back of his neck. “You don’t listen, even when I’m lenient and give you the opportunity to learn. You push that boundary.” 

You’re not sure what to say. Jack and you had always been close, and getting closer. Night shifts would end, the two of you would linger at the lockers chatting, walking out together, conveniently heading the same way home, and on the rare occasion, the two of you would stop for a coffee (that you probably shouldn't be drinking if you had a shift the next day). Some nights off you would end up at the same shitty dive bar, sipping cheap beer, talking about things other than work. You had found yourself wanting to be around Jack, maybe that’s why you followed him into the triage room for a case you were unprepared for. 

“And,” he goes on, “You can’t call me Jack, not in front of everyone, not within these walls,” his finger spins around, motioning to the Pitt. 

A beat passes.

“Okay, Doctor Abbot,” you make sure to emphasize the doctor, your face giving nothing away. 

Doctor Abbot sighs, his hands tug on the stethoscope draped around his neck. He squeezes his eyes shut, tilting his head back. Your words sting. He knew what he was saying, but he didn’t expect to regret it instantly. He was rough around the edges. He knew that, but for once, it seemed like someone didn’t mind. You didn’t mind. Yet here he was ruining that, tarnishing away at that trust the two of you had built over the past few months. 

He didn’t even truly mean it. He was in his own head, beating himself up, and it ended up being taken out on you. Abbot knew you didn’t deserve it, he knew you were smart, he knew you were capable, but something about this patient reminded him too much of things he wasn’t ready to visit. Doctor Abbot’s tunnel vision consumed him in moments like these, and he put you, unwillingly, in the crossfire. It was unfair, cruel, and deeply unlike him. Even this conversation outside in the ambulance bay was unlike him. 

You were occupying his brain, making him lose his footing, questioning himself. It’s feelings Jack hasn't felt in a long time. Maybe that’s why he was short with you, maybe that’s why he needed you out of the room to think clearly. 

You’re about to head back inside. Doctor Abbot had said what he wanted to, and you weren’t interested in more of a back-and-forth with him. Just as you brush past him, his hand reaches out, lightly grabbing your arm. 

“Wait,” his voice is low, almost a whisper. You’re closer than normal, your eyes flick up to meet his, making your heart pound. “I didn’t mean that.” 

You know what he means. He doesn't need to elaborate.

“It’s okay,” you offer a nod, and you mean it. You understand Jack in ways others don’t, while it stings, you know how hard these nights can get. It’s an understanding between the two of you, and the bubbling tension seems to reside with a quiet agreement. 

Jack is still holding your arm when the sound of sirens breaks through the moment. The flashing red and white lights illuminate the ambulance bay as Jack pulls you over to the sidewalk. 

“You ready?” he nods his head towards the ambulance.

“Mhm.”

“Good,” he squeezes your shoulder, “It’s all yours.”

“Wait, Doctor Abbot-” 

He’s already headed back into the ER, turning around to offer a double thumbs up. It’s his way of saying sorry, giving you the fresh trauma. Putting his trust back in you. 

The next hours fly by, it’s busy, and you barely get a moment to apologize to Jack for your own behavior earlier in the night. You hadn’t even realized the time until you saw Doctor Robby walking into the Pitt. Your eyes flick down to your watch, 6:50 am. Immediately, your mind goes into autopilot, wrapping up cases, handing them over to the day shift, all while trying to find Abbot before you leave. 

You don’t see him till you're grabbing your bag out of your locker, “Doctor Abbot.” He closes his locker, camo backpack draped off one shoulder as he turns towards you. “I never got the chance to apologize for earlier. You were right, I'm sorry.”

He smiles and lets out a small, teasing laugh, “I usually am right.”

You laugh with him, he’s magnetic in that way, “And thank you for trusting me even though, you know.”

“We both had a moment, and we’re both still learning, we’ll get through this together.” The sincerity of his words goes straight to your heart. “Now let’s get out of here before Robby pulls us onto a trauma.” His serious tone makes you laugh a bit too loudly, resulting in some glances from the nurses' station as the two of you head out.

You and Jack are back outside together, but under much better circumstances. It's not as cold as it was at 3 am, with the appearance of the sun warming your skin as you take in the morning.

Jack takes a deep breath. “You’re off tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, I am.” It’s not a question, but you answer it anyway. 

“Coffee on me, c’mon,” Jack tilts his head down the street, towards your usual coffee spot. 

“But don’t you work tomorrow?”

“I don’t sleep anyway,” he shrugs, bumping his shoulder to yours as the pair of you walk together, falling into your routine. 

You smile, sneaking a glance at him, happy that the two of you are back to normal. “Whatever you say, Doctor Abbot." 

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

[ticifics]

Home Charm

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: James Potter, the devoted and loving father, transforms every moment into magic and love with his enchanted family.

Warnings: none

A/N: anon, hope you like it <333

• James loves making you laugh and uses every opportunity to tease you in a cute way. He might steal a kiss in the middle of an argument or tickle you until you beg for mercy. Life with him is always light and fun.

• He deeply values your partnership. For any important decision, he always checks with you first, making it clear that your opinion is the most important to him.

• James never misses a chance to steal a kiss. Whether you’re in the middle of a sentence, distracted with a book, or even complaining about something, he simply can’t resist. “You had that irresistible look, love, I had to do it,” he says with a mischievous smile, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

• James is such a soft dad that just hearing the kids say “dada” for the first time made him emotional. He tells everyone about it — Sirius had lost count of how many times he’d heard the same story. “My kid said I’m the best dad in the world yesterday. I’m not saying it’s true, but I’m not denying it either,” he jokes with a smile that lights up his entire face.

• If one of the kids mentions liking something, even if it’s a small detail, James jumps into action. “You like chocolate frogs? Great, now we have an entire collection.” He fills the shopping cart with anything he thinks the kids will love, only realizing the excess when you laugh while trying to find space in the house to store everything.

• For James, physical touch is a form of love. He wraps his arm around your waist whenever you’re together, as if he needs to make sure you’re there. When you’re cooking, he leans against the counter just to watch, but never without first running his hands over your shoulders or waist. He pulls you close with the excuse of “needing to taste something” you’re making, but in reality, he just wants you in his arms.

• He has the habit of complimenting you out of nowhere, especially in public, as if he can’t hold back how he feels. “Are you all seeing this? How did I marry the most beautiful woman in the world?” he jokes with his friends, but his look is completely serious. You might roll your eyes, but the sparkle in his smile always melts you.

• James has a smile unlike any other, one he reserves only for you. It’s the kind of smile that makes it feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters, full of tenderness and adoration.

• Even without music, James finds an excuse to make you twirl around the room. Whether it’s after a long day or just because he thinks you need a smile, he takes your hand and leads you in an exaggerated way, as if you’re the stars of a ballroom. When you protest, he just laughs and insists, saying, “You know I won’t stop until I get a smile, right?”

• He has the habit of pulling you into a long kiss, especially when you’re in a rush to leave. “Just one more, please,” he asks, pressing his forehead against yours after, still a little out of breath and with shiny lips. Of course, this results in you both being late more often than you’d like, but who can resist him?

• He loves it when you wear his clothes, especially his sweaters and shirts. When he notices you’re cold, he doesn’t wait for you to ask — he just wraps you in one of his huge coats and puts his arms around you like a human blanket. “Much better this way, don’t you think?” he whispers in your ear, though it doesn’t take long before he removes his clothes from you.

• The king of excuses to hug you. “You don’t look comfortable in that chair,” he comments, pulling you onto his lap with ease. “You know what would be better? Sitting here.” He does this anywhere: in the living room, the backyard, showering your neck with kisses that fluster you.

• James knows exactly how to make you laugh, even on the toughest days. He might mimic voices, make faces, or even create hilarious imaginary scenes with objects around. His goal, he swears, is always to hear you laugh, because “if you’re laughing, I’m winning at life.”

• When you’re sick or tired, James becomes your loving caretaker. He brings tea, makes soup, and wraps you in blankets. “You just need to tell me what you want, my love, and I’ll do it,” he insists, even if his soup attempt ends up being more funny than delicious.

• James loves telling the story of the day he met you. He does it with such enthusiasm that it feels like he’s reliving the moment every time, emphasizing how you captivated him right away. “I knew from that instant I was lost,” he confesses, while you roll your eyes, but your heart races anyway.

• No matter how tired he is, James never forgets to give you a kiss before bed. He pulls you close, whispers something sweet or funny, and kisses your forehead, cheek, and finally your lips. “Good night, my life,” he says with so much affection that it feels like you’re in the arms of the whole world.

• When the kids scribble on the house walls, you try to be firm about the rules, but James shows up with a mischievous look. “You know, they were just expressing their creativity,” he argues while trying to scrub the marks. In the end, he ends up sitting in time-out with them, admitting that “he was an accomplice to the art.”

• During your pregnancy, James had the habit of lying next to you and talking to the baby, even when it seemed silly. He would talk about how excited he was to meet the baby, or make up funny stories about teaching the baby to fly. When he felt the baby move, his eyes would shine in a way that made you fall even more in love.

• Before bed, James turns simple stories into epic adventures. He does all the voices for the characters, makes exaggerated gestures, and even creates a soundtrack with light spells. Even if the kids are exhausted, they always ask for “just one more story, daddy.”

• When you say no to something the kids want, James does his best to negotiate on their behalf. “Love, they just want to build a fort in the middle of the living room. And look, they’ve already assigned me as the troll guarding the entrance. I can’t disappoint my adventurers,” he says with an irresistible look.

• Even on days when the kids make a mess or are in a bad mood, James stays calm. He believes every behavior has a reason and prefers to resolve things with conversations and playfulness rather than scolding. When one of the kids cries, he immediately sits next to them, saying, “It’s okay, champ. What’s wrong? Daddy’s here.”

• James never misses a chance to shower the kids with affection. He hugs them, kisses their cheeks, and messes up their hair. “You know I love you, right?” he says daily, because he believes it’s important for them to grow up knowing how adored they are.

• James loves creating little traditions. Every Friday night, he organizes “pajama parties” in the living room, where you watch Muggle movies (courtesy of Remus) and eat enchanted popcorn that changes flavor. At Christmas, he always dresses up as Santa, even though the kids already know it’s him.

• He completely surrenders to playtime. If that means getting covered in paint or glitter, James doesn’t mind. To him, the kids’ laughter is worth any effort. Later, he makes sure to help them clean up, singing made-up songs to make the moment fun.

• James makes sure to emphasize how amazing the kids are. “Did you know you’re the smartest wizard that ever existed?” or “That was the most impressive defense I’ve ever seen in a Quidditch match! And trust me, I’ve seen a lot of Quidditch.” He believes every day is a new chance to make the kids feel special.

• James makes sure to show you how much he loves you in front of the kids. He says “I love your mom” whenever he can, believing this will teach them what a healthy relationship looks like. He believes raising kids in a home full of love and laughter is the greatest gift he can give them.

[getmeoutofhell]

Poly! ghostface x reader headcanons

WARNINGS: this contains EVERY YOUNG male ghostface. incase you’re uncomfortable leave now for your protection. this does not include richie because i can’t write two brothers dating the same person, my brain don’t work like that. 💀 this is gender neutral, so boys and girls can read. 💕✌🏾

a/n: well, let me know what y’all think. this is all for fun don’t actually date this many people at once. 😂 but remember, have fun reading and give me some feedback!! enjoy!! :)

The Beginning:

where do i begin? they all met you separately (two of them do), for starters. they wanted to get to know you personally individually, to make sure that they all thought the same about you. in the beginning of their journey, charlie was the first the introduce you to anyone, and he was the first one of them you started to like as well.

charlie would never shut up about you, constantly telling the group about you and what you did. he was obsessed with you, the color of your eyes, everything you could think of he loved it. ethan was the next to come along with charlie to meet you. oh boy, did he fall fast.

“hey y/n, this is my friend ethan.” he shakes your hand, feeling his skin against yours. “nice to meet you ethan.” as you guys talk ethan stares and stares at you, getting lost in thought constantly. in the middle of the conversation, charlie mentions the other boys and suggest you come hang out and watch a movie with them. you take a minute to think but agree and tell him to come pick you up at 8.

“she/he said yes boys!!” charlie tells the group. “thank god, can’t wait to meet him/her.” billy says. “yeah same.” stu agrees.

“he’s/she’s really pretty and has the best smile.” ethan tells them while his face gets red. “calm your dick dude. it’s your first day meeting him/her.” mickey says. “it’s my first time my brothers been in love. i’m proud of you dude.” ethan rolls his eyes at riche before heading to his room. he’s in love already?? no way! 😂

6 rolls around and charlie rushes down stairs. “listen guys! we need to cleans this fucking house up. i go get them in two damn hours and this house is disgusting!!” as soon as he said that they got up and moved around. “i’m not helping them. i already cleaned up my part of the house.” roman states. charlie nods his head before going to clean up.

it’s now 7:30 charlie will be heading to pick you up soon. “how do i look guys?” charlie asked. “you look great dude, now go pick em up.” stu chuckled. “why can’t i go with you?” ethan asks, he just really wants to see you again. “because she/he told me to come pick them up, not you buddy boy.” another eye roll comes out of ethan. “yeah whatever.”

“sorry if the place is a mess, please excuse that.” charlie then opens the door then walks you inside. “boys, this is y/n. the lovely person i was telling y’all about.” everyone tells you hello and ethan approaches you with a hug. “missed you.” “i missed you too eth.”

they made you feel comfortable within minutes of being there. you were a little taken back because you’re the only the girl there (if you’re a girl) but they changed your mind about that quickly. “do you guys have anything to drink? i’m pretty thirsty.” mickey immediately goes and gets you something. you get a little cold and ethan never got up faster in his life to get a blanket. stu was talkative you noticed, but you were there to listen to his words and laugh at his jokes. some time later you end up accidentally falling asleep on the couch, head falling on charlie’s shoulder next to you.

it’s somehow now 12 and you wake up from your nap to the boys looking at you. “oh my god. did i fall asleep, i’m so sorry. what time is it??” you try to get up but fall back down on the couch. “it’s alright beautiful. we’re glad you felt comfortable enough to even sleep over here.” roman tells you. “yeah we appreciate it.” billy says. “do you wanna sleep in my bed for the night? i’ll take the couch.” you look at mickey as he talks, you find this amazing, how they like you enough to let you sleep in their house. “thank you.”

they lead you to the bathroom to wash off your makeup (if you wear any). you then walk in his room and notice a t-shirt on the bed, with a note that says “for you :)” you thought that was the sweetest things ever!! you were so appreciative.

How You Start Dating:

time flys by and you start coming over there whenever. you come over to there place every day, to the point where you bring clothes over to stay the night. they loved your presence and loved you!!

one day the boys had asked you to come downstairs and have a talk with them. “is something wrong boys?” “well, y/n, we wanna talk to you about something.” you were a little nervous at the time, scared they might say something bad and unwanted. you really liked them, all of them…they made you feel loved and appreciated in every way. “we really like you y/n, and we was wondering if you’d like to be our girlfriend/boyfriend? i understand it sounds crazy but-“ “of course i’ll be your girlfriend/boyfriend!!” they all were stunned at your answer, but accepted it.

The Relationship Headcanons:

god they loved you like you were the only person in the world!! gifts, hugs, comfort, you name it they got it!

they help you move in and they can’t get enough of you. you’re never alone with them. but if you did want some you time they will give you it. “you’re so pretty.” “you’re an angel.” “baby, princess/prince, final girl/boy, bae.” those are just some of the words of affection they give you.

ethan & stu is just a cuddle monster in one!! they’re always up on you and against you at all times. charlie is really shy, so mostly in private will he cuddle you. roman and mickey use words of love with you. well mickey also loves cuddles. roman is definitely the most mature, which means he does things differently. he gives you letters and small gifts to show his love. billy is the most possessive of all. deep down, he’s insecure and scared you won’t like him anymore. 😟

but there is a bad side…the arguments. oh my god it took forever to control them and calm them down. one always feels left out every fucking day. it’s hard to reassure them and let them know you love all of them the same. stu loves his daily cuddles and has to have them. “stu move the hell over, your hogging her/him for fucks sake!” billy is secretly jealous and sometimes wants you all to himself. “billy, it’s okay love, i’m right here. no need to be jealous.” he then goes on to say that he’s not jealous when we all know that’s bullshit. but whatever i guess.

mickey films you, a lot. all day everyday. he has a plain that on christmas, he’ll show y’all the huge hour + long video he made of you. just you. no one else. these videos contain you waking up, showering, eating, going to sleep, changing, laughing, yelling & a bunch of other shit i will not disclose. 😂

they do work on their cleaning a lot more now that you’re here. every time they makes a mess and you catch them, you tell them to clean it up and they do it. they love having showers with you, even tho they all can’t fit in there, they take turns on different days!! they can’t get enough of their favorite baby boy/girl!!

they always leave little notes each morning on the fridge for you. “went out to get groceries. i love you bae! see you later ;) -stu” or one said “me + you + shower at 8 :) -mickey” it’s some of your favorite things to see from them in the morning. it also helps your mood be better for the day. they help you cook, too. well technically you help them, because they don’t know what they’re doing. roman knows a little about cooking and looks up recipes for the night. other days when you’re not cooking for them, y’all are ordering takeout or going somewhere to eat.

it’s such a disaster going out to eat with them, let alone they all have to ride in the same vehicle. they argue about who gets to sit by you and what music to put on the radio…it’s a bunch of mess everywhere. “guys just fucking calm down. y/n said she’s/he’s sitting in front by me.” roman always gets the last say so in the car, considering he drives 99% of the time. he’s very specific with everything.

now this is just some of the sfw headcanons, don’t get me started on the nsfw ones…👀

[luigisleftshoe]

Newly Wed Luigi Headcanons

Wait, I know I said that I think he would rather elope and then do the actual wedding party stuff later. I still think that but for the sake of this hc let's pretend this is the actual wedding with the white dress and party stuff.

The second he sees you walking down the aisle he’s GONE. Like. Gone. Hand over his mouth. Tearing up instantly. Says “holy shit” out loud. Probably tries to hold it together and then FULLY loses it when he hears the first note of your song.

He’s a little fidgety standing at the altar. Keeps bouncing slightly on his heels (like that video of him at like the potluck). Might accidentally mouth the vows along with the officiant. Is gripping his hands behind his back like it’s the only thing keeping him from running to you.

His vows? Unhinged in the most heart-wrenching way. He will start with a dumb joke to lighten the mood and then its just 3 minutes of straight up emotional murder. Hell say something like: “Before I met you, I didn’t know I could feel this safe and this terrified at the same time.”, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I swear to keep proving I do for the rest of my life.” Everyone is in tears

Has a tiny moment of panic right before saying “I do.” Not because he’s unsure. But because he suddenly realizes this is real and it overwhelms him. You give him a look. He exhales. He says: “Yeah. I do. I really do.” Like he’s saying it to himself, not just the officiant.

He will be SO SOFT DURING THE TOASTS. Like if his sisters or his best friends were toasting he's covering his face when people are looking at you two. He mumbles “dont look at me” when he's getting roasted in the toast. 

100% does a dumb little speech he did NOT prepare. Gets on the mic in the night and is like: “sorry, i know you are all trying to eat cake, but I love my wife so much its physically stupid.” You're yelling at him to sit down. Hes trying to tell your grandma how hot you are. 

First dance? Oh boy be prepared. Look homeboy went to all private schools he was definitely forced into doing cotillion he knows how to formal dance. So be PREPARED. But also hes so soft. Hell pull you super close and kiss your temple and whisper things like: “I feel like I won something I didnt even know i entered.”, “Im so fucking in love with you its embarassing” 

He absolutely packs a tiny “wedding night kit” and forgets to hide it. Silk boxers. Fancy beard oil he never uses. your favorite perfume (for you) because he wants to associate it with this night forever. Hydration tablets. You ask why he has it and he stammers: “...I just wanted to be... prepared. For... vibes.”

That first night tho. MY BOY IS SHAKEN. Like. You get to the hotel room and he just stands there. Looking at you. Hands in his pockets. Doing that little head tilt he does when he’s overwhelmed, like he physically can’t speak for a second. Then finally: “You’re my wife. You’re—my fucking wife.” And you’re like “yeah babe we covered that” but he’s literally having a full emotional meltdown in silence.

Kisses you like you’re air. Not rushed. Not frantic. Just long, aching, reverent. Both hands on your face, thumbs dragging across your cheekbones like he’s trying to memorize your whole being. When you pull back for a second, he just presses his forehead against yours and whispers: “Don’t look at me like that or I’ll cry. Again.”

However, you kiss him like dress half-off and he pauses like: “Babe I love you but I'm gonna pass out if I don't eat something. Do you want a protein bar or should we dorr dash?” (you end up sharing cold fries in bed after round one. Its iconic) 

He doesn’t undress you — he unwraps you. Like you’re the most precious gift. Unzips your dress painfully slow. Leaves kisses on every inch of skin as he reveals it. Whispers dumb, soft things like: “I’m gonna spend the rest of my life learning how to love you right.” (And then follows it up with a cocky “...and I’m starting tonight.”)

He's so nervous. But only because he wants to get everything completely perfect. Like he knows your body. You've done this before. But something about being your “wedding night” short circuits his brain. “This is like, this is supposed to be important, right? Like legendary? What if i fuck up the tempo? What if it's not special enough? What if I pass out?” You have to literally climb into his lap be like “Lu, breath. I married you. You win.” 

ALso HE wears his wedding ring during sex and lowkey can't stop staring at it. At one point he has both hands on your hips and then fully pauses just to look down at his hand and mutters: “Holy shit. That's my wife. That's my ring. On my wife.” You have to pull him back because he's lost in the sauce of his own emotions. 

He had a plan. He 100% had a plan. A playlist. A position order. He READ AND REREAD that one sexual book on his goodreads. Also maybe googled “meaningful post-wedding sex rituals.” but the second you look at him like you want him? All of it goes out the window. He's feral now. Gripping your thighs and whispering “you wanna see how good your husband can make you feel?”

He's a whole different animal once his nerves fade . Voice drops. Hands firm. Grip steady. He pins you down like he's trying to claim you again, but with his body this time. Mouth hot. Words are hot. Whispers between kisses: “your mine now.” forever, baby. Are you ready for that?” “wanna fuck you slow, wanna make it count.” He's making eye contact with you the whole time. Soft and possessive. Breathless and controlled. 

Foreplay lasts forever. He's not rushed. He's savoring it. Kisses down your chest like you're the only thing he's ever prayed to. Fingers gentle, teasing, reverent. Makes you beg just a little: “say you want me. Say it like you mean it. You're my wife, I need to hear you.”

He presses you into the bed like he’s anchoring himself. No teasing. No patience. He slides into you like he already knows every part of your body — but it still knocks the breath out of him. Forehead against yours. Groaning like he’s in pain: “God—fuck—how do you feel this good? How do you always feel like home?” You try to answer but he’s already moving — steady, deep, desperate to ruin you slowly.

You finish first. He makes sure of it. Then again. And again. He’s addicted. Obsessed. Whispering “one more, baby, c’mon” as he pins your hands above your head and grinds into you slow, deep, devastating. When he finally lets go? He moans your name like it’s a prayer and collapses onto you, trembling from the intensity, his hand still wrapped around your thigh like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

He insists on doing all the cleanup like he’s your personal wedding night nurse. Wipes you down gently. Finds your robe and puts it around you like a cape. Tucks you into bed and goes: “You’re not lifting a finger. I’m your husband now. You get carried, fed, and worshipped.”

And oh ymgopd the honeymoon

He says it’s gonna be relaxing. It’s not. Before you even land, he has: 3 dinner reservations, 2 couple’s excursions, A “just-for-fun” spreadsheet. He calls it “loose structure for love.” You call it “why are we hiking at 6am.” He packs resistance bands. For what. No one knows.

The second he sees you in a swimsuit he forgets how to speak. Legit stares with his jaw halfway open. Grabs your hand like he’s grounding himself. Whispers: “My wife’s a danger to national security.” Then makes you take a million photos so he can look at them “in case of emergency.” (He means horniness.)

The hotel staff know you by name within 48 hours. Because this man: Orders you room service every morning, Brags about you to the concierge, Tips too much when they say “Mrs. Mangione” and then whispers “say it again.” He is absolutely That Husband™.

The sex? Feral. But romantic. But feral. He’s soft until he’s not. Massages sunscreen into your back and then fucks you face down, legs shaking, bed a mess — all while whispering: “Married you for this. Married you for all of this.” He has no chill. At one point he literally says: “I’m making up for every second we weren’t married.” ...and then proves it.

You two try to cook one night and end up half-naked, covered in sauce. He’s behind you like: “Babe. Babe. You’re stirring wrong. Let me help—” Which means: his arms around you, hips pressed in, voice dropping, hands slowly drifting. And then you’re bent over the counter with pasta boiling and his wedding ring digging into your thigh. Iconic.

He gets real soft out of nowhere. You’re lying on a beach towel. He props himself up on one elbow, looks at you, and says: “Is this what peace feels like? Because it’s you. It’s always you.” Then immediately fumbles it with: “Anyway I got sand in my ass but like in a spiritual way I’m thriving.”

On your last night he gets emotional before sex. Like way too in his feelings. You climb into his lap and he pulls you in slow, touches your face, murmurs: “This week felt like a lifetime. And still not enough.”, “I wanna keep giving you this. Always. Every version of it.” He makes love to you like a goodbye even though you’re literally going home with him.

He forgets you’re married at random intervals and re-panics. You’ll be like “my husband’s picking me up” and he fully freezes like: “Who??? OH. ME. RIGHT. ME. Sorry. Still adjusting to being The Husband™.” Later that night: “I’m gonna go introduce myself to the mirror. Be right back.”

You get one utility bill with both your names on it and he stares at it like it’s the birth of your first child. “We have a water bill together. That’s so hot. We’re thriving.” Takes a photo of it. Puts it in “Marriage Wins” folder on his phone.

Refers to random objects as “our firsts.”“That’s our first married sponge.”, “That was our first post-honeymoon mug purchase.”, “Don’t throw that out, it’s our first married receipt.”

 Grocery shopping becomes horny. You grab olive oil and he’s like: “Careful. You’re holding the essentials of our household. And also you look hot.” Starts narrating your cart like it’s foreplay: “That’s right babe… get those organic strawberries. You’re such a good provider.”

Randomly panics about being a good husband over the dumbest things. One day he forgets to unload the dishwasher and you don’t even notice, but he’s sitting on the couch spiral-texting his college group chat like: “Bros am I failing as a life partner. Be honest.”

[babydollmarauders]

BALLAD OF A HOMESCHOOLED GIRL — JACK HUGHES

jack hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which y/n goes on a date with Jack and thinks she made a complete fool of herself

notes: obviously inspired by Ballad of a Homeschooled Girl by Olivia Rodrigo, not proofread and written on extreme sleepiness. (3.6k words)

third dates.

my mother always told me to have them in group settings.

she said the first date is to get to know each other; the second is to learn how he’d treat you in private; the third date is to learn how he’d treat you in front of his friends.

most guys seem to get intimidated when i ask about joining a hang out with his friends for the third date, but Jack was different. i had told Jack on our first about my rules.

first date in a public setting, but alone.

second date in private, his apartment or mine.

third date with a group of friends.

i hadn’t expected him to take it so well, nodding along as though even without context, it made sense. he didn’t ask for clarification, which was good because i had learned after my last relationship not to give any; lest they’ll act like a gentlemen in front of their friends until we start dating.

i honestly didn’t expect Jack to contact me again, fully awaiting the discovery that he’d ghosted me, possibly even blocked me to keep me from talking to him again. but then he texted me tonight.

“i know it’s last minute, but third date tonight? me and some guys from the team are going for drinks, would you wanna come?”

and now here i am, walking into a pretty secluded bar to meet Jack and about half a dozen other professional hockey players. to say i’m nervous would be a massive understatement.

i spent at least half an hour trying on various outfits, but nothing felt right. every article of clothing i tried on had something wrong with it; whether it be that it didn’t fit quite right, or it didn’t match the occasion, or i just deemed it didn’t look good on me, something was always wrong. so i finally settled on a nice sundress, despite the chilled air of the evening.

“y/n!” my head turns in search of the voice that called my name, locking eyes with Jack, where he sits at a high top table with five other guys. “i was starting to think you’d stood me up!”

my eyebrows furrow as i walk over to him, stopping at the end of the table. my stomach ties in knots at all of the eyes on me. i hate attention.

“why would i do that?” a few of the guys chuckle at my question, but i’m not sure i understand what’s so funny.

“i was joking.” Jack clarifies.

oh.

embarrassment washes over me and i can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, but Jack just smiles sweetly, rising to his feet and pulling out the chair beside him.

“oh, thank you.” i take a seat and he returns to his, his hand settling on my knee as one of the guys begin to speak.

“so, you’re y/n?” my eyes go wide, and i glance over at Jack but he’s looking over at the other guy. “i’m Luke.”

“nice to meet you, Luke.” i give the curly headed boy a tight smile, “so, you play with Jack?”

the boy grins, nodding his head, “i guess you could say that.”

everyone snickers, and i fear i’ve made a mistake of some sort. my blood runs cold; i hate feeling like i’m on the outside of some giant inside joke.

maybe this was a mistake.

Jack squeezes my knee, and i look over at him with subtly pleading eyes, silently begging for him to save me.

“Luke is my younger brother, but he does play on the team with me.” there it is. that’s where i messed up.

“oh, i’m sorry.” i’m not sure what i’m apologizing for, but it seems like the right thing to do. i glance back at Luke, “i knew Jack had mentioned your name before but, he’s mentioned so many names that at this point they all jumble together in my head.”

Luke just shakes his head, waving it off. “nah, don’t worry, it’s okay.”

after that, i decide it’s better to go quiet; only really speaking when spoken to. i can’t embarrass myself if i’m not saying anything.

“hey.” Jack’s voice is soft, and at first, i don’t even realize he’s talking to me, until i tear my eyes from who i now know as Dawson, who’s telling a story with wildly gesturing hands. “do you wanna go get a drink?”

he nods his head over towards the bar, and i nod, desperately in need of something to ease my nerves, “yes, please.”

Jack and i rise from our seats, his hand going to my lower back to stabilize me as i stumble. my cheeks go red, but i decide it’s better not to acknowledge my clumsiness.

“and i— where are you guys going?” Dawson cuts himself off, drawing attention to Jack and i’s retreating pair. “did i bore you, y/n?”

i stop in my tracks, freezing up as guilt takes over me.

“i- what? n-no! Jack-” i stumble over my words in a panic, attempting to reassure him, but apparently i didn’t help my case.

“see, Merc! poor y/n even finds your story stupid.” John laughs and i shake my head wildly.

“no! i found it interesting!” Nico snickers at my words, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“interesting. that’s one way of putting it.”

oh god, i made it worse.

“guys, leave her alone.” Jack speaks up, rolling his eyes at his friends before he turns back to me. “c’mon, ignore them, they’re just raggin’ on you.”

my brows thread together in confusion, but i nod nonetheless, allowing him to use his hand that still rests on my back to guide me over to the bar.

“i’m sorry about them.” he sighs as we reach the counter, waiting for a bartender. “they have a stupid sense of humor.”

“no! no, it’s fine!” i assure him.

it’s not them, it’s me.

i’ve never been great at picking up on social cues, perhaps due to my odd lifestyle as a child.

when the bartender reaches us, Jack orders another beer before looking over at me, “oh, can i just get an aperol spritz, please?”

Jack hands over his card and when he gets it back he turns to me.

“i gotta run to the bathroom, are you okay waiting for the drinks? i’ll be back in a second.” i nod and he takes off towards the restroom, leaving me alone.

“so, you like him?” apparently not alone for long.

i turn my head in surprise, only to find Luke standing beside me. he asks the bartender who arrives back with Jack and i’s drinks for another beer and the man nods.

“hmm? Jack?” Luke nods and i smile looking down into my glass. “yeah, i really like him.”

“see, i said so!” my face scrunched in confusion as i look back at him.

“you said so?” i question.

“yeah! Johnny was trying to say you must not like him because you aren’t being very flirty, but i told him- i said you obviously like him if you’re on a third date.”

flirting.

i’ve never been great at that. and i haven’t needed to be, Jack is the one who approached me first, he’s the one who asked me out and he hasn’t given any indication that i have any reason to have to flirt to keep his attention.

“oh.”

Luke pays for his beer before retreating back to the table with a low “see you in a few.”

i’m quick to tear my phone out of my pocket, glancing over towards the restrooms for a moment to make sure my date isn’t coming back before making a quick google search.

this seems impossible.

“hey.” Jack reappears beside me and i hastily lock my phone, looking up at him as i go to slide it back into my pocket. but the combination of my fidgety hands, quick movements, and not paying attention to my surroundings doesn’t end well.

before i can even blink, my hand is knocking into my glass, the drink sliding off the bar top and onto the floor, shattering upon impact.

“oh my god!” i squeal, jumping back from the broken shards. i glance down at the mess before looking back up at Jack. “i am so sorry!”

i turn to the waitress who comes rushing towards us with a broom and towels, apologizing profusely and offering to clean it up myself.

“it’s no problem, happens all the time.” she tells me with a smile, but i still bury my face in my hands.

i’m making a fool of myself.

“can we get another aperol spritz?” i peek through my eyes at the sound of Jack’s voice, watching as he hands the bartender his card again.

“i am so sorry, Jack.” my voice is low and whimpered, my shoulders rising as though to protect myself. “i just wasted your money and made a huge mess.”

Jack smiles softly, shaking his head as he chuckles, “don’t worry about it. it’s seriously okay, y/n. accidents happen, don’t beat yourself up about it.”

i nod, but i truly feel horrible now.

this was a mistake. i should’ve just stayed home; watched a cheesy romance or read a true crime novel and gone to bed early.

the bartender hands me the new drink, and i thank him before Jack leads me back to the table.

“everything okay?” Timo questions as we return and Jack just nods as we settle back in our seats.

“yeah, just a little accident. it’s all good.” the guys chuckle but all turn back to their previous conversation, somehow now on the topic of the wildest things they did in school.

i stay silent, hoping and praying to any higher power that they don’t involve me in this conversation, but my luck runs out pretty quickly. although i’m not sure i’ve had any tonight in the first place.

“what about you, y/n?” Nico is the one to rope me in, “what’s the wildest thing you did in school?”

“i- uh-” i internally cringe, mentally preparing myself for their jokes, “i was homeschooled. so, i didn’t really get to do anything crazy like you guys.”

“ohh, you’re a homeschool kid.” Luke nods as if it makes sense.

“did you know that statistically speaking, homeschoolers are more likely to graduate than public schoolers?” John pipes up, and i shake my head.

“really?” Jack questions, his nose scrunched cutely in disbelief.

“no, i- uh, i didn’t know that.” John nods at my words.

“yeah, look it up!” he points to my phone, which never actually made it to my pocket after the broken glass fiasco and now resides face down on the table.

i pick it up and Jack and Dawson, who both reside on either respective side of me, lean in to see my phone screen, eager to find out whether their teammate is correct.

but when i unlock my phone, my eyes grow wide and i’m eagerly attempting to swipe out of the current window, but it’s as if the world is against me because this is the exact moment that my phone screen decides to freeze.

“does that say ‘how to flirt?’” Dawson chuckles and i bite my lip, giving up and slamming my phone face down onto my lap as the table bursts into laughter.

i’m blushing like a mad woman, squeezing my eyes shut as i bury my face into my hands for the second time that night.

“aww y/n, you really let John get to you, huh?” Luke teases, and i feel like i could cry of embarrassment.

everything i do is tragic.

suddenly my seat is moving, scooting further to my right, before an arm is spindling around my waist. i let my hands lower just slightly to peer up at Jack, who wears a happy grin, his cheeks tinged pink.

he glances down at me, smiling even wider when he sees that i’m already looking at him.

it’s like a cat’s got my tongue, too stunned by the overwhelming mortification of the situation to even get a word out to explain or defend myself.

but Jack doesn’t seem to mind, pulling me into his body until my head is against his collarbone as he changes the subject; bringing up a story about he and his older brother trying to free an infant Luke from his crib when they were younger.

i’m quiet as the group speaks, most of them speaking over each other, which in turn makes others get louder to try and be heard. my head aches and i need a break.

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom.” i whisper, freeing myself from Jack’s hold as he nods in understanding.

“okay. are you okay?” i give him a small smile, reassuring him that i’m fine before i leave.

my hands rest upon the bathroom sink, my eyes glaring into my reflection in the wonky bar mirror.

“get it together.” i try and tell myself, but it comes out in more of a whine.

why am i like this?

i run my hands through my hair, making sure it’s volumized, and heave out a sigh before i make my way back out of the restroom to join the table again.

on my way back, i can’t help but smile at the sight of Jack laughing with his friends.

he seems so carefree.

but i should’ve been watching where i was going, because halfway to the table, i’m tripping over someone’s heeled foot, landing on my knee on the hard ground.

“oh shit!” Jack’s voice echoes over the loudness of the music and bar-goers, and i can hear multiple chairs screech across the floor. “y/n, are you okay?”

oh god, i wanna curl up and die.

“yeah, i’m fine.” my voice is wavering and weak, so over making an idiot of myself tonight.

Jack appears in front of me, holding his hands out to help me up. his skin is soft as i slide my hands into his, allowing him to pull me up to my feet.

his friends stand behind him, a couple biting back laughs, but the others wide eyed in concern.

i let Jack guide me back to the table, and when i sit down, he’s kneeling in front of me, inspecting my knee for any immediate bruising or marks.

i sigh and he looks up at me, worry settled into his expression.

“that was a hell of a tumble.” Timo snickers, but he sobers up quickly as his eyes meet Jack’s, “you’re okay though, right?”

“physically? yes. mentally? questionable.” the table laughs, but i didn’t mean to joke, which only makes me press my lips together.

Jack finally deems my knee okay, settling back into his seat and letting his arm rest over the back of my chair.

“what were we talking about?” Jack asks, effectively diverting the attention away from my fall and back to the conversation from while i was gone.

“cheating.” John states, taking a sip from his beer.

i let out a little laugh, thinking he was just joking, but i sober up as i realize nobody else is.

“oh, you were serious.” i bite my lip as he nods.

“right!” Luke exclaims, “so people are saying he cheated on her?”

“yeah,” Dawson nods, and i’m a bit lost, “which i don’t understand, because all he did was hold hands with the other girl. we don’t know anything other than that. holding hands could have so many different meanings.”

i take a big gulp of my drink, listening intently as the guys debate cheating and what counts as cheating.

“i think, if one of you guys cheated on your girlfriend, i might ‘accidentally’ knock your teeth out on the ice.” Nico tells them, making the guys and i laugh. “i’m serious, you’d be bag skating until you physically drop from exhaustion.”

and like word vomit, before i can stop myself, i’m speaking, “my friend recently cheated on her boyfriend, and i can’t tell if i should tell him or let him find out on his own.”

their heads turn to me and i shrink in my seat as i realize what just escaped my lips.

“oh my god, i’m not supposed to be telling that to anyone.” my hand covers my mouth, and a few of the guys laugh at my actions.

“you should definitely tell him.” John shrugs, “he deserves to know.”

“i thought so too, but if i do tell him, does that make me a horrible friend?” the guys all start shouting different things along the same lines.

some telling me it doesn’t make me a bad friend, while others telling me that i shouldn’t be friends with her anymore anyways.

“has she done anything else?” Luke asks, and i scrunch my nose.

“cheating wise, no: just one drunken kiss with some guy.” i start. “but she told him she was sick to get out of meeting his parents.”

i clap my hand over my mouth again, shocked that these secrets are just tumbling out of me.

“fuck, i shouldn’t be telling you guys these things.”

the guys cackle and Dawson changes the subject, apparently just remembering a story of something that happened to him back home over the summer.

i remain quiet for the next fifteen or so minutes, just listening as the guys go back and forth, telling stories of their summers, until i feel Jack’s hand on my shoulder.

“hey, i’m heading home, do you want me to drop you off at your house?”

i eagerly accept his offer, happily willing to leave now and avoid paying for an uber during surge pricing. the both of us bid goodbye to his teammates and his brother, who says he’ll hitch a ride back to the apartment with Dawson, before we head out to his car.

i smile as he opens the car door for me, allowing me to climb in before he shuts the door again and jogs around the front of the car, slipping into the drivers side.

i don’t need to give him my address, our second date having been at my apartment, so i just clasp my hands tightly together in my lap, both of his on his steering wheel.

“i had fun tonight.” he tells me as we pull up to my apartment building.

“yeah, your friends are nice.”

not a complete lie. they are nice, i’m just not sure i got along with them, or more so, that they liked me.

“can i walk you up?” i accept his request and he exits the car, running around it to open my door before i get the chance to.

i mentally prepare myself on the silent elevator up to my apartment, readying myself to have him tell me that he doesn’t think we fit.

i was awkward tonight, breaking a glass, stumbling over my words, tripping, googling things that should be common knowledge, and telling secrets i had no business telling.

i couldn’t think of any worse ways to ruin a potential relationship.

when we reach my apartment, Jack stops me in front of my door, and before he gets the chance to belittle my dignity any further than i, myself, already have, i’m speaking up.

“i completely understand if you don’t wanna continue this.” i sigh, finding sudden interest in my shoes. “i made a complete fool of myself tonight.”

“why would you think i don’t wanna see you again?” he sounds hurt, his finger hooking under my chin and pulling my head up to look at him.

i chuckle lowly, “you can’t take me anywhere. every time i go out, it’s social suicide.”

“so you’re a bit clumsy and you need time to click with my friends and their humor, so what?” he shrugs, “i think you’re cute. and i’m incredibly honored that you wanted to flirt with me.”

i groan, my face flushing, and i tip my head back to look up at the ceiling.

“oh god, that was so embarrassing.” i whine.

“it was sweet.” Jack chuckles, pulling me into his chest. his arms wrap around me and i melt into his embrace, his chin resting on top of my head.

“i really like you, y/n. and tonight may not have gone the way you would’ve liked, and i can respect that, you’re allowed to feel that way, but i really liked it. i got a chance to figure out more about you and what you’re like, and it only solidified that i’d really like to keep getting to know you, see where this could lead.”

my head snaps up to look him in the eyes, “you would?”

he giggles at my actions, nodding his head. “yeah, i would.”

his head dips down and i suck in a breath as his lips near mine.

“can i kiss you?” he questions, and i nod.

“yes, please.”

his lips slot against mine, moving in sync and pulling me even closer to him if it’s possible. his hands slide up to cup the back of my neck, his tongue tracing my bottom lip and i part my lips to allow him entrance.

what starts slow and passionate, turns into something hot and heavy. i huff as he pulls away, my lips chasing after his and making him smile.

“do you wanna come inside?” i ask him, my voice low and sultry, and his eyes darken almost instantly.

he smirks, answering only by taking my keys from my hands and unlocking my door, leading me into my own apartment.

“ya know, i don’t think you needed that google search. you’re pretty good at luring me in all on your own.”

[miss-madness67]

idk if you've written anything like this, but can I request a one shot with Ivar x reader where the reader works for their family and she has a crush on him. She flirts a little here and there and everyone notices except him. But he over hears her talking to someone about it and then confronts her? Kinda angsty but also fluffy at the end.💖

Sorry for the delay. Here we go!

Blind

The kitchen is warm, filled with the familiar sounds of cooking and the heat of the stove. It’s what you’re used to and where you feel confident. You have worked for the Ragnarssons for over a year now, long enough to know their preferences by heart. The heads of the family, Ragnar and Aslaug, prefer fancy meals, as expected of the multi-billion company owners. Hvitserk will eat anything, Ubbe prefers balanced meals, Sigurd complains about everything, and Bjorn rarely stays long enough to care. But Ivar is different.

You know exactly how he likes his coffee; two sugars no cream. You know he prefers his meat rare, no spices and almost leaking with blood. And so, every morning, you take extra care with his meals. You linger a little longer when you set his plate in front of him, brushing your fingers against his when he reaches for his fork. You laugh at his sharp remarks, you lean in when he speaks, and you meet his cold blue stare without flinching. You are utterly and stupidly in love with him.

His brothers notice; they exchange smirks and throw you knowing glances whenever Ivar remains unaware. Hvitserk, never one to hold back, directly tells you one day, “You know, if you want him to notice, you might have to actually slap him with it.”

Ivar, however, remains as clueless as ever. Always focused, always calculating, always somewhere else in his mind. If he notices your efforts, he doesn’t show it. And despite the teasing, despite knowing you’re making a fool of yourself, you can’t seem to stop.

The kitchen is quieter in the evenings, the rush of dinner service long over. Only the low hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clatter of dishes fill the space. You lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching Astrid, the maid, wipe down the last of the surfaces.

“I don’t get why Ivar doesn’t like me back,” you mutter, frustration thick in your voice. “I bring him his favorite meals, I laugh at his terrible jokes, I…” You sigh, dragging a hand through your hair. “What else am I supposed to do? He doesn’t even notice.”

Astrid smirks, tossing the rag over her shoulder. “Maybe he does and just enjoys watching you beg.”

You shake my head. “I don’t beg. And no, I don’t think he knows. It’s like… I’m invisible to him. Or worse, maybe he does notice and just doesn’t care.” The words sting as you say them aloud. That thought has been bothering you for a while now. What if Ivar simply doesn’t care?

The kitchen’s door makes a noise as it closes behind you. You freeze.

Astrid’s eyes go wide, flicking past you before she quickly exits the kitchen through the back door. Traitor. You know who’s behind you now. Your heart pounds as you turn, dread pooling in your stomach.

Ivar is by the threshold, his face unreadable, but he has clearly listened to everything you said. He’s been there the whole time. His fingers drum slowly against the table as he approaches you, his are locked onto you, cold and unwavering. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice quiet laced with something dangerous. “Say I don’t care.”

You swallow hard. “I… I didn’t mean…”

“Say it.”

You hate how your throat tightens, how you feel so small under his gaze. “I wasn’t mocking you, Ivar,” You say quickly. “I was just… frustrated.”

His jaw clenches, something illegible flashing in his eyes. The tension is suffocating, and for the first time, you regret every lingering touch, every lingering look.

Ivar’s eyes narrow, sharp as a blade. “Of course,” he says, voice dripping with cold amusement. “You’re just frustrated. Poor thing. All that effort wasted.” He leans forward, fingers gripping the edge of the counter. “What did you expect, hmm? That I’d fall at your feet like my brothers? That I’d be so grateful for a little attention from you?”

You’re confused, does he think you’re playing him? “That’s not…”

He cuts you off. “Or maybe you just like the challenge. Is that it? The crippled son of Ragnar Lothbrok. The one no one wants, but everyone loves to play with.” His voice is bitter now, laced with something raw, something ugly. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? You flirt, you linger, you make sure I see you. And why? Because you pity me? Because it’s fun?”

Heat rises in your chest, anger igniting so fast you barely register your own movement. “Are you serious right now?” You slam your hand against the counter, he doesn’t even flinch, but there’s surprise in his eyes. “You really think I’d waste my time playing a game like that?”

He scoffs. “Why not? Everyone else does.”

You shake your head, furious. “You arrogant, infuriating man.” Your breath is uneven, your voice trembles as you force the words out. “I want you, Ivar. Not your money. Not your name. You.” The confession hangs between you, heavy and unshakable. “And if you can’t believe that, then that’s your problem.”

Silence.

The air between you is thick with tension. Ivar just stares at you, like he’s trying to find the lie in your words, like he can’t comprehend what you’re saying. Then, something shifts. He moves.

Before you can say another word, his hands are in your hair, his mouth crashing against yours with a force that steals your breath. It’s not gentle, it’s Ivar; all fire and hunger, a man who takes what he wants without hesitation.

You gasp against his lips, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you grip the front of his shirt, holding him close, meeting his desperation with your own. And in that moment, you know; he sees you now.

Ivar’s breath is warm against your lips, his forehead presses lightly against yours as if grounding himself. His hands are still tangled in your hair, holding you there almost possesingly. Your fingers clutch the fabric of his shirt. Then, he smirks.

“You should’ve tried harder.”

You let out a laugh, but it quickly turns into a glare as you smack his arm. “Are you kidding me right now?”

He chuckles, and for the first time, it’s not sharp with sarcasm or self-doubt. It’s just him, Ivar in a rare display of tenderness and vulnerability. Ivar’s fingers trace down your jaw, his expression softer now. “Say it again,” he murmurs.

You swallow, feeling suddenly shy despite how obvious you’ve been before. “That I like you?”

His smirk never fades, but his gaze is heavier. His thumb brushes over your cheek. “Yes.”

You don’t hesitate again. “I like you, Ivar.”

He leans in again, this time slower. When his lips meet yours, there’s no urgency, no fight, but the heat is clearly still there. Still present in the way his fingers slide to the back of your neck, holding you like he never wants to let go. You smile against his mouth. And this time, he doesn’t miss it.

[mysteriouslyjovialcolor]

Las Vegas 2023

-This whole race was on YouTube!!

-Saw Logan in the intro and immediately lost it

-It feels so weird watching this in such clear definition

-“This town has waited 40 years for the pinnacle of Motorsport to return” On a Saturday night??

-Such a unique track shape fr

-Yuki P20?!??!

-Ohmygod, why are the McLaren in the back of the grid

-I’m going to cry, Logan p6

-Someone take me back to 2023 and make me watch this qualifying live

-“It is the childhood rivalry at the front of the field”

-So many celebrities in the garages

-Oooh the Alpha Tauri livery and the Ferrari rear wing! Hope those designers got a raise

-Ohmygod not even a second in and they’re both off the track

-I just watched Logan lose a place and make it back up, I’m never recovering from this

-VSC and everyone in the pits

-“Max I think we’re happy to say that you were ahead when you went off the track, happy to stay there” “Of course I was ahead” Confidence is so sexy

-“This needs to be addressed now. It is a joke if he keeps the position.” The rivalry is rivalry-ing

-Damn Yuki! P11!

-Oh shit Lando! That was so sudden! He must have hit that barrier really hard

-Ah yeah and looking at that replay? I wonder if he was injured

-Why do all the cars look so shiny

-Why wouldn’t the sphere just be showing live race results instead of the usual adverts?

-I love when all the cars zig zag behind the safety car, so cute

-“The question is, how early will Max bolt” “…And he’s gone already”

-Oh wow that overtake by Oscar?

-Feels like a lifetime ago, the last time I saw Carlos and Fernando fighting it out

-“Definitely looks like he’s on a rush on to get out of here” lol Max’ hate for Vegas is so real

-“Let’s go Lewis!” I say, five seconds before I realize the person he’s gone past is Yuki

-Five second penalty

-Why didn’t I start watching races last year? It’s not like I had anything else to obsess over then

-“Yeah that’s fine, send them my regards” Cold

-Ocon! Come on man, why’d you do that to Kevin

-Okay can’t even be mad about Oscar doing it too cause that was extremely cool

-Yes Kevin! He got back!

-And he’s lost it again

-Not Yuki falling back to last place

-“Carlos Sainz facing up against his childhood hero” It’s the race for childhood lores

-“Our first Saturday Grand Prix since 1985” Why??

-Seeing Logan and Zhou in the top 12. I am so extremely gutted to have not witnessed this live

-So many things happening everywhere in the track but all I can focus on is Logan in p6 and praying that he doesn’t fall too far back when he stops for tires

-Seeing Checo make up so many places also is making me feel a lot of feelings

-Don’t like seeing Daniel so far down :/

-Ocon! Come on not again! And on Logan?!

-Although…seeing Logan and Oscar right behind each other is definitely adds to the race of childhood lores

-Oh god can Logan at least stay in the points, he got passed by like three cars

-Oh Mercedes trying an undercut?

-“He looks like he might get this done on track”

-“I don’t think this is Max managing, this is Max under pressure “

-Love when Charles goes for it! That was amazing!

-Ohmygod there’s so much happening, I forgot about the penalty, also so many people coming in to box at the same time, the leaderboard is all mixed up now

-Lewis has a puncture?

-“There’s just so much action happening in this Grand Prix it’s difficult to follow it” Exactly!

-Holy shit Zhou p7?!

-“Car’s not stopping, *****” Haha the way that bollard flew off??

-The recovery drive from Checo though??

-Somehow Logan and Oscar have ended up one after another again

-Checo p2!

-I wonder how drivers who aren’t typically up front feel about having the chance to be at front during a race. Are they like “holy shit how am I running alongside the top three teams right now?” “Do I really have a Mercedes in my mirrors??”

-“As the world champion is on the charge begind him”

-Woah the speed at which he went past George??

-“Max Verstappen has the fastest lap of the race. Do not count him out of this one” I don’t think anyone can

-It’s so funny to me that Lance is p2. It’s giving Germany 2019 before he lost it in the end

-“Sainz, Russel, Verstappen” Honestly amazing how Carlos made it up there

-George and Max going past all cars ahead of them together. It’s almost like George is making way for him

-Oh bloody hell I spoke too soon, they’ve made contact

-“There’s Charles Leclerc making the pass on Lance Stroll”

-Red Bull double stack? Ooh yes!

-“This is what happens in a street circuit, they either behave themselves cause they’re worried about chaos or you get action for every minute”

-“Piastri is up 14 places”

-Can I just say, this safety car is so diva

-“Charles Leclerc has a new Red Bull to fight this time”

-“He just turned in onto my wheel. I guess he didn’t expect me to pass him there” The nonchalant confidence is even better

-“Late, late, late in the breaks, and later still for Oscar Piastri” Is it an Australian thing do we think?

-So cool seeing all the cars bunched up so close together

-“This is the resurgence of Sergio Perez” Yes! Let’s go!

-Ohmygod Checo!!

-Oh they are showing the race results on the sphere!

-Ah the Alpine’s are fighting

-Charles stuck in a Red Bull sandwich

-“Max Verstappen looking to demoralize the ones ahead even further” That’s so funny wth

-Ohmygod Charles how does one even make that pass??!

-“This is a three horse race” funnn

-“That’s one of those passes where I’m coming through or there’s going to be a lot of debris” it’s giving I’m not taking my leg of the pedal until I see god or the checkered flag

-🎶 Max! Max! Super Max! 🎶

-“Charles going right who is it? In the mirrors? It’s the world champion”

-“Let’s work together here. We can get him”

-✨Rihanna✨ (my brain just went blah blah proper name place name backstory stuff)

-“Stay with him. Double tow here. We work together” Damn that goes so hard

-The way the Red Bulls just switched around. Didn’t actually think Max was going to make it there actually

-The commentators: “Sainz, further back in the pack”

Me who has forgotten about every car but the top three: “Who?”

-“Hunt them down George” Oh alright then

-The way Carlos, Fernando, and Lewis went past Alex right after George did, that has got to hurt

-Woah Charles?? That was so unfortunate

-That was such bad strategy on McLaren parts wasn’t it? Why not change his tires to the right ones earlier?

-Haas, when I find you Haas

-Yuki?? There were like two laps left! What happened??

-“Bieber’s got the flag, has Leclerc got the move” Ha

-“Help to tow him along, might be useful” “Ok I’ll try”

-Charles actually might make it back to P2…He’s done it!!

-“He’s pulled it off. As he does. Max Verstappen finds a way to win”

-“Yes, let’s go guys, that was quite fun out there. At least I had fun”

-🎶 Vivaa Las Vegas 🎶

-“ Into the pit lane Max, or should I call you Elvis?” Haha

-Post race drivers>> (especially Logan) (I’m going to conveniently forget he didn’t end up in the points)

-Them being so confused by the post race spectacle of it all is so amusing

-Maxplaining and Leclarifying in full bloom

-“We go straight to the nightclub. Skip everything. See you tomorrow evening…or not!” He thinks he’s so funny

-“It was a nice race actually” It really was

[darksigns-exe]

always at your side - davis rider x reader

warnings: none

word count: 866

masterlist | taglist sign-up

You expected that there’d be jokes at your expense. This isn’t the first time that you’ve worked on a tour, and it’s just part of it – a rite of passage, a sign that you’re part of the group. The rational part of you knows that all it means is that Matt felt confident enough in you to know that a low blow would be received as a joke. He couldn’t have known that he hit a raw nerve with that particular joke. 

He can’t know about every little insecurity you hold in your chest, and you honestly do not expect him – or anyone – to do so. 

You make a vague excuse about needing to pee and slither your way out of the room. You hope that no one has picked up on the shift in your mood, you don’t need them to know how bad the line made you feel. It’ll make things weird and Matt will feel bad and go back to being cold and curt with you like he was when you first started to work with the band. 

You rush down the hallway in search of the restrooms. You don’t know this venue and the maze of hallways has been confusing everyone as it is, and with how fuzzy your mind feels right now you’re struggling even more to orient yourself. 

Eventually, you resign yourself to a quiet corner and sink down against the cold brick wall. Everything is better than being inside that room right now. 

You shouldn’t get this worked up over an old thing like that anymore, but the blow came so out of nowhere that it caught you entirely off guard. And you know that Matt hadn’t intended for it to actually hurt, but you can’t stop the ache that grips into your chest as the words reverberate around your brain. You can feel yourself spiralling deeper and deeper, entirely unable to do something about it. 

You sense someone squatting down in front of you. You can’t immediately make out who it is, but when you put your focus to it, Davis’ voice slowly becomes clearer. 

“What’s going on? Talk to me. Did something happen?” he asks, concern pouring out of every word. 

You draw in a trembling breath, unsure of how you should word what happened. 

“Let me guess one of those dorks didn’t know when to stop and said something out of line?” he says when he realises that you’re clearly struggling with your words, “I’m not going to make excuses for them, but they’re all used to taking jabs from each other. What those clowns think is normal is by no means normal. I’m sure that whoever said it didn’t actually mean for it to hurt.” 

Hearing him affirm what you’ve been trying to convince yourself of takes a little bit of that ache out of your chest again. 

“I hate it but they’re a bunch of boys with no limits around each other. You should have seen them a couple of years ago.” he says, a smile playing on his lips. 

“The worst thing is that Matt couldn’t have known that it’s something I’m sensitive about.” you finally reply. 

Davis lets out a breath, “I know that sucks. It doesn’t feel good, but I can assure you that especially Matt wouldn’t be purposefully hurtful like that. He’s a grouchy asshole sometimes, but he’s a good guy. And we’re all glad that you’re here – more than you can even imagine.” 

You think that he wants to say more, but he doesn’t continue. Instead, Davis rises to full height again, holding out his hands to help you off the ground. 

“Do you want to make a stop by catering? I saw that they have ice cream and if we get there before the rest do we can get the good stuff.” 

You let him help you off the ground and as soon as you’re on your feet again, Davis pulls you into a tight hug.

“I can give you a few pointers if you want to have something to counter their bullshit with. I know things.”

You take the ice creams you’ve picked up at catering out to the back of the venue so that you can sit out in the sun for a while. 

“Thank you for this.” You say as you finish your portion. 

“Not for this. Touring is rough enough as it is. If we can pick each other up we should. Don’t be afraid to give them a taste of their own medicine. They can take it. Especially Matt.”

“I’m not sure if that’s for me.”

“And that’s okay. No one will hold it against you if you stay out of that game.”

Davis gives you a comforting smile that manages to usher the rest of the anxiety out of your chest. 

You stay outside until Matt’s voice buzzes from walkie-talkie asking you to come back inside so that you can finish setting up the merchandise with him. Davis follows with the offer to help, which you’re honestly more than happy about. Having a little bit of extra support is nice, especially when it makes your heart thump a little bit harder. 

taglist: @th4t-em0-k1d @malice-ov-mercy @fadingangelwisp @baddestomens @chey-h @theanarchymuse95 @sitkowski @deathblacksmoke @concretejunglefm

@xmads-omensx@saythatuwill @lacy1986 @somebodyels3 @ladyveronikawrites @ferduttini @circle-with-me @collapsedglasshouses @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

[brainddeadd]

Anyone But You

The last person you ever wanted to see again was Nico Hischier. Yet here he is, standing across the crowded wedding venue, looking better than any man has the right to in a tailored black suit. His dark eyes lock with yours from across the room, and that familiar smug grin spreads across his face.

Of course, it had to be him.

This whole destination wedding in St. Barts was supposed to be a fun escape—a chance to celebrate your best friend’s marriage and sip cocktails on the beach, not get trapped on an island with your former best friend turned bitter ex-flame. Fate, or maybe some cruel cosmic joke, decided otherwise.

It’s been two years since things exploded between you and Nico. Two years since you let feelings fester into something complicated and combustible. You walked away, he didn’t stop you, and neither of you looked back—until now.

At the reception’s cocktail hour, you try to melt into the crowd, but it’s impossible to ignore Nico’s presence. He’s everywhere—standing with the groomsmen, charming the bride’s family, and laughing in that way that used to drive you wild. You almost make it to the bar when a familiar voice stops you cold.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice smooth as ever.

You turn slowly, forcing a polite smile. “Nico.”

He leans casually against the bar, the same cocky tilt to his mouth you remember too well. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You mean at my best friend’s wedding?”

Nico chuckles, and it’s infuriating how good he looks doing it. “Right. How could I forget?”

“Must be all the concussions,” you say sweetly, the corners of your lips twitching.

He lets out a low laugh, clearly enjoying this more than he should. “Still as sharp as ever.”

“Still as annoying as ever,” you shoot back, grabbing your drink and turning on your heel.

But as you walk away, you can feel his gaze following you, as if the past two years never happened and the pull between you never really went away.

Over the next few days, avoiding Nico proves impossible. The wedding itinerary is packed with group activities that throw the two of you together at every turn—beach volleyball games, rehearsal dinners, sunset cruises. It’s like the universe is forcing you to confront whatever unresolved tension lingers between you.

And the tension? Oh, it’s thick.

“Still can’t serve to save your life,” Nico teases during a volleyball match, his grin too charming for his own good.

You scowl, brushing sand from your legs. “Still can’t shut up, I see.”

He laughs, low and familiar, and for a moment, you forget why you hated him in the first place.

But then the memories rush back—how everything fell apart between you, the things you left unsaid, the way he never fought for you when you walked away. And just like that, the irritation returns in full force.

The tension between you and Nico finally reaches its breaking point when a tropical storm traps everyone indoors. Somehow, you end up stuck in a tiny beachside cabana with him while the rain pours down in sheets outside.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, pacing the small space. “Of all people to get stuck with…”

Nico lounges on the couch, unbothered, watching you with that infuriatingly calm expression. “You act like being stuck with me is the worst thing in the world.”

“It is,” you snap.

He smirks, clearly enjoying your frustration. “You didn’t seem to mind me so much before.”

You whirl on him, heart pounding. “That was a long time ago, Nico.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” he murmurs, his voice softer now.

The air between you shifts, the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on you both. The storm outside feels like a reflection of everything churning inside you—anger, regret, and that damnable attraction that never quite went away.

Before you can think better of it, the words tumble out. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

Nico sits up, his expression serious now. “You walked away, Y/N. What was I supposed to do? Chase after someone who didn’t want me?”

“I did want you,” you whisper, the truth spilling out before you can stop it.

He’s on his feet in an instant, closing the distance between you. “Then why did you leave?”

Your breath catches as his gaze drops to your lips. “Because I was scared. Scared that what we had was too real. Scared that you’d break my heart.”

Nico’s hand cups your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You broke mine first.”

And then, suddenly, he’s kissing you.

It’s not gentle—it’s messy and desperate, years of frustration and longing pouring into the kiss. You kiss him back just as fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. It’s a kiss that feels like an apology, a confession, and a second chance all wrapped into one.

The storm passes, but nothing between you and Nico feels the same. What started as playful banter and unresolved tension has shifted into something deeper, something neither of you are ready to admit aloud.

Over the next few days, things get complicated. You catch yourself watching him when he isn’t looking, noticing the way his smile softens when he talks to you. And worse, you start wanting more—more time, more moments, more of him.

One night, beneath the glow of fairy lights at the reception, Nico pulls you into a slow dance. His hand rests on the small of your back, warm and steady, as you sway to the music.

“This feels dangerous,” you whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

Nico smiles, his forehead resting against yours. “What’s life without a little danger?”

You laugh softly, leaning into him, and for the first time in a long time, everything feels right.

The wedding weekend comes to an end, but you and Nico aren’t ready to say goodbye—not yet.

As you stand together on the beach, watching the waves roll in, he takes your hand. “So… what now?”

You smile, squeezing his fingers. “Now, we stop pretending we don’t care about each other.”

Nico grins, that familiar mischievous spark in his eyes. “Good. Because I don’t think I could let you walk away again.”

And this time, you don’t plan to.

[shaunasrabbit]

Warm Me Up | Jackie x Shauna

Summary: Shauna brings Jackie in from the cold.

Tags: CANON DIVERGENCE (nothing bad has ever happened to them ever because I said so), kissing, angst, gay yearning.

Word count: ~1.5K

A/N: I'm so happy that this anon requested a fix it fic for Jackie and Shauna. So sorry that you're experiencing the pain of our girl Jackie Taylor dying for the first time. I hope this makes you feel a little better! Wrote this really fast and very lightly proofread. Feel free to let me know if you find any typos/errors. If you like this fic, please consider liking/reblogging. Divider by @/saradika-graphics.

Soft candle light illuminates Shauna’s face as she feverishly jots down her thoughts in her worn leather journal. The sentences resemble gibberish more than the English language, her pen trying to keep up with her racing thoughts, and the words smudge as her left hand drags across them before the ink can dry. There’s an ache within her that can’t be eased, the same ache plaguing Jackie outside of the cabin. 

When did it get like this? Shauna writes, blinking away tears to prevent them from falling onto the page and further distorting her journal entry. 

The last few months, even before the plane crashed, are a blur. It comes back to her in snapshots now. Jackie dancing with Jeff at parties, Jeff’s hands exploring Shauna under the cover of night, Shauna and Jackie’s sleepovers ending with the two of them detangling their limbs after migrating toward each other in their sleep. The guilt, the pining, the secrets—all mixing together to make a toxic concoction that boiled over just a few hours ago. 

Downstairs, Shauna can hear her teammates try to crack jokes and tease each other, a futile attempt to diffuse the air that’s thick with tension. Is it anger she feels hearing them go on with their evening, or is it envy that their world isn’t crashing down around them like hers? 

Slamming her journal shut, Shauna forces herself to take a deep breath to ground herself, to bring herself back into her body. Before games, she’d hide in the locker room after everyone left. The secret pre-game ritual included diaphragmatic breathing and mentally taking note of each one of her body parts. It was something that her mother told her about when she returned from one of her “wellness” retreats after Shauna’s dad left. Maybe it was all bullshit, but Shauna did it anyway before each match. Just in case. If it worked then, maybe it’ll work now.

She starts with her toes. Five on her left. Five on her right. Then, she moves on to her ankles and all the way up her legs until she gets to her abdomen. A womb occupied by a growing life. A belly filled with bear. A heart aching from the fight earlier in the night. Shauna forces herself to keep going until she gets to her head, then she starts all over again. At some point, sleep takes her like a merciful lover and she dozes off.

Jolting awake and gasping for air, Shauna blinks rapidly, her eyes struggling to adjust to the dark room. Someone—probably Tai—must have blown out the candle while she was asleep because the cabin, thankfully, isn’t in flames. Shauna tries to slow her breathing and push the bad dream she had out of her head. The nightmare gnaws at her. All she can think about is Jackie’s lips turning blue, her eyes fluttering shut for the last time as death embraces her, and Shauna’s own wailing, echoing in her ears. 

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream. But what if it wasn’t?

Shauna gets up, rushing to the window to peer outside. The draft sneaking in through the cracks in the seal nips at her nose and frost starts to crawl toward the center of the window pane. She searches for just a second until she sees Jackie, curled up on the ground in a blue blanket from the plane. The pathetic excuse of a fire has nearly died as the wind blows. 

“No,” she whispers before spinning around and making her way down the ladder. Shauna creeps through the maze of the girls sleeping near the fireplace downstairs, being careful not to wake them. Quietly opening the cabin door, she steps out into the bitter cold. 

The slow rise and fall of Jackie’s breathing brings air back into Shauna’s lungs; relief washes over her like a tidal wave. She’s okay, she thinks. It was just a dream. 

“Jackie,” Shauna says, jostling her lightly, “wake up.”

And she does. Jackie’s big, hazel eyes peel open and with a furrowed brow, she looks up at Shauna. It takes Jackie a moment to figure out that she’s not dreaming. Shauna actually came for her. It’s all she had been hoping for, sitting outside alone, wondering how the hell she was supposed to live without Shauna as her best friend. 

Shauna sighs and walks over to the dissipating flames to begin reviving them. Once she gets the fire going, she sits down next to Jackie, now sitting up but still wrapped tightly in the blanket. The pair stare at the fire for a few minutes without exchanging a word, neither of them willing to be the first to break the silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Shauna finally says. Her eyes are still trained on the crackling flames, unable to face Jackie. “For everything.”

“Me too.” Jackie turns to look at Shauna, her dark hair frizzy from her sleep. With a shaky inhale, she says, “I’ve been thinking about what you said…about me getting everything I want.” 

Heat creeps across Shauna’s face, recalling the way Jackie’s face crumpled hours earlier when Shauna’s words sliced her like a knife. So much shame wells in Shauna’s chest that she feels like she’s going to burst. 

“I don’t get everything I want, Shauna. If I did…” she trails off and looks away, “...if I did, I’d have you.”

Lips parting slightly, Shauna’s brows pull together and she cocks her head ever so slightly. “What are you talking about, Jackie? You have me.”

“But not the way I want to have you.”

The words hang heavy in the air as neither of the girls speak. Jackie notices that Shauna’s breathing becomes heavier, a cloud of her breath lingering in the cold air gives her away. It never even occurred to Shauna that Jackie might feel the same way as her.

Sure, the two have always been inseparable, but that’s just what it’s like being teenage girls, right? At least that’s what Shauna has been telling herself for the better part of high school. She’s engulfed in the silence, combing through her memories and thinking back at all of the moments that maybe meant more to Jackie than she had previously thought. How had it not clicked before? Jackie hitched rides with Shauna everyday to school even though she had her license and her own car, but Shauna chalked it up to Jackie wanting her own chauffeur. They made out at slumber parties countless times—for practice, of course—and Shauna never noticed the way Jackie’s heart would race when Shauna’s tongue slipped into her mouth. Jackie would always conveniently forget to bring her jacket to bonfires at Shauna’s house, insisting on wearing Shauna’s blue flannel so she could leave smelling like Shauna’s sandalwood perfume. Years of tiny puzzle pieces come together and Shauna can finally see the big picture. She matters to Jackie as much as Jackie matters to her.

A wet droplet landing on her eyelash snaps her out of her trance. Shauna looks up as snow cascades down on them. She looks over to Jackie whose eyes haven’t left Shauna. Standing up rather abruptly, Shauna puts her hand out for Jackie to take. 

“C’mon. We’re going to fucking freeze out here,” she says as Jackie’s frigid fingers lace into hers.

The girls walk inside, hand in hand, and crawl up to the attic. At last, the heat is beginning to rise and reach the upstairs, giving Jackie and Shauna reprieve from the harsh cold of the outdoors. Wordlessly, they both sit cross-legged on Shauna’s sleeping bag. The silence doesn’t feel as heavy anymore as they look into each other’s eyes, like they have a thousand times before. This time is different.

“Jackie,” Shauna begins, resting a hand on Jackie’s knee, “you’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

For a moment, Jackie’s face falls and her chest tightens, waiting for Shauna’s rejection, but she recovers quickly. Painting her face with a thin smile, she nods. Shauna’s thumb rubs tiny circles on Jackie’s knee.

“You can have me…any way you want,” Shauna says, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Without a second thought, Jackie’s hand, starting to come back to life from the cold, cups Shauna’s round cheek. She takes in the sight of her. Shauna’s plump, slightly chapped lips, her nose red from the cold, those big brown eyes that have been making Jackie melt for years. It’s like Jackie’s looking at Shauna for the first time. 

“Then warm me up, Shipman.”

That’s all she needs to hear. Shauna’s lips meet Jackie’s with a hunger that neither of them have ever experienced before. Their tongues dance with ease, an ancient choreography that lives deep within them. 

Jackie and Shauna may be stranded in the wilderness, a hard and unforgiving place, with no way to leave, but none of it matters. In this moment, where time seems to have stopped, they’re coming home to each other in the dust and the dirt.

[goldenraeofsun]

Paging Dr. Dad

Bruce wakes up to his phone ringing.

He clears his throat, swallowing past the lump of dread. “Go,” he says by way of greeting. No time for pleasantries at two in the morning.

“I just got a notification Steph is in the hospital,” Barbara says without preamble because they are actually very alike, not that Barbara would ever admit it. “Everyone’s on patrol except you, and I’m tied up with the Birds.”

“Her status?” Bruce asks as he gets up from bed, grimacing as his ankle boot bangs against the bed frame.

“Stable, according to her hospital intake form,” Barbara says, and some of his tension uncoils. “But,” she falters, “she shouldn’t be by herself. Not there.”

Bruce glances down at his flannel Superman pajamas Clark got him for Christmas partly as a joke. He’ll only admit it to Clark upon pain of death, but they are surprisingly comfortable and warm. He could wrestle them off over his boot and pull on a pair of sweatpants with even more difficulty, for what, his image? Stephanie is in the hospital, alone.

He forgoes his crutches – they’ll just slow him down – and clunks out of his bedroom. “I’m on my way,” he says. 

“I think her com got knocked out during the fight,” Barbara adds, “so she has to be pretty bored by now.”

Despite himself, Bruce smiles. “Well, we can’t have that. I shudder to think of what a bored Stephanie Brown can get up to.”

“Why do you think I called you?” Barbara says, her voice wry. “Thanks, Bruce.”

“Of course.” Bruce grits his teeth as he painstakingly makes his way down to the entrance hall. “I’ll be there in thirty.” 

“Twenty,” Barbara corrects. “I already sent a taxi to the Manor. Look, I’ve got to go. Give Steph a hug for me. I know you can. I know your arms are working just fine.”

Bruce says dryly, “Thanks for calling, Barbara.”

“See you at the next crisis.”

He hangs up and focuses on not tripping down the staircase and joining Stephanie in the hospital. After scribbling a note for Alfred still down in the Cave, he grabs his coat and heads out the door.

He waits for the taxi, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, breath misting in the cold winter air. He hasn’t been further than the front lawn in a week, laid up with his broken ankle.

He thumbs his dark phone screen, lips pursed. He could call one of his sons for a full rundown of what went wrong and why Spoiler ended up in the hospital, but who knows if they could afford the distraction. If one of them could have been spared, they would be on their way to her, not Bruce. 

* * *

An extra fifty to the cab driver, and fifteen minutes later, Bruce is rushing through the doors of Gotham General. He throws the tired receptionist at the ER a winning smile that once made Miss America herself swoon. “I’m here to see Stephanie Brown. She was admitted about a half hour ago.”

The receptionist taps a few keys with one hand as she lifts a truly massive thermos with the other one. “ID?”

Bruce fishes out his wallet and hands over his driver’s license. “Bruce Wayne.”

The receptionist doesn’t blink as pushes it back towards him, “You can go on back,” she says. “Next!”

Bruce hurries around the welcome station, scanning the people in the ER slumped over in chairs, their expressions a mix of boredom, consternation, and pain.

If Stephanie was badly hurt enough to be admitted to the hospital, she wouldn’t be able to sit up, so he starts on the curtained off areas along the left wall, where the beds are. 

The first has an elderly lady spitting Spanish at a chastised-looking young man, so Bruce just mutters a low, “Lo siento,” and moves on. 

The second has an unconscious teen surrounded by his parents. His mother pats his hair worryingly, while his father is bent over a rosary. Bruce passes them by without saying anything. 

The third has Stephanie, just clad in her black nondescript black undersuit. Ice packs are shoved against her left side, and her left foot lays against the bed all wrong, the arch flat against the bed.

A doctor is talking to her in a low voice as he taps away on a tablet. 

Her eyes widen as Bruce pulls the curtain back so he can edge inside. 

The doctor looks up – Dr. Douglas Woods, according to the ID hanging off his lanyard. He’s young, his early thirties at most, and doesn’t yet have that haggard look of most of Gotham’s medical professionals. “I’m sorry, man,” he says to Bruce, “but you can’t be in here. We’re swamped tonight, but we’ll get to you as soon as –”

“He can stay,” Stephanie interrupts. “He’s family. He’s,” she throws Bruce an inscrutable look, pausing infinitesimally, “my dad. But most importantly, he’s wearing Superman pajamas. Do you have no pride, man?”

Bruce glares, his irritation spiking. This is what he gets for rushing to her side. “They were a gift.”

“From who? A novelty store BOGO sale?”

“From Clark,” Bruce says through gritted teeth. 

Stephanie’s eyes dance, and Bruce’s rigid posture loses some of its tension. If she can sass him, she can’t be in too much pain. “That man must have balls of steel.” And then she winks. 

“Stephanie.”

Dr. Woods coughs. “As I was saying, Steph, you got pretty roughed up.”

“Turns out I shouldn’t have tried to fight a speeding Subaru,” Stephanie drawls. “Not after I skip leg day.”

Bruce suppresses a pleased smile. A car accident is smart. 

“Yeah, don’t do that again,” Dr. Woods says with a small smile. “Your hip is dislocated, and we’ll try to set that in a few minutes. If we can’t get it on the first try, we’ll put you under anesthesia and pop it back. Do you consent to that, if we have to?”

Stephanie’s gaze darts to Bruce, who nods. He has dislocated his hip before; from experience, it should get back in its socket as soon as possible. 

“Yeah,” Stephanie says, subdued. 

“We’re going to get you to radiology to get that wrist looked at,” Dr. Wood says, “but it might be a while. They’re backlogged after that explosion in Chinatown.”

“I bet,” Stephanie deadpans, and ice wouldn’t melt on her tongue. 

Bruce’s gaze flicks up to the singed edges of her bangs.

“There’s not much we can do for your ribs,” Dr. Woods continues apologetically. “Just press the alert if your cold packs need replacing, and a nurse can help.”

“Thanks, doc,” Stephanie says as he gets up to leave. 

“How long until radiology will be able to look at Stephanie’s case?” Bruce cuts in before Dr. Woods can move on.

He grimaces as he glances down at his watch. “An hour?”

Two hours, then. 

As Dr. Woods pushes the curtain aside, Bruce asks loudly, “Are her ribs bruised, cracked, or broken?”

Stephanie shrinks down on her hospital bed, her expression darkening.

“Bruised, definitely,” Dr. Woods says. “But I wouldn’t rule out a few fractures from the impact. Regardless, treatment is the same.”

“What painkillers is she on?” Bruce presses.

“Just ibuprofen, but she’s also free to request aspirin from the nurse.” He frowns. “With her current injuries, I can’t prescribe her narcotics.”

“Will she need to be admitted overnight?”

Stephanie winces.

“It depends on that hip,” Dr. Woods says, clearly growing impatient at all the questions. “If we can’t set it without anesthesia, we’ll have to keep her, since it’s already,” he checks his watch, “three in the morning.” He more forcefully pulls the curtain back to leave. “I’ll stop by again soon.”

Once the curtain settles back in place, shielding Stephanie and Bruce from view, he turns back to find her glaring defiantly up at him, the fingers of her good hand tapping against the plastic bedding. “Well? Get on with it.”

Bruce frowns. “Get on with what?”

“The lecture.”

“What lecture?”

Stephanie huffs, “I don’t know. The You Took Unnecessary Risks lecture. The You’re Benched lecture. The You Fucked Up lecture. Take your pick.”

“I didn’t come here to lecture you,” Bruce says truthfully.

Stephanie makes a very skeptical noise in the back of her throat. “Then what are you doing here? Damian will report our run-in with the Ghost Dragons. Hopefully he’ll write in wherever he stashed my suit. Knowing him, the sewer, probably.” As Bruce just stares at her, her jaw takes on a distinctly mulish set. “Just get it over with, Bruce. My hip hurts, and I wanna pass out.”

“I didn’t come here to lecture you,” Bruce repeats.

Stephanie purses her lips. 

“I,” Bruce swallows, and why the hell did he race here, if Stephanie would clearly rather be alone? “I came here to keep you company,” he says, deliberately keeping his voice detached.

Stephanie chokes on air.

He surges forward, his concern spiking. “Stephanie –”

“I’m fine,” she coughs. “Just surprised.”

“Barbara called me,” Bruce says by way of explanation as he sits down in the chair Dr. Woods vacated.

“And you, what, rushed to my sickbed?” Stephanie asks, her tone still skeptical. “At three in the morning? Just to – what, make sure I can make it through the big bad ER?”

“Yes,” Bruce says helplessly.

Stephanie cackles.

Bruce feels vaguely offended.

As her grin fades, she says, “I didn’t – I would never have – what I mean is,” she squares her shoulders, meeting his gaze squarely, “Thanks, for coming. You didn’t have to.”

He scoots the chair closer. “It’s nothing, Stephanie. And, yes, I did.”

“But–” Stephanie cuts herself off as a distinctive voice from the waiting room doesn’t so much as float in but barrel through.

“Where is Brown? Where is my father? I demand –”

“No way,” Stephanie breathes.

Bruce barely has time to brace himself before Damian shoves the curtain aside. 

“There you are,” Damian says impatiently, but Bruce can read the concern in his youngest’s face clear as day, the pinched set to his mouth, the furrow between his brows, the way his eyes rove up and down Stephanie’s body, lingering on her ribs and hip.

“Hello, Damian,” Bruce says over the sound of rushing footsteps. “Dick,” he adds as his oldest skids to a stop behind Damian. “Where’s Tim?” Bruce asks because his family tends to travel in packs.

“Picking up Babs,” Dick says cheerfully. “Here, Dames, you forgot this.” He hands over a purple stuffed rabbit.

“I did no such thing,” Damian says, lifting his nose into the air. He makes no move to take it.

“Mm hm,” Dick hums, shaking his head. “This is for you,” he says, turning to Stephanie and tucking the purple rabbit against her good ribs. “Damian spotted it in the gift shop and thought you’d like it. He ran off while I was paying.”

Damian hisses, “You did not have to buy it, Richard.”

Dick chuckles, a broad grin spreading across his face. “Like I was going to steal from a hospital –”

“That’s not what I meant!”

Stephanie raises the rabbit to eye level. Casually, she asks, “What’s its name, Damian?”

Damian turns to her, his eyes wide. “I did not –”

Stephanie lowers the rabbit. “Seriously? You’re gonna lie to me when I’m wounded, suffering and in pain, could be dying –”

“… Antonia.”

Stephanie absorbs this for a long moment. “That’s a dumb name.”

Damian rears up. “It is not –” 

Bruce settles back in his chair, content to listen to them bicker. He keeps his gaze trained on Stephanie, though, watching as the tension eases from her face the longer she goads Damian, distracting him from his worry. 

As Damian and Dick get into an argument about Dick’s naming abilities – at least they keep their voices down as batarang, batcomputer, and batmobile get thrown down like gauntlets – Bruce leans in towards Stephanie. “If you’d like to pass out, now is the time to do it.”

“Roger,” Stephanie says, blinking heavy-lidded eyes. “You’ll take Antonia if I have to go to surgery, right?”

Bruce reaches over to rub one of Antonia’s soft ears between his thumb and forefinger. “Damian will probably guard her with his life.”

“And you?” she asks.

“To be honest, I’m far more concerned about you,” Bruce says. “You should get some sleep.”

With that, her eyes close, and Bruce settles in to wait.

[legolasbadass]

Home for Christmas

Summary: Richard returns home from Boston for the holidays and spends his first Christmas with Lorelei.

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: E

A/N: Hi everyone! I want to apologize for not posting much and not updating my fics in months. Real life got in the way, but I hope you will be pleased to know that I am definitely not abandoning my works, including Office Hours. As a little treat, here is a short and fluffy Christmas fic with your two favourite professors while you wait for the next chapter. 💙

My heart swells with relief and excitement at the sound of keys being inserted into the lock, and I rush to the front door just in time to see Richard stepping over the threshold, his cheeks red from the cold but his smile reflecting the love shining in his eyes. He barely has time to drop his bags onto the floor and close the front door before I jump into his arms, but his relieved laugh tells me he does not mind; it has not been that long since we saw each other last, but even just three weeks is too long for us to bear. 

“I’m so glad you’re back,” I breathe out as I bury my face in the crook of his neck, which is cold against my cheeks despite the thick scarf that should have kept him warm. 

Richard squeezes me tight, one of his arms wrapped around my waist while the other caresses my hair. “Me too. More than you know.” 

His voice is heavy with longing, so I squeeze him tight, reminding him that he is home now and he need not think about our separation anymore. At least not for a few weeks. The time will pass too quickly, but for now, I focus on the thought of our first Christmas together. 

Looking up to meet his eyes, I stand on my tiptoes and press a tender kiss on his lips, revelling in the familiar coarseness of his beard against my cheeks. When, a few moments later, I begin to pull away, Richard tightens his hold on me and deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping between my parted lips and kindling a deep need inside me. But as much as I want to give in and let him carry me to the bedroom, I have other plans in mind. 

“Come on,” I say between pecks as I slowly pull away. 

Richard frowns, and the lust darkening his eyes almost makes me give in. “Why are you putting on your coat?” 

I smile. “Because we are going to get our Christmas tree!” 

He stares at me as though hoping I am joking, but when he realizes I am serious, he chuckles. “Sweetheart, I just got here—can’t it wait?” 

“Oh, sorry—I’m excited and I was hoping you wouldn’t be too tired after your flight.” 

“I’m not really tired,” he says, closing the space between us once more. “But after three weeks apart, I was hoping I’d get to take you upstairs and have my way with you all night long.” 

I shiver at the rumbling tone with which he speaks these words and swallow hard. “Well, you will get to do that, but right now it’s still the afternoon,” I reply playfully, and he raises his eyebrows. “Come on! You made me wait for you to come home before decorating and now it’s already December 15th and there’s not a single Christmas decoration in the house!” Richard tries to hide his smile but fails. “I promise we will have lots of sex all night long—if we go get our Christmas tree now. I even got new lingerie for the occasion…” I say as I teasingly run a hand down his chest. 

“You’re cruel to mention new lingerie,” he groans, and I giggle as I press a fleeting kiss against his jaw. “Alright, fine. Let’s go get our Christmas tree—but only because I don’t want you to be thinking about the tree while I make love to you.” 

“I’m just excited!” I laugh. “It’s our first Christmas together.” 

Richard smiles. “I know.” For a fleeting moment, I think of last Christmas, when I thought I had ruined everything and he would never again hold me in his arms and look at me with the tenderness that now fills his eyes, but the soft kiss we share is a reminder that all that is in the past and it cannot affect our love for each other. 

After a few more kisses, we make our way to the car, and we share good laughs on our way to the Christmas market in the city centre. Finding a good parking spot takes us a while, but nothing can dampen my spirits. Christmas is my favourite holiday, and I am very excited to share this special time with Richard for the first time. 

Hand in hand, we meander through the market, the chill in the air forgotten in the warmth of our love and the festive atmosphere surrounding us. The market is a bustling hub of activity, with families, couples, and friends all wrapped up in coats and scarves, sipping hot chocolate and eating roasted nuts while admiring the array of holiday decorations on display. We stop at a stall adorned with delicate, handcrafted ornaments glimmering under the soft glow of fairy lights and pick out two ornaments—a delicate silver snowflake and a glimmering pale green bauble—to commemorate our first Christmas. Then, we follow the twinkling lights toward the Christmas trees; the sight of the evergreens fills me with childlike excitement, and I tug on Richard’s arm as my eyes scan the selection of trees in search of the perfect one.

“How about this one?” Richard suggests, and I turn around to see him eyeing a tree that is only as tall as he is. 

“It’s too small.” 

“You think?” 

“Yes—you’re as tall as that tree!” 

“But I’m 6’2,” he chuckles. 

“You can’t be as tall as the tree!” I exclaim and drag him away toward taller trees. “Besides, what’s the point of having high ceilings like we do if you don’t get the biggest tree?” 

We playfully argue as we make our way through the rows of Christmas trees, hand in hand. 

“Alright, how about this one, then? You can’t say this one is too small.” 

I follow Richard's gaze to a majestic, tall Norway spruce, its branches lush and green, and gasp. To ensure it is tall enough for my taste, Richard holds it up next to him, then stretches to touch the top, causing me to giggle.

“It’s perfect!” I say, clapping my hands together in excitement. 

With big smiles, we approach the friendly vendor, a bearded man in a yellow knitted hat, and he compliments us on our choice of tree before helping Richard load it onto the car. As we drive back home with our prized Christmas tree tied to the roof of the vehicle, a sense of joy and anticipation fills the air. 

***

As we drive back from the market, the sun begins to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the city’s famous spires. My fingers are stiff from the cold as we arrive home and untie the tree from the car, but thankfully, inside the house, it is warm, and we hasten to shrug off the layers that protected us from the chill.

“So, where do you usually put your tree?” I ask as we bring the spruce into the living room, fallen needles tracing our path through the house. 

“Well, I usually just get a small one and put it on the accent table near the window.” 

“What? You mean you didn’t get a full-size tree?” I ask in incredulity as we rest the tree against the wall. 

Richard shrugs as he unboxes the tree stand. “No. It’s always such a busy time of the year at the college, and I always spend Christmas at my parents’ anyways, so I just didn’t really decorate.” 

I frown. “Do you not love Christmas? Oh, God—I’m in a relationship with the Grinch!” 

Richard bursts out laughing and shakes his head. “No, I love Christmas. I just…”

“What?”

“For years, I didn’t have anyone to celebrate with. Christmas was just another reminder that I was alone and didn’t have a family of my own.” 

“Richard…”

He offers me a soft, lopsided smile and pulls me into his arms. “It’s okay—it was all worth it, in the end. I’ve got you now.” 

I return his smile and squeeze him tight. “I’m going to spoil you rotten,” I say, causing him to chuckle. “And we can do whatever you want. If you want to go back to the Christmas market, go ice skating, bake cookies—you name it and we’ll do it!” 

“The only thing I’m really interested in doing right now is you,” he says with a smirk as his eyes darken. 

Laughing, I playfully slap his arm, though the low rumble of his voice sends a shiver down my spine. “We have to decorate the tree first!” 

“If I had known I’d end up being second to that tree for the holidays…” 

I give him a teasing glare before taking the stand from him. It takes us a while to find a perfect spot for the tree—just in front of the bookshelves and window where it is still visible from outside without blocking our view—and an even longer while to ensure the tree is straight and secure it in the stand. I waste no time before excitedly opening the boxes of decorations in search of lights while Richard puts on some holiday music. 

“Richard, I’m gonna need your help with the lights—I’m not tall enough to reach the top.” 

As Frank Sinatra’s voice floats through the room, Richard takes the lights from my hands and begins to set them on the branches. Though I appreciate his help, I cannot help but grimace. 

“Hm, try to start a little higher and closer to the trunk so we don’t see the wire as much.” 

Richard rearranges the light and turns to me. “Better?” 

I eye the tree attentively, not wanting to annoy him but wanting the tree to be perfect. “It’s a little better, yes. But try to get more lights in the centre. If they’re just at the tips of the branches, it won’t look as nice.” 

“Alright,” he says, frowning in concentration as he revises his work once more, but then, as if sensing my disapproving frown, he turns around and sighs, though his eyes are soft with amusement. “You do it then.” 

I am about to remind him I cannot reach the top when he lifts me into his arms, and I squeal in surprise. 

“Don’t drop me,” I chuckle as I get to work. 

Richard smiles. “Don’t worry—I’ve got you.” 

He holds me tight as I wrap the lights around the top of the tree, carefully deciding on which branches the lights should hang and making sure the spacing is even. After Richard sets me down, we work together to illuminate the bottom; the tree is so tall we barely have enough lights, but it is still the most beautiful tree ever, especially when we begin to place the ornaments. Here, too, Richard needs a little guidance on where to place the decorations, but he learns quickly. The delicate snowflake and the glimmering bauble we picked out earlier at the market shine in places of honour among other glass baubles and handmade ornaments from our childhoods, carrying a nostalgic charm. 

A while later, we turn off the lights in the house to admire our work, and the two of us grin like children as the tree glimmers in the darkness, the mutlicoloured lights dancing in our eyes. 

“It’s beautiful!” Richard says with a wide smile as he pulls me into his arms. 

“It is!” I concur though I cannot help but fixate on a certain golden bauble near the bottom of the tree that is slightly too close to its neighbour.  “Although—”

When I step toward the tree and move the ornament, Richard scoffs in mock disbelief. “Hey!” 

I giggle and bite my bottom lip in embarrassment. “Don’t you think it looks better there?” 

Without even looking at the tree, Richard says, “I thought decorating the tree was supposed to be a team effort.”

“It is! You suggested a position for the ornment and I then followed up with a different suggestion—teamwork!” 

He shakes his head, though fondness shines in his eyes. “You are an impertinent lass, Lorelei Browning.” His teasing words are accompanied by a pinch of my bum.

I offer him an innocent smile and shrug playfully. “Alright, now where should we hang the stockings?” 

“Hold on—I thought the deal was tree then sex?” 

“Well, the stockings are in the ornament boxes we already opened, so it only makes sense to hang those now,” I say, feigning innocence as he groans and presses a lingering kiss on my neck. “So where should we hang them?” 

“On the mantle,” Richard replies as if there is no other option, though he does not remove his hand from my hip. He groans again when I move away from him, and I struggle to hold back my smile as I secure the stockings on the mantle. “Now all that’s missing is a nice fire,” Richard muses. 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I respond with a smile, causing him to chuckle as he reaches for the stack of wood. “Alright, done!” I say, stepping back to admire my work.

Richard’s stocking is slightly larger than mine, and the deep burgundy velvet with golden embroidery is in stark contrast to the fading fabric of the stocking I have owned since I was a child. A hand-knit snowman grins from one corner, secured to the stocking with different coloured threads from the repairs made by my mum over the years that only add to its charm.

“Well, they don’t quite match,” I point out with a chuckle. “But I think they look great.” 

Richard looks up from his growing fire and smiles. “We can get matching ones next Christmas.” 

Warmth floods my heart at the casualness and certainty with which he speaks of our future, and I smile as I sit close to him by the fire. 

“Yes, next Christmas,” I say, and we seal the promise with a tender kiss, thinking of all the Christmases we hope to spend together in years to come. 

Time seems to stand still as I lose myself in the pleasure of his mouth. One kiss becomes two, then three, our mouths soft and open as our tongues lazily tangle together, and as he wraps one strong arm around my waist and brings me closer, he pulls away just enough to say, “Please tell me you won’t make me decorate anymore tonight.” 

Giggling, I press a fleeting kiss on the tip of his nose and shake my head. “No more decorating tonight.” 

He offers me a soft smile, and I melt as I gaze back into his loving eyes, which reflect the flames in the hearth and the glimmering lights of the Christmas tree behind me. The fire turns his skin golden and dances in the waves of his dark hair, urging me to caress it as I lean in for another series of deep, all-consuming kisses that kindle a fervent need inside me. 

With a gentle yet firm touch, Richard guides me down to the plush rug. Neither of us seems to care that it would take no time at all to reach our bed; the longing and frustration built up over three weeks apart, combined with the day’s teasing and lingering touches, fill our movements with a passionate urgency and leave us desperate for the pleasure to come. Even the short walk to our bedroom is too long a delay to savour each other now. 

Richard holds himself up on one forearm while his other hand caresses my curves over my jumper. Then, as his hand dips lower, slipping under the wool to caress my naked skin, his lips trace a sensuous path down my neck, circling but never settling on the sensitive spot he knows drives me wild. Whimpering, I tighten my hold on his hair and try to guide him, but he merely chuckles and pulls back. 

“So impatient,” he whispers playfully, then finally gives in to my silent pleas and gently bites the sensitive spot below my ear, causing me to arch under him as pleasure floods my core. 

Swallowing back another whimper, I lick my lips and say, “I think I’ve been patient enough over the past few weeks.” I had meant this playfully, but now he looks up to meet my gaze, and in his tender blue eyes, guilt and the pain of separation are clear, tugging at my heart. 

With a soft smile, I cradle his bearded face with one hand and slip the other under his shirt to caress his back, wanting to hold him, all of him, and touch him and love him because now we are together. And when we are together, everything is alright. I try to tell him as much with my next kiss, and his response is equally tender and hungry, as if he is reassuring himself that I am truly here, in his arms. The weight of separation slowly melts away with each caress and whispered endearment, and when, at last, he pulls my jumper over my head, revealing my sheer red bra, his eyes shine with more than just lust. 

“This is lovely,” he says, his voice thickened by lust, as he traces the outline of a beaded nipple through the sheer fabric, causing me to gasp. “But I think I’d like to see the full set.” 

My chuckle turns into a whimper as his fingers brush against my stomach on their way to the buttons of my jeans. I lift my hips to help him, but he is determined to take his time and torture me. With each button he undoes, he presses a lingering kiss on my stomach, and I squirm under him, my heartbeat thrumming between my ears as desire floods my senses. Then, even more slowly, he pulls my jeans down my legs and tosses my socks aside before sitting on his knees, annoyingly out of reach. His eyes roam over every inch of my body, lingering on my barely covered breasts and the equally sheer knickers that do nothing to conceal my arousal. Richard smiles to himself, and as though he cannot hold himself back, he reaches out to stroke the little red bow on the scalloped hem of my knickers. My breath hitches in my throat, causing his smirk to grow. 

“You do know how to welcome me home,” he chuckles as he lifts his shirt over his head before lowering himself back so that my breasts are flush against his chest. He tenderly traces the line of my jaw with his index, then buries one hand in my hair, all while he presses soft kisses all over my face before claiming my parted lips. “You are so beautiful,” he breathes out between passionate, open-mouthed kisses. “And you’re mine.” 

“I’m yours,” I whisper as he buries his face in the crook of my neck and bites the sensitive skin there before licking the pain away. 

His free hand moves down the column of my neck, tracing the line of my collarbone before settling on the swell of one breast. He squeezes gently—too gently—then pulls the sheer cups down to reveal my naked breasts to his hungry gaze. His lips close in on one beaded nipple, then the other, sucking and pulling with his teeth as he pushes one of my thighs aside to press himself flush against me; he is still wearing his jeans, and the roughness of the fabric, combined with his cold and hard belt and even harder arousal, is deliciously rough against me. 

“Richard… please…”

“Please what?” he says, but then he slips one hand under the sheer fabric of my knickers and slowly caresses my wet folds, depriving me of the ability to speak. 

He grows harder between my thighs as my moans echo through the room, mingling with the crackling of the fire. My blood hums in my veins, and pleasure pools between my thighs as he continues to touch me, rubbing my clit as he slips one long finger inside me, easily finding the spot that turns me into a breathless, mewling puddle. I am already on the edge of my orgasm, but I want him—I need him to fill me and join me in this bliss. 

“Please—I need you…” I say breathlessly, struggling to think, let alone form a coherent sentence. “I need you inside me.” 

Richard smirks as he hovers over me, his lips teasingly close to mine. He withdraws his hand, leaving me yearning for more, but when I begin to rise and reach out to unbuckle his belt, he rises to his knees and shakes his head. 

“Lie back, sweetheart.” 

Frowning, I gaze back into his eyes, torn between wanting to touch him and knowing he will not give me what I want if I disobey, but I soon become distracted by the movements of his large hands as he unbuckles his belt. Once he is fully undressed, I wait for him to crawl back into my arms, but instead, he remains where he is and slowly begins to stroke himself. My breath catches at the sight and I lick my lips, almost hypnotized by the way the flickering firelight turns his skin golden and highlights his flexing muscles. The air between us is warm and heavy with desire, and when, at last, he lowers himself above me, a breathless, relieved laugh escapes me. 

But he is not quite done teasing me. Gazing deep into my eyes, he drags my knickers down my legs, then grips his hardness and rubs himself against my wetness, teasing my clit. My whole body now aches with the need to touch him, to caress and kiss every inch of his skin, and I squirm under him, trying to increase the friction between us, but he holds me tightly in place with the weight of his body. 

“You bastard,” I groan, and he laughs as he presses his lips to mine. 

“Now, now—be nice or else you’ll end up on the naughty list,” he says playfully, and I giggle even as the low rumble of his voice sends heat swirling through me. 

Laughter still hangs in the air when, finally, he enters me. He moves with deliberate slowness, and I throw my head back as he fills me, inch by delectable inch, only to slide back out almost completely, leaving me painfully empty. He teases me like this a few times before pushing back in all the way, and the deep moan that tumbles from his lips tells me he is done teasing me even before the first thrust that leaves me grasping onto him. 

No words are spoken as he thrusts into me, hard claiming thrusts that shake me to my very core, our bodies falling into this familiar dance as if not a day has passed since we were last united in this way. His head is buried in the crook of my neck, and his kisses are interrupted only by his groans. My legs are now wrapped around him, my heels digging into the soft flesh of his bottom as I hold onto his strong shoulders, my nails lightly digging into his skin, and I move in tandem with him as he fills the emptiness that lingered in my heart during our time apart. 

With a final, breathless moan, we find release together. I press my thighs against him, my back arching as wave after wave of nearly overwhelming pleasure floods my senses, buzzing incessantly in my core. Richard continues to move inside me until our climaxes subside, then collapses next to me on the rug as our heavy breathing echoes around us. Sometime later, I turn my head to the side and find him staring up at the ceiling, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. Just as I scooch closer to him, he meets my gaze and smiles. 

“Could we make this a Christmas tradition?” he asks playfully as he wraps a strong arm around me, pulling me flush against him. 

“I think we could do that,” I giggle, reaching out to run my fingers through his tousled hair as his lips meet mine for a languid kiss. “I missed you so much.” 

Richard takes a deep breath and squeezes me tight. “I missed you, too, sweetheart. But these past few months went by fast, didn’t they?” I nod slowly. “Before you know it, it’ll be May and this whole thing will be behind us.” 

I gulp. “I want you to enjoy this year though. Living in Boston and working on this project—it’s an amazing opportunity,” I say, feeling guilty for wishing time would go faster so he can come home. 

“I know—and I am enjoying it,” he reassures me. “But part of me just wants the project to be over so I can come back to Oxford and be with you.” He pauses then, his eyes drifting to the fire behind me, and swallows hard. “I hope you won’t get tired of me before then.” 

“Don’t be silly,” I hasten to say, hurt that that thought would cross his mind for even a second. Being in a long-distance relationship is hard for both of us, but it is even harder for him; I know I cannot erase the past, but I desperately wish there was something I could do or say to make his insecurities disappear. “I love you, Richard. And I know just how special what we have is, so I’m not about to give it up anytime soon.” 

He smiles softly, his eyes brimming with love as he presses another tender kiss onto my lips. “I love you, too.” Then he reluctantly pulls away, groaning as he stretches. “I have to get up now; I’m a bit old to lie on the floor like that.” 

I chuckle, but then my eyes drift to the dimple at the base of his spine and his firm bottom. Despite tremors of release still humming between my legs, desire rushes through me, though I cannot help but laugh when I notice the spruce needles stuck to his back.

Richard chuckles as I brush them off him, then says, “I think round two should take place in the bedroom. What do you think?.” 

He does not even wait for my response before scooping me into his arms, and our laughter echoes through the house as he carries me to our bedroom. In the hours that follow, we exchange many more open-mouthed kisses and soft whispers of love as we cling to each other, for at last, no time or distance stands between us.

Taglist: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc @sazzlep @albionscastle

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[cookies-over-yonder]

it's not mutual pining, it's marriage

During a movie night, Taylor gets a bad headache from his horns growing in, and Link helps him out.

Swiftli Week Day 2: Angel/Demon & Hot/Cold!

ao3

The teens are watching a movie together at Link’s place, silent save for a few small jokes (everyone is exhausted), when Taylor doubles over with a whine, holding his head.

Link puts a hand on his back, rubbing small circles. Taylor’s been getting headaches a lot lately, growing pains from his horns coming in.

Right now they’re just tiny little bumps, barely perceptible, but easy to find by touch.

“Taylor, you okay?” Normal asks softly, though his expression betrays that he knows the answer.

“Mm-mm,” he groans.

Link remembers Taylor telling him that demon puberty supposedly happens when you’re nineteen, according to his dad. But Taylor’s barely seventeen, and from what Link can see, the growing pains have been consistently hellish.

Literally.

When Link shot up in height as a kid, his legs ached horribly . He remembers his dads massaging them until the pain subsided.

“Taylor, come here,” Link says, patting his lap.

Taylor takes his hands away from his head to crawl into his lap, with his back pressed against Link’s stomach.

“Is it okay if I massage your forehead? I think it might help.”

“Mhm.”

Link gently places his thumbs and index fingers at the bases of the little bumps on his head.

Taylor grabs a pillow from the arm of the couch and squeezes it, whimpering quietly.

Link starts to rub circles against the base of Taylor’s soon-to-be horns. He makes sure to he gentle, but to still apply enough pressure.

“Is that helping?”

“Think so.”

Taylor hums and leans further back against Link, letting out the tension in his shoulders.

The others have paused the movie. So now it’s quiet, save for a small conversation between Normal and Scary that Link can’t quite parse.

Taylor’s also been hotter lately. Like. Physically.

He becomes flushed rather easily nowadays, and his temperature to the touch is something inhuman.

He’s like a little space heater. Link likes it. As he tends to get cold easily, it’s nice and convenient to just scoop Taylor up for a rush of warmth. Taylor also gets flushed when Link does that, and it’s cute seeing his face all red and pouty.

Given the lack of whines and complaints, it feels safe to increase the pressure of the massage a little, so he does, pressing into Taylor’s warm skin with his thumb and index as he continues rubbing circles.

Taylor’s grip on the pillow loosens.

“Still okay?” Link asks.

No response.

“I think he’s asleep, dude,” Scary chimes in.

“‘M awake… ‘s good…” Taylor slurs softly, stretching his arms out before adjusting to press himself even further against Link.

Link can feel Taylor’s breathing slowing down, becoming heavier, and while he wasn’t planning on soothing Taylor to sleep, it’s not unwelcome at all.

Besides, Link doesn’t think he’s gotten much rest since these growing pains started up.

As the massaging continues, Link starts to feel a soft rumble coming from Taylor. At first, he thinks it might be snores, but it feels more like low, steady vibrations.

“Oh my god, is he purring?” Scary asks, a lilt of excited curiosity to her voice.

“Is that what that is?” Link asks, voice hushed so as not to disturb him.

“Aw, he’s like a little kitty!” Normal adds.

The purring gets louder as Link continues to massage Taylor’s forehead, and Link is sure he’s asleep when he suddenly turns around and nuzzles his face against Link’s chest. Taylor is a bit of a cuddlebug, but this is different.

It’s also really cute.

Link giggles, moving his hands from Taylor’s forehead to run them through his hair and cup his cheeks.

He’s so warm, and the weight against Link’s chest plus the purring is incredibly calming. It wouldn’t be the first time Taylor served Link as a weighted blanket either, but it’s just as nice every time. He looks so peaceful in his sleep, his eyes shut and a slight smile on his face, his breathing steady…

Link brushes hair out from the gap between his horns and plants a little kiss on his forehead.

Then he hears a giggle, and he glances up at Normal and Scary, Normal covering his mouth and Scary giving him some sort of knowing look.

“What?” Link whispers.

“Nothing,” Scary says.

“Your mutual pining can be silly sometimes,” Normal says.

“Wha—mutual pining?” Link asks, moving one hand to the back of Taylor’s head and one to the small of his back.

“Come on, man, you’re basically in love with him,” Scary says.

“I mean yeah, I love all you guys, not my fault Taylor is so cute,” he says, giving Taylor a squeeze.

“You’re cute too,” Taylor mumbles, his voice slightly altered from the rumbling in his chest. Ah, they must have woken him up. “‘S not mutual pining, ‘s marriage.”

“Yeah, we’re married, remember? You’re the ones making it weird.”

“Now everyone shut up,” Taylor says, squirming until his legs are stretched across the couch, with his feet in Normal’s lap and his head in Link’s, his face turned toward Link’s stomach.

“So much for movie night,” Scary teases.

“Fuck off, Scary! Bedtime now,” Taylor says, a little more aggressive than his usual light bickering with her.

“Jeez, sorry.”

“Sorry, Scary. Pain makes me sleepy. And cranky.”

“It’s okay,” Scary says, grabbing a pillow and standing up, bringing it over to where Taylor is lying in Link’s lap. She lifts his head and slides the pillow under.

Taylor mumbles a thanks to her before burying his face in it.

Right then, an alarm goes off, and Taylor whines, covering his ears before Scary grabs Taylor’s phone and shuts it off.

“Time for painkillers,” she says softly. “Since you two are compromised,” she shoots a look at Normal and Link, trapped under a sleepy Taylor, "I'll go get them.”

“Thanks wifey,” Taylor mumbles.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Got it.”

When she comes back, Link helps Taylor sit up, and he feeds him his meds and helps him drink some water.

“Is this what it was like when you got really tall?” Taylor asks Link.

“Yeah, pretty much. Except I didn’t have cute horns.”

Taylor giggles, but then he winces. “My back’s been hurting too… do you guys think I’m gonna get cool wings?”

“Nothing about you is cool.” Scary says, putting his glass of water back on the table.

“You don’t believe that for a second.”

“Fine, your red highlights are cool.”

“You did these for me!”

“Exactly.”

“One day you’re gonna accept that I’m cool. Link thinks I’m cool! Right, Link?”

“I think you’re cool,” Link says, poking Taylor’s cheek. “And cute.”

Taylor smiles, but then he winces again.

“You want me to massage your back?”

“Yes, please,” Taylor says, turning around to face his back toward Link.

“Alright.”

“Thank you, my angel,” Taylor says, caressing Link’s cheek and making him giggle.

“No problem,” Link says, turning to kiss the palm of his hand before getting to work.

[corinthianism]

last kiss | sam winchester (4)

pairing: sam winchester/f!reader additional tags: best friends to lovers (?), fluff, angst

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter | ao3

CHAPTER FOUR: SOMEWHERE IN DETROIT

You sat on Bobby’s porch, sipping on coffee that had more espresso shots than what was healthy. You had all four of the Horsemen’s rings, and all you had to do now was to get Lucifer in Sam’s body. The problem was figuring out where Lucifer would be.

You rubbed your eyes, trying to shake off the exhaustion that’s been building up in your bones over the past few days. Weeks. Years. If someone asked you how you were doing right now and you had to say the truth, you’d say you felt like you were thrown around like a ragdoll by a bunch of super-powered toddlers. 

The brothers were out in the yard, probably making some tiny repairs to maintain Baby. If you had to guess, they were probably having the Big Conversation about Sam’s plan. Your head hung low, and for the umpteenth time this week, someone joined your little pity party. 

At least they never left you alone.

“How you holdin’ up?” Bobby asked you, taking off his cap as he sat beside you. The wooden boards creaked under the added weight. The older man grunted as he bent his knees to get to your level.

“How’re your knees holding up?” you grinned at your father figure. He shook his head and ruffled your hair. 

“Answer the question, young lady.”

“I’m barely holding up, Bobby,” you tried to joke, only to be met with a serious expression on his face. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You don’t get to do that.”

“It’s about Sam, isn’t it?” he questioned softly. 

You took a long, deep breath and set your mug down, “Yes! Yes, it is. It always is. There. You happy?”

“Well, you don’t have to get all snippy with me. We’re all worried about him. I’m just worried about you,” he paused for a moment. “Because everyone knows what you have with him is special.”

Your jaw clenched, feeling a strong urge to just up and leave. No one, especially you, wanted to hear about how their relationship with someone they love was so special, only to be reminded of how they’d lose it all in the span of a week. There was only so much a person could take and as patient as you were, even you had a limit. 

When you didn’t respond, Bobby continued, “If I know anything about love, sweetheart, it’s that losing it could be the worst thing to happen to you.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He shot you a look, his way of telling you to let him keep going, “It’s scary. You’ll have everything to lose. Love makes you do crazy, insane things, but you found something not a lot people have. People spend their whole lives looking for this sort of thing, and here you are, what? Sixteen, seventeen years strong?”

“Eighteen.”

He chuckled, “Eighteen. All I’m saying is, I’m sorry that this has to happen. I know you love him, and let me tell you, that boy looks at you like you’re his whole world. Sam was always the soft one. You took care of him in ways John and Dean couldn’t… but it’s time to let him go.”

Hot tears were spilling now, and you wanted to curse Bobby for hitting you with the cold hard truth, even if you knew deep down that you needed to hear it.

“I don’t think I can,” your voice trembled, a vulnerability you rarely showed in all your years of hunting. “I can’t lose him too, Bobby. Not him.”

“Listen to me,” he wiped away your tears. “When all of this is over, you’re the one who’ll be left here. You’re the one who’ll live. If I know anything about Sam, it’s that he’d want you to live your life as best as you can, even if he can’t say it to you straight.”

“Get to the point, Bobby,” you answer tiredly despite the caffeine rushing in your veins.

“Sam won’t be here,” you tried to steel yourself when these words left Bobby’s mouth. “But you will. I’m willing to bet a big part of why he’s so willing to jump in the first place was because he knew you’d be okay. So be okay for him, even if you aren’t.”

You didn’t notice how tight your grip was on the sleeve of your jacket, and you hated yourself just a little bit more in that moment because you felt like a child dealing with feelings she’s never had to face before. You were a hunter, you had to be above this.

Sam would’ve said otherwise. You were always more than that to him: more than a hunter. More than a friend.

You and Bobby eventually went back inside to prepare everything you needed for this final trip, which included gallons of demon blood for Sam to consume. You’d never say it to his face because it’d make him feel worse than he already felt, but it was disgusting. Perhaps you wouldn’t be in this predicament right now if you were a little bit more firm in keeping him away from hunting when Dean was in hell, maybe he would’ve been away from Ruby. With the help of Castiel, the work was finished much quicker.

Sam joined you and Cas in filling up the trunk of the Impala with the jugs while Bobby and Dean talked about Lucifer’s possible whereabouts. The work was silent between the three of you; it wasn’t the best time to discuss what-if’s when Cas was right there but then again, there was never a right time.

Dean came back to get Sam and Cas, after pinpointing where Lucifer was likely to be: Detroit. Sam looked at you one last time, and you felt his gaze on you. When you turned around, you knew then that everything Bobby told you earlier in the day was true. Sam’s arm rested on the car door, taking a moment to just look at you before he went into the Impala and marched right into the Death Star. He did look at you like you were his whole world, and it took your breath away. 

It was, of course, Dean and Bobby that broke you out of your little moment, urging the both of you to hurry up so you could all get going. You hopped into the passenger seat of Bobby’s van so that you could tail the Impala all the way to Detroit.

“Here goes nothing,” you thought.

▼△▼△▼△▼△▼

“Aw, ain’t he a little angel?” Dean grinned. Cas was sleeping in the backseat, probably beat from all the work they’ve had to do over the past few weeks. The brothers could only imagine what it must’ve been like to spend thousands of years following orders, and then suddenly breaking free from all of it. 

Sam only chuckled, muttering about how angels didn’t really sleep, and the car ride is silent for a while.

“Sam, I gotta bad feeling about this,” the older Winchester admitted.

“Well, you’d be nuts to have a good feeling about it.”

Dean frowned, “You know what I mean. Detroit. He always said he’d jump your bones in Detroit. Here we are.”

“Here we are.”

There was nothing Sam could say that would calm Dean’s worries. Not that anything could, since they were quite literally about to meet the Devil. Instead, the two talked about the possibilities; how Lucifer might’ve known something they didn’t. Sam was quick to point out how he probably did, hoping that at the very least, the fallen archangel didn’t know about the Horsemen’s rings.

Another bout of silence.

Sam shifted in his seat to face Dean, “Hey, um… on the subject, there’s something I gotta talk to you about.”

“What?”

“This thing goes our way and… I Triple Lindy into that box… you know I’m not coming back.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Dean’s answer was automatic. He barely looked away from the road.

Sam took a more serious tone, “So you gotta promise me something.”

“Okay, yeah. Anything.”

“You gotta promise not to try and bring me back.”

Dean very nearly stopped the car right then and there, “What? No! I didn’t sign up for that. Your hell is gonna make my tour look like Graceland. You want me to just sit by and do nothing?”

“Once the Cage is shut, you can’t go poking at it, Dean,” Sam stayed firm. “It’s too risky.”

“You can’t ask me to do this,” Dean pleaded with his baby brother. He wasn’t always one for thinking ahead, but he couldn’t fathom not trying to save his brother. 

“I’m sorry, Dean. You have to.”

“So then what am I supposed to do?” Dean pressed. 

“You go find Lisa,” Dean stiffened at the mention of her name, but Sam continued. “You pray to God that she’s dumb enough to take you in and you… you have barbecues and go to football games. You go live some normal, apple pie life, Dean. Promise me.”

“And what about her?”

This time, it was Sam that froze.

“What about her?” Sam’s words had a dangerous edge to them, a stark contrast to the gentleness he exhibited just moments prior.

“Did you give her this whole speech too? Because what is she supposed to do, Sammy? You tell me to go have a normal, apple pie life, but what does she have to come back to when this is all over?”

“She’ll live her life,” Sam answered softly. “She’ll have to.”

“For someone so smart, you’re goddamn stupid, you know that?” Dean grunted. 

“What is there to talk about, Dean? There’s no other way to get rid of Lucifer, and I’m doing this to keep her safe,” Sam tried to defend himself, unable to face the truth that he’d been trying to avoid ever since this plan was formulated all those nights ago.

“She loves you so damn much,” Dean tried to make his brother see the other side of things; how his death will echo through the lives of everyone that cared for him. How it’ll echo through your life. “Even when you’re being a dumbass, she fought tooth and nail to keep you safe. Now you’re asking, not just me, but her, to let you die?”

Sam stayed quiet for a while before answering his brother, “At least she’ll be alive, and that’s all that matters to me.”

The car ride was silent for the last time.

Sam craned his head to look out the window, even if there wasn’t anything particularly interesting to be seen outside. In a few short hours, Lucifer would possess him, and there was just no telling how that would go. He hoped he was strong enough, because once Lucifer got inside his head, he was scared that Lucifer would make it his mission to ruin you just to destroy Sam even further. It would’ve been the most effective way to do so.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. His fear and his anger weren’t gonna help him beat the devil. Sam tried his best, his damn hardest, to go to places in his mind that he cherished. He kept these memories close to his heart. They were sacred.

He remembered being thirteen, and reading lore books with you.

He remembered being seventeen, and dancing to Whitney Houston with you with nothing but a streetlight as your disco ball.

In between all those memories, there were feelings that only ever grew stronger with time. He doesn’t remember if he ever told you, maybe he has. Maybe after a couple of drinks, maybe at his lowest point. 

Still, all Sam knew, and all he needed to know, was that as long as you were alive and breathing, it was worth whatever price he had to pay. He owed you that much.

▼△▼△▼△▼△▼

In Detroit, there was a chill in the air that gave you goosebumps. The guys were unloading the gallon jugs of blood from the car. Bobby confirmed that there were at least two dozen demons inside one of the buildings. This had to be it.

You stayed back, making small talk with Castiel while Sam drank the demon blood in some faraway corner. 

“You are anxious.”

You gave him an amused smile, “That would be the understatement of the century.”

He simply nodded in acknowledgment and placed his hand on your shoulder.

“Sam is strong. He’ll conquer Lucifer.”

“I hope you’re right, Cas.”

Sam and Dean walked back over to your little group. Sam wiped away the remnants of blood that threatened to trickle down his chin. One by one, Sam talked to each of you. It was goodbye. A hug from Bobby, some awkward chatting with Cas. Then, he reached you. The whole world stopped.

“I wish you knew how much I don’t want you to do this,” you looked up at him, your arms were crossed in an attempt to both shield yourself from the cold and from him.

“Believe me, I know,” he sighed, before taking one of your hands into his own and bringing it up to his face. “I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.”

“I know,” your answer was laced with something that was barely acceptance and more like defeat. 

“I’m sorry,” he squeezed your hand. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

“It’s okay,” you wrapped your arms around him, letting his warmth and his scent and everything that was his just completely overwhelm you. “I’ll see you soon, won’t I?”

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, hugging you even tighter. It wasn’t often that you saw Sam cry, but you could feel the shakiness of his breath that he tried to hide as he clung onto you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

“Hey, don’t get all soft on me now, Sammy,” you joked, rubbing his back as you did so.

“I’m pretty sure I always was.”

It took him a while to pull away, not caring if Dean was waiting for him to catch up. This would be the last time he’d get to hold you like this, and he wanted to savor every second he could get before he was gone. He took a deep breath and pressed a kiss to your temple, then to your cheek, then finally, your lips.

It was everything you both hoped it would be and for a moment, you could ignore the sadness growing inside of you.

The kiss was soft. Tender. You moved in a way only two people whose souls were intertwined forever would. He wasn’t shaking anymore. If anything, this kiss flooded him with an overwhelming sense of clarity.

He had to keep you safe, so he forced himself to walk away from you, even if every fiber of his being told him to say those three little words… but he couldn’t hurt you anymore than he was about to, so he stayed silent.

You watched as the distance between you grew. The kiss lingered on your lips like a ghost. It was the calm before the storm because as soon as Sam was out of your sight, the sorrow pierced through you. This life always left you in pieces, but this was the first time in a long time, that you felt pain like this. It was precise; meant to target where it hurt the most.

Bobby and Cas approached you with solemn looks on their faces; they both knew that there was nothing they could say that would ease the pain you were feeling. You wanted to share your grief with them, you really did, in hopes that you wouldn’t be crushed by the weight of it.

But you couldn’t. Just like what Bobby said: what you had with Sam was special, perhaps a once-in-a-lifetime kind of connection, and that meant your grief was a cross only you could bear. No one else could possibly hope to understand what it was like.

After about twenty minutes, a white flash of light erupted from the windows of the building where Sam was and you knew that the worst had come to pass. Lucifer was inside of him. Without thinking, you ran inside the building with nothing but the pistol you had strapped to your leg and a dagger tucked under your belt. You ignored the cold fear that seeped into your bones, no matter how much it tried to weaken your resolve. You ignored the shouts of Bobby and Cas from behind you, telling you to stop.

You thought of Sam, now possessed by Lucifer and no doubt revelling in taunting Dean.

Dean. He was still inside, and if he was still alive, you owed it to him to try and get him out of there.

As you made your way up the building, bodies were strewn about. Blood was spilled on the floor and splattered on the walls. You grit your teeth, and tightened the grip on your gun. Finally, you reached the fourth floor. A blast of cold air hit your face and standing in the middle of the room was Sam. Dean was backed up against a wall.

“Ah, you’re just in time,” Sam— no, Lucifer, exclaimed. “I was wondering when Sammy’s little girlfriend would come in to save the day. I didn’t see you before. You know, when these two tried to kill me with the Colt? It was so sad. For them, I mean. But let me tell you, you do not disappoint, honey. Prettier in person if I do say so myself.”

“Get the hell away from her!” Dean yelled, trying his best to fight against the force of Lucifer’s power.

“No, I don’t think so,” Lucifer cocked his head mockingly at Dean. He approached you, smirking when he noticed you were too terrified and confused to even take a step back. “Little Sammy certainly had taste. You’re just exquisite, aren’t you? I think… I’ll keep you.”

He brushed his fingers against your hair, taking a big whiff of your scent in an overdramatic and freakish show of dominance. He knew you wouldn’t and couldn’t do anything, not as long as he was wearing Sam’s face.

Humans were so simple.

“Well,” he turned to face Dean one last time with a malicious smile. “Bye-bye, big brother.”

With a snap of his fingers, both you and Lucifer were gone in a cloud of black smoke. Dean was all alone.

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

Darkness (Percahlia week day 2)

ao3 @percahliaweek

Percy didn’t notice at first. That’s odd since he usually notices everything about Vex’ahlia. Maybe she’s just better at hiding it or he wasn’t looking close enough. Either way, it’s well into their first year of traveling together before he sees the way that she reacts to fire.

Once he sees it, he can’t stop seeing it. 

She sits further away from the fire than everyone else, even in the dead of winter. Vax seems to understand as he always gives her his cloak for an extra blanket on cold nights. When Keyleth shifts into a fire elemental, Vex keeps her distance, eyes never leaving her form. 

It’s perfectly normal to be afraid of things, but a part of Percy expected her to be fearless. Somehow her fear of fire makes her even more beautiful to him. He doesn’t mention it, not until they’re living in her house in Whitestone.

He came home from the workshop one night in the fall to find the house completely freezing. He could almost see his breath. Alarmed, Percy called out, “Vex? Are you home?”

“In here.” He followed the sound of her voice and found her in their bedroom. She was curled up with Trinket, shivering against him with blankets wrapped around her. 

He rushed to her side immediately, “Gods, it’s freezing in here. Are you ill?”

She shook her head, looking down in shame. Trinket nuzzled against her back, pushing her towards Percy slightly. He took one of her hands, her skin cold to the touch. Immediately he started rubbing her hand to warm her up.

“Why didn’t you light a fire this afternoon before it got cold?”

Vex flinched and pushed her hair out of her face, “I…I tried, Percy. I couldn’t do it. I saw the sparks and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.” She sniffed and tried again to push her thick hair out of her eyes. Knowing how easily frustrated she could get, Percy did it for her, tucking her hair behind her shoulder. “It’s so silly,” she told him, her voice wavering with emotion.

“It’s not,” Percy assured her, just like she had done for him time and time over. “We all have things we’re afraid of. And we will continue this conversation after we get you warm.” He touched her cheek, waiting for her to nod before kissing her and moving from the bed. 

It didn’t take long for Percy to light the fireplace, along with the ones in the kitchen and the living room. When Percy returned to the bedroom, he toed off of his shoes and climbed into bed beside her. 

Without saying a word, he slid under the blankets beside her and pulled her into his arms, tucking her against his chest. Her head found its place on his chest and he rubbed circles against her back, hoping to warm her up. Still he said nothing, not until Vex stopped shivering and her nose was warm. 

Vex swallowed thickly, and ever so softly asked, “How long have you known?”

He sighed and rubbed her back, “In our first year traveling. I didn’t know it was this bad.” He regretted his wording when Vex flinched again. “You’ve lit fires before.”

She shook her head, “Never alone. If something went wrong…someone would be there to help.” Percy held her just a bit tighter. “My mother died alone in a fire. I-I know it was caused by a dragon but every time I smell smoke or see a fire…” Vex took a shaky breath, “It’s like I’m there all over again, watching my mother’s house burn to the ground.”

Percy held her even tighter, pressing his cheek to her head. “That must be awful. Why did you never tell any of us?”

Vex shrugged, “I don’t know really. Vax knew and that was enough. I didn’t want to tell you all, I didn’t want to seem weak.”

“You are anything but,” Percy promised. “I remember a very wise woman once telling me that I was more than my fear. And I think that goes for her too, don’t you agree?”

Vex had the decency to chuckle at his attempt at a joke as she coyly said, “I’m not sure.”

Percy laughed and kissed her head. He’s not usually one for that kind of affection, it always felt unnatural, but Vex adored it, always has. “I believe we both know it does, dearest. And I vow that everyday there will be a warm fire in every room of this house and that there will be a Pale Guard stationed nearby so that if anything should happen, someone will know.”

Tears sprang to Vex’s eyes and she turned around burying her face into his shoulder. “I love you so much.”

Percy chuckled, “I should hope so, dear. I gave you a house and a title and-”

“A treasury full of gold, I know,” Vex smiled, her hand on his cheek. 

“I was going to say a happy and loving marriage, but that works too.”

Vex slapped his shoulder, “You ass, you were not going to say that.”