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monstersflashlight · 3 days ago

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Patreon Commission for anon

Request: something with an orc and a female human? Something fantasy-based, maybe human owns a tavern? I'd be fine with whatever you thought worked though!

A/N: Sorry this is kind of late, life is hectic. Enjoy!

Kissing an orc

Orc x fem!reader || accidental exhibitionism, oral sex, groping

You are kneading the bread for the next day when the knock on the door startles you. “Your favorite orc is hereeeee,” your annoying naga helper sing-songs to you. You shush them in your way to the door, signaling them to stop or you’ll kill them. They chuckle and disappear to the front, a broom already on their hands. Good, at least they would stop being a little shit while they do the tavern cleaning.

You open the door and have to swallow a gasp. It doesn’t matter how many times you look at him, it always amazes you how fucking beautiful he is. All giant, towering over you, with his beautiful olive skin and big tusks framing his appetizing mouth. Good goddess you’d give all your gold to be able to kiss him at least once to know how that mouth would feel against yours.

“Hi- hi,” you stutter. You chastise yourself, trying to act composed, but suddenly your skin feels too hot and your breathing is pushing your boobs a bit too forward.

“What was all that about? Am I your favorite orc? Do you know more orcs?” He looks so confused and adorable you want to pinch his cheek, but also kiss him senseless.

You look at him completely dumbfounded. “Are you serious?”

“Yes?” You aren’t sure if it’s a question or an affirmative.

You take a deep breath, thinking about all the possible possibilities of what you are about to do, but you are so fucking tired. You want to know, and if it goes wrong, you can always change hunters and find a new person or monster to bring you fresh meat for your tavern every day, right? Yeah. You can probably find somebody else, but you can’t wait more time to know how do his lips taste.

You stare into his beautiful dark eyes and answer truthfully: “Of course you are my favorite orc, I’ve been trying to ask you out for months.”

“What?” He looks so surprised you want to laugh, but the nervousness in your stomach prevents you to do anything. “But, but… I asked and you didn’t… you didn’t…” He takes a deep breath and starts again. “I asked you to meet me for breakfast and you said you had to work. I asked you if you wanted coffee and said you had to work.” As soon as he says that, you can remember a few other times he asked you for coffee or lunch or some snack and you always refused because you thought he did it just because he was nice, not because he was interested. Were you really that obvious?

You look at him, your face mirroring his surprise. “Oh.”

“You are just too cute for your own good, damn it.” He doesn’t wait for your answer before his hands are cupping your face and he’s kissing you breathless. “We could have been doing this for a long time if you just said so,” he mumbles against your lips, kissing you again.

Kissing an orc is even better than you imagined. His tusks frame your mouth perfectly and his lips are way softer than expected. He is perfect and you can’t even comprehend what he’s doing when he crouches and grabs your ass, pulling you up and walking inside, the deer he caught today left there, forgotten.

He moves around the kitchen like he owns it, and before you know it your ass is over a table and he’s kissing your neck, making goosebumps erupt on your skin. His hands are everywhere, tracing the edge of your corset, caressing your back and groping your ass over the skirt of your dress. His hands fit under the skirt and he goes up and up until his hand is over your center and you are panting, his mouth hot against your pulse point as he touches your vulnerable place.

He caresses your legs over your underpants and asks: “Can I?” His lips move against your neck when he talks and you have to suppress a tremor.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you chant, already pulling the skirt of your dress up to your waist as he pulls down your underpants, kissing your leg along the way.

“Have somebody ever…?” He doesn’t have to say it, you know what he means. You aren’t a blushing virgin, but you never had enough trust in anyone to let them… kiss you there.

“I never… Nobody ever… Not there,” you try to explain.

He gets it instantly, kissing your mouth until your brain is far away from your worries and his dexterous fingers find your pearl, flickering it and making you bite down on his lip. He groans and you giggle against his lips, he kneels on the floor in front of you and goes for it.

You moan very loudly as inexplicably pleasure breaks through your body, making you throw your head back and arch your back in an arch that leaves your boobs about to spill over your corset. You are sure it looks sinful from his position, but when you open your eyes the only thing you see is his face still buried between your legs, your thighs pressing against the sides of his head so strongly you are worried you are going to hurt him, but his pleased sounds are good enough to make you groan again.

You cover your mouth to avoid screaming his name as his tongue does wonders around your lucky pearl, his tusks framing your pussy in a way that leaves you breathless and ready for more at the same time. It’s wonderful and marvelous and all the adjectives you can’t even comprehend as he sucks and licks your hot center, dragging all kinds of sounds out of you.

You’ve never felt that kind of pleasure, and as it starts to peak, you don’t know what to do with all of it. You grab his hair and pull, making him grunt as his fingers dig into your hips where he’s holding you still. You are messing up his braid, but you can’t care about it as he keeps licking and fucking you with his tongue. It’s the most intense experience of your life and when the pleasure hits its peak, you have to bite down on your hand to avoid the cry that was about to leave your mouth.

He licks you through it, until your legs are trembling around his head and your pussy is pulsating in time with your heartbeat. He doesn’t stop there, he keeps milking all the pleasure out of you with such frantic need that you can’t do anything but match it. When your second orgasm hits you, the first one was still there, joining in the middle in the biggest wave of pleasure you’ve ever felt.

He kisses your pussy and your highs, not trying to make you untie your legs from around his head. His tender caresses are a contrast with the frantic devouring he just did, but it’s the best kind of contrast. You are still breathing hard and he’s still on the floor in front of you licking you clean when the door to the tavern opens with a screech.

“Dude! That’s where I make the bread!” The annoying naga screams as he opens the door just in time to see him kissing your pussy one last time.

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chaotic-scraps · 3 days ago

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You jokingly called it your little Trash Shrine.

Suspended from the window hung little earrings you'd picked up from the ground over the years.

On the sill, glass jars held marbles, seashells, buttons. A planter grew dandelions, henbit, and white clover. A little vase of blue jay, cardinal, and raven feathers. A decoupage box filled with magazine clippings and pressed flowers.

You were just adding to your little cushion full of yarn bits when you hear skittering on the kitchen floor. Something tugs at your pants leg and you flinch back. A raccoon stares up at you with unnaturally glowing eyes.

The little raccoon chatters and skitters up to the countertop. It promptly sits on top of the cushion you were just stuffing yarn bits into.

"Thank you, human," a voice says in your head.

You jolt. "Y-you're welcome?"

"I truly thought I was all but forgotten," the voice says. "Not many of your kind pay homage to the God of Discarded Treasures."

"Oh, well, I didn't know I was," you say honestly. "I mean, I would have if I did know. You seem like a cool God."

"I am the rain reclaimed from refuse," the voice says. "The rainbows left by gasoline spills. The flavor of raspberries left by castoreum--"

"I'm going to stop you there," you say. "I mean, I can't be the only person who likes to creatively use trash. What did I do differently?"

Silence.

The raccoon turnes and analyzes the shrine, and skitters over to the decoupage box. They nudge the lid off with their nose, and dumps out the little clippings that lay inside.

"It seems you invoked me accidentally," the voice concedes. "The clippings you have in this box just so happen to perfectly match the words to summon me, if left in the right order." It laid out the passage letter by letter.

"Deus Quisquiliae, exaudi orationem meam, benedic mihi thesauris abiectis."

"Well, no wonder no one summons you," you sigh, sipping your tea. "Most people don't speak Latin these days. Maybe some linguists, Catholics, or doctors. God of... I don't know that word. Hear my praises? Exaudi like, exhalted? Benedict Cumberbatch something me something something."

"There are others that would work. Discarded languages. Discarded treasures. The prayer asks that I bless you with the items that deserve a second life."

You took a picture of the Latin phrase in your phone. "Well, I could make this a daily thing. Do you show up every time?"

"Not in ways you might see, but yes."

"Well, okay. Thanks."

In the following days, you find money in the parking lot. A barista offers you a scone they couldn't sell. The persimmon trees drop their fruit as you come near. You find a discarded chair after yours falls apart. You slip down a hill and find a bed of natural clay that you form into shapes and bake in the hot sun.

Perhaps it's not what everyone would consider a blessing.

Some may even think of it as a curse.

Nevertheless, you set aside a little time each day to thank the little Trash God for their bounty.

You are a person who covers your counter space in clutter and inadvertently makes a shrine to a long forgotten god who shows up to thank you.

#chaotic-scraps

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quarterlifekitty · 2 days ago

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I’m obsessed with your selectively mute reader with soap and ghost🥹not sure this gives you any inspiration to write more but what if reader finally says something else to him after some sort of misunderstanding whereby soap thinks he may have scared her away (for being too desperate or something) and she reassures him with the help of ghost that she’s still very much into him. Plz ignore if this is shite

😭 I will not ignore this is not shite and in fact…. I am in love with you

Soap loses sight of himself a little after a long deployment. He comes home with Ghost (he practically lives with you two anyways). You give them both a little wave and a smile before turning back to what you’re tending at the stove. A gentle hi being heard between the sizzling of peppers in the pan.

Ghost heads straight for the bathroom— he likes to basically scrub himself with scalding water before touching you after a deployment.

“Our bonnie,” Soap purrs, coming up behind you to embrace you, unthinkingly putting his face in the nape of your neck. He bites a little, just gently, at your pulse— just to feel the blood thrum beneath the skin. His hands splay themselves on your stomach, snaking beneath your shirt. A sudden pop of oil makes him remember himself.

“I— I shouldnnae done that. Shoulda’ asked you and… Without LT here, I—“ he blusters. Walks off before you have a chance to reach out.

Sits himself out back on the porch like he’s put himself in the doghouse. He knows your boundaries are delicate, and he went and acted like you were his. When you hadn’t talked about anything like that. Hell, you barely talk to him. He gets into his own mind, thinking maybe he needs to stop inserting himself into whatever good thing you and Simon have going— fuck, how could he have felt so entitled to you?

He’s brought from his brooding when Simon steps out the back door. He makes sound on purpose, wanting to be noticed. You poke your head out and follow suit after a few moments.

“Birdie n’ I got somethin’ we wanna tell you, Johnny.” Soap’s life is flashing before his eyes. The best thing he had going for him— and he’s fucked it.

“Don’t go,” you say impulsively, before catching yourself and pausing. You rehearse the line you wanted a few more times internally before it comes out. “We… want you to be with us. Please?”

Ghost keeps a hand at your back while you wrap your arms around Johnny.

“Go on, mate. Don’t keep us waitin’.”

Soap’s snapped out of his stupor. Pulls Simon in— gentle enough that the slightest resistance would stop it from working, and wraps his arms around you both.

“Hen, Si…. You kiddin’? I’ve been yours. And I’ll still be, for as long and ye can stand it.”

#writing #cod fanfic #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghoap x reader #ghoap #neurodivergent reader

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stxrslut · 17 hours ago

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LET HIM REST 𐙚⋆.˚

pairing; s4 jj maybank x cupcake!reader

summary; it's safe to say jj may have crashed out tonight, and you are the only person he can turn to. so you make it your goal to get him taken care of, and at least a little content after the turmoil of tonight

content; hand job, mommy kink, titty sucking, adjacent to s4 plot

authors note; as much as I am a season 4 hater I did happen to find a small bit of inspiration from it... so without further ado...

jj is pacing around your room, hands on the back of his head, breathing erratically. you’re sitting on your bed. his boots are loud against the wood floor which is the exact opposite of what he’s supposed to be being right now. he’s supposed to be laying low and that involves staying quiet so that anyone going past or around the house wouldn’t hear him.

“jay.. just.. just sit down.” you sigh, trying to get him to be calm, but he doesn’t listen. he’s limping a little, only because he’d jumped off a roof after starting a whole fucking riot, not a big deal at all.

god, if you weren’t being the responsible one here you’d burst out crying. he’s being so frustrating, you need him to be calm so you can be calm.

“can’t— I can’t fuckin’ do this anymore!” he yells and kicks the wall, making you flinch. you need him to calm down.

“jj.. jj please. please sit down.” you stand now, placing a hand on his arm only to be pushed away. you sigh, “jj.” the agitation in your voice is made obvious by the weary sigh you let out.

“shit.” he kicks the wall again, it cracks a little. you’re not sure if it’s sweat or tears coating his cheeks, maybe both.

“come here jj,” you pull him back, speaking with only a little forcefulness in your voice. “please sit down… please.. let me help you.”

he complies, though he’s still agitated and probably still ready to break something. you guide him to sit down on the bed where you were before and then you take a place next to him. you put an arm around him and rest your head on his shoulder in an act of attempted comfort for both him and you.

jj reaches a breaking point right about now, you think. now it is tears. you're certain of it as his breath becomes ragged and his body begins to shake with small sobs that he's trying ever so hard to hold back.

“jj… oh jj dont cry.” you rub his side. you feel so much sympathy for him in this moment, his whole world has fallen apart in the last few days. there's no legitimate solution that you can offer him. the least you can do at this point is try to help him get his mind off of it. “what do you need? tell me what you need, jj.”

he sniffles, “just.. just don’t wanna think about it okay. don’t wanna talk.” okay, you can do that, you can not talk. you press your lips into the side of his arm. he needs a distraction, you can do distraction.

“hey… why don't i look after you for a bit… take your mind off it.” your hand goes to rest on his leg as you look up at him from where you are. his eyes are red and sore, filled with excess tears.

he sniffles almost pitifully but he nods, realising now just how much he needs a distraction. “yeah,” his voice is breathless, from the tears and the yelling. “please.”

your hand begins to run up his leg, stopping when it reaches the top of the zipper on his jeans. “just concentrate on me, okay. i'm gonna take real good care of you baby.” you pull it down, revealing his boxers which you also pull down by the waistband.

he exhales shakily, leaning back on his arms. you pull him out of his pants and slowly begin to work him with your hands. it doesn't take much to arouse him, despite all the turmoil, it's still jj.

you start to jerk him off, slowly at first, you don’t want it to be over too quickly. when you’re sure he’s ready you begin to move.

you guide him and reposition gently to have him laying down on his back, you get onto your side next to him. your hand keeps working on his dick with a practised skill.

you don’t quite notice when his hand comes up to tug on the neck of your shirt. it takes you a moment to realise what he wants, but when you do you’re happy to comply. you pull the clothing off, revealing your tits to him. his lips part and he moved himself over to easily attach his lips to your nipple.

“mmh.. m— ma-” he’s babbling incoherently, but it’s okay, you know what he wants to say. you’ll let him say it.

“it’s okay baby… mama’s gonna take care of you. s’all gonna be okay.” you murmur, free hand tangling in his hair whilst you keep jerking him off.

his whole body is reacting. his hips buck and jerk and his stomach ripples though you don’t see it through his clothes. he keeps letting out noises too, whimpers and whines, ones you know that he only lets out when he really needs to.

you don’t care that your nipple will be sore after this, you don't care that your arm will ache from moving it like this, you don’t care that you’re not receiving an ounce of pleasure. you love this boy, you need to take care of him otherwise you’ll be good for nothing.

jj’s hips move more, you can tell he’s approaching a much needed climax. you keep going until he cums, making a mess on the sheets and both of your clothes but you don’t care.

“oh.. there you go.” you make sure he rides it out, and when he does you let go and bring your hand up to rub his side.

“felt good.” he breathes out, his mouth is still not fully detached from your boob but you pay no mind, he has needs.

“yeah.. I’m glad.. you just relax now okay.. just relax.” you stroke his head as he settles down to shut his eyes. he’s still messy but it’s okay, you’ll clean him up when he’s asleep. get him changed too, his clothes are mucked up and ripped.

but for now, just for now, you’re going to let him rest.

#jj maybank prompt #cupcake!reader #jj maybank concept #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank fic

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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 8 hours ago

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≡;-꒰ 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 & 𝑫𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒔 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖

── mdni sexual content ; headcanons on how the boys would act with you (afab!reader) when you have a praise kink. inclusive of: praise (obv), pet name usage, dirty talk, teasing, general foreplay, vaginal sex, overstimulation.

featuring : rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne, caleb, jeremiah, luke, and kieran.

an : this was a request i put off a liiittle bit and am only just getting to now because i had to think of how i wanted to approach the prompt, but— it was super superrrr fun, and i maybe wrote a little bit more for each of the guys than i intended hehe <3

taglist : under the cut !! (SIGN UP HERE)

KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

ʀᴀꜰᴀʏᴇʟ

praise from rafayel is raw.

undeniably, during the day, there's a little part of him that would be a little shit about it—tease you to wit's end, preying on your little praise kink like it's a shiny little pearl he's found for him to play with. good girl~ here, pretty girl~ there… there'll be a little sing-songy tone to his voice, a teasing lilt, and sometimes it's more than you can take—sometimes you'll snap out of embarrassment, sometimes you'll maybe shove him away, sometimes all you can do is puff your cheeks up and do a little hmph. but really, it doesn't work out very much—"you're such a cutie, miss bodyguard."

but then there's a little switch that flips when the both of you are alone.

because the love that he has for you is overwhelming.

you're more than just a pretty girl, more than just a good girl, more than just the teasing little praises he's been singing all day just to rouse a reaction from you.

you're the love of his life. you're perfect to him.

and he's pounding into you as you writhe and moan beneath him, his hair clinging to his forehead, lips parted in heavy pants… his eyes are heavy-lidded with desire, but there's nothing more obvious in those pretty pretty magenta eyes of his— than how much he truly treasures you. his voice is breathless when he speaks, he doesn't stop the movement of his hips, so lost in drinking in the sight of you splayed on his bed like this—and maybe, all he can say is, "beautiful."

because sometimes, sometimes, he's just not the best with words. maybe he can't bring himself to form a coherent thought anymore but that; how beautiful you are, how ethereal, how perfect. between strings of moans of your name, maybe it's all he can say. but it's pure, and raw, and genuine in every sense of the word, almost like a cry tearing from his chest, because what he really means when he snaps his hips down to yours and fills you up with every last drop of his cum, is—i love you.

ꜱʏʟᴜꜱ

praise from sylus is enough to steal your breath away.

it's unexpected, mostly a surprise—albeit a pleasant one. and it's really not that he wouldn't do it often. it's quite the opposite, in fact; he'd do it often. because he knows. he knows exactly how to get you going, how to rile you up… and it's something that he would capitalize on, since your reactions have always been thoroughly endearing to him as much as they were amusing.

by this, i mean, it doesn't just stay in the bedroom. not at all. it slips into simple, everyday things. and that's why it's so unexpected for you.

after successfully completing a mission, he'd walk over and pull you towards him by the waist: "good job, sweetie." a basic task done in front of him, maybe something as simple as making yourself—or both of you—a meal, and: "what a good girl you are." the back-and-forth bickering you would sometimes have might end with him tapping a finger to his cheek, a little up, a glance of appreciation—"you're adorable when you're excited, sweetie." or maybe sometimes he'd walk up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, lean in to have his lips graze over the shell of your ear… "do you know that i'm quite fond of you? such a good, good girl for me."

he'd chuckle at the stutter in your motions, the flush on your cheeks… and he'd know you're defaulting to thoughts of the bedroom. especially when his voice would dip, all low and sultry, that satisfied, satisfied smirk on his face. 90% of the time, he'd get what he wants—which means you underneath him, fisting the sheets as he ravishes you whole; tongue, and teeth, and fingers… and more. of course, he'd aim for nothing more than to give you pleasure, and he knows how to make it better with just a few added words of praise.

"you're doing well, kitten. that's right, just like that… you make it so easy for me to worship you."

maybe he's conditioned you with it just a little bit.

xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ

xavier's praises are soft, but very direct.

he's not one to cut corners, not when it comes to the way that he sees you. like sylus, it slips into little, everyday things, half with the intention to rile you up, and half to genuinely just say what he's thinking. but as direct as his statements would be, he'd sometimes play a little coy. the irony is never lost with you. and yet, he'd do it anyway. all casual statements, blinks of innocence, smiles that would indicate he had zero idea of the effect he had on you.

you knew otherwise, though.

"you did really well," he'd say after a fight with a wanderer, "all that training really paid off." he'd nod, that familiar little nod that you know so well—to everyone else, it's so completely normal… and to you, it would have been, had the twinkle in his eye not been present, had his touch against your hand not lingered for a little bit longer than usual.

"i like your perfume today, it's nice," is how he greets you in the morning sometimes, with a smile that would have looked completely innocent��it not for the half-step he took closer to you, if not for the little twitch in the corner of his lips, if not for the way he'd reach over to move your hair from your face.

"your dress is pretty. i think it really fits you." a cute little compliment, no? you'd have taken it as such, but you wouldn't have missed the way his eyes would rake over your body, even with the slow, innocent blinks he'd give you afterwards. it doesn't matter that he offers you his hand for you to take, it doesn't matter if he brushes it off like he didn't just have every thought in his head on display for you. because at the end of the day, all of this turns into your fingers intertwined, you pressed up against your pillow, his head buried into the crook of your neck as he pumps his cock into you.

"mmmh… you're so good for me, angel, feel so good, so good…"

a little incoherent, not all that audible, but you can still hear it. he'd nuzzle into your skin, vibrations of his voice sending shivers through your body… there's something in him that doesn't quell him to stop, losing himself in how good you feel, how good you are. "you smell so good… you taste just as good, too, angel… you're so soft, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty… nmh, don' want to stop…"

ᴢᴀʏɴᴇ

the way zayne praises you is quiet. gentle.

it's the kind that flows seamlessly into your ear like a soothing little melody… yet, his voice would carry with it a certain level of firmness, indicating that you have no other say in the matter. because he means it—and that's that. it's the kind of praise that's reassuring every time he'd say it, no matter how many times he'd say it. he's your safe haven. he knows how to make you feel better about yourself. insecurities? doubts? worries? gone, immediately. because that's the way it is with him.

it doesn't matter what about you he's praising, nor does it matter when. it's used less as a trigger for your pleasure, and more for him to be unfiltered with you. it doesn't matter if he's seeing you for a dinner date and you're all dressed up, it doesn't matter if he's coming home to you in your pajamas with messy hair and no makeup at all. it doesn't matter if you lose at a little board game the two of you had been playing, it doesn't matter if you'd won nearly half the stall at the carnival that day, doesn't matter if you're on the phone with him and there's a beat of silence as you listen to each others' breathing. it doesn't matter, either, if he's all the way inside of you, slow, rhythmic thrusts, lips attached to your ear—it doesn't matter if his hands had found their way to your chest, fondling and kneading at the soft flesh.

he'll whisper sweet words into your ear, always, whenever he gets the chance.

and at night, he holds you close, hushed words perfectly timed with each and every thrust. they aren't sweet nothings. they're sweet everythings. because he knows that these words are exactly what you need from him, exactly what you need to feel loved, and appreciated, and cared for. with zayne, praise is as genuine and as pure as it gets—sure, he'll cherish the way you whine in response, the whimpers that fall from your lips… he knows that it gives you an extra bit of pleasure, but that's a plus. more than that, he'd never fail to convey how much you mean to him. it's the perfect opportunity for him. just to hold you close, and make love to you like this, quiet, hushed little words of affirmations…

good girl. you take me so well, my love. you feel so good, darling. you're perfect for me.

ᴄᴀʟᴇʙ

praise from caleb is a little infuriating, but it works.

perhaps it's because you're much too used to bickering with him, all these playful little fights about anything under the sun that could usually end up in a fit of giggles—but praise from him comes off a little more like a tease sometimes, a little bit borderlining on mocking. not because he doesn't mean well, but, because… it takes a while for you to realize he's being genuine about it. he probably has to drill it into you himself—repeat it a few times, eyebrow raised, amusedly gauging your reactions. he'd watch you turn from a scoff, to a look of confusion, to the gradual realization that dawns—"caleb!" a gasp of surprise, and maybe you hit his shoulder a little, maybe he has to laugh.

but he means it.

he means it when he calls you beautiful, means it when he says you make him proud. he means it when he tells you how much you mean to him, means it when he tells you that there's no other person he'd rather be around like this, than you.

and he'd look you straight in the eyes when he says it again—repeats it, probably, for the nth time that day, trying to make you understand that it's real.

he repeats it even when he has you sinking into the mattress, pinned down by his weight, legs raised to his shoulder as he fucks himself into you. "yeah, you like that, right, pipsqueak? you're all beautiful like this, taking me so deep… fuck, i can't get enough of you. you're the only one for me, baby." he'd lift a hand to delicately trail down the side of your cheek, and you'd be astonished at the blatant swirl of lust and love settled deep in his eyes—filthy words punctuated with praise; he just can't help himself around you.

"mmm, pretty cunt all wrapped up around me… shit, i love you so damn much, why're you so perfect?" his hips would snap up so roughly, in contrast to the gentle caresses he'd leave over your body, in line with the way he's brought you up to orgasm after orgasm. "you're doing so well, baby, c'mon. you can cum again, just one more f'me…"

ᴊᴇʀᴇᴍɪᴀʜ

jeremiah's praises are a little bit… inconsistent.

not that you never know when you're going to get them, because he does it quite freely—pretty often, mostly whenever he feels like saying nice things about you, which, well… happens to be quite a lot.

but you never know how you're going to get them.

he's big on compliments, always has been. so sometimes it's extremely easy for him to whip out a few words of praise. maybe he saw a flower that reminded him of you. he'd send it over with a sweet letter detailing what you mean to him. or maybe he'd send a simple text, just a little "thinking of you today, princess!" to make you smile. sometimes, he'd give you a little kiss on the cheek, on the nose, say an equally simple "hey, you look beautiful today." or on other days, he'd play a little bit coy, maybe sending a little wink your way after some cheesy compliment disguised as a pickup line—playful, a little bit of a little shit about it, and these are the ones that probably get you the most flustered.

but as much as he prides himself in his way with words—literature lover at heart, poetry lover first before anything… well, sometimes he doesn't have words. not when it comes to you.

because, how can he? sometimes he's too overcome with emotion—the fact that you're here, the fact that you're with him, the fact that he can actually cup your face and look into your eyes and say with conviction that he's finally with the girl he loves more than anything else in the world. even more than flowers. even more than words.

and it's such times that he's more flustered than you. nevermind your praise kink—sometimes he's the one tripping over his words, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and flushing in embarrassment when the words won't come out right. there's a little less of the nonchalance, the playfulness. he tries to be more serious, but it backfires, because he is serious—about you, about both of you, about your relationship… and about how much he loves you.

so even in intimate moments, your body flush against his; even in the way that he kisses you, so tender and loving and sweet… even when he rolls his hips against yours in a slow, gentle motion, even when he'd make love to you under the dim lights of his bedroom… sometimes, his words just fail him. sometimes all he can do is look into your eyes and breathlessly moan out your name. sometimes he has to dip down and nuzzle into your chest, whining out something incoherent—something like a mushed up string of i love you's if you really listen closely enough.

there's a little less praise to go around.

maybe he'll call you pretty, maybe he'll call you perfect… maybe he'll say a little something about how good you feel, but they're lost and broken into moans, and maybe you're both too into it to really register anything he's saying. because for all that he prides himself with his words, he's really just a little too lost in the feeling of you to bother.

(in the end, it's easier for you to get his praise outside the bedroom…)

ᴋɪᴇʀᴀɴ

praise from kieran is… rare.

he's not used to it; not at all.

part of him maybe thinks he should do it more—well, no, he knows that he probably should, especially when he knows it makes you feel good. he'd admit it to himself that he likes getting you all flustered, enjoys knowing that he has a certain effect on you, that even a simple little praise is enough to give him such a reaction. but words of affirmation aren't particularly his thin, and it just… doesn't happen very often. if it did, it would happen very much randomly, nothing too elaborate, maybe even just said in passing—mostly because he doesn't want to draw attention to it; there's a part of him that feels a little bit embarrassed about being so direct with his words like that. but it happens nonetheless, sometimes. and when it does happen, it's really truly almost as if there's nothing else you can think of but him. his words. the fact that he's actually really, truly, legitimately praised you.

pretty. just one word. he has you pinned against the wall, something of a knowing smirk visible on his lips as his fingers trace the curve of your jaw and dip lower.

good girl. two words, two fingers dip into your mouth for just a moment… and he's so pleased when you let him. so what else can he do but kiss you? what else can he do but press his body up against yours, feel the way you practically melt against him like this?

he's remembering truly just how much his praise gets to you, and it spurs him to act further—low grunts about how good you feel when he hoists a leg up to his waist so he can slide himself into you, all snug and comfortable in your wet heat, praising you for how well you take him, little words about how you're absolutely the best—"mmm you're driving me crazy, angel… just like that. good. fucking. girl."

it's rare. he doesn't do it often. but maybe, sometimes, when he does start… it's a little bit difficult to stop.

ʟᴜᴋᴇ

one thing to be established is: luke's praises are constant.

they never stop. you hear them so goddamn much. in fact, maybe part of you even feels a little used to it.

it happens nearly all the time, as many times as he can think to—sometimes a little bit teasing, sometimes just to get under your skin a little, sometimes maybe a teeny bit (a lot) obnoxious about it… or, sometimes, in a softer tone, a little more genuine than usual. but the root of it really remains to be that he'll take every little opportunity to throw a compliment your way. especially when he realize it affects you a little more than he originally thought. because the way your heart rate accelerates? the way you'd freeze in place for even just a tiny tiny moment, every single time? even the way your cheeks heat up, maybe sometimes the way your eyes would dart away from him to look at anything else in the room… it gives him pure joy, and it only makes him want to do it more.

"heyy, pretty little miss hunter!" in simple, everyday settings? he'd be so casual about it when he sees you, maybe throwing a little wink your way. the grin on his face would be so telling about how much he just knows. "you look cute today!" or, "that thing you did just now was really cool!" or even just, "what's my pretty girl up to this time, huh?" and it gets your brain blanking in seconds.

but it doesn't compare to the bedroom—a quiet place where he's softer, gentler… where all you can hear are his praises, about anything and everything, hands moving over your body in tender, petting caresses… "your skin's super soft," he'd mumble. "did you use a new shampoo, or something? smells real nice." he'd dip his head into your neck, lick at the sensitive patch of skin… his hands would slide between your legs, rubbing teasing circles over your clit. "mmm… tastes good… feels good…" he'd dip his finger in, gathering your slick, chuckling at how much there already is… "damn, sunshine, so wet for me? that's what i like to see."

it's a little infuriating, in a sense—he finds every little thing to praise, but… he means it. there's so much of you too praise. it's more than just how well you take his fingers, his tongue, his cock; it's more than just how good you feel or how good you're being for him… it's just, everything. he wants to say what's on his mind with you, and especially behind closed doors? he's got a whole lot of thoughts, and all of them happen to be good things about you.

taglist! @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @ononpetitecroissant @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @cordidy @oharasmommymilkers00 @rafayelsgf @rafslvr @spotted-salamander @love-and-deepstrays @m2ichaelis @keioxo @theanbitchless

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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caught-tumbling · 3 days ago

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A diagnosis means access to treatment. Before I was diagnosed with POTS I was just fainting constantly and no one knew why or how to make it stop. Because I have a diagnosis I have a way to make my symptoms manageable.

A diagnosis means community. I can find people who share my ADHD experience and I don't feel as alone or like I'm crazy.

A diagnosis means knowledge and strategies. Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome doesn't have a cure but I have found a million shortcuts, products, and strategies to make my life easier. If I didn't have a diagnosis I wouldn't know where to begin and I would be far more disabled than I currently am.

A diagnosis means medical safety. My doctors know to take a different approach with me because of my Ehlers-Danlos. My anesthesiologist knows I won't react normally to anesthetic, my surgeon knows to stitch me up differently to accommodate my fragile skin, my physical therapist knows to offer me more support to keep me from hyperextending my joints, etc. Before I had a diagnosis medical staff accidentally hurt me because they didn't have that vital info. (Unfortunately a stigmatized diagnosis can work against you so it can be a downside as well but that's for an individual to decide)

A diagnosis means accommodations. Many workplaces, government organizations, and private companies require proof of diagnosis rather than proof of symptoms. So if you don't have an explanation for your symptoms you're out of luck.

A diagnosis means validation. I was told my fainting was anxiety, that my chronic pain was in my head, that my bipolar depression was because of my period, even though none of that made sense. But if enough "experts" tell you that your experiences are wrong.... you start to believe them. You start to wonder if you can trust yourself. The test came back normal, the doctor says I'm fine, I don't know anyone else that has this problem, maybe I don't actually have a problem at all. Maybe I'm making it up, maybe I just need to tough it out, maybe I'm "doing this" for attention like they say. And that seriously fucks with your head especially if it happens for years. A diagnosis says that you're not crazy, you're not making it up, you were right. I cannot overstate the relief of knowing that you can actually trust yourself

Many people view a diagnosis as if you go in for a normal checkup and are given a cancer diagnosis out of the blue. And yeah that happens, but most of us KNEW there was something wrong we just didn't have a name for it. The name itself doesn't hurt you. But lacking that name can kill you

I don't think healthy people realize how for chronically ill people getting a diagnosis isn't sad or even disappointing for us, it's a relief and a vindication. So many people with chronic illnesses take many years to get diagnosed, and are told that 'it's just anxiety/your period/psychological' or that we're exaggerating or that everyone experiences that, so for us getting a diagnosis is being told that we weren't faking it and that this wasn't normal and it's also finally knowing what exactly is going on in our bodies.

I think many healthy people think of it as if it were them being told they have this lifelong debilitating illness, and they would feel awful because they are going from perfectly healthy to disabled, but they don't fully realize that we already have all the symptoms and impacts of said chronic illness and that we are just finally finding out the name, and that knowing what it is means that we have access to more treatments and more knowledge as to what we can to do alleviate our symptoms.

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hellsslibrary · 3 days ago

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i saw that you write smau and... reader sends nudes to the character? or vice versa, as you want, with bllk. do whoever you want I just want m reader yea

"Oh, photo from my beloved... Oh, THAT kind of photo".

#a.n. : DON'T ASK where I was. Our honeymoon with my husband dragged on too long, I literally managed to get sick, recover, then I had to take my husband to Greece, as he wanted, there my Internet decided not to work. In short, we lived luxuriously, and we had a great rest. I hope everything is just wonderful with you too! I will slowly return, because we are home, and I will start with something small, because I am passing out and I want to sleep. 🌻

Characters: Reo, Rin, Sae, Chigiri, Kaiser, Ness.

!!Warnings: top!male!reader, these conversations are VERY weird (especially with the Itoshi brothers), I wrote them without sleeping for four days, don't ask, they're kind of funny, so it's okay. The reader is simp (as you should), nude photos, teasing in this way, promise of something more, mention of sex toys (Reo), sex on a mat (Kaiser), Ness adores you too much, Chigiri teases you A LOT, joke about 'daddy Sae' in Sae's part (sorry), mention of pregnancy in Rin's part (sorry 0.2).

Parts: first (you're here), second, third(later, maybe more parts if you want).

Reo Mikage.

Sae Itoshi.

Rin Itoshi.

Chigiri Hyoma.

Michael Kaiser.

Alexis Ness.

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3rdgymbros · 2 days ago

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━ 𝐑𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐬 𝐈𝐭 (𝟐) !

— pairing; vil schoenheit x ramshackle! reader

— summary; vil's dad thinks you're dating, and comes down to meet you

— notes; here is part 2, part 1 is here. please donate to my kofi or consider commissioning me if you like my work bc im broke and need cash. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It’s a bright afternoon at Night Raven College when Eric Venue arrives at Night Raven College unannounced, causing a minor frenzy among students and staff alike. They’re starstruck; after all, seeing a famous actor on campus is a rarity, and Eric is surrounded by a crowd of adoring fans as he makes his way to Pomefiore.

❋ Vil, however, is not thrilled to see him. His father’s obviously come here to snoop, and Eric’s wide grin tells Vil there’s no escaping him today.

❋ Ever the professional actor, Eric insists he’s just here for a little visit. “Can’t a father see his son and stroll around the college campus for a while?”

❋ Vil reluctantly obliges, but he’s wary. Every time they pass a group of students (many of them gawking and staring and pointing), Eric gives each and every one of them a careful once-over, as if expecting you to magically appear. Vil notices and gives his father a dirty look, but Eric just shrugs, the very picture of innocence.

❋ Despite Vil’s attempts to keep his father far far away from you, your paths do eventually cross. You run into both father and son as you’re heading down to the cafeteria for lunch, and Eric’s eyes immediately light up with recognition. He strides over before Vil can stop him, extending a hand with a charming smile. “Ah, you must be the famous Ramshackle student! I’m Eric Venue, Vil’s father. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

❋ You’ve seen exactly zero of his movies. Thanks to Ace and Deuce giving you the lowdown, all you know about this guy is that he’s some big star — Leonardo DiCaprio level, maybe? Not that anyone here would know who he is . . .

❋ Realising that Eric’s waiting for a reply, you quickly recover, shaking his hand with a slightly awkward but friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Venue.”

❋ Eric immediately wastes no time in drawing you into a conversation, asking you about your interests, your studies, and — much to Vil’s chagrin — what you think of his son. He’s so friendly and warm, it’s almost like talking to an old friend, rather than a famous celebrity.

❋ (The shy tinge to your smile, and the way your voice softens when you talk about Vil doesn’t go unnoticed by Eric, and only serves to confirm his suspicions.)

❋ Vil is unnaturally tense through it all, a bow string about to snap. It’s almost as though he’s debating grabbing his father and making a break for it, public image be dammed. But instead, Vil settles for hovering beside you both, looking mortified and slightly flustered when his father asks you something just a little too personal.

❋ Finally, Vil manages to pull his father aside, insisting that they should let you get to lunch (Vil makes eyes at you and you take the hint, dutifully acting as though you’re absolutely starving).

❋ Eric sees right through your little act, but lets you leave with a wave and a laugh, expressing his desire to see you again. Afterwards, Eric turns to Vil with a knowing smile, quietly whispering, “I like them,” like it’s the final stamp of approval for the relationship Vil absolutely refuses to admit he’s in.

#vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit imagines #vil schoenheit headcanons #vil schoenheit x you #vil schoenheit fluff #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland reader insert #twst imagines #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines

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meliciousmel13 · 1 day ago

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➛ the mess is mine.

paring: Billie Eilish x Reader

warnings: smut, mentions of blood (duh), fluff, aftercare, dirty names? (billie calls r whore, slut) strap-on sex (r receiving), eating out, fingering, kind of breeding kink, possessive billie

wc: 5,121

SYNOPSIS: billie wakes up at 7am for her photoshoot and you offer to go with her. you were waiting for her to finish and finally go home to cuddle. but.. was that someone flirting with you?

an: was this too much? sorryy

It was 7:31 a.m. Billie was late by a whole 30 minutes. Why? Because of you. She was supposed to be at a photoshoot by now, but every time she tried to sneak out of bed, you’d cling to her as your life depended on it.

Her first attempt to replace her body with a pillow had failed spectacularly. The moment the cool fabric touched your skin instead of her warmth, you whined and mumbled something incoherent about her staying. Each time she tried to move, you tightened your hold, murmuring, “Just five more minutes.”

It’s been 30. Billie was still here, half sitting up and half trapped beneath you, her phone buzzing relentlessly on the nightstand.

“Baby,” she sighed, rubbing slow circles on your back in a last-ditch effort to reason with you, “I really need to go.”

“Why?” you mumbled, your voice muffled against her neck.

“Because I’m late for my photo shoot, angel,” she explained, her voice soft as she kissed the side of your neck. Her hands slid under your pajama shirt, gently rubbing your hips in a way that was meant to coax, but it only made you cling tighter.

“Why are you always leaving me?” you asked, your tone carrying more hurt than you meant to let show. Your arms locked around her like a lifeline, your cheek pressed against the comforting rhythm of her heartbeat.

She froze for a moment, guilt flickering across her face before she softened. “I’m not leaving you, sweetheart,” she murmured, running her fingers through your hair. “I’m just working.”

“You’re always working,” you replied, your voice laced with sleepy frustration.

She groaned, and couldn’t talk back because you were annoyingly right. Unfortunately, she was always working. Sometimes she stays late in your home studio. Sometimes have to remind her it’s 3 am and she needs to go to bed. You have to remind her to sleep. which made sense because she had a horrible sleep schedule.

“I know,” she admitted, pressing another kiss to your temple. “But I’ve got a two-day break after today. I promise I’m all yours.”

“Really?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep as you tilted your head to look at her.

“Yeah,” she said, turning onto her back and pulling you with her so you were sprawled across her chest. “Just let me get through today, and I’m yours, baby. Completely.”

Her hands slid to your thighs, holding them gently as she gave you a pleading look. “Please?”

You sat up slightly, perched on her lap as you eyed her skeptically. “Only if I can come with you.”

Billie blinked, caught off guard. “Sure?” she said, her voice cautious but amused.

You nodded, shifting to straddle her properly, your hands resting on her chest. “I’m serious.”

Her hands slid up your thighs, slightly gripping your upper thighs. Tilting her head, and smirking, almost like she knew what she was doing to you “You sure, baby? It’s going to be boring for you.”

“Maybe not if you keep talking like that,” you mumbled, mimicking her head tilt. She laughed, the sound warm and low, gently nudging you off her. “Alright, alright. But now we really need to go.”

She stretched, her arms reaching above her head as she let out a groan. Then she swung her legs over the side of the bed and hurried to pull on socks, nearly tripping in her rush.

You watched her with half-lidded eyes, still sprawled on the bed. She was barely awake, fumbling with her shirt and brushing her fingers through her hair in an attempt to look presentable. “You know,” you said, your voice teasing, “you’re just going to take that off when you get there.”

She paused to give you a playful glare. “And you’re not helping.”

“I’m keeping you warm,” you retorted, burrowing deeper into the blanket.

“You’re keeping me late,” she corrected, tossing a hoodie over her head before grabbing her phone.

Finally, Billie turned to you, her expression softening as she took in your sleepy pout. “Come on,” she coaxed, holding out a hand. “You said you wanted to come with me, remember?”

Grumbling, you crawled out of the warm cocoon of blankets and took her hand. Billie pulled you to your feet, her arms immediately wrapping around your waist to steady you as you swayed slightly.

“See? Now we’re both late,” she teased, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before tugging you toward the door.

“Whatever,” you replied, leaning into her side as she guided you out of the room.

A few hours later, you found yourself sitting on the edge of a plush couch in the corner of the photo studio, the quiet hum of activity around you. Billie had been whisked away the moment you two walked in, the staff bustling to get everything ready. The sound of camera shutters clicking, mixed with the low murmur of voices, created a backdrop of controlled chaos.

You couldn’t take your eyes off her from across the room. She moved so naturally, so confidently, like she belonged right there in the spotlight. Every pose felt effortless like she wasn’t even trying—just being. The stylist fussed over her outfit again, straightening seams and adjusting details, but Billie barely seemed to notice, too busy flashing the camera that playful, crooked smirk that somehow felt like it was meant just for you.

“She’s stunning,” someone from the crew muttered from nearby, and you couldn’t help but smile, proud to know her so intimately.

Even though she was surrounded by people, Billie’s eyes kept flickering over to you, catching your gaze and holding it for just a moment before she went back to her pose. Each time, there was a hint of a smile, as if reassuring you that despite the work, you were still on her mind.

As the photographer called for a break, Billie wandered over to you, her steps light but purposeful. She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before sitting beside you, her body close to yours.

“How’s my angel doing?” she asked, her voice playful, but with an undercurrent of affection that made you melt.

You shrugged, grinning. “I’m surviving. It’s kind of boring without you though.”

She laughed softly, brushing a lock of hair out of your face. “I’m almost done, promise. Then it’s just you and me. No more work today.”

You leaned into her, pressing your cheek to her shoulder as you relaxed into the moment, letting the busyness of the shoot fade into the background. Billie’s hand found yours, her thumb gently stroking your skin, grounding you in the peace of this quiet space despite the chaos of the studio.

“Thanks for sticking with me,” she murmured softly, her lips brushing the top of your head. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Looking forward to it,” you replied with a smile.

Billie was barely out of the room when the guy approached, the sound of his shoes tapping on the floor as he made his way over to you. He flashed you a charming grin that made your skin crawl, leaning in way too close.

“Hey,” he said, his tone too smooth for comfort. “You’re looking a little lonely over here. Why don’t you come hang out with me instead of waiting around?”

You shifted uncomfortably, pulling away from him a little, but he didn’t take the hint. His eyes skimmed over you, lingering in all the wrong places. “You know, you’re pretty cute when you look all… out of it. I think I’d like to get to know you better.”

Before you could even respond, a cold, sharp voice sliced through the air, making the guy freeze mid-sentence.

“Get away from her. Now.”

Billie’s voice was so cold and hard it could’ve cut glass. She stormed toward you, her jaw clenched and her eyes practically burning holes through the guy. Without a moment’s hesitation, she stepped between you, her presence so commanding that the guy instinctively took a step back.

“Billie, come on, I’m just—” The guy started to laugh, clearly not understanding the shift in the air.

Billie’s eyes narrowed, and her lips curled into a cruel smile that was anything but friendly. “I said back off,” she snapped, her voice low and full of venom. “You don’t talk to her. You don’t look at her. You don’t even breathe in her direction. Got it?”

The guy hesitated, clearly trying to size up the situation, but he wasn’t fast enough. Billie took a step forward, towering over him, her body language radiating pure menace. “She’s mine. You think you can just come up and flirt with what’s mine, huh? No. Not happening.”

He started to laugh again, trying to brush it off, but Billie didn’t care. “What’s so funny, huh?” she hissed, stepping even closer. “You think this is some joke? You think she’s some kind of toy for you to play with?”

The guy opened his mouth to say something, but Billie didn’t let him get a word out. “Shut up,” she spat, the words cutting him off like a whip. “She doesn’t want you. She’s not interested. I don’t want you near her. Do you understand?”

The guy looked taken aback, the smug expression slipping from his face as he realized Billie wasn’t backing down. He stepped back, trying to regain his composure, but Billie wasn’t finished.

She leaned in closer, her voice dangerously quiet now, but the fury in it was unmistakable. “Right?” Billie said, her eyes flashing darkly. “The mess is mine. All of her—every inch—is mine. And you’ll stay the hell away from her. Understood?”

The guy looked at Billie, his face turning a little pale as he mumbled something, his bravado completely deflated. He took one last glance at you before backing off without another word, clearly realizing he’d just made a very big mistake.

Billie stood there, watching him retreat with a satisfied, icy glare, her chest heaving slightly from the intensity of her anger. When she was sure he was gone, she turned to you, her expression softening just enough to show a hint of concern, but the possessive dominance never left her eyes.

“You okay?” she asked, her tone no longer sharp, but still filled with an unrelenting sense of control.

You nodded, not trusting your voice as you watched her, completely captivated by how fiercely she protected you.

“Good,” she murmured, her hand sliding around your waist as she pulled you into her side, her grip tight, almost like she was afraid someone else might try to get too close. “No one messes with what’s mine. Not while I’m around.”

You couldn’t help but shiver at the possessiveness in her voice, feeling a warmth spread through you as you leaned into her, your eyes meeting hers.

Billie pressed a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering for just a moment longer than usual. “You belong to me, sweetheart. Remember that.”

Her words were like a brand on your soul, leaving no room for doubt. You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips as you whispered, “I remember, Billie. I remember.”

The car ride back home was suffocating in its silence, thick with tension. Billie’s eyes flicked to you every few moments, the corner of her lips curling into a slight, unreadable smile. You could feel the weight of her gaze on you, every passing second drawing you deeper into the pull of her presence.

As soon as the car stopped, Billie was out, slamming the door behind her. She didn’t wait for you, didn’t bother checking if you were right behind her—she knew you were.

The second you closed the car door, she was on you, her hands pulling you toward the front door of the house, fingers digging into your wrist. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, Billie’s mouth was on yours, hot and demanding. Her hands pulled at your clothes roughly, almost like she couldn’t stand to have even a second where you weren’t completely hers.

She backed you up against the nearest wall, her lips tracing along your jaw with sharp, possessive kisses. “Bet you like this, huh?” Billie murmured, her lips brushing against your ear, her breath warm and heavy. “Bet you like when I make you mine, when I remind you who you belong to.” Her voice was low, gritty with lust, and there was no mistaking the authority in it. Every word felt like a brand, a reminder that you were hers.

You gasped, your body responding to her instantly, heat pooling in your stomach. You tried to push her off, just a little, needing a second to breathe, but she wasn’t having it. “No, no, no. You don’t get to push me away.” Her fingers tightened in your hair, forcing your head back to give her more access to your neck.

“You don’t get to stop me, baby. Not when I’m finally gonna remind you just how much you belong to me.” Her teeth scraped against your skin, sharp and possessive, making you shudder under her touch.

You let out a soft moan, the ache inside you becoming unbearable. “Fuck, you’re such a slut,” Billie growled, her hand sliding down your body roughly, squeezing your waist, her thumb brushing dangerously close to the waistband of your pants. “A slut for me, huh?” She smirked, her eyes dark with the kind of intensity that made you feel like you couldn’t breathe without her permission.

You shuddered, but there was no denying it—the heat that rushed through you at the sound of her words. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “Yours.” She froze, her eyes darkening even further as she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a soft, mocking kiss.

“Say it again, baby,” she commanded, her voice dripping with possessive need. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“m’ yours,” you breathed, your chest tightening with both the weight of her words and your own growing desire. Billie’s smirk deepened, satisfied with your response, but she wasn’t done with you yet.

Her hand slid down between your legs, her fingers pressing against the outline of your pants, brushing lightly against your core. “You really think you can walk around looking this fucking cute without me wanting to fuck you stupid?” Billie growled, her other hand sliding up her hoodie, her fingers pinching at your nipples in a way that made you gasp.

“You’re nothing but a little slut for me, and I’m gonna fuck you like one.” Her words hit you like a physical blow, and your whole body flushed with the weight of her command. You could feel yourself tightening under her touch, desperate for her, for her possession, for the way she made you feel like nothing outside of her mattered.

Billie stepped back, just for a moment, her eyes scanning you with dark amusement. “You’ve been teasing me all day, and now, you’re gonna pay for it,” she whispered, her voice low and dangerous. “Come here.” She grabbed your wrist again, pulling you toward the living room, her movements sharp and quick. You couldn’t stop yourself, not when she had you so worked up, so under her thumb.

When she threw you down on the couch, her gaze didn’t soften—it only grew darker. She stood over you for a moment, surveying you like a predator, her hands resting on her hips as she smirked down at you. “You’re mine. Don’t forget it.” Before you could say anything, she was on you again, this time less gentle, her hands finding the waistband of your pants with expert speed, yanking them down roughly, exposing your skin and pretty pink underwear to her hungry gaze.

She didn’t ask for permission, and didn’t need to. Billie’s hands roamed over your body, her grip firm and possessive, and she took a deep breath as if inhaling the very essence of you.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect for me,” she muttered, her lips finding your neck once more. Her teeth sank into your skin, marking you, claiming you. “No one else gets to touch you. No one but me, you understand?” You nodded, your breath quickening as her words sank in deeper, the way she was touching you making everything else fade away.

All that mattered now was Billie. Her touch, the way she made you feel like you were hers, and hers alone. “Good,” she whispered against your skin, her hands roaming even more boldly, pushing her hoodie past your chest and making it pool around your collarbones.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” she bit her lip, pinching and rolling your nipple with her thumb and index finger, “hm? You know how fucking pretty and cute you are don’t you? That’s why you were teasin’ me. You fuckin’ know.” she breathed out, leaning down and taking your nipple to her mouth, she looked up with lazy eyes, her pink tongue swirling and sucking your nipple.

“Bill— billie,” you whimper holding the back of her head and softly gripping her hair. Your back arching to press your breast further into her eager mouth.

“Yeah? Can’t even handle something so simple, fuck,” she sighed, looking down and seeing the large, obvious wet spot in your underwear. “Got so wet and I didn’t even do anything yet.” She smiled, rubbing softly with her thumb and pushing the damp fabric to the side, exposing your glistening cunt to her hungry eyes.

“Look at you, all ready for me,” Billie purred, her fingers teasing along your slit. “So eager, so desperate to be touched.”

She pushed a finger inside you, curling it just so, and you cried out, your hips bucking against her hand. “That’s it, baby. Give me those sweet sounds. Let me hear how much you want it.”

Billie added another finger, pumping them in and out, her thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure. “Fuck, you’re tight. I can’t wait to feel this cunt squeezing my dick.”

She picked up the pace, her fingers driving into you harder, faster, the wet squelch of your arousal filling the room. “You like that, hm baby? Like feeling me inside you, stretching you open?”

You could only moan in response, your body tensing as the pressure built inside you. Just as you felt yourself teetering on the brink, Billie withdrew her fingers, leaving you empty and aching.

“Not yet,” she tutted, a wicked grin on her face. “I’m not done playing with you. Need to hear you beg for it first.”

She dipped her head down, her tongue swiping over your clit, and you nearly screamed at the sudden sensation. “Please,” you gasped, fisting your hands in her hair. “Please, Billie, I need…”

“Need what?” she asked, her breath hot against your sensitive flesh. “Tell me what you need, and maybe I’ll give it to you.”

Billie’s fingers teased along your slit once more, barely dipping inside, just enough to drive you wild with need. “Tell me what you need,” she demanded, her voice low and commanding. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I need you,” you whimpered, arching your back, trying to press yourself further into her touch. “I need your fingers, your tongue, anything. Please, Billie, m’ so close.”

She chuckled darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. “So desperate. So needy for my touch.” Her fingers circled your clit, firm and relentless, pushing you closer to the edge. “Beg for it, baby. Beg for my fingers in your tight little cunt.”

“Please,” you moaned, your hips bucking against her hand. “Please, Billie, I need your fingers inside me. I need you to make me come. Please, please—I’ll do anything.”

“That’s more like it,” she purred, sliding two fingers back inside you, pumping them in and out at a maddeningly slow pace. “Such a good little slut, begging so prettily for me.”

She curled her fingers just right, hitting that spot that made your vision go white, and you cried out, your walls clenching around her digits. “Fuck, Billie! M’ gonna cum— can’t—”

She didn’t stop, her fingers driving into you harder, faster, the wet squelch of your arousal filling the room. “Come for me,” she commanded, her thumb pressing down on your clit. “Come on my fingers like the desperate little whore you are.”

And you did, your body convulsing as the orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of pleasure radiating through your core. You clenched around her fingers, your juices coating her hand as she worked you through it, drawing out every last bit of your pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” she cooed, her fingers still moving inside you, prolonging your climax. “Milk my fingers. Show me how much you needed that.”

You could only moan in response, your body trembling with the intensity of your orgasm. Billie’s fingers continued their relentless pace, drawing out your pleasure until you thought you couldn’t take anymore.

Finally, she withdrew her fingers, bringing them to her mouth and licking them clean. “Mmm, you taste so fucking good when you come,” she purred, her eyes dark with lust. “I could eat this pretty cunt all day.”

She moved down your body, settling between your legs, and you whimpered at the feeling of her hot breath on your sensitive flesh. “One more,” she promised, her tongue darting out to lap at your clit. “wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

She set to work, her mouth and fingers alternating between teasing and pleasuring, pushing you towards another climax. Your hands fisted in the sheets, your body arching off the bed as she drove you closer and closer to the edge.

“Billie, please,” you begged, your voice hoarse from crying out her name. “I need to come. Please— make me come.”

She hummed against your skin, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you. “Come for me, baby. Let go. I’ve got you.”

And with a final flick of her tongue, you did, your back bowing off the bed as the second orgasm ripped through you. Billie moaned, lapping up your release, prolonging your pleasure until you collapsed back onto the mattress, spent and sated.

She crawled up your body, pressing soft kisses along your neck and jaw. “Such a good girl,” she praised, her fingers carding through your hair. “so proud of you angel.”

You could only nod, too exhausted to form any coherent words. Billie chuckled, pressing one last kiss to your lips before climbing off the couch.

Billie smirked as she climbed off the couch, her fingers still glistening with your juices. “Wait here,” she mumbled.

She sauntered out of the living room, leaving you panting and aching for more. Your mind raced with possibilities of what she might return with - toys, restraints, who knows what else.

Minutes later, Billie reappeared, a mischievous glint in her eye. In her hand, she held a large, strap-on.

“On your hands and knees,” she commanded, her voice low and authoritative.

You scrambled to obey, assuming the position on the couch. Your heart raced with anticipation as you felt Billie’s presence behind you.

“Such a good little whore,” she purred, running the strap-on teasingly along your slit. “So eager to be filled, aren’t you?”

You whimpered and pushed back against the toy, desperate to feel it inside you. Billie chuckled darkly.

“Patience, I’m going to fuck this tight pussy so hard you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow.”

With that promise, she pressed forward, and positioned herself at your entrance, the thick head of the strap-on nudging insistently against your sensitive folds. With a single, powerful thrust, she sheathed herself fully inside you, your slick walls parting to accommodate her girth.

“Fuck yes,” Billie groaned, her hips grinding against yours as she hilted deep. “Love feeling this tight cunt swallowing my cock. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

She set a punishing pace, her thrusts hard and deep, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with your wanton moans and Billie’s grunts of exertion.

“Take it,” she commanded, her fingers digging into the meat of your thighs hard enough to bruise. “Take my fucking cock like the desperate whore you are. Milk it with this greedy little cunt.”

Your body was a livewire of sensation, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. You could feel your orgasm building, a tidal wave of ecstasy poised to crash over you at any moment.

“Billie,” you keened, your hands scrabbling at her sweat-slicked back. “Please, I’m so close. Make me come on your cock. Fill me up, please!”

“That’s it, baby,” she growled, her hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. “Come for me. Come all over my fucking dick.”

And with a few more well-angled thrusts, you did, your cunt clamping down on the strap as wave after wave of pleasure radiated through your core.

Billie carefully pulls out, her movements slow and gentle as she helps you settle back, her hands soothingly stroking your body. She leans down, her breath soft against your skin, whispering, “You did so good for me, baby.”

You’re still a little dazed, your eyes half-lidded as you look up at her, feeling the warmth of her touch and the aftershocks of everything slowly settling in your chest. Billie’s gaze softens as she notices the way you’re still processing, her hand resting lightly on your hip, a grounding presence.

“Just breathe, okay?” she murmurs, her voice low and comforting. Her fingers trace the curve of your jaw, pushing the strands of hair from your face, and she smiles softly as she sees how you melt into her touch.

She leans in, pressing a light kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering there for a moment. “I’ve got you, always. You’re safe with me.”

You nod, finally feeling the tension in your body ease as she holds you, her warmth enveloping you. Billie’s body is close, and she doesn’t let go of you, making sure you feel cared for and cherished. You rest your head against her chest, listening to her steady heartbeat, and feel the weight of her embrace ground you as the world slowly comes back into focus.

Billie smiles softly, her fingers gently brushing over your skin, lingering on the back of your neck. She takes a moment to study you, her eyes filled with affection as she notices the exhaustion settling in your features.

“How about a bath?” she asks, her voice tender like she’s offering you a moment of calm after everything. “I can run one for you, make sure you’re all clean and relaxed.”

You hum softly, the idea of sinking into warm water feels like the perfect way to unwind. Her hand moves to your waist, guiding you gently to sit up, and she stands beside you, already reaching for the blankets to pull them back.

“I’ll take care of you,” Billie promises, her gaze never leaving yours. She leans in and presses another kiss to your forehead, a reassurance of her care. “You deserve to feel good, baby.”

She helps you to your feet, her touch light yet steady, making sure you don’t feel rushed as she leads you toward the bathroom. The soft glow of the dim lights in the room and the sound of water running sets the mood—peaceful, quiet.

You sink deeper into the warmth of the bath, your body still humming from everything that just happened. You take a deep breath, your eyes closing for a moment as you let the heat wash over you.

“That was a lot,” you admit, your voice soft, still coming down from the intensity.

Billie, standing beside the tub, looks down at you with a small smile, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. She crouches down, brushing her hand over your hair, fingers tangling through the wet strands. “I know, baby,” she says, her voice tender, as if she understands exactly what you mean. “But you did so good.”

Without saying much more, Billie undresses quickly, and before you can blink, she’s stepping into the tub behind you. The water splashes around her as she settles in, almost instantly pulling you into her arms. Her presence is solid, grounding you in a calm way after everything.

She guides you to lean back against her chest, your head resting against her shoulder as she envelops you in her warmth. Her hands start running through your hair again, gentle and soothing. “I’ve got you,” she murmurs, her voice soft and calming. “We can just relax here for a while, okay? No rush.”

You let out a breath, the weight of everything finally beginning to melt away. Billie’s arms are around you, keeping you close, and her touch is reassuring and soft. She kisses the top of your head, her lips lingering there for a moment before she whispers, “Let go, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

Billie’s hands slide down your arms, her touch still gentle as she pulls you closer, her body pressed firmly against yours in the warm water. She stays silent for a moment, her breath steady, as if thinking over everything that happened.

After a beat, her voice breaks the quiet, soft but tinged with concern. “Was I too rough with you?” she asks, her tone unexpectedly vulnerable. “Too mean?”

You look up at her, meeting her eyes as she watches you carefully, her fingers now tracing delicate patterns on your skin. Her usual confidence is there, but there’s an underlying softness, a need for reassurance that surprises you.

“I just want to make sure I didn’t push you too far,” she adds, her voice almost hesitant, as if she’s testing the waters for your response.

You let out a small sigh, the warmth of the bath soothing you further, and shake your head. “No… it wasn’t like that,” you whisper, reaching up to touch her face, your fingertips grazing her cheek. “You were just… exactly what I needed.”

Billie’s eyes soften, the tension in her shoulders easing as she absorbs your words. She pulls you closer once more, her embrace wrapping around you like a cocoon, protective and caring.

“I just want to take care of you,” she murmurs, her voice low and sincere. “I’m here, always.”

taglist: @chrissv4mp, @billiesguitar, @ilovebillieeilish2000, @d14n4ol, @raspberrymacaroon, @eilishslut if your not a part of this list but want to be comment under my tag list post, which is on my masterlist.

b.e masterlist | m.b masterlist | taglist

#billie eilish x reader #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish imagine

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fairy-writes · 2 days ago

Note

Hi!! I saw that you write for Arcane and had a really cute idea for Vander. I don’t really see a lot of fics where you get to see Vander’s reactions to the reader either playing with the kids or comforting them, so I thought a fic centered around that might be cute? (I think also having a bit of slow burn would be sweet, like both Vander and the reader like each other but don’t do anything about it until getting a little push from the kids because they ship).

ONE LITTLE PUSH

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Bit of a Slowburn, Fluff, Getting Together, Reader is Smaller than Vander (but who isn’t?), Sibling Bickering

Notes: VANDER MY FAVORITE

(No, but seriously, contrary to popular belief, he’s my 1st favorite over Viktor)

JUST IN TIME (kind of) FOR SEASON TWO, LETS GOOOOO

__________________________________________________________________________

Vander wasn’t quite sure why you stuck around for so long.

In fact, he wasn’t sure why you stuck around in the first place.

But… As Vander watches you with the kids. His kids. He begins to understand why.

You were kind, unyieldingly so. Even as Mylo grew to start picking on Powder, even as they fought, you were kind and patient and offered them the unending gentle love they all so craved.

The love he couldn’t afford to give them because who could be gentle in the Undercity? Especially in the depths of the Lanes?

You could.

Vander was in the middle of pouring a drink when Powder tumbled into The Last Drop. She was covered in bruises and dust from something. Or someone. She barely met his gaze as she clambered to her feet and all but sprinted into the back where they all slept. Vander looked through the multitude of customers and spotted you.

You had obviously seen Powder go bolting, worry twisting your face as you glanced toward the bar and met his stare. You arched an eyebrow, and he shrugged. You rolled your eyes and sighed before smiling in jest and getting up from where you had been tinkering with the jukebox.

Vander finally manages to get away from his chatty clients and makes his way back into the back room nearly fifteen minutes later.

Only to pause by the door.

“—ylo hates me! He does, I swear!” Powder cries, and you hush her gently, dabbing what looks to be some of the antiseptic you have lying around on her cuts and bruises. Disinfectant was hard to come by, especially in the Lanes, but you were seemingly magic in the sense that you always knew who to talk to to get some. It seems you had worked your magic yet again.

“Did Mylo say that he hates you?” You ask gently, whispering a quiet “sorry” under your breath as she flinched with the sting of the antiseptic.

Powder pauses, thinking what had to be her earlier conversation over,

“Well… No…” She mumbles, and you hum,

“Can I give you my honest opinion?” You ask, and she stills, looking up at you with wide eyes before nodding.

“Aren’t you always honest with us?” She asks. You chuckle at that.

“I suppose I am. But I don’t think Mylo hates you. Does he find you a bit annoying? Maybe. But every big brother thinks that about their younger siblings. I know mine did.” You say, and Powder mulls your words over and over and over in her mind.

She always did overthink things.

“I didn't know you had a big brother.” She says eventually, and you let out a loud laugh at that.

“You are a silly girl for focusing on that. But yes, I came from a big family. And guess what? I was the baby of the family. Just. Like. You.” You say, emphasizing your words with a pinch to her side. Powder squeals with laughter and wriggles away to escape your dastardly tickling.

Vander hangs his head with a huff and a smile before turning to head back to the bar counter. He can hear your conversation continue as Powder escapes your grasp.

“Now, where did you get all these bruises from?”

“Um… Vi taught me parkour from Topside down…”

“Powder! You’re like seven!”

“Seven and a half! And she said I was ready!”

Ever since you began to stick around, you had become something of a parent figure to the four little children Vander had come into care for.

To Vi and Powder especially.

So when Mylo burst into The Last Drop with the words of a fistfight on his tongue, you were the first one out the door.

Vander was close behind.

Mylo led you and Vander deep into the Undercity. In fact, it was so far into the Undercity that Vander was worried they were getting into some dark territory.

Like… Really dark territory.

But soon enough, the sounds of a fight were heard, and soon after, you were deep in the throng of a multi-person fistfight. Everyone paused for a second when they saw you and then stopped altogether when they spotted Vander not far behind.

You began to pull people off and shoved them out of the way. You did this again and again, ducking under a few stray punches until you managed to unearth Vi.

She wasn’t looking too hot.

Her face was bruised and swollen, and the fifteen-year-old spat out a wad of blood as she bared her bloody teeth and prepared to fight again.

At least until she saw you.

It was as if the tension had been released from her shoulders.

She all but slumped into your grasp, and you stumbled back a step with the sudden weight. Vander yanked the last person away from you both and scooped up his adoptive daughter. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck and was obviously fighting back tears.

Mylo was hunched over, hands on his knees, and wheezed from all the sprinting.

“Vi? Violet, can you hear me?” You said as soon as you all returned to The Last Drop, and Vander set her down on the couch. Powder and Claggor had been found a block away, fighting off more thugs from whoever sent them after the literal children.

He would've pummeled them to a pulp if Vander hadn’t hung up his gauntlets years before.

Vi’s head lolled from side to side, and you shone a pocket flashlight into her eyes, watching as her pupils dilated and contracted. You were experienced at this, taking care of people, even more so than he thought.

Were you a doctor deep in your past?

As Vander thought about it, he realized he didn’t know practically anything about you. Your past, your likes, dislikes, he knew you were good with machines and medicine and that you came from a big family. But that was it.

And that hurt his heart.

You ended up ushering everyone out of the room while you worked on caring for Vi. Vander closed the bar early and was in the middle of putting chairs on tables when you emerged. Powder, Mylo, and Claggor dropped what they were doing. They scampered to your side, a chorus of “How’s Vi?” erupting from the kids. You offered them a tired smile and patted their heads.

“She’ll be okay. She’s resting right now. You can go in and see her if you’re quiet.”

And then it was the two of you.

Vander set the final chair on top of the table and meandered his way over where you were sitting at the bar, head in your hands.

You looked tired.

“Is she really okay?” He asked, and you grunted, rubbing at your temples.

“She has a broken nose, fractured left arm, some bruised ribs, and a concussion. Which, all things considered, she’s very lucky. It could’ve been a lot worse.” You say, and he sighs,

“Did she say why she got into the fight?” He replied, and you shrug,

“She was protecting Powder. Then, more people started showing up until it was an all-out brawl. That’s when we stepped in.” You say, and his shoulders sag.

Vi was going to be okay.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said it. But thank you. For everything you’ve done. Taking care of them and all that.” He says, and you just hum.

“You guys gave me a home after everything. I’m just repaying my debt. Well… that and I love those kids.” You say, and he arches an eyebrow,

“After everything?” He inquires, and you glance up sharply as if not realizing what you had said.

Eventually, your gaze casts downward, and you run a hand over your head and through your hair.

“I was a doctor in Piltover before the rebellion. I was caught trying to help the Undercity before they were officially citizens and cast out.” You say, and his arched eyebrow raises even higher.

“A doctor? Were you any good?” You bark out a dry laugh at that,

“One of the best!” Your voice cracks as you speak, and he feels his heart splinter into pieces.

Vander should’ve known that Claggor and Mylo were up to something when they came in with sneaky grins on their faces.

The Last Drop was all but desolate. It was the wee hours of the morning before the people of the Undercity awoke to begin their day. But the door was unlocked, and the kids were allowed to run in and out as they pleased.

Which they had been doing a lot in the last hour or so.

“Vander!” Mylor clamored for his adopted father’s attention, waving an excited hand as he scampered up to the counter. Claggor hung behind, ever the stoic young man. But there was mischief in their eyes and curling the corners of their mouths.

Vander slung the rag he used to wipe the counters down over his shoulder and leaned on the bar counter.

“What did you do now?” He teased, and Mylo all but squawked.

“When have I ever done anything?!” Vander just stared,

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He asked, and Claggor snickered at Mylo’s deflated expression. Mylo quickly spun on a heel and jabbed a finger at his adopted brother,

“Not a word outta you, Claggor!” He snapped before spinning back as something dawned on him.

“You gotta come with us!” He demanded, and Vander glanced between the two of them.

“Why?” He asked, and Mylo let out an exaggerated groan.

“No questions! Just come on!” He grabbed Vander’s hand and tried tugging him around the counter and toward the front door.

Vander relented, locking the door behind him as he followed the two boys.

Only to realize very quickly what was actually going on.

His first tip-off was hearing Powder and Vi’s voices, yours mixed in as you asked where you were going, why they were taking you, and what they were doing.

Vi answered no questions. Powder just chirped excitedly. “You’ll see! You’ll see!”

The six of you met in the middle of the street, Powder dragging you by your hand as you followed behind patiently. You glanced up from listening to Powder, and your gazes met. Vander felt his heart skip a beat as he took in your appearance. There wasn’t anything particularly new, but you looked like you had cleaned up some. Your hair was pinned neatly back, and your clothes looked ironed.

You looked… Really nice.

“Vander? What’s going on?” You asked, and Vi nudged you with her good arm. Her fractured left one was still healing carefully under your care.

“We’re setting you two up.” She teased, and you stared dumbly.

“Setting us up how?” You asked, and now it was Powder’s turn to blurt out an answer,

“On a date!”

Before the two of you could react, all four kids all but disappeared around the corner in a cloud of dust. Leaving you facing Vander and utterly alone.

It was safe to say he was panicking just a little bit.

“Vander? Do you have any idea what they meant?” You asked gently, and he scrubbed a hand down his face.

“My guess is they want us to go on a date.” He said, fully prepared to hear rejection. Because who would want to go on a date with him? A middle-aged man with a stained past. His lungs twisted as he heard you take a step closer.

A smaller hand slipped into his, and he looked down from where he had been staring at Topside.

Your eyes were lit up, not with disgust at the proposition he was proposing.

But they were filled with hope for the future this relationship would bring.

#vander x reader #vander x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #arcane league of legends #arcane: league of legends #arcane vander x reader #fairy writes

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mapis-putellas · 2 days ago

Text

𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 3600

Warning: none

Summary: You take Alexia on a surprise Christmas trip to Whistler, Canada. [Requested]

The trip to Whistler had been in the works for months, planned out with all the precision of one of your team's training sessions. The goal was simple: a cozy Christmas in the mountains, skiing by day and unwinding together by night. Alexia had been elated about it from the start. But as soon as the two of you stepped off the plane, her excitement collided with the reality of the freezing Canadian winter, and her enthusiasm took a slight hit. The two of you hadn't even gotten to the cabin yet, and she was already tugging her scarf tighter around her neck, teeth chattering and eyebrows furrowed as she tried to bury her face in her coat.

It was late when you arrived at the cabin, so after unpacking the essentials, you put together a quick dinner, each of you too tired to do more than eat quietly by the fire, savoring the warmth. Afterward, you both moved to the bathroom, Alexia looking comically miserable as she peeled off her layers of cold-weather clothing. She muttered something under her breath, half in Spanish and half in English, that was likely a complaint about the chill as you guided her into the warm spray of the shower. The exhaustion from the trip hit as soon as you got out, and the two of you collapsed into bed, Alexia curling up close as you held her, excitement for the next day's plans lingering between you even as sleep took over.

The next morning, you woke to find Alexia still fast asleep, barely stirring when you leaned down to kiss her cheek and whisper that it was time to get ready. She mumbled something unintelligible, eyes remaining stubbornly shut until you nudged her again, teasing her gently about her reluctance. Finally, she cracked an eye open, groaning as she dragged herself up to sit on the edge of the bed, her hair tousled and her face etched with sleepy reluctance.

"Here, baby." You hand her the coffee you'd made, and she takes it with a sleepy smile, bringing it to her lips with for a cautious sip. As she sat sipping her coffee, you started pulling layers out of her suitcase. One by one, you helped her bundle up: a thermal layer, a thick sweater, a puffy jacket, woolly socks, gloves. Even a woolly hat.

By the time you were done, she looked more like a marshmallow than the world-class footballer she was, bundled in layers of thermals, fleece, and down.

Alexia blinked, tugging at her gloves and shooting you an unamused look.

You grinned as you tugged Alexia's woolly hat down over her ears, admiring how cute she looked bundled up like this. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her lips formed an adorable pout.

"I look... silly," she grumbled, glancing down at herself and tugging awkwardly at the sleeves of her oversized coat.

You laughed, stepping closer to adjust her scarf. "No, you look adorable."

Alexia's pout deepened, and she raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Like... marshmallow. Fat marshmallow," she muttered, her accent thick, and a little frustration creeping into her voice.

"An adorable marshmallow," you insisted, leaning in to press a kiss to her nose. She huffed, her lips twitching as if fighting a smile, but she couldn't hide the slight blush that crept over her cheeks.

"Ridículo," she mumbled, shaking her head as she playfully nudged you. "You enjoy this too much."

"Maybe," you admitted, grinning as you pulled your own gloves on. "Alright, ready to go, my cute little marshmallow?"

She shot you a look, though her eyes sparkled with a mix of exasperation and affection. "I am not a marshmallow," she muttered under her breath as she followed you out into the snow, pulling her hat down a little lower.

The two of you started trudging through the snow toward the rental shop, but it quickly became clear that Alexia was struggling. She slipped slightly with each step, gripping onto your arm like her life depended on it, muttering to herself in Spanish.

"This... no easy," she complained, her fingers digging into your jacket as she tried to steady herself. "Snow is... dangerous."

"Dangerous?" you teased, glancing at her. "I think you just need more practice, Ale."

She gave you a mock glare. "In Spain, no snow, you know? This... es muy difícil."

You laughed, shaking your head as you half considered scooping her up to make faster progress. But before you could, she stumbled again, clinging to your arm even tighter and shooting you a pleading look.

"Carry me?" she asked, batting her lashes, clearly not entirely joking.

You chuckled. "I'd love to, but I think you'll need to practice walking if you want to ski later."

Alexia rolled her eyes, grumbling under her breath as she tried to keep her balance. By the time you reached the rental shop, there was already a line forming. Alexia shivered, cuddling close to you as you waited, her gloved hands tugging at your jacket.

Her nose, cold from the air, nudged against your neck, and you jolted slightly at the icy sensation. She giggled, her laugh muffled as she pressed closer, wrapping her arms around your waist.

"You're freezing, Ale," you muttered, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as you pulled her close.

"Warm me," she mumbled, her voice low and half-hidden by your coat.

You rolled your eyes playfully, giving her a squeeze. "Just wait until we're actually skiing, baby. This is nothing compared to that."

She huffed, burying her face against your shoulder as you both shuffled forward in line. Alexia stayed pressed against you, eyes watching the skiers outside with something between curiosity and dread.

When it was finally your turn, you collected your skis and poles and started to help her secure her boots to the bindings. Alexia struggled to snap her boots into place, muttering a string of soft curses under her breath in Spanish as she fiddled with the straps.

"This is... estúpido," she muttered, looking up at you with a frown. "Does not... want to fit."

You knelt down, smiling as you adjusted the bindings and helped her snap her boots in place. "There. All good now," you said, pressing a kiss to her forehead to soften her frustration.

She sighed, her frown melting a bit as she looked at you, a hint of her pout still lingering. "Thank you. But... this still looks... hard."

"It's just going to take a little getting used to. We'll start easy." You handed her the ski poles, laughing softly as she stared at them like they were foreign objects.

She raised an eyebrow. "And... what is this?" she asked, holding the poles awkwardly. "I... I only see people do this on TV."

You smirked, trying not to laugh. "Those are your ski poles, Ale. They're for balance."

She made a face but didn't argue, clearly not sold on this idea. You reached out to guide her toward the beginner slope, explaining as you went. "We'll start on the bunny hill. It's for beginners."

"Bunny hill?" she repeated, looking at you skeptically. "Like... animal?"

You couldn't help but grin. "Yes, but here it means a small, easy hill for people just starting out."

Alexia didn't look convinced, glancing over at the slight incline. She let out a small sigh, clearly trying to come to terms with the fact that her first attempt would be on the easiest slope there was. But she didn't protest, just nodded, and gave you a resigned look.

"Fine. But no laughing if I... fall," she warned, her eyes narrowing.

"I would never," you promised, though the twinkle in your eye said otherwise.

She let out a huff, shaking her head. "Liar. You will laugh, I know you."

With a smile, you pulled her close for a quick kiss. "I'll try to keep a straight face," you said, fighting back a laugh.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling a little. "Mentirosa," she muttered, but her voice was soft, affectionate.

With one last reluctant sigh, Alexia gripped her poles tightly, her eyes darting over to the bunny hill with a mixture of determination and trepidation. You walked side by side, ready for whatever mishaps were about to unfold.

The two of you spent most of the day on the bunny hill, enjoying the quietness of the snowy landscape and each other's company. Alexia tried her hardest to keep up, but it was clear skiing wasn't in her wheelhouse. And, much as you tried to stifle it, you couldn't help but laugh every time she lost her balance and fell on her backside, letting out quiet curses in Spanish as she tried to pull herself up. You held out a hand to her each time, grinning as she took it with an exaggerated sigh, always muttering something unintelligible under her breath. Despite her frustration, you could tell she was still having fun, the sparkle in her eyes more than enough proof of that.

After a while, the two of you trudged back up the small slope for what felt like the tenth time that morning. Alexia stopped at the top and, with a huff, stabbed her ski poles into the snow. Without warning, she stumbled forward, collapsing into your arms with a dramatic sigh. Immediately, you wrapped your own arms around her, chuckling as you pressed a gentle kiss to her woolly hat, feeling the soft texture against your lips.

"You okay?" you asked, your voice laced with affection as you held her close.

Alexia nodded, though you could feel her shivering slightly against you. Her hands slowly moved around your waist, finding their way behind your back as she shifted closer. You sighed, thinking she was simply getting comfortable—until, out of nowhere, her cold, bare hands slipped under the layers of your coat, pressing directly against your warm skin. The sudden shock made you gasp, your body arching away instinctively as the freezing sensation seeped into you.

"Alexia!" you cursed, trying to pull away, but her arms held you firmly in place, her giggles echoing in your ear as she buried her head into your shoulder, clearly relishing your reaction. "Are you trying to freeze me to death?"

Her laugh was muffled against your neck, her shoulders shaking as she tightened her hold, her cold hands sliding even further up your back, sending chills up your spine. "Is warm here," she murmured, her accent soft and adorable even as she continued her playful torture.

"Oh, you're impossible!" you groaned, squirming as she wiggled her fingers against your skin, making you shiver from the icy touch. She giggled again, tilting her head to nuzzle her freezing cold nose into the side of your neck, and you let out a sharp gasp, torn between laughing and cursing as the chill made you instinctively huddle closer to her. "Seriously, Alexia, you're going to give me frostbite!"

"Is nice," she whispered, her voice laced with mischief as she continued to press herself against you, her cold hands roaming along your back, seeming to take every opportunity to spread the chill. Her head tucked deeper into the crook of your neck, her cold nose brushing against your skin as she let out a contented hum, completely ignoring your protests.

After a minute of her relentless antics, you finally mustered the strength to bat her hands away, catching them in your own as you took a step back, shivering from the cold that still lingered on your skin. You turned around to see the gloves she'd dropped earlier lying in the snow, and you quickly reached down to grab them, shaking your head as you held them out to her.

Alexia had a pout on her face when you turned back around, her expression a mix of disappointment and playful indignation. Her lower lip jutted out slightly, and her eyes narrowed as she looked down at the gloves in your hands, clearly unhappy that her fun had come to an end.

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed her hands, tugging them forward as you slipped the gloves back on, muttering under your breath, "You're nothing but trouble, you know that?"

She giggled, giving you a look of innocent defiance as she wiggled her now-gloved fingers in your hold. "Me? Trouble?" she replied, her accent thick as she batted her eyelashes at you, doing her best to look as angelic as possible.

"Yes, trouble," you huffed, tightening the gloves on her hands with a smirk. "And now that your hands are warm, no more sneaking them under my coat, got it?"

Alexia's pout deepened, her shoulders slumping slightly as she looked down at her gloved hands, clearly disappointed. "But is warm," she whined softly, her gaze flicking up to meet yours, a hint of mischief still sparkling in her eyes.

You let out a playful scoff, crossing your arms as you raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't care how warm it is, your hands were like icicles!" You shook your head, giving her a gentle nudge as you added, "You're lucky I didn't push you back down the hill."

She laughed, her giggles filling the air as she leaned in closer, reaching up to tug gently on the collar of your coat, her smile softening as she looked up at you. "I don’t mind," she murmured, her gaze warm despite the cold around you.

You felt your heart soften at her words, her playful charm as endearing as ever. Smiling, you leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose, watching as her eyes widened in surprise before her cheeks flushed, a faint pink that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Come on, trouble," you whispered, squeezing her hand as you turned to guide her back down the hill. "Let's get you warmed up for real this time."

As you and Alexia headed back to the cabin, a mischievous idea began to form in your mind. She was walking a bit ahead of you, bundled up and focused on keeping herself steady in the thick snow. It was the perfect opportunity.

You bent down, scooped up a handful of soft, powdery snow, and quickly shoved it down the back of her jacket. Her reaction was instant. A loud gasp escaped her as she shrieked, twisting and squirming, trying to shake the snow out. "Ay!" she yelped, hopping from foot to foot. Her hands flew to her back, frantically brushing at her jacket in a futile attempt to get rid of the snow as it melted against her skin.

You couldn't help it—watching her wriggle around like that had you laughing so hard tears filled your eyes. Her face twisted in mock outrage, eyes wide as she stared at you in shock.

"Oh no... you didn't," she said, her accent thick and her expression one of complete betrayal.

You could barely manage to get a word out between laughs. "I—I did! Payback for those cold hands earlier."

But to your surprise, she didn't attempt to get you back. Instead, Alexia gave you a look so full of hurt, bottom lip quivering ever-so-slightly, that you felt a pang of guilt despite yourself.

"Oh no, oh no, don't do that," you stammered, dropping your handful of snow and hurrying toward her, arms outstretched to pull her close.

Alexia shivered as she clung to you, still giving you that wide-eyed look of betrayal as she buried her head into your shoulder, sniffling dramatically. "Es... so cold," she whispered, clutching you even tighter, the snow in her jacket now melting against her skin. She was practically trembling as you held her, and you realized you might have overdone it a bit.

"Come on, let's get you inside," you said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as you quickly guided her toward the warmth of the cabin.

Once inside, you immediately set about helping her peel off the snow-soaked layers. Her jacket came off first, and then her scarf and gloves, her damp hair clinging to her face. She looked like she'd just trekked through a snowstorm. You felt a pang of guilt seeing her like that, her teeth chattering slightly as she shivered in her damp shirt.

"Sorry, love, I didn't mean for it to be this bad," you murmured, brushing a few damp strands of hair from her forehead.

She didn't answer right away, just looked at you with those big, puppy-dog eyes and a still-pouting expression. "You... are cruel," she muttered in her thick accent, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Let me make it up to you," you replied, quickly pulling off your own jacket and scarf. You grabbed the hoodie you'd left discarded on the couch last night and stepped toward her, gesturing for her to lift her arms. She obeyed, still giving you a half-hearted pout as you pulled her damp shirt over her head and tossed it aside.

Once her shirt was off, you slipped the hoodie over her head, guiding her arms through the sleeves and tugging it down to cover her properly. She looked adorable, swimming in your oversized hoodie, her face still showing signs of a pout, though she looked a bit less disgruntled now that she was warming up.

"There we go," you murmured, giving her a soft smile. "All better now?"

She didn't answer immediately, just crossed her arms and looked at you, still pouting. Without saying anything, you made your way over to the couch, settling down with your head resting against the armrest. You looked at her and opened your arms invitingly, a grin tugging at your lips.

Alexia's pout vanished, replaced by a barely concealed smile as she eagerly scrambled onto the couch, laying herself down completely on top of you, her head finding its favorite spot against your chest. You wrapped your arms around her tightly, holding her close, feeling the weight and warmth of her body sink into you.

"You're a big baby, you know that?" you whispered, chuckling softly as she adjusted herself, making herself comfortable.

"Sí, but... you love me," she murmured in reply, her hands sneaking under your shirt once more, only this time between you and the couch, pressed against the bare skin of your back. They were still ice-cold, and you couldn't help the shiver that ran through you as her cold fingers settled there.

"You're trying to freeze me alive, aren't you?" you muttered, half-joking as you tightened your hold on her.

She giggled, lifting her head slightly to look at you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Maybe... a little," she admitted, nestling her head back against your chest, her nose cold as she pressed it against the side of your neck. You could feel her breath, still a little chilled, against your skin.

"Why are your hands still so cold?" you asked, laughing softly as you ran a hand up and down her back, trying to warm her up. "You're going to freeze both of us if you keep this up."

She gave a soft, sleepy hum as she nuzzled even closer, her weight pressing down on you comfortably. "I like your warm," she mumbled, her accent thickening as she relaxed more. Her voice was quieter now, tinged with a hint of drowsiness. You could tell she was finally warming up, her breathing slowing as she settled against you, her head tucked into the crook of your neck.

"Fine, you win," you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "But no more cold hands on bare skin, okay?”

At that, she immediately lifted her head, looking at you with wide, sad eyes, her lower lip jutting out in a pout that was as adorable as it was ridiculous. "No... cold hands?" she repeated, clearly not pleased with this new rule.

"Yep, that's the rule," you replied, struggling to hold back a laugh at her expression. "No more freezing me."

Her pout deepened, and she leaned in closer, her face mere inches from yours as she stared at you, her brown eyes wide and pleading. "But... I like your warm," she said, her voice soft, her lips quivering slightly as she tried her best to convince you to change your mind.

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head as you reached up to gently cup her face. "Alright, alright... but only if you promise to give me fair warning next time. No more surprise attacks, okay?"

A bright grin spread across her face, and she nodded enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she snuggled back down against your chest, arms wrapping around you once more. "I promise," she whispered, her voice muffled as she buried her face against your shoulder, her cold nose pressed against your skin again.

You sighed, letting out a soft chuckle as you held her close, feeling the last traces of cold finally start to fade as her breathing slowed, her body relaxing completely against you. It wasn't long before you felt her weight grow heavier, her soft breaths becoming steady and even as she drifted off to sleep, her face still nestled against your neck.

You ran a hand gently up and down her back, tracing slow, soothing circles as you held her, savoring the warmth and comfort of her presence. Even with the cold hands and dramatic pouts, you wouldn't trade moments like this for anything.

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inkskinned · 23 hours ago

Text

i haven't been back to CT since the accident.

which is to say I hate driving in CT, every time i have to go through it to get to NYC i spend the whole time holding my breath and hoping nobody acts stupid. there are exactly 2 things in CT worth preserving: rein's deli and the mystic seaport museum - and that second one only because my grandpa loved that shit.

now, i am not particularly familiar with the specifics but it just feels like CT is not an appropriate place for a christmas tree farm. when i got The Call, Roger on the other line called it "your standard CTF" and i had to say my what and he said "you've never heard that? CTF? christmas tree farm? CTF? - or haha, if you're woke, maybe holiday farm? haha".

i hung up after that for like 12 minutes just to take a deep breath and do a 10-minute meditation so i don't peak my blood pressure. and then i said sorry my phone died and ignored him talking while i googled. oregon has the highest number of CTFs per state. most firs and standard christmas trees are in zones 4-7 and CT is mostly a 6 state, so actually maybe i was just being biased against CT when i assumed you simply can't grow the spirit of christmas down there.

i like the name balsam fir and i keep repeating it to myself. i didn't know there were so many species of christmas trees. meanwhile Roger is still talking a mile a minute. "you don't gotta come in with force but really stick it to 'em. that's what Kevin and Herb taught me - none of that nice-guy stuff, okay? we're talking quick-and-easy. get in, hand 'em the folder, get out. it's efficiency that's the matter here."

i tune him out and then eventually get the pleasure of hanging up.

I only really work for this stupid place because i need insurance for my fucking laundry list of chronic "hysterical woman" issues (EDS, POTS, PCOS. probably something else with a fun acronym, why not). i fucking hate it here, except that it's actually been, like... fine? since the top 6 account managers kind of (i guess) disappeared - including my 2 bosses, Kevin and Herb.

most of us are just like, still doing our job. we still have meetings. there's less weird jokes. the meetings are much shorter. we just present our stuff and go home. so imagine how i fucking feel getting in my stupid honda civic and driving the 3 hours down from boston to bum-fuck just to... check on the boys.

i grew up on a farm, so im not too surprised when the road suddenly turns from "gravel" to "makeshift" to "shut the gps off, it's just confused at this point." no worries. a guy in a torn flannel drew a picture for me at the last gas station. he had leaned over and sniffed a little while sipping his Dunks. they got good trees.

they do. after a little white picket fence, suddenly the entire road is swarmed by them. firs on all sides like a coat. red twine marks off alleys of pine; cute little bows shine on the top of many. bells and white plastic deer and each branch dusted with glittering pristine snow. ornaments and little santas peeking out of present boxes.

i lean over the steering wheel and glance upwards. "aw shit. it's fucking cute here." in my passenger's seat, TERMINATION OF ACCOUNT is a red folder. i don't feel fucking good about this. i don't want to fucking do this. there's a freaking hand-painted sign saying family-owned! with handprints on it and tiny little names scrawled under it. jesus christ(mas). i'm 1000% going to hell for doing this.

on the other hand, Jen was one of the 6. like, losing the men was fine. but it is weird that jen never came back last month. i'm like, too feminist to feel okay with that. obviously yes quit your job and walk out but like - she had a life before she left. apartment and everything it sounds like.

i give up trying to bump my car over the potholes and end up walking the last 1.2 miles. it's been getting warmer these years, which i hate - but it's a lot colder here than i expected. the weather app said 54F. it feels maybe 21. the smell of snow warns me before i glance upwards - sure enough, decadent fresh flakes come tumbling down.

aw fuck. if it was gonna snow i should have put my windshield wipers up. i nestle closer into my jacket and pointlessly check my out-of-service phone for the 125th time. i realize only now i fucking forgot the folder in the fucking car.

the little house-barn-store is too close and i'm too cold at this point, so fine. the whole thing is covered in warm white lights and cute decorations. old christmas music is coming out of speakers placed at the end of the tree aisles.

i practice what i'm going to say. hi. i'm with Herrington Asset Management. we have sent, like. a lot of representatives. what did you do with the 6 entire human beings that came down here.

wait, why am i just now realizing our acronym is HAM? okay, so i'm going to say -

a man with a bright smile and a red flannel comes out from behind a work shed, wiping his hands on a rag. he's pretty, the way men can be pretty sometimes: rugged and approachable, blue eyes, 5'oclock shadow. he fills out that flannel well. "didn't hear ya come in, my apologies! what can i do ya for?"

i'm with HAM and I'm here to shut down your CTF. "hi."

"hi." he smiles wider. "welcome."

"um..." i sniff a little, feeling stupid. i keep thinking about my parents and how fucking hard it actually is to keep a farm. like, they say it a lot in movies, but it's genuinely like really very hard. fucking A, man. I don't want to do this.

he squints at me. "you from around here?"

i try not to bristle - is that because i'm fucking hispanic and allowed outdoors in CT - and suck in a breath. "no, i, um..." i decide to tell the truth. "a guy at cumby's told me where to find ya."

he laughs, and the sound is a sonic boom in the stillness. "that'd be Ron. he's a looker, huh? no, i recognize all our regulars, is all. don't recognize you."

HAM is located in Jersey and i work remote, so i take a second pass at radical honesty. my yoga teacher would be so proud. "i'm from boston, actually. just swinging through."

"oh? for real? laurel's from boston - she's my fiancée. how 'bout that. small world. can you believe - she left the big city for a dunce like me and now i get to marry the best lady around."

i do the little appropriate chuckle you are supposed to do when someone you don't know is also from the same major metropolitan area that you are from. also, that's extremely sweet to say about his partner. i am a sucker for wife-guys. "no kidding?"

"how are you liking conneticut? it's beautiful this time of year."

"it's..." fine? "more snow than i expected. weather said clear through 'til like thursday."

he offers me a warm hand. "i'm nick. what brings ya down here?"

i can't remember the name on the account. maybe it's in her name. and didn't i just say i was passing through? i flash him a smile while i think of the easiest way to warm him into the idea of shutting down his personal business. fuck. "um, just had some stuff to handle."

"that time of year, huh?" at my noncommittal smile, he waves a big, meaty paw. "come inside, i'll getcha some hot chocolate. laurel just made cookies."

he leads me into the store part of the building, and i stop for a second to pick up a tiny ornament shaped like a cottage. okay, this shit really is very cute.

"christmas really is the best holiday of all of 'em," he sighs. "wouldn't you agree?"

no, that's halloween. "sure," i say. i hold up the ornament. "this is nice." i glance around. "this is all... very rustic."

"sometimes you gotta just hit the brakes and slow down. this town is so perfect for that. places like this are so rare, ya know?"

oh i really fucking hope he doesn't know i'm from HAM. literally that would be such a vibe killer. "very rare," i agree.

i follow him into the back. i pause at the green velvet-rope stanchion that blocks off a hallway presumably leading into the "house" portion of the building. "oh. i can stay out here...?" because i am not going into this man's house. alone.

"don't be silly." he wraps his arm around mine like a gentleman and i almost scratch his damn eyes out, except i'm genuinely so fucking shocked by the boldness of the action that i just sort of follow him down the hallway. "i won't letcha leave without a cookie."

he walks me into a simply stunning kitchen. the ceiling skyrockets into a beautiful, tinseled roof. the living room folds out to the left of the kitchen island. a fire is roaring, and a massive christmas tree winks cheerily at me. outside the huge windows, the snow peacefully rests in perfect layers.

well, there's part of their money problems. they need better insulation because paying for heat in a building with this many windows has got to cost an arm and a leg. nevermind how much dust must collect on those exposed beams. why do people design houses like this - have they never cleaned?

also, they need to stop spending half their budget on christmas decorations. surely not every surface needs to be frosted with pottery barn items. it is dangerously close to a modernized cracker barrel in here. i wander into the living room, trying not to be jealous of the casual wealth.

nick stands next to me and chuckles. "this kinda weather always makes me want cookies. but that's what laurel's here for, i guess."

"you have a pretty place," i say, because i am clearly staring.

"oh, i don't know. needed a woman's touch." he winks at me and goes behind the granite kitchen island to wash his hands. "you shoulda seen it before laurel."

"oh yeah?"

he nods. "had some money troubles. 'course, she is an angel and organized a whole fundraiser. mind you - she's only been here but a second when she does. i proposed to her right then and there."

i can't help it. i genuinely fucking love that. "that is incredible," i say. "how precious to find love like that."

"she's my answer to all life's problems. truly."

"honey?" a warm voice greets us and a lady comes around the corner, one hand in an oven mitt. "do we have a customer?"

i stop moving.

her hair is darker now. her smile is wider. something opens a pit in my stomach and i fall through myself. i put my hand on my stupid useless phone and take a step backwards.

"oh!" her white teeth shine. "hi there. you're not from around here, are you?" she picks up a tray of cookies. "i recognize all our regulars."

the man laughs. "rob is tellin' on us again." she laughs too, tinkly and high and beautiful.

of course she doesn't recognize me, we're remote and don't work on the same accounts, i was never high up enough -

nick gives her a little slap on the back that makes her stumble. she laughs and wipes a little bit of flour on his nose affectionately.

maybe i'm not being fair. she could have legitimately found love and dropped out of our shitty job. he wraps his arms all the way around her and buries his nose in her hair. "my girl," he says.

"i'm laurel," she smiles at me. "i'm his fiancee. come inside, let me getcha some hot chocolate."

he picks up a cookie from the counter and waves at me. "i'm gonna go whack on a tractor for a few minutes, but i'll leave you in the capable hands of my beautiful christmas girl," he promises. "warm up, and then let's go back out there and pick you out something nice."

i force a smile at him and at her and watch him leave. i do not move. i stay perfectly still, like an animal. because here's the thing: her name isn't laurel.

maybe she's conning him?

i stare at her. she doesn't seem to notice, instead taking a bag of white icing out of the large, beautiful fridge. "how are you liking conneticut? isn't it beautiful this time of year?"

"jen, what the fuck is happening."

she arranges a single gingerbread man on her countertop and starts icing him. "how are you liking conneticut?" she repeats. "isn't it -"

"it's beautiful this time of year," i say.

"christmas is the best holiday of all," she sighs, "wouldn't you agree?"

"sure," i say. i put the phone in my pocket. i stand up straighter. "i am really just..." going to leave now. maybe i should try subtlety. "don't i know you from somewhere?" like, ya know, work?

the cookie is too hot and the icing is melting as she draws the outlines on the gingerbread. a bead of sweat trickles down her nose. "i'm from the big city," she says. "but now i am going to be married to the best man around. i'm his beautiful christmas girl."

"right, but which big city?"

"i'm from the big city. how are you liking conneticut?"

there is ice in my gut. i am getting the pure, foreboding sense of fuck that which i am pretty sure is genetically engineered in me. in spanish we call it espookies. i try to make it look casual while i walk closer and closer to the exit. i pretend to look at the decorations closely. "i'm just wondering because your partner said you're from boston?"

she laughs. the cookie icing is pooling on the counter. "sometimes you gotta just hit the brakes and slow down. this town is so perfect for that. places like this are so rare, wouldn't you agree?" she pushes the gingerbread to the side and starts working on the next one.

it's hot in here, i realize. too-hot. sweat licks down my back. i watch it slide down her neck, down her arms.

she outlines a melting gingerbread man. "what brings you down here?"

"i had..." i feel my voice crack. the hallway back into the store is within a few steps at this point. "...some stuff to handle."

"that t-"

"that time of year," i finish for her.

she stares at me. the icing has burst out of the bag and is melting down her wrists and over her apron. "doesn't this weather make you want cookies?"

i put one heel into the hallway, trying to back up as subtly as possible.

she looks up at me. icing melts over the counter. "doesn't the weather make you want cookies?"

i'm so close to making a bolt for it. but when i look at her and the icing and her perfectly applied lipstick i just fucking can't. my heart breaks for her. i need to at least fucking try.

"jen - laurel - whatever," i hiss. "i don't know what fucking happened but - we need to fucking leave." i glance behind me. "jen, this isn't fucking okay. whatever he's doing to you - we can get out of here. call the cops. something."

"it's beautiful this time of year."

"jen. come on girl, i will put you in my fucking car. but we got to go. i don't know if it's like a cult thing or -" i hork down a breath and feel dangerously close to crying. "please."

"doesn't the weather make you want cookies? that's what i'm here for!"

i take another step backwards and a hand comes down on my shoulder. when i jump, nick is back, and laughing.

"sorry about that." tucked under one arm is a huge ax. nick wipes his hands on a rag. "low on oil. you get a cookie from the missus? that's what she's -"

"balsam fir," i blurt. "i'm looking for a balsam fir."

he puts the axe over one shoulder. "oh? i love balsam. good choice. didn't expect a city slicker like you to know much about christmas trees." he lets out a laugh and so does she.

sweat is beading down my back. "i grew up on a farm," i feel my voice come out creaky and high.

he laughs again. "when you came in, i thought - this lady is corporate. you know how we take to that."

"money troubles," jen says from the kitchen. "we had money troubles."

my lips feel dry. i manage to slide by him, closer to the store. i force a watery smile. "oh. no, sir."

"they come in with a folder, talking about our CTF. i said i've been doing this for years."

my heart is slamming against my chest. i take another step down the hallway. i throw a look to jen.

she opens the oven and sticks her head inside.

"you know," nick says. "the firs are out by where you left your car."

i didn't tell him where i left my car. "oh, great." i say. "must be a sign." i take another step. and then another. i feel the weight of the velvet rope behind me and jump a second time.

"from the big city" jen says, her voice muffled by the oven. "how are you liking conneticut? this place needed a woman's touch."

at the other end of the long hallway, Nick swings the axe to come home in his hands. "it needs a woman's touch," he says.

yeah, absofuckinglutely not.

i turn and bolt, wiggling past the rope, stumbling into the many, many ornament displays. above me, white christmas rings out while i run-walk through wreaths and bobbles and reindeer. tears prick at the side of my eyes but being raised on a farm teaches you the professional art of being incredibly good at a panicked run-walk.

behind me, i hear nick pacing the store. the rope must have slowed him down. he's bigger than i am - he doesn't weave through things as easily. thank god.

i throw myself against the front doors and burst out into the chill and immediately feel a cough in my chest. the snow whips through the air. i dash past handmade right this way to holiday cheer! signs and tinsel. behind me, like a ghost, nick stomps his way ever-closer. i dart into the thickest part of the trees, hoping he will lose me in the snow and branches.

"you're from boston, right?" he shouts. "my ex was from boston. small world."

i dart across the wet snow and almost slide on the black ice underfoot. fuck fuck fuck fuck i cannot run a fucking mile in the cold. see above multiple chronic reasons for this. my bones and joints are already fucking hurting as i try to shimmy my way through the boughs, alternatively running and hiding. if i survive this, i wont be able to move for like a week.

if. good fucking lord. if.

"it's a nice place," he calls. i can't locate him in the whip of the snow. "it just needs a woman's touch."

thankfuckinggod im used to snow and blizzards because otherwise i would be utterly fucked. i try to keep any amount of calm in my body while i manage the slide-waddle of running on black ice - the backwards lean and body-tilt that i've practiced many times over farmland. the kind of tilt-run that is only possible if you've done it before. thankfuckinggod i'm not a city slicker - the trick isn't to rush.

but fuck it would be nice to rush right now!

over the speakers, white christmas restarts. i fork my keys through my fingers into a sharpened fist. i pause only for a second to pick up a particularly swingable gnome and then i keep fucking running. my chest feels like liquid fire. i can't stop coughing. christmas trees rise up on all sides of me. i can't get a breath down. the air feels like a fire hose. every step i take fucking echoes. go go go go go go.

i dart, he laughs, i freeze. i dash my way forwards. a branch cuts into my cheek. my nose is full of the smell of pine. my hands are sticky with sap and i'm covered in green needles.

i keep going. if i fucking die on a christmas tree farm i hope i poison all of the trees and end christmas. i run and hide and run and hide. i have no idea where that fucker is but i am not going to be caught relaxing for a moment.

my knee makes a particularly sharp turn and i know for a fact i've just done some serious damage. i slap my hand down onto it and hide inside the branches a particularly thick tree, trying to catch my breath for a second.

a family owned! sign winks up at me. the little handprints are the names of children, but the big ones say Steve and Piper. the date on it is from this year.

i simply do not have the time to care about that. i shiver through several calming breaths, trying to force my body back into running. i stumble into a clearing and recognize it as the road i took in.

something loud and banging starts and i know in my bones it's the sounds of a tractor starting up.

my heart drops and i seriously think about just laying down on the ground and letting him run me over.

except there is my car, blanketed peacefully in a white layer. i should have put the fucking windshield wipers up.

what-the-fuck-ever. my hands are shaking too much. i just need to get inside the fucking thing and go. i will ruin my suspension but i will take every pothole dead on if i must.

the tractor lights slice through the blizzard, heading right towards my car. it bounces jovially over the snow and potholes, unhindered.

nick is on the back of it, swinging his axe, laughing.

over the hum of his engine he calls: "how are you liking conneticut?"

Sending my most reliable corporate staffer to Connecticut to shut down a Christmas tree farm. Wish me luck

#spilled ink #warm up #she gets out safely btw #im the author and i decided that #this somewhat informed by 1. i love those movies #2. just something to take my mind off things rn #like i said i had a few people die in my life recently so it's been. ruff #3. i just think if ur any type of person who does any real thinking #u should get to live thru these scenarios #like she figures it out as being creepy EARLY and just plays along to get the fuck out #we love that for her #bc i hate when in movies it's like. GIRL HE GOT AN AXE? LEAVE??????????????????????#(the wife intentionally pretty much only speaks in his words btw.)#(that's how the main character recognizes there's something fucked.)

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