#my heat allergy is raring its head

[disagigglebilities]

As someone who has heat intolerance and several chronic illnesses that get worse with heat, I hate not having control over the thermostat

[drvitaltips]

Why Does My Face Get So Red After Exercise?

Ever finish a tough workout and look in the mirror to see a face as red as a tomato? Wondering why does my face get so red when I exercise? Don't worry, you're not alone! That flushed, even burning feeling you get in your face after exercising is perfectly normal. But what causes it? Let's dive in and find out why your face turns red when you exercise, and what you can do about it. Why Does This Happen? - Your Body's Thermostat: When you exercise, your body temperature rises. To keep you from overheating, your smart body kicks its cooling system into high gear. Blood vessels near the surface of your skin widen (this is called vasodilation) bringing more blood closer to the surface where heat can escape. This rush of blood is why your face takes on that rosy glow. - Fair Skin Shows It More: People with fair skin tend to show this redness more visibly. Think of it like wearing a white shirt – any little spill shows up much more clearly than on a dark shirt. Could It Be Something Else? - Medical Conditions: While a workout flush is usually harmless, sometimes redness can be a sign of underlying conditions like rosacea (a skin condition that causes redness and bumps) or allergies. - Check with Your Doctor: If your redness is extreme, lasts an unusually long time, or you have other symptoms like dizziness or shortness of breath, it's always a good idea to check in with your doctor. Table 1: Exercise Type vs. Potential for Redness Type of ExerciseRedness PotentialWhy?Cardio (running, HIIT, etc.)HighRaises heart rate & internal temperature significantlyStrength trainingModerateSome flushing, but generally less than cardioYogaVariesInversions increase blood flow to the face, but other poses are less intenseExercise in hot weatherIncreasedYour body is already fighting to cool down How Can I Reduce Workout Redness? While a little redness is no big deal, if it really bothers you, here are a few tips to help tone things down: - Cooldown Time: Don't just drop your weights and run after a workout. Ease out of your exercise session with a gentle cool-down. This gives your body time to gradually lower its temperature. - Hydration is Key: Being well-hydrated helps your body regulate its temperature overall. Drink plenty of water before, during, and after your workout. - Cold Compress: Applying a cool compress to your face after your workout can help constrict those blood vessels and calm the redness. - Redness-Friendly Skincare: If redness is a frequent issue, consider skincare products with soothing ingredients like niacinamide or green tea extract. Important Note: If you're concerned about excessive redness, it's best to see a dermatologist to rule out any underlying conditions. Could the Type of Exercise Matter? Yes! Certain types of exercise might make your face redder than others. Here's why: - Cardio: Activities like running, cycling, or HIIT workouts tend to raise your heart rate and body temperature more, leading to increased blood flow and redness. - Hot Environments: Exercising in hot yoga studios or in the summer heat will compound the redness, as your body works extra hard to cool down. - Inversions: When your head is lower than your heart (think: handstands or downward dog), blood flow to your face naturally increases. Table 2: Advantages vs. Disadvantages of Redness after Exercise AdvantagesDisadvantagesShows the body is cooling efficientlyCan be cosmetically bothersomeSign of a good workoutMight be mistaken for a medical issue (rarely) FAQs Let's tackle some of those commonly asked questions about exercise-related redness: Q: Is it bad if my face gets red when I exercise? A: In most cases, no! It's just your body doing its job to keep you cool. Q: Why does my face get redder than others? A: Skin tone, individual variations, and even the intensity of your workout can all play a role. Q: How long does exercise redness last? A: It usually fades within 30 minutes to an hour after your workout. If it lasts much longer, it might be worth checking with a doctor. Myth Buster Let's bust a common exercise myth: Myth: A red face during exercise means you're out of shape. Truth: Nope! Even super-fit athletes get flushed when they work out hard. It's your body doing its thing, not a sign of weakness. Key Takeaways - A red face during exercise is very common, and usually a sign your body's cooling system is working well. - Fair-skinned folks tend to show it more than those with darker skin tones. - If your redness is extreme or has other symptoms, check with a doctor to be sure. - Simple tips like cooling down, hydrating, and using a cold compress can help minimize the flush-factor. Conclusion So, the next time you're rocking that post-workout glow, remember it's a badge of honor – a sign that you've pushed your body and it's working hard to keep you going. If the redness bothers you, there are ways to manage it, but ultimately, a little flush is a small price to pay for the benefits of exercise. Disclaimer: The information provided on this website is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Always consult with a qualified healthcare professional before making any decisions about your health. Read the full article

[diosmio76]

What I Deserve (2) | soft Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Bucky couldn’t believe his luck when he found you. So innocent, so alone, and so naive. He had been following you throughout the week, hell- he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore and you never noticed him once.

Pairing: Dark!Bucky x Reader

WARNINGS: +18, dub-con, needle use, stalking, fingering, kidnapping, kind of non-con (more dub-con but just incase)

Word Count: 3,076

A/N: my timeline on which version of Barnes is fucked up and a mix of everything honestly // my first ever time writing smut, and honestly I'm open to constructive criticism b/c I have no experience in this area LOLZ

You squeezed your eyes as you stretched your body. Feeling your comforter rise and fall against your skin from your movements. You hung your feet off your bed and stretched them before standing up. You did your usual set of morning stretches, were they done correctly? Probably not, but it was the thought that counts and the only form of self-care you gave yourself. You let out a sigh as you got ready for another day similar to all the rest. You don’t even remember what it felt like to be excited about waking up, but who were you to complain. You used the toilet as you went back and forth in your mind about nothing in particular, your eyes staring at your bed that was quickly losing the warmth it collected from your body. Once done in the bathroom you dragged yourself to your vanity, hearing the faint noise of cars on the street, you began getting ready for work. After changing and grabbing your tattered work bag, you began your journey with all the other commuters.

The day dragged on like any other, talking to coworkers only when they needed something from you. Hearing the usual remarks of “Oh, I didn’t notice you” or “I didn’t even see you there”, you got used to it but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t bother you. Before you had time to dwell on it, it was time to go home. You packed your bag then began your walk home, following the same route you always take during the week. Taking a little solstice in the fact that you were just another face in the crowd, that fact made you feel as if everyone else was alone too. Once home you locked the door and dropped your bag, heading to the bedroom you changed into an oversized shirt and put on your slippers before heading towards the living room. You turned on the tv and lowered the volume for some background noise, making the short trip towards the kitchen to make dinner. You rarely got messages on your phone unless it was from your mom or your phone provider wanting you to update your old phone, so you scrolled mindlessly through various social media newsfeeds. You munched on a vegetable as you waited for your pan to heat up. You tried to not feel bad for yourself, you were the one to blame for the lack of social life but you were in too deep. Too set in your ways. You stared at the steaming pan as you imagined moving across the country.

“Yeah right” you said aloud to yourself as you finished cooking your dinner, eating the food but not really tasting it.

~~~

You repeated the same routine the next day, unbeknownst to you today was the day that Bucky decided you were ready. It didn’t take him long to find a house isolated by miles of forest. Despite its unassuming traditional exterior, the inside was modern as he enjoyed the impersonal nature that the style provided. He spent the majority of his time there making sure the house was locked and secure in case you tried anything. The thought made him laugh a little, knowing you didn’t have it in you but he didn’t want to take any chances. Things had been going his way lately, and finding you was like the universe was rewarding him even more. At first, he considered getting to know you, and doing the whole flowers and dates thing but decided he didn’t have the patience for all that waiting, he’s been waiting long enough and he deserved something good. He settled on a much easier method. Breaking in was easy, old apartments like this barely gave him any trouble. He even had someone hold the building door open for him, just his luck.

The lock felt weird when you opened your door but you didn’t think anything of it, dismissing it as another sign of the building’s old age. He watched from afar as you went about your usual routine. He was beginning to become skeptical at how oblivious you were. He was practically behind you and you hadn’t even looked over your shoulder once. He even made some accidental noises by stepping on squeaky floorboards and didn’t get a reaction from you, he took this as another lucky break. You were tired today and fell asleep relatively easily, considering how long it typically took you to fall asleep. Bucky walked around your apartment as he waited for you to enter a deeper sleep, familiar with everything since he had been in here a few times since first spotting you all those weeks ago. He looked at your book collection, a mix of genres, and looked closer at the few photos you had on display. A majority of the old photos seemed to be of your family from decades ago. He picked up one that seemed more recent, the only one you had up that included you. He recognized the other two people in it, your mom and sister, both busy with their own lives. He already sized up your family and it would be easy to handle them if he needed to.

He walked into your bathroom and went through your medicine cabinet, finding nothing out of the ordinary besides a few nail polish bottles and various allergy medicines. Finally, he noticed the soft snores coming out of your room. He shut the cabinet, staring at his reflection for a second. He knew this was the right thing to do and had no bad intention. He softly grunted at his pathetic moment of self-reflection and took out a needle filled with a small dose of anesthesia. He observed you for a moment as you slept, mouth slightly agape and eyebrows relaxed, he considered for a moment how easy it would be to take you, but reminded himself of the bigger picture. He easily found a vein and waited a few minutes before taking you to your new home.

~~~

You squeezed your eyes shut and smiled to yourself as you thought about how well you slept last night. You hummed as you kept your eyes closed briefly noticing the absence of warmth that the morning sun provided you in the mornings. You thought nothing of it, too distracted by the fact that this was probably the best night’s sleep you’d gotten in months. Despite that you still felt a little groggy, you began to move but quickly felt something rough holding you down. Your eyes shot open as your breathing began to quicken. You became conscious of the rough restraints around your arms and legs. You awkwardly lifted your head up as you tried to look around, it looked like a basement based on the unfinished walls surrounding you, a single lightbulb hanging above you on the unfinished ceiling. You attempted to calm yourself down by deeply inhaling but knew it was a lost cause once you heard the shaky exhale leave your mouth. You knew you couldn’t break free from the knotted rope holding you down. You had weak arms and tried to use your leg strength in an attempt to kick yourself free but felt it begin to sting as it irritated your ankles from the pressure. You sat in a deafening silence and felt completely petrified.

You let out a whimper as you heard footsteps approaching the door. The door opened as you saw a tall, broad man approach you. You were too scared to notice anything about him and began to feel yourself shake, causing you to miss the way he hungrily reacted to your frightened state. A shadow was cast on you as he stood over the bed. From the corner of your eye, you watched as his right hand lowered the comforter to your torso and expose your shirt as you twitched at the action. He smirked in response, your eyes following his hand as it hovered over the comforter as though he was going to do something. It exited your line of sight but your eyes were fixed in place. You heard movement as he straightened himself before speaking to you for the first time.

“Did you sleep well? You’ve been out for most of the day” His deep voice filled the room as you kept shaking, too scared to answer. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears and wondered if he could too, but he was too busy trailing his eyes over your torso. He noticed the way your nipples created peaks on your oversized shirt. He licked his lips before he moved his hand up to grab your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You did your best at avoiding his gaze keeping your gaze low, you swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to control your shaking but felt it intensify instead.

Still gripping your chin, a little tighter than necessary, and trying to control your shaking body got him hard. You looked so weak like this, it made him excited, a wicked smile painted his face as he looked down at your wide eyes and lips clamped together in terror.

“Look at me when I talk to you, doll”

You had a difficult time looking people in the eyes in general, so you lifted your eyes and stopped at his chin. You didn’t dare go any higher. He squeezed on your chin and heard him let out an amused chuckle. If you weren’t so terrified you would have noticed how out of place it sounded given the situation.

“That’ll have to do, for now, I can tell you’re terrified but you really have no reason to be. I only want to do what’s best for you- for us, I’m only doing what needs to be done.” He didn’t expect a response and stared at you as he let you sit with his words.

He took a moment and let his hand trail down from your chin. He felt the nervous swallow as his pointer finger trailed lower and lower. His finger deviated from its straight path as he placed his palm against your chest, pausing to feel your heartbeat racing. He almost felt sorry as he felt its frantic rhythm. He couldn’t help himself as he cupped your left breast. His thumb gently circling around the hard bud. You scrunched your eyebrows and scolded yourself for getting pleasure from his action. His gentle touch was a strong contrast to the situation he had put you in.

His finger continued its journey down and stopped just above your mound. You swallowed as you felt his eyes staring at you intently, not daring to see if you were right. He lifted his hand momentarily as he moves to sit next to you, hearing the springs groan under him, pushing the comforter towards the bottom of the bed. You get chills as warmth escapes, feeling the crisp air conditioning surround your body instead. Jerking at his touch, he returns his right hand to your body just below your navel this time. His fingers trace down until it feathered above your mound. You held your breath as if any noise from you would assure that he would continue his actions as if he would forget you were there. You felt his pause when his fingers hit the material of your cotton underwear. He slowly traces a short line along your clit, you ball your hands into fists wanting to make him stop. Why was your body enjoying this?

You hold your breath as he gently pulls them down till they were at your knees and returns his hand to its previous place. The empty room is quiet, amplifying the sound of both of your breaths. You feel his middle and ring finger move lower gently stroking your folds. You hear him let out a surprised huff as he continued stroking.

“I was gonna bring lube, but it looks like we won’t be needing it, huh sweetheart?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, he was right. You felt heat building ever since he grabbed your chin, but he didn’t need to know that. All you wanted to do was at the very least was cover your face, but felt the irritation of the rope on your wrists instead. He began back and forth on your heat for a few moments. The room now having the added noise of his fingers slowly speeding up as he stroked you. You shut your eyes as he circled around your entrance, you could already tell his fingers would be significantly bigger than yours. He slowly inserted a finger as you sucked in a quick breath. You could hear him let out a quiet groan as he watched his finger disappear into your hole.

After finding a rhythm he added another finger. You let out a whimper at the fullness of both of his thick fingers filling your hole. It stung at first, hurting slightly you wanted to try and stop his intrusion. Besides your finger, you had never had anything else inside of you. You felt slightly embarrassed by this when you were younger but as you got older you accepted the fact that your lack of social life was a major reason as to why you never had anything close to a romantic partner. Never being social enough to meet someone that you would want to be friends with, let alone sleep with. You felt as though you should tell this man, did you even know his name, that this was the farthest you’ve ever gone with anyone before. Before you think any more about it you open your mouth, nothing coming out at first but it was enough for his eyes to go to your face. He slowed down his pace and had his eyes trained on your face waiting for you to speak as if his fingers weren’t leisurely stroking your soft walls in the meantime.

“I- I think I need to tell you something” The words left you slowly and your voice was shakey as you tried to speak and ignore your oncoming orgasm at his rough fingers stroking you gently. Why did you feel like you owed him this? You briefly thought to yourself. But it was too late to stop now.

He smirked at you as he waited for you to continue on. So far, you’ve shown him nothing but submissiveness. Cementing the fact that he made the right choice when he chose you. He didn’t plan on being this gentle with you originally but he couldn’t help it, feeling as though any other treatment would scare you away. His fingers never stopping their gentle strokes, he watched your lips as your quiet voice trembled on.

“I’ve never really, I haven’t done any of this before. I’m a virgin” the words leave you slowly, you gulp and still refuse to meet his gaze, scared for a moment that you would lose the gentleness he has given you thus far. You knew that wouldn’t stop him, but a small part of you hoped it would be enough for him to stop just for now. For the first time you decided to look at his face, still too scared to meet his eyes you opted to watch his mouth as you waited for a response.

To say he was ecstatic was an understatement. You had chosen to tell him this on your own, he didn’t even get a chance to ask you. He didn’t want to assume but based on his observations of you he had an inkling that this was the case. He felt proud of you, his perfect girl. He smiled gently at you in response. You shivered as his fingers paused their gentle strokes in you as he moved to kiss the top of your head.

“Thank you for telling me, my good girl” it sounded patronizing but your body thought otherwise. Feeling heat shoot straight to your core at his response. He felt you squeeze around his fingers at his response.

Once he felt that you adjusted to his fingers he began to alternate inserting them. Thrusting one and then the other inside of you. Your eyes squeezed shut, you never felt this close to cumming so quickly. Your eyes swelled with tears as you quietly sobbed, reaching your climax. Both of you watched as he pulled his fingers out of your sensitive heat. Covered in slick from your climax. You watched as he moved his fingers close to his face, smirking at you.

“Just a little taste for now,” he said he brought his fingers to his mouth to suck on his two fingers that were just inside you seconds ago. The empty room amplified the sound, your face felt hot as you watched the lewd act feeling your core still throbbing.

He reveled in your obvious embarrassment, humming at your reaction. He wiped his damp fingers on his pants as he got up. You blinked slowly, taking in what had just happened. You had enjoyed what had just happened but felt angry at yourself for that. He shouldn’t have done that, and you had let yourself succumb to his fingers so easily. He watched you, deep in thought with your eyes spaced out. His cock throbbed as if reminding him he needed a release too but he didn’t want to scare you. He had a plan, but you had just showed him that he didn’t have to be as rough as he initially thought with you. And he wouldn’t ever admit it but he couldn’t have even if he wanted to, as soon as he interacted with you it was almost as if he needed to handle you with care. Something that he thought wasn’t in his nature, but for you, maybe he’d try.

He felt his confident demeanor waver for a second, an odd feeling. He needed to get away from her and have a moment alone, so with a quick glance, he turned towards the door and practically ran out of the room without speaking to her.

Too busy thinking, you didn’t notice the foreign feelings your captor had just experienced. Only noticing this broad figure leaving the room as if he was late for something. If you weren’t so busy scolding yourself you would have wondered if you had done something wrong to elicit that action from him.

[hivequest]

Taking a Risk » Mallek Adalov/Reader

Wordcount: 2.3k words

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, stressed out reader, chillboy Mallek. TYping quirk only used when texting cause I could not be bothered lmao Originally posted on AO3

A/N: One of my favorite things that I’ve written, ever. I love Mallek and he’s for sure one of my favorite Friendsim characters. When I wrote this I was really feeling those Quarantine Woes

You didn't know what you were doing here. You felt out of place in the worst possible ways. It was a weird, squidgy feeling like stepping on wet grass. But not like the fun kind where you were running around in a sprinkler on a hot-as-balls summer day. No, this was the bad kind of wet grass that you stepped on without knowing it was wet. Why weren't you wearing shoes?

This analogy is stupid. The point is, you're feeling bummed out.

And what better way to not have to deal with that than hang out with someone you knew wouldn't push you into talking about all the ways crashing on this planet sucked! The point is, you're on your way to see Mallek. Mallek is absolutely the kind of friend who can tell when you just need to sit down and veg out. You had been so caught up in everyone else's bullshit that you weren't looking after your own damn self. So now you were doing that.

All it took was a quick text, asking Mallek if he had any company. He texted back only a moment later with a no, obviously not. You asked him if he wanted any. Not really. You ask him if you can come over anyway. Obviously.

You smiled at the palmhusk in your, well, palm. You could already feel the chill vibes of your hacker friend. Friend? Was that the right word for it? You didn't know anymore. When you first met there were definitely some sparks there. You could still feel them now and it made weird butterflies flutter around in your stomach. When you slapped his phone out of his hand and he sent you ass over applecart into the slimy depths of sewer water and he saved you, tits out and all.

You shook off the weird wistful feeling of maybe possibly crossing the friendship barrier and told him you'd walk to his hive. You'd been moping in some bookhive, not your usual hang-out spot with Tagora or Tyzias. This was some upper caste bookhive with purple bloods and some indigos and definitely not where you were welcome if the looks you were getting were any indication. They ranged from snooty to downright murderous. Yeesh.

Your phone -palmhusk, stupid troll names- beeped again. You got another text from him and those cheery fucking butterflies were back. God, you had it bad.

yeah were not doing that lmao;

im not going to let my robobuddy walk out in the sun

do you even know what time of day it =

just stay put ive already got your location ill pick you up;

And like a good little friendsimp. You park your ass on a chair and wait. You hadn't released your moping had taken up most of the night. But with the quick look around, yeah, no, this place was nearly empty by now. Just some older bluebloods trying to cram before their Ordeals and get shipped off-planet. Again: Yeesh.

You kept your ears open for the telltale sound of Mallek's limo. It was a sound you were getting used to these days. He always seemed ready to drop whatever coding shit he was working on to come to see you. You tried not to think too hard on what that might mean. No need to get your hopes up now. It's probably just your bad mood making you imagine some context where there's nothing. Yeah.

Damn, that shit hurted.

Just as you were about to add that to the reasons you were considering just screaming your lungs out who cares whose listening? you heard the wonderfully familiar sound of an approaching elongated scuttlebuggy. If that wasn't enough of a clue as to who the ride was for the quiet of the bookhive was very abruptly disturbed by a series of rhythmic beeps.

Holy shit was that the Tetris theme?

You shoved your palmhusk into your hoodie pocket and yanked the hood over your head. Even if the sun was only out a little bit you didn't want it anywhere near your freshly healed skin. You had no kind cowgirl to nurse you back to health right now if you got your asscheeks baked by the flaming death orb. You peeked your head out and even with the blinding light of Alternia's suns you could Mallek had opened the door and was waiting for you.

Aw. No, shit. You're in a bad mood don't get all heart eyes at him. Don't make it weird.

You took a few steps back into the bookhive, ready to make a run for it. You turn to a sitting indigoblood, who is just staring at you disdainfully for keeping the door open. You give her a two-fingered salute. Godspeed young cosmonaut. She gives you a one-fingered salute. Close the door you insufferable bulgebiter. Fair.

Taking a running start, you book it out into the heat of the Alternian sun and dive for the open car door. It's then that you realize he's halfway parked on the sidewalk to lessen the amount of time you'd have to spend in the sun. Aw. That also means that you came barreling like a cannonball at something that was like two feet out of the door. FUck.

Your face meets carpet and you can already feel the rugburn starting to set in. You hear a startled wheezy laugh from above you, a sound you know better than anyone else on this planet. You smile. It's not like you had any dignity to begin with.

You say hello to him as you peel yourself off of the floor of his car.

"Hey, there robobuddy. You stuck the landing this time," He smiles down at you as he reaches over you to shut the door, closing the space out from natural light and leaving you both lit by his colorful LEDs. You shrug and tell him you've been getting a lot of practice landing on your face these days. The look he gives you is still smiling but there's some level of disbelief at the dumbassery that is your whole existence.

"I know you can get yourself into it. Nothing too bad this time, though, right? No drones or broken bones?" He sounds concerned which is nice but he doesn't drown you with his concern. He leans back on the bench of his limo, keeping an eye on you as the vehicle begins to move on its own. You've been staying out of big messes but the little messes are starting to mess with you. He makes a sound of understanding the sounds as it comes from deep in his chest. Whoa. "Believe me, I've been there. Glad you're not cracking under it though."

He smiles and you can see his little fang and you can feel your heart melt a little. And also you're getting a bit teary-eyed and now Mallek looks alarmed. Shit. You try to quickly explain that you're fine, just, alien allergies am I right? He must be using some new air freshener to mask the musty smell of his limo. Since doesn't use it enough. Ha ha?

He isn't buying it.

With a rare show of cerulean prowess, he lifts you up off of the shitty car rug and sets you on the seat beside him. He feels uncomfortable and you can tell. Ah, goddammit you made it weird. You didn't mean to. Fuck. Fuck now you're feeling even worse. You thought you were starting to balance out. You're with Mallek now, shouldn't everything start to quiet down like it always does? Fuck. He doesn't say anything at first, just leans back against the seat and stretches his arms across it, letting you lean on him if you choose to.

...You choose to.

Your head finds itself somewhere between his shoulder and his collarbone, and you just. Shove your face there. Then scream.

To his credit, Mallek doesn't even flinch. He doesn't wince or shy away from you as you let out every bit of anger, sadness, and frustration out against his sweater. He just sits quietly, staring straight at the blacked-out windshield. You get the feeling he's needed to do this more than once.

Screw this planet. Screw everything about it that makes all of your friends suffer. Why can't you just get them away from all this bullshit?! Why do you have to deal with everyone's bullshit! You love them, you do but holy fuck they're looking to you like you can undo all the damage this place has done to them when you've got literally no god damn idea what's happening at any point ever!

And then, just like that, it fades into the background. Your throat hurts. Your head hurts and you think you might be crying. But it feels lighter. Better now that you've gotten some of that aggression out. You aren't like the trolls on Alternia. You can't kill people when you experience an Emotion™. But that doesn't mean you don't get pent up with rage.

Mallek realizes that now. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and his left hand slowly moves down from the back of the seat the rest against your back. His thumb brushes against your back, the claw drawing little patterns against the fabric of your sweater. His sweater. He tries not to think his sign your chest. This isn't the time.

"Feeling any better?" He asks and you don't know how to answer. You kinda don't want to. But you nod anyways, and you feel some tension leave his body. You knew he was worried about you. You apologize for making him witness your meltdown but he just makes another deep-chested hum. "Nothing to apologize for. I got the feeling you weren't feeling great. I could tell from the texts, you didn't use nearly enough ugly emojis."

You scoff and smack a hand against his chest and once again you hear that wonderful laugh from him. Hey! Your purrbeast emojis are adorable, thank you very much! And you'll not hear another word of it or else you'll send him pictures of rocks and rocks exclusively. No more memes.

"Jokes on you I'm into that shit." You laugh and thump your head against his collarbone. You thank him for being with you when were needed it. And picking you up to make sure you didn't deal with it alone. You don't want to make it weird but...yeah.

He doesn't respond this time, just letting you both enjoy the silence and the comforting sound of the engine. You should almost be at Mallek's apartment by now. It's as you're settling in for the last bit of the drive that you notice that the limo isn't moving. And hasn't been for a while. Your head pops up in confusion and the little GPS display on the back of one of the seats says... yep.

You're already at Mallek's.

But then why is the engine still on? That can't be good for the environment. Do these things even run on gas or is it bugs? Bug gas? Gross.

You notice then that the rumbling is coming from behind you. Like. From where Mallek is sitting. He doesn't look away when you turn to him, just kind of tilting his head to the side with a little bit of a cerulean hue to his cheeks. Oh. Oh, the sound is coming from him. He's purring. That's.

That's adorable.

You feel yourself soften even more when he lifts his arms, silently offering a hug if you want it. Is this platonic? Is this more? You've never had too much trouble identifying what people wanted from you. (Debatable.) If was overtly flushed you could shut it down or divert it to something very much friends only. (Like your every exchange with Zebruh.) But did you even want to do that to your hackerman? You could feel yourself screaming, no, absolutely not. But at the same time, you didn't want things to change. You didn't want to make his issues any worse than they already were. He didn't have too much longer on the planet and you knew it would tear him apart.

But then he turned those blue eyes to you. He looked just as unsure as you were but he was willing to take the risk. He shoved himself so far out of his comfort zone for you and was asking you to be selfish. To want something for yourself and do something for yourself. Not put him or anyone else's wants first. Just your own. And so you did.

You crawled up into his lap, pressed yourself as close to him as you could and clung to him. His arms didn't hesitate to wrap around you and you could feel a shuddering breath from above you.

"We don't have to put a label on this... not yet. Or ever. Either way is chill with me. I just... yeah." He gave up with a little shrug of his shoulders but you knew what he meant. Unless you could find a way to fight fate he was going to go off-world. He was going to leave you and you doubted you'd be able to go with him. You'd probably get gored by a drone for even trying.

But even if it was just for now, just for a moment, you were going to take it. You were going to let yourself have something, have someone who would care for you no matter how long or short your time was. You'd take it. You had stomached some of the most horrible things on this planet but Mallek had always been a constant. And you got the feeling he thought the same way about you.

So, you'd take it. Whatever comes next, you'd take it. You listened to the sound of his purring, in no hurry to move to get inside the apartment. Mallek felt the same.

You exhaled.

You would be okay.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 16

<- Part 15 | Part 17 ->

Summary: A flirtatious moment in the hospital garden turns sour. 

Warnings: Brief nsfw themes, injury-recovery angst, post-traumatic stress/flashbacks, graphic past injuries, KISSING, hurt/comfort. Love and fluff. 

3,700 words

After being gutted left him with a limp, a cane, and an overbearing sense of weakness, Frederick Chilton began copying Hannibal Lecter. His patterned suits, his clean-shaven face. The mimicry wasn’t deliberate exactly, but he looked to a man who radiated calm dignity and strength, and tried to capture some of it for his own.

It didn’t work. Frederick Chilton was still Frederick Chilton.

But shaving the beard did make him look younger. The razor glided over his smooth cheek as he cut through the facial hair that had grown unruly in the hospital. A new man stared back at him. One not traumatized by Gideon’s knife.

Only a few months later, he was shot in the face, and let the stubble grow back to distract from the scar. To obscure the hollowing where maxillary bone was missing. Like a chameleon, Frederick was always changing—hairstyles, wardrobes, colognes—always imitating someone, drawing the eye away from a flaw, never comfortable with himself. Ever improving. Refining. Hiding.

Every day, the burn ward’s physical therapists had him using one exercise machine or another. A pedaling machine lowered over his bed so he could build muscle while lying on his back before he was able to walk. The next step was a tall, rolling frame that he strapped into like a fighter pilot hanging from a parachute harness, which allowed him to take a few weightless steps. His legs shook. His feet did not know how to align themselves on the ground anymore. He hissed curses when you cheered him on just for shuffling one foot forward along the smooth grey linoleum.

One damned foot.

As if he couldn’t walk before. As if one shaking, machine-assisted step was an accomplishment. He was an overgrown baby in a Jumperoo.

While he could not walk on his own yet, he could get into and out of a wheelchair without screaming bloody murder. This allowed him a new level of freedom, if not autonomy. He still required two nurses to lower him into the chair. Still needed help getting to the bathroom. But he could at least use the bathroom instead of a bedpan and catheter.

Healing came at a cost.

Until now, he had caught flashes of his reflection in polished surfaces. Warped teeth in a metal IV pole. The fuzzy silhouette of a mask in the black of his computer screen.

He stood with his hands on the bathroom sink, staring. The nurse at his left elbow tugged him, told him it was time to sit back down in the chair. He needed support to stand, a babysitter to ensure he didn’t fall, and she was tired of waiting.

The thing staring back at him did not move.

When he took the compression mask off for the one hour per day he was allowed to remove it for cleaning, he somehow expected to find his own face beneath it. Skin. What he saw was a stranger. Gnarled scars made an uneven backdrop for one dead blue eye and a skeletal grimace. His own bones were buried somewhere underneath like bedrock, but the flesh was rearranged and distorted.

If he had met this man a year ago, Dr. Chilton would have felt inward pride at his ability not to sicken at the sight. He would have shaken his hand with a smug, professional detachment that said, “I am accustomed to horrific things in my line of work—abnormal psychiatry. This does not shock me as it would a layperson.”

He was a creature to be pitied.

Then a familiar reflection appeared out of the blind spot of his left side. Your image wrapped its hand behind the broken stranger, and he felt it land on his lower back. Warm. Comforting as your face, which was knit with worry. You told the nurse you could handle it from here, and she retreated out to his room.

When she was gone, Frederick began to laugh, dark and cruel, eyes never leaving the matching set staring cruelly back.

“What is it?” you asked, tightening your grip on his arm as he began to tremble.

“Do you think I look younger without a beard?”

The laugh cracked in his throat. His shoulders heaved as he finally looked away. It was too embarrassing to watch a grown man cry.

***

The heat of July was not easy on a body that could no longer sweat and was covered head to toe in a compression suit, but Frederick Chilton was thrilled to be outside. As the automatic sliding doors opened, he breathed in deeply through the nose and exhaled the spinning summer fragrances with a blissful sigh.

You resisted the urge to tease him. Of the pair, you were the more outdoorsy by far, and the last time you dragged him camping, he’d managed to complain the entire two days. He was not, generally, one to appreciate sunshine and birdsong. But this was different.

It was his first time away from the lifeless hospital air—the same smells day after day—in four months.

Now a breeze hit his face—a breeze! He had forgotten what that felt like—and brought with it the smell of cut grass and flowers, and exhaust fumes from the nearby roadways. The scent of gasoline urged his stomach to wring itself empty, but it was faint and easy enough to shake off as sparrows chirped and flitted about the hospital’s “meditation garden.”

Gently curving paths snaked through the landscaping of lush greenery and small trees. Few flowers were planted, out of respect for patients with allergies, but a fountain at the center babbled soothingly. The walkways were wide and smoothly paved, so the grey wheels of the hospital-issue wheelchair rolled over them easily, performing their function despite being over-worked and worn down, not unlike the staff. The black rubber handle grips had a dull patina from hundreds of hands, yours being the latest to circle around them as you pushed.

It was nice to have a private courtyard to enjoy the fresh air without the eyes of the general public watching.

Frederick was able to wear clothes from home now, but they had to be loose-fitting and short-sleeved to not interfere with his treatment. In a navy polo shirt and athletic shorts, he felt horrifically under-dressed, and did not want to be seen that way. The fashion crime was almost as bad as the face he could not bear looking at.

An elderly patient and what appeared to be her adult daughter sat on one of the benches between two daylily patches, blooming garishly cheerful red and gold. The daughter looked up, and Chilton looked away.

“You are certain you checked the bedroom closet? Left-hand side, second drawer to the bottom?” he asked again, agitation rising.

He was looking for the more fashionable Chino shorts he rarely wore, preferring to overheat in long pants than expose his pale, door-knob knees to imagined ridicule. You told him the housekeeper must have misplaced them.

He clenched his fist as tightly as the pink, shiny-scarred claw could manage and went on a gruff, impotent rant about the help growing careless without him to keep them in check. (If anything, the “help” were desperate to keep you in check without him there to manage your habit of leaving everything out—your clothes on a chair, the cereal box on the counter.)

“I know, I know. Awful,” you nodded along to the music of his words, if not the lyrics. You wished he would change the subject, but he pressed on with his investigation of the Case of the Missing Shorts.

“Mrs. Pérez brought a load of laundry down from the bedroom last Wednesday,” he noted. Frederick had taken to watching the security feeds remotely from his laptop. “Has she been using the cheap dry cleaner on Cherry Street instead of the good one so she can skim the difference? I have explicitly instructed the staff not to use them—they have lost or ruined several articles over the years. Inform Mrs. Pérez that I will not stand for lazy—what?”

Your tense smile began emanating a tenser whine.

It was rather suspicious.

Frederick watched you for a moment, puzzled, and then resumed, “The new security guard shares my pant size. Perhaps—”

“I DID IT. I brought them to Good Will.”

“You what?!”

Clicking the wheelchair brake, you doubled over the back of it, laughing at your childish ruse and how seriously Frederick had taken it. God, the man could never let anything go! “Over a year ago! You never wore them!”

“Come here.” His clipped tone did not invite argument.

You walked around to the front of his chair, the repentant pout on your face strongly undermined by rounded cheeks that were barely holding back a chuckle.

He growled with affectionate anger—the kind where he wanted to grab behind your knees and pull you into his lap, telling you with a low purr exactly how much trouble you were in. Except at the moment, your weight crashing onto his skinny, bony lap would have bruised a femur and torn five stitches. And if he was not confident enough for a kiss, he was in no condition to promise punishments of that nature.

So he gave your rump a sharp smack and tried to make his mouth smirk in that playfully disdainful way that said, “I love you, but I am going to kill you. You know that, right?” Sometimes wanting to kill someone can be such a personal, intimate love language.

“Doctor Chilton!” you gasped, feigning shock. “Such a naughty patient. I have told you time and again, this is simply unprofessional.”

The old woman and daughter had moved on, leaving you alone in the garden.

He let out a soft huff of amusement, catching on to the new game you were playing. Back when he was the administrator of the BSHCI, you would often saunter into his office playing the oversexed patient to his sleazy therapist. Now the roles were reversed.

“You protest,” he said in a low, lecherous tone, “and yet you continue to lavish extra attention on me. Do not think I have not noticed.”

“I don’t know what you could mean,” you deflected coyly. “Please keep your hands to yourself, sir.”

He grabbed your hand and spun you to face him, skeletal fingers interlocking with yours. Even through the compression glove, you could feel how skinny they had become, knobby knuckles protruding.

“Doctor,” he corrected.

You swallowed. “Doctor.”

“Why deny it? You guard all my treatments for yourself like a prize when other nurses could do it. You crawl into my bed to warm me with your body heat—hardly standard practice. I think you like the attention,” he said, giving your ass another lurid slap.

“D-Doctor! I’m not supposed to—we’re not supposed to…”

“If you worked at my hospital, I would fire you for such fraternization. Yet you call me unprofessional.” His hand still rested on your ass.

“You would fire me, doctor? Why fire me when there is so much I could offer?”

“And what is it you would offer me?” he asked, voice thick with meaning. His fingers kneaded the fat of your ass gently. It would have been harder, more possessive, if his hands were at full strength.

Not long ago, getting an erection had been painful, though he’d had several corrective surgeries since then, and the grafting had time to heal. Perhaps the sunlight was sparking him back to life. He was in a flirtatious mood—more excited than you’d seen him in a long time, and you were not about to tell him to slow down.

“Anything you want, doctor.” You lowered yourself in front of his chair, kneeling between his legs and looking up at him expectantly.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

No one else was in the garden, and statues and shrubberies hid it from the road, but it was not entirely private. Anyone could walk in or see from a window of the tall buildings. You were just pretending. You weren’t going to slip his cock out right there and suck it for all the world to see. And yet… it had been so long. The thought of your moist lips closing over his lonely, aching hardness, your head bobbing in his lap…

“You… are fascinated with me, nurse,” he observed, licking his non-lips. His composure was holding, but barely. “You have seen many patients, but never one as badly burned, have you?”

“No.”

“Does it excite you?”

You took a moment before answering. Part of him resented you for still finding him attractive. At his lowest, he even blamed you for wanting these brutal injuries to happen. A bird sang a few metallic notes on a nearby branch before fluttering down to drink from the fountain. You stroked the top of his narrow thighs, careful not to push too far by going near his cock, but he showed no sign of hesitation today. The heat in his eyes as he watched you was not accusing, but hungry.

“Yes,” you panted. “You are striking. I’ve never met anyone so strong, so resilient.”

“Do you dream of kissing me? Your most striking patient?”

“Yes.”

The sun beat down hotter, but it was only your own internal temperature rising. The birds seemed to pause in their songs, and the leaves on the trees ceased to flutter.

You had waited so long—was he really asking?

His gloved hand reached down between his legs, and nailless pink fingertips stroked the side of your face thoughtfully a few times. Then he motioned you to get up off your knees, offering his hand as a symbolic gesture only. You put some of your weight on the padded rubber armrest as you stood.

“It will not be pleasant. For either party, I imagine,” he said, breaking character.

“It will be for me.” Your voice was soft.

“I do not know what to do like this. Mash my teeth against your face?”

You laughed a little. It was probably more nuanced than that, but that sounded basically accurate. “We’ll find out together.”

He looked off into the distance, toward the humming road weaving through the city. A warm breeze brought the smell of sea off the harbor: salty, humid, and stagnant with rotted fish and garbage. “The memory of your lips against mine is already fading,” he said. “That memory is all I have left of them. Whatever this will be, it will not feel the same.”

“I know.” You rested a hand on his shoulder. The dark blue polo was informal for his old life, but the woven cotton texture was rich compared to the thin hospital gowns you were used to him wearing. The last kiss you shared with Frederick was preserved behind a glass display case in your memory palace. A new kiss might break the hermetic seal. You could forget what it felt like to kiss him before. But it seemed worth the price to build new memories—a future just as full of love as the past.

He looked up at you like a broken ceramic being pieced back together with gold. His eyes shone with love, but his shoulders were slumped low.

“You may say I’m a slutty nurse for wanting to kiss my patient, but you’re to blame!” you said, playing the game again. “How could I resist your charm? I bet you seduce every nurse—I’m only your latest conquest!”

A smile tugged the corner of his mouth.

“No, my dear,” he purred, grabbing your arm and pulling you down to him until your face was inches from his. “Only you. I only want you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

He breathed in. He nodded.

You leaned the final inch down, and pressed your lips to his teeth.

The Red Dragon’s teeth sunk through flesh and tore deep. Coppery blood flooded his mouth, the taste so metallic and strong it drowned out almost everything else out—the pain, the unnatural tearing, little pops of veins, ligaments, and muscles stretching to their limits before giving up, his own screams. The truth of his face with all its illusions of grandeur was revealed before him: it was just meat. Nothing but raw, shredded meat.

“NO!” he screamed, and pushed you hard.

It was different than the peevish denials other times you’d tried to kiss. He pushed you away with so much force you staggered backward, and his wheelchair nearly tipped over. It reared on two wheels like a panicked horse and would have fallen except the worn brake gave way, and he shot backward several feet until the vacant bench stopped the chair’s momentum.

“No, no! Get away! No!” he begged no one, shaking and thrashing so violently he risked ripping his healing scars.

His back, legs, and arms were glued to the wheelchair, and he couldn’t escape. No—could have if he were desperate enough, strong enough. But he was terrified of ripping his skin off. The thought made him break out in a cold sweat and made it difficult to think straight. Dear god, he was afraid something happened to his back. Of being disfigured again.

He was afraid to die, but he dreaded even more the thought of surviving yet again to find another piece taken from him.

Not another. Not again.

If he cooperated, he had to be spared this time. He would cooperate. Do everything The Red Dragon said, and fate would be merciful. He had to go home. He had to go home. To see you again. It was not fair that he survived two attempts on his life only to die here. It was not fair! He was going to get married to the love of his life. Things were finally going right. The Dragon’s shadow fell over him. The acrid stench of his breath as he leaned down toward Frederick’s mouth—

“Frederick!”

You ran after him and tried to restrain him before he climbed out of the wheelchair and fell to the pavement, but it only made him struggle harder. Fuck. You weren’t sure if touching him again was a good idea, but you didn’t know what else to do. He was going to hurt himself.

“Shh, I’m here.”

Crouching next to him, you tried to keep him seated, murmuring soft, reassuring words. Eventually, he stopped thrashing to escape, his jerking limbs resigning themselves to passive trembling. His eyes were open, but they didn’t see you. They didn’t see anything but a dark room with a flickering projector.

You laid your head on his lap. “I’m right here. It’s OK. You’re safe, Frederick. You’re safe. Shh, shh...”

It took several minutes, but his breathing began to slow, and he began to calm down. His fingers found your hair and stroked it, mindlessly running over the contour of your scalp. Familiarity. Recognizing you, he grasped at your shirt to draw you closer, clutching you like a teddy bear to his chest. It was an awkward angle, but you shifted so your butt was partially supported by the bench he’d crashed into, and used the chair’s armrest to hold yourself in the bent position. Frankly, even if every muscle in your body cramped up, you weren’t going to leave him as long as he needed to hold onto you.

Finally, he whimpered your name and asked what happened.

“I… kissed you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

He sniffed and wiped his face, which he discovered was soaked with tears, and looked off into the trees. You sat back onto the bench, straightening your crooked spine, but keeping a firm hold on his hand, staying close as he returned to reality. He would be embarrassed. Add this to the growing list of Ways Frederick Chilton is Broken and Useless. But for now, the humiliation was dulled by the fact that he was not in that room again, with the projector flickering. You stayed that way for a while, sitting in the dappled shade of the garden and the warm breeze, the fountain burbling a constant, relaxing, tuneless song.

“The last man to bring his lips to mine bit them off.”

“I’m so sorry, Frederick. I shouldn’t have been so stupid...”

He squeezed your hand. Straightened up in his chair. “I heard the FBI has the video. Have you watched it?”

You shook your head, then quickly added, “No,” aloud, knowing his vision was poor and still focused on the tree branches swaying and morphing in the wind. Jack Crawford had offered, but you didn’t want to see it. You couldn’t bear to.

It had been hard enough hearing him describe how Francis Dolarhyde glued him naked to his grandmother’s wheelchair and made him watch macabre home movies of the families he had slaughtered. His voice was too calm, too distant from the memory as he dictated graphic details for the Journal of Psychology, desperate to tell his story, grab his fame before he died.

You should have known how your mouth coming at his would make him feel. You were so caught up in your romantic imaginings, you forgot how kiss-like that moment of horror must have been, just before the pain.

The nightmare his life had been for months already, and would continue to be. The scar tissue that wouldn’t fully mature for two years. Two years wearing a compression suit to help them heal. Years of follow-up procedures so that he can continue to move. To breathe. To hear. Longer until he could get a new face. His entire life altered forever.

It started with a kiss.

“We don’t have to kiss. I should never have pushed you to,” you apologized, wincing preemptively.

You expected him to be angry. To sarcastically tell you, “Now you decide we don’t have to? Now that it is too late? What fine timing.”

“I am not weak,” he bristled instead, but his agitation only spanned the length of a breath. He squeezed your hand softly, and pulled you halfway into his chair to wrap his arms around your waist and back. “I did not think that would happen either,” he spoke comfortingly into your hair. “Attempting it for the first time in a wheelchair was a mistake. I should have been more aware of that, but I grow tired of not being able to show my affection. You are not the only one impatient for my recovery, darling. I want to try again.”

“Now?” You pulled back, widening your eyes at him.

“No,” he said plainly. “I think not.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

@beccabarba​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @dreamlover31​ / @isvvc-pvscvl​​  / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu​ / @welcometothemxdhouse​​ / @feedthemadness-sweetie​ / @law-nerd105​ / @amelia-song-pond​ / @michael-rooker​ / @xecq / @madpanda75​ / @alwaysachorusgirl​ / @bananas-pajamas​ / @leanor-min​ / @mad-girl-without-a-box​ / @katierpblogg​ / @worldofvixen​ / @sassyada​ / @barbingchilton​ 

[dickwheelie]

heyyyy coming in a few days early with the “expression” prompt for @aspecarchivesweek! just a lil something about jon wearing a shirt he doesn’t like. enjoy!

(also on ao3)

_______________

All of Jon’s clothes are in greyscale.

Well, this isn’t entirely true—some are a very light tan, or a dingy brown. One mothbitten vest is a glaring 70’s orange that Jon deeply dislikes, so it stays at the back of his closet. These are the clothes he inherited from his parents and possibly also his grandparents, which he can’t bring himself to throw away. The rest, however, strictly range from white to black, practical to a fault.

Jon has a working theory that he may be the first person in history with an allergy to clothing stores. Entering one instantly stresses him out, and all he wants is to get what he came for and get out as quickly as possible. Figuring out how to match colors, as he eventually learns by the time he’s in uni, is a waste of time and consideration. Much easier and simpler to only buy clothes in shades that match no matter how you swap them out.

Of course, there are exceptions, and as life goes on in its chaotic and unaccountable way, he acquires items of clothing he wouldn’t otherwise have picked for himself. A colorful sweater from Georgie as a birthday gift. A free T-shirt from a uni event. He keeps these things for their sentimental value, but rarely wears them out of the house.

However, sometimes life is not only chaotic but also utterly unmanageable. And sometimes Jon finds himself with a promotion he doesn’t really know what to do with, an entire archive to organize, and less time than he’s ever had to do laundry.

And, well. One has to wear something to work, doesn’t one.

This is what Jon keeps telling himself as he miserably pulls on the last clean shirt left in his flat. He should know; he’s checked four times, and if he checks a fifth he’ll be late for work. He gives himself a glance in the small, dirty mirror stuck to the inside of his closet door, and looks away almost immediately, strangely embarrassed.

It’s just a long-sleeved, striped T-shirt, which is maybe a bit unprofessional for the workplace, but it’s not as though anybody minds how the people who work in the basement dress. The problem comes from its colors. Well, one of its colors. Three of them—black, grey, white—are perfectly suitable for Jon. But following those, at the bottom of the shirt, is a glaring, bright violet.

The shirt is a casualty of the aforementioned chaos of life. A friend of an acquaintance had given it to Jon to wear to a pride parade several years back, which he had ended up skipping out on anyway. Since then the shirt had been kept out of sight and mind, packed into the back of Jon’s closet for a rainy day that he’d never really expected to arrive.

There’s a first time for everything, Jon thinks, almost reflexively. The words don’t mean much to him, philosophically speaking, but they are a steadying mantra nonetheless. He goes to pull on his coat; by some measure of luck, it’s a cold day out. He plans not to take it off again until he’s safely back in his flat that night.

The trouble is, of course, that wearing one’s coat while making tea in the break room in an adequately-heated basement looks rather conspicuous to one’s coworkers, and leads to questions.

“You feeling alright, boss?” Tim asks, as he retrieves his bagged lunch from the fridge.

“Yes,” Jon says, stiffly. “Perfectly fine. I’m just cold.”

Sasha, who has followed Tim in, says, “Not sick, I hope.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Jon says again, though he is beginning to feel a bit overheated. “It’s just cold in here. You don’t feel cold?”

Tim and Sasha shake their heads, looking concerned.

“I’m fine,” Jon says for the third time in thirty seconds, and promptly flees the break room.

By late afternoon, Jon is sweltering, and has no choice but to take off the coat. He’s careful to close his office door before he does so, resolving to put it back on if he needs to be seen by anyone for the rest of the day.

Though the garish violet stripe in his periphery is distracting at first, he loses himself in his work soon enough, spending an hour or two tearing through a stack of statements that are, by and large, utter nonsense.

He loses himself in his work so much, in fact, that when there’s a knock at his office door, he says “Come in,” without thinking.

“Hey, Jon,” says Tim as he enters, “d’you have a copy of statement zero-one-three-two . . .”

Tim’s voice drifts off, and Jon looks up, irritated. “Zero-one-three-two-what?”

Tim’s staring at him, an eager expression on his face, and Jon’s stomach goes cold. He looks down at the shirt, remembering, and stops himself from groaning. If he doesn’t react, maybe Tim will leave it alone. “What number were you looking for, Tim?” he says instead, very calmly and professionally.

But of course it doesn’t work. Tim’s face breaks into a smile, and he gives Jon a big, showy once-over. Jon rolls his eyes even before the words are out of Tim’s mouth. “Looking good, boss.”

“Tim, I have even less patience for sarcasm than usual, so if you could please—”

“Who said anything about sarcasm? You look good! Casual, ah, Tuesday suits you, Jon.”

Jon puts his elbows up on his desk and massages his temples. “I ran out of laundry.”

“Ah, been there.” Tim seems to have taken Jon’s resignation as an invitation, because he helps himself to the chair opposite Jon’s desk. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for the pride flag type, though. Don’t even think I’ve seen you with laptop stickers.”

“No,” Jon says, “I’m not. Not usually. This is just the only thing I had lying around. It’s from years ago, I never wear it.”

“Aw.” Tim genuinely looks disappointed. Jon wonders if perhaps he’s losing what remains of his tenuous ability to read people. “That’s a shame. You look good in purple.”

Jon has reached a point in his life, he’s fairly certain, where he ought to have heard such a comment before, or at least know the proper response. In actuality, he cannot recall a single instance of someone in his adult life complimenting his choice of fashion. He looks down at the shirt again. It’s the same as it was before: too-bright and obvious. He highly doubts it could look good on him in any shape or form. “Um. Thank you?” he says, sounding more bewildered than grateful.

“Really! It, like, brings out your eyes, or something. I dunno, but I think it’s nice on you. Not sure why you went through all the trouble to hide it all day.”

Jon shifts in his chair. “It’s . . . I mean, it’s very loud, isn’t it. And obvious. It’ll just attract attention.”

Tim looks at him for a moment or two. “Jon,” he says, “is this just about the shirt? Or is it also about the shirt?”

“That makes no sense, Tim.”

“You know what I mean.”

Jon, admittedly, does. One of the things he appreciates most about Tim is that they can be honest with one another, if only after some customary back-and-forth. He sighs deeply. “It’s—it’s just . . . a lot. I know it isn’t, really, in the grand scheme, it’s just you and Sasha, a-and Martin, too, I suppose. And it’s London, no one’s going to—it’s safe. I know that. B-But it’s a lot, being seen with everything—out in the open. By strangers. To know that they know. And even if they don’t know, they’ll . . . they’ll probably be able to guess.” He stares down at the scratched, cheap wood of his desk. Long ago, someone had carved a tiny pentagram on the lip of it. If Jon’s sense of humor weren’t buried under three layers of anxiety at the moment, he’d probably find it funny. “And I know it’s childish, to care what a bunch of strangers would think. But I can’t . . . I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t just let it go.”

There’s a painfully long pause before Tim speaks up again.

“Well, I’ve got good news for you, Jon.”

Jon looks up at him warily, and finds that Tim is smiling at him. “What?”

He points at Jon’s coat where it hangs off the back of his chair. “You can put that back on.”

Jon blinks at him.

“At five,” Tim goes on, “you can put your coat back on, button it up, and walk out of here, and when you get back to your flat, Jon, you can do your bloody laundry. And you never have to wear that shirt ever again. Problem solved.”

“But . . .” Jon’s voice peters out before he can come up with a real protest.

“If wearing pride colors makes you feel like that,” Tim says, his voice gentler, “then don’t wear them. Simple as that. Not everybody’s got to carry a flag twenty-four-seven. Or ever. Doesn’t make you any less queer. Hell, even I take the pins off my bag sometimes.” Tim squints into the middle distance, muttering, “I can never seem to get the laptop stickers off, though.”

“But—what about what you said about me wearing purple?” He’s grasping at straws, he knows, but Tim’s argument is quite good. And the thought of never wearing this particular shirt again does sound rather appealing.

“So wear an aubergine button-down every once in a while!” Tim shrugs. “Or don’t! It’s none of my business.” He tilts his head to the side. “Actually, please do wear an aubergine button-down sometime. You’d turn some heads down here.” He pauses. “Figuratively, I mean. I’m sure everyone would be very respectful.”

Jon lets out a startled laugh. “Alright,” he says, feeling lighter. He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe, sometime, I’ll . . . I’ll try it.”

“I know you like your blacks and whites, Jon,” Tim says, “and I’m not here to tell you how to dress. But if you ever need advice, or want to borrow a colorful, strictly nondenominational shirt . . .” He points both thumbs at himself. “I’m your guy.”

“Okay,” Jon says, and is surprised to find that, in this one, specific case, he is.

“And,” Tim adds, pointing a professorial finger in the air, “it’s not childish to care about what other people think of you. Pretty sure it’s the most universal thing there is. Welcome to the human race, Jon. You’re among us peons, now.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “How unfortunate,” he says, drily, and Tim cackles.

Jon wears his coat home, keeping it carefully buttoned, and when he gets back to his flat he tosses the shirt into the back of his closet from whence it came. He’s not going to throw it away altogether, of course. It has sentimental value. Someday, maybe, he’ll dig it back up, if only just to look at.

For now, Jon does his bloody laundry.

[obxfix]

Tell Me What You Want

JJ x Femme Reader

Description: Fluff and Smut | You’re new to the Outer Banks, and Sarah introduces you to the pogues. You can’t quite put your finger on why, but you feel drawn to JJ. After a surfing accident, you feel you have to help JJ. Things heat up between the two of you after he opens up about his feelings.

Content Warnings: medical emergency, fluff, dirty talk, oral sex, fingering

A/N: I thought I’d dabble in some smut for a change. The backstory is a bit turbulent because I’m chaotic and I love some slow burn as well as romantic/sexual tension. Oh and just pretend that they had a mature and informative conversation about their sexual history and if they had been tested for STIs before they had sex, as everyone should :) Anyway, enjoy!

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Tonight was beautiful in every possible way. The summer air was warm and inviting, the water a perfect temperature. Your friend Sarah had invited you out to the beach with her boyfriend John B and their friends Kiara, Pope, and JJ. You had been hanging out with them for about a month, and you were sure you’d had more fun in that span of time than your entire life. Figure 8 undoubtedly had its perks, and there were parts of living there with your mom that you loved. The Cut was a whole different experience. It was exhilarating.

You found yourself drawn to JJ. Something about him was exciting, and you felt like you had known him for longer than you had in reality.

Sarah and Pope sat with you on the beach as Kie and the rest of the boys caught some waves. The sand felt nice against your skin.

“JJ was asking about you earlier,” Sarah said, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

You chuckled, looking at your friends. “Why? To check if I was still bringing snacks?”

She pursed her lips, amused. “Actually…he seemed unconcerned about food for once. He was genuinely wondering if you were coming down, and something tells me it’s because he has a thing for you.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “Yeah, right.”

Pope nodded in agreement with Sarah. “I can second that, [Y/N]. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

“Oh come on y’all,” you replied, chuckling.

Sarah and Pope laughed and you shook your head with a smile. They were being ridiculous. You had spent a month hanging out with the pogues, and not once did you pick up any signals from JJ that he was into you.

JJ ran out of the water, surfboard in hand. He fell over by the water’s edge, and you gasped. Sarah whipped her head up and followed your gaze. You were running toward him before your brain could even catch up.

Kie and John B paddled over as fast as possible, and Sarah and Pope hurried beside you. “JJ? Are you okay?” you said, kneeling down and pushing his hair out of his face.

He coughed, spitting up some water. “I’m good. I’m good,” he choked out.

Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief. “You scared the snot out of us, J,” Kie said, helping him to his feet. “What happened?”

JJ stood up shakily as everyone stood around him. He slowly lifted his arm and revealed a massive jellyfish sting. The rash was deep and pulsating.

“Jesus, JJ. Are you allergic?” John B said.

“Well…from the looks of it—” JJ said, collapsing back into the sand.

You immediately picked him up, supporting his weight on one side, Sarah steadying the other. JJ swayed back and forth, unstable.

“We have to get him to a hospital,” Kie said.

“No hospitals,” JJ said quickly.

Everyone shared a concerned look.

“We don’t know how severe your allergy could be, bro, we have to get you to an emergency room,” Pope said, his tone filled with worry.

“No, no, I’m fine,” JJ slurred.

“You’re not fine,” you said, sighing in exasperation. “Okay, how about this? We take you to my house. My mom is a nurse. She’ll know what to do.”

He nodded, slowly being able to stand up on his own again.

Everyone piled into the van and you were off to Figure 8 with an injured JJ.

______________________________________________________________

 The next day, you woke up next to JJ. Your mom had patched him up and made sure he was okay. He ended up staying the night at your house after the rest of the group had gone to John B’s. You gazed at his face, so peaceful and calm. His fluffy hair was draped over your pillow, and his body moved up and down slowly as he breathed. You hoped he was dreaming of nice things.

You went downstairs to find the house was empty. There was a note on the counter. It read: [Y/N], I figured I would give you two some space and go see a few of my friends on a little day trip. I left some extra sting ointment in the bathroom, far right cabinet. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything. Enjoy the day ;) –Mom

You chuckled. Your mom was such a G.

After eating some breakfast, you went back upstairs to your room. JJ was still sound asleep. You sat down on the edge of the bed beside him, running your hand through his locks. He started to stir, so you pulled your hand away.

He let out a heavy breath and opened his eyes. “Hey,” he said groggily.

“Hey, you. How’re you feeling?”

“Actually, I feel great. Your mom is magical,” he joked, grinning as he sat up.

“You know, she kinda is,” you laughed. “You really scared me yesterday, you know.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I…well I was worried, we all were,” you stammered.

“You seemed especially worked up,” he pressed, a smile playing on his face.

You shook your head, grinning. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You looked out the window, afraid you were blushing.

“I feel like I’ve known you for way longer than a month,” JJ said quietly.

Your heart skipped, and you turned to him. “What?”

“I’ve just never met anyone like you before…it sounds dumb, I know. I just feel different around you,” JJ said, looking down.

You smiled, tilting his head up to look at you. “It’s not dumb, J. I feel the same way.”

He shook his head, looking down again. “No, no. You don’t have to reciprocate my feelings, and you don’t have to feel bad for me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “JJ, I’m not just saying it because I pity you. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

His eyes were still lowered, not wanting to look directly at you. You put your hand in his. “I’ve never felt the way I feel around you with anyone else before…” you said.

He brought your hand up to his mouth and kissed it gently, now making eye contact. “I love you, [Y/N].”

You noticed him staring at your lips, and your cheeks were burning. Before you knew it, you were kissing him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. You cupped his face with your hand and deepened the embrace. JJ smiled into the kiss, pulling back to take you in.

“JJ, I…I want you,” you said, barely a whisper.

“I want you too,” he said softly.

He lifted you up off the bed and pinned you to the wall. You felt his lips by your ear. “Tell me what you want me to do, [Y/N].” His breath against your neck sent a shiver down your spine.

“I want…” you trailed off, feeling silly. Dirty talk was proving to be more intimidating than it seemed.

He placed a kiss on your neck before pulling away to look at you. “I want to make you feel good. If you’ll have me.” JJ smiled slyly, his eyes looking at you with sincerity. This was a side of him that he rarely let out.

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. You opened your mouth to speak but closed it again. He raised his eyebrows encouragingly, which made you laugh. You copied his motions from earlier, angling your head up so that you could whisper into his ear.

“I want you to eat me out,” you said softly.

JJ pressed his lips to yours, and you grabbed a fistful of his hair. You kissed each other at a slow, hungry pace, his hands caressing you by the hips. He bit your lip and then started to pepper kisses down your neck and collarbones. You sighed, letting the pleasure rock through your body.

JJ pulled back for a minute, taking you in while discarding his shirt. You gazed at his toned abs and muscular chest, aroused.

His hands trailed down your sides and played with the hem of your top while you made out. “Can I take this off?” he asked, his voice husky and his pupils dilated.

You nodded, lifting your arms over your head as JJ tenderly removed your shirt and tossed it to the floor. He took this time to plant kisses all over your breasts, grunting as you pulled his hair. “Oh JJ…just like that,” you panted.

JJ rubbed your core through your shorts, and you grinded into his hand, trying to increase the friction. He continued sucking on your neck and massaging your breast with his free hand. He was stimulating every part of your body, and you felt electrified.

JJ lied you down on the bed and peppered kisses over your body, starting with your jaw. He slowly trailed down to your neck, your sternum, your stomach, and your hips.

You helped him slip off your shorts and panties. His warm breath tickled your inner thighs as he caressed the skin around your heat and left subtle kisses around the sensitive area.

You shivered as he licked up your slit. JJ looked up to see you writhe from his actions. He slowly started to suck on your clit, and you let out a breathy moan. He wrapped one hand around your thigh and rested the other one against your lower stomach. Your back arched as he flicked his tongue over your sweet spot. He looked up every now and again to meet your eyes.

“J…” you said lowly, sighing in ecstasy.

He paused his motions, looking up at you.

“Can you…use your fingers while you do that?”

JJ obeyed, returning his mouth to your core and lapping at your slick. He gently inserted one finger into you after rubbing it around in your wetness. You threw you head back and closed your eyes, letting the sensation numb everything else around you.

“Tell me how it feels…” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on you.

“G-good. Stay right there, slowly,” you said between gasps.

JJ sucked on your clit while inserting another finger and curling them both. A moan escaped your lips as your back arched again. He felt your muscles clenching, and he intensified his movements in response. The pressure continued to build until you felt yourself unraveling.

“Look at me while you cum,” he said softly.

You opened your eyes and saw him watching you intently as you rode out your high. The pleasure came in waves, crashing and falling as the tension left your body. After you came down, JJ lapped up your fluids and left wet kisses along your inner thighs.

You tugged on his hair to bring him up to you, and he followed. He hovered over your body, resting his weight on his elbows on either side of you. You smiled at him, cupping his face with your hand as he connected your lips to his in a passionate kiss.

He lied down beside you, and you nuzzled into his chest.

“No one has ever made me feel like that…I mean aside from myself,” you said, your voice low and your body in a state of utter relaxation.

He chuckled, planting a small kiss on your inner wrist. “I had fun too.”

You smiled, moving a piece of his hair back with the rest.

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up,” JJ said, throwing you over his shoulder.

You squealed, earning a chuckle from him in return. You laughed as he carried you to the bathroom, gently placing you on your feet and then starting to fill the tub.

You could get used to this…

[lunarose-moonflower]

So I actually wrote something instead of doing a pretty picture this time. It's a fairy bench trio AU that is actually co-authored in my opinion by @im-a-star-boy I came up the idea for the AU but they helped me with like all of the planning and story beats and ideas so in my opinion he's the co-author and if he wants to he can write for this au as well! We made this au together and I want to acknowledge that because he deserves credit. I'm stalling because I'm insecure about my writing but here you go it's my first time writing something in a long time and it's a little out of my comfort zone some things may be OOC because I've never written for these guys before

__________________________________________________________________________________

Ranboo was tired so very tired. he has been separated from his nymph for days, was it days? it might have been weeks possibly even months he couldn't tell anymore. he was hungry not finding any healthy flowers or fresh fruit that he could feed from which means he couldn't produce his dust as efficiently, the fairy dust that kept him alive. not to mention it was going to rain soon, he was a fairy with a rare allergy of sorts water burned like it was acid that's why he had been rejected by so many colonies in the past before being found by his kind-hearted but Stern nymph. unfortunately luck was not on his side and the rain began to fall burning his skin through his leaf made clothing. he tried his best to find shelter but he was so hungry and cold and burnt so the minute he found at least a little bit of cover from the rain he passed out of exhaustion.

meanwhile two boys are running through the forest trying to get back home, they had originally been messing around at the creek but as soon as the rain started to fall they knew they needed to get back. the shorter one with brown hair, Tubbo, running rather fast to escape the rain his taller blonde haired friend / brother maybe?? Tommy, wasn't far behind an arm over his head to protect himself from the rain. eventually when they got to a thicker part of the forest they slowed down, catching their breath as the thick trees shielded them mostly from the rain. Tubbo looked around for any cool rocks because everyone does that but found something interesting. "Hey toms! I found a little person!"he shouted to his friend as if that was a normal thing to say. "what the fuck are you on about?"said the taller blonde very used to his friend's habits at this point. "there's a little person! he's got wings and stuff"said the brunette picking something up from the ground before showing it to the taller. Tommy was very surprised when he found out his friend was telling the truth is that right there in Tubbo's hands was a tiny person only about 6 inches tall, his hair was black and white it looks like it should be split down the middle but it was messy so the colors mixed, he had a long tail that was almost as tall as him, it was long black and rather thin other than the tuft of black and white fluff at the end of it. he was wearing what looks like a little suit but it was made of leaves so it was rather torn up and ragged, on his skin one half of his face seemed darker than the other the lighter parts look like old scarring and it could be seen all throughout his body. he had dragonfly wings that had an iridescent heat to them mostly red and green all four of his eyes were closed and all four of his arms were wrapped around himself. "holy shit that looks like a little fairy!"exclaimed the blonde as he stared at the little creature and his friends hand "let's keep him! I mean he obviously needs a home" Tubbo was already tucking the little guy into his pocket as if it was a normal thing to find in the forest and bring home "we would have to hide it from everyone else"said Tommy still looking at the unconscious fairy "oh come on Wilbur won't notice Phil is too busy and tech is out on a trip! it's the perfect time to bring the little guy home!"he said quickly making his way to the house Tommy following behind both boys already talking about all the exciting adventures housing a fairy could lead to.

when Ranboo woke up he wasn't cold or burning. he was actually rather warm and lying on top of something soft, softer than the forest bed could ever be. he opened all four of his eyes to look around and he was in a very unfamiliar environment. he immediately set up and tried to flap his wings but they were waterlogged and would take a while to dry, needless to say he was very very scared. "it's awake!"shouted a large voice the fairy had never heard a voice that loud before and it caused him to cover those elf like ears of his. "stop shouting you're going to scare it"suddenly in front of Ranboo there was a big person with messy brown hair looking at him as if he were some kind of insect. "hey little guy!" not only was the fea absolutely terrified but he was also confused at being called little, the average fairy was 3 inches tall he was 6 inches tall, he had never in his life been called 'little'. "stay away from me!"the little creature immediately called out backing up as far away from the big creature as possible "whoa it just made noise" with all the brunette said and then Ranboo realized that they probably couldn't understand his language, it was a language of sounds and not words, only other fea could really understand it. "I think we scared it" said Tubbo looking at the fairy who was now shaking with something that wasn't cold "of course it's scared! it doesn't know us and we're like a thousand times its size"Tommy pointed out and he had a point. "it looks hungry we should feed it something" said the brunette gently using his pinky finger to ruffle the fairy's hair causing the little creature to jerk back "what does it eat? do we just like give it a piece of meat or something I mean it has pretty sharp teeth"upon hearing that Ranboo immediately shook his head no very quickly, Forest fairies like him could not digest meat at all. "you don't eat meat little guy?"questioned the brunette and got another shake of a head as an answer. "well what do you eat" Ranboo began looking around the room for any pictures of fruit or flowers, luckily he found a packet of flower seeds and held it up pointing at the flowers on the front, before looking to the window and pointing at the fruit trees outside. "you eat flowers and fruit?"he nodded "okay so Tommy and I are going to go raid the garden then you stay put"with that both of the humans left the room the fairy still didn't trust them but the idea of food was too good to pass up he was hungry really really hungry. didn't take the boys too long to return with some blueberries and freshly picked tulips setting them down on the desk "I can't believe we had to pick my perfect tulips for this"the blonde pouted "what we were just supposed to let him starve?" Tubbo retorted as he watched the fairy carefully as he picked up one of the blueberries, which was actually pretty big for him, and took a bite clearly happy and ate the thing quickly before going over to the flowers. the humans were expecting him to eat the petals or leaves or something but no he went for the nectar, flower nectar helps fairies produce fairy dust not to mention it makes fairies excellent pollinators. since the flowers have been severed they aren't producing any more nectar but they're still the leftover from when they were producing it, it was wonderful and sweet like any well taken care of flower's nectar should be. both of the humans were looking at the fairy with wonderment and somehow Ranboo felt like he could stay here, at least for a little while.

[snifflyjoonie]

Hay(fever)

In which Namjoon’s love of autumn comes with one itchy side effect.

snz-centric with Namjoon as the sickie and Seokjin as the caretaker.

Word Count: 4255

a/n: Helloooo everyone! I was super excited about this request because, despite Namjoon being my bias, I’ve never actually written a fic for him. (If you exclude the soulmate series, of course.) This one allowed me to combine my love of autumn and allergies lol, so it was a real treat to write. The only thing I monkeyed around with a little request-wise was putting Joon and Jin on a hayride instead of just being in a car. Hope you don’t mind, anon! Anyway, I really hope you guys end up liking this one! I’m super happy I was able to get this out a lot faster than usual for you all. Enjoy the rare Joon content~

-

Autumn was captivating; Namjoon had always thought so. The way the biting chill of winter began to bleed its way into the summer’s overbearing heat felt oddly poetic to him. Watching the foliage start to change colour and wither made him feel grounded. All things came to an end, he reminded himself. There was beauty in the way the leaves fell from their branches. It was a seasonal memento that showcased how life’s tragedies presented new beginnings. 

Plus, It didn’t hurt that he was a fan of hot apple cider and warm pumpkin cookies.

Unlike Namjoon, not all of the members shared the same sentiments towards the season change as he did — but the leader never let it bother him. He learned early on to tune out complaints so as to not let them spoil his own enjoyment. He’d lost track of how many times he’d heard groaning about the weather shift, or the clattering of teeth brought on by an underprepared (or in his eyes, overdramatic) body reaction. 

Along with the beauty autumn brought, Namjoon also loved the colder weather that accompanied it. The way the beginnings of winter nipped at the very tip of his nose during late autumn mornings excited him in a way that waking up slimy with sweat on a sweltering summer day did not. If asked which he preferred, being cold or being hot, he knew he’d answer cold without a moment of hesitation. Being too hot left him feeling drained and nauseous, whereas being too cold made him feel alert and driven. It was an easy choice, in Namjoon’s eyes.

In the same way Namjoon found the member’s complaints of the cold to be melodramatic, many of the other’s got tired of hearing the leader shouting autumn praise from the rooftops. The two that gave him the most grief were easily Yoongi — whose hands were always cold as ice from autumn until spring — and Seokjin — who always seemed to catch a cold right around the time when people stopped saying “I think it might rain” and instead said “I think it might snow.”

 It’s not that the two didn’t like autumn per say, they just didn’t like hearing about it every five seconds. It reminded them of the colder days yet to come, which was easily something the oldest pair of Bangtan would’ve preferred to forget. Granted, it was nice to see their leader in such high spirits, and that would never be something they would outwardly complain about, but his mood would be considerably more tolerable if he simply just chose to tone it down. That however, was something Namjoon would never do. He truly believed there wasn’t a single thing that could make him dislike the transitioning season, and he was almost always able to find the beauty in the things his members were looking forward to the least.

Excluding, of course, the way the changing greenery always seemed to make his allergies flare-up. 

It happened every year without fail. The temperature would drop, the leaves would fall, and Namjoon’s nose would start itching. Despite its yearly recurrence, the leader never seemed to readily anticipate the way his body would fully reject autumn to the highest degree. To Namjoon, when the weather got warmer his allergies were simply out of sight, out of mind. He was always ill-prepared for the watery eyes and runny nose that would seemingly come out of nowhere after he spent maybe a bit too long outside admiring the colours. The irony of the situation was not lost on him, and his members always made sure to tease him enough so he wouldn’t forget it, but overall he didn’t mind too much. Namjoon wasn’t the type to let a sniffly nose stop him from enjoying the things he loved the most.

Which, he supposed, was exactly why he ended up sneezing enough to get dragged off of a half-finished hayride in the first place.

*

“Hyung.” 

The sound of Namjoon’s voice pulls Yoongi’s attention away from his computer as he glances over his shoulder to find the younger man standing in his studio doorway.

“Joon-ah.” Yoongi responds with a low, almost disinterested-sounding hum. He pulls one side of his headphones from his ear and turns himself back towards his computer. He doesn’t directly say it, but the gesture is enough for Namjoon to know he’s welcomed inside, and he quickly closes the door behind himself.

“Are you busy?”

Yoongi shrugs. He’s always busy; or at least it feels that way.

“No.” He answers, blowing a tired-sounding breath through his nose as he adjusts himself at his desk. “What’s up?”

Namjoon walks himself further inside and takes a seat at the couch closest to Yoongi’s set up. Yoongi steals a glance at him, one eyebrow raised as he watches Namjoon pull his phone from his pocket. He’s starting to wonder if something may’ve happened, as it wasn’t often that Namjoon dropped by unannounced, but Namjoon was fast to explain his sudden visit.

“I know this probably isn’t your thing,” Is what the leader starts out with, and it takes every ounce of self-control Yoongi can muster to not grimace at what might be coming. “but I was supposed to go with Hoseok, and he’s still not feeling very well.” Namjoon pulls up some sort of article on his phone and flips it around for Yoongi to see. The rapper squints at the image and this time can’t stop his face from contorting in distaste. 

“Are those...pumpkins?” He asks, his lips forming a thin line as Namjoon nods in confirmation.

“Yeah, it’s a one-day event this organization is hosting. Like...a pop-up?” Namjoon explains with a sigh as he leans himself further back into Yoongi’s couch. “They’re setting up a lot of things that are pretty common this time of year out west. I guess there’s going to be pumpkin carving, hayrides...things like that. Hoseok agreed to go with me a few weeks ago, but...that cold he caught isn’t letting up.” The leader shoots Yoongi a look that instantly clues the rapper in to what he’s hinting at. He lets out a sigh and folds his arms across his chest as he waits for the inevitable.

“The event is only happening today, and I was really looking forward to it, so if you’re not busy...I was wondering if you might come with me, instead.”

There it is. Yoongi can’t help but frown. Activities like this really weren’t his thing, and he knew the other knew this. He figures Namjoon must have truly been excited for the one-time event to have even come to ask him in the first place.

“Did you ask the younger guys already?” Yoongi deadpans as he brings a knuckle up to his nose. He can tell immediately that this isn’t the type of reaction Namjoon was hoping for as the leader’s face falls ever so slightly.

“They’ve got a photoshoot or something today.” Namjoon explains and Yoongi’s eyes soften. It explains why Namjoon came to him  — he really didn’t have many other options with Hoseok being down and out. “They left pretty early this morning. Not sure when they’ll be back.” The leader sighs and looks everywhere but Yoongi as he leans forward again, resting his elbows onto his knees and folding his hands together in front of himself. “Hyung, if you don’t want to it’s not a big deal.”

Yoongi hums. It’s a deep, low sound as he searches for the right way to let Namjoon down. He really has no interest in something like this, but he still manages to feel a bit badly for the leader, anyway.

“Honestly, Joon-ah,” He starts after a brief silence, “I think I might be catching whatever Hobi-yah has. I probably shouldn’t.” It isn’t a lie, his sinuses have been stinging since the early morning and his throat was starting to feel a bit raw, but he knew the excuse was still pretty weak. He felt fine enough to do things, he just really didn’t want to go.

Namjoon makes a disappointed noise as he sucks air in through his teeth. It’s almost enough to make Yoongi feel guilty.

“No worries.” The leader says as he pushes himself back up with a small grunt. “I didn’t think it would really be something you’d find interesting, but I thought I’d ask anyway.” He scoffs to himself and adjusts the beanie on his head. “Honestly I’d be fine just going myself, but...I can’t drive and it’s too far to bike.”

“Why not request a driver?”

Namjoon shakes his head and waves a hand at him dismissively as he turns to leave. “Doesn’t seem important enough to bug the staff.” He admits. “I’d feel bad making the driver wait around for just me.”

“What about Jin-hyung?”

Yoongi watches Namjoon pause in his tracks. He looks over his shoulder at him, and the expression of realization on his face nearly makes Yoongi crack a smile.

“I didn’t even think to ask him.” Confesses Namjoon. “Do you think he’d go?”

Yoongi shrugs, he really doesn’t know. To him, it could go either way.

“I mean, if you want to go that badly, it would be worth it to ask him, don’t you think?”

Namjoon seems to mull it over before ultimately nodding in agreement. It makes Yoongi feel a bit better about his refusal — the ball was now out of his court and firmly in Seokjin’s. He was sure he’d hear about it from his hyung later on — Yoongi had fully thrown him under the bus knowing very well Seokjin had a hard time saying no to Namjoon — but he’d cross that bridge when he’d get to it.

“Thanks for the advice, hyung.” Namjoon smiles, his dimples making an appearance against his honey-coloured cheeks. “I hope you start to feel better.”

Yoongi grunts out a sound that could possibly be interpreted as ‘thank you’ and pulls his headphones back into place as Namjoon closes the door behind him. Some part of him hopes that Namjoon will manage to convince Seokjin to go, but he doesn’t dwell on it too long. He has work to do, anyway.

*

Seokjin steps out of their vehicle and instantly regrets every decision he’s made that has led him to this point as an icy burst of autumn wind whips his hair in a thousand different directions. He shoves his hands as deep as they can possibly go into his trenchcoat’s pockets and buries his nose down into the collar. He wishes that he had simply told Namjoon sorry, not this time, but after trying to pawn the obligation off onto Yoongi (and finding out the other had done the exact same to him) he felt too badly for the leader to refuse his request any further. 

That was how Seokjin found himself standing in an open field in the middle of autumn very much wishing he had slipped on an extra layer before leaving the dorms. Or two. Or three.

“Hyung,” 

Seokjin turns at the sound of the honourific and meets eyes with Namjoon’s smiling face. The leader’s nose is already turning a soft pink from the chilly weather and Seokjin is almost positive he looks much the same, if not worse. He just wasn’t built for the cold in the same way Namjoon was.

“Anything you want to do first?” Namjoon asks, his bright smile never faltering. Seokjin wondered why the leader seemed to get so much joy out of standing around and freezing for a few hours but he supposed he was grateful he could play a part in it.

“Whatever you want, Joon-ah.” He answers with a small smile and an even smaller sniffle. He removes a hand from the comforting warmth of his pocket to swipe a finger very briefly against the underside of his nose. He swears that if he catches a cold Namjoon will never hear the end of it. “Maybe we could grab some hot chocolate?”

Namjoon lights up brighter still at the mention of the warm drinks (something Seokjin didn’t think would be humanly possible) and is instantly nodding his head in agreeance. 

“That’s a great idea.” Hums the rapper as he too ends up sniffling quietly against the back of his hand. “The entrance to the event is just up ahead, I think we might need wristbands.”

Seokjin nods as Namjoon leads the way. The entrance itself isn’t very far, in fact Seokjin can see it from their parked car, but he still wished they had parked closer, anyway. 

The event itself was taking place entirely outside in a large field the hosting organization seemed to have rented for the day. There was a knee high wooden gate around most of the area that was funneling people into a single open entrance where they could collect wristbands that then allowed them free reign to the activities inside. From what Namjoon had told him, it seemed like most of the activities were generally popular out west where holidays like Halloween were more widely celebrated. Seokjin supposed he was excited to an extent — he always enjoyed experiencing new things — but he just wished the weather could be a little bit warmer.

The two men approach the entrance after their short walk over and Seokjin’s teeth are already chattering. He listens to Namjoon say a few words to the ticketer before he starts to fish his wallet from his back pocket. Seokjin tries to follow suit, but Namjoon is quick to stop him.

“If you think you’re buying your own ticket, you’re crazy.” He chuckles, the sound deep and low. It reminds Seokjin of waves crashing against the shore. “It’s on me, hyung. I appreciate you coming.”

Seokjin tries to object but Namjoon is having none of it, politely refusing each of Seokjin’s rebuttals. Eventually, the eldest gives up, and simply sticks his wrist out for the ticketer to apply his paper band. Namjoon is smiling as he watches, his dimples having not left his cheeks since they first arrived, when Seokjin notices his eyes start to squint ever so slightly. It almost looks as if he’s just thought of something new he wants to say, or like he’s realized he left the oven on, but Seokjin knows better and adverts his eyes to give the other a bit of privacy. 

Sure enough, not a moment later he hears Namjoon suck in a sharp inhale of breath and can see him twist to the side out of the corner of his eye.

“hh— hH’KTtch’hiu!”

Seokjin looks back over in time to see the aftermath, namely Namjoon bent down into his steepled hands, before the leader rises back up with a sniffle he presses against the back of a wrist.

“Sorry.” He scoffs at himself and clears his throat ever so slightly. “Alright— let’s go get something warm to drink.”

Seokjin hums in agreement, accepting a pamphlet the ticketer offers him. He folds it open and gives the small map inside a look-over as he closely follows Namjoon into the main area. 

It doesn’t take the two of them very long to find the drink stand and this time Seokjin firmly puts his foot down when Namjoon tries to also buy both of their drinks. He quickly fishes out his own wallet and hands over money before the other can object any further. The singer accepts the drinks with a warm smile and tries to hand one over to Namjoon, but the rapper is hurriedly turning away again and burying his face into his hands.

“hh’NGtx’ch! ha’INGTch’hiuu!” 

“Yaah,” Seokjin tries to make his tone sound scolding, the way a hyung should sound when lecturing a dongsaeng, but ultimately he thinks he misses the mark. “You’re not catching Hoseok-ah’s cold, are you?”

Namjoon responds with a shake of his head as he sniffles tentatively into the palms of his hands. When he rises back up, Seokjin is quick to notice the deeper shade of pink his nostrils have turned. 

“Sorry, I’m good.” He tries to assure, reaching out to take one of the styrofoam cups from Seokjin’s hands. “Thanks for the hot chocolate.”

Seokjin eyes him warily but ultimately just nods his head, taking a sip of his drink. He can’t stop himself from basking in its warmth, letting out an appreciative hum as the chill in his bones backs off ever so slightly. 

“Hyung, have you ever been on a hayride?”

The question catches Seokjin a little off guard as he swallows down another warm sip of hot chocolate. 

“I’m not really sure.” He admits. “I don’t think so.”

“Well...would you go on one with me now?” Namjoon gestures somewhere behind Seokjin’s head and the singer turns around to, sure enough, spot a carriage filled with hay and other patrons being pulled by two beautiful brown horses. “I’ve never gotten to ride one before, either.” Finishes the other.

“Sure, Joon-ah.” Agrees Seokjin as he takes another gulp of his warm drink. He has no reason to object, plus the way Namjoon’s face lights up is enough to make the prospective hayride worthwhile. 

The two men are quick to scurry over, not wanting to miss this carriage and have to stand around waiting for the next. They flash their wristbands at the driver who motions for them to hop into the back. They do their best to scramble inside, handing each other their drinks as they hoist themselves in one at a time. The carriage is fairly spacious, and they find a nice spot near the back that is cushioned comfortably by a large bundle of hay. 

Namjoon is absolutely beaming as a worker assists a few more patrons into the carriage before signaling to the driver that all of the seats were taken. His enthusiasm makes Seokjin smile as he huddles himself a bit deeper into his coat. Thankfully, the carriage was blocking most of the wind, making Seokjin feel like they had made the right choice in choosing to go for a quick ride. 

They are able to hear a sharp jingling sound of the reigns being manipulated before the carriage gives an abrupt jerk. The two men bump their shoulders against each other from the slight jostle as the carriage begins to move, sending them off on their very first hayride.

For the first few minutes, even Seokjin finds himself having fun. He’s laughing along with Namjoon as they sip their drinks and admire the gorgeous fall scenery around them. The crisp smell of autumn combined with the slightly musty smell of the hay and horses leave Seokjin feeling oddly nostalgic despite having never smelt a smell like this before.

Namjoon however was seemingly not faring as well as Seokjin to the strong seasonal smells that wafted aggressively around their carriage. It didn’t take long for his laughter to start to peter out and instead get replaced by increasingly wet, urgent sounding sniffles. 

“Are you alright, Joon-ah?” Seokjin finally asks. He had tried to ignore the sounds of the other’s sniffles as best he could, but even some of the other riders nearby were starting to take notice. 

Namjoon turns to Seokjin and gives his head a small shake, aggressively pinching his nose between a thumb and forefinger in a rapid itching motion. Seokjin is quick to take notice of how red the appendage has become, as well as the way Namjoon’s eyes seem to be welling up with tears. 

“What’s going on?” He tries asking again, but instead of answering Namjoon is thrusting his half-finished hot chocolate into Seokjin’s free hand. The rapper wastes no time leaning himself nearly fully into his lap, wrapping both hands tightly around his nose and mouth as he lets out a quick burst of sneezes that Seokjin can’t help but notice sound horribly, horribly itchy. 

“Yaaa, Joon-ah, what’s—”

The singer is cut off when Namjoon explodes into yet another round of sneezes that tumble out of him without a moment for breath in between. Each one sounds more powerful than the last, and when he’s finally finished, the only word Seokjin can think to describe the gasp of air he takes is ‘greedy’. 

Seokjin carefully sets Namjoon’s hot chocolate between his knees and extends his hand out to the other, gripping his shoulder tightly and yanking so the younger man would look at him. When Namjoon does turn, Seokjin can’t stop his mouth from falling agape. Namjoon’s eyes are red rimmed and tears are spilling from them at a rapid pace. His nose is as bright as a strawberry, and his nostrils twitch in a way that indicates his sneezing is nowhere near done. 

People are staring now, and in Seokjin’s eyes, it’s warranted. He tries to keep Namjoon’s attention on him but the other is slowly coming undone as his breath starts to catch in his throat once again. He brings his shaky hands up to his nose and mouth and this time turns his body inwards towards Seokjin. He manages to suck in a quick breath before ducking down with three sneezes that sound pinched and strained, the man very clearly doing everything he can to try and keep them contained.

“hh’KXxgt! ‘Nngxt’chh! huh’INGgxt!”

Seokjin wastes no time digging into his pockets to find the tissues he had crammed into them prior to leaving the dorms. He had figured with the cold weather he might have ended up sporting a bit of a runny nose during the day’s activities, but instead the tissues were clearly going to be put to a much better use. He grabs a handful and guides them into Namjoon’s hands, receiving a grateful, relieved sigh in return. 

The rapper brings the tissues up to his face, first using them to dab at his streaming eyes before hasity securing them around his horribly twitchy nose and blowing forcefully. The sound is productive and nasally and makes more than one person around them turn their heads in distaste. Seokjin is almost one of them.

“What’s gotten into you?” He asks as Namjoon catches two more sneezes into the tissues in between blows.

“Dunno—” The younger chokes out, following it up with an itchy cough as he squeezes his eyes shut in irritation. “But my nose is on fire.”

Seokjin opens and closes his mouth, truly at a loss for words. It isn’t until a burst of wind stirs the loose hay in the carriage that the realization begins to dawn on him.

“Namjoon-ah,” He starts as the other recovers from yet another bout of sneezing. “Please tell me you took an antihistamine before we left.”

The way Namjoon looks at him with pure, unbridled guilt is enough to tell Seokjin that he most definitely did not. Without hesitating further, Seokjin yells for the driver to stop the carriage. He manages to hold both of their drinks in one hand while his other stays busy firmly dragging Namjoon off of the carriage as the other snuffles uselessly into his soggy tissues.

Seokjin doesn’t let go of Namjoon’s forearm until he has dragged the other so far away from the carriage that they can barely see it anymore. He turns to Namjoon with a look on his face that exudes pure exasperation.

“You didn’t take an antihistamine and you wanted to go on a hayride?”

“I didn’t think it would — hh! — didn’t think it would matter.”

“Namjoon-ah.” Seokjin was bewildered. “You have hayfever.”

“What’s that — hAH’KTCHh’hiuu!” He cuts himself off with a sneeze that he catches into his elbow before turning back to Seokjin with a sharp, wet sniffle. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“That was a hayride.”

“I didn’t think hayfever actually had anything to do with hay.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes and lets his head fall into his hands. Yoongi was absolutely going to get an earful for setting him up like this as soon as they got back home.

“It doesn’t, but—” He sighs and pulls his head back up. “Use some common sense next time, at least. God, if I would’ve known you hadn’t taken anything, I would’ve…” He sighs again, this time really letting it drag out, before turning his attention back to his sniffly counterpart with a much softer expression on his face. “Are you alright, now? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sneeze that much.”

“Yeah, I think so.” Namjoon murmurs, but he follows it up with a rough scrub of his horribly reddened nose. “My nose is just itchy.”

 Seokjin can’t help but feel for him.

“I’m sure it is.” He hums. 

He really does feel badly for Namjoon — they hadn’t even been at this event for a full hour before Namjoon’s own negligence threw a wrench into their plans. He knows how much the rapper had been looking forward to this, and it made him feel bad that they clearly were going to have to cut the activities short.

“Tell you what.” He finally speaks, catching eyes with the sniffly man across from him. “Why don’t we try picking out some pumpkins and just bring them back to the dorms to carve there, instead?”

The smile that overtakes Namjoon’s face is as bright as the sun and instantly warms Seokjin’s heart as he finally hands the other back his now lukewarm hot chocolate.

“And hey,” He starts to add, a coy smile creeping onto his lips, “Why don’t we pick one out for Yoongi-yah, too?”

[littlekatleaf]

Offer me my deathless death

This took me way longer to write than I expected - but it also wouldn't leave me alone. Had to finish before getting back to "My heart as spent as ashes". This takes place in the same universe as "Be still my indelible friend".

The only Heaven I'll be sent to Is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well Amen, Amen, Amen ~ Hozier, Take Me to Church

“Lúcio wants us to go where,” Roadhog asks without looking up from his knitting. Not that Junkrat minds - knows well how focused he can be, and just as well how to capture his attention, when necessary.

“A Cosmic Mass.”

Roadhog frowns and his gaze is still on the yarn. “The fuck is that?”

A little more blunt than Junkrat’s own question (tries to be on his best behavior with Lúcio, generally speaking) but idea’s the same. “Apparently it’s like a rave, but with some sorta spiritual shit mixed in. He’s DJing a set at the end of the night.”

“He really wants us to be there?” Roadhog actually sounds wistful. He’s got his mask off, feet up, cup of tea on the table beside him, and before Junkrat’s interruption he’d been listening to some overly relaxing music. Makes Rat want to laugh. As if sitting around like an old cunt would be better than a party.

“Ain’t got no one else, with Hana away. Can you imagine Morrison trying to fit in at a rave?” Suddenly imagining the commander in makeup and neon rave gear, Junkrat bursts into laughter. Takes a minute to collect himself, as Roadhog attempts to ignore him. “Ah come on, Roadie, it’ll be fun.”

“...” Doubt clear in the stubborn set of his body.

Junkrat crosses the room, drapes himself over the back of Roadie’s chair, lets his voice go low, teasing, and speaks right in his ear. “There’s incense, to make it seem proper church.” Roadhog stills, like he’s been frozen. Not even sure he’s breathing. Junkrat grins, showing teeth. Ups the ante. “An’ I been feeling a little sniffly. Little sneezy. Maybe coming down sick.”

“You don’t play fair,” Roadhog grumbles and Rat knows he’s won.

“Not if I can help it,” Junkrat agrees, nuzzles against Roadie’s neck for an instant, then pushes himself off to find something to wear.

By the time they find the open space preserve Lúcio’d described, the sun disappeared behind the surrounding hills. Long shadows fall across the path, but the way is lit by luminarias’ glowing circles. The air is cool, crisp with the scent of bay and laurel. In the distance there’s the thump of bass, like a heartbeat. They follow the trail of candles through the forest, across a wooden bridge and up, up into the hills that rise gently, steadily, around switch-backs and through groves of oak and pine and the music grows louder, more insistent, until they crest the hill. Something’s making Junkrat’s nose run. Maybe the cool air. Maybe the joint they’re passing back and forth. Maybe he actually is coming down sick. Doesn’t matter. Sniffs once, then again.

Roadhog’s given up on the grumbling. Rat feels his attention laser-focused. Glances at him sidelong. Behind the smoked lenses Roadhog’s eyes burn, raking over him so intently that it feels like physical touch. His body goes loose and easy, imagining those hands on him, strong. Someone walks by, swinging a gold filigreed container that wafts smoke from its numerous tiny star-shaped holes. Breathes deep the spicy, sweet scent of incense and smiles through the rising wave of desire.

Feels like each tendril of smoke drifts directly to a point somewhere in the center of his nose and stays. “Fuh… fucking allergies,” he manages to say and then the wave is crashing over him and pulling him down. At the last minute he ducks to the side, away from Roadie, because he’s a shit and knows it’ll tease. “Hih-k’tchh! It’chh! Chh!” Drags in a breath, but only manages to stifle two of the next three. “Ah-R’iissshuh!” The last bursts from him loud enough that people around them glance over. Tries to look contrite. “Pardon,” he says.

“Saúde! I knew that had to be you, Junkrat.” Lúcio appears from the crowd, slings an arm around Rat’s shoulders.

Junkrat raises a brow. “How d’ya mean?”

“Uh, what I mean is,” Lúcio clears his throat, a brief flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. “Like, you’re…”

Junkrat laughs, passes him the joint, lets him off the hook. “Not exactly inconspicuous, are we?” He gestures to the crowd, mostly older, mostly hippie throwbacks. Even though he and Roadie’d left the armor and rip tire at the base, they don’t exactly look like many of the others. Not to mention Roadhog is a good foot taller than anyone else.

“Not exactly.” Lúcio’s answering grin is a little lopsided and it catches Junkrat’s interest. What had Lúcio noticed about him? Had a sneaking suspicion, though it was something he expected of Hog, not Lúcio. Have to test the situation, because if he’s right… well, the evening might be even more entertaining than he’s been hoping.

Lets Lúcio draw him through the crowd, arm still around his shoulders. Roadhog walks, solid and protecting, at his other side and the focused attention between the two of them make Junkrat’s skin feel electric, tiny sparks lighting up his synapses. Bass is still throbbing off to one side. Nose tickling in that odd, feathery way. Just enough to keep him sniffing but not enough for actual sneezes. All of the stimulation swirls together until it all fizzes through him like a shaken beer. Wishes vaguely that he’d brought even one grenade. Just something small. Release a little pent up energy.

Lúcio’s explaining the way the Mass goes, the set he’s going to play, talking just a little too fast, little too bright, not quite meeting either Junkrat’s eyes, or Roadie’s. Junkrat’s trying to pay attention but keeps being sidetracked by the tension under the words. An odd edge. Makes him feel like he’s gonna vibrate out of his skin. Finally, Lúcio’s obvious discomfort urges Junkrat to give him some shit.

Bumps his hip against Lúcio’s, lightly. “Never took ya for a God-type.”

Lúcio shrugs, gaze sliding away to the people they’re passing. “A gig’s a gig,” he says. “Come on, mate. Ain’t no need to be that way about it. Not criticizing ya, just curious.” Curious, wanting to get beneath the surface, to figure out what makes Lú tick. Always gotta figure how things work, how they’re wired. Bombs. People. Different types of explosions, but equally thrilling. So, if they’re gonna be more than… if they’re gonna be more, he needs to figure Lúcio. “This ain’t just a rave to you, is it?” Considers. There’s an energy to the night, a frisson that he can almost taste.

After a surprisingly long pause, Lúcio meets his eyes, straight on. “You really want to know?”

“Course. I want to know you, Lú.” Means know in all the flavors of the word, Junkrat realizes.

Lúcio sighs, tips his face to the sky and takes a hit off the joint. Holds the smoke for a few beats. Exhales. Directs his words to the stars. “Sometimes when I play? The music is... different. Sometimes it’s a bridge, a web. Starts with the beat. The drums, the bass. They come in a wave. Break over me. Flow through me. Like I’m a conduit. If I can hold the connection, it flows into the audience and we’re all connected. More than the sum of our parts. When that happens, the power in it…” Lúcio closes his eyes. “Like sticking your finger into an electric socket. The first time it happened, in one of the clubs in Rio, I think I was high for a week.” Lúcio frowns, opens his eyes. “Then, once in a while… even more rarely… you can shape that energy, turn it to a new thing. Revolution.” He blinks, coming back to himself. “Words don’t really encompass...”

For the first time, Junkrat begins to understand the connection between Lúcio’s music and his role in the uprising of the favelas. Even so, he isn’t sure what to do with the knowledge, so he makes a joke. “Expect you’ll be providing the experience, then.”

“Always do my best. But,” Lúcio fixes Junkrat with an unusually intense gaze. “If you keep yourself separate, you won’t feel it. It’s a mutual thing.”

“Meant ya need to hand over the joint, mate.” Holds out his hand for it, bites his tongue on a laugh.

Roadhog cuffs the back of Rat’s head, growls,“Don’t tease him. He’s tighter than a nun’s arsehole.”

The blow, though light, is enough to snap Junkrat back to serious. Lúcio shifts uncomfortably under his scrutiny and hands him the joint.

“Ya are,” Junkrat says thoughtfully. Lúcio’s never tense about a gig - performing natural as breathing for him. And the joint’s done nothing for the tension in Lúcio’s jaw, his shoulders. “Relax, mate,” he murmurs, leans forward and kisses Lúcio full on the lips. Smells of patchouli and weed and Junkrat pulls him closer, deepening the kiss and the tension hums between them. Different than Roadie, Lúcio is lithe and wiry. Dancer’s body. Tastes of clove, of cinnamon, sweet and hot. Desire pulses with the bass as heat rises in the slight breath of air between them.

Only for a second, before Junkrat’s nose is tickling again and he’s forced to step back. Through eyes that keep fluttering toward closed can see Lúcio’s expression of confused dismay. Holds up a finger - wait, he wants to say. Can’t. Needs to sneeze; the feeling’s just right there, lingering. Insubstantial but insistent. The tension between the desire and the action is unexpectedly pleasurable. Wanting in more places than one. Feeling Roadie staring. Breathes slow, careful, until the need suddenly spikes and he wrenches forward.

“Huh’issshew!!... Iishh! Heh…” The third one disappears, leaving him a little off balance. “Ugh, definitely coming down sick. Sneezes only stick like that when ’m getting the wog.” But even as he’s complaining, he smirks, rewarded by the flush coloring Roadhog’s neck, the way Lúcio fidgets, both trying not to seem to be staring but also darting glances at him as he rubs his nose against another rising tickle.

“Shouldn’t be smoking, Rat.” The slightly strangled tone of Roadie’s voice makes it obvious- only saying it because he feels a little guilty for enjoying. Which he shouldn’t, because Rat wants him to enjoy.

Junkrat lifts his chin in challenge. “Ain’t my daddy, Hog.” Sucks in a long hit off the joint, holding Roadhog’s gaze.

Lúcio snorts and swipes the joint from Junkrat, breaking the tension. “He’s right, though.”

“Oi, ain’t no excuse for stealing. We’re supposed to be the villains. You’re supposed to be th… the… ” Resurgence of the feathery itch sidetracks him. Breath hitches, snagged by the urge to sneeze. Presses a knuckle to the tip of his nose. Tingles. Not sure if he wants to rub it away or urge it closer. Just presses, gently. The sensation subsides, but only a bit. “The hero,” he manages to say.

Lúcio purses his lips, blows a stream of smoke that drifts directly under Junkrat’s nose and the tickle is a thousand times worse. Or better?

“Oh that heh… heh…helps...” His face falls, gaze hazy. Can’t focus on anything when he feels like this. Really wants to sneeze. It’s right there, right on the edge. Maybe?... No?... Another breath. Yes... “Heh… H’t!” Only half a sneeze and it’s gone. “Shit.”

“Helps with what?” Roadie asks, deadpan.

“Fuckin’ nothin’, apparently. Unsatisfying,” Junkrat mutters, sniffling like a kid and wiping his nose on his sleeve. Still has to sneeze. A diffuse, faint feeling, sometimes there, sometimes not. Wispy. Keeps his breath shaky, his hand hovering uselessly halfway between his nose and his chest. Might sneeze. Might not. His cheeks go hot. Weird to have both Hog and Lúcio watching while he makes an idiot of himself.

“You okay, Rat?” Lúcio asks, forehead creased with concern.

Junkrat shakes his head, slowly. Not because he’s not okay but because the sneezes finally decide yes and the need rises so sharp and overwhelming it’s almost pain and he ducks his head. “Huh-t’chhew! Ihht’chew!” A beat, two. Fucking shit.

“Something missing,” Roadhog asks, insufferable bastard, and he wants to answer, wants to say something cutting but only manages to flip him off before the missing third reappears with vengeance.

“Ah’Riiish-uh!” He sighs with relief. “Fucking finally.” Blinks tears from his eyes and realizes both Roadhog and Lúcio are staring with identical hunger. Goes suddenly hard, their desire stoking his own. Grins. “‘Scuse me,” he says but it sounds more proud than apologetic.

“Saúde,” Lúcio says just as Roadie says, “Bless you.”

The look that goes between them is surprise and a measuring-up and Rat laughs. Shakes his head. “Can’t believe you two cunts gave me the wog, and now you’re fuckin’ enjoying my misery.”

“You said you never get sick,” Lúcio argues, even as a guilty expression crosses his face.

Roadhog shrugs off Lúcio’s concern. “Rat’s full of shit; he don’t care,” he says, shifting alliances like a bastard.

“Oi, Roadie, blowin’ me cover? Get stuffed.” Not angry, though, not really. Knows what his sneezing does to Roadhog and seems like Lúcio might be the same. If he’s right, the fun they’ll have more than makes up for a minor inconvenience. Hopes he is because suddenly Rat wants both of them. Rubs his nose against the feathery tickle that’s still threatening to both disappear and to explode, but patently unclear which will happen.

In that moment of stillness between possible explosions, the music goes abruptly silent and Lúcio glances at the stage where the previous DJ is taking her final bows. “Gotta do my…” he gestures with his chin.

“Go be the conduit,” Roadhog says. “We’ll be here.”

Lúcio grins at both of them, presses a quick kiss to Roadie’s cheek then bounds onstage to thundering applause.

As the lights sweep over the audience, Junkrat suddenly realizes the people he’s assumed to be old hippies are no such thing. The cloth and cut of their bohemian outfits is expensive, the patchwork bags designer. The gold of the incense burners actual gold. He eyes the diamonds, obviously real and expensive, practically dripping from one sheila’s ears and draped around her neck, sparkling at each of her fingers. Clasp looks surprisingly cheap for the likely cost of the necklace. Be a shame if it somehow got broken.

Glances at Roadie, raises a brow, tilts his head at the shiela who is completely entranced by the beginning of Lúcio’s set. Ain’t paying a bit of attention to her surroundings.

Roadhog shakes his head and Junkrat knows he’s frowning behind the mask.

“Not like she’d miss it,” Junkrat urges. “What Morrison don’t know ain’t gonna bother him.”

“And if Lúcio gets blamed?”

“Ain’t planning on getting caught.”

“Rat, no…”

Junkrat just grins and slides into the crowd, following the glitter of the sheila’s jewelry. The bass vibrates in his ribs, merging with the flutter of anticipation. Moves with the rhythm of the audience, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume. Cloying and overly floral. But he’s focused. Eyes on the target, vaguest idea of a plan beginning to form. Takes a deep breath and lets the sneezes crash over him. “Huh-R’iiisssh! Issh! Isssha!” Just manages to throw his arm up over his mouth and stumbles forward on the explosion. Bumps smack into the sheila and uses the ensuing scuffle to snap the clasp of her necklace.

She turns. “Watch it, asshole,” she says, looking disgusted.

“Oh, shit, sorry, mate! Touch of allergies or something. Hope I didn’t get you!” He apologizes immediately, profusely, playing up his accent. The necklace slides off and into his waiting hand. He pockets it, then lets the crowd flow between them and makes his way back to Roadhog.

“Cannot believe you sinned during fucking church,” Roadhog says.

Junkrat shrugs. “She ain’t a good Christian. Didn’t even bless me.”

Roadhog shakes his head, but Rat catches the rumble of his chuckle. Roadie draws him away from the crowd, into a pool of darkness at the side of things. It’s not private, but no one’s watching them - the focus is on Lú, center stage, surrounded by his equipment, face alight with joy. The music spills from the stage like a waterfall, flowing around him, the spotlight shines over him and he glows. Counts down the beat with one finger til it drops, breaking into a new pattern.

Junkrat’s seen him in battle, burning with a fierce joy. Seen him wielding his sonic amplifier to heal, equally bright and fierce. But this, this is where Lúcio belongs. “Join me,” Lúcio’s voice amplified drifts over the notes of the music. “Float. Ride the currents and eddies. Slide down deep into the darkness. Into the depths. Further down to the deepest part. Sink in, curl in, and in that place touch truth, touch love. Touch the One, because that is you, too. You are safe here in the womb of the world.”

Junkrat does, feels the darkness swirling around him.

“Now feel the touch of the moonlight, uncurl into that light. Stretch into the night, reach for the God beyond God that is unlimited and free. Let’s dance our prayers in community.”

The music surrounds him, a shining bubble. Feels like Junkrat can reach out and touch it. Press against it, barrier between him and whatever Lúcio is creating. Like a window he can’t penetrate. Maybe it’s the necklace? Maybe Roadie was right and he shouldn’t have stolen it. Maybe...

Then a hand on his shoulder, grounding him again. “You’re okay, Rat,” Roadhog says and it cuts through the smoke fogging his thoughts and suddenly he realizes two things. He is okay, and he’s going to sneeze and it’s not going to be contained.

“Heh-issh! Issh! Ish! Sh! ...Ehh..Hehh.. R’issh-iishhuh! Fuck.” Keeps his face buried in the sleeve of his shirt, trying to gather his scattered thoughts and assess the damage. His cheeks are hot and he’s uncomfortably hard.

Suddenly Roadie’s fist’s tangled in his hair, tugging his head up. “You’re a mess,” he says, examining Rat far too carefully.

He is a mess. Wants to hide, to turn away but he can’t do either - Hog’s fist still tight in his hair, holding him immobile. “Sorry,” he says and this time he actually means it. Wonders vaguely, through the floating fog of weedsmoke and lust and the lingering urge to sneeze, if someone actually could immolate from embarrassment.

“You should be.” Roadhog pulls a bandana out of his pocket and wipes Junkrat’s nose, then raises his mask just enough to press their lips together.

Junkrat groans into the kiss and wraps his arms around Roadhog, tugging him closer, closer, aching with desire.

Lúcio's song shifts, and though the beat still throbs, an ethereal voice sings a melody in a language Junkrat doesn’t understand. He closes his eyes and the notes float cool and light over his skin. The music casts a glittering web over and between them, connecting them each to the other and both to Lúcio. A low thrumming, slowly building vibration buzzing along his skin and through his body. Rumbling deep and dark, then tenor notes over the bass like hope. Until the melody opens like dawn breaking and cracks him open too and washes him in joy.

Only the roar of applause from the crowd interrupts. Junkrat looks up just in time to see Lúcio bound down from the stage, still glowing with the leftover power of the music and he dashes over to them and they open their arms and pull him in.

The three of them make their way down the hill, back to the hovercar waiting to take them back to the Watchpoint. Roadhog’s hand on one elbow and Lúcio’s hand on his other shoulder keep Junkrat from stumbling, his head still swirling with music and weed and want and the heat of Lúcio’s touch and the strength of Roadhog’s hand.

Finally, finally he collapses onto his bed, tugging Roadie and Lúcio down with him. Their hands are roaming over each other, legs entwined. And he’s going to sneeze again. “Hold on,” he manages to say. Freezes, stuck teetering on the edge. Feathery tickles whisper at the back of his nose.

“All right?” Lúcio asks.

“Something wrong?” Roadhog adds.

“F...fuck ya both. Gotta… gotta… Huh-R’iiisssh! Issh! Isssha! Ugh,” he sighs. “Still gotta… Itchhh! Huh-isssh! Isshew!” It’s like no matter how many times he sneezes, just can’t clear the tickle. But it feels so unbearably good. The build and build and tremble and release only to build again right after. And Lúcio’s hand closes over his cock and he reaches for Roadhog and Roadie takes Lúcio in his hand and they move together, still tangled in Lúcio’s web. Pleasure throbs through Junkrat in waves pushing him higher and he draws Lú and Roadie with him, high and higher and when he tumbles over the precipice, they fall too.

And as he drifts in the aftermath, Lúcio pressed warm against his left side, Roadhog against his right Junkrat feels maybe he’s glowing too.

[broomsticksareoverrated]

Forgiveness when we least expect it

She should have left. Galinda should have made her leave, the moment the Wizard had been clasped in irons and whisked away to that awful prison under Oz. She should have had the girl click her heels, and dissipate back to whatever plane of existence she bumbled in from.

But she didn't. Galinda was too good for that.

The people wanted a party. They wanted to celebrate their freedom from a Wicked Witch most of them had never seen, and freedom from the years of oppression under the Wizard that they'd never truly experienced. The people wanted a party, and a party was what Galinda gave them. It was the good thing to do.

Dorothy found her on the balcony of the Palace ballroom. Galinda wasn't surprised; it was the first second she let down her mask since, well, since catching an echo of green skin down a dark alleyway so many years before. It was only right that she not be able to catch a break.

"Anything I can help you with?" She asked, her eyes fixed on where the bright lights of her city faded into the horizon, her voice forced bright and airy. She played the role her whole life. She could manage one evening.

"No, thank you." The girl replied slowly. She came to stand beside Glinda, too close for the witch's comfort. She could feel the heat radiating off her skin; it was sickening.

"Then perhaps you should return to your ball?" The question - more of a suggestion, but Glinda blurred that line too easily nowadays - made Dorothy look at her suddenly, her eyebrows at her hairline. She'd been sharp, sure, but Glinda was trying her hardest, dammit." It is in your honour, after all." she added, softer. Dorothy shook her head, and turned back to the view.

"Its a little much for me, I'm afraid. We don't have parties like this back in Kansas."

"Then is there anything in particular I can help you with?" She glanced at the girl with her brightest smile. "I could end the festivities at a moments notice if you wish, let you get your much needed rest. You've done a wonderful thing today, Dorothy dear. You must be exhausted." She'd give any excuse to end the ball. She'd lie to a thousand children for a moment's peace alone with her grief, her guilt, her anger. But, once again, Dorothy did what children always did. She surprised Glinda.

"I heard you, you know? In the castle? I was still there, underneath those dirty floorboards, and I heard you."

"I - excuse me? I'm not sure I have the faintest idea what you-"

"You loved her."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Glinda snapped before she could stop herself. She paused, breathed, and tried a smile again. It wavered. "I'm sorry, that was very rude of me. What I mean is, it was complicated. She was complicated, and I suppose I was too. I hadn't spoken to her in years."

"Were you two sisters, like that poor woman my farmhouse - Aunty Em's farmhouse - fell on? Is there a South witch too, and is she good, or wicked?"

"Breathe child!" Glinda exclaimed. One hand fell on Dorothy's shoulder, silencing whatever question had been on the girl's tongue. "No, we weren't sisters, thank the Unnamed God. As far as I know, there's no witch of the South, though nobody really knows enough about Quadling country to be sure." Glinda paused, remembered dances, and public houses, and one bed in one room in a lonely farmhouse.

"You were friends?" Dorothy asked. Her voice was quiet and simple, a child asking a question because that's what children did. But to Glinda, she felt a weight behind the words. She could almost hear the grunting, low tones of the Witch asking her, sly smirk stretched across purple lips, daring her to contradict her. Glinda wouldn't disappoint.

"We were everything." She admitted hoarsely. "Friends. Family. Partners. Enemies. We were everything two people could be for each other." She turned to find Dorothy watching her with two wet streaks down her rosy cheeks. She didn't know what to do.

"Was she actually wicked?" Oh. Suddenly Glinda felt a little softer towards the child; she hadn't wanted a part in this anymore than Elphaba had.

"Truly? No. She'd never hurt anyone, nor had she wanted to. She... Well, you weren't the only person the wizard used in his scheming. All three of us played roles we never asked for."

"I didn't mean to kill her."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"I know that too." Dorothy's bottom lip trembled, and her eyes were wet again. It was the first time the girl seemed truly shaken.

"Am I wicked now too?" Glinda did something then that ten minutes ago she'd never have believed. She wrapped her arms around the girl and pulled her in for a hug. Dorothy sobbed into her shoulder.

Glinda gave the girl a moment to get the worst over with, let her breathing settle, and only then did she speak.

"Dorothy, I don't believe for a second that you're a wicked person. Since you got here you've just been trying to find your way back home, and you've been caught up in some of the worst political strife our country has seen in a century. You've been trying to help people left right and centre, and for the most part you succeeded." Dorothy pulled back to look at her, mouth still down turned.

" But I killed her. I killed your...your witch."

"Dear, she didn't die because she was so unholy water would melt her, like Oz would have you believe. Elphie had a very rare and very severe allergy to water. You couldn't have known that. I don't blame you, Dorothy."

It was, of course, far more complicated than that, but Glinda didn't want to burden the child with more woe than absolutely necessary.

"As I said, you were manipulated by the wizard, as was I, and as was Elphie."

"Elphie?" She asked. "Was that her name?"

"Elphaba." Galinda said, voice softening. "Named after a Saint that supposedly hid behind a waterfall for millenia. She let me call her Elphie though, when we stopped hating each other."

"Maybe," Dorothy said carefully. "Maybe your Elphie is waiting behind a waterfall now, for you? And when...and when your time comes, may you rest in peace, you can join her there?" For the first time that evening, Glinda felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She swallowed thickly.

"One can only hope." She murmered, eyes drifting back to the vast dark lands beyond Oz, out to the Horizon, where Elphie was waiting.

[rataltouille]

HOUSE PLANTS, UPDATE 1

this has been long overdue. typical, really. [novel intro found here.]

the story is currently eight chapters in but it's also a very strange eight chapters. i’m not really happy with half of these words because they're unnecessary ™ and dull ™ and serve no purpose whatsoever ™. i’m simply choosing to ignore that i need to cut them out. :’] here’s a note i made that perfectly captures my feelings so far:

before we go into the excerpts, i want to talk a bit about how house plants is structured because the format is whack. each chapter ranges from 3000-4000 words. A few vignettes, around 500 words, are sprinkled between these chapters. the chapters narrate events from the fictive past, while the vignettes are snippets into the fictive present [the point from where lilith is retelling the story]. additionally, an important plot thread is told entirely in the form of an epistolary [through letters] and so there's a bit more of confusion to navigate through. fun times.

and now for the excerpts. they're from the first three chapters and are very weird out of context. i think that each update will feature excerpts from three consequent chapters, but that may change as we get closer to spoiler land.

excerpts:

chapter one

the novel kicks off with an odd vignette featuring an unhinged willow and an innocent lilith. chronologically, this is set way back, the earliest scene ever, around when lilith was ten or eleven. it’s meant to establish a sense of unease and to thread the unsettling undertone i’m going for. it's also major foreshadowing but we don't talk about that here. i’m not giving away much because there's not many excerpts to scrape out from a dialogue-heavy vignette like this.

”Here, let me help, mother.”

I tried guiding your palms to the rim of the pot, but you moved them away. From the brief touch, my fingers came away with moisture. On second glance, your knuckles were bathed in sweat. Your veins pulsed and your hands shivered. You gave me a wide-eyed glance, dumped the plant atop the brown, and stood up. You wiped the dirt away on your jeans. From below, with sunlight teetering over your golden hair, you were a personification of God. But were you, really? Does God fear their children? Does God volunteer to garden? I didn't know what God truly meant. I don't now either. But I’m certain it wasn't you.

”Sorry, Lilith. My pollen allergy is acting up.”

It's stunning how it ran in our blood, lying effortlessly.

chapter two

immediately after this we’re pulled off into the linear non-vignette chapter thing, aka the second chapter. [god what am i doing with this structure]. it starts with a soft little reminiscent bit about juniper?? i’m exploiting the tense a lot but it's been fun. (:

The first time she smiled at me is knit into me, like I’m not myself without it. I’m not. She breathed change and I ran with it. Whenever she gazed at me, with sunset dripping behind her head, or with rain clouds dotting her hairline, she’d smile. It was the sound of a ukulele in a winter draft, the kiss of dew on my favourite hemlock, the fond mythical curl of my father’s arms around me. There’s a phantom of love everywhere, and I almost caught it sneaking around her. Even now, Juniper dozes so soundly; she’s replaced everything I wanted you to be and everything you never were. You’d know, of course. You always have.

willow is officially introduced soon after, and so is one of the major plot threads, i.e. lilith’s correspondence with her dad. this excerpt is to show how the family feel about each other became, like i mentioned, there’s a lot of tea to be split here. not gonna lie, this paragraph reads as kinds pure.

You— the town called you Wistful Willow, but they did so behind your back and on postcards to neighbours— had a special lilt in your tone every time you spoke his name. ”Isac,” your lips would curl, almost a smile, and I’d smile back. You loved it, the sound of his name. It had become a ritual for us, pouring our sorrow and joy and unrest and comfort into those two syllables. A fallback plan, I suppose; there was always father to rely on amidst chaos.

willow is constantly at home and she’s probably not seen the outside world in a million years. she either cooks, reads, sits in a bathtub, or does everything at the same time. not odd at all.

The bathroom door, thick oak painted ivory, was right across where I stood. The house was large and empty, and I had three places— study, bedroom, garden— to myself. I lived only with you, so it was mostly quiet, except on Saturdays when we got father’s mail and watched TV together. That Saturday we had seen an old movie from the 70s, a random romance that neither of us cared for, but watched out of duty.

The door was shut. From it came the sound of pages rustling, not unlike a delicate breeze playing with the fronds of croton plants. I knocked softly.

”Come in, ” you said, a splash of water punctuating your voice.

I entered to find you half-immersed in the bathtub, one hand holding a novel, the other limp across the rim. There lingered the scent of soapy water, rose-tinted, and all over the tiled walls was the water’s reflection, a glow of opulence. You were half-naked, your garments drifting like algae. Your habit of reading in the bathtub had been increasing lately. You looked at me, questioning.

there’s also the introduction of lilith’s best friends marcy and faun, where they lay down in the middle of a field after a tiring cricket match and banter all through the evening. i’m really enjoying the trio’s friendship; it's both fun to write and they’re just so pure.

”If you insult Henry one more time, Marce...”

”He actually named the butterfly.” Her eyes were wide and amused; she dug up mud with her nails and flicked it upwards, glanced at me. ”Lilith. He named his fucking butterfly.”

”Faun, it's dead. You keep it in a box, ” I said.

”The dead don't magically lose their names, ” he countered.

Our laughter drafted into town. I don't think it heard.

chapter three

this is kind of uneventful but it sets up some major subplots. i might push it to later in the book, but i’m happy with where it it's right now. lilith randomly keeps reminiscing throughout so that’s convenient. this excerpt is about willow and thus is unreliable as hell. willow ain't good and lilith ain't 100% sincere narrating this right now, so don't let its pureness fool you.

People in town, I’d hear, found you odd and unsociable, cold and distant. I always scoffed when they told me so. They only knew the Willow who never attended community gatherings, who’d gaze out absentmindedly from the porch, who’d more so see than observe, hear than listen. They didn't know the Willow who was my mother, who hated loud noises, who loved her novels with a passion, who spoke so serenely— and rarely— that you hung onto her every word. Only I saw this side of you, and that suited me just fine.

there’s a scene where lilith [accidentally] spies on marcy and another guy. their conversation makes lilith tangent off in her head.

Marcy spoke detachedly, like she was speaking through a filter of not caring. I worried for her and her charade. It didn't help that scented letters confessing love often found their way to her locker, or that roses were shoved in her face as if her admirers loved her so much that they forgot she was allergic to them. Idolisation and adoration took extreme forms; she was stalked for a month and sent death threats. She would put on a disguise of indifference and seem unbothered, but at night she’d soak her pillow and lose sleep, then inform us the next day about her insomnia so casually that we almost forgot how easily she hurt.

i’m not going to lie, the last line in this excerpt was just me indulging myself with the knowledge of the climax. i need to stop slipping in random tone changes like this lol.

My walk home finished quick, though my feet expressed exhaustion. I was right on time, too; you were sitting by your coffee table, glasses crooked upon your nose, a new novel— this one a bright red sky, gold print, gauzy— resting beside warm coffee. You barely smiled, but that was because you were daydreaming. I was familiar with every tell: your eyes would tilt towards my forehead, your lips would stretch, your fingers would drum on whatever you were holding. I’d always let you be when you drowned into your head. Did you ever notice that, Mother? Have you ventured out of your mind to witness my efforts?

and finally some food for thought. yes, that pun was intended. i’ll see myself out.

”Dinner’s ready, dear,” you called. I groaned out my fatigue and left my room, hoping to abandon my unflattering thoughts. In the kitchen, I helped you set the table. Soon we were both sipping hot carrot soup with a side of breadsticks. You were already invested in the novel. I held the spoon, the heat barely registering, and watched you drift through fiction and reality like a will o’ the wisp. Maybe I could read for escapism, too. It would do me good.

that’s all for today! thanks for reading so far; support is, as always, appreciated. hope you liked these excerpts ✨

[hereliesbitches--me]

Dating Rosie :

Pros: 

You got yourself an actual Neko Waifu 

She is rich so shes basically your sugar mama too thatll take care of you because she can. Make you dress nice, probably fix a lot of broken shit in your house, buy you groceries. All that jazz. She likes to help.

She is a Milf thatll never age on you

Shes also hispanic therefore can cook you a bombass dinner no matter what. She also keeps the house clean 

Dating an actual celestial goddess who is dominion of the night and the keepers of souls. You got yourself a cryptid wife 

Wanna be a werewolf? Vampire? Something supernatural of the night? Moon mom is able to grant those abilities and take them away whenever you want. 

Once you have her in love, shes undyingly devoted and loyal to a fault. To a level you can do some bad shit and she would still defend you because of blind love. All she'll want is your approval and love.

Would make you a music box to show her love

If you want to be a family, shes on board. All shes ever wanted was to feel normal with a family. She has kids and she would love for them to have 2 parents instead of just her.

Will tear the world apart to protect you. #FuckThePolice Very little she wouldnt do to make you happy, she will throw hands with anyone for your sake. Will wrap up in her wings and curl her tail around you whenever she can bcuz she loves you and needs you to know. 

Would kill for you or help you hide a body. She has experience

Fully capable of altering your traumatic memories and erasing them for you if you wanted to really make that pain go away.

Sex wise, once shes got you, it’ll be hard to get her off you. She needs the physical intimacy to solidy and verbalize her feelings, and let her know that you still find her desirable. So her libido tends to shoot through the roof once shes settled in, helps her think better. Will literally have a deep conversation with u while at it cuz it helps the thought process. 

She has heats every 4 months for about 10 days, hope ya up for that.

She cares more about your orgasm than her own. Its mental satisfaction for her to make her partner feel good and in turn it satisfies her. 

When it comes to orgasms, this woman is skilled. She will suck the the soul out of your body, or eat you out to another plain of existence. Those powers of her are more than just for battle, it makes for one hell of an outer body experience as she works at your soul just as much as your body. Who needs a masseuse when you can kill 2 birds with one stone for the ultimate high and relaxing experience. You'll come back like it's a drug fix 

Would def be willing to experiment in the bedroom, also willing to have sex in risky public places for the thrill of it .

Will love you until the end of time , worship you like her savior, until you don't want her anymore. Will probably try to find a way to keep your soul with her even in death 

Would probably stay with you, even if you treat her like shit, because shes in love. 

Loves chocolate milk , puns, cuddles, and kisses. Would probably kiss you on national television.

Cons: 

Shes mentally unstable. Has undiagnosed bipolar disorder. She suffered severe PTSD from a history of physical, sexual, and emotional abuse on multitude of occasions, and much of her pros and search for love stems from these things. She loves passionately, but she is nonetheless a sick person that struggles with herself more than anything. Almost always paranoid and distrusting of any situation she doenst have control over. 

She has a form of DID that has toned down a lot, but shows itself under extreme stress. Might catch glimpses of these alters by sudden change in her personality and how they adapt to situations. She can be childlike, she can be cold, she can be inconsolable and hollowed out depressed, she can be angry and violent. Though rare, it can happen.

Emotionally dependent on her partner for stability. She has lost many people who come in and out of her life, shes always felt alone and to have someone means she clings on desperately for one good thing in a mess of tragedy. She Carries the world on her shoulders so she looks to her partner for understanding to help her not fall apart.

Needs consistent confirmation that she is cared for and loved. Even if it's a subtle way.she just needs a sign at least once a day 

It's difficult to make her truly fall in love and open herself entirely. She keeps many secrets and you just need to accept that until shes ready. She is heavily guarded and may reject multiple times 

It may take a while before she is comfortable in letting you touch her. Much of the time she guided and in control of it, has a particular discomfort with any hand between her legs until she totally trusts someone.

You will have to accept that she is a killer, and will always be a killer when its needed. It's a bad habit she cant break like an addiction, but she has curbed it to only out of necessity. Or in times of severe emotional distress 

If she ever does open up, you have to accept her dirty past as a part of who she was to who she Is now.

Shes a workaholic. She manages the Angels and their missions, the legal stuff of managing the Angels, her family, and herself. She works long hours and splits herself up to give time to everyone, and it's not uncommon that she stays up late into the night researching and filling reports. 

Suffers nightmares that may make her talk or thrash in her sleep. Sleeps with a knife or gun always in reach 

If you dont like kids, you aren't shit to her. Her family will always come before any lover. 

Ya gotta be accepted by her family and her familiars, otherwise you cant be part of it and she would never go against her family's feelings.

Your life will always be in peril because of the nature of her work, and you are a exploitable weakness. She has many enemies

Gotta deal with many oddities of the connection she has. Including dead people that regularly go through the mirror to hang out in her house, who she says are friends. Also a demon shes owned by

Rest in fucking peace if you have a cat hair allergy because she sheds like a bitch, even if she regularly brushes and trims her tail.

  Break her heart and she will either be self destructive or wipe your existence to get you out of her head (aka, she'll kill you and make it look like an accident, or no one would find the body)

If you cheat on her, she'd kill your lover and probably castrate/mutilate you in her devastation and disgust. Could absolutely eat your heart out 

Tagged by: @maxskulline​ Thank you for exposing my gril

Tagging: @thewhitepoison​ @draconicmatriarch​ @trickshxt​ @visiblekindness​ @burmecias-protector​ @blucspidcr​ @starkarmored​ and anyone else who wants to take a crack at it!! :)))

[johaerys-writes]

Day Seven: Love Birds

For day 7 of @scharoux‘s @14daysofdalovers, featuring my OC Inky Tristan Trevelyan and @oftachancer‘s OC Inky Aran Trevelyan, set in the Modern AU we’ve been working on! Today’s prompt is inspired by “The Notebook”, because that movie and these boys make me melt into puddles :)

*********************

“Why are we here, again?” Tristan asked, squinting against the bright sunlight. Golden rays slithered through the leaves stirring with the mountain wind overhead, casting shifting shadows on the ground. 

Aran was several paces ahead, the long stick he was holding sinking in the soft grass as he walked. His flannel was wrapped around his waist, the sleeves of his worn t-shirt rolled up, the assortment of golden freckles on his shoulders standing out against his pale skin. His forehead and nose sported a bright, rosy flush when he turned around. “Because… hiking is good exercise?”

Tristan scoffed, but the sound was interrupted by a bout of sneezing and coughing. He took out his handkerchief, frowning. “You couldn’t think of any other ways to exercise? Ones that involve less trees and insects and-and pollen, for that matter?”

“A few spring to mind,” he said, winking at him. He came to stand before him, brushing a lock of Tristan’s hair behind his ear. “You remembered to bring your allergy medicine with you, didn’t you?”

“...yes.”

“That’s grand, then! Being in nature is amazing. Look how beautiful it is here.” He swept his arms towards the mountaintops in the distance, taking a deep breath. “We could even have a picnic. Or roll around on the grass. Rolling around is nice.”

“Rolling around. Right.” Tristan glanced at the mud that clung to the sides of his boots and quirked an eyebrow at him. “I think you know me better than that.”

“Fine. I’ll roll around while you watch then.” Aran said, quirking an eyebrow back at him. He bounced ahead, swinging his staff along his side as he went. Tristan let out a long sigh, following after him as he wiped his nose on his handkerchief. They walked for a while along the wide dirt trail when Aran stopped before a tall tree, its thick, twisting branches reaching for a bright blue sky.

“Void and deep-!” he gasped, looking up at it wide eyed. “That’s- that’s a lin’isenatha tree. It’s very rare. I’ve never seen one up close before. Have you? I didn’t even know these grew here.” He threw the stick on the ground, then took off his backpack and placed it against one gnarly root. 

“Uh… what are you doing?” Tristan asked, watching him climb along the tree’s thick trunk.

“I need to take one of its seeds. They’re supposed to let out a particularly sweet scent when you heat them up.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“Right? It’s not just good, it’s fucking great, mate,” Aran said cheerfully, pulling himself up on a branch, agile like a monkey. Balancing on the branch, Aran reached, plucking one of the tree’s round, purple fruits. He brushed his thumb over it, brought it close to his nose to smell it. “Just you wait till I heat those bad boys up. It’s going to knock your socks off.”

“Yeah, watching you split your head open when you fall down will knock them right off,” Tristan grumbled.

Aran laughed, extending his arms out to the sides and tip toeing his way along the branch. “I won’t fall. I’m very good at climbing, you know. And getting on branches. And sitting on branches. Like a bird.” He grinned at him. “I’m a bird.”

“A chipmunk, more like.”

Aran thought for a brief moment. “Aye, that too. But wouldn’t it be fun if we could fly?”

Tristan shrugged. “I’m fine the way I am.”

Aran shoved the fruit in his pocket and hung off the tree branch, holding on from one arm. He slid off, landing on his feet like a cat. “Did you say something about me splitting my head open?”

Tristan shook his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“No, I’m not.” Aran hopped to his side, a bright smile crossing his face. “I’m a bird.” Tristan rolled his eyes, and Aran laughed again. “I’m a bird. Just say it.”

“No.”

Aran linked his arms behind Tristan’s neck, jumping up to wrap his legs around his waist. “Say I’m a bird.” 

Tristan pulled him up with a soft grunt. Aran was looking at him expectantly, his lips only inches away from his own. “Alright,” Tristan conceded. “You’re a bird. Happy now?”

“Very.” Aran drew closer, brushing his nose over his. “Now say you’re a bird, too.”

Sunlight shone around his head, peeking through his unruly mop of hair, catching in his coppery highlights. A few tiny, glittering beads of sweat clung to his brow, his cheeks warm with a ruddy flush. And that bright smile of his, that smile that always made Tristan feel like his heart would soar out of his chest. He let his eyes follow the curve of his lip, the angle of his nose, the tiny freckles around his laughing eyes, wondering if he had ever seen anyone as beautiful. Right then, Tristan knew he would be by his side, in his orbit, for as long as he could.

He leaned closer and pressed their foreheads together, breathing him in. “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird,” he whispered. 

Rosy, glistening lips widened in a smile before parting to take his in. He tasted of strawberries and honey and him; warm, earthy, soothing. Tristan sighed, letting himself be swept away by the taste of him, the scent of him, the feel of him in his arms. 

“We’re birds,” Aran said softly, nodding. “We’re birds.” He pulled back to look at him, his thumb brushing over Tristan’s cheek. “What kind of birds would we be? I’d probably be a woodpecker. Flying here and there, poke, poke, poking you all day long. How does that sound?” He smirked, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Besides, the name’s got ‘wood’ in it. And ‘pecker’. Get it? Because-”

Tristan laughed against his lips, cutting his sentence short with a kiss. “You’re an idiot.”

“Aye.” Aran chuckled, fingers threading through Tristan’s hair. “But I’m your idiot.”

[starslikecandlelight]

come, find me lying in the bed i made

A/N: my (late) contribution to day 3 of carolnat week ( @carolnatweek ). i went with one fic, scrapped it last minute and decided to write another short one-shot, ended up with a 4k word monstrosity instead, oops.

– – –

I.

The first time Carol meets Natalia, she’s eleven years old, and out on her family’s annual camping trip.

She’s sharing the tent with her brother, who wouldn’t stop snoring, and she can’t seem to go back to sleep no matter how hard she tries, so she unzips the flap and slips out into the darkness outside the tent. The air outside is cool and heavy with the promise of a thunderstorm later that morning, and she tilts her head up, enjoying the cold breeze against her sweat-slicked face. The inky blackness of the night is slowly giving way to daylight now, and she can see the faintest streaks of pink starting to make their way across the sky – the forest surrounding them seems much less foreboding in the early dawn, the hulking, almost-sinister shadows of the trees fading into a dull, misty grey, and she scrambles her way up the trunk of the oak tree just at the edge of the clearing, sprawling herself across one of its lower branches as she waits for the rest of her family to wake.

Years later when she revisits this memory, she’ll notice how eerily quiet it is – it’s a forest at dawn, but where there should be the quiet chirping of birds around them and the rustling of other animals – deer, racoons, or even wild dogs and coyotes – in the forest undergrowth, there’s nothing, not even the whispering of the leaves in the wind.

But now – she’s oblivious to this almost-unnatural wrongness surrounding her, and she’s just about to close her eyes and nap up in the tree when –

It’s so faint that she just barely picks it up – a high-pitched, shrill scream from somewhere deeper in the forest in front of her. She raises her head from her arms and blinks sleepily, thinking for a moment that she’s misheard, but –

No, there’s another scream, louder this time; Carol almost falls out of her tree this time at the sudden bolt of terror and panic that lances through her.

They live in the suburbs, and Carol rarely spends any time in the woods – but she remembers one day, two years ago, they’d travelled upstate to camp here at their usual grounds, and Carol’s father had brought them down the trail, following the sound of a panicked screaming until they’d come across a coyote, its paw caught in a trap.

“Illegal traps,” she remembers her father explaining to them, pointing it out to them a safe distance away. The coyote’s nearly frothing at its mouth from fear and terror, and her heart clenches as it tries to tug itself free once more, yelping in pain – there’s blood coating the rusty metal springs of the trap around its foot, and the fur on its leg has been rubbed red and raw. “They’re not s’pposed to trap coyotes this way.”

“Why?” her brother had asked, wide-eyed and curious.

“It’s cruel. They take too long to die.”

She doesn’t remember what happened to the coyote afterwards, but she does remember the way it had shrieked at them, all shrill and panicked and so very terrified – and she follows the same screams now, deeper into the forest, her heart thundering in her chest.

It’s not a coyote waiting for her at the end of the trail, this time ‘round. It’s a –

A girl.

It’s a girl, around her own age, with the sharp iron teeth of the coyote trap caught around her ankle, and she’s scrabbling at it, her fingers red and bloody; when she looks up at Carol, her eyes are wide and wild and so desperate that it knocks Carol backwards for a moment and steals the breath out of her chest.

The girl’s movements still, and for a long moment, she stares across at Carol, before the faintest baying of a dog in the distance snaps her back to the present.

“Help,” she croaks out hoarsely, reaching out to Carol, and Carol doesn’t question – she drops to her knees, reaching out for the heavy iron cuff locked tight around her ankle; she fights back a shudder at the sight of the cruel metal teeth embedded into the girl’s skin and instead runs her fingers around the edge, looking for the spring that will release the mechanism and set her free. She can feel the weight of her brilliant green stare on her as she works, and for one long, dreadful moment, she thinks that she’s gotten it wrong, that she’d be stuck in the trap until Carol arrived with more help, but the lock gives a quiet click and falls apart in her hands.

The howling is getting louder now.

Carol catches the girl in her arms as she stumbles out of the trap, lets her lean against her while she regains her balance, and can’t help but stare – she’s so pretty, she thinks. The early-morning sunlight filtering though the leaves catches against her bright red hair, turns it into a beautiful fiery-gold, brilliant against her pale skin, and there’s something unearthly about her that makes Carol duck her head, suddenly shy.

“Thank you,” she feels a hand, warm and hesitant, rest against her wrist. “You saved me.”

She shrugs, self-conscious. “It was the right thing to do…”

“Natalia.” Natalia smiles at her, holding out her hand, and in spite of herself, Carol grins back in return and takes it.

“I’m Carol. Danvers.”

“Well met, Carol Danvers.”

They stand there for a moment, smiling stupidly at each other, until a short, sharp bark echoes through the branches, and Natalia drops her hand, her smile fading away, and Carol doesn’t even get the chance to say goodbye before she takes three steps through the trees and dissolves into the forest.

– – –

II.

The second time she runs into Natalia, she’s fifteen years old and traipsing through the forest after another argument with her parents; she crashes through the undergrowth, leaving a trail of mud and footprints in her wake as she fights her way to her spot at the bank overlooking the river. It’s where she likes to spend her time alone, away from the mess that’s the rest of the camp grounds; tourists rarely venture this far out into the woods anyway, and she enjoys the seclusion and the loneliness and the quiet here.

Except this time, she won’t be alone.

She spots Natalia as soon as she emerges from the trees and into the riverbank – it’s been four years, but she thinks that she’d recognise that red-gold hair anywhere. Natalia relaxes when she recognises Carol, waves a quiet greeting, and pats at the grass beside her in a silent invitation.

“Hello,” she begins simply, watching as Carol shucks her shoes aside to dip her toes into the gurgling river below. “Carol Danvers.”

“Hi, Natalia.”

They sit there quietly for a long moment, watching the rest of the forest pass them by – and Carol studies Natalia discreetly out of the corner of her eye, staring at the thick, angry-red and mottled scar that wraps around her left ankle, above the bone.

At least, she thinks she’s being discreet, but then Natalia turns and her lips twitch up into a knowing smile, and Carol can’t help the flush that rises up her neck and heats up her cheeks.

“You know, if you’re curious,” Natalia begins softly. “You can just ask.”

So Carol fishes her feet out of the water and draws her knees up to her chest when she turns to face Natalia, eyeing her. She’s wearing a thin, pale-grey dress today, slightly damp from the morning dew and the river, her hair pinned up into a long braid that reaches halfway down her back. Her shoes are nowhere to be seen, and Carol can’t help it – her gaze traces the raised red skin around her leg, and blurts out –

“Is that from the – “

“The trap, yes.”

“It looks…” She reaches out for a moment, half-wanting to touch, before pulling away, but Natalia doesn’t seem to mind; wrapping her fingers around Carol’s wrist, she tugs until her fingers are brushing against the cool skin. It doesn’t seem to hurt anymore – Natalia stiffens slightly, doesn’t react further when Carol runs her hand over the bumps and ridges marring her ankle, but Carol can’t suppress the shudder deep in her chest. “Gnarly.”

Natalia’s brilliant green eyes track her movements when Carol releases her ankle; she relaxes, her shoulders slumping as crosses her legs and tucks her feet under her, every single movement quick and neat.

“I don’t do well around iron,” she tilts her head, meeting Carol’s gaze.

“Allergies?”

Natalia laughs, the sound bright and happy. “I suppose one could put it that way, yes.”

They put away the topic for the rest of Carol’s trip, and Natalia shows her around the forest, brings her to all her favourite spots that Carol’s never seen before – there’s another clearing further away from the main trail where no-one ever visits, and a tiny waterfall upstream of the river, and another spot where they spend one entire afternoon otter-watching. She half-envies the way Natalia seems to stalk through the forest, silent and surefooted, the trees almost appearing to part way for her while Carol trips and stumbles over the root of every other tree they pass by.

“How d’you do it?” she’d grumbled, once, and Natalia had laughed, reaching out a hand to pull Carol back to her feet.

“Practice.”

The night before Carol goes home after summer, they’re sitting at the edge of the river, watching the fish dance their way between their legs, and Carol reaches out to grab Natalia’s hand.

“Spend the night with me,” she begs, half-crestfallen when Natalia shakes her head – she’d been having the time of her life with her, and doesn’t want to part ways just yet. “Please? We can have a sleepover and stay up all night and talk until I have to go.”

Natalia hesitates for a long moment, squares her shoulders, before nodding once. “Okay.”

It’s not hard to sneak Natalia past her parents and into her own tent – they’re already snug in their tent and half-asleep, and her brother barely looks up from his phone when they slink past, they collapse into a fit of giggles while Carol fumbles with the zipper, shutting them into their own little world together.

She reaches up to flick on the lamp swinging off the tent pole and blinks in the dim glow – Natalia’s face is suddenly inches from hers, and she swallows, feels the heat rising in her face and turns away hurriedly, hiding the flush across her cheeks.

“Here,” she pats at the ground beside her, and Natalia crawls over and settles herself beside Carol, and it suddenly strikes Carol how out of place Natalia looks, smiling at her all bright and graceful and so very ethereal against the dull, mundane backdrop of Carol’s daily life.

Natalia doesn’t share much, she’d learnt this days ago. She doesn’t talk about her home, or her family, or where she goes to school – but Carol is more than happy to fill the gap, telling Natalia about her brother (“He wants to go away for college after this year.”) and her parents (“My dad doesn’t like it much when I wander around out here.” “Why not?” “He thinks that girls should stay home and look after the house, but Mom tells him that he’s old-fashioned, so here I am.”) and her dreams (“I want to move out to the city one day far away from here, where my dad can never find me.”), the last thing she remembers telling Natalia is that she’d miss her when she goes back home before falling asleep.

When she wakes up the next morning, Natalia’s gone and she’s tucked neatly into her sleeping bag, and there’s no trace of the other girl left behind.

She takes a final glance back at the forest before her dad demands, impatiently, for her to get into their car.

I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

It’s three weeks later when Carol’s back at home, buried in a book about mythology before she nearly falls out of her chair when she reaches the section on fairies and fae folk.

She remembers the iron trap, its teeth buried deep in Natalia’s ankle, and Natalia’s comment, “I don’t do well around iron.”

“Allergies?” she had asked, and Carol groans, remembering the way Natalia had laughed, then; everything clicks into place suddenly, and she half-wishes she could return to the forest and seek her out and ask her if her suspicions are true.

God, I’m a fucking idiot.

– – –

III.

Natalia turns up outside her tent the year she turns eighteen.

She’s in her tent alone this year – her parents had dropped the family tradition after her older brother had moved away to college, and although they’ve never understood her obsession with the forest, either, they haven’t stopped her from coming back without them in tow. Brunnhilde, in the tent next to hers, is still snoring away (it’s almost amazing, Carol thinks, how she can still hear her over the thunder and the rain drumming on the thick plastic canvas of their tents), and Carol’s about to close her eyes when there’s a sudden looming shadow and a quiet, insistent scratching at her tent flap that startles her so much, she’s out of her sleeping bag in a heartbeat, her knife in hand, half-tempted to cut her way into Brunnhilde’s tent and crawl in with her for comfort.

It takes her one long minute to calm down – because she’s not a wimp, okay, but it is a dark forest, and old forest, miles away from the nearest town, and she hears the legends that the locals in the town whisper about the things that stalk through the trees at night; when her blood finally stops thundering through her ears, she can hear the faintest whisper, barely audible over the sounds of the forest and the rain.

“Carol?”

“Natalia?” She blinks once, incredulously, then reaches out to undo the flap of her tent; Natalia half-crawls, half-collapses inwards and into her arms; she’s soaked through and shivering from the cold, her pupils wide and blown. The shadows outside her tent – usually so comforting and familiar – are suddenly strange and alien in the storm, and she zips up the tent hurriedly, squinting a little against the spray of rain against her face. It’s warm in her tent, and safe, and she fumbles with the knots, making sure that they’re secure before turning back to Natalia, who’s backed up against the corner and curled in on herself, and Carol feels a sudden spike of apprehension in her chest.

In all the time she’s known Natalia, she’s never seen her look so scared and small before. It makes her chest ache with a strange mix of protectiveness and longing, and she gives in to her heart, reaches out and pulls Natalia into her lap, ignoring the dampness that soaks through her pyjamas and to her skin, and strokes her fingers through the bedraggled wet strands of hair escaping from their usual neat braid.

“Nat,” she breathes, and Natalia buries her face into her neck, but her shivering has stopped, so Carol takes it as a good sign. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

She doesn’t know how long they remain there, huddled together in the corner of her tent with Natalia wrapped up securely in her arms – it might have been hours, because she half-remembers hearing the storm pass overhead, the rain slowly fading into the distance, and half-remembers Natalia growing limp and slack in her arms, her breaths coming in steady puffs, tickling against the skin of her neck. She also remembers tightening her grip around Nat as she closes her eyes, half-afraid that when she wakes up, she’d find her gone again, leaving no trace of herself behind; but when the morning comes, and she blinks awake to find Nat still curled up in her arms, green eyes staring up at her, watching her as she’d slept.

“Y’know, it’s usually considered creepy to stare at people while they sleep,” her voice comes out hoarse and croaky, but Natalia doesn’t laugh – instead, she reaches out for Carol’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and Carol feels a rush of warmth bloom in her chest.

“Thank you,” Natalia whispers quietly, rubbing her thumb over the back of Carol’s hand. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Fairy-folk trouble?” The question spills from her lips before she can stop herself (though in her defence, her curiosity had been bubbling within her for years) – Natalia stiffens in her arms, slipping off her lap to sit across her, her face tight and drawn.

“You know.”

“I guessed,” she shrugs. “It wasn’t that difficult.”

“Then you should know that there are things that want to keep us out of your world – they chase us out, or hunt us down to kill us – “

“The hunters,” Carol murmurs, remembering the first time she’d met Natalia, and when Nat nods, she shivers, feeling sick and cold that the idea of grown men cornering Nat alone in the forest. “Why?”

“We guard the old places,” Natalia explains, her voice soft. “We stop people from hurting the land, and when we’re here, the old magic is strongest, and the forest thrives. Some people don’t want that, and they’re winning.”

“And when they do?”

“We go away.” Her eyes meet Carol’s, dark and tired and glimmering with unshed tears. “The magic leaves – it’s fading away even now, and the doorways between your world and mine will close, and I lose this place forever.”

A pause.

“I lose you.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can come with me, I’ll bring you up to my college and you’ll be safe there, they’ll never be able to find you and you don’t have to worry – “ she doesn’t even realise that she’s begun rambling until Natalia shakes her head.

“This is where I belong, Carol Danvers. If I follow you – I lose my magic. I lose this forest, I lose my home.”

“But I don’t want to lose you.”

They fall silent for a moment; Natalia doesn’t move away when Carol leans over and cups her cheek in her hand, brushing her thumb over her cheek before tilting her head up; she doesn’t say no when Carol hovers over her, before pressing her lips to Natalia’s in a slow, sweet kiss.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she repeats again.

Their argument goes nowhere for the rest of the summer – when Carol goes home after summer, she goes home with Brunnhilde and a promise from Natalia to write to her, whenever she can. Natalia comes to see her off, and Carol pulls her away from prying eyes.

“I’ll miss you.”

“I know.”

“Don’t forget – “

“ – To write, I know that, too.”

But the smile on Nat’s face is fond and soft, and Carol closes her eyes when Natalia pulls her into a hug, inhaling the sharp-forest scent that clings into her, before Brunnhilde presses on the horn once, twice, and then Carol has to let go.

– – –

Interlude:

Natalia keeps her word, and writes to Carol while Carol’s away at college, four states away; they’re long, rambling letters about how the trees are faring this year, and how many new birds hatched that spring, with precious little detail about how she’s faring, but Carol cherishes every single one of her words anyway, running her finger over the loopy cursive handwriting over the paper.

Carol keeps hers, and goes back to the forest every summer. It’s always a relief to see Natalia, sitting at the riverbank waiting for her – they never talk about the time slowly running out for them, and spend the time walking through the land hand-in-hand; she doesn’t even complain when Natalia decides to sit her down and braid the flowers she’s been picking into her hair.

“Come with me,” she tells Natalia at the end of every summer, holding her close, wishing that she can pull Nat into her and never let her go.

“You can’t make me choose between my home and you,” Natalia replies, and Carol never pushes her.

She kisses Natalia, long and sweet, before parting ways, always wondering, at the back of her mind, if she’ll ever get to see Natalia again.

– – –

IV:

She comes back alone for the last time the summer after she graduates from college, before she moves across the country and to New York for good; Natalia is waiting for her at her usual clearing this time, sitting on the oak tree at the edge of the clearing where Carol had spent so much time on, so many years ago.

“I heard you driving in,” she slips off the branch to greet her, and when Carol pulls her close, she notices with a rising concern that Natalia seems tired, now. Duller. The sharp scent of the forest doesn’t seem to cling to her as strongly as it did before, and it’s like whatever magic that had tied her to the other world had faded away, leaving something ordinary and human and mortal behind.

She pulls away slightly, meeting Nat’s eyes – they’re no longer that sharp, bright green that she remembers from the years before, but still brilliant all the same, and Natalia shrugs, giving her a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m coming with you.”

There’s a wild excitement that rises in Carol’s chest, before the accompanying guilt washes over her. “Nat, I – ”

“This forest is dying, Carol. The doorways are closing now, there’s just one left, and when it does – I don’t want to lose you.”

“Are you certain?”

And Natalia takes her hand, squeezes it once. “Yes.”

They spend the next week walking through the woods together at night. The heavy, otherworldly presence that used to hang over the trees is fainter now, and fading away, and it’s safe, Natalia tells her, for them to wander around, even without a lamp at night. She takes Carol down the winding path that leads to her home, but where there nothing there except a copse of trees, their limbs stunted and twisted into strange shapes by a force that Carol can’t begin to explain. They linger there, hand in hand, until the sun sets and the fireflies begin to emerge; there’s a weak glimmer amongst the trees, an odd, weak shimmer in the air, and Natalia watches it but doesn’t move, her face pale and determined, until it gives out entirely, and fades away into the darkness for the last time.

Carol opens her mouth to speak, but Natalia beats her to it. “Let’s go home.”

Home refers to the tent they share now – to the way Natalia curls up into her each night, her head tucked against Carol’s shoulder and their legs in a tangle under the sleeping bag. It’s the way Carol can relax, closing her eyes to the sound of Nat’s steady breathing in her ear, secure in the knowledge that Natalia had chosen her this time, had chosen to stay behind while the doorway back to her home had collapsed in on itself and shut, forever. It’s the way Nat works beside her, dressed in Carol’s old college t-shirt (which looks oversized on her), her red hair tied up in a loose ponytail, when they pack up Carol’s old car together and the way she reaches out for Carol’s hand, sitting in the passenger’s seat beside her.

Home is the car when Carol takes her long-planned road trip up from Louisiana up to New York, where she has a new job and a crappy apartment waiting for her with her name on the lease – but unlike in her plans, she has a passenger tagging along with her. Natalia’s in the seat next to her with the window wound down; the wind whips her red curls ‘round her face when she throws her head back, laughing at Carol’s terrible imitation of The Beatles when she croons along to Here Comes the Sun on the radio.

(She offers to drive, twice, after Carol nearly runs them off the road in the middle of the night, but Carol points out – rightfully – that she has no driver’s license, and Natalia had pouted until Carol had promised to teach her how when they’ve settled down in the city.)

It’s the way they dance around each other in the mornings, fumbling around, half-asleep, trying not to be late for work. Nat finds a job at the florist near their home, and it’s not much, but it’s a steady job that helps them afford their rent, and the old lady who runs it takes a liking to her immediately, gushing over how she manages, somehow, to bring even the sickliest plants back to life.

It’s also the way they lie together on their mattress at night, the windows thrown open to let the heat out, listening to the city pass by under them. It’s loud and chaotic and so very overwhelming – a far cry from the forest Natalia had lived in all her life, Carol thinks, half-guiltily, but as though sensing her thoughts, Nat leans over her, and presses a kiss to her lips, slow and soft and sweet.

“I chose this,” she touches her forehead to Carol’s, and Carol closes her eyes, her adoration for the woman curled up with her welling deep in her chest, almost too much to bear. “I chose you.”

When she opens them again, Natalia is still staring down at her, her green eyes warm and soft. “I love you.”

– – –

V:

A small family pulls up in a rental car in the campground in upstate New York. It’s the middle of summer, and the children – a pair of twin girls, both red-headed and green-eyed – scramble out of the car, half-wild with excitement, tugging at their mothers’ arms.

“Your mama and I met in a place like this, many years ago,” Carol tells her daughter, who wrinkles her nose slightly at the idea of her mother being young, once. She reaches out to lace her fingers with her wife’s. “Do you miss it?”

They had stopped by – a quick detour in a road trip back to Carol’s childhood home – a few years back, and the forest is gone, now, and there’s a new suburban town built in its place. Natalia tilts her head, considers her family for a moment, and shrugs.

“Not anymore. You’re my home.”

[justlookatthosesausages]

Prompt: Anna makes hot chocolate for Elsa, since her big sister has a cold

Elsa couldn’t hold another sneeze, and its noise echoed in the room. Without even looking at them, Anna caught the five appearing snowgies in mid air, and let them roll down to the floor along her arm, so they would go out of the room and not bother them. 

“Thank you”, muttered Elsa.

“Here, drink this”, smiled Anna, who had come back with a mug filled with hot chocolate.

“You made it for me?” 

“No, I made it for Sir Jorgenbjorgen.”

There was a blank. 

“Of course I made it for you, you silly”, laughed Anna with a shake of her head.

Elsa took the mug with both hands as Anna was sitting down. “Thank you so much. The mini marshmallows are going to be perfect.”

The Queen needed it, and gulped a great sip. She winced right away. It was impossibly sugary. She knew that they received great quantities of sugar at the castle every week, but she was pretty sure that Anna had put a full kilogram of sugar in the cooking pot. 

She masked a cough and a smile behind the back of her hand, elegantly hiding it in a royal manner. However, that gesture made Elsa sneeze again, and she had just the time to turn her hand to put it on her nose. Anna giggled as another batch of snowgies bounced down her accustomed arms, and Elsa groaned at her current state. She groaned even more when she saw that in her shiver, she had splashed some hot chocolate on her thigh. 

“Damnit”, she muttered.

“Ah-ah, cursing isn’t very queeny.”

Elsa smirked at her. “I’m on a day off.”

“That you can tell. There’s no way you’re working today.” Laughed Anna. “Wait, let me hold it for you” She added, taking the mug as Elsa was waving her hand and magically changing the ice part of her dress that had been covered with chocolate.

The younger, who had the mug in her hand, noticed how hot it was, and got surprised by how it didn’t burn Elsa.

“Did you ever get a burn?” Wondered Anna.

“Pardon?”

“I mean, with heat. And fire. I know you feel heat, you told me that when we talked after the Great Thaw. But did you ever get burned?”

“The magic fabric of my dress is too thick for heat to pass through.” Answered Elsa, with a drowsy voice and a sniff.

Anna bent her head with amusement. “You’re not answering the question.”

Elsa whined with tiredness, in a way that was supposed to be dissuasive but that Anna found really cute. “Now is not the time for confessions, Annaaaa…”

She had reached for the mug to get her hot chocolate back, and Anna maliciously held it away from her. 

“Uh-uh, confession first.”

“Please, Anna…” Groaned Elsa.

Anna smiled and had a sip of hot chocolate, and the blonde rolled her eyes. “You’re going to regret that. Also, you’re taking my germs there.”

The younger scoffed. “I’m not that dumb. I know the reason why you’re sick in summer is because of allergies. Or stress. Or because of magical stuff. I’m still figuring it out. Whatever, I don’t risk anything.”

Elsa frowned and there was a silence. Anna indicated her sister with her gaze to start telling her. 

“There’s not much to say”, sighed Elsa. “I’ve never made any fire in my bedroom’s fireplace. And even if it’s rarely, you know how careful I am when I cook. So I never got burned in my whole life.”

There was a heavy silence afterwards. Anna just stared at her in a way Elsa couldn’t quite describe. 

“Did a marshmallow go the wrong way?” Asked the elder.

Anna blinked. “No, it’s not… How can you not react to your own words? That’s awful!!”

She gave her mug back to Elsa, in an unconscious care gesture above all. 

“You were so used to the cold in your room all those years at all seasons that you never have used your fireplace?”

“Well, Mama did make fires for me when I was young, but…”

Elsa gulped, staring down at her mug. Anna immediately wanted to chase those bad memories out of her mind - and the evocation of their mother also squeezed her own heart - so she stood and went to the fireplace in the room. 

“We have to change that. Lucky you, Kristoff told me how to make the best fires. Let me just pick some logs…”

“Anna…”

“We need a match. Where the heck are the matches?”

“Anna, this is no weather for a indoor fire, there’s no need-”

“Shut up and drink your hot chocolate.”

“Alright”, obeyed Elsa, always surprised when Anna used authority on her. 

She drank in silence, observing Anna’s hurried movements in front of her, and smiled at how dedicated and loving the redhead was. She felt immensely lucky and touched to have her forever by her side.