#it's not even that he's *cold* bc i think he runs hot but he's colder than *usual*

[willowser]

aw winter being the time of year katsuki doesn't want to get out of bed without you 🥺 you've grown used to waking up in the morning when he leaves, and then waking up a few hours later in an empty bed—but during this season, you wake up with him curled around your back, leg between yours, face buried in your neck below the blanket. like fully encapsulating you and trying to roast you both alive 🥺

[charnelhouse]

I feel like Joel would be best at ‘you almost got yourself killed and I’m so angry at you but I love you also’ fucking

A/N: Joel Miller x F!Reader. Lack of CPR knowledge. Smut. Hypothermia. I used this gif bc he looks really fucking hot ok

Joel dreams of you often. He doesn’t tell you this, refuses to admit it as if the confession of dreams would somehow weaken his defenses. In the foggy, wooly vortex of sleep, he sees you:

Dead.

Broken.

Covered in spores. 

It irritates him. He has learned the brutal, ragged details of loss and having nightmares about the girl he’s fucking is not good. It means that some tiny unconscious piece of him fears for you-to lose you would sting. It is a chip in his armor. A weakness. 

He lies in his makeshift bed as he stares up at a ceiling speckled with moss and water damage. You’re curled against him, bare ass snug against his thigh. He takes deep pulls from a bottle of dust and whiskey. Between his legs, his cock is soft and damp from fucking you into the mattress. His back smarts from your nails and he doesn’t understand how their sex is so aggressive and yet he finds you in his head afterward. He’s fucked countless people. Never cared. It’s his psyche that worries about you when it should be flat, pulse-less and numb in the dark. 

His gaze slides to you sleeping beside him. Your face is buried in the sweatshirt serving as a pillow, your mouth parted around steady, even breathing. Swamped in moonlight, you’re beautiful—the kind of beauty that would get you killed or worse out there. That’s why I keep, right? Some leftover smugness at having someone like you with someone like me?

He leans over your body, the bottle swishing its dregs of old whisky. With gentle fingers, he maneuvers your hair away from your face, he touches your lower lip before abruptly pulling away. 

Not good. 

***

Being who he is, Joel keeps fucking you. He tries to be a little meaner—colder—but he’s not man enough to release you in order to find someone less complicated to warm his bed.  

You stick by him like a barnacle. A very pearly one. Smooth and shiny. 

“We have things to do,” he declares one morning, the slip of red dawn drifting over your skin from the narrow window. 

“Alright,” you murmur as you roll out of bed and shove on your jeans. 

You don’t complain or whine, which he hates. He’d love for you to backtalk him. He’d die for an ounce of sass or bitchiness, but you’re too fucking smart for that. You know what it costs. You know that he’ll use it against you and then chastise you for wastin’ time because this is what they do now. This is how the world works. 

Someone took something from us and I intend to get it back.

Us. 

When did it become us? 

Fuck.

***

They follow the road at the edge of the forest. The woods stink of loam–sweet and dark. The first snow has powdered the ground.

The cold is wicked, binding his limbs together and reminding him of his age. He’s not really that old. It’s only been eight years since the outbreak (his birthday). 

“I hate winter,” you grumble, the subtle evidence of your frustration that you’ve been forced out here to begin with. Most of the time, he thinks he should keep you at his place when he runs these missions, but he’s decided that you’re safer with him. He doesn’t miss the way the creepy old fucks look at you and there’s no such thing as locks. Not now. Not here.

“Fuck!” you yelp and Joel hears your boots skid, knee cracking on asphalt. “Shit. Shitt.”

“C’mon,” he grunts, not even looking. He doesn’t want to. He thinks that if he sees you in pain, he’ll go to you.

You curse a few more times before your footsteps sound again.

You catch up to him with alarming speed, casting him a violent glare. “What if I’d broken something?”

“I’d come back for you after I handle the Waltons.”

“Sure,” you reply flatly. “Probably drag me back home by my ankle.”

His lips twitch. They’re making good time, maneuvering rapidly through the dense woods toward the lake. His adrenaline is spiking, his fingers curling as he prepares himself for the inevitable fight. “Hardly, sweetheart,” he replies. “I’d wrap a rope around your waist—pull you that way.”

“Cruel.”

“You’ve always known that, darlin’.”

“You’re–”

He freezes and then abruptly grabs you before pulling you against a tree. One of the Waltons is outside their cabin, chopping wood. Behind him, the smoke puffs from the chimney. Black-gray against the too-blue sky. 

“We wait until he goes inside,” he whispers against your ear. You’re bleeding-hot and his hand is secured right under your breast. Surprisingly, your heart pulses at an easy rhythm. You aren’t scared or nervous. You’re calm as can be and really that’s probably why he keeps you around.

And maybe the sex. 

***

It’s fucked. The whole damn thing. 

Joel is covered in blood, two fingers definitely broken. The man on top of him has him in a chokehold and he’s shoving back against him, trying to find some leverage to flip him over. 

He hasn’t heard you for a minute and when he lifts his head, he sees one of the Walton boys—the greasy, blonde one—pinning you against the dock. You’re too far away from Joel as he watches you kick and spit like a feral cat. 

You don’t call for him. You don’t scream his name or beg him for help and it’s because you’re too fucking proud and you probably think he’d get fucking mad at you or something, which isn’t the case. 

So, he shouts your name. Why? He doesn’t know. It bursts out of him as the head Walton punches him in the ribs.

“Ss’fine,” you yell back and then the sun catches the silver blade of your pocket knife. It flashes once before disappearing and the blonde Walton squeals.

Thatta girl, he thinks. The expression feels tender—sweet with pride and he’s so caught up in watching you stab the kid that he doesn’t realize what’s going on until it’s too late. 

The blonde snags your jacket and rolls you both into the frigid lake. 

Joel doesn’t think. He may have roared or bellowed, but he wouldn’t know. He can’t recall. Instead, he plants his hands and snaps his head back into his attacker’s nose. It cracks. Splatters. He feels heat on his scalp and in his hair. The weight on him is gone and he twists, finding his knife a few feet away in the snow. He snatches the handle, flips it and plunges the blade forward. It goes through the guy’s chest—finds bone. He rips it back and does it again. A third time in a more vulnerable spot beneath the bastard’s jaw. There’s blood on his face, but he can’t worry about that now.

He runs to the lake. 

***

“C’mon, girl,” he whispers frantically as he performs CPR. Your lips are cold as a fish belly. Your lashes wet and stuck together in clumps. He presses against your chest so hard that he worries he’ll break a rib. 

You weren’t even under that long.

He pumps and then pinches your nose and breathes into your mouth. C’mon. C’mon. C’mon. 

You twitch. Yes. You choke. Better.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he urges.

Your eyes fly open as you sputter, coughing up icy lake water that dampens Joel’s jeans. Relieved, he sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders to keep you from moving too quickly. His fingers have begun to smart, the knuckles swelling to purple.

He’s not sure what to say as you blink up at him—incredulous and a little frightened. WIthout thinking, he darts down and kisses you hard. It might not even be considered a kiss. Just an angry collision of teeth and a hint of tongue. He tries to warm your mouth with his own before pulling away. He didn’t intend to do that.

“Joel?” you rasp, lids drooping heavily.

“You almost died,” he states in a flat voice. Should he comfort you? Reassure you that you’re fine? He’s not sure how to do that. He’d done it before with Sarah, but–

He shudders, stuffing that thought somewhere he’ll not touch.

“J-Joel.” Your teeth are chattering in your mouth. Your eyes slightly unfocused. “Mm cold.”

“Well,” he replies matter-of-factly. “We can go in the cabin and figure that out.”

He says this like you couldn’t potentially die of hypothermia. 

***

Inside the house, a fire still burns. It’s orange-yellow as a Texas peach and his mouth instinctively waters. He hasn’t had fresh fruit in a long ass time. 

Your fingers are curled into his shirt, your cheek pressed flat to his chest. You’re freezing—stiff and unyielding as a corpse. He places you on the rug in front of the fire before scouring the house for blankets and sheets. When he finds them, he makes a nest on the floor and then crouches down behind you to rub your shoulders. 

It doesn’t seem to do much because you’re still trembling. Your hair is soaked and your clothes–

Jesus. He’s a fucking idiot. 

“Lift your arms,” he murmurs, but you keep on shaking, seemingly unable to move them. He does it for you. He gets your jeans off, mindful of the areas where bruises will begin to form. “Did he hurt you?”

“S’nothing-g bad.” Your words are staggering into each other like you’re drunk. Not an ideal sign.

He scrubs a hand over his face, his beard. He exhales sharply as he watches you stammer and ripple like a ribbon in the wind. 

He’s on his knees in front of you—staring like a damn fool. “What do you need?”

Your hands fumble in the blankets, your expression puzzled. Shit. What are the symptoms of hypothermia? Confusion? Exhaustion?

He says your name softly and you make a broken noise that startles him.

He doesn’t know how to provide you reassurance. He understands actions. He understands pleasure. Isn’t the best way to heat someone up through skin contact?

He wrenches his jacket off before finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it over his head . He unbuckles his belt, shimmies out of his pants. You stare up at him, your eyes glassy and red. 

“Skin to skin,” he explains and when he opens his arms, you fall into them. You press yourself against him, curling your cold body inward as he attempts to cover you with his own. He strokes your arms, legs and waist. He maneuvers you around so that he can press his front to your torso. He grips your thigh and hauls it over his hip before pulling the musty blankets over them. He doesn’t want to think about how unwashed they probably are, but they don’t have a choice. 

He settles as you relax against him. Your heart pounds a brush faster than before. Good. 

“Rest,” he instructs. “You’re okay.”

It’s the best he can do.

***

It takes a few hours for you to return to yourself. You pull away so you can stare up at him. He tips his chin to hold your gaze, his hand finds your cheek. “You almost died,” he says and, suddenly, he thinks of the dreams he’s had. He thinks of you gone from him, vanishing into the dark where he can’t find you. 

He’d saved you today, but the next time? Surely, there would be a next time and—

“Thank you.” You lean into his touch, nuzzling your nose into the creases of his palm. Not as distressed as he would like.

“You almost died,” he repeats. “I could fucking kill you.”

Your eyes widen. “Why?”

“It was a stupid move.”

You frown. “Was there another option I had?”

“You could’ve not come with me.”

Your tongue darts across your lower lip as you lift an eyebrow. “Ah–so really this is about you.”

Of course it damn well is. It’s always him. He can’t afford you getting yourself stabbed or beaten or drowned.  

“I could kill you,” he growls as he grips your hips and flips you on your back, eliciting a yelp from your lungs. He wedges himself between your thighs, sliding his mouth over your puckered nipple and then your belly. 

You wiggle, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist. 

He kisses the scar beneath your ribs and then the top of your cunt. He licks the warm crease between your folds just to tease you before he climbs back up.

He plants his arms on either side of your head as he bears his weight above your body. He’s hard, his cock full and bobbing against his belly. He feels your small hand drift over his hip, the wiry hairs at his groin before it wraps firmly around his shaft. It jumps in your hand, desperate for you in a way he doesn’t mean to show.

“You can kill me,” you whisper and he drops his head to capture your lips. He thrusts his tongue into your mouth, slipping it behind your teeth. It’s a wet kiss–dirty and panicked and i fucking hate you so much because it’s so damn obvious that i don’t. You give him an experimental stroke, thumb pressing into the head. He grunts, jerking forward. 

“I want to feel you,” he confesses and it’s the most honest thing he can say here. Not i don’t want to see you dead ever. Not i really care about you. 

Just feel. 

You smile sweetly before guiding him into the molten suction of your pussy. It takes nothing for him to claim you. He sinks inside, straight to the hilt. He shoves his hips forward so that you’re forced to take all of him. Even when he’s buried balls deep, he leans on his arms, one hand clasping the top of your skull so he can push further. Your nails bite into his ass. You arch.

“Fuck,” you rasp, breath hitching. “Fuck–oh my god.”

They’re sealed together. Breasts crushed to his chest. Stomachs flattened. He uses his thighs to spread legs wider. He pins you there, enjoying the way your heart snaps against your ribs as if it could buffer his own.

“Thatta girl,” he coaxes, managing to plunge deeper. Something low vibrates in his throat. Something half-human. He can’t breathe, overwhelmed by the scent and feel of you, and so he sits aback on his heels, grips your knees and forces them against your tits. “You gonna take it for me?”

Your eyes roll back, cunt contracting around him. “Yes.” 

Not loud enough. He spanks you between your legs, right against the tender flesh wrapped around his cock. It hurts both of them. You whine and reach for him. Yes. Yes. Yes. Joel. Please. 

He eases himself out to the tip before driving forward. The force knocks you up the floor, causing your back to scrape against the wooly blankets. Another sharp thrust that punches a gasp from your throat. You shut your eyes, holding your legs open for him as he continues. It’s rough in its own way. Not the worst he’s done, but his strokes are deliberate and powerful. He fucks you hard enough that he can hear it. The slick noises that accompany every stab of his cock.

He has half a mind to say what he’s trying to through sex. When he’s nearing the end, he lowers himself over you, broken fingers pinching your chin. The pain in his hand welcome, adding a bite to the act itself. “Look at me,” he murmurs and you open your eyes. He fucks you and fucks you and every slam of his hips makes your lashes flutter. “Look, darlin’.”

“What?” you hiss because he’s taunting you –holding you firmly over the edge and shit–he loves that about you. When push comes to shove, you’ll make it known when you’re pissed. He loves the fact that you never screamed for him as you tried to save yourself. He hates it and loves it and he’s really fucked up. 

He swallows hard before pressing their foreheads together. “You won’t do that again,” he warns.

“Do what?”

Another perfunctory snap of his cock.

“Fuck–Joel.”

You’re shuddering in his arms, walls spasming around him. You’re one screaming nerve of sensation. You almost died. 

“You won’t do it.”

You say nothing. Instead, you nod as you tighten around him, heels digging into his lower back. He’s certain you know what he means. He just didn’t want to say it out loud.

[liyawritesss]

ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ꜰɪx ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ꜰɪx ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ

Characters: Insomniac!!Miles Morales x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: You were one of the many things Miles had neglected when he took up the mantle of Spiderman, not to mention the fiasco involving ROXXON and The Underground during what was supposed to be his winter break from school. He plans on changing that on New Year's Eve.

Warnings: Light cursing, this is game miles who is canonically seventeen so be mindful of that when reading! Honestly nothing else just a boy tryna fix his mistakes lmao.

A/N: I just finished the game and when I tell you this boy got all types of giddy, like he’s so precious (as is every other miles) and deserves the world bc WHY THEY DO HIM LIKE THAT !!! Anyway hope you enjoyyyyy!!!

Song Suggestions: “So Into You” by Tamia; "Running On My Mind" by Ali Gatie

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @lulu-network @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @briology @honeybleed @romiantic @queenofthespiderverse @onlyperc @starsoir @yasminisbroke @asensitivecookie @kdyance @sussybaka10 @daisydark @ykimobessed @famedrs-blog

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Miles would think that after spending much of November & December swinging through the many buildings of Harlem, that he’d be used to the biting cold that nipped at his skin through the material of his spider-suit. Feeling the piercing bite of snow and hail against his body that sting and melt upon contact was a reminder of just how much of his winter break wasn’t actually a ‘break’, what with everything that had happened during the holidays. 

Yet, when he was walking through the entrance of Central Park, the fur of his hood guarding the sides of his neck against the breeze that ruffled the branches and the fairy lights that were strung through them, he thinks that, somehow, someway, it’s gotten colder than what he can take.

He could have chalked it up to the unpredictability of New York weather, or the cold air that comes from the water that the city is surrounded by, but the thunder in his chest and the clamminess of his hands tells him otherwise. Eyes dart between the many passers by, some he knows, others he doesn’t but still greets out of kindness, but he’s got his eyes trained for someone in particular. Someone who’s face he’s not sure if he’s ready to see, nor knows if they will even spare him a glance.

Miles walks further into the park, passing the many stalls open for a variety of winter time snacks and foods for people to enjoy - hot chocolate, fresh-made cookies, soft pretzels - anything warm and filling as people wait for the real attraction to begin. As appetizing as it all looks, his own anxiety prevents him from thinking too hard on buying something to chase away the aching cold that’s beginning to rest in his bones - partially from his own anxiety, partially from the actual cold that keeps the mounds of snow solid and glistening even under the artificial lighting.

He tries to remember the words of Ganke and the encouragement of his mother. ‘She was completely into you, dude,’ said the raven haired boy as he pushed his glasses up his face, ‘as long as you’re sincere about it, I doubt she’ll just give you the cold shoulder.’

That’s the same reason she should give me the cold shoulder! Miles thought, but never said to Ganke, because in truth, they both were thinking it.

‘You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t rip your head off, mijo,’ Rio sighed, though if Miles was honest, he’d rather have heard that than any sugarcoating from the older woman, ‘whatever you decide to do, one thing is very clear; you have to be okay with whatever decision she choses as well.’

It wasn’t like Miles intended on ghosting you, but with the responsibilities of his newfound role as Harlem’s Spiderman, paired with the fiasco that was ROXXON and The Underground (which, he still dealt with the remnants of - the glowstick army held absolutely no chill, and it left a lot of mess for Miles to clean up on a day to day basis), there were a lot of things he’d unintentionally neglected.

His homework was one thing - he could speed through it and ask Ganke for help; and if he pulled the best sob story he could muster, he’d even be able to garner an extra day or two.

Salvaging a talking stage would be much more difficult. Proposing a relationship (which he had planned to do before…well, everything) was near impossible.

Fog comes from his lips as Miles sighs into the air, scanning the surrounding area that he’d walked into. Hearing a familiar song play over a distant speaker, it gives him an idea of where to begin looking for you.

His feet turn and move before his head does, and ironically, such a movement causes for his body to collide into another - and for a moment, the aching chill in his chest is replaced with a burst of warmth as the person stumbles into him while attempting to regain their balance.

“Shoot- sorry!” Miles is quick to apologize, though any further words get stuck in his throat when he realizes who exactly has bumped into him. 

Who could mistake the soft locks that adorned your head, cascading down your shoulders covered in your black jacket? Or the way your pretty eyelashes dance across your cheeks? Or those gorgeous eyes of yours that captivated him from the moment he saw you…

…which, as he begins to focus, Miles notices that they’ve shifted from shocked to disbelief. And not the good kind.

“Oh,” you murmur out, giving him a once over with little interest; but whether it was trained or genuine, he’d never know, “it’s just you.”

“Ouch,” Miles breathes, brows furrowing in hurt, “that hurts.”

“Good.” You huff, eyes scanning for a way out of the most awkward situation you could’ve found yourself in on what was supposed to be a memorable night out by yourself.

You try to escape, slipping past Miles’ side, brushing against his arm. Unfortunately, you don’t get far, when you feel the faint grip of his hand on your elbow, pulling you back. “Wait, (Y/N), can we just-”

“Wait?” The word leaves you in a scoff, and Miles knows that he’d chosen the wrong word to start off this encounter.

“I’m gettin’ real tired of that word- especially as it pertains to you.” you scoff, and it’s an especially hard jab into his chest that leaves a newfound sting that’s neither cold nor warm; just dull and painful.

“Really, really fucking tired, but y’know what?” He feels you spin around in his hold to face him, though now your words make him unable to look into your eyes as his hand falls, and your face twisted in frustration comes into view.

“I just happened to be such a nice person that gives people one too many chances they don’t deserve; so go ahead Miles,” you say, “go ahead and tell me what exactly I should be waiting for? What I have been waiting for?”

You had that effect on him - being able to render him speechless with little to no effort at all. It was one of many things that attracted him to you, and he’s reminded of that as he watches your hair fill with snowflakes and your eyes light up with a fire he’s never seen before.

“You’re angry-” Miles begins.

“I’m angry-” you scoff again, ready to turn and leave for the second time at his obvious observation.

“-you’re angry, and you should be; you have every right to be angry with me!” Miles tries to maintain a calm and collected composure as he speaks, though he can already feel his own frustrations influencing the evenness of his voice.

“You ghosted me, Miles.” You say, and the boy notes the way your expression shifts from vexation to hurt as you speak the words. “Two weeks, you ghosted me, and then you show up here and all you have to say for yourself is that ‘i have every right to be angry with you’?”

The brown skin boy winces at your cold words, his hand coming to wipe down the length of his face as he tries to formulate the right words to say to you, to somehow clear his name with you, and at least get you to not hate him. Because while he couldn’t tell you the truth - at least, not yet - perhaps his sincerity would justify his actions. He hopes it does, because this is possibly his only chance of ever reconciling with the girl he’d fallen for months ago.

“I know it looks bad,” Miles sighs, tugging his lip between his teeth as he speaks, “I know it looks real bad, but you have to believe me when I say I never meant for it to happen.” 

There’s a plea in his eyes that begs for you to hear him out, to spare him a moment of your time like you first did when he called your name down the halls of Visions Academy to talk to you and compliment your Spiderman charm on your bookbag. You’re silent as that memory flashes before you, and Miles takes it as an opportunity to continue.

“I’ve been dealing with a lot,” Miles begins again, “and I’ve been taking on so much, much more than I could handle, and it’s been weighing me down a lot; and I know that none of that is a justification for why I never responded back to you, but I mean it when I say that I never, never, meant for it to happen.”

There’s a soft waver in his voice that you pick up on, which causes your brows to furrow. The air around the two of you shifts to something warmer; the lights begin to blur - perhaps it’s because of the tears that begin to prickle at the corners of your eyes. The emotions build at an overwhelming pace.

Miles sees this, and slowly takes a step forwards towards you. When you don’t pull back, he begins to speak again.

“I meant what I said,” he mutters, close enough to do so, “about liking you- I-I'm crazy about you, (Y/N).”

It’s now your eyes that find it hard to meet his, constantly darting between his hazel orbs and the fabric of his red sweater underneath his coat. Arms folded across your chest in a metaphorical attempt to guard your heart, oddly reminiscent of the same stance you took when Miles initially told you that he wanted to talk to you on a romantic level.

Miles purses his lips together in a tightly, before parting them once more, “I’ve lost a lot already, with everything that’s happened.” he hums, and when your darting eyes finally settle onto his own, his hands reach for your arms to pull you in closer, hands shaky and unsure, but guided by an unrivaled sense of determination. “I don’t wanna lose you, too.”

There’s a long moment of silence that befalls the both of you, and Miles wonders if he’s said something wrong, if he’s mentioned something he shouldn’t have. He can’t read you, face obscured by the way your soft locs fall across your face. Yet, you haven’t moved from his hold, and while he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, he can’t help but feel a bit of solace in that fact.

A suck of your teeth and a raise of your head makes his stomach jump as he awaits your response; your eyes hold a sense of irritation, but if Miles is correct, there was an inkling of something else in there…

“It don’t take that much to text someone, Miles,” You mutter out, voice low and strained against your own emotions.

“I know.” He answers. “I ain’t got nothin’ to help my case there.”

The breathless chuckles that leaves his lips in an attempt to ease the air garners him the smallest of smiles to tug at your lips, and for once in this entire engagement, his stomach loosens from the tight pull his anxiety had on it.

“And I know that it hurt you…” he says these words carefully, still well aware of the tight rope that he walks in regards to making amends, “but if you’re willing to give me another chance…I can promise to try.”

Your jaw clenches in thought, silence befalling the two of you once again. There was a part of you that was resistant to his insistence, a part that had suffered and wanted to refuse his advances in fear of being subjected to the possibility of it happening again. Yet, you made the choice to look up at him once again, and while you hate to admit it, the way the fairy lights dance in his eyes and shine against his skin is definitely clouding your judgment in the moment.

You suck your teeth again, an unamused expression donning your face as your arms drop from your chest and instead find their way onto his. The other hand that rested on your arm now travels to your waist - careful in his movements, aware that while you’ve dropped your guard and entered his space, Miles still has a lot of making up to do.

“I’ll think about it,” You hum, and it garners you a smile from him; that was practically code for I’ll unblock you, but you’re still in the doghouse.

“I’ll think about it while you buy me hot chocolate.”

“Yup, there it is.” Miles teases, lips spreading into a hearty chuckle.

“Uhuh, get to movin’, big steppa.” A gentle push on his chest has Miles turning in the direction of the nearest hot chocolate stand. You follow in tow as the clunking of his Timberlands echo against the ground, your own shoes creating a softer sound as they follow in tow.

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[meimeikyu]

hi rambles but like. the way bsp magic feels in festivalverse bcs im feeling silly

this is important for lore kinda bcs killer also bcs i like talking about my guys

its under cut bcs this turned out longer than i thought!!! i love them sm <3

Killers - Killers the best way i can describe it is like, bubbly in a way? Its always shifting and moving. you ever seen a video of liquid lava? thats how i imagine their magic. I think itd generally be warm, getting colder when their in a more 'murderous unfeeling' state and warmer the more emotional they are. Their magic is generally unstable, n they use it minimally,, primarily using their knives over summoning things since it tends to not go great. Their magic also has a sort of acidic property, mostly his tears/determination.

Dusts - Dusts is LOUD. that is the best way i can word it. it is bright and vibrant and it is so very LOUD. its extremely hot, and it leads to him overheating often because of it; considering how much magic he has too. its almost electrical like a lightning strike, and has a static like quality to it. and it can definitely burn through things- Generally manifests as a bright lilac colour, or a combination of red and teal. Dust magic is constantly noticeable, even from a distance most of the time, and has a sort of constant anger in it, that makes it feel like its bubbling water that could boil over any second.

Horrors - Compared to the others, horrors is very quiet and. duller due to longterm effects from his head injury and longterm starvation. generally she avoids using it as much as possible, and if he does *need* to use it it drains him very fast, so its a last resort. his magic is almost. the only way i can word it is like round? and generally is a very dark, almost brownish red colour. also due to her low magic, she gets cold much easier. Horrors magic is the least noticeable over all due to her low reserves, and is like a very dim light peeking through a door.

Crosses - Crosses is sharp like a blade. His magic was well trained and hes extremely good at controlling it. hes generally the most 'middle ground' out of them magic wise, being able to control it well but not having as much in reserves. his magic is generally slightly cold, just enough that its noticable. primarily using summoning magic instead of loose magic, and it generally manifests as a more pinkish purple

Nightmares - Nightmare, being a godlike being has interesting magic properties. She has an extremely large reserve of magic, but all of his magic is a sort of cold colder than ice, and can be extremely jaring to feel. Her entire body runs extremely cold due to this, though it doesnt bother her. The majority of the time the way he uses his magic is just through her tendrils. She also has some 'other' magic properties involving emotion and mind manipulation, due to his godlike status. Her aura is surprisingly subtle, and resembles a water-like white noise, constantly there but wouldnt generally be noticed unless allowed.

[gardenerian]

Hi Mel! I hope you are well?

Here are some wintery questions if you feel like answering, no worries if not!

- If Ian and Mickey tried to build a snowman, would they be successful?

- do they ever light a scented winter candle, if so….what is the scent?

- does showering/bathing together become more frequent in the colder months?

- what winter movies do the watch?

omg hi calli! these look like so much fun ty! ❄️☃️

would they be successful? probably. do they build the same snowman? not even a little bit. ian goes into it with a classic snowman in mind. mickey wants to make something obscene. in the end, their snowman has your standard stick arms, scarf, and buttons.... but it also has a giant carrot cock and snow balls. it's probably also smoking a carrot blunt, and mickey has taped beer cans to each of its poor stick hands. they take selfies with it, dying with laughter, and bombard the family groupchat. i also have an idea that mickey would make one that looks like lip and film himself kicking it askdfjh

i can picture them getting a holiday-themed scented candle as a gift from one of their west side neighbors. it sits unlit for weeks bc they think it's incredibly fucking stupid... why does it smell like fuckin gingerbread? one night ian is making dinner and lights the candle for a little ambience. mickey comes wandering into the kitchen a little while later, absolutely delighted by the smell. thus begins mickey's lifelong interest in scented candles 🕯 he loves the sugary scented ones the most, but ian insists they branch out into other scents. they are eventually incorporated into romantic bath time, ofc.

winter showers are an immediate pastime once they live alone! they come home from a long day at work in the chicago cold, and ian runs them a hot shower while mickey rummages in the fridge for a couple of beers. they sip and warm up and smooch a bunch and fool around until their skin is all pruny, then they get out and finish what they started 😇

die hard is mickey's favorite christmas movie askdfh also i feel like ian really, really loves elf. he quotes it all season long. he bursts into every room like I'M IN LOVE I'M IN LOVE AND I DON'T CARE WHO KNOWS IT and liam just looks up like 😐 yeah we know. debbie makes them watch love actually and mickey is of the (correct) opinion that just about everyone in that movie is a terrible person and also they wear too many turtlenecks!!!!

[lalunanymph]

sae and the tag angst have a lot of potential, you know. I feel like other than being sum1 who’s so good at being an asshole and a literal asshole fcker, sae knows how to break a person’s heart—at first it wasn’t intentional (with the excuse of being young and dumb), but overtime, given his circumstances, he starts to become apathetic.

His brother, rin, was not exempted of that cold treatment and neither were you. But there will come a day that he will realize how wrong he treated you, and eventually pine for you bc obv, he could’ve treated you better…but he didn’t.

:-))) ily dawn!!!

- 🍎

babes (gn) .... you're so right .... sae and angst seem to go hand in hand bc he's such a tragic character n i think he's just trying his best to separate rin's dreams from being based on his own crushed ones :(

just a little drabble below !

Sae really does know how to break a person's heart well. From his callous words to his indifferent glances, it slowly chips away at your assurances that this relationship is safe—your confidence stripped to its bare bones till all that's left is something flimsy and hollow :(

He literally knows you inside and out, so of course, his actions and lack of words have the power to build and destroy. It starts out with him becoming colder and putting less effort into what you like to do. His visits back from Spain are super brief and within those few, perfunctory days, he doesn't call you back, doesn't initiate a hangout, or even give you the time of the day 'cause he's "busy with his family" when you know damn well him and Rin are estranged and his relationship with his parents is reduced to monosyllable answers.

Honestly, it doesn't come as a surprise when you text him those dreaded words: "Let's break up". Nothing more, nothing less.

He doesn't even bother to answer you, leaving you on read; living with the slight sting of guilt that's overshadowed by his insane drive to realise his dream. He goes back to Spain, forgetting about you and you try to move on with nothing but the memories of him haunting you.

When he stumbles onto your profile a year later, it's purely by accident. He was looking up another player when their first name in the search bar brought up yours too and he figures what the hell, he might as well check up on you since it's been so long.

He never expects to see your profile completely private, only a tiny picture the size of his thumb indicating your pretty smile somewhere at a beach. His brow furrows when he realises you unfollowed him first (with the havoc of the season, he completely forgets to scrub you off his social media) and his curiosity turns into desperation when he searches your other profiles.

Thank goodness—your Facebook is still up and running though he wishes he didn't bother. Didn't fuck around and literally find out because what he sees there leaves him wide-eyed; a force like a punch in his gut rendering him in a breathless stupor.

You and another man, one who's not as famous as him but with a kind smile, arm in arm amidst the glow of a setting sun. He summons enough strength to scroll further down, and there's one where you both are at a restaurant, enjoying dinner, and the comments make him sick to his stomach.

You look so happy, babe!

Y/N! We're planning our anniversary dinner there, too. Is the couple set there worth it?

How'd you get a reservation so easily? I'm jealous!

And he can't help but be angry because how dare you move on first? How dare you forget this three-year-long relationship so easily when he had his back turned? And... how dare you look so much happier than you were with him?

Sae doesn't know it yet, but that white-hot feeling of dread that surges through him can't compare to the tears he tries desperately to swallow down—tasting of saline regret and lost chances.

[melvinthedepressedrobot]

OFMD characters ranked on how nesh they are

firstly, Izzy is wearing so so much black and leather head to toe in the fucking caribbean so i will die on the hill that this man sleeps under as many blankets as he can cover himself with without suffocating in an actual winter and his hot water bottle is his best friend

Ed, meanwhile, I feel runs hot. idk why. vibes. maybe it's the crop top and missing sleeve, I just see him as being completely content with a jacket until it's literally snowing

Stede's less nesh than Izzy but he's more annoying about it, he will 100% go out without a jacket bc it doesn't match his outfit and then complain he's cold

Calico Jack wears fucking shorts and sandals in the middle of december and Izzy hates him for it

Lucius is definitely a bit of a wetwipe about cold weather, and so is Black Pete tbh BUT he's gonna give Lucius his jacket anyway. uh no he's not shivering fuck off stop looking at him he's fine

Jim is similar to BP, they feel the cold but absolutely will not admit it bc that would make them look wholly uncool. but you know what WILL make them look cool? a trench coat.

Olu runs warm and is absolutely happy to offer them his jacket and they're SO TORN on accepting it

Buttons would happily moonbathe in the arctic circle just as he does in the caribbean, he doesn't advertise it wearing stuff like shorts like CJ but he is FREAKISHLY immune to the elements

Fang and Ivan are both human hot water bottles and absolutely delightful to be able to cuddle with in the colder months izzy definitely doesn't know from experience why would you ask him that

on the one hand I'd presume being from Scandinavia, the Swede is pretty used to the cold but I also do just love the mental image of him in one of those hats with floppy ear flaps and pompoms and tassels so I'm saying he's not immune to cold but he does know how to dress for it

Frenchie doesn't feel the cold but that's because he's plastered to the side of Wee John who is also a human hot water bottle and I'm not even sure he's aware of it, he thinks he's normal and then is surprised when WJ is somewhere else like ??? is it weirdly cold rn???

Roach claims he can withstand anything, hence his name, but he would spend suspiciously more time in the kitchen with the nice warm cooking fire when the temperature drops (nobody is complaining, the warm food is appreciated all around)

Spanish Jackie............. i want to see rocking a fur coat, that's it that's my opinion, she is dressed for the weather and she is looking SO DAMN GOOD doing it

[sweetsweetnuit]

  on his knees

synopsis: even the king of the underworld has his weaknesses. bucky’s just happens to be a mortal woman he can’t get enough of.

pairing: bucky barnes (hades/devil) x f!reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: 18+ ONLY. breaking & entering, ig technically monsterfucking, devil/mortal dynamics a la hades/persephone, dirty talk, teasing, oral (receiving), bucky breaks the wall, pet-names, bucky on his knees for the reader/begging, size kink bc bucky is 6’6 here in my mind, fingering, unprotected sex, power imbalance, possessiveness, this bucky also wears rings and chains and had civil war era hair, idk what else but lmk if i missed anything!!

notes: i wrote this for me, myself, and i <3

The floorboards groaned under your feet as you crept further into your small, New York City apartment. Every creak echoed in your mind, reminding you that he could appear at any moment. That he knew you were home and thinking of him. 

The day weighed heavily on your shoulders, slumped and hunched as you made your way into the tiny kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water. Your muscles ached and begged for some sort of release, but the only release you wanted was his. 

His face was plastered over every news outlet for the past two years, cautioning anyone who may stumble into his path or fall to their knees in front of him in hopes he shows mercy. 

He never does. 

The shower springs to life, spurts of water being the only thing you can hear as you slowly strip your clothes. They fall to the floor unceremoniously where they’ll stay until you find the energy to shove them deep into your hamper. Where you’ll also put off laundry until you run out of clean underwear. 

It’s a dangerous, vicious cycle. 

Everything melts away as you step under the too-hot stream of water. The day runs through your head, along with the too-long list of things you need to do. The bills you need to pay and the commitments you made when you were in a much better mood now plague you. 

“Shit,” you curse under your breath when the stream starts to turn lukewarm. 

You have only a few minutes before it’s ice-cold, spending too much time just standing under the water sulking. A quick lather is all you get before you’re pulling over a large sweater and thick socks. The fabric is long enough to forgo shorts or any type of pants. 

The low hum of traffic on the street fills the living room before you’re on the couch with the TV playing in the background. What you’re really focused on is your phone. No one can stop talking about him, you can’t stop thinking of him. 

It’s driving you mad, keeping him a secret when his face is plastered on every fucking tabloid. Though, you really hope he can’t read minds because you’re sure he wouldn’t be too happy with the thoughts running through yours right now. 

Your nights have been the same. A boring, mundane routine that makes you want to put your head through a wall. But you made a deal. You made a deal with him and whether you like it or not, you’re bound to him. 

Those are the last words that float in your head before you’re drifting off to sleep, entirely unaware of what was about to happen next. 

You groan when you awake, eyelids heavy with sleep as you rub them, adjusting your position only to realize you have a kink in your neck. You’re confused at first, wondering why you’re not in your bed when your eyes flicker to the TV that’s still playing a random episode of something. 

It all clicks as you drag yourself into a sitting position, eyes still adjusting to the darkness after you’ve turned the TV off. The air feels colder and suddenly, the hair on the back of your neck raises like an alert. 

“Hello, my Darling.” His voice flows over you, just above a whisper and you gasp when you realize he’s standing right by your window. 

He turns to face you before cocking his head as a smirk grows across his lips. You’re frozen in place, unable to move as your eyes move over his body. He’s dressed like he always is: black dress pants and a black button down. 

Except tonight, he looks only a little less put together. His hair is mused and tucked behind his ears. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled to expose his forearms and the top few buttons are undone, his dark tattoos just barely visible. 

Your heart kicks in your chest, beating erratically. You still can’t seem to find any words as he makes his way over to you. He towers over you, making you feel like a speck before he bends at the waist to cup your cheek. 

“I’ve missed you,” he purrs, thumb brushing over your cheekbone and you can’t help but lean into his touch because fuck, you’ve missed him too. So goddamn much. 

He stays like that before his thumb moves to your lower lip, brushing over it. Your eyes are locked on his, afraid that if you look away, he’ll disappear like a figment of your imagination. Perhaps you’re still dreaming. 

When he pulls away, it feels like he’s taken a piece of you. You crave him, need to be near him, want his touch. He exudes confidence, watching you with a curious gaze. 

“What’s wrong, Darling?” He asks, though not concerned. He’s amused by your lack of anything. 

You shake your head, quickly standing up and reaching out for him, “I just, I didn’t think you were really here.” 

He smiles, tugging you into his body by your waist until you’re flush with him. He smells exactly the same, a rich woodsy, earthy scent as you smooth your hands over his chest. You know that the man who’s got you in his arms is dangerous, beyond that, even, but you can’t seem to care. 

They always warned you not to make deals with the devil, but they never warned you about how handsome he’d be. 

“I can’t stay away from my girl for long,” he hums. “Not when you’re bound to me.” 

That’s when it hits you, that you’re not only bound to him in this lifetime, but in all others. That no matter what, you’re his and only his. You may not have picked him, but he picked you and that was enough. 

“Did you break into my apartment?” You blurt suddenly, watching the smile erupt on his face along with the sound of his deep laughter. 

“Of course I did.” He replies casually, “What did you expect from the King of the Underworld? Or the Devil as you call it.” 

Something in your chest flutters at the sound of the word, how macabre it really is to be in the arms of the Devil. Yet, in some fucked up way, it excites you. It makes you feel like you’re stuck in an endless loop of mundanity. 

He’s still got you in his arms, fingers running up and down your back as you feel the distinct and heavy weight of the prosthetic one. It sends a chill down your spine and sometimes you wonder if he does that on purpose. 

“Now,” he leans down closer to you. “Are you going to tell me that you’ve missed me too or are you just going to assume I know because of how wet you are already?”

You inhale sharply at his words, curling your toes into the hardwood floors as you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. His dark eyes don’t waver, steady and trained on you and it makes you squirm. 

“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper, barely audible but you know he’s heard you loud and clear. 

He chuckles deeply, his chest vibrating against your own. In an instant, he’s maneuvered you both so he’s on the couch and you’re perched nicely on his lap. 

“I figured as much, I could smell you from across town, Darling.” He rasps, cupping your jaw once again to hold you close to him. 

It’s these moments that you crave and dream about. Constantly wishing it could be the two of you forever. It’s the silly little fantasy that keeps you going, knowing that he needs you just as bad as you need him. 

“Do you remember last time?” He muses, pulling you closer so your core is nestled right above his. You simply nod your head, too aware of his growing length as he rocks you over him gently. 

“I couldn’t get enough of you, Darling. You have any idea how sweet you are?” He whispers against your cheek, fingers digging into your hips as you grind over him. 

“I dream about you, about how you say my name when I’m at home between your thighs.” His voice has become deeper, more gravelly as you let your head fall back and mouth open. 

His lips are soft and warm against your neck as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your flesh. He’s just as addicting as you remember, and his words leave you dizzy for me. 

“Say my name for me, Darling. Or do you want me to get on my knees and beg you?” He asks and you a moan escapes you. 

Your eyes meet his, dark and hungry, but playful. 

“Beg.” 

He licks his lips as you nod and say again. 

“I want to hear you beg.” 

You’re not sure what’s going to come of this, you’re almost certain you’ll regret it, but right now, you don’t fucking care. The mere idea of seeing him on his knees for you is driving you wild and the throbbing between your legs needs to be dealt with. 

“My girl wants to hear me beg, huh?” He smirks, his sharp canines shining under the moonlight. 

You can only nod your head again, fisting the collar of his shirt before you’re moving with him. Your back hits the cool wall, both of his palms flat against the wall on either side of your head. 

He’s so much taller than you that you have to crane your head upwards just to meet his eyes. He’s menacing, truly evil and yet, you’ve asked him to beg for you. Maybe you’re just as evil, maybe he’s influenced you enough. 

You watch him drop to his knees in slow motion, the floorboards creaking under his weight. You immediately steady yourself on his broad shoulders as he inches your sweater up to expose your stomach. 

“I have never,” he places a kiss to your skin. “In my life,” another hot kiss, “begged for anything.” 

A shudder runs down your body when his fingers trace the outline of your cotton panties, but his words are the true cause of the sensation. To see him on his knees for you is something you’ll never forget. It may be the only thing you’ll ever think about. 

“But for you, my Darling, I’d do just about anything.” He says, hooking his fingers into your panties and pulling them down your legs. 

They’re discarded quickly, your breathing rapid as he hooks a single leg over his shoulder, causing you to sink your nails into the skin of his shoulders. He hisses in pleasure, taking a moment to catch his breath. 

When he looks up at you, his eyes have been entirely consumed by darkness. There is no more light to them and you know there’s no going back. He’s got you pinned against the wall, hot breath against your core as he gives you a sinister smile. 

“My Darling,” he purrs, “I beg you, scream my name so loud everyone knows that you are mine.” 

He doesn’t give you any other warning before his tongue is flat against your pussy. Your head hits the wall so hard you think you’ve dented one or the other, but you don’t care. Not when he’s on his knees eating you out like a God. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, grasping onto him even tighter. 

You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking, “that’s not what I begged for.” 

Your head is spinning and you feel dizzy already when two thick fingers slip into your entrance, curling so deep inside of you that you lose your breath. His name is on the tip of your tongue, it’s just too bad that he’s stolen your breath. 

“If you want to come, scream my name, Darling.” He says in a tone so soft you could barely tell it was a threat. 

And he’s true to his word, teasing you with slow but meticulous flicks of his tongue in combination with his fingers until you’re on the verge of tears And you think that this must be your purgatory. 

“You can do it, Darling. Say my name and I’ll let you come.” He whispers against your inner thigh, nipping at the sensitive skin. 

“Please,” you’re begging him now, but it doesn’t seem to work. 

A tear slips down your cheek and you’re biting your lip so hard you’ve drawn blood. He’s holding you against the wall with his free arm so squirming is impossible. You’re absolutely stuck.

“Please,” the plea escapes you again. “Please, Bucky.” 

When his name finally leaves your lips, it’s like a bomb goes off. White hot pleasure seeps through every bone in your body and if it wasn’t for Bucky, you’d have collapsed into a pile on the floor. 

He keeps you upright, body pressed firmly against yours as he swallows your cries with his lips against your own. The kiss brings you back to reality, threading your arms around his neck to keep him close. 

“I only ever want to hear my name on your lips, my Darling. No one else’s.” He confesses, breathing just as wildly as you. 

His erection digs against your hip and you’re wild and hungry for him. You’re convinced he can read minds because the next sound you hear is the sound of his belt hitting the floor. 

“Jump,” he commands. 

You do as he catches you, your legs tight around his waist. His eyebrows are furrowed tightly together as he watches you with pure concentration. 

“When I was younger, my mother told me a tale. A tale that I never believed until I met you.” Bucky rasps as your chests meet each others. 

“It was about a fallen angel who fell only to be with a mortal woman. It was said she was so beautiful that he couldn’t stand to be away from her. I always thought it was stupid.” He says with a low growl. 

“Giving up everything for a mortal. I could never understand it.” You feel like your heart is about to burst, Bucky’s dark shadow growing bigger under the moving moon. 

“And then I met you and my world collapsed. I understood the angel then and why he decided to fall. Because if that was the only way I could be with you, well, I’d fall a thousand times, Darling.” 

He fills you in that moment, barely giving you time to adjust. 

“I want to be inside you, filling you up, every goddamn night.” Bucky groans as he fucks you deeply against the wall. 

The wall is shaking, along with all of your decorations with each powerful thrust. You feel secure in his arms, his cock driving against your sweet spot as you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug. 

“I want to be worshipping you every night, Darling. My face between your thighs or buried so deep inside of you that you forget your own fucking name. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.” 

Something gives behind your back, but you don’t pay it much attention, too focused on the way Bucky is driving into you like his life depends on it. 

“You’re no longer in my dreams, you haunt me.” He growls before you hear another crack and something splinters. 

And splinters further before you’ve realized that there’s a human sized dent in the wall, that Bucky’s fucked you so hard he’s broken the wall and he’s not stopping until he’s satisfied. 

“I need to feel you squeeze me, baby. Come for me, I’m begging you, put me out of my misery.” Bucky grunts before you’re falling over the edge again, this time, wrapped in him. 

You feel him twitching inside of you, finishing before dropping his forehead onto your shoulder to catch his breath. He looks so human in these moments you wonder if he ever misses it. You hope he doesn’t. 

“We broke the wall. My landlord is going to kill me,” you chuckle breathlessly as Bucky smiles lazily. 

“No he won’t.” Bucky says matter-of-factly as he gently sets you down on your feet. 

You’re wobbly, shaking even, but you manage to find your bearings as you straighten your sweater and let it fall to your thighs, no longer as exposed as you were just seconds ago. Bucky then steps closer, arm around your waist as he tilts your chin up with a finger.

“Come home, my Darling. Come home to me and let me get on my knees for you whenever you please.” 

[jayfortheday]

this is gonna be a fem reader.. but it’s kinda warm ish outside? but not too hot so the reader puts on a bodycon maxi dress to run errands, the usual, grocery shopping, target, a few jewelry places and they dragged eli along. eli cannot stop looking at the reader the entire time they’re out. the reader isn’t wear a bra or panties bc of how tight the dress is so nipple are on full display and all eli wants to do is go home. every store they go into he’s attached to the reader from behind with his arms around their waist and his head in their neck begging them to hurry and finish but they’re just taking their sweet time softly saying stuff like “hmm in a little while e. i gotta get stuff for the apartment okay? be good and i promise you’ll get what you want” or “babe we’ve been here 5 minutes and you wanna go home? what’s so important at home” and he just whines too embarrassed to say out in public. no smut just eli being a hornball like usual

All Over You (Eli Brooks)

Pairing: Eli Brooks x F!Reader (romantic)

Word count: 1191

Description: After deciding the weather is right, Y/N decides to wear a rather tight-fitting outfit to go out shopping with Eli. The entire time they're out, Eli is obsessing over her

Tags: shopping, cute, sexuality

~~~~~~~~~~

The sun beat down outside, raising the temperature to a level you would expect for summer. You glanced out the window before looking back to your closet. Now that the weather was warmer, you could have an opportunity to try out some new outfits you had gotten during the colder months. A variety of crop tops, shorts, skirts, and dresses filled your closet. You sifted through the sea of fabric, looking for something that would suit both your mood and the temperature. 

Situated between two other pieces was a dress that caught your eye. It had thin shoulder straps and was relatively short. Intrigued by the dress, you walked over to your mirror and wiggled your way into the dress, sliding over your skin. The dress was quite tight fitting and went ot around your mid tight. The white color of the fabric wasn’t helping to cover you any more. While part of you was embarrassed at the idea of wearing this out in public, another, more promiscuous part was excited. What excited you even more is what Eli would think, what kind of thoughts an outfit like this would put in his head. 

You had neglected to put on a bra before trying on the dress, so your nipples poked through the thin fabric and you could see the slight outline of your panties. Your eyes graviated to your chest in the mirror, adjusting the dress slightly. You had to admit, the dress made you feel sexy, desireable. You ran your fingers over your clothed skin, feeling the almost exposed bumps and curves. The sound of the alarm you had set broke you from your trance. The beeping reminded you that now was the time to go meet Eli at the mall. 

You quickly rushed back to your closet to find a suitable pair of shoes. Something white to match your dress and preferably something open toed. You scanned your rack of shoes until your eyes landed on a pair of white sandals with a small heel. You grabbed the pair and brought them down to the floor. Slipping them on your feet, you walked over to the mirror, assessing your final look. Concluding the outfit worked together, you walked out your room and headed to the front door. You grabbed your bag and keys off the hook by the front door and exit to get to your car in the driveway. 

You walked out to the car, clicking open the doors as you approached. You pulled open the door and threw your bag onto the passenger seat. You stuck the key in the ignition, starting both the engine and the air conditioning. You didn’t close the door yet, you gave the hot air a chance to escape and for the cold air to build up. After a couple seconds, you closed the door and buckled your seatbelt, making as little contact with the hot plastic as you could. You turned in your seat to face the street behind you as you backed out of the driveway. Once you were on the road, you put the car in drive and set off for the mall. 

Once you had arrived and found a place to park, you walked to the mall’s front entrance, where you were supposed to meet Eli. You leaned against the wall by the door as you wait to see him. You scanned the parking lot until you saw the familiar sight of a Vivid Video hat. 

“Eli!” You called you, waving your arm for him to see you better. He looked in your direction and hurried over once he noticed it was you.

“Hey, Y/N, how’s it goinggggg,” Eli greeted, dragging out his last word as his eyes fell to your chest. 

Normally, you would correct Eli if you caught him looking at your chest during a conversation, but today, the attention felt nice.

“Oh, ya know, pretty good. Looking forward to getting some shopping done,” you responded, twirling a piece of your hair between your fingers. Eli’s face was flushed and you could tell if was from more than just the heat. He nodded as he looked back up to your face, his eyes beginning to fall again every couple seconds. 

“Come on, I need to stop by JCPenny,” you smiled, turning toward the door and geturing for Eli to follow you. Once you entered through the door, he sped up so he could walk alongside you rather than behind you, not that he didn’t like the view, of course, in fact, he loved it. 

“Maybe we can make this quick? Stop by your house after?” Eli asked, his eyes not looking at yours. 

“I’ve got stuff to do today, Brooks. Can’t rush it,” you said, a slight teasing tone in your voice. As you walked into the entrance of the store, you began to casually look around, eyeing different items as you made your way to the pants.

“Come on, you already know what you need,” Eli whined, coming closer to you to wrap his arms around your waist. 

“All part of the process,” you giggled as you picked up a shirt to examine it. Eli groaned and leaned his head into the crook of your neck, holding tighter to you. You placed the shirt back down and began to move, Eli still holding onto you. 

“Baby, please, just finish up so we can go home,” Eli said, his face still in your neck. 

“You’re the one that suggested this, why are you so eager to go home?” You asked with a smile. You knew exactly why Eli wanted to go home, it was just fun to tease him. 

Eli grumbled, speaking no coherent words. You could tell he was too embarrassed to say why he wanted to leave. 

“Need some new jeans, babe, this is what it takes,” you sighed, having made your way to the section you needed and picking up a pair to feel. You were in the store for maybe 10 minutes, but they felt painfully slow for Eli, who couldn’t help but stare at you the entire time. The way your body moved in that dress, the way it clung to your skin, highlighting all the parts Eli loved, it was torture to not be able to touch you. You brought your item up to the register and paid, making friendly conversation with the cashier as she checked you out. 

“Alright, I’m done here, now I need to hit Target,” you said, holding your new bag on your elbow. 

“Please, baby girl, let’s just go home,” Eli pleaded, dragging his feet as he moved. 

“We have barely been here 15 minutes, Eli. you’ll live,” you laughed as you walked towards the mall entrance to the Target. You could feel Eli begin to snake his hand down your back. You gently hit his hand away.

“We are in public, you little weirdo,” you smiled teasingly, turning to face Eli. 

“Please, Y/N. I wanna go home,” Eli whined again, looking at you with puppy dog eyes.”

“Oh, we will,” you said, delighting in Eli’s look of hope. “When I’m done.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed! This was a fun piece, definitely seems like an Eli thing, so good thinking anon

Also, I deleted a request for Vance Hopper x kpop idol reader, I just don't feel like I have the knowledge to write a good fic for that prompt, it's just really not my scene

[riddlesrose]

he’s always there

pairing; kaeya

sad??? but then it’s not

can be taken either in a relationship or friendship kinda way it’s basically just comfort

music could no longer drown out the sounds of another argument. the voices weren’t stopping and you were pretty sure you heard a mug or glass get thrown. you didn’t know what it was other than the fact that it shattered. their argument wasn’t even making sense anymore, from one yelling about money to the other yelling about the house or the family. 

with the feeling of your throat closing and your nose starting to warm up, you figured it was the tell tale signs of crying. wiping your eyes before the hot tears fell, you pushed your earbud back into your ear, as it had started to fall. 

looking down at your phone, you noticed a missed call from a name you remember so well, but the fact that you didn’t feel your phone go off made you upset. you didn’t dare call back in fear of either your parents arguments getting through the phone or your voice failing you. so, you opted to text him back. 

hey sorry i didn’t answer your call

(k)no biggie, just calling to see whats up!

he texted back quite quickly. 

just uh how do i put this

ignoring them again

too much is going on lolol

(k)wait… do you mean 

(k)them as in ur parents?

(k)bcs yk you can always come over

…

ure right

can i?

(k)absolutely. i’ll meet you at our spot.

kaeya ran a hand through his hair. these arguments were too often for his liking. he knew your family wasn’t picture perfect but he still didn’t like it. no one did. he’s told his mom about them and she’s always been the kindest woman you’ve ever met. 

as he just about tumbled down the stairs, he just about jumped out of his skin when his mom asked him where he was going in such a hurry. 

he simply replied, “our spot.” not thinking that this was his mom he was talking too. she understood nonetheless. as he took the short way to the meeting spot, which was the park where you two met when you were younger, he spotted you up the street. the park was closer to your house rather than his but he found that in the colder months, he could cut through the field that separated his house to a sports field. 

you caught him striding across the street. under the streetlights, his green sweater was the main focus through your tired eyes. his gentle face somewhat calmed you. 

the walk back to his house didn’t feel short. your legs feeling tired from the lack of stimulation while trying to ignore the fighting didn’t make this any easier. 

you could see the all too familiar house come into view, sighing dully, you felt a light weight around your shoulders. it was kaeya’s jacket. you hadn’t noticed the jean jacket over his sweater. wordlessly, you tucked your hands into the pockets and instantly felt a bit better once again. 

“ ‘m back, with our guest of honor.”

that’s always how he’d let his mom know you were here. “guest of honor.” it was a small slip up he made the first time he brought you over. 

“welcome back you two. let me know if either of you need anything, i’ll be going to bed.”

you met her kind eyes. the eyes that looked like kaeya’s. you nodded and she smiled with a wave. both of you waved back, with your depleting energy, you slumped into kaeya’s side. 

he slid the jean jacket off your shoulders and replaced it with his arm, and led you to the bathroom. 

“wait here for a moment, i’ll be right back.” you nodded.

he returned momentarily, just as promised. now, he had a small cloth and what seemed to either be a sweater or some other article of clothing. he handed you the soft fabric of what you deemed to be a sweater and he told you to take a seat somewhere.

choosing to sit on the edge of the tub, you gazed at him curiously. 

“i’m not letting you go to sleep with the day all.” right. he was pretty big on taking care of ones skin. focusing on face, he was almost professional. he ran his hand under the running water to make sure it wasn’t going to be too hot nor too cold. 

once he got the cloth wet he handed it to you. you rubbed your face, making sure not to pull the skin too hard like he taught you. 

after the both of you had washed your faces, he deemed you were ready to go. 

you knew exactly which door it was, and almost as muscle memory, your feet dragged you to it. the red sweater he had given you earlier was now pulled on and it smelled like him. enough to bring you to a calm state. kaeya walked in moments after you had let yourself fall onto his bed. chest falling up and down, you rolled onto your stomach and heaved a sigh. trying to seem dramatic, your eyes failed you. 

you hadn’t noticed kaeya coming up to the edge where he could sit down. a tender hand ran up your back and back down again. he heard small sniffles and knew you were crying, but hey, after knowing what you went through, he felt as if he could cry too. 

he didn’t dare to say anything too brash or overwhelming and chose to stick to small words. 

you soon found yourself basically dragging kaeya down onto his bed. 

little to nothing had been said between you two, but nothing needed to be. you felt immense gratitude for him and his mother, allowing you to come over so late. 

the hand on your back never stopped making you feel safe. even if it was just stationary, you felt grounded; felt loved. 

your head, which rested upon his chest, rose and he cocked his head to the side, as to silently question you. honestly, you just wanted to look at kaeya. he made you feel all kinds of things; good things. 

you inhaled, wiped your eyes again, then exhaled. kaeya’s free hand came up to your face and wiped the stray tear you missed. you leaned into his touch and he smiled again for the hundredth time that night. you’ve told him how much you love his smile, maybe that’s why he keeps doing it. 

kaeya swiped his thumb across your cheek again and you closed your eyes, as if ready to fall asleep in his hand. you felt his tummy flex for a moment as he leaned forwards and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. your eyes shot open and he laughed quietly, as to not disturb anything around him. you took a moment to realize what he did and tucked your head back against his chest. he could feel you smiling against him, like a goof. forgetting about the reason you came over, you both fell into a warm, welcoming slumber.

all writing is my own, no reposts, edits or translations.

[stilldani24]

Freezing Temps

corpse husband x reader oneshot

words: 902

request: “corpse x reader when it’s snowing outside and is insanely cold and reader takes the bus back home from work and she gets locked outside but remembers that corpse has her extra key and she starts crying and didn’t bring a jacket warm enough so she’s literally freezing and corpse comes to pick her up and he brings her inside and runs her a bath and lets her rant about her day 🥺 just like super worried corpse bc it’s actually like -4 degrees outside and he doesn’t want her to die of hyperthermia and he keeps feeling her to see if she still feels cold and he won’t leave her alone until she feels warm” from anonymous

What a shitty week for your car to break down. Well, break down wasn’t the right word. Your car still ran perfectly fine, but had four slashed tires. It was no one that had it out for you, just someone disappointed that your car held nothing of value in it and got mad enough to slash your tires before stealing the car next to yours. You loved renting in your neighbourhood. So, here you were, taking the bus to and from work for a while until you got the money to replace the tires. 

Not to mention, you lived in Canada. It got super cold there, down to -40 when the season truly sucked. 

The only good part about this week was your boyfriend. He had come up from his sunny home in California to visit you, and it was incredible. While you were off at work, you urged him to go sightseeing around your hometown. It was an incredibly unique town so you wanted him to see it, plus it wasn’t a big town so he could feel somewhat relaxed while doing so. 

You got off the bus at around seven at night, immediately hugging your arms. It had gotten colder out from when you went to work, and the early nightfall definitely didn’t help as you walked to your apartment building. You wore only a thinner jacket, one really meant for autumn as opposed to winter, but at least your apartment was a few steps away from the bus stop. But upon reaching your building, you realized that you left your house keys in your locker at work. You tried to breathe calmly as you went to the spot you hid your spare key, but after a few minutes of searching, you remembered that you had given it to Corpse so he wouldn’t be locked out if he got home before you did. 

Shit. 

It was -20 already, and you were not dressed for the weather. Not to mind that the wind was picking up and your boyfriend was nowhere in sight.Pulling out your phone, you called his number only for it to go straight to voicemail. His phone had died while he was out. Lovely. You huddled up next to the door, looking through the door to see if any of your neighbours came out from their apartment. No luck. You tucked your hands into your armpits to keep them warm, but you were shivering so much, it would put a nervous chihuahua to shame. 

Corpse rounded the corner onto your street, looking up at the sky to watch the stars. There were so many, it was amazing to him. He didn’t really like the cold, but thanks to you, he had the proper gear for walking around in it. Warm mittens, a thick parka, sturdy boots, the like. The lack of people in this town also calmed him. He was highkey debating just moving up there with you. As he looked to your building, his eyebrows immediately raised as he saw you. Crouched close to the ground, limbs tucked as close to you as possible as you shivered by the doorway. Tears were on your cheeks, almost looking frozen to your skin. 

“Holy shit,” he cursed as he hurried to you, taking out the spare key from his pocket so he could get you inside as fast as possible. “Babe, are you okay?”

You looked up at him, blinking a bit as you finally comprehended that it was Corpse. “I f-forgot my keys at work,” you stammered in response, finally standing up. Your legs felt frozen underneath your jeans, and Corpse immediately held you in his arms as he got the door unlocked and got you inside. You sighed a huge sigh of relief as the warmth hit you, Corpse leading you into your apartment. 

“Come on, let’s get you warm. I’m gonna run you a bath, okay?” Corpse told you calmly, kissing your frozen cheek as you nodded. Corpse took off his winter wear and hurried to the bathroom, the sound of water running from the tub following soon after. You slowly took off your clothes as well, hanging up your jacket next to Corpse’s and placing your nearly stiff clothing into your clothes hamper next to your bedroom. Corpse soon came back to you, offering you a small smile as he took your hand and led you to the bathroom. The bathroom was steamy from the temperature of the water, and he even set a bath bomb on the ledge for you. 

“Tea or hot chocolate?” he then asked you as he helped you sit down in the tub. Your body shuddered at the sudden temperature change, but it was welcomed. You had been so cold, you seriously thought you could have gotten hypothermia. You looked up at him with these pitiful, yet absolutely adorable eyes. 

“Hot choccy, please,” you pouted, making Corpse laugh with the way that you chose to call your favourite hot drink. 

“One hot chocolate coming right up,” he promised, leaning down to kiss your forehead before heading out to make you one. You smiled as you rested back against the back of the tub, closing your eyes. You didn’t know where you’d be if he hadn’t been there, but you were glad you didn’t have to think about it. 

You should ask him to move in with you, you thought.

[arteacactus]

Can we get a sick fic Janus hiding in his room until someone else breaks down the door? Cause he thought no one would care

this is so out of nowhere bc i like never get fic requests here anymore it’s like always on my sideblog hissceit ,, but it’s 10000% welcome and appreciated JDFJFD thank u .. also i apologize for how needlessly wordy this is HAHA i strayed from the prompt like .. a lot

warnings for sickness , the coughs , vomiting, sore throat , etc , the whole shebang-- and some cursing 

-----

It’s not that Janus had never been sick before, it’s just that...

Well, he’d never been sick before.

He wasn’t positive why (which irked him; he hated being in the dark about things, especially things concerning himself), but he had some theories- the most plausible one thus far simply being that while Thomas had always viewed the Light Sides as human, to some extent, he saw Janus as a two-faced snake; a monster kept hidden away in the shadows under his bed. And monsters didn’t get touched by things like disease. So while the others got touched with sickness occasionally, Janus never did.

But if Janus was getting sick now..

That implied that after he told them his name, Thomas started seeing him as somewhat human, too, with vulnerabilities like the rest.

He wasn’t sure just how he felt about that, but he didn’t love it (he liked being untouchable, okay?).

Ah, well, Janus supposed the why didn’t matter much at the moment. He could ponder that after the fact.

Right now was the time to think about how to end it, because it was pure torture.

He was too hot and too cold all at once, his head throbbed and his body ached in places he never knew could ache, his eyes were sore and oozing and his nose wasn’t faring much better. His throat was raw as if he’d spent hours and hours screaming at nothing, and even after trudging his way into the Dark Side’s kitchen for a cup of tea (though it was more like a cup of honey and lemon with a hint of green tea), it felt absolutely no better; in fact, he just felt worse, because he had to leave bed, go downstairs, spend twenty minutes standing around to make the tea, and then go back up the stairs to his room again.

He’d been fidgeting with his blankets for the past three hours; having them on made him too hot, having them off made him too cold, and so he settled for having one leg covered and nothing else (oddly enough, this was actually a good compromise). The air in his room was hot and stuffy which certainly didn’t help- nor did it help his sinuses any, as it made his headache pound worse and his airways were thoroughly blocked off. He dreaded drinking or swallowing anything as it sent the most uncomfortably painful sensation down his throat and rendered him to a groaning, pained mess.

He clutched his pillow weakly, pressing his head into the hot surface. He hated this. Usually, he thrived in the heat, as his room was typically colder than a jail cell, but this time he wanted it gone. He wished it was winter, just so he could full-body launch himself into a mound of snow and sleep for eternity. 

He felt a slight tug, the distinct feeling of someone requesting his presence, and promptly shooed it away. Not only was he just wearing pants, but he was sick, and he’d rather die than show that level of weakness to anybody.

Three days before, when he’d first felt his symptoms come on, he’d briefly considered going to someone for help; perhaps Remus, because he was his best friend, or Logan, because surely he’d know how to handle diseases and how to cure them, or maybe even Patton, because he was a father figure and might have even made him soup- but he had quickly banished the thought. Sure, maybe they knew his name now, but they still really didn’t like him and had absolutely no reason to help him and not laugh at his predicament.

Well. Remus liked him well enough, but he would have just taken his morning star and bashed Janus across the head with it and called it good, so Janus had to pass on that.

Another tug came, a little more forcefully this time, and Janus dismissed it, just as forcefully. For a little precaution, he took a deep breath and waved his hand, locking up his room so no one could rise up/appear in it, nor could they come through his door. The strain it put on him to maintain that lock was almost enough to make him pass out, but he didn’t dare remove it; he couldn’t risk anybody seeing him in this state. 

He forced his body to roll over to the side, pressing his face into his pillow and sighing in relief as his nose unplugged just enough to take a deep breath in. He found himself actually wishing he’d sneeze, just for the temporary relief it brought. 

He pointedly ignored the next few tugs that hit him, though they weren’t as forceful and harsh as the past couple were. He could only assume the only reason they actually wanted him up there was to lecture him, because him being incapacitated like this surely was affecting Thomas in some way that they didn’t like.

Well, sucks to be them, Janus thought in mild frustration, I’m staying right here until this all goes away and I don’t want to die anymore.

Eventually, the incessant tugging slowed to a stop, and then they finally left him alone.

Letting out a relieved sigh, Janus curled his body into a tight ball, cringing at the sticky feeling of his sweaty skin against his silk sheets, and tried to fall asleep.

Thankfully, sleep claimed him easily, and he drifted off.

However easily it came, though, it certainly wasn’t very forgiving. 

He didn't wake up randomly, but he kept getting thrown so many vivid nightmares and odd, fever-induced dreams that he almost wished he was waking up every few minutes, if only to get away from whatever things his mind kept throwing at him.

He wasn’t awake, but he was aware of his own constant tossing and turning, his bed creaking in protest every time he thrashed and threw his body around the mattress, and when he finally did open his eyes (his throbbing head wasn’t very appreciative of it), he realized he’d somehow twisted himself so his head was at the foot of his bead and his blankets had been fully tossed onto the floor. His pillows weren’t faring much better; only two of his usual six remained in place, and they were mangled to death, the rest on the floor with his blankets.

Janus truly couldn’t bring himself to give a damn- instead, he weakly pushed his body upright, trying not to topple over as his head swam, and fell right back down in the proper position. Thankfully, though, his head not touching the pillows in a while meant they were delightfully chilled, and he moaned aloud at the lovely sensation it brought him. Absently he wondered if he should gather the strength to get himself an ice pack or run an ice bath, but thought better of it. After all, he was still part snake; he’d rather not throw himself into a self-induced comatose state from the cold. 

He blindly reached out and grabbed ahold of his bedside clock, a little antique thing he designed himself to fit his aesthetic despite being very poor at reading Roman numerals, and squinted as he tried to decipher how long he’d been asleep for.

He nearly dropped the thing upon realizing he’d slept for eleven straight hours.

He slid it back onto his nightstand and groaned loudly, though it quickly turned into a pained, chest-wracking cough. He couldn’t avoid it; he had to get up and eat something, or drink something, or get literally anything in his body, because whether he liked it or not, that was the only way he was going to get over this thing quicker. 

He managed to move just enough to get up and off the bed (nevermind the fact he nearly fell straight on the floor the second he stood), and took a couple shaky steps towards the door. The moment he reached out to turn the knob, though, the knocking started.

He froze, looking like a deer caught in headlights as he stared wide-eyed at the piece of wood in front of him, the only thing separating him from them.

There was a call of ‘Janus?’ that was so soft, Janus didn’t actually know who it came from; but that didn’t matter now, because the doorknob was turning and fuck, when did he let go of his lock?

Janus snapped his fingers, and managed to summon all but his hat when the door opened and revealed- much to his surprise- Virgil.

Janus and Virgil blinked at each other for a moment, dumbfounded, but thankfully, Virgil didn’t seem to see anything off about him, and just lowered his gaze and shrunk into his hoodie, refusing to meet Janus’ eyes.

“We- uh, they were trying to call you earlier today, you know.” Virgil’s voice was low and gruff, and Janus could honestly say this was the best possible Side to come see him. Remus was loud and shrill, Patton was too cheery and Roman was boisterous- Logan probably wouldn’t have been awful, but with his insistence to look everyone in the eye as he spoke to them, Janus was sure he’d have deciphered what was going on in a second.

“I’m aware,” Janus replied, internally cringing at his rough tone. He cleared his throat, which was screaming in protest at speaking. 

Virgil didn't seem to notice- or if he did, he didn’t care. “Well. You made them worry, and they sent me to come collect you.”

“Worr- Collect?” Janus echoed in confusion, taken off guard by everything Virgil said.

“Yeah, uh, you worried them so now they won’t take no for an answer. You’re gonna have to come with me.” Virgil, at least, seemed a little sheepish saying this, but he also has a particularly determined and frustrated look to him. Clearly, he wasn’t happy being the one picked to come ‘collect’ Janus, and he wasn’t going to take no from him as an answer, either.

“Wh-” Janus was cut off as Virgil gripped his arm, and any protests he could have made died on his tongue as they started moving. Dizziness attacked him with such ferocity that he was honestly astounded that he hadn’t immediately fallen over, and his stomach lurched at the speed they were moving. Of course, he didn’t bring this up, just took a deep breath and pushed through. After all, Virgil was the last person he wanted to know about his current state.

Once Virgil brought them across the line that separated the Dark Sides from the Light Sides, the immediate bright artificial light from the lamps and ceiling lights making his head pound in a way that was even worse than what the red light of the heat lamps in the snake terrariums in his room caused. 

The air here, though, was clear and fresh, and he basked in the coolness of it as it surrounded him. If it wasn’t for the lights, he’d almost be tempted ask to stay for a while.

Once they made it to the living room, Virgil released him from his grasp, and slunk over into his own corner in the stairwell- and Janus found himself standing right next to Logan.

Unfortunately, they were all staring at him.

Time to put your acting skills to work, Janus, he thought to himself as he heaved an internal sigh, and plastered a toothy grin on his face that bared his sharp canines just enough to make them flinch away.

“So. I was summoned?” His throat protested speech, but thankfully his voice came out smooth and silky, not one bit of it hinting towards his predicament.

“Yeah, and you never answered..?” Thomas seemed more concerned than anything, but Janus definitely saw some suspicion on Roman’s expression (he couldn’t blame him, after how his name reveal went), and Patton was more fidgety than usual. Logan, bless him, didn’t seem to be acting any different, and Virgil looked just as bored as he usually was.

Remus, however...

Well, Remus was looking at Janus with a suspicious gaze similar to Roman’s but far more scrutinizing. Janus briefly felt a flare of panic. If there was anyone here to notice he was off, it would be his best friend, who he lived with and saw every day.

“I was resting, Thomas, would you blame your personification of self-preservation for taking a day off for self-care?” Janus’ tone was exasperated. He wasn’t lying, not really; he was resting, and he was taking a day off for self-care.

Just.. more than one day.

“Respectfully, I have to.. what is the term, ‘call bullshit’?” Came Logan’s voice next to him, and he hoped to God that Logan didn’t notice Janus’ feverish tremors. “You’ve been MIA for the past few days, and it’s escalated to the point where Thomas is beginning to react to it. There is something else going on, and we’d like to know what’s going on.”

Ah, yes, for the good of Thomas, Janus couldn’t help but think a little bitterly, Really, I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like they’d worry about my wellbeing. “I’m afraid I wasn’t bullshitting you, Logan,” Janus replied coolly, “It was the truth.”

“Then how come your room looked trashier than Remus’?” Virgil’s voice, where earlier it was comfortingly gruff, was now an offputting growl. Despite his words, though, Janus could tell he was trying to act like he didn’t actually care. He took note of that, because Virgil caring about him was odd.

“Rearranging,” Janus replied simply, and hoped they took that alone as an acceptable answer.

Of course, they didn’t.

“You never rearrange,” Virgil’s tone turned accusatory, and then Patton cut in. 

“Well, maybe then that’s why he’s doing it now? For something fresh?” He sounded hopeful, as if he couldn’t wait for this entire conversation to be over. Janus felt similarly.

“I’ve lived with him, Patton, I know him, and it’s not something that happens.” Virgil argued, but this seemed to set off Remus as he cut in with, “And you left, so who are you to claim you ‘know him’?”

This sparked an argument amongst themselves, as they fought over the sudden new topic that thankfully centered around Virgil more than anything, and with Logan, Roman, and Thomas trying to mediate, there was no attention put on him anymore.

Janus took this momentary distraction to let out a sigh of relief, the mix of loud voices and trying to act like nothing was up was doing absolutely no good for his headache and exhaustion. He mourned the loss of his hat, because he could have used that to hide his face away from the lights that were bearing down on him and making his skin feel uncomfortably hot.

Though perhaps that was from all the layers of his outfit.

Unfortunately, though, as the seconds passed, the voices seemed to get louder, the lights got brighter, the clothes got hotter and his stomach was churning, his hands were sweating, his head was pounding his legs were getting shaky oh god his ears were ringing oh fuck fuck stop the noise please turn off the lights please stop please stop-

Distantly, he felt his throat start hurting intensely and he realized he was speaking out loud, stammering out pleads that were growing muffled as everything swamped him. His hands raised to cover his ears, trying to drown out the noise around him, and his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed, feeling something warm and wet trickle down his face- tears? Was he crying? No, surely he was just imagining the feeling- but before he hit the hard floor, he felt something grab a hold of him, long, spider-like fingers gripping the undersides of his arms like a lifeline. He felt sharp nails and soft ruffles and realized Remus had caught him, he must have run from his spot to catch him before he fell, and Janus felt the stinging gaze of everybody on him. He felt like a mouse that was dropped into a snake’s cage for feeding, cowering beneath the penetrating gaze of the predator before him. The roles were reversed, and he hated it.

He managed to pry open his own eyes- when had he shut them?- and the moment he saw the horrified gazes trained on him, he fled.

He forced himself from Remus’ arms and he vanished, retreating back to his room, where the lights were off and the curtains were shut and the only thing he had to deal with was the light of his snakes’ heat lamps.

The hot, stuffy air attacked him with a vengeance, though, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. He stripped himself of his clothes again, his skin glistening, heat radiating off of his person. 

He hurriedly locked up his room again, and fell to his knees beside his bed, and retched.

Thankfully, he’d managed to grab his trashcan, but it didn’t make him feel any less humiliated.

He thought he was doing himself a favor, hiding his state from all of them, but from not going to just one of them when he could, he had ended up breaking down in front of all of them. 

Body trembling and chest heaving, Janus collapsed onto the hard floor beneath him, unable to pull himself onto his bed, and curled up into a tight ball.

He wanted this to end.

Janus was so caught up in his misery that he didn’t even notice pounding on his door, all of his senses wrapped up in himself, in his throbbing head and hot skin and burning throat and sore stomach and the sound of his blood pumping in his ears, until there was a deafening ‘crash’ and splinters of wood came flying into his room.

He flinched at the noise and forced himself to sit up, but the sudden movement made him gag, and he found himself panting like a dog trying to cool himself off and calm down his raging nausea. 

There was a barrage of voices at first, but they were quickly hushed- from what, he didn’t know- and then a delightfully cold hand clutched his bicep, and he couldn’t hold back the relieved moan he let out in response.

“I’m gonna put you in bed, okay, Janus?” Came a soft voice- Remus- and Janus didn’t protest as he was gently lifted up by the Creative twin. Admittedly, he didn’t even know Remus could be that gentle, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

There was some quiet shuffling and the sound of a dull ‘smack’ and then someone cursing softly, but soon enough Janus was set down on a set of smooth cotton sheets, clean and cool, and an absolute blessing.

“Jan-Jan, why didn’t you tell us you were sick?” Remus’ tone was scolding, like a parent to a young child (ironic, considering Janus was the one who raised Remus), and Janus opened his eyes just enough to see Remus’ face swathed in the shadows of his room. 

“Weak,” Janus croaked in reply, his voice wrecked, “Di’n.. wan’ see.”

“Your pride is going to be the death of you,” Remus sighed, and Janus heard some other voices pipe in.

“We would have helped you, Janus,” Thomas sounded sad, almost regretful. For what, Janus would never know.

“Indeed,” Logan’s voice was a comfort, Janus was willing to admit. “In fact, I will begin researching how to best care for this as soon as possible, so you are in utmost comfort while you recover.”

“I’ll make some soup,” Came Patton’s quiet promise, “And water, and tea.”

“I changed your bedsheets,” Roman seemed shy, “If you need me to, I can try and make a set that keeps you cooled down.”

Janus almost moaned aloud at the thought, and Roman must have seen it in his expression because he perked up right away. 

“Sorry for, uh, dragging you away so forcefully,” Virgil muttered, and Janus just managed to flap his hand dismissively. 

“You didn’ know.” He mumbled weakly, and he felt Remus’ cool touch brush away hair that clung to his sweaty forehead. 

“And now we do. So we’re going to take care of you, because we care about you.” He promised in a tone with no room for argument, with the others murmuring in agreement behind him.

And for once, Janus believed him, and let himself be taken care of.

[actual-fucking-clown]

Take your time then.

Aizawa x gender neutral reader

Story under the cut :)

Unedited but like edited but still not properly edited :)

Hope you enjoy!!!

a/n: it’s been a hot min since I’ve written a fic. I think the last time i was 14 and it was shit and on wattpad. Ha. I hate myself. N e way, I was recently writing some shit for an au me and my friend thought up and in the back of my mind I was like, “you should start writing fics again bc this is kinda fun”, soo lo and behold I made a post asking if anyone would be interested, shared a little too much personal shit in it but whatever, and have now decided to write this mother fucker. (3/25/21)

a/n: not sure if anyone will care about this series of a/n’s but I’m just chronicling thoughts ig. rewriting rn bc my first draft was short and ass. Also I’m thinking about opening requests after this is posted, will go into detail in a diff post maybe. (3/28/21)

a/n: deleted everything, rewriting. I just want to make something that might be decent and if I can give that feeling, y’know those chills you get when you read something utterly gorgeous, but I’m bad at writing. sadge (3/28/21, like several hours later)

a/n: ugh (4/1/21)

a/n: ugh pt 2 electric boogaloo. I can’t seem to move forward with the writing. I realized something like this might happen bc to solve a problem feelings need to be discussed and I fucking hate doing that so you can see where I’m fucking up lmaooooo (4/2/21)

a/n: I read angst to fuel my writing brain. So, read some angst, finally writing agian. This first section is probs as long as the story itself LMFAO(4/5/21)

Started: (3/25/21) Finished: (4/5/21)

Warnings: uh angst, curse words, like a lot, (i saw someone else put this as a warning, do I actually need it?), avoiding problems instead of actually facing them, mentions of shit so-so parenting, mentions of not being able to live up to high expectations, y’know, the works

Synopsis: Aizawa takes in Eri without running it by you first and expects you to be okay with it. That’s funny. He was wrong.

Can I preface this with a thought? I’m going to anyway,

all the fics I read paint him as the sweetest partner and I’m sure he is but I think they miss out on how blunt he is and his whole “Mr. Rationality” thing. So as much as I adore him I think there are situations that he’d be a bit more colder towards, a bit more straightforward about. Maybe even like a bit insensitive about but maybe bc he doesn’t have the full picture or something. so I guess this is another warning but aizawa is a little insensitive in the beginning (but like not really but kinda. it’s complicated)

~

Rain pattered softly against the window. The smell of some old random Bath and Bodyworks candle you’d dug out from a box you’d never bothered to unpack smothered the room. Some Netflix show idly played on a low volume on your computer, you’d lost interest in watching tv awhile ago. You needed a break. After the eventful month you’d been having you really needed this. 

Now of course your whole year so far had been eventful. What with all the villain attacks on you and Shouta’s class and the kidnapping of one of your students, to just dealing with the more mundane problems with your students. No. You had no problem with that. The villains, although not easy, were something you were trained to handle. The smaller problems with your students weren’t arduous either, after all you weren’t too much older than them. 

When reflecting on your situation, from and outside perspective it could be seen as the straw the broke the camels back, which sure, makes sense. After all, you’re bound to be stressed out by everything else, so why would this seemingly insignificant thing weigh heavier than a villain attack? Well if that is the situation why does this single straw feel like it weighs a ton? This is not that. This is not culmination of the events of this year draining the life from you. This is something entirely different. A panic inducing life change that completely took you by surprise mixed with your inability to actually face your problems. 

You don’t blame them. You can’t. They’ve done nothing wrong. A child. A small, probably mentally scarred child is your problem. Well not her personally but the fear taking care of her instills in you. Despite working in the field that you do, you cannot for the life of you handle actual children. Sure you’re a little awkward with your class but at least they’re young adults and (vaguely) mature and independent to a certain extent. The fact that your long term boyfriend just came back one day, small child in tow and said “Hey I’ve gotta look after this one now” not verbatim obviously, for a lack of better words, fucked you up. He basically solo adopted a kid and, let’s be honest, he probably expected you to help out. But how could you? How could this man look at you and think “I want this person to help me raise an already fucked up child?” Ok sure, he doesn’t at first give off the “I’m totally father figure material” vibe but in the end he is extremely competent. You on the other hand, not so much.

You’d never been good with children. Tried your best to steer clear of them. Didn’t matter the place, didn’t matter who’s kid, you couldn’t handle them. You would just stand there, awkwardly, not entirely sure of what to do and petrified that there was the possibility of making some mistake which would upset the child and then oh wow look, your head got chopped right of your shoulders. That’s hyperbole of course but it does sum up the insurmountable fear that overcomes you whenever you have to deal with a child. So considering the fact that your long term boyfriend had suddenly decided to adopt and not at least warn you, didn’t sit right with you.

So, the best and most obvious choice, was to avoid your problem. Avoid Shouta, avoid Eri. Avoid the mention of them and you, avoid it all. And honestly you’d done pretty well so far. You were able to have as little contact with them as possible considering the close proximity of your living quarters in the teacher’s dorms. After all they were legally supposed to give you two separate rooms but you never actually used yours, well until now. You were living it up honestly. Did you feel awful? Of course. He is your boyfriend after all and you were sure Eri doesn’t deserve your cold shoulder but this is probably for the best. What could you offer her? You weren’t sure that you were a good role model for her or anyone for that matter. What did you know about raising kids? it’s not like you had parents to set a proper example for you. Of course they might have shown you what not to do but where do you go from there? Is shit like that really avoidable? You don’t want to be like them. You strive to be better but what if you can’t be. There’s also the added bonus of the fact that raising a kid seems taxing on a relationship. Now matter how strong you were sure that the stress of a kid could break a relationship down that then festers into something toxic and unrecognizable. You didn’t want that. God you couldn’t let that happen. No. This was definitely for the better.

Of course Aizawa didn’t feel the same. He was confused on why his partner had been so blatantly avoiding him. Did he do something wrong? He doesn’t remember doing anything that might’ve upset you. So why now? Why pull away now? He had to get down to the bottom of this but catching you was the hard part. You had been taking on more work, offering more assistance to the other teachers, picking up extra patrols, doing everything and anything to stay away from Shouta. It took him a month but he finally caught up to you. You were tired, worn out he knew that. Instead of loading yourself with work you’d decided to hole yourself up in your room. It was now or never.

You were pulled out of your peace at the sound of a few gentle knocks to your door. You really didn’t want to get it. You honestly couldn’t be bothered. 

“(N/n)? Are you in there?” He hadn’t gotten it wrong right? He hadn’t been too distracted earlier and missed you leaving right?

“What’s up?” You hummed from your place by the window, not bothering to actually open the door.

“Can I come in?” Shouta asked, voice soft. You could barely hear him above the patter of the rain and the low humming of your laptop.

“Uh, no, kinda busy. Got loads of work to do. Need to focus, sorry. Maybe later?” You hesitantly spoke. Not sure if you were convincing enough. 

Apparently you weren’t.

He sighed. “It’s been “later” for an entire month. Please (Y/n) just let me in. Whatever this is we can talk it out.” You had predicted that eventually Shouta would start to try to crack down on whatever the issue was but you didn’t expect it so soon. 

“Uh...no?” You tried, hoping that maybe he’d just give up but that wasn’t Shouta.

“No, you don’t get that option, now please, open the door.” Although it was still soft his voice had taken a more stern tone.

“Oh no I’m dead. I guess I can’t open the door. What a shame. I guess the only way to talk with me now is in the pits of hell.” You quipped, trying to lessen the tension that already ran thick.

“(Y/n).” Aizawa sighed.

“Jeez fine. Talk about pushy.” You quipped once more to no avail.

Opening the door you were met with, well exactly what you expected. He stood there, arms crossed, a stern yet gentle look in his eyes, his lips pulled into a slight frown. 

“Come in.” You mumbled as you stepped further into your room.

“So tell me. What’s wrong?” The sentence stirred so much. Of course you wanted to tell him. You wanted to spill your guts to the man you loved in hopes of comfort but you just can’t. You know you’ll just scare him off. You know you’ll make things worse.

So you stay silent.

He says nothing as he grabs your hands gently and leads you over to your bed. He sits the two of you down on the edge, muting the movie on the laptop sitting behind him.

“You know you can tell me if something’s bothering you right?” Shouta sent you a warm smile. 

You weren’t very comfortable with discussing your feelings sometimes, it mostly stemmed from the fact that you never really could discuss them with anyone growing up which made it harder to confide in anyone now, as at this point bottling things up was a habit. But this was also just something that you were sure that you couldn’t talk about.

Silence answered him once again.

Now he took sometime to think about his approach, think about what could’ve happened that made you pull away. What did he do that was different from his norm? He was genuinely stumped and the fact that you weren’t helping him confused him even more.

You decided to take this time to lament the situation too. What was he going to do? Should you actually tell him or play it off? If you play it off will he still insist that something is wrong? If you tell him will he leave you? If you don’t tell him will he leave you? You risked a glance at him, he was still deep in thought.

Why did you have to adopt this fucking kid without at least warning me?

“What?” Your head shot up at the sound of his shocked voice.

“What?” You asked, genuinely confused.

“Eri’s the problem...?” He spoke slowly, not entirely sure if he’d heard you right.

“Did I say that out loud?” You squeaked.

“I’m pretty sure you mumbled something along the lines of “why’d you have to adopt that fucking kid”.” Shouta said, unsure if he’d heard wrong. Wanting to have heard wrong.

“No no no no no no! It’s not like that! I mean it is like that but not like that!” You frantically waved your hands in hopes of defusing the situation.

The way he looked at you made you want to cry. You felt horrible. You felt like the biggest asshole in the world and, at this point you probably were. He looked at you with such a look of heartbreak and disappointment and confusion it made you sick to your stomach. You felt light-headed and started shaking. You were right. You were right. You were always right. God why did you have to be right! Why did you have to be like this? Scared of raising a fucking child! It was asinine and irrational and you could probably move past it  but thanks to your stupid fucking brain you just sealed your fate.

You scooted away from him still waving your hands frantically as no’s tumbled endlessly from your lips. You tried sputtering an apology, anything so that he wouldn’t look at you like that but nothing stuck. Nothing was comprehensible. Nothing worked. Nothing would work. Nothing will work. You were hopeless. It was hopeless. 

“If it isn’t like how it seems then tell it to me straight.” Shouta finally spoke up.

You took a second to come down from your panic. You steeled your nerves as much as possible before you spoke. 

“Um well, I have nothing against her it’s just that a little heads up would’ve been nice? I’m not all that great with kids so this is just kind of weird is all.” You were purposefully being vague in hopes that he’d understand what you meant and also maybe drop it.

“Not great with kids? You’re literally a teacher.” He pointed out.

“Yeah you know but she’s like a kid kid and let’s be honest I’m not too great with the students either.” You awkward laughed. So he wasn’t getting it.

“Wha-you’re fine with the students and I’m sure you’ll be fine with Eri, there was no reason to avoid me over this.” Shouta sighed. As good as he was with dealing with people, he was equally as shit. Or maybe it was just the fact that you gave him very little to work with. It was probably a bit of both. Still his dismissiveness was not helping you right now.

“No, no, no, no. I think I’ll stay here. Uh, good luck with your parenthood escapades and sorry to leave you high and dry like this but that’s going to have to be a no from me.” You rambled. He seemed to be getting a little tired of this.

“(Y/n) stop being irrational. She’s not even our kid I’m just looking after her for now. Why are you being difficult? I told you you were fine with the students and you’ll be fine with Eri, what else do you want to hear?” Shouta grumbled.

“Well uh I don’t know, uh...” You trailed off, this seemed to be going in a direction you really didn’t want it to go. A slight hostility settling in the air.

At your lack of a proper answer he clicked his tongue. He took a moment to reassess the situation. There had to be something he was missing. After all you were getting really worked up but if you weren’t going to talk to him there was nothing he could do. He shook his head before running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“(Y/n), please, please, just be honest with me. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, you can tell me. But I won’t be able to understand if you don’t.” Aizawa sighed, deciding that getting worked up about this was not the way to go, especially when you seemed to be especially distraught.

“Uh, god the thing is I don’t know entirely what to say to put the shitshow in my head into perspective.” You mumbled, trying desperately to figure out what to say that could clear the air but nothing seemed to be coherent enough.

“Take your time.” He decided that this was the best approach to things, making sure neither party got too worked up lest this turn into a fight.

The rain continued to patter softly against the window and your candle continued to burn an slightly off floral-ish scent.  A deafening silence hung in the air because even though he was being as patient as possible some of his frustration leaked through, it was bound to though so you couldn’t exactly blame him. After all, you were probably equally as frustrated with yourself too. 

“I’m just not good in a position like this. I’m not good with kids, especially someone like Eri who’s already so broken. You have that nurturing nature, it comes natural to you but I’m not on that level. I  don’t know the first thing about caring for a child let alone one as already traumatized as her. I’d fuck it up and only make things worse. I don’t want you to reassure me that I’ll be okay with her, I want you to understand that I’m not comfortable with this and that it might take me awhile to come around. I’m sure I sound like the biggest asshole ever but please understand that this just isn’t something I’m ready for.” You had rambled a bit, you were aware of that, but it was the only way that you could properly express your feelings without making things too complicated.

Aizawa said nothing. Trying to figure out how to go about things.

Was he upset? Yeah, you two, even after several long years of being together, hadn’t discussed moving forward in your relationship in depth. And if he’d tried you seemed content with the point you two were at so he left it be, no reason to try and move forward when what you had was already fine the way it was. But recently he’d been craving more. Some mornings, when he’d be the first to wake, he’d study your features in the soft light of the sunrise and wonder what it’d be like to properly settle down with you. Get married, start a family, all that jazz. He’d taken in Eri only because it was the most rational decision. His quirk would be good for quelling hers had it ever gotten out of hand. But it also seemed to quell his musings of something more with you. He had imagined you being a good parental figure for the little girl and it made his heart flutter and his stomach explode with butterflies. But now seeing that that wasn’t what you wanted and how you weren’t ready for it, it stung. But in the end, he loved you. He’d easily give his life for you. So, if that meant waiting he’d wait. He’d wait a million years if he had to. He could do it.

Once again he spoke,

“Take your time then. I can wait.”

Tagslist?: @captainchrisstan (I think you said you wanted to be tagged but I’m also just small brained lol If u didn’t want to and I misinterpreted things just let me know :) )

[paintedpeeta]

headcanons for everlark ice skating? i can picture katniss being good at it bc of the lake when she went with her father and district 12s cold weather in the winter? do you think she’d take peeta during the colder months and teach him what she knows? and peeta would definitely love it because she’d be so graceful gliding across the ice. their hands would get really cold and red in the bitter weather and they’d have hot chocolates and be all cute again when they got home

~ a n o n

lol sadly i don’t think canon peeta would be up to much in terms of ice skating 💀 he’s pretty big and has a heavy tread as well as his poor leg, i doubt our boy would fare very well out on the ice, especially if it was just the frozen lake or something you’re suggesting they’d skate on.

katniss on the other hand, would probably be pretty amazing at it. maybe it’s something she takes up in the winters because hunting is no good when it’s as cold, and she’s little and graceful so it would come easily to her.

peeta on the other hand would be very happy to sit and watch her. even if he’s sitting absolutely freezing, he’d be enjoying himself if she was.

and afterwards, when they trudge back home hand-in-hand as they try to warm each other’s cold fingers. someone gets a fire going while the other runs a bath big enough for the both of them. kisses to her little reddened nose while she blows her homemade hot chocolate to cool it. pulling him in closer for a long, warming cuddle in front of the hearth.

[jonesinghardy]

No More Spitting Feathers 02/?

PAIRINGS: Warren Worthington III x Reader  WARNINGS: injury, blood, implied drug use RATING: T+, will be raised later.  WORD COUNT: 2.2k INSTALLATIONS: Part 01 AUTHOR’S NOTE: Dedication and thanks to Andi @venombxby​ for discussion and honorary mentions to Monica @rosesvioletshardy​ and Wella for inspo. This is written in second person bc I have never been able to get on board with Y/N trends, and the reader is a mutant with a limited mix of healing, telekinesis and some empathic inclinations. 

The night is never as dark as you’d like in a city, and no matter the hour, night owls are bound to be turning their gaze onto anything that moves above the shadows. 

He casts quite a shadow. 

Dove.

You don’t speak much after he agrees to go with you. There is a stalemate between the two of you for many minutes before he offers an arm and helps you up, getting you to a more comfortable place in the warehouse to rest until you could stand on your own. 

You didn’t think he’d be able to fold his wings enough to hide them, you thought it would hurt too much, but he manages to do it anyway and tucks them away into a long coat that he found in the disused warehouse staffroom, along with a large umbrella that helps conceal him better.

Once you could stand you found a dusty bathroom with running water and managed to clean your arms and face of blood and wrangle your hair into something less dishevelled. You also took off all your absurd jewelry, cleaning it all with hot water and chucking it into the same locker you find a pair of shoes that are too big but are better than trying to walk barefoot. 

You get the privilege of draping his leather jacket over your shoulders, which doesn’t exactly keep you warm given the modifications he made to the back to accommodate his wings, but you suppose you’d be colder without it. 

You walk in silence side by side for most of the journey, and calling it such is no exaggeration. It only takes half an hour for the pain to creep into his wing again, especially with how he has them folded against his back— you feel it, and have to breathe through the discomfort, the one aspect of your powers that you can’t turn off, but that thankfully doesn’t wipe you out the same way healing or telekinesis does. 

It takes three hours, and neither of you seeks a break, somehow knowing that stopping would benefit neither of you. He gets more tired though, but you can tell he relaxes a bit when the city falls away and the trees thicken, and the people and cars become few and far between.

The safe house looks abandoned from the outside, and to your benefit, it has thick overgrowth around its perimeter that provides plenty of privacy. All of the windows are either frosted or boarded up save for the stained glass windows on the old domed church that will be your shelter. 

You find the key where you expect it, and as soon as you enter you’re working on autopilot. You throw off the shoes that have given you blisters, walk across the confused space to a large set of shelves and pick out a change of clothes that don’t quite fit but are better than the tiny cocktail dress you’ve had to trek your way here in. 

Dove throws off the coat and drops onto the nearest cot, groaning as he stretches out his wings. You shudder from the incomparable empathic impression it leaves in your back. You change without caring if he looks (he doesn’t), putting on the pants and a too-large shirt, collecting a blanket from a crate in the corner and yourself dropping onto a cot not too far from where he’d lain down. You pass out after you heal your blistered feet. 

You sleep for eighteen hours. 

He sleeps for twelve, and when he awakens he’s hungry and hungover, aching in unpleasant but not unfamiliar ways. You can feel the malaise even though it doesn’t wake you, creeping into your body and your dreams and then fading once he freely navigates the space and finds the food and water kept in the makeshift pantry. 

You feel better when you wake, but you’re ravenous, and dig into whatever shelf-stable item seems most appealing— you’re still chewing when you go and find him, having made himself a more private corner to relax in with cushions, two cot mattresses and a few blankets. 

Swallowing doesn’t quite soothe the scratch in your throat, and you notice some subtly floating feather particles in the air, leaving you to idly wonder how much he sheds. 

“Are you well enough to heal me now?” he asks, filling the silence. You’re not sure if he believes you are, he seems tired and resigned.

“No,” you reply. “Not significantly anyway.”

He levels you with an incredulous look. 

You sigh. “I could give myself an aneurysm if I try to heal you too fast.” 

“What can you do, then?” 

“I could have you flying again in ten days,” you say, “that won’t put too much strain on me.” 

His wing, the undamaged one, flutters slightly. “Fourteen.”

“What?”

“Take fourteen days. You were like a rag doll at the warehouse, Häschen, you’re no use to me like that. You think you can do ten days— I don’t have anywhere to be— we’ll do fourteen.”

You look at him for a moment, trying to spot some ulterior motive and figure he must be doing the same. 

“Okay, alright. Two weeks.” That’s probably how long you’ll need to arrange extraction anyway. 

You swallow again against the scratch in your throat and take a deep breath. 

“You need a tour?” you ask, feeling awkward. 

He shakes his head. “I looked around while you were sleeping.” 

“The church is free-reign,” you say, explaining anyway, “the rest of the building is not really safe, but isn’t off-limits.” You shrug. “The shower room is over there.” You point. “Towels and soap are in the baskets… they’re all labelled.” 

“You planning to leave me alone here, Häschen?” he asks, sitting forward slightly and canting his head to the side. 

You both react when he strains his wing, and you try to hide your whimper with a cough. His wings shudder and the feathers tighten up, drooping slightly as he sits back against the wall with a slight grunt of pain.

“I want to get some supplies from the store… like better food,” you explain with a shrug. You also want to get him some medicine to tide him over between your attempts to heal him. 

“Are you going to walk?” 

You shake your head. “There’s a car stored on the property, I have what I need. I shouldn’t be more than forty minutes.”

He doesn’t say anything further, and it feels too invasive to watch him struggle through his pain.

“You want anything?” you ask, already planning to get him some clothes. 

“No.”

“Okay. What clothing sizes do you wear?” 

The look he gives you is almost a smirk, a raised brow and a quirk of his lip that makes you flush. You look away in embarrassment and clear your throat again. 

He tells you the sizes. “You don’t like my clothes?” he asks. 

“That’s— that’s not the point,” you say, and motion at him, his pants and boots, the lack of a shirt, the modified leather jacket he’d taken back while you slept. “That’s all you have.”

He shrugs with his hands. “Do what you want.”

“I will.”

“See you in an hour, then.” He seems inclined to give you more time than you think you’ll need.

— 

The subtle hiss and splash of water greet your ears from across the echoey safe house when you return. You took less than the hour, but more than the forty minutes to get everything done. You put the bags down on the tables that make up the kitchen (which isn’t much of a kitchen at all. There is an old fridge, two hot plates, a toaster oven and some cookware and dishes next to a deep industrial sink).

There is steam coming from the shower room, and when you get closer with the bag of clothes you got for him, you feel a malaise creep into your body. 

“Dove?” you call, but he doesn’t answer.

You put down the bag and go to the door, not sure what you’ll find, but hardly wanting to violate his privacy nor open yourself up to any teasing if you’ve misinterpreted the empathic impression. 

A small gasp leaves your lips. His wings are almost totally clean now, free of the dirt and char and blood that had been caked on them— some of which sits over the drain grate to his right. Feathers are missing from his left wing, and it continues to droop, but what concerns you is how he’s kneeling on the floor with his head against the wall, taking in shuddering breaths. The wings hide his nakedness almost completely, but that hardly crosses your mind as you step into the room.

“Dove?” you say again, more urgently now, your new shoes splashing on the wet floor as you cross over to him. 

It’s a rather bare room, stripped of all curtains and half-stalls, with only a dozen showerheads set a few feet apart around the space. He has two showers running to cover all of him, and you gasp when you feel how hot the water is, yanking the tap to the left to make it cold and then reaching over him to do the same to the other. 

“What are you doing!” your voice is louder than you intend, and he tenses, groaning when cold water penetrates whatever daze he was in. You get down on one knee and grab his face between your hands. He’s hot hot hot, and not just from the water, flushed. He startles, wings jerking and feathers fluffing, and he gives a slight grunt of alarm.

“Hey, hey, it’s me— it’s just me.” 

He doesn’t quite relax but he seems to calm, bowing his head slightly and shivering. You carefully reach up to turn off both showers and bring your hand to his neck. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus through the haze and urgency. 

“What are you doing…” he says dully, lifting a hand to grasp your forearm. He groans when he feels the initial relief of your healing. “Don’t, you’re not— I’ll be fine—”

“I can handle it, you’re not well,” you reply, almost scolding. He makes a sound of acknowledgement but speaks no further, he keeps his hand on your arm. 

You don’t find what you’re looking for, you assumed it would be an infection from the fracture, but his whole nervous system is rioting. You quickly readjust, your fingers pressing against his neck, by the nape. It’s not the healing you expected him to need, but you hadn’t exactly gotten the chance to examine him and come up with a plan. Your healing balances his autonomic nervous system, calming the sympathetic and re-engaging the parasympathetic. He’d need more help than that, you can tell, but easing his distress is your primary goal. 

A drop of blood hits the floor, and his hand squeezes your arm. Your nose is bleeding.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice much more controlled now.

“I’m alright,” you assure him, “I know my limits, I can do a bit more…” You aren’t lying but you know how far you can push yourself before you get as bad as you were last night. You can do more now that you’re touching him too, that always makes you more precise.

His breathing even outs and his heart rate calm, and his head bows in relief after another long moment. Your bloody nose gets worse, but you set him up better this time, stimulating his immune system and provoking a healing response throughout his body, natural pain relief. It would help his body help itself until you could resume your efforts tomorrow. 

You move your hand away from his neck and move it to under your nose. The leg of your pants is wet when you stand, and you turn away but he gives your arm a little tug, making you look back down at him. His face isn’t as flushed now, and there’s a different kind of pain in his eyes, something non-physical. Something like guilt. 

“I didn’t deserve that,” he says gravely. You slowly pull your hand away. 

“You were in distress, I wasn’t going to leave you like that.” 

His wings twitch, ruffling carefully. “Some pain deserves to be felt,” he argues weakly. “Especially for something of my own doing.”

“Withdrawal isn’t a penance, Dove.” When he meets your gaze, you think he might be searching for judgement, but he won’t find any. He looks away.

“It’s an unfair strain on you.”

You turn away, still holding your bloody nose. “I can’t just pick and choose what I heal. If you’re sick I can’t fix your wing effectively.” You huff, turning away. “And I’m fine. It’s not as draining when I can touch you… I left you some clothes by the door. If you really don’t want to waste my efforts, you’d better get some rest. Your body can do the work itself until tomorrow.”

You start out of the room deliberately, shoesfalls splashing wetly. As you pass the threshold, the echoey walls of the shower room amplify his quiet words just enough for you to hear.

“Thank you.”

You keep going without acknowledging it.

[aahsokaatano]

King I would love that essay about Changing Channels

Fjdjshjdhdjd thanks for reading my tags Jesse you're the real VIP here.

Okay SO "Changing Channels" is the 8th episode of the 5th season of Supernatural. I give this information bc it's important in looking at the context of the episode - now I've complained a LOT about how SPN is terrible at giving us canonical timeframes within the episodes (y'all i was SHOCKED to discover the first season is supposed to cover a little over a year's worth of time, I thought it was like... 4 or 5 months) so I can't say for sure how long before and after the other episodes happen in-universe around "Changing Channels" BUT

The episode before is "The Curious Case of Dean Winchester" where Dean and Bobby bet years of their lives in a game of poker with a witch. The episode after is "The Real Ghostbusters" where Sam and Dean end up at a fan convention for the in-universe Supernatural novels.

Why am I pointing this out? Because it's important, please, no audience participation, this is like a Brian David Gilbert panel.

[under a cut bc this got...... STUPID long. Who knew I still had this many opinions about SPN in 2020?]

Okay first of all I wanna talk about the cinnamon topography of this episode - I love the way the first 5 seasons are shot because you really feel the americana gothic horror aesthetic they were going for (I have a whole ‘nother rant about the first 5 seasons vs the last 10 but thats for another time). Everything is a little washed out and grey-toned, the camera angles generally serve to make Sam and Dean appear even taller than they actually are (larger than life - again, another post for another time), and there’s honestly a LOT of shots from the ‘monster’s’ perspective, which is really neat! I’ve said it before (on another blog - YES i have a dedicated spn rant blog, don’t @ me hdjfhfjfh) but the episode that really got me hooked on spn back in the day was the second one, about the w*ndigo. Yes, it’s a racist, culturally appropriating shitstorm, but the way its SHOT is fantastic. I’m honestly not a horror fan, but that episode could have easily relied on jumpscares and they DIDN’T and it was scary as all fucking hell and just - fuck okay getting off topic. 

In “Changing Channels” we get that distinctive grey-washed tone in the beginning and the very end of the episode, but the middle? When they’re in TV Land? Everything is bright. Almost comically so, I mean - okay look at these two shots of Sam (apologies about the crappy phone pics, netflix won't let me screenshot)

This one is from the start of the episode, in the "real" police station

And this is from a little later in the "TV" hospital

Ignoring that my phone is washing him out a lot in both pics, you can still see the warmer tones in the hospital shot as compared to the cold greyness in the police station one

Okay, now look at this picture

Dean inside the Impala, and those warm tones are back. Why? Because even though Sam and Dean believe that they’re back in the “real” world, they aren’t - so instead of the grey-washed shots that we’re used to, its the bright and warm shots that we see in “TV Land”! So the viewers pick up, even if its just subconsciously, that the boys aren’t out of the woods yet - everything is still too bright to be the in-universe reality we’ve come to expect from SPN by season 5

Which is also why i love this shift so much

These shots are literally SECONDS apart. The first is in "TV Land" and the second is in the "real" world. I have some red strip lights behind my bed, which are reflecting off my laptop screen - notice how much brighter they seem in the second picture? That’s because literally all of the warm colors have been drained out of the shot. As soon as Gabriel snaps them all back into “reality,” things get so much colder.

Okay, so the second thing I want to talk about is some of the very pointed dialogue choices within the “shows” the Winchesters take part in. Not between Sam and Dan and Gabriel, but from the, for lack of a better term, NPCs within the shows.

In the hospital, Dr. Piccolo tells Sam that he is “the finest cerebrovascular neurosurgeon I have ever met - and I have met plenty! So that girl died on your table; it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Sometimes people just die.” Standard cheesy soap opera dialogue - but lemme just swap some words here and - 

“You are the finest hunter I have ever met - and I have met plenty! So that girl died on your hunt; it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Sometimes people just die.”

Or even - 

“You are the finest hunter I have ever met - and I have met plenty! So Jessica and Mary died above you; it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault [but Azazel’s]. Sometimes people just die.”

Keeping in mind that the NPCs are basically Gabriel’s mouthpieces, its easy to see why so many people ship Sabriel. I’d actually love to see a fic that explores them talking about this moment in particular later on and the kind of gentle forgiveness that Gabriel can give Sam... getting off topic again.

In an abrupt about-face, the herpes commercial (much meme’d within the fandom) is straight up Gabriel shaming Sam. Because if you replace “genital herpes” with “demon blood” it’s.... dark. And very intentional.

So that’s what I did! (I combined all spoken lines to make the message easier to read, rather than splitting them up across 3 speakers as in the episode)

“I’ve drank demon blood. I tried to be responsible... did I try. But now, after being forcibly detoxed, I fight my addiction every day to reduce the chances of passing back into that toxic mindset. Ask your loved ones about a demon blood intervention today. [...] I am doing all I can to slightly lessen the chance of drinking demon blood again. And that’s a good thing.”

Like... the subtext throughout this episode sure is. Something.

Okay this is getting ridiculously long so I wanna wrap up by talking about The Best Scene In The Whole Goddamn Show

I’m talking, of course, about Gabriel’s Confession

“Max,” you might be saying, “there are so many better scenes out there, even within the first five seasons!” and to that i say, again, no audience participation, please. Also, you’re WRONG and here’s why!

Gabriel’s confession hits every goddamn emotional chord that the fandom begged for on this show - fear, rage, grief, pain, guilt, and even, yes, absolution. 

Okay, here’s the scene again for those of you who don’t think about it at least once a week like me

Now this video is missing some of the conversation, but most of it is there, enough for you to see what I’m talking about. Gabriel up to this point has been, essentially, a nameless antagonist - this is the third episode he appeared in, and before this, we didn’t even know he was going by Loki. He was just referred to as ‘The Trickster’. But here, not only do we get a name (a real name at that), but we also get a glimpse of his backstory and a hell of a lot of character development in less than 5 minutes. I mean, Sam didn’t get this much character development throughout the entirety of season 1! There’s a good reason Gabriel has been a fan-favorite for a very long time, and I think a big part of it is this particular scene.

Because here, we get to see Gabriel being vulnerable. And we even see Dean show a little vulnerability, as he can empathize being the third party to explosive arguments between the two people who mean everything to him.

I mean... okay, it will never see the light of day, but I wrote a little bit of a Reverse ‘Verse fic (because I’m a sucker for Reverse ‘Verse) and this was the scene I started with. Not s1e1, not even the resurrection in s4e1, but this scene. Because this scene, more than any other, is critical to the way not only Gabriel’s (first) arc plays out, but also to how Sam and Dean conduct themselves for the rest of the season (and maybe a bit beyond, it’s been a hot minute since I watched s6 and later). Dean is angry but determined, he has a point to make, he is going to save Sammy and if he can’t do that, then he’s going to damn well die trying. But Sam... it’s after this episode that we start really seeing how bone-achingly tired Sam is. It’s after this conversation - where one of the other archangels, one of the few beings who can truly understand how powerful Michael and Lucifer are - says that there’s no other way around this that Sam seems to start inching towards giving in. Saying yes.

Sure, in the actual episode, he seems outraged by the idea, practically scoffs at it - “you want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?” - but it’s after this where Sam really seems run down.

I mean, look at the episodes before and after (HAH you thought I forgot about that first point I made at the very beginning of this post! I did, briefly, but I’ve circled back to it, thanks for being understanding). In “The Curious Case of Dean Winchester,” Sam behaves much as he did since the start of s4, which is to say, ‘annoying little know-it-all brother tossed into the middle of the apocalypse and just trying his best’ and it works well for the mad scramble for any scrap of information that’s happening in s4/early s5.

But in “The Real Ghostbusters” it’s different. This is another funny meta episode - except, while Sam and Dean are technically aware of the joke, they aren’t as amused by it as the audience is. And it’s not because of the ghosts. It’s because they’re just... done. Especially Sam. Dean has that nice little moment with the cosplayers at the end of the episode, but Sam... threatens to shoot Chuck. Sam ‘goes darkside’ more often than pretty much any other character in the show, but that moment is different. It’s a flat promise, not a threat. He’s not being an asshole, like he is after losing his soul. He’s just... done. And it’s obvious to see.

Gabriel’s confession is the turning point for Sam in s5, and it informs a lot of his behavior through the rest of s5, and possibly beyond! Like I said, I haven’t watched past s5 in a very long time, so I don’t feel confident enough to analyze that specific sort of character line, but I feel confident in saying that hearing one of the most powerful beings in the universe basically say “it doesn’t matter what you do - your destiny is unavoidable” and then he’s proven right (Sam says yes to Lucifer, and Dean eventually does say yes to Michael down the line!)... like, that’s really gotta fuck up your world view that was built on free will and throwing off the shackles of fate. Sam managed to avoid his ‘destiny’ in s2... but then it turns out that that wasn’t ever his destiny. Lucifer was his destiny.

Talk about an obscured view of the inner self.