#or that the people he buried could just like breathe through snow?

[galaxythreads]

Aang, out of nowhere: I can't kill Ozai. It's against the monk's code. :( I need to go on a spiritual journey on a tiger rock.

Also Aang through book 1-book 3 until the last episode at any given opportunity:

[junkdrawerfics]

You're Scaring Me

Jasper Hale X Reader

Summary: Request - Can you write one where the reader does something major told her not to do and he gets mad when he finds out and then jasper tries to console her and she’s jus really guilty and upset and then the major comes back out and they talk it thru.

Word Count: 3558

Warning: Angsty maybe. Obviously some unhealthy anger stuff, but it ends well, I promise.

Note: I liked the idea of doing something with the wolves, but felt Jasper/the Major wouldn't ask you to stay away from people, especially if they were your friends. So I took a route regarding reader's safety, since he'd totally go feral over that.

---

Saying Forks was in the middle of a blizzard would be an under exaggeration.

You’d never seen snow like this. You could barely see past your front porch, it was coming down so hard. School had been canceled, of course, and Emmett had convinced the family it would be fun to try hunting with the added challenge of not being able to see.

Jasper had hesitated to join at first, to leave you alone in this storm since your parents were away, but it only took a little soft convincing from you for him to relent.

On one term, at least

“Please stay here ‘til we get back,” the blond repeats worriedly as he puts on a coat - that he doesn’t need, you might add

“It’s not that bad out, Jasper,” you chuckle, eyes glued out the window.

“Darlin.”

His voice shifts subtly. You blink, glancing back at him over your shoulder. Jasper stares right back at you, eyes narrowed, a familiar intensity burning behind them. Your body figures it out before you do, fine hairs standing on end, pupils dilating. A sharp contradiction to the smile that lights up your face.

“Yes, Major?” You ask, barely missing a beat. 

The man takes a step towards you, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders straight. It’d be intimidating if you didn’t know better.

“You goin’ to listen for me?” He asks, voice low, accent thicker than before.

“Of course, Major.”

The barest flicker of a smile pulls at the vampire’s lips. Such a sweet thing. The way you look at him - all wide, puppy dog eyes, attentive and loving - it makes him feel raw with the need to protect you, even if it’s just from the blizzard.

Tender in a way he’s never been, the Major touches your chin, drawing close enough that he can feel your warm breath stutter against his lips as he murmurs, “Then be a good girl and stay put for me. I don’t want you out in this weather.”

You can’t help but soften, fondness curling in your chest. He really is just a soft teddy bear at his core. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you insist, curling your arms around his waist, “I won’t go out, I promise.”

“Good.” The Major closes the small gap between you, lips pressing against yours in an unrelenting kiss. It’s all you can do to keep yourself upright as his hand curls along your jaw, drawing you closer, closer, until your head is spinning from the feeling. You’d think he’s going off to war again by the way he kisses you.

You can barely catch your breath when he pulls away. Heat blooms across your cheeks, and you bury your face in his chest to hide it, which earns a low chuckle from the blond. He presses another kiss to your temple, this one softer, gentler.

“Love you, darlin,” he murmurs, all honey and sweet and Jasper again.

You melt against him, voice muffled by his sweater, “Love you too, Jazz. Stay safe, please.”

“I won’t be long,” he reassures you, “Emmett will give in when he realizes all the animals are hidin’ from the weather.”

You huff a laugh. Perhaps. Emmett is stubborn, reckless, and stubbornly reckless. Once he has an idea in his mind, it’s hard to get him off it, like today. But you’re sure Jasper’s right. He’ll give up once he gets bored.

“I’ll hold you to that mister. I’ll be lonely without you.”

“Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” He leans down, catching your lips one final time. You can feel his grin through the kiss. “Just a couple hours, darlin’. I’ll drag him back if I have to after that.”

He’s still reluctant to leave, but the nagging worries are quieter now, enough that he can drag himself from the comfort of your touch to join his brothers outside. You watch them disappear into the haze of snow, like ghosts, before shuffling back to your kitchen to work on some homework.

It shouldn’t be so hard to stay busy until they get back. Right?

---

That’s what you thought, at least. But one hour quickly turns to two, which quickly turns to three and still no Jasper. By the fifth hour, you’ve finished all your work and find yourself staring into an empty fridge with a growling stomach.

Of course your parents would forget to stock up before going on a business trip.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you glance outside. It’s still snowing, but not…as bad. You could probably make it to the grocery store and back without any problems. And you’d probably get back before they do, so Jasper wouldn’t even know.

Everything would be fine.

You layer up, tucking a scarf tightly around your neck. It might be a little lighter outside, but it’s still well below freezing. It’ll be quick, though. The grocer is maybe a five minute walk, and you only need a couple things.

Popping your hood up, you grab your house keys and venture out, shuffling the whole way there.

---

“Brave of you to venture out in this,” the cashier chimes, scanning your microwave meal and milk - you figure you might as well get stuff for breakfast too.

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” you hum shakily, teeth still chattering as you hand him some cash, “I’d rather be cold for a bit instead of going hungry.”

“Fair ‘nough!” The cash register dings and he hands you some change. “Stay safe out there, miss.”

“Thanks.” You cast him a smile, “You too. Hope it clears up a bit before you have to leave.”

“God willing.”

You slip your gloves back on and heave the bag of supplies from the counter. 

On the walk back, you’re a little less careful, eyes wandering as you tread through the snow. The journey here hadn’t been so bad. Sure you’d almost slipped a few times, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it’d be. It was actually almost nice, once your face went numb at least.

Your thoughts wander to the food in your hands, pace picking up a bit as you think about how nice a warm meal will be after this. And well earned after a long day of work and a hazardous journey to get it. Maybe you could cuddle up on the couch and turn on a movie while you eat. That sounds ni-

-and you’re falling.

You screech, boots slipping against the ice as the world tilts wildly. Instinctually, your eyes squeeze shut and you wait for the impact, hoping your layers might be enough to cushion the fall.

They are, thankfully. But they aren’t enough to stop your ankle from twisting as you tumble a bit off the sidewalk.

The pain is instant. It pulses up your leg, sharp and fiery compared to the cold seeping into your bones. You suck in a sharp breath, teeth gritting as you bury your face in the snow. It’s all you can do to keep yourself from crying, that stinging sensation starting in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat.

God, you’re so screwed.

—

“Darlin, I’m back,” Jasper calls out softly, brushing the ice from his hair as he slips into your warm house.

Almost instantly, he can tell something’s wrong. Jasper stops, brow furrowing. Usually you’d be bounding up to tackle him by now, a beautiful smile on your lips, asking how things went. It’s something constant, a custom he enjoys more than he’ll admit.

There’s no greeting this time, though. Even as he stills, focusing on the sounds of the house, he can’t hear a thing. No footsteps, no heartbeat. It’s eerily silent, empty. 

You’re not here.

An uneasy feeling settles in his chest. Jasper speeds through the house, checking each room, hoping his ears are just tricking him. Maybe you’re just asleep or reading in some corner. With each empty room, though, the feeling worsens, gripping him by the throat, unrelenting and violent. He’s spiraling, he knows it, can tell he’s walking along an all too familiar edge, blurred between himself and-

The Major pauses at the door to your bedroom. Empty. Your coat isn’t where you usually leave it. Neither are your boots. It leaves little doubt in his mind where you’ve gone.

You didn’t listen to him. 

The blond takes a slow breath, holding back the anger that washes over him, white hot and smoldering. 

It’s rare for you to not listen to him. You know his none-too-gentle requests are for your safety, they always are. Because while Jasper would rather die a million times than see you hurt, the Major would bring the world to its knees if it meant keeping you safe. He’s never had something as good as you in his life and the need to protect that, to protect you, well - that drives him to his knees. And now you’re out in this storm. By yourself.

The door slams as he throws himself back out into the snow to find you.

---

The snow is picking up, you notice glumly as you carefully flip over in the snow. Even the slightest movement makes pain prickle up your leg, but you can’t lay face down in the snow much longer, not with how you’re quickly losing feeling in your nose.

You sniffle, swiping at your eyes to keep the tears away. What are you supposed to do now? It’s not like you can stay out here. Frostbite doesn’t exactly sound appealing, but neither does the idea of limping home with this pain. You could call…No, no, he’d be so mad. You can’t call Jasper.

Not that fate really cares about what you think.

You squeak when a pair of arms suddenly lifts you out of the snow. The only thing that keeps you from screaming is the familiar cold touch of your captor and the mess of blond hair flickering in the snowy breeze. The fear slowly disappears when you realize it’s just Jasper.

Quickly replaced by a tight, anxious feeling in your chest when you see the tense set of his jaw and how the lines in his neck stand out under his pale skin. He’s upset. He’s upset with you and your ankle is still throbbing and your eyes are stinging again and-

You inhale shakily, an apology ready to spill off your lips, but the look he gives you makes it all die on your tongue. His usually stoic expression turns dark, eyes narrowed with barely restrained anger.

“You open that mouth, sugar, and I promise I won’t be goin’ easy on you,” he drawls, low and heavy, accent dripping off each word.

Not Jasper. You bite your lip, eyes immediately dropping to your lap. Definitely not Jasper.

You can’t bring yourself to break the stifling silence after that. Not when you can practically feel the Major’s anger radiating from him, which does nothing to ease the turmoil swirling inside of you. The soldier is never this open with his emotions, usually so careful to maintain a mask of indifference. With each step, you can feel the tension rising, his grip tightening, and your chest almost hurts from how hard your heart is beating.

It all comes to a head when you make it to the house. The moment your feet hit the ground, and he knows you're safe, the reins of his control slip, an uncontainable rage burning through him.

“I told you not to go out,” he mutters, pacing back and forth in your small entryway. 

He can’t stay still, too scared of what he could do. Every cell in his body desires to pin you against the wall, handle you rough and selfish, make you realize how awful it felt to come back and find you gone. But he can’t. He won’t. That’s not what you deserve, he knows that. Jasper would be better at this, he would be gentle, but the Major has never been good at gentle.

You blink at him, wide-eyed from the door. It’s like watching a lion pace at the bars of a zoo, except there’s nothing between you and him. Nothing to keep you safe except him. He could do anything and you wouldn’t be able to stop him. You’re just a human, after all. And the Major has had his share of violence. Even though you know he would never hurt you, you can’t stop your hands from shaking.

“I wasn’t, I wasn’t going to be out long,” you try and explain, digging your fingers into the material of your coat, “I promise-”

“You promised you’d stay put,” he drawls roughly, hands clenching behind his back.

“I was just goi- going to get food!”

The blond grits his teeth, his usual impassive tone sharpening, “What on earth were you thinkin’?”

“I- I thought I’d be back before you,” you spit out, and immediately snap your mouth shut.

The Major stops pacing, every muscle in his body going rigid. You bite your cheek, pulse racing as he slowly turns to you, those gold eyes burning so dark you swear they almost look red. Like blood. Something tightens in your chest. That was the wrong thing to say.

“So you purposefully disobeyed my orders?”

“I didn’t-”

“You decided to be foolish and risk your life goin’ out in this storm,” he growls, slowly closing the space between you, “without anyone knowin’?”

You shrink back a little, panic clouding your head. The Major stops in front of you, frame towering over yours, making you feel impossibly small. Tears prick at your eyes as you shuffle back against the door, pain shooting up your leg as you put weight on it.

“Answer me, darlin.” He doesn’t relent, eyes burning into you. Waiting.

A lump forms in your throat. You bite your cheek, desperate to keep the tears at bay, eyes glued to his boots. You can’t. You can’t do this.

But the blood drains from your face when a fist slams into the door beside you, practically splintering the wood. You can feel it shake against you before settling into silence.

“I’m not goin’ to ask again, (Y/n),” he murmurs, deadly calm again.

You hold your breath, slowly bringing your eyes back up to the Major, and the look on his face makes your heart drop. It’s drawn into something unnervingly blank, cold. No more anger, just…

“Major-“ A tear breaks down your cheek, your voice unbearably quiet. “You’re scaring me.”

The change is instant.

Like light breaking through the clouds, the emptiness leaves his eyes, filling them back with warmth and concern and love.

And you crumble.

Jasper catches you with ease, arms wrapping around you tenderly as he lowers you both on the ground. You curl into him, face buried in his coat as the tears come freely now. You couldn’t stop them even if you wanted, and you’re just so tired, so hurt. There’s nothing left in you, all you can do is cry and cling to him for dear life.

“‘m sorry, I’m sorry,” you hiccup miserably, and Jasper feels his still heart break. “I’m so sorry, Jazz, I didn’t mean to. I just, I just needed food, and it wasn’t that far, and I thought- I thought-”

He hushes you softly, fingers brushing through your hair as he unwinds the swirling mess of your emotions. You can feel it, you’ve always been able to, the subtle shifts and gentle pulls. Never too much, because he knows you wouldn’t want that, but enough so you’re not drowning in them. 

Eventually you’re calm enough to take a full breath, the air stuttering past your lips as you go limp in Jasper’s hold. He draws you tight against him, brushing his hand down to rest at the nape of your neck, just a comforting, constant pressure. 

“You’ve nothin’ to apologize for, darlin,” he murmurs eventually, voice muffled in your hair. “I’m the one who should be. I had no right treatin’ you like that, no matter how worried I was.”

“But-”

“No,” he cuts you off firmly. “It wasn’t right, darlin. It was my fault for bein’ late. He…He’s mighty overprotective of you, and he- I don’t know how to handle myself well when it comes to you. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I do…” You sniffle, the sound soft and sad, but your grip on him tightens. “But I should’ve listened, then I wouldn’t have slipped and gotten hurt.”

Jasper pulls you back suddenly, brows furrowed in surprise, “What? You’re hurt? Where? Do I need to get Carlisle?”

You laugh weakly, his overwhelming concern easing the tightness left in your chest. The tension drips from your muscles, adrenaline slowing. “No, no, I’m fine. I just, I fell…outside and I think I twisted my ankle, is all.”

“Let me see.”

You squeak as he sweeps you up for the second time today. You wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you to the couch. Every touch is slow, careful, as he sets you down and goes to work on getting your boots off. You wince a little when you have to bend your ankle, and he murmurs a quiet apology.

Relief washes over you though when his cool fingers smooth over your heated skin. It’s like the best ice pack ever. You can’t help but sink into the couch with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut.

Jasper purses his lips. It must have been a bad fall since your ankle is angry and swollen. He should have come back sooner, then this wouldn’t have happened. You wouldn’t have gone out in the storm, you wouldn’t be hurt, and the Major never would have scared you.

His thoughts flashes back to the look on your face. The fear glimmering in your eyes as he leaned over you. It’s burned into his mind, replaying over and over.

“Major, you’re scaring me.”

After a few seconds too long of silence, you peek an eye open. Jasper kneels, statue still in front of you, eyes set on something distant. A frown catches your lips, and you lean forward, touching his chin gingerly. Those gold eyes dart up to you, coming into focus, flicking between their usual warmth and a familiar steeliness. You shake your head fondly.

“Major,” you call, hand resting against his cheek, “come on, let’s talk.”

He straightens ever so slightly, but instead of drawing back like you’d expect, the stoic man covers your hand with his own, turning to skim his nose to the inside of your wrist. He takes a deep breath, eyes closed. You sit there, just like that for a while, watching him quietly.

When he talks, his voice is a low, calm rumble, his lips brushing against your skin, “I’m sorry for actin’ like such an animal, sugar.”

You purse your lips. A part of you wants to just forgive him. Move on from all of this and forget it. But then you remember the sound of his fist hitting the door, the way it resounded in your chest in place of your heartbeat. You’ve never felt like that, and you don’t want to feel like that again.

“I know you were worried,” you start nervously, wetting your lips. The Major doesn’t say a word, eyes set on you patiently, just waiting for you to continue. You take another deep breath, “I know you asked me to stay home and it upset you that I didn’t. I know you want to keep me safe. But…but it scared me, how angry you got, and that’s, that’s not okay.”

“It’s not,” he hums in agreement, thumb brushing soothingly over your pulse.

You nod and feel a little more confident as you go on, “I, I might do something you don’t like in the future, and if I do, you need to talk to me first. Nicely, please. I love you, like I love Jasper, but we’re equals, even if you’re a lot stronger and bigger than me. ” His lips twitch a little in amusement. You shoot him a scolding look, which makes him fall back into seriousness. “I don’t take orders. I listen because I know you care, but you need to listen to me, too. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pulls your hand back, pressing a brief kiss to your knuckles. It softens you a bit. A small smile draws across your lips. “You have my solemn word, it won't happen again. And my deepest apologies.”

“You’re forgiven,” you chirp. The last of your worries melt away at the smile he gives you, all lopsided and charming. You shake your head with a laugh, “But you owe me, mister.”

“Well, of course,” he concedes easily, desiring nothing more than to cheer you up now, “What can I do for you, little lamb?”

Shifting awkwardly, careful of your ankle, you jab a finger at the plastic bag you dropped by the door, “Make me some dinner! Cause I’m starving and that’s what got us into this mess.”

The vampire laughs, fully laughs. It’s something you don’t get to hear often, so you absolutely love it. Love him and the way his eyes crinkle with mirth as he pushes himself to his feet, tipping a nonexistent hat to you. Jasper.

“It would be my pleasure, darlin.”

“Thanks, hun.”

---

This was SO hard to write! I suck at doing anger, because it's hard to represent the unhealthy relationship stuff. I tried to turn it around cause I believe ultimately he's a respectful man, and that's how I want to portray him.

So I hope you guys like this! Sorry if the pacing's weird or anything, I just wanted to get it done!

[jolalibrary]

it means something

joel miller x f!reader | masterlist

summary: compliments don’t fall from his tongue, but they drip from his eyes. They land on your skin, healing scars that don’t show; they make you glow, and feel like something worth choosing.

to @joelsflannel, i took aspects of all your prompts. i tried to make it fluffy, her a little romantic, i tried to give you a quote that i hope you adore, with a man i know you already love. and i sprinkled in a hard day for you, but with some stress-easing fun to unwind with. merry christmas <;3

wordcount: 3.2k warnings: softer!joel, soft sex (p in v), talks of love, jackson era joel, mentions of ellie, joel in a towel (like damn). written for @pedrostories secret santa event.

You’re tired, drained.

Somehow, you find yourself able to drag your feet from the livelier part of Jackson to the quieter, almost more peaceful part. The soles of your boots draw lines behind you, all of which will likely be covered by the newly settling snow within the hour.

It's picturesque, this place. The kind of location you expect would have once been on postcards that people would be sent to loved ones saying 'wish you were here'.

You don't have to wish.

If your eyes weren’t like pinholes, you’d take a second to admire it.

Stamp your boots in one spot, and enjoy the crunch of it under your feet. A thing you’d do on any other day, if not for the fact, that you were so ready to be in the warmth, to be with him—to curl into him and breathe in his scent.

The kind of scent which buries itself into your nose, to your soul. It wraps its fingers around you and digs its clutches into you. Not that you complain. You'd bathe in it if you could, happily letting him smear it over your skin whenever the two of you have the chance.

It’s why you continue to move. It's why you force one leg in front of the other, muscles begging for reprieve.

By the time you’re up the steps, fingers wrapping around the handle of the front door, you realise how badly you wish to shed your layers. Desiring nothing more than to slide out of your coat, unwrap your scarf, remove the hat, gloves and second pair of socks.

Twisting the handle, the door doesn't fight letting you inside. Instead, it welcomes you. Allowing you to move quickly inside, more than anyone would expect from someone so fatigued—removing the layers, hanging each in turn on the rack beside his.

A sight which tugs at something inside you. It loops its fingers around that feeling within, gently pulling—it is all warm, unexplainable; all hard to describe, but the closest word is lovely, nice—welcomed.

That feeling had been born before the end of days, but it had been nothing but an ember then. Now, it was a roaring fire, all lit by him.

You're sure he knows. Not that either of you talk about it. It added to the long list of things you never speak, not for his sake, but for yours.

Even when you first began your… thing with him, you’d found it as difficult as him to know what to call it. Especially, when it had all happened so randomly, with no explanation or sight that it would occur. It just did.

Smiling, you allow yourself a moment to think back to it. How warm it was. How the setting sun smudged an array of shades across the sky, how you'd been bitter about something, mumbling under your breath until a noise cut through your dismay. His laughter. All gruff and born from his throat. It had expelled into the space between the two of you, cut through your bad mood.

Because it had been louder than you’d ever heard it as the two of you walked back, as you did on so many other nights. But that night had felt so different—and it was.

One moment you were staring, and the next his lips found yours, all chapped, but soft. His fingers around your cheek, whispering your name so gently. Stroking your skin, all worn, a bit rough.

Now, the two of you are a habit. A routine.

Nothing has ever been discussed, nothing ever exchanged. Just some nights you ate dinner with him—knee pressed against his. Sometimes your things sat along his in his home, bobby pins and whatever book you were reading.

Some days Ellie let herself into your house, had made a bedroom out of one of your spares, and sometimes she asked if you wanted to come round to theirs.

The only constant thing is that at least once every week, your limbs found themselves tangled with his. His mouth latched itself onto your neck, hand grasping at your breast, fingers pinching the peak of your nipple as he gruffly told you how hard you’d gotten him.

You liked it. Craved it.

Enjoyed the way you took him apart as he focused on making you a mess.

You liked seeing his salt and pepper curls cling to his forehead, liked running your nails through the hair on the back of his neck—back arched into him, feeling fuller than you’d ever imagined you could. Hearing his gruff voice in your ear, saying words he'd never say if he wasn't buried to the hilt inside of you.

But then, you only call him Joel when he's between your thighs too.

"Miller?"

His name rings around the first floor of the house.

Checking the package in your pocket, you sigh as the day drips from your tight muscles. Hand moving to rub the back of your neck, staring at Ellie's half-open comic and the pencils you'd lent her over the table.

You knew she wouldn't reply, not when tonight was movie night. A Christmas one, she'd told you. She had already let it slip she was going, told you as she kept watch on the door so you could continue your surprise for him.

Her request for you to join her faded when you looked up at her, likely seeing the same look which now greets you in the dust-covered mirror.

Kicking off your boots, and removing one layer of socks, you sigh at the way your feet can all of a sudden breathe—even inside his thick socks. Wiggling your toes, you smile as you begin to curl and unfurl them, before your hand finds the bannister, dragging yourself up the stairs until you reach his room.

His empty room.

Heart falling, you consider calling out again. Using his first name this time—letting each of the four letters carry around the house.

But, his bed looks comfortable. It calling to you. Somehow finding yourself lying on it, your face pressed into his sheets, your bones and muscles sighing in relief that you're in a bed.

Eyes wishing to flutter shut, body unwinding against the mattress, the sheets. It’s on the third heavy exhale, do you realise you hear water. It falls in pitters and patters, distantly, likely from the bathroom across the hall.

That’s when a smile curls across your face because you’ve always found comfort in the sound of running water.

Whether it’s rivers or rain, and showers or leaks. It reminds you of calmness, of things fading from reach—washing away, starting anew. Memories of times trying to colour themselves in your mind, fading before they do as sleep tries to coax you away.

The only thing which displaces the grip sleep has on you, is the comforting sight that comes to a stop at the foot of the bed.

Steam swirling around him, all broad shoulders and still damp skin—the hair on his chest, arms, and stomach, clinging in half-swirled curls and straight lines, the towel clutched at his hip.

The first time you saw Joel Miller naked, you’d almost lost the function to speak. All man—all soft and muscle simultaneously. Something constructed from fantasies, made in real life, carved and moulded by hands you think never thought he’d be real. You were close to not being able to speak all over again now.

Eyes tracing, outlining and shading—squirrelling away a sketch of him you’ll think about when the other side of the bed is cold and not filled with him.

“Didn’t hear you come in.”

You hum, lifting up onto your elbows, admiring him, finding him doing the same—even if you suspect you’re not half as good-looking right now as he is.

Least of all when he takes your ankle in hand, moving you sideways with him as steps between your legs now hanging off the bed, the fabric of his towel brushing over your jeans, his palms coming down on the mattress on either side of your neck, staring at you with a look of concern.

“Y’not been sleepin’?”

“Just been busy,” you reply, arms looping around his neck. “Not lots of time to rest.”

You suppose at some point between summer and winter, things became soft—less about need and company, and something along the lines of real.

In another world, one not ridden with fungi and death, you suppose it would have been labelled, added something which tied the two of you together—something meaning more to others than it likely would do to you.

Smiling, you force your eyes to open properly. Watching that look of hunger slowly bleed out over the concern, vanishing entirely when you smirk. If the two of you were different, you suspect you'd tell him you miss him. Tell him you've thought about him.

Instead, you whisper, “Want you, Joel.”

Even more so when you trace the words over his mouth. Aware of his hands on your jeans, and how he's popped open the button, how he's dragging down the zipper. The fabric freely slides from your skin as your hands slide down, dropping to the towel at his waist—thumb digging over it, all ready to pull, unravel it. “Need you.”

His eyes narrow swallowed in darkness. “Yeah?”

Nodding, you roll your lips, dragging your fingers to the tuck, undoing it, not taking your eyes off him. Seeing something in his eyes that is more than just reciprocation of the words spoken, but the ones left unsaid.

“You want me?”

However, you’ll have me.

You’re not sure you speak it, but you're sure he hears it all the same.

For how aloof people think he is, he’s a man who listens—not just to the crunch of branches and the rustle of trees, but to the things people don’t say. He hears their secrets and pulls away their lies. Skills he told you one night he levelled up in when the world tried to keep taking more than it had already.

You suppose it’s how he knows you, your body, what you want and what you crave.

More so as he tangles his tongue with yours, all heady—gripping him firm, tightly as his fingers snake between the two of you. Desperation thrumming through your fingers as you push them into his skin, into his muscles—feeling the coil tighten as he moves his fingers with nothing short of precision. Knowing you, having mapped you out, learnt your cues—it’s why you don’t fight it, the incoming wave ready to drench your taut muscles, let him undo you, unravel you out so you’re nothing but spread out for him.

He likes it like that, you can tell. Likes how you surrender to him, how you lay out for him, letting him move you how he needs you.

It used to be rough, desperate—pure carnal. But, it’s been replaced by something else, something not soft or romantic, but you’re sure it’s a distant relative.

Once you’d gotten a bruise on your hip that pulsed, shifted in shades from being nudged against your kitchen table. Now when he leaves them, he traces them with his thumb, hoping to suck out the sting. Because now you’re treated to comfort—too recently washed bedding and his fingers inside your cunt as your body bends into him, practically curls, sings, hums.

“Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

Compliments don’t fall from his tongue, but they drip from his eyes. They land on your skin, healing scars that don’t show. Each lick of his gaze makes you glow, and feel like something worth choosing, having been picked, plucked—and placed on some mantle you don’t even mind being perched on.

Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, breathing a struggle, practically gasping, you mumble his name—murmur it, almost a whine. “Fuck me now, Joel. Want you inside of me.”

Then, you’re overwhelmed.

Bathed in both the scent of fresh soap, dewy skin and absolute fullness. Your legs wrapping, crossing at the ankles as he slides into the hilt—pausing, just as he always does, fingers brushing over your jaw until he’s tilting your chin.

That same look—the one you first witnessed after the kiss under the dusk.

It doesn’t vanish until you show him, either in a whisper of the magic words or a movement he can read as a spell. Your hips rolling, rocking—please, please.

Your hands take in the feel of him breathing, the way his chest expands, fills with the knowledge, the realisation, nails digging, almost all in order. One he answers, delivers, fucking stamps.

Joel makes your toes curl, makes white noise appear in your ears, and makes you forget every important thing you’ve ever filed away. All hot, scorching against your skin as you grasp him closer, hoping you’ll be smothered in burns—hoping the same when you swallow his grunts, his hisses off your name. His hips pistoning, aiming to send you over the edge before him, hands—riddled with the evidence of his survival and his new hobby keep you rooted, don’t allow you to wander off into bliss without him.

“Too good f’me, sweetheart.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he grunts, right against your pulse, before he licks against what beats under your skin.

You snort amidst your whine, clutching all the strings which keep you whole as you close your eyes—banish him from looking into your soul. He’s seen all there is there, let him in before, provided flashes, evidence of your shattered soul and broken mentality. It comes to the surface easier here, when your walls suck him in, and your body calls for him in a chorus of pleading and begging.

Because you’re close—not needing too much from him tonight, the sight of him is enough. The knowledge of his existence, knowing he’s yours without confirmation.

“There, right there,” you moan, heels digging into the base of his back, feeling the jostle of him, the way he rears and fucks.

He smirks, shifting, just enough to make the head of his cock hit the spot which makes your thighs shake, tremble, fucking quake. His mouth still split open, words there on his tongue, all ready to drape over your skin—

But, you just feel it’s incoming arrival. All white-hot, blinding—too much pressure, yet needing just a little bit more. Your body is not yours, mind empty, gone, faded. You want to sink your teeth into him, bite down, cut into him and leave a mark like the ones he leaves inside you each time the two of you do this.

Because it means something. This. The two of you in this little house in fucking Jackson. Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?

“Yea’,” he grunts, palm on your face, tilting you up roughly, forcing your eyes to open.

And you swear he smiles when they flash open. You swear it.

“Means somethin’, sweetheart. This—fuck—us.”

The words grind into you. As though he's the pestle and your mortar. Your breath is lost, unable to be grasped, your body hanging, pleasure a bigger force—swallowing the room, casting you in shadows and misting over you—until you cry out. Squeezing, fluttering.

Not able to see anything but his face, the look on his face—the twisted expression of his lips and the deepness of his eyes. More black, than brown—but they’re somehow still soft, still full of something you hope is pleasant and full of emotions.

It only vanishes briefly when he spills inside of you.

When he collapses on top of you—his heart hammering against your ribs. And, even if it isn’t the first time, you feel yourself still—pause, no rash movements, because this is nice, this is something you want without asking for it.

“Can’t believe I can hear y’brain already.”

Snorting, you roll your eyes, glancing over—finding his lips have slid into his cheek.

It gnaws at you, the reason for your lack of sleep. The thing which you've traded hours of rest for. That dormant part pushed to the edge by exhaustion, now awake and very much worrying.

“Got you something,” you whisper, biting your lip, watching his brows furrow and lines appear between them.

Standing up, you steal the dressing gown from the back of his door—the one you’d traded for months ago. The one which is far too big, even for him, making it only cosier when you borrow it. Shooting him a smile, you almost disguise it, worried it's far too soft, too normal, before you mumble about being right back.

It's a hurry to the front door, all feet hammering down on wooden steps before your hand digs in your coat pocket, retrieving the wrapped thing you’ve lost shuteye over.

When you enter, he’s under the sheets—hair at odd angles, looking both a mixture of energised and fucked out that you wish you could paint with your fingers, so you'd forever have it.

“Didn’t wanna give this to you on the 25th—just in case you popped a vein trying to figure out what it means.”

Kneeling on the bed, you take a levelling breath, before handing it to him. His eyes travelling from you to it, fingers taking it—all delicate, measured. Before he unpeels the ribbon, undressing it with more care than he often shows you, before it rolls free of the paper you managed to find. It catches the ceiling light, glinting, gleaming, the handle looking even more detailed in this light than under the candles you’d had to use to remain discreet.

In your hand, the knife had appeared large, and menacing. In his, it looked right.

Yet, his face looked as though it was anything but.

Enough for you to prod, needle. To nudge closer on your knees, to smooth out the sheets and then flick your lashes up, finding him already staring, weighing it up—whatever coated his tongue, had been written in his mind.

“Sweetheart… I don’t… I don’t deserve this—”

More words fall in silence, not quite spoken, yet somehow loud.

Enough for you to say his name, to rest your knee on the bed and deeply sigh.

“You…’m not a good man.”

You almost laugh, but you don’t. Crawling up, placing your hand on his chest, you take a shaky breath. “I’m not sure I care.”

And you don't.

Because it's easy to feel something for him, to love him. It's natural, there one day and the day after. It wasn't hard or difficult, but very fucking easy.

Your mouth even opens to say as much, but you close it again before a syllable is muttered.

Wrapping the gift, he moves it from between the two of you, to the bedside table. His fingers linger, hovering over the carved wood—the one which caused splinters and made your eyes almost cross over. “Y’should. M’not an easy man to love.”

“I disagree,” you whisper, fingers having slid up to the base of his neck, your fingers teasing his curls. “Since I’m pretty sure I already feel those things for you.”

His brows lift, and you smile—letting it speak the words you can’t say, and you’re sure he’s not willing to hear.

“Don’t sweat it, alright? You’re mine, I’m yours. Yeah?”

Nodding, he bites his cheek, placing the knife back into the packaging—moving it, replacing what he’d been holding with your wrist as he pulls you close.

“Got you somethin’ too.”

Nose bumping his, you shift closer, thighs finding themselves on either side of him—his hands finding a place on them, sliding up, callouses grazing on your skin, before squeezing.

“But y’gotta wait until the 25th. Like a good girl.”

Smirking, you cup his cheeks. "Okay, Miller. I'll wait."

an: merry christmas, i hope you love this <3

[mackandcheezy]

Beneath the White Sheets (Young! President! Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

​​A/N: A simple domestic fluff turned slightly sensual hot, slightly crazy, boyfriend who can’t keep his hands to himself. For my lovely anon who just wanted something less depressing than the typical hunger games fic

People are utterly stupid. At least that’s what Coriolanus had been telling himself for the past two hours. Being made president of Panem was everything he had ever wanted and more but he couldn’t stand how much conversation it involved. He could never stand to fraternize with those less intelligent than himself and that seemed fo be all this was comprised of. Though it all was worth it to come home to you. 

You had met in school, what felt like such a long ago. Started as enemies as all good lovers do, competing to mentor the best tribute for the 10th hunger games. Yours had died before even making it to the arena, a fact Coryo never quite let you forget, or the fact that his won. But you were always quick to remind him that he cheated so it didn’t count. The same small frown would appear on his face at the mention of Lucy Gray. 

You knew they had a history, but you also knew that nobody could ever love you the way he did. On a fundamental level she would always resent who he was, how he was raised, his “kind.” You on the other hand knew what it meant to work your way up from the bottom, to have drive and passion. You were one in the same in that way, but you kept him in check, able to dull some of the red that always tinted the edges of his plans. 

The moment he bursted in the door you knew it had been a bad day even before he started ranting. 

“I can’t BELIEVE these people, it’s like they think the world runs on expensive fabrics and tiny foods.” Coryo threw his suit jacket into the corner of the room, the white coat crumpling like a piece of paper. Running a hand through his hair he finally took the time to look at you properly. 

His eyes raked your form, taking in the way your freshly washed locks framed your face. Your eyes were focused on him, that same worried look ever present on your face, it brought a warm flush to his cheeks. Even a year into marriage it never ceased to surprise him that everyday someone could care. That even after seeing him, the real him with skeletons in the closet, you still loved him— still forgave him. That simple fact was enough to make the stress of the day melt from his body. Shoulders dropping just the tiniest bit, jaw coming unclenched for the first time since he’d left at six am that morning. 

He watched as you shuffled out of bed, in that same night dress that was just sheer enough to hint at what was underneath but not enough to satisfy his desires. Your pebbled nipples poking out just enough to make him want to do nothing more than to take one into his mouth and taste the sweet comfort of home. The thought of the taste of your skin already bringing a burning desire to his mind. 

But you could simply fuck anytime, right now was for something more pure. 

You floated across the room and wrapped your hands around his waist, burying your face in his chest, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too. I should fire everyone and replace them with you instead, you’re more intelligent that all of them combined,” he placed a greedy kiss to your lips before pulling away, “and much sexier too” his hot breath on your lips making you flush. 

You allowed him to change his clothes wordlessly. Basking in the presence of your lover, Coryo doing the same. Your relationship was built on comfortable silence, if something needed to be said it would, but for now all either one of you needed was to feel the other. 

Like a well rehearsed play you both flowed back to the bed, allowing the cool sheets and soft mattress to absorb your bodies until you met in the middle. Coryo wrapped every open limb around you until you were one. With your ear on his chest you listened to his heart beat. The rhythmic thumping grounding you, this was reality, white sheets and curly blonde hair. 

“I’m scared” that statement sent chills through your body. Never had Coryo admitted to something so-- human in all the time you had known him. 

“Do we have something to be scared for?” 

“The thought of this being temporary fleets my mind often these days, that one day I will have nothing to provide to you anymore” The statement broke your heart. Deep down you knew he cared, even if he tried to convince himself he didn’t. Yet her he was the very thought of letting you down was terrifying. 

“I don’t need anything but you,” You felt the held breath ruffle the strands of hair at the top of your head. “You are enough Coriolanus Snow, I promised myself to you because even a poor beggar I would want nothing more in this life than you” 

“I have never wanted anything more than you” The confession surprised you in a sense. You knew you were an important part of the puzzle, but Panem always seemed to come first. 

You allowed yourself to reflect on that as you watched the sun drop below the skyline of the Capitol, a warm orangey-pink engulfing the room. Allowing yourself to relax in the strong embrace of your husband, and give in to the sleep pulling at your eyes.

[mariasont]

hi 🫶🏻 i was thinking maybe you could write spencer x reader inspired by taylor's I look in people's windows? for the plot it could be something like they were really close friends and reader was obviously in love with him but then he met meave and distanced himself from her, or maybe that he blames the reader for meave's death and is avoiding her, idk, whichever you prefer!!

i love your works, you're so good at writing!!

When the Swallows Come Again - S.R

a/n: hi my lovely you just know me tooooooo well. a swiftie plot line you ask? i am at your service

no but fr thank u so so sooo much for requesting i love YOU! 🫶🏼

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x gn!reader (im pretty sure pls correct me if i added any use of pronouns)

summary: spencer blames you for maeves death…or so you thought

warnings: angst! (happy endings, yes ik im feeling gracious), talk of death, blood, guns, usual criminal minds stuff

wc: 2.5k

The asphalt beneath your boots felt gritty, the sound muffled by the thick blanket of snow. With one hand, you tried to guard your face from the snowflakes that seemed determined to kiss your skin. They might seem pretty from inside, but out here, they were just another reminder of your inadequate clothing against the biting cold.

The first rays of the sun began to stretch across the concrete, painting long shadows in its wake. Although you could have found your way in the pitch black if needed. Most places were still closed, but you knew that a coffee shop you used to love would be open. It wasn't your top choice, mainly because of the fact that you might bump into--

Him.

You knew it was him before you even saw his face, the hairs on your arm standing at attention as you stopped dead in front of the window.

It was Spencer, unmistakable even from a distance, his distinctive curls made into a celestial crown by the cafe's soft light. Your heart stumbled, plummeting down to your shoelaces. A thousand emotions crashed around you, a vortex happening to quick to untangle. These were feeling you had buried down, far deeper than six feet, hoping they'd never resurface. But that, you realized, was just wishful thinking.

You watched from behind the glass, feeling like a stranger to the world that Spencer now inhabited--a world where you once had a seat at his table. Now, you were the outsider, the unwanted observer. The sound of his laughter, which once was a comforting sound, now seeped through the door's crack, a mocking reminder of a severed tie. Your friendship was one that had bloomed like the first flowers of spring.

But flowers wither, and seasons change.

With Spencer out of your life, a subtle death crept over you, eroding you piece by piece. It was a death characterized by the loud allegations, the quiet of words left unsaid, and a friendship that had crumbled because he blamed you for Maeve's death.

Not just blamed, he hated you.

He hated you because you had tried to save Maeve, but you just weren't quick enough, because you couldn't beat the onset of gunfire, because you went in instead of him. You knew the cost: if he went in, he wouldn't have come back out. You didn't regret that choice. He's alive and breathing, and that's worth any cost--even if it means he never spoke to you again.

But there he stood, living and breathing--just as you intended, and suddenly your body seemed to malfunction. Your feet might as well have been part of the pavement, the snowflakes assaulting your face just as Maeve's blood did that day. Your heart threatened to burst, racing with a ferocity that set your veins on fire. You were scorching alive, and it was 17 degrees. 

In the aftermath, Spencer had taken himself off the grid, locked himself in his apartment, and you didn't take it to heart because his withdrawal was all- encompassing. He was avoiding everyone. But then he came back, and it was as if you alone were invisible to him. You tried, with every fiber of your being, to bridge to gap, for him to let you be his best friend again, but your attempts were met with biting remarks and thinly veiled jabs.

It was exhausting. But he was grieving so you felt like he deserved a pass. He had been through so much, more than anyone on the team. Surely, if anyone deserved a pass, it was him. However, even the most generous pass has an expiration date, and six months of disregard made it challenging to keep validating the same worn-out ticket.

So, you submitted your transfer papers to the narcotics unit. You wanted to say a proper goodbye, but you weren't sure he'd care. So, you didn't. You waited until the office was empty, then disappeared without a trace. 

But it didn't hardly matter that you weren't physically around him because you found yourself searching for signs of him in everything you did. 

When you pulled on your socks, memories of his mismatching habit surfaced, and the way he'd cheekily taunt you for your staunch preference for matching white ones. When you went to the grocery store, you'd unintentionally wander to the aisle with the dark chocolate almonds, his favorite.

Every time a swallow flitted across your path, you were reminded of him. "Swallows return to the same place every year, but not the same partner," he had once explained.

The thought always stuck to you, like gum on the sole of your shoe, because now it was a poignant parallel to your own stupid, fractured bond. Connections were never meant to endure. You knew that now.

It was too late to reverse course when he spun around, catching you red-handed. Your mouth flapped open, a fish out of water, as you willed your feet to moved forward. The need for coffee paled in the comparison to the need to leave. But his reflexes outmatched yours, and the door swung open before you could make an escape.

He said nothing, just stared, and you came to a near-instant stop, narrowly avoiding a collision. The frosty air of your breath fogged the space between you, briefly distorting your view of him, softening his edges into the Spencer you once knew.

Now that he was within arm's reach, you could discern the finer aspects of his face. He looked good, tired, but good. He always looked good, but time had sculpted his features into something more profound. His hair had grown out, curling at the ends, and a stubble now sketched the contours of his face. 

"Hey."

Had you not been so captivated by the shape of his mouth, the faint sound would have been swallowed by the buzzing in your ears.

"Hey," you whispered, but even that was too much for your shaky voice, breaking mid-greeting and leaving you exposed before him. "I'm sorry, I had no idea you'd be here. Um, I should probably just--"

You maneuvered around him, pushing down the vomit of words rising in your throat, consciously fighting the impulse to catalog every line of his face, cognizant of the fact that it might just be the last time you'd see him.

His hand clasped your wrist, and you were suddenly you were the newest member of the BAU again, rubbing elbows with the boy genius, telling him all your secrets with the exception of one. How madly in love you were with him. Were? Are? Past tense? Present tense? You tried not to think about it.

You were frozen in time—not solely from the physical restraint but from the searing sensation of his touch, a feeling you hadn't known in ages, as if igniting your skin through your sleeve.

"Wait, please," he pleaded, the desperation is his voice anchoring you to the spot. You turned back to face him, finding your faces nearly touching. You shifted, intending to create space, but his grip on your arm didn't drop, so you didn't move. "How have you been?"

The question threw you off guard, and it filled your stomach with an irrepressible swarm of butterflies, a feeling so alive against the biting cold that stung at your nose.

Your fingertips were going numb.

"I'm okay, you?" A complete lie.

You racked your brain for the last time you felt okay. Perhaps it was before Spencer had started talking with Maeve. You didn't even know about it at first, that might have been the worst part. He was your best friend, and he had omitted such a significant detail of his life from you.

He just started to distance himself, forging a gap between the two of you that seemed to rival the expanse of the Grand Canyon. Perhaps it was an overstatement, but as the events unfolded, the comparison felt justified. 

The change began imperceptibly, almost cruelly gradual. You would have preferred a quick yank of the Band-Aid, but it was a prolonged, painful peeling. The first sign was him not jumping at the chance to be partnered on cases like he usually did. Then, it progressed to him choosing seats away from you on the jet, and finally, it escalated to him leaving the room all together when you were in it.

It was an achy feeling, an all-consuming soreness that infiltrated every inch of your being. You didn't understand, didn't know what you did wrong. It wasn't long after this you found out about Maeve.

And then, as if fate had dealt its cruelest hand, she died, and suddenly it was your fault. You became the villain in his eyes, condemned for your hesitance, and because you refused to let him die. Maybe it could be seen as selfish, but without him, you would be nothing.

Yet here you were living without him all the same.

His inspection was more thorough than you were ready for. It stirred an urge within you to shrink away, to sprint into the anonymity of the dark streets, but your feet remained rooted to the spot.

"I've been better," he admitted, eyes shining with something you couldn't quite place.

"Oh," you begam, the syllable suspended in the frigid air, but before your thoughts could coalesce into words, Spencer cut through the silence.

"Why did you leave?"

Your brows pinched together, your mouth agape as a singular heartbeat was lost--and then several more. "You can't be serious."

He looked confused. "What? No, Hotch never really told us your reasoning."

The taste of a bitter laugh lingered at the edge of your lips. "Spencer, we don't need to do this whole act, okay? We don't have to pretend that I left for any reason other than you."

"Because of me?" His hands glided upward, pausing on your shoulder, and you loathed the part of you that wanted to lean into him. "What are you talking about?"

"Are you kidding?" The words tumbled out, blinking away the tears of frustration that threatened to spill. "Spencer, I'm not stupid. I know you hate me. I know you blame me for what happened with Maeve. And I get it, you were grieving, and you had every right to be mad, and I just couldn't work there anymore."

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard," he cut in, his tone was sharp, yet somehow not unkind. "God, I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

"How can you stand there and say that?" you countered, your voice hurt and incredulous as you took a step away, the cold seeping into your bones and setting your teeth on edge. "You treated me like I was nothing, Spencer."

"Here," Spencer said, handing you his jacket. "You should know, prolonged exposure to cold weather can actually weaken your immune system."

"Oh," you said, slightly startled, feeling the warmth take hold in your cheeks. You rubbed your nose before pulling the jacket over your shoulders. It smelled just like him.

"I don't hate you, you know that, right?" Spencer's voice was soft, like he was whispering even though you were the only two on the street. "I'm sorry if I made you feel insignificant. You're far from it. You could never be nothing. But I was mad, and I let that get the better of me."

"But I tried, Spencer," you choked out, voice wavering, emotion thick in your throat. "I tried to save her. Maybe if I had more training, more experience... I know you wish I had let you be there instead, but I couldn't risk it, not with what I knew. And now our friendship is ruined and I--,"

"Hey, whoa, slow down," Spencer interjected, cupping your cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears you hadn't even noticed. "You think I blame you? Oh, my god, no, sweetheart. I was angry, yes, but it was because you were willing to step in front of a gun."

"You don't blame me?"

"Of course I don't," he breathed out as if he couldn't believe this is what you thought. "I'm so sorry for giving you that impression. It was never my intention."

Your emotions bubbled over into a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. "I really missed you."

Spencer's heart seemed to shatter than mend in an instant as he drew you against him. "Can I kiss you?"

Giggles spilled out through chattering teeth, punctuating the air as a wide smile graced your lips. "You want to kiss me?" 

"I want to kiss you."

The idea almost seemed to sweet to be true.

"Okay."

He kissed you, and with each snowflake that settled into your hair, Spencer drew you in closer. In a way that you had only dreamed of. The biting cold was there, but it paled in comparison to the blaze that was now ignited through your body. 

It was perfect, everything you had imagined and more--real, warm, and grounding. 

He pulled away slowly, blinking the same speed, snowflakes dusting his lashes like delicate frost.

“I know I’ve been… difficult,” he said, his voice rough, his breath wanting your frozen cheek at the same time.

You pressed a hand to his chest. “Spencer, you don’t have to explain.”

A moment passed, as if he were thinking about your offer, then his gaze found yours, piercing and profound, as if the solid ground you stood on was suddenly fragile.

“But I need to,” he said, the raw need in his voice pulling your straight back into the orbit of his words. “I was angry, yes, you almost got yourself killed. But I pushed you away because it was far easier than facing the fear that I might lose you too.”

The beats of your heart echoed loudly—thump, thump—in its bony cage as your fingers curled tightly into his shirt.

“Every time I looked at you, I saw what I could have lost, and that fucking terrified me.”

Spencer cussed, this wasn’t unusual, but the intensity behind it made you frown. His words, so honest, seemed pull you in, invading his personal space in an effort to get rid of yours.

“You’re not going to lose me.”

The sun was shining now, casting golden rays over the snow and Spencer’s face, framing him just as he was in your mind.

“Then let’s not waste anymore time.”

You love him. Present.

For a second you thought Spencer might be wrong because maybe, just maybe, swallows could return to the same place, and the same partner after all.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 37

part 1 | part 36 | ao3

cw: depression, ptsd, references to canonical death and horror

Chapter 9

December

The smudged feeling comes back.

Which sucks, if he's being honest.

Despite the new thing with Eddie and the breathing room in his budget; despite everything going fine with Robin and work and the kids, his good moods never seem to hold. They keep getting muddied up, can't shine through the grubby handprints that threaten to blot them out.

And sure, it's not like he expected one great make out session to change his life (and it was a great one, to be clear; a great make out session and an even better handy later that night in Eddie’s van), but he just…

Shit.

He doesn’t know.

He thought it might feel easier. Life, adulthood; everything. Like the lightness and warmth he felt that night might carry over, might drift through to fill the cracks in him like a blanket of fresh snow.

But they don't, because they can't.

They can't touch the fact that he has no clue what he’s doing. That Steve Harrington's got no purpose, no direction and no point.

Most mornings he's got nothing but his creeping paranoia and a bone deep sense of dread.

The new year closes in like a wet tongue up the back of his neck; hot breath of a drooling grizzly getting ready to take a bite, and the long winter shadows around his house are growing fangs, rows upon rows of razor teeth in petal mouths.

His nightmares tastes like rot and lilac. Something heavy in the air.

And in the mornings he feels stupid when he wakes up shivering in cold sweat, foolish and young and alone. He clutches at his nail bat and peers through the cracks in the blinds, and he feels like a lunatic because there’s nothing out there. Nothing abnormal. Nothing wrong-side up. Just the shadows and the strays; the scurrying of house mice and the skitter of dead leaves.

It’s over now, they told him. It’s over, kid. We won.

They said it all three times.

—

"Uh...”

Eddie's standing in Steve's doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms loosely folded over his chest, a weird smile on his face like he's deeply fucking confused by what he's seeing but is trying so hard to be cool about it.

Which, like. Fair.

It's mid-morning on a Sunday and Steve is crawling on hands and knees in his gutted disaster of a living room — ripping up the edges of his terrible burnt orange carpet without even pausing to say hello — and the kids will be here any minute to help put up the Christmas tree, and he hadn't meant to do this; knows he looks completely manic, sweat dripping into his eyes, knuckles bleeding from the tack strips, but he woke up trembling from another nightmare and decided that everything had to go.

The nightmare felt too real. Long claws and sharp teeth, squelching muck and snaking vines; a flash of Chief Hopper bloody and shorn in a frozen wasteland, but the chief is dead and everyone's dead and Steve is so tired of being haunted by their ghosts, and in his shaken, post-dream haze he convinces himself that it's this place.

This place is the fucking problem.

This godforsaken tin can with spirits crawling in the walls.

They're clinging on like static just before a thunderstorm. In the floorboards, in the rug. Steve can feel them with each step. How many footprints buried themselves in these worn fibers? How many exhausted treks to the fridge and frenzied rushes to the phone; how many angry late-night pacers and visitors overstaying a welcome?

"Stevie?" Eddie clears his throat.

Steve just wants them all gone. The whole haunted circus — wants to strip it to the bones, start fresh with something new.

So far all he’s done is make the place smell like his nightmares. Like dust and death and lilac as he pulls the carpet up. There’s an oily stain on the subfloor from where he smashed his mom’s perfume, and a green-black mystery splotch by the kitchen that could be water damage, or it could be the remnants of a liquified rat. Or a person; so many people, melted meat monster smashing through the city blood and gore in a demodog's jowls the walls pulsing with membranes like some fucked up rotten womb and—

"Hey." Eddie's boots come into view. Calm commandment in his tone, stepping right into Steve's space. "Look at me," he sighs.

Steve sits back and wipes his brow. The sweat stings his cut-up hands, and he wishes he weren't so busy being a nutcase, because Eddie looks good like this. Standing over him, petting a hand through his damp hair. Making him kneel down at his feet. It’s hot. They could do something with this. Steve could—

"You want to tell me what you're doing?"

Tears prick up in Steve's dumb eyes.

What's he supposed to say? There were ghosts in the fucking carpet?

He shakes his head and sniffs, and Eddie steps in a little closer; moves his hand to cup Steve's jaw. "No?" he lifts a brow.

Outside, tires crunch over the gravel, the kids making a racket as they pour out of the Wheelers’ car. Goddammit.

Steve huffs and gets to his feet; lets Eddie steady him. They share a look. The kids are shouting on the lawn. "Can you take us to Home Depot?"

—

part 38

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[shouyuus]

(from prev blog) anon asked: Happy bday!! This is my first time using tumblr so idek if this is the right place to ask or if it’s too late! But I was wondering if you could write a Zayne x reader drabble for your 30 event 🤍 I saw someone make a rose out of snow by pressing snow on a card and wrapping it around a stick; I think it’d be so cute for Zayne to do that for the reader while they’re walking back home or smthing (even tho he could use his evol this is cuter 😭)

一翦玫 (one cut rose)

zayne; fluff; i rly said fuck the word limit with this one whoops

─── 黎深 THE MORNING DAWNS in a painful, world-swallowing blue, not a wish or whisper of clouds in sight, and Zayne knows that it’ll be cold enough to blister. He can always feel the winter creeping into his bones, twining between his muscles till they ache for something, for anything.

You’re bleary in his arms when he shakes you awake, and the way you peer up at him through sleep-heavy lashes makes his entire world shimmer down to the size of this bedroom, of your tiny groan as you try to bury your face in his pillow and swat him away.

“C’mon. I’ll walk you,” he says, voice indulgent in the way it only is when he’s speaking to you.

The snow crunches fresh and true underfoot, and he watches as you bloom beneath the robin’s egg sky, head tilting back, your breath twisting up in a thin spiral of white mist as you let out a long breath.

“It’s so beautiful out!”

“Careful, or you’ll slip,” he admonishes, tugging you off a small snowbank back onto the sidewalk. You pout up at him even as he adjusts your scarf.

“Killjoy…” you mutter, and Zayne scoffs, tugging on his own turned up collar.

You pass by an old man selling flowers on the street corner, and you skip ahead to press a bill into his hand, telling him to keep warm even as he smiles and hands you a flower. Zayne watches, a tender happiness threading up his throat as you turn back to hand him the flower.

“For your desk,” you say, “to add some color, or else people are gonna think you’ve got no personality.”

Zayne takes the flower and studies it, a rose in shocking lemon-rind yellow. He brings it up to his nose.

“Thanks.”

You grin up at him, looking pleased and mischievous both.

“Now you owe me a flower too!” you say. Zayne regards you with a contemplative sort of look before turning and continuing down the street. You pout, jogging after him.

“Fine, fine — you don’t have to give me a flower — I was just —”

“You’ll get one,” he says, reaching into his pocket for a credit card. Stooping down towards a mound of untouched snow, he scoops up a thin layer on the card and begins his work, pressing each layer around the previous one, using the heat of his hand to melt the “petals” till they curl into one single snow-white rose.

You gasp as he finishes his work, dusting his hands off on his jacket.

“It’s… beautiful! But… how am I gonna carry if there’s no stem?”

At this, Zayne tsks, summoning his Evol, and you watch with bright eyes as a crystaline stem forms from the base of the rose, extending out, glimmering leaves unfurling in ice as he hands the flower to you. You take it between delicate fingers and smile as you lean in to take a whiff.

“It won’t smell like a rose,” Zayne says, tucking his hands back into his pockets, watching as you stare down at the miraculous flower, “that’s not something my Evol can do just yet.”

But your smile is brilliant as a winter’s morning as you turn back towards him, clutching the flower to your chest, “It’s okay — it smells like winter!”

“Does it now?” Zayne asks, amusement twinkling behind his eyes, “And what exactly does winter smell like?”

You twirl the white rose between careful fingers before shooting him a truly heart-stopping wink —

“It smells like you.”

final wc: 604 || be part of my taglist!

a/n: a few words of explanation -- the trend that anon is asking about can be see here, its rly very cute. also, the title of this fic is a "play" on the popular 一剪梅, aka the "xue hua piao piao" song LMFAO, where i changed the "梅" meaning "plum" from the song title to “玫" from '玫瑰" or "rose" since both 梅 and 玫 are pronounced "mei3". i thought it was a fun little thing to do and the actual song itself is about winter and snow so! :)

taglist: @yaoduriaa @queen-serena88 @stunies

[lookinghalfacorpse]

long overdue cdream seizure drabble for @icecreamvi. dream is finally healthy enough to fight again, but seizures still hit at inopportune times.

/dsmp /rp

It was good to see Dream fighting again.

In all fairness, this fight in particular was a bit annoying. Technoblade and Dream were on their way back home after some errands when they were ambushed in the forest. Techno learned over the years that people who got lost in that enchanted forest, designed by the Goddess of Death to disorient and confuse, grew desperate quickly. They were little more than petty thieves, but even stray dogs are dangerous when they're hungry.

And their archer was infuriating.

Dream raised his shield a bit above his head, stopping an arrow before it landed in Techno's shoulderblade. With his shield occupied, Dream held his opponent at bay while blocking with his axe. "You couldn't afford to watch your back a bit more?" He joked.

"Eh," Techno replied. He was more interested in tossing one of the swordsmen into a tree. Humans are too easy to throw around.

Dream wasn't anywhere close to his former strength, but he could hold his own in battle, and he still overpowered most opponents. It was impressive to watch. He was quick and clever, and he knew how to use his bodyweight as a source of power, even after all the weight he lost. He was quick to disarm the swordsman that opposed him, and while the poor soul scrambled back to his feet and scanned around him for options, Dream stepped forward and smoothly raised his axe above his head--

--when suddenly his shoulder shuddered, and the axe dropped to the snow.

Dream gasped as air was forced out of his lungs, a hand raising to his chest in panic. Techno was familiar with the warning signs of a seizure. He's helped Dream endure countless seizures, both in the Vault and outside of it. He heard the creak of the archer's bow and bolted over to Dream just in time to guard him from an arrow. Instead of landing in Dream's skull, it sunk deep into Techno's mid-back.

Techno tried not to react to the sting. "Hey, Dream--"

Dream made a pained sound as the seizure took hold, his knees giving out and his shoulders spasming. His right shoulder twisted backwards while the left trembled uncontrollably. He fell fully into Techno's arms, his moans giving way to silence as he ran out of breath.

A second arrow hit Techno's shoulder. A third near the base of his neck. The swordsman, seeing his opening, lunged towards his blade.

They needed to run.

Techno gathered Dream's body in his arms and sprinted for the forest. With any luck, its disorienting effects could lend them an advantage. Dream's hands clawed into the fabric of his shirt, pulling it at odd, uncomfortable angles. Techno had to keep adjusting his grip as the young man squirmed and seized, desperate not to hold him too tightly and risk hurting him.

As soon as he couldn't hear arrows fly anymore, Techno ducked behind a large tree and set Dream on the ground, hunching his body protectively over him. If that damn archer found them again, he'd see nothing but piglin.

"Breathe through it," Techno instructed, his own breath heavy from the exertion.

Dream met his eyes. Sometimes he seemed lucid throughout the seizure while other times he seemed more unconscious. This time, his gaze was watery and heartbroken, but intelligent. "Te-- Tech-- Tech--"

"I said breathe, not talk, nerd." Techno placed a hand on Dream's shoulder, rubbing along the fabric of his jacket slowly. "Relax."

Fully encompassed by Technoblade's body, half-buried in snow, and surrendering to a seizure, Dream looked so small.

"You're--bleeding--" Dream coughed, his voice strained as his jaw tightened.

"And you're seizin'. I'd say we're both doin' pretty great."

"I'm--"

"Dream. Hush."

"I'm--sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorr--"

Techno bowed his head until their foreheads touched, letting his eyes fall closed. They'd ride this out together, like they always did.

"--sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

[writeforfandoms]

Who Wants To Live Forever

Find my Ghost masterlist

It doesn't matter how many lives you've lived, you always find your way back to him.

The reincarnation au nobody asked for and my plot bunnies yeeted at me anyway! I have a lot of thoughts about this one that didn't make it into the fic. Like. A Lot.

Warnings: Swearing, past violence, blood, injury mention, canon typical violence, idiots in love, this is just for fun, I wrote this for me but you can read it too.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Word count: 2.9k

The dreams started when you were small. Your parents at first attributed them to an overactive imagination and too much television. 

But as you got older and the dreams didn't go away, you wondered. Your parents got squirrelly about them, started muttering about things like psychiatrists and not normal and worried. 

So you stopped mentioning them. Pretended you didn't dream at all most nights. 

Reality couldn't be farther from the truth. 

You dreamed. Every single night. In some you were part of a village, living a harsh life by the sea. The men would go off to hunt and raid, and the women stayed behind to mind the village and raise the children. Those dreams always left you cold. Even in those dreams, though, dream-you noticed the beauty, the way sunlight glinted off snow, the magical lights in the sky, the blue of the sky after a storm. 

Some nights you dreamed of being a nurse, tending wounded soldiers in tents and buildings. Those dreams were always full of screaming and crying and horrors. Men wheezing, coughing up blood. Limbs shattered and mangled beyond repair. A stench like you couldn't describe. But there were little moments, moments of kindness. Holding a man's hand to comfort him through his last breaths. The way the sunrise broke through some of the haze of pain surrounding those places. The way a doctor or fellow nurse would sometimes thank you, buy you a drink, share scant meals with you. 

Sometimes you were a school teacher in a rural village, gently scolding children and keeping watch as they frollicked at break times. Those dreams were full of small joys. A flower one of your students brought you, bashful smile blooming into a grin at your thanks. Sunsets from the comfort of home. Warm meals at the table, often shared. With him.

He was a constant presence. Through all of your dreams, all of those times, he was always to be found. He didn't always look the same - skin tone changed, hair color changed. But you always knew him by those brown eyes. 

Sometimes the two of you married. Sometimes he was married before you met him. Sometimes you were married first. But you always, always found each other. In every time. In every life. 

By the time you were out of school, you had notebooks dedicated to your dreams, to the times, to the man. You kept them hidden away, for your eyes only. Just as a way to help you keep everything straight. 

As more time passed, you became more and more sure that these were glimpses into the past. Your past. Past lives, you'd guess. From the way the dreams felt… it always felt like you. No matter how many times you put pen to paper, you could never accurately describe why. 

But you knew. They were all you.

And they were all him. 

Which made you wonder… when would you find him in this life? You'd found him in almost all of the others. It seemed reasonable that you'd find him again. 

(Nevermind that you had no name, no description, no way of knowing what he'd look like or where he'd be.) 

Knowing that he was out there somewhere made it easy to bury yourself in work. Oh, sure, you had friends. People who knew you. You were well-liked at work, known to get things done. 

But you didn't date. You didn't look for people who weren't him. 

Everyone else, you knew, would pale in comparison. 

All the lives accumulated in your head did make it hard to relate. It was easier, sometimes, to sort of… float through life. You knew what was expected of you. You'd known people from every walk of life, just about. You knew a lot about people, could do well in social situations without working at it. 

But it did make for a rather lonely life. 

You started dreaming of him more often. Of the times the two of you lived together. Of the long talks the two of you had. Of the walks, along the sea, along a grass-lined lane, along a lake. Of the times he was just out of reach, your eyes meeting again and again through crowds and dinners and company. 

Of the time he died in your arms, blood staining the both of you. 

You were tired when you got on the train. This was just a little holiday to a new place. 

Or. Well. You hadn't been here in this lifetime, at least. 

It was busier than you remembered the area being, more built up. Your lips twitched - that's what happened over time, after all. 

Nothing stayed the same for long. 

You didn't pay any mind to the people around you as you walked, taking your time. You didn't mind walking to your hotel from the train station. Gave you a better chance to look around and plan where you wanted to go later. 

Your eyes met brown through a coffee shop window.

You froze. You knew those eyes. You knew those eyes. 

He blinked, just once. You couldn't look away. 

The noise of the coffee shop finally registered when you stopped in front of his table, the chinking of mugs and flatware, the hiss of the machines, the babble of unimportant voices. 

“Hi.” You were a little surprised at your own voice, quiet and a little awed. 

He eyed you, black face mask obscuring most of his expression. For a moment your heart plummeted. Maybe he didn't recognize you? Maybe… he didn't remember? 

Then his lips twitched. 

“Took you long enough.” 

“Took me long enough?” You tried for outrage but probably fell short, humor and elation buoying your heart. “And what about you, hmm?” 

“Been busy.” He nodded to the seat across from him, and you could just see the corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile. 

“Oh, busy. Yes, how silly of me to not think of that.” You dropped into the seat, your bag landing at your feet a little harder than was probably advisable. 

“Holiday?” His gaze dropped briefly to the table, to where your bag was now hidden. 

“Yes.” Some of your elation faded at the dose of reality. “You?”

He paused, holding your gaze. “On leave.” 

“Ah.” You smiled a little, sliding one open hand across the table. “Going well this time, then?”

He didn't say anything for a long moment, staring down at your open hand. His fingers twitched. “Not particularly.” 

Your heart plummeted. “Oh.” 

“S'fine.” He shook his head once, short and sharp. “You want anything? Tea, coffee?” 

“Coffee is fine.” You started to stand but he waved you back into your seat. 

“Wait here.” 

You huffed out a breath and watched him go, broad shoulders easy to track up to the register. You finally had the attention to note other details about him. He was dressed casually, all in black, with his hood pulled up. You'd caught blonde hair under his hood. 

Taller than you could remember him being. Broad shoulders. 

It was just… so good to see him again. To see him now. With your own eyes, in this life. 

It would be nice to make more memories, for next time. 

The clink of a mug being set in front of you brought you out of your own head. You blinked at the mug and then at him as he sat across from you again. 

“How long are you here?” He folded his hands in front of him, gaze fixed on you. 

You shrugged. “I had only planned for a few days,” you admitted. “But I can make it longer.” 

He grunted once, thumb tapping against the side of his hand as he considered something. Then he nodded once. “Meet me here tomorrow,” he said, abruptly moving to grab a pen and a napkin. “1200.” 

You blinked once. “Tomorrow?” You couldn't quite keep the disappointment from your voice at that. 

“Got some things to take care of before then,” he said, barely glancing up at you as he finished writing on the napkin. “Got some people for you to meet, too. If you want to know me better this time ‘round.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat. He'd married already. That was the only thing you could think of. He was already married and you were too late. “I see.”

“No. You don't.” He pushed the napkin to you, tapping it twice with one large finger. “Here. Tomorrow.”

“1200,” you repeated dutifully, mustering up a wan smile. “Yes. I remember.”

“Good.” He pushed back to his feet abruptly, and you startled a little. He was just so tall! “If you don't show, I'll assume you don't want to meet again.” The words were flat, even, but his eyes… his eyes hid pain. 

You nodded, too startled for words by all of this. In a moment he was gone, striding out of the coffee shop and away from you.

Every fiber of you longed to go after him, to beg him for answers. 

Instead, you sat and sipped your coffee with trembling hands, staring at the napkin until the blocky letters were burned into your memory. 

The walk to your hotel was a bit of a blur. You barely paid attention to the social interaction, though you must have done well enough. 

You ended up sitting on the bed, bag on the floor, staring at your hands. 

He'd been so close. So close. 

But he hadn't taken your offer. He hadn't touched you. 

You thought you might finally be going a little insane. Was this what insanity felt like? Was this some kind of fever dream? Had you finally lost all sense of reality?

But no. You had the napkin in your pocket still. You'd seen him. You hadn't learned his name this time around, hadn't learned much of anything really, except that he had people he wanted you to meet. 

People. He'd said people for you to meet. 

The words finally sank fully into your brain, and you weren't sure whether to laugh or scream. People. People to meet. As in more than one person.

As in he was not only married but had a family…

…or something else entirely. Something new. 

Even after so many lives, the world still had a way of surprising you. A lesson hard learned over time. 

You forced yourself to breathe through the weight of history on your shoulders, staring back at all the lives where things had gone wrong. 

And then you forced yourself to find some dinner, shower, and read for a while before bed. 

Not that you slept very well. Not with anticipation and dread wreaking havoc on your heart. 

You arrived at the meeting spot ten minutes early, a little cafe on a square with a fountain in the middle. You stood outside, hands in your pockets, unsure what to expect. 

“You’re early.”

You swallowed once, heart thudding hard against your ribs as you turned to look at him. “Didn’t want to be late,” you quipped, only to falter. 

He wasn’t alone today.

Three other men stood with him, all of them looking at you. You lifted your chin a little, meeting the gaze of the closest man. You had just enough time to note how blue his eyes were before the memories slammed into you. 

A quiet life working the land, out beyond the edge of the “civilized” world, a husband with a rare but kind smile, eyes so blue you could drown in them. Rare trips to the nearest town gave you glimpses of your brown-eyed man, but no more than that. Cold winters and muddy springs and indomitable shoulders to lean on through it all. 

And a slightly less quiet life of some wealth, with a husband whose work often took him from home. But you’d had friends that time, your own societal duties. Dances. Events. Hosting. That life had not been devoid of its fun and beauty. 

“Oh.” You blinked at him, eyes wide. 

His lips twitched under his facial hair (muttonchops - unusual choice for this day and age) and he held out a hand to you. “Captain John Price.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand, holding his gaze for a moment longer. If he was like the him you’d known, he was a good man. Time would tell if and how he had changed. “I married you before.”

He grinned for a moment, so close to the man you’d known that your heart ached. “Twice, but don’t hold it against me,” he joked before he stepped aside. 

The next man to step up also had blue eyes and a big smile. You knew him immediately - you’d seen him before, too. A few times in the shadow of your brown-eyed love, once or twice on his own. The last time you’d seen him, he’d been standing over the bed of one of his men, half-covered in blood and muck. 

There had been nothing you could do, then. 

Now you smiled. “Good to see you again.” 

“Ye look better this time.” He chucked you gently under the chin with two knuckles, grinning. “John MacTavish, call me Soap.” 

“Soap?” You raised one extremely unimpressed eyebrow. 

He laughed. “A story for another time,” he promised, winking at you before he stepped back. 

The last man looked at you, nerves in the pinch of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. Darker skin and a ballcap met your quick perusal. 

You only had to meet his gaze for a moment before you threw yourself at him, hugging him as hard as you could, breath stuttering in your chest. 

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, arms immediately settling around you, one hand cupping the back of your head. “It’s alright, we’re fine.”

“You left,” you grumbled, hands fisting in the back of his shirt. “You’re not allowed to do that to me again.”

“Promise,” he muttered, voice low, just between the two of you. “I won’t.”

You sniffled, just once, before you pulled back to look at him. “I missed you,” you admitted before gently whapping his arm. “And if you disappear on me again I’ll hunt you down next life.”

“Yes ma’am.” He grinned, not even a little abashed. 

“So, what ridiculous nickname have you gotten this time?” You smiled, finally taking a half-step back. 

“It’s not ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Gaz. Kyle, this time ‘round.”

“Gaz.” You tested it out slowly before shrugging. “Not the worst.”

“Oh? And what would be?” Soap snuck up next to you, looking eager for mischief. 

“Story for another time,” you shot back at him with a smile. You finally turned your gaze to him again, to your brown-eyed man. The only one who hadn’t given you his name yet.

“Simon,” he finally said, as if he’d read your mind. 

“Simon.” You smiled. “How did you…?” You made a helpless motion between the three men. 

“Price,” Simon answered with a little shrug. “Found all of us.” 

“Came across ‘em,” Price said, arms crossed over his chest. “Knew I had to keep ‘em close.” 

You nodded, a little ache in your heart. “It’s a good thing you did.” But your gaze didn’t stray from Simon, too busy basking in the sight of him, here and whole in front of you.

“He’s no’ married yet,” Soap said in a stage whisper. When you glanced at him, he was grinning. “Unattached. Available. Free to a good home.”

“MacTavish,” Simon growled, brows twitching in annoyance. 

But you? You grinned. “Well, that’s good, because it’s your turn this time,” you teased, chin tipping up and to one side. 

Simon’s gaze snapped back to you, eyes a little wide. “What?” 

“I asked you last time,” you said patiently, trying hard to not grin. “Almost kissed you in front of your fiance, too.” 

“Almost,” he agreed, eyes warm as his gaze swept the length of your body. 

“I spotted you yesterday, too,” you pointed out, completely reasonably and not at all like a little gremlin. (You liked that word a lot and had incorporated it as much as you could once you’d caught airmen using it during World War II.) 

“So, ‘s my turn?” He took one step closer to you.

“Mmhm.” You bit the inside of your lip hard to keep your grin to yourself. 

His eyes narrowed at you, which was the only warning you had before he pulled down his face mask and kissed you. Vaguely, you heard Soap cheering and Price grumbling. But everything fell to the back of your mind.

Everything that wasn’t Simon. 

A little piece of your heart clicked into place. 

When he finally pulled back, both of you were a little out of breath, holding each other tight. His lips twitched in a tiny smile and you all but beamed in response. 

And then yipped when someone yanked you away from Simon.

“Best friend dibs,” Kyle announced, already starting to walk you away. “Mine for now, I’ll give her back in a day or two.”

You cackled at the look on Simon’s face, like he was torn between murder and laughing along with the joke. 

“There’s no rush,” you couldn’t help but tease. “We’ve got this entire life, now.” 

Simon met your gaze again even as his long strides caught him up with you and Kyle. His mask was back in place now but his eyes were warm, smiling at you, even as his hand twined with yours. 

Finally. 

[nemisuki]

Winter Breeze

Highschool AU | Waking up late was never unusual for you. It was a bad habit for sure. You're often running hoping to catch the next train to make it in time for school. But one day when you spot a certain white haired individual, you're in for a surprise. Perhaps being late brought one good thing into your life. 

᧔o᧓ || gojo satoru x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, 1.3k word count

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Of course you're late.

When are you not? 

As you swiftly maneuver through the crowded train station, you mutter apology after apology whenever you accidentally bump into somebody. You try to ignore the stares and occasional glares from the passing civilians as you finally reach the turnaisles. Quickly tapping your phone on the scanner and rushing to the station. 

Your eyes dart to the screen hanging down from the ceiling near the escalators. 1 minute for the next train. 

Seriously? Okay then… What about the one after that-

20 minutes.  

Y/N doesn't miss a beat, already used to the delayed arrival of these trains on the daily. With haste she rushes to the escalator and speed walks up the moving steps, zig-zagging through people. Hopefully she can make it intime. 

She finally makes it to the last step and takes a deep breath. Sighing with relief at the sight of civilians still waiting for the upcoming train. 

That's when she spots him. 

In order to avoid a crowded cart, she walks further down the platform where less people are waiting. Y/N pauses in her step when she sees a specific figure in her peripheral vision. Turning her head slowly, her eyes land on the stranger. He's on the opposite platform waiting for a different train, leaning against the wall as he scrolls through his phone. 

The boy isn't doing anything flashy, just listening to music through his wired headphones. Yet he has such a unique appearance that it's almost impossible to look away from. She had to do a double take. He was that gorgeous. Y/N has never seen someone even look remotely close to him. White hair as pure as snow. Tall. Fit. Is he even human? 

Y/N wasn't close enough to see the color of his eyes but it didn't matter. She just knows they are beautiful. She just stood in the middle of the platform and admired him from across the train tracks, she definitely had not seen him before. She would have remembered if she did. 

Her heart skips a beat as he slowly raises his head almost as if he sensed someone staring. However before he spots her, the train zooms into the station. Blocking their line of view and bringing Y/N back to earth. She shakes her head trying to focus and gets on the train before the doors close.

Thankfully she finds a seat near the windows and plops down, putting her school bag on her lap. Out of curiosity, her head attempts to subtly turn and take one final glance at the boy. Surely she won't ever see him again after today. Too many possibilities were in the air. 

Perhaps he's a foreigner here on vacation. Maybe he doesn't live in this district. Who knows? 

So her eyes land on him once again. Once again staring at his phone with nonchalance. Until his eyes lift to meet hers, like he was expecting it. An unreadable expression on his face when staring at her. Immediately she quickly avoids eye contact and looks back down at her lap. How embarrassing, he caught her staring. 

The train slowly starts moving and Y/N sighs as she takes one final peek back at him. His eyes never left hers as his lips slowly curve upwards and….. he winks. She didn't have time to react as the train sped off. 

Leaving her to bury her head in her backpack. Her heart is beating so fast that it rivals the speed of the train.

Y/N was so lost in thought about the significance of the wink that she ended up missing her stop for school. 

All she could think about was their interaction and…….. blue. His eyes were crystal blue. 

She was in fact late to the first period. Nothing new. 

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ NEXT WEEK ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ 

“He's here again!” she mumbles under her breath as she spots him in the same spot as last time. Embarrassingly, she tried to show up around the same time for a few days now but has failed to see him. Today she decided to show up a bit early and it worked. If he winked at her that is a good sign right? 

Now he's there. Yet she's too nervous to do anything. I mean what can she even do when he's across the tracks? She never has even taken that train before. He seems to be taking the train to school as well. She can tell by a school bag he's carrying. 

Well she's not gonna keep staring like a creep….. She has to say something! 

Y/N takes a deep breath to calm her growing nerves. Her stomach feels all queasy and the hands hidden within her winter gloves are sweating. She doesn't have much experience with romance. But if she doesn't try now then she may not ever get another chance. 

With that in mind, she walks directly across from him on her platform and her hand slowly lifts up. It takes all of her courage to not chicken out and her cheeks already feel warm. Her hand starts waving towards him trying to grasp his attention. Thankfully after a few seconds, the boy notices and looks over at her. 

Oh. Oh shoot. 

Her heart flutters and she doesn't know what to do. I mean he cant hear her unless she screams. Her eyes darted around and the station was crowded as usual at this hour. What was she thinking?! In a matter of seconds he swiftly puts his phone in his coat pocket. Giving her all his attention. So he does remember her. 

Her brain short circuits and she slowly mouths that first thing she can think of. 

“I…. Like…. Your….hair!” 

….

….

….

She wants to die. 

Oh my god this is so embarrassing. She's never talking to any boy again. Goodbye world. He probably thinks she’s lame and awkward. With those looks he’s definitely popular at whatever school he attends. As Y/N is having an internal crisis, she watches as he likely thinks about her words. Honestly she hopes he didn't understand her. That will save her the embarrassment she brought upon herself. 

She watches as he tilts his head to the side and he smiles. 

Y/N swears she can hear her own heartbeat in her ears. He's pretty but the way his face brightens up when he smiles is just extraordinary. She didn't understand, it was in the middle of winter yet she felt hot to the touch.

“I…. Like…. Your…. Face” he mouths back to her as he pushes himself off the wall to stand up fully. Confidence radiating off him from that one line. 

Huh? Wait, did he just…

Before she had time to process this, his train zooms into the station and stops for passengers to get on. It blocked her view of him, thankfully erasing his view of her flustered state. It was short lived as he appeared near the window and continued staring at her with a smile or smirk, she couldn't quite tell. 

She saw as he lifted his hand and waved bye to her.

Y/N was so dazed at his responses that she didn't respond right away. But as the train slowly moved about to leave the station. Her hand quickly shoots up and waves bye. A look of awe in her face. 

“B-Bye……” she mumbles out loud as if he could hear her. Maybe it was her flustered face. Maybe it was the way her body was stiff as a rock. Maybe he saw her mumble something under her breath. 

Because after her little awkward wave to him, his lips curved upwards more and he started chuckling a little at her. Straight after that, the train zooms and exits the station in a flash. The cold breeze from the train's departure makes her hair sway in the wind. It's freezing out here, yet her body felt like it was on fire. 

She stood there frozen like winter air got the better of her. 

Already planning to come to this station at the same time tomorrow. 

And for the first time in a while Y/N was early for school.

[hitomisuzuya]

Little things Scaramouche does when he is love. Fluffy fluff fluff.

Everyone, again thank you so much for all your supportive comments and DMs. They really encourage me. For now, some fluff. Smut later.

Color Scaramouche impressed when he fell in love. He didn't think it was possible. At first, it irked him to no end.

The way you smiled at him. Treated him patience, and kindness. Slung his bullshit back at him. The way you smelled so good all the time. The little ways you would try and get his attention. How your cheeks blushed. How he listed every one his flaws, only to have you respond with that was something you liked about him.

All of it. You.

He loves you. Plain and simple. He would burn the world to the ground for you and not think twice. You are his heart. His everything.

Scaramouche often says that there is hardly any difference between the snow and the rain. He never really appreciated either element until he kissed you in the pouring rain or when it snowed.

When he is mood for soft, open mouthed, passionate kisses (which was all the time, whatever chance he could find) he would swipe his thumb over your lower lip before he kissed you, looping one arm around your waist to pull you close. The way you always moaned into his mouth was heavenly to him. The way you wrapped your arms around him like you clinging to him while you kissed him back with those soft lips of yours, he can never get enough.

If he is reading, he likes it when you rest your head in his lap. He'll idly stroke your hair while he makes comments about what he read.

When he is thinking, Scaramouche will idly play with your hair, twisting a lock around his finger or letting it cascade through his fingers.

He will randomly put his hat on your head just to see the shy blush coat your cheeks. Be prepared for some teasing though. He loves seeing the affect he has on you.

When you sleep in the same bed with him, which is 99% of the time, Scaramouche will always sleep closest to the door so that if anything happened, he could act faster to protect you.

Generally likes being the big spoon. He'll have you tucked curled against his chest. However, he does have his vulnerable days where he likes to be the little spoon. Either position makes him feel loved and wanted. He knows you would protect him to.

Scaramouche loves taking warm baths with you. It very relaxing for him to hold you in the warm, scented water.

This man, the ways he would seek out your attention are relentless. If he thinks you aren't giving him enough attention (you always did, but what could he say, he is a greedy man) he will actually take your stuff so you have to ask for it back. He'll bat pens out your hand, flick the cover of a book you are reading. Or pick you up and put you in his lap. There is no length he wouldn't go to for your attention.

He'll ask you to read to him. He loves the sound of your voice.

Scaramouche loves to spoil you. Rotten. If you want something, it doesn't matter how expensive it is, he'll buy it for you. He wants to provide for you. When you get married, no spouse of his will have to work if they don't want to. But he won't stop you either.

While walking out somewhere with you, his arm is always around you or holding your hand when you are out together. It was a sign you are taken. He will glare at people he thought looked too long at you. If you are sitting down, he will always have to be touching you somehow.

When he reached out for the first time hold your hand, he got shy and looped his pinky through yours instead.

Scaramouche knows how to dance, and the one he will dance with is you. "You can dance?" Cue the trademark scoff and eye roll. "Just let me lead."

He spray your perfume on his wrists or on his sheets and pillows. He'll bury his face in your hair to breathe in the scent on your skin or your hair.

He will leave little love notes in your pockets, around your bedroom, anywhere you could find. He often has trouble even finding words that would do how he feels about you justice. Nothing was good enough to him, but he sure still would try.

[pamwritessometimes]

Roots in my dreamland

Dean Winchester x Forest Spirit!Reader

Summary: Dean encounters a mysterious forest spirit who’s an enigma.

Loosely based ivy by Taylor Swift.

Warnings: unprotected SMUT (bring protection with yourself, yes, even to a forest), P in V, mentions of being naked in the snow, fingering, crack ending, grammar mistakes galore.

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The wind howled through the towering trees, winter’s chill clinging to the air as Dean wandered deeper and deeper into the forest. He wasn’t sure why he kept on going on this path. There were no signs of danger, no clear trail to follow, yet something kept dragging him in. It felt ancient here, in this part of the forest, like time itself was buried in these moss-covered grounds.

The reports of strange occurrences in the area had led him here in the first place: people disappearing, then reappearing with no memory of where they’d been. Dean had taken it as another case, another monster to hunt… but what he found instead was something he didn’t understand, and certainly something he couldn’t really fight.

He had found her.

His steps slowed as he reached the edge of a small clearing. The pale light of the crescent moon covered everything in a soft, silvery glow, casting shadows on the ice frozen ground. And there she was, standing just beyond the oak trees, her figure nearly blending into the darkness of the brusque, winter night.

She looked at him as if she’d been waiting.

She always did.

Dean didn’t know her name. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what she was. Her skin glimmered, like the moonlight itself was part of her, and her eyes – deep and dark, just like the forest itself – held some sort of timelessness in them. Every time he saw her, he felt like something inside him was growing, something he couldn’t quite control.

“Why do you keep showing up?” he asked, his voice rough, soaked in frustration. “Every time I get close to leaving this place behind, I—” He broke off, his mind going momentarily frigid in the air. “I come back.”

Her gaze softened ever so slightly as she took a cautious step toward him with her bare feet leaving no mark in the snow. She was now close enough that he could feel the soft glow of her skin radiating off her eternal warmness and the unusual flowers threaded in her locks. “Maybe it’s because you belong here more than you think.”

Dean’s chest tightened. Belong? He didn’t belong anywhere, least of all here in this strange, enchanted place. But he couldn’t deny that every time he saw her, a part of him felt like it was coming home.

“You need to let me go” he whispered, though his feet stayed rooted to their spot.

Her gaze softened, and for a moment, she looked almost sad. “You can’t fight what’s already growing inside you.” she said quietly. Her hand lifted, brushing gently against his cheek. The warmth of her touch like fire beneath his skin.

Dean stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. “What is this?” he rasped with eyes wide, his hand instinctively catching hers, holding it against his face. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to pull her closer or push her away. “Why can’t I…?”

She smiled softly, but there was an edge of sorrow in her eyes. “You’ve planted your roots here” she whispered. “And so have I.”

He didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to believe that he was tied to this place — to her — but the truth of her words cut deeper than any blade. And he had his fair share of experience with those. Every time he tried to walk away, she pulled him back, and no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t seem to break free.

“I– I can’t stay here. This…” He gestured to the forest around them, then to her. “This isn’t me.”

“I know.” she said simply. But she didn’t move away. She stood there, her eyes searching his, like she was waiting for him to make a choice he didn’t know how to make. Dean’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with thoughts of all the things he was supposed to be doing, all the people he was supposed to be saving. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t keep coming back. And yet…

“I don’t want to leave..” he admitted, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them. His hand tightened around hers, his thumb brushing over her skin. “I can’t.”

She leaned into him then, her body soft and warm against his. Her fingers traced the line of his clean-shaven jaw. “Then don’t” she whispered, her breath hot against his neck. He groaned, the weight of everything crashing over him at once. His responsibilities, the danger, the distance between their worlds (whatever her world was in the first place), none of it mattered right now. The only thing that mattered was her.

“I’m already in too deep” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “You’re in my head, in my damn dreams. I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop coming back right here. To you. I can’t keep my distance from you.”

“I know” she said, her lips ghosting over his. “I feel it too.”

Before he could think, before he could stop himself, his mouth was on hers, his hands gripping her waist as he pulled her closer. The kiss was raw, desperate, like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground. Her body pressed against his, soft and warm and so right, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t care about the consequences. Only the ethereal feeling of her silky skin against the palm of his hand and the velvet of her lips. She kissed him back with the same intensity, her hands tangling in his hair as they stumbled back, their bodies melding together. He could feel the heat rising between them, the fire building in his chest as he lost himself in her…completely, utterly, involuntarily lost. 

They sank to the icy forest floor, the snowy moss cool beneath them as they tumbled into each other’s arms. Though, somehow, Dean didn’t feel cold. He didn’t feel his skin being affected by winter’s brusque. Her hands trailed patterns over him, her touch so incredibly soft, almost like a ghost, but it magically made his body immune to the weather. He responded with equal vehemence, his lips trailing down her neck, tasting the woodsy warmth of her skin.

“Dean” she whispered, her voice trembling with need, but there was something else there too, something fragile, like she was holding back. “You need to–”

“No” he cut her off, his voice rough. “I don’t want to think about it. Not now.”

She hesitated, her breath hitching as his hands moved lower, pulling her closer. “But you’ll have to leave.”

Dean’s movements stilled, her words slicing through his hazy state of desire. She was right. He would have to leave. This, whatever the hell this was, couldn’t last. He didn’t belong in her world, and she didn’t belong in his.

But for now, he didn’t care.

“For tonight” he murmured, his lips brushing over hers, “Just– please.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his, and after a long moment, she nodded as a sign of her silent agreement. They moved together again, slower this time, like they were savoring every moment, every touch, every warm glow of her hand on his skin. The world outside the forest faded away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in the soft gleam of moonlight, the ancient trees standing tall silent around them.

═════════ 𖤐🤍𖤐 ═════════

Dean kissed her lips slowly, his mind completely fogged by need. He didn’t know her, didn’t understand exactly what she was, but none of that mattered now. Not in this moment. Not when every part of him was drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain, couldn’t fight. Just for tonight, he let himself get lost in her. His hands found their way to her soft, leaf-woven dress, fingers trailing along the strange fabric that did a sinfully poor job at hiding her curves. As he slid his hands down her waist, her lips parted in a heavenly moan, a testament of her sharing the same need as him. His fingers traced slow and purposeful patterns along her upper thigh, teasing her skin beneath the hem of her skirt (or whatever magical leaf-dress she was wearing). Their breath met halfway as she arched into him, her hands gripping his shoulders as he kissed down her neck, tasting the warmth of her otherworldly pulse beneath his lips. 

He leaned back slightly, looking into her eyes, feeling the gravity of the moment settle around the pair. “I want you” he murmured. He really did. He had no idea how, why or who, to be frank, but he craved her.

Her lashes fluttered as she struggled to look into his emerald green orbs. It was just like the forest.  “Then take me” she whispered back.

With a slow movement, he pressed her back against the soft, icy moss. The world around them slowly faded as he kissed her again. Deeper this time… pouring all his desire into the action, savoring the taste of her lips, and the way her celestial presence made him feel. His hands explored her body, making it his goal to commit every little line to memory. He wanted to remember this. Her hands slid under his shirt, warm fingers dancing over his skin, fueling the fire in him. He could feel her heat radiating against him and he responded to that by deepening the kiss, wanting to wipe everything out of his memory, except for this.

His fingers were still under her dress, exploring the soft skin of her thighs, inching closer to her honey-soaked pussy. As he finally met her heat, she gasped, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, her body arching against him as an encouragement for him to continue. 

Dean met her gaze, searching for any sign of hesitation, but he saw none. He slowly slid his fingers deeper, feeling her sweet cunt envelop him. Her eyes fluttered shut, and a low moan escaped her lips as he began to move his middle finger in and out. He kept his gaze locked on hers as he couldn’t help but murmur a breathless “You're incredible. So incredibly beautiful. So wet for me already.”

With each thrust of his fingers, he felt her walls clench around him, and eventually he found a rhythm that matched the heartbeat of the forest around them. 

“Dean” she moaned as her nails dug into his shoulders. “I need to feel all of you.”

Amidst hearing that, he captured her lips again, pouring every drop of his need into the kiss. 

He couldn’t wait any longer either. His own need had reached a fever pitch. His fingers slowly slipped out of her core, which earned a whine from her parted lips. He kissed her hard, his tongue sliding against hers as his fingers worked at the button of his jeans, his breath coming in shallow gasps. She was more than happy to help him, her hands quick and eager as she pushed his jeans down over his hips, his painfully hard length springing free from its confinements. He could feel the heat of her body, the way she pulled him closer, her legs wrapping around his waist, not a single thing between them now.

Dean’s hand slid up her thigh, guiding himself to her pussy, and he hesitated for a brief second, meeting her gaze again. Again, there was no doubt in her eyes, only a quiet plea for him to close the distance between them finally. He slid the tip of his cock up and down her sloppy heat a few times before he finally began to ease himself in. He pushed into her slowly, inch by incredible inch, savoring the feel of her cunt hugging him so snug. The soft gasp that escaped her lips as he filled her  was enough to make his cock twitch inside of her. She was tight, and oh, so warm, and every inch of him ached with the need to move, but he forced himself to go slow, to feel every moment, every convulsion of her pussy.

Her hands gripped his back, nails biting into his skin as her hips rose to meet him, her body urging him deeper and deeper – despite his effort to stay calm just for a moment. The feeling of her wrapped around him was almost too much and not enough at the same time. He groaned, his head falling against her shoulder as he pulled out almost all the way before thrusting into her once more, harder this time, losing himself in the way she moved beneath him.

She moaned his name, the sound sent a shiver down his spine. Dean’s pace quickened, his hips moving in time with hers, each thrust deeper, harder, rougher. 

Her fingers tangled in his hair, her lips finding his again as they moved together, the rhythm growing faster, more urgent. Every sound she made, every arch of her back, every gasp and moan spurred him on, driving him closer to the edge.

Dean’s hand slipped between them, finding her clit, and the moment he touched her there, she cried out, her body trembling underneath him as her release hit her, hard and fast.

“Dean, oh my— i’m going to—” and with that, her walls clenched around him, gushing all over his length. Threatening to slip out of her, because of the force of her release, he thrusted himself deeper. And then, he couldn’t hold back any longer. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, I can’t—” and with a low groan, he followed her over the edge, his muscles tensing as his hot, white seed filled her, his hips bucking erratically as he tried to make his orgasm last as long as it is possible. 

For a long-long moment, neither of them dared to mov. Their bodies tangled together, the only sound is their ragged breathing as they came down from their highs. Dean’s forehead rested against hers, their lips brushing in soft, lazy kisses as they lay there, utterly spent.

They lay together in the quiet of the clearing, the warmth of their bodies cutting through the chilly air. Dean stared up at the sky, the stars barely visible through the branches overhead. His heart was still racing, his mind already starting to spin with what would come next. He still had no idea who she was. He still didn’t know if she was the one behind all those strange happenings around the area. 

═════════ 𖤐🤍𖤐 ═════════

Then reality crept back in.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Dean blinked, once, twice, his body stiffening. The warmth that had enveloped him was gone, replaced by the biting cold of the winter air. He lifted his head, eyes squinting in confusion as his surroundings snapped back into focus. The enchanted glow, the surreal energy of the forest… all gone. Just the regular, old clearing. And there, standing at the edge of it, was Sam, staring at him like he’d lost his damn mind.

“Dude” Sam started, his voice incredulous, “why the hell are you naked? It’s the middle of winter.”

Dean frowned, slowly realizing his current state. He glanced down at himself, sure enough, he was sprawled out on the cold, snowy moss, wearing nothing but his birthday suit. The warmth of her body and everything that had felt so real was now a distant memory. And yet… he swore it had happened.

“I…” Dean sat up, quickly gathering his clothes from the ground and putting them on, trying to come up with some kind of explanation that didn’t make him sound like a lunatic. “I was, uh… investigating.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Investigating? Naked? In the freezing cold?”

Dean let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his messy hair. “It’s— It’s a long story.”

“Yeah, well, make it quick, because I’ve been looking for you for an hour, man” Sam grumbled. “What happened? You were supposed to check out the weird stuff going on, not have some naked winter party.”

Dean’s gaze darted around the clearing. She was nowhere to be found, no sign of her leaf-woven dress, her touch, not even a trace of her pinewood scent. It was like she had never been there. The forest felt… ordinary now. The magic, the connection… they all seemed to have vanished with her.

“I’m not sure” Dean admitted, standing up and brushing the snow off his legs, the chill sinking into his bones now that reality was firmly back in place. “There was this… girl. I think.” He paused, frowning. “Maybe?”

“Girl?” Sam’s eyebrow shot up even higher.

“Yeah, I’ve been seeing her for a while now… She was—” Dean gestured vaguely, trying to put words to what had just happened, but it felt harder and harder to grasp the details. “She was real, I think. Or… maybe she wasn’t. She could’ve been some kind of forest spirit. Or maybe I hit my head?” He shrugged, genuinely at a loss. “I don’t know, man.”

Sam shook his head, clearly unimpressed. “So you’re saying you’ve been seeing a girl, possibly not real, and decided to strip naked in the middle of the forest when you saw her once more?”

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it, his frown deepening. “Okay, it sounds weird when you say it like that.”

“It is weird, Dean!” Sam exclaimed, motioning around them. “Do you see anyone else here? Anyone at all?”

Dean looked around the clearing again, trying to find any trace of her. There was nothing, just the trees, the snow, and the silent forest. No footprints, no clothes, no evidence that anyone other than him had been there at all. And yet, he could still feel her, the way her body had moved against his, the way her voice had whispered his name in the quiet of the night.

“I swear, it was real” Dean muttered, more to himself than to Sam. “I felt it.”

Sam sighed, getting Dean’s jacket from the ground and tossing it to him. “Whatever you felt, we need to get out of here before you freeze to death. We’ll figure it out later.”

Dean caught the jacket, wrapping it around himself with a huff. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, or if anything had happened at all, but there was still an ache in his chest, a feeling like he’d left something behind in that clearing. Or maybe it had all been in his head. Maybe the forest had cast some kind of spell on him, drawing him into some half-dream state where reality and fantasy blurred together. He wasn’t sure anymore. Was he— was he one of those victims he read about? But why does he remember it then? 

As he followed Sam out of the clearing, Dean glanced back one last time. The trees stood tall and silent, like keeping the secret of the girl’s presence. There was no sign of her. No shimmering figure stepping from the shadows, no soft voice calling him back.

But for just a second, he thought he saw something. — a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a faint, glowing shimmer in the air.

He shook his head. Maybe he was imagining it. Or maybe… just maybe… she'd been real after all.

Sam glanced over at him, frowning. “Dean, you okay? You look… weird.”

Dean smirked, pulling the jacket tighter around him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… wondering if I’m gonna need therapy after this.”

Sam groaned. “Probably. Come on, let’s get you some dry clothes before you start hallucinating snow fairy porn again.”

Dean chuckled, though his mind lingered on the thought. Snow fairies, huh? He wouldn’t put it past the universe.

But as he walked away, he couldn’t help but wonder — had it been real? Or had it just been a fever dream? He’d never know for sure. But either way… he wasn’t complaining.

"Next time, though" he muttered under his breath, "I’m bringing a blanket."

═════════ 𖤐🤍𖤐 ═════════

Don’t even get me started. The crack fic muse made me do it. Not that I mind.🤭

Let me know what you think.

And have a nice day!🤍

[silentglassbreak]

Fragmented

Noah Sebastian x OFC

I’M BACK BABY.

You didn’t actually think I wasn’t going to write Noah and Leena’s wedding, did you?! What kind of monster do you think I am?? LOL I hope you enjoy.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12 @poisongirl616 @missduffsblog @reidsblessing @malerieee @jilliemiw86 @thisbicc @xx-like-a-villian-xx @diabolicdiatonics

Epilogue

Who decides what a flower is named? Who looked at a flower and said ‘rose’, or ‘tulip’, or ‘daisy’? Whoever was in charge of that was a strange individual.

These thoughts ran through my mind as I stared at a bundle of black pansies. Thats what I mean; who the fuck named these flowers?!

It was easier to think about that, than feeling the pitting fear in my gut. The last six months had been dream-like. Leena agreeing to marry me, and being over the moon and showing her ring off to everyone. She had been so busy during this time, planning and preparing for Laura to have the baby (which she did last month), I felt as though I only saw her in blurs.

She was always running, but what made it acceptable was that she was no longer running away from me. When the days finally relaxed, that’s when she found her way home, into bed, where no one else had her attention but me. She spent her free time gushing about the wedding plans, and making sure everything was perfect.

She had near complete creative control over the wedding, given that was her day anyway. I just wanted full planning control over the honeymoon. She had hesitantly agreed, but I knew she wouldn’t be disappointed.

We would spend a week in a cabin in Denali, AK, during the season where there is just enough sunshine to melt the snow. We would do whatever she wanted while we were there, but the cabin would be fully stocked in case we didn’t plan to leave. Isolated. Off the grid. A whole week, buried in the woods with her. Hiding from the rest of the world.

It sounded surreal. Like the best case scenario I could ever dream of.

Addie would stay with her Dad for the week in Seattle. The only part I had to really play was completed and set, so I felt a small lift of relief.

That is, until I realized it wasn’t the only part I still had to play.

There were no second thoughts or concerns. My feet were as warm as they could possibly be, and everyone knew that. I wavered none.

Mileena was my endgame. She was everything I would ever need. The woman had me so far under a spell of need and desire - pure unfiltered love and devotion. It was supernatural. A phenomenon very few get to experience in their lifetime. I would do whatever I could to ensure she was mine until our last breaths.

My nerves, however, persisted through the excitement and set in a deep-rooted anxiety. What if I screwed up? What if I still wasn’t good enough? What if she realized that a pathetic, unstable, foolish wretch like myself had captured her light, and ran?

I’m no fool; I know I’m a good man. I just know that she’s better, and that’s terrifying.

I was pulled from my thoughts when a large hand clapped me on the shoulder.

“You alright over here, mate?” I turned to see the long, dark-haired Brit staring at me, a contagious smile on his face.

It was ironic, given that I was once foolish enough to be concerned and jealous of him.

“Hey Oli.” I gave him a calm smile. “I’m good, just a little anxious.”

He nodded, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Well, fuck yeah you should be! You’re getting married!”

Letting out a hard breath, my eyes glanced around the room. People were filing into their seats and stopping to say hello to me and the guys, who were properly lined up behind me.

I looked back at Oliver, taking note of his black, jeweled suit. “I’m glad you came, man.”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side.

“I wouldn’t miss it, brother. You and Mileena are the closest example of real love I’ve seen in a while. You’re a lucky man.”

This made my teeth show with how wide my smile stretched. “You’re absolutely right.”

“I’ll see you after the ceremony, alright? Just breathe, remember your lines, and cry if you fucking can, man. They love that shit.”

I cackled, slapping his arm. “Will do.”

-

Every passing second was painful. We were lined up, ready and willing as ever to witness her show her face. My palms were dampening at an alarming rate, and I continued to swipe them across the thigh of my tuxedo.

“Calm down, Noah. It’s almost time.” Nick’s voice directly behind me whispered, and I felt the lump in my throat form. “You’ve got this.”

My eyes looked down at my shoes, shiny and black, exactly how they should be. The carpet I stood on was a deep crimson, off-setting the white accented patterns everywhere.

The first notes began to play, and my eyes squeezed shut.

This was it. This was where we finished it. This was forever.

First, Laura came down, Addison’s small body in her arms. Her beautiful, tiny black dress flowed, her hair braided and adorned with deep red roses. Laura approached, bringing Addie to me so I could kiss her cheek and give her a quick nuzzle to her nose. She smiled brightly at me, few teeth shining. An unbelievable image of her mother.

Taking her place on the other side of the altar, the music quickly changed, and I watched as Angel, black bow tie on his collar, came down with a white felted box in his teeth.

Uniform as ever, he marched proudly between the rows of seats, and came directly to Nick as he called. My best man took the box, and sat Angel directly next to him. He took a quick second to remove both rings, and stepped across the stage to hand Laura hers. He placed a swift peck on her lips, and patted Addie on the head.

Then, the Officiant stepped forward.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the bride.”

Standing quickly, everyone’s heads turned toward the end of the aisle, and my eyes instinctively dropped to the floor. I had to breathe. I had to keep my composure. I couldn’t slip now. It was fucking showtime, and I never got nervous.

Hearing the crowd gasping and cooing signaled she was coming, and I couldn’t fuck this up now.

Taking a half of a second to will my breathing to steady, I swallowed my stress, and glanced upward, hands tucked neatly behind my back, and legs shoulder width apart. I was ready.

Except that when my eyes caught her, I almost toppled right then and there.

Make no mistakes, Mileena was stunning in every form; made up, dressed down, straight out of a shower or sick as a dog. Didn’t matter. She was breathtaking - always.

But right here, in this very moment, my knees were going to buckle at the sheer sight of her.

Long, midnight hair hung in large, loose curls down her shoulders. Slender streaks of deep red strands hid within the curls. That was new. The stark white dress she wore flowed loosely below her hips, but was impossibly tight around her rib cage, black lace wrapping her midsection in a harsh corset. Her dress was modest, a high neckline coming to wrap around her throat. Lace black sleeves covered the length of her arms, and in her hands she held a variety of black pansies and roses.

All that was lovely, but what made the air rush from my lungs was her eyes. Staring directly at me.

These people, the nearly one hundred bodies all staring at her as she flowed effortlessly down the aisle, holding her Dad’s arm for support, were lost on her.

She could only see me.

Mileena’s eyes were not what I expected. Fear? Nerves? Second thoughts?

None.

They were sure. They were steady. They were all for me.

My chest began tingling, my hands beginning to fidget in anticipation. I wanted to get my hands on her. I wanted to touch her face, feel she was real.

“Who gives this woman to this man?”

Her dad squeezed her hand, smiling down at her.

“I do.”

He kissed the back of her hand before giving me one last, stern look. Taking his seat, I took her fingers in mine and led her up to me. Her lips were turned up in a smile that I had never seen. I couldn’t place what it was, but it was blinding.

The words being spoken about our gathering, and why we were here were mute to me. I couldn’t stop looking at her, hands in mine, and admiring how absolutely perfect she was. No flaws. No hesitation.

How the fuck did I manage this? How did I get this fucking lucky?

“Noah, your vows?”

It occurred to me that I was being spoken to, and I had to pull myself from the bubble I had built around her and I.

Realizing what was expected, I smirked, nodding my head. “Right, sorry.”

There were small giggles in the crowd.

I cleared my throat, and regained eye contact with her.

“Mileena Jane,” Her face softened, fingers squeezing mine. “You would think that given my profession, I’d be good at this kind of thing.” She raised an eyebrow. “But I’m not, so please, forgive me if it’s awful.”

Rolling her eyes playfully, she squeezed m my hands again encouragingly.

“I met you during the darkest time of my existence. I was a drunk, disgusting mess when you found me. Although I had never expected anyone to be willing to put up with me long enough to fix me, you still picked me up, and put me back together.”

Her expression turned to some kind of surprise. I kept breathing, working my way through it.

“You’ve given me everything I could ever ask for, and I admit, I’m greedy enough to accept all that I can. You are my absolute light.”

Her eyes were welling up, and I felt slightly proud.

“So, today, I make these vows to you. I vow to protect you at any and all possible consequence. I vow to be faithful, to be fair, and to always bear the weight of our burdens. I vow to never let anyone or anything come between this love we’ve found.”

The tears began slipping down her face.

“I vow to be yours, until the last breath I take…” I let a smirk pull my lips. “even if you’re the one taking it, because I forgot to switch over the laundry.”

A harsh laugh choked out of her, and she brought one hand to her lips.

It took her a moment to compose before the Officiant turned to her.

“Mileena?”

She was wiping a single tear from her eye, working hard to not smear her makeup. She giggled.

“I should’ve gone first, because I straight up do not know how to follow that.”

The crowd laughed, and I grinned brightly at her. Her hand rejoined mine and she sighed loudly.

“Oh Noah,” She shook her head lightly, a knowing look on her face. “I don’t think, throughout this time we’ve spent together, you really understand how much you’ve healed me. Having our love, and this life we built, is the only reason I breathe. The only reason I am here today, is because you busted your way into my life, and pulled me from the reclusive shell I had hid in for years. For that, you will never understand how grateful I am.”

The familiar sting began in my eyes, and I remembered Oli’s words. I would let them fall. She deserved to see every last vulnerable second.

“Noah Sebastian Davis,” I inhaled, waiting. “today I make these vows to you. I vow to be your rock. Your ground. The voice that brings you down when the fame goes to your head.” She smirked at me, and the crowd laughed. The first tear fell from my eyes.

“I vow to be your absolute peace. I vow to be steady, never wavering from this place as your partner. I vow to do my best to keep you sane, despite the way I know you’ll fight me.” I squeezed her hands, tears now streaming. “I vow to always be yours, and nothing less. Until my dying day, I vow my life to you.”

-

We had less than five minutes until the reception started, and we had to make a grand entrance. However, Leena had plans that had to be attended to before we could go anywhere.

She had me pinned up against the wall behind the door of the reception hall, lips attached to mine in a passionate, heated kiss. Her hands were gripping the lapels of my tux in a death grip. My arms were wrapped around her waist, savoring the feeling of her body pressed against mine.

“Do we skip out and head to the hotel? I need you so fucking bad.” Her mouth breathed against my neck as she spoke.

As much as my cock loved that idea, stirring from its place inside my boxers, I gripped her arms, separating us slightly.

“How badly I wish we could, my love. But Laura will murder us both if she doesn’t get to make her speech.”

She groaned, pressing my leg between hers.

“Worth it?”

I chuckled, brushing a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Let’s go, baby. I promise, it’ll be worth it.”

Making our way into the reception, guests applauded as we walked to our table.

The speeches were first. The champagne toast (sparkling water for Leena and I), was complete, and we gave our own speeches seamlessly.

It was time for the first dance, and I smiled at Mileena.

“Ready?”

Her eyes scanned the small stage. “I am, but where’s the DJ?”

The stage was vacated, only a few stray instruments laying across it.

Mileena had planned for our first dance to be set to ‘If I’m There’, played by the DJ. However, unbeknownst to her, I had other plans.

“Oh, he’s on a break. I asked someone else to help us out.”

She raised her eyebrows at me, clearly annoyed that I had changed the plan without her knowledge.

“Where’s my happy couple?” The accented voice rang through the speakers, and her head snapped over to see Oliver stood on stage, suit jacket discarded, and smiling at us. “Ready for your first dance, love?”

Her mouth fell agape.

Nick, Jolly, and Folio climbed the stage, grabbing their respective instruments.

“What is this?”

“I thought you’d like to dance to your real favorite song.”

She was stunned. “What do you mean? If I’m There is my favorite.”

I grabbed her hand, leading her out of her chair. “It’s your favorite Omens song. It’s not your favorite song of all time.”

I could see the gears turning in her head.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you for the first time, Mr. And Mrs. Davis!” Oli’s voice rang out and the guests cheered.

I pulled her onto the floor, and I could see the look of adoration on her face as the guys began the opening chords, Oliver’s voice melodic as ever.

“My head is haunting me, and my heart feels like a ghost. I need to feel something, cause I’m still so far from home.”

When recognition hit her face, her eyes teared up again. Wild of her to think I didn’t know her favorite song.

I pulled her body in close to mine, eyes meeting hers, and smiled warmly.

“Cross your heart and hope to die. Promise me you’ll never leave my side.”

She sniffled. “Noah, I can’t believe you did this.”

“Show me what I can’t see when the spark in my eyes is gone. You got me on my knees. I’m your one man cult.”

Leaning down to speak directly into her ear, I whispered. “I would do anything for you.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die. Promise you I’ll never leave your side.”

She swayed with me, eyes glancing over to Oliver every so often. Her own private performance entrancing her.

“Cause I’m telling you, you’re all I need. I promise you, you’re all I see.”

Leena’s Dad lead Laura out onto the floor. Andy pulled Juliet. Matt pulled his girlfriend Sarah. All of the couples beginning to join us.

“Cause I’m telling you, you’re all I need. I’ll never leave.”

A fierce smile broke out onto her face as the song crescendoed.

“So you could drag me through hell, if it meant I could hold your hand.”

Our bodies kept up with the tempo.

“I will follow you, cause I’m under your spell. And you can throw me to the flames.”

“I will follow you. I will follow you.”

Her head came to rest on my chest, breathing into the side of my neck.

“I love you so much, Noah.”

I smiled, leaning my cheek against her head.

“I love you too, Mileena.”

So you can drag me through hell, if it meant I could hold your hand.

I will follow you, cause I’m under your spell.

And you can throw me to the flames.

I will follow you.

I will follow you.

[itsjunear]

Hidden Feelings. Part 3

Hello everyone! Here is the last and third part. I'm sorry for taking so long, this time there are no excuses, I just ask for forgiveness 😭😭Thanks to everyone for the reblogs and likes ❤❤❤ I really appreciate it. I hope you like it, sorry if there are any mistakes, English is not my first language. I love you all ❤❤❤

Warnings: Mentions of violence, mention of misogyny, if you squint you'll see a slight mention of nudity

Psdt: I'll advance that it has a happy ending. I hate sad endings, sorry. There's a bit of anguish, but everything gets resolved.

Part 1 Part 2

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By the Cauldron, perhaps my foolishness had led me to this situation.

Maybe I should have let Cassian or Az accompany me, after all, they knew their people better, and that would have avoided the whole mess I found myself in, knee-deep in crap.

I gasped for air as I tried to make my limbs obey, too tired to achieve any result. The cold pierced my bones, and I was sure I would freeze if I couldn't manage to move even a little. But everything hurt, my arms felt limp, my legs too weak to stand, and I could even feel my face starting to swell, bruises becoming more pronounced with each passing moment, and a stabbing pain in my side with every breath.

Where was Rhys? He said he would come to take me home in our last communication.

I tried to move a bit, flexing my knees with great effort as I groaned in pain, almost crying out from the ache on my right side, but only managed to end up with my face buried in the snow. Gods, it didn't feel so bad, it burned a bit, but the cold would help reduce the swelling. Immortal blood should already be doing its job trying to heal the wounds, but the pain didn't diminish in any way.

I closed my eyes as I tried to gather strength in my arms to push myself up when I heard footsteps approaching me. Then, my brain started working to alert me, and I forced myself to lift my head a little, assessing the threat. A tall figure, filled with shadows and wings, was running towards me. I almost sighed in relief when I distinguished Az's figure, getting closer and closer.

"Y/N" he shouted.

He knelt beside me, looking worried and as beautiful as ever, with his nose and cheeks flushed from the cold.

"What happened? By the Mother" His eyes scanned me up and down, assessing all the damage. He touched my face gently, and I winced when he brushed against my right cheek and withdrew his hand automatically, throwing an apologetic glance before icy anger took over his face.

Did I look that bad?

"I'm… fine, Az" I replied haltingly, struggling to speak but trying to keep the fog out of my head.

"Rhys said you would be here, and when he felt…" he cut himself off halfway through the sentence, gently moving me so he could bear my weight "I came as fast as I could, I'm sorry" his shadows swirled around us, restless.

"It's okay, Az. You're here" I repeated as I rested my head on his chest, allowing myself to savor the moment as I closed my eyes. He wrapped both arms around me, careful not to hurt me further, and enveloped us both with his wings.

"I'll take you home" he whispered lightly in my ear, and I nodded, unsure if he could see me or not. He gently carried me in his arms, and I buried my face in his neck, filling myself with his scent. However, I could feel his tense body, the anger he emitted was palpable even though he was trying to be as gentle as possible with me.

"I'm fine, Az, relax" I told him in a low tone. A little lie. Fatigue was killing me.

"You wouldn't say that if you saw the same thing I'm seeing" he grumbled.

If I could roll my eyes, I would have, but sleep began to invade me, and I no longer had the strength to argue with him. I was safe, and that was all that mattered. Az had come for me.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I woke up with a terrible headache.

Damn. I slowly opened my eyes, aware of where I was. In my room. Alive. I sighed and touched my face, pain-free. Good. I took a deep breath and sat up, feeling that slight twinge in my side again. I lowered my gaze and found bandages.

Great. I should have been healed by now. If they were just scratches, why was I still in bed?

"Because it weren't just scratches, you had two broken ribs and a contusion" Rhys leaned against the doorframe.

"Stop spying on me" I grumbled hoarsely.

He raised his hands in surrender and walked towards me, sitting beside me on the bed. "How do you feel?" he asked with a concerned voice.

"Like I've been beaten up" I simply replied, sighing "Cassian will kick my ass for this."

"I'd say he'll leave you alone until you're fully recovered and then drag you out of bed at dawn to train again" he replied with a gentle smile before returning to his distressed tone "You should have seen his face when he saw you unconscious in Az's arms. He was worried. We all were."

"I know, I'm sorry" I looked at my nails "I… I was ambushed and caught off guard, Rhys"

He took my hand, and I met his violet eyes "What happened?" he asked without pressure.

I knew he wouldn't force me to tell anything, but I wanted to, so I squeezed his hand in response and opened my shields to let him in.

I showed him everything. How I had to pretend to be a female who only wanted to drink until unconsciousness and how I had to flirt with other equally drunk males to get them to tell me something, anything. I showed him how the night before I had obtained information from an Ilyrian soldier about those females, how they had been killed, and why. When I almost vomited because their only justification was: "They couldn't be tamed anymore. We had to root it out before it spread to the others" as if they were just simple animals. And even when, in the middle of the night, I was packing my things to get out of that dump and several Ilyrians surrounded me, realizing I had been discovered. Every blow they struck me with, in the stomach, the head, the face, the back, how I felt pain everywhere, they had beaten me almost into unconsciousness as a warning, so that I wouldn't snoop around again, they had said. And the moments before Az found me in the middle of the snow.

When we returned to reality, Rhys's body was so tense that I could feel all that contained rage, so I just touched his arm in a gesture to calm down.

It worked, because he shot me a guilty look, and I raised my hand to stop him.

"Don't do that. This wasn't anyone's fault. You didn't send me there, I volunteered to go, and it just didn't turn out as we hoped" It seemed to calm him a bit, but not entirely, and I continued speaking. "Anyway, they didn't know who I was, maybe they suspected a bit, but they didn't have a chance to ask me"

Rhys shook his head.

"I haven't received any notification from the camp, you're probably right."

I nodded. "I'm fine, Rhys. This wasn't anyone's fault, it could have happened to anyone, even to you or Cassian and Az. Relax."

Rhys sighed before his gaze turned serious. "Azriel will definitely enjoy hunting them down."

I opened my mouth to respond when the shadow singer walked into the room with bandages in hand. A look of understanding passed between Rhys and he stood up from where he was.

"I'll leave you alone. Rest" he said before getting up from my side. "Take a few days off, nothing will be deducted from your salary." he joked with a small smile, and I laughed.

However, the laughter turned into a groan when that twinge attacked again, and I had to bring my hand to that spot.

"Majda said that in a few days you should be good as new, just with rest and medication, but it'll hurt until it's fully healed" Az said with a raised eyebrow.

"Great" I groaned again.

He walked to the bed and sat down, taking Rhys's place as his shadows roamed the room, one wrapping around a loose strand of my hair. I smiled and felt Az's intense gaze on me.

"I need to change your bandage" was all he said.

I nodded as I took off the oversized shirt that wasn't mine, probably his from the scent of cedar infused in it, when I remembered I wasn't wearing any underwear to cover my breasts, but honestly… it didn't matter, after all, he had already seen me vulnerable, bleeding, and almost dead.

His intense gaze never wavered from its target, which seemed to be me. So I let him do his work and just covered my breasts with the shirt.

"Thank you" I said as his hands touched me gently, hands full of scars that I loved so much, and I felt my skin tingling in every place he caressed "For coming to find me."

He looked at me and stopped. Taking my face in his hands, his hazel eyes filled with gentleness "You have nothing to thank me for. I'm sorry I arrived too late."

"Azriel, this isn't anyone's fault"

I shook my head, feeling my heart racing. It meant nothing more, Az was obviously worried, if the situation were reversed, I'd be the same. I had no reason to think this was something else, I wouldn't let my heart get carried away.

"I shouldn't have let you go alone, I had a bad feeling" he said as he leaned his forehead against mine, and I felt tears welling up in my eyes.

I shouldn't let him do this, how would I recover from this? How would I feel later, when I saw him with the beautiful and sweet Elain?

I blinked to clear my vision and pulled away from him. I couldn't… I just couldn't.

Az looked at me with hurt eyes, and his wings fluttered behind him the same way his shadows did, but he kept talking. "I'm sorry, truly. Seeing you there in the snow… By the Cauldron, I've never felt so much fear, and when you fell asleep…" He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up a bit "I was so terrified you wouldn't wake up again that…"

"Stop, Az" I interrupted him as my throat trembled and my heart ached "Don't say those things, okay?"

I couldn't let him continue talking. No. Because it would make me give in and tell him I've loved him for centuries.

"No" he challenged me, determined "Let me finish. I can't imagine… Seeing that I almost lost you made me panic because I couldn't imagine being immortal and living without you. And realizing that reality…"

"Az" I cut him off again as I grabbed one of his shoulders desperately and shook him slightly. "Stop, please" I let out a pained whisper.

I wanted to cry so badly, and I guessed his shadows sensed it because they ran over my arms as a form of comfort.

Azriel ignored me.

"I love you" he confessed then. "I have for a long time, so long that spending time with you was a sweet torture. You don't have to feel the same, I just wanted to tell you. I know we haven't been completely right for a few weeks, but we can fix it…"

"What?" my body trembled as I realized what he was saying, and the lump in my throat grew bigger.

He took my face in his hands and kissed my forehead gently. "I love you, I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you."

My heart, my poor heart that had been so hurt, filled with hope… and maybe… Yes. Maybe all of this was true, but… What about Elain?

"What?" Az's face filled with confusion. Damn, had I thought out loud? I sighed and realized I had already opened that door I had been so afraid to explore before.

"Elain… I've seen you with her, you know? You look comfortable with her, Az, and I don't want to get in the way…" I said without any reproach.

"Haven't you heard anything I told you before?" he responded with desperation. "I love you, only you. I'm completely yours." He sighed, and his wings drooped a little. "Elain is nice, I think she's great as a friend, nothing more. If I've spent more time with her lately, it's because I thought you needed space from me, because I saw you distancing yourself from me and I thought… Damn."

By the Mother. This was real.

"Do you love me?" was all I could ask, completely forgetting about Elain.

"I do. My heart and my soul are yours" he replied.

"Az…" I said his name in a sigh "I love you too, I have for centuries, probably since that time you ate the carrot cake I tried to bake and no one else wanted to try."

Az chuckled softly before leaning in and capturing my lips in a slow kiss, filled with years of longing, and the shirt that barely covered me left my breasts exposed as I raised my hands to tangle them in his hair. His lips felt soft against mine, and I opened my mouth in an invitation he gladly accepted, sliding his tongue in. I wanted to move a little more to feel him, but I let out a moan when that damn rib hurt me again. Az laughed in the midst of the kiss and pulled away.

"You shouldn't move too much yet" he said as he stroked my hair.

"I know, it's very annoy…"

"You look pretty good, actually. Rhys told me you're still not ready to train, but I think I'll see you in the ring tomorrow" Cassian's voice made an appearance in the room, startling us and interrupting us, so Az quickly raised a wing to try to cover me.

I let out a laugh that made me ache, and Cassian followed suit with a laugh.

Az handed me the shirt, and I put it on as we shared a amused look. There were still things we needed to figure out, but we would do it later.

Together.

@going-through-shit @isa1b2h3 @willowpains @mariahoedt @charlotteintumbleland @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @otherworldly-creatures-blog @sirens-and-moonflowers @i-am-infinite @kalulakunundrum @jenniferpendragon @randomperson1234sblog @abysshaven @coolepowersthings @fxckmiup @boygeniuses10 @fightmedraco @prettylittlewrites

[pricklepearbloom]

Ooh I love it I want more ruby/az 😍

a/n: FINE twist my arm! (jk I love Ruby and Az and I love YOU!)

masterlist

Windows Open

Pairing: Azriel x OC (Ruby)

Summary: Azriel can’t sleep without the windows open

Word Count: 900 (just a short little baby blurb!)

The cold night air whispered over Ruby’s arms making goosebumps erupt up and down her arms. Her body shivered to try and shake off the breeze, burrowing in further into the covers and closer to her own personal furnace. Her mate, Azriel. Who, for whatever reason, cannot sleep without the windows open. It drove Ruby batty. As someone who got cold very easily, she couldn’t stand sleeping with the windows open. Ruby glanced over at her lover, sound asleep with an arm thrown across her waist snoring without a care in the world. Her eyes narrowed in slight contempt at his ability to sleep while it was practically snowing in her bedroom. 

Her eyes shot over to the wide open window, biting her lip considering the probability that she could sneak out of his arms to close the window. He was completely asleep right? A loud snore ripped through Azriel making a fond smile etch itself onto her face at the obvious answer. Yeah, he’s definitely asleep, she mused to herself. She gently grabbed his hand that was wrapped around her waist and, as slowly as she could, she lifted it and started to scoot away from his grasp.

Subconsciously detecting the movement, Azriel’s hold tightened on Ruby, tucking her even closer to his chest. Ruby froze and waited a few minutes until she heard the snoring start again giving her the confidence to try again. She lifted his arm and wiggled her way out, slipping out of bed to tiptoe her way over to the window. Without the protection of the covers or Azriel’s body heat, Ruby’s shivering increased tenfold. She reached up feeling the freezing top of the window pane pulling down slowly so as not to wake Azriel up. The window started squeaking as she pulled it down and her body tensed so she made the split second decision to pull it down the rest of the way quickly. 

Once it was shut, she let out a breath of relief and turned around to head back into bed, hopefully to fall back asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. When she returned back to bed, her eyes met Azriel’s opened and trained on her. A sheepish smile found its way onto her face “it was cold.” she said simply. Azriel’s lips formed into a thin line on his face, eyes darting back and forth between hers. “I’m sorry, I just-” he cut himself off, obviously hesitating to finish his thought. “What is it?” Ruby asked quietly, brows furrowed on her forehead. 

Azriel took a deep breath before pushing on. “When I was younger, I was kept in a basement. No light. No people. Nothing. Every day I felt like I was being buried alive because the darkness felt like it was pressing in on me.” Azriel’s eyes shuddered close at the feeling of Ruby’s hand finding its way into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp giving him the comfort and courage to keep on. “Before the shadows found me, I was terrified of being kept in the dark, terrified of being contained like that. I can’t believe all of these years it’s still affecting me but because of it I just… I can’t-” “You can’t sleep with the windows closed.” Ruby finished softly understanding dawning in her eyes. “I’m sorry my love.” Ruby could practically see the self loathing take over Azriel making her shake her head vehemently. “Don’t you dare apologize. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I just thought… I don’t know, maybe you liked the sounds of the outside or got warm at night?” Azriel chuckled softly. “I wish. Still it’s not fair on you to make you freeze or keep you up every night just because of my baggage.” Ruby tilted her head in contemplation. “Maybe not, but I think I can take that on. Plus, maybe you’ll just have to hold me extra close to keep me warm.” She lifted her eyebrows up and down suggestively. 

Azriel’s shoulders visibly lowered relieved, a smile drawing on his face before he pulled her in close. “I can do that” He nestles his head into her neck inhaling her scent deep into his lungs. Ruby’s eyes shut in contentment before shooting open in realization, “wait!” She pulled away from his grasp and quickly opened the window before trotting back into bed finding a soft expression on Azriel’s face. “You’re too good for me.” He whispered into her ear, tucking her back into her place in his arms. She shook her head, “You deserve all of the love in the world Az and I’m honored to be able to give it to you.” She kissed his strong jaw before they both fell into a deep sleep for the night.

The following day, Ruby found a box with a bow on it sitting on her bed. Inside was a heated blanket that she clutched to her chest, feeling a warm rush spread through her chest. Knowing the cause was not from the blanket she sat on her bed basking in the fluttering in her stomach.

[life-at-hogwarts]

So cold (House of Gaunt)

Pairing: Ominis x GN!reader

Warnings: just a bit of fluff and drama

Wordcount: 1.3k

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

The first snow was always something special at Hogwarts. It turned the castle into something straight out of a fairy tale. You couldn’t help smiling to yourself when you heard the satisfying noise of fresh snow under your feet when you crossed the courtyard. Not that you particularly liked the winter but even you had to admit that the first snow had something magical. You were on your way to meet Sebastian and Ominis in the library to study together for the oncoming exams but since you were early you decided to take your time and took the longer way through the courtyard to catch a glimpse of the spectacle.

Suddenly something cold hit your temple and you quickly turned around to look for the culprit, expecting it to be Sebastian who was always up for some sort of mischief. Instead, you discovered Ominis, now innocently waving at you from across the courtyard. Before you had time to process what had happened you were hit again, this time right in the face. “Just you wait you little…,” you growled and quickly grabbed a handful of snow, throwing it in his direction. Ominis however caught the snowball midair with his wand and sent it right back to you, landing another hit. Sometimes you forgot that Ominis, although blind, was one of the most powerful wizards at Hogwarts. He was the heir of Slytherin after all and according to Sebastian he was an excellent duelist who had humbled the cheeky brunette a number of times.

You decided to go for a different tactic and sprinted over to him tackling him to the ground. He let out a surprised grunt when he found himself laying in the snow, unable to get up because there was someone on top of him. Satisfied with yourself you gave him a quick kiss on the top of his nose, then scrambled to get up before someone could ask what you were doing.

“You know, I was trying to be sweet,” Ominis grumbled while he brushed the snow off his robes.

“What can I say? I like to play rough,” you giggled and gave him another kiss on the cheek. “Are alright though?”

“I will be once I get my hug,” he said innocently, yet when you obliged and wrapped your arms around him, he quickly took the chance to stuff a handful of snow down your shirt. You squealed when it melted and trickled down your back and Ominis laughed mischievously.

“Oh, you are so going to pay for that!”

A few minutes later both of you were soaking wet and out of breath after chasing each other around the courtyard, giggling like children. The light snowfall was slowly turning into a blizzard, and you started to shiver in the biting wind.

“Let’s get you inside, you’re freezing,” Ominis declared and offered you his hand. You took it and wanted to head towards the library when Ominis held you back. “Let’s go to the common room. We can warm ourselves at the fireplace.” A tempting offer you had to admit.

“What about Sebastian? He’s waiting for us in the library,” you reminded him.

“I’ll send him an owl.”

The Slytherin common room was empty. Most students had gone to the Quidditch match that was taking place that afternoon. You shook your head at this – you couldn’t share their enthusiasm for sitting in the freezing cold watching people on broomsticks throw around balls. Luckily Ominis and Sebastian shared your sentiment on Quidditch, and you could therefore avoid going to the games altogether. With everyone gone you quickly made your way to the fireplace and warmed your hands by the fire while Ominis sat down on the sofa, kicked off his shoes and curled up in a worn knit blanket. You spent a few more minutes enjoying the welcoming heat of the fire before you joined him and snuggled up to him. When he wrapped the blanket around both of you and pulled you closer you sighed contently and buried your face in his chest. Neither of you spoke for a while, and you listened to the gentle cackle of the fire and Ominis deepening breaths and concentrated on the feeling of his chest slowly lifting and lowering. His long, elegant fingers began stroking your hair and tracing your features and it felt like time stood still. Being with Ominis always felt like you were the only two people in this world, as if the universe froze to watch, in awe of two souls dancing to the tune of love. And just for a moment it was perfect.

------------------------

When you were called to the headmaster’s office you immediately knew what it was about.

 It was no secret that the Gaunts and headmaster Black were close. No doubt Marvolo had told on you. Yet nothing could have prepared you for what was waiting for you when you entered the office. Erebus Gaunt. Ominis father turned around when he heard you enter, his dark stare fixated on you. Headmaster Black gestured you to come closer. “You know why you’re here I presume?” he asked you solemnly. You held his gaze and nodded slowly. “Marvolo’s father asked to have a word with you. I will leave you alone so you can talk.” Please don’t leave me alone with him, you wanted to say but you know it was no use. You tried your best to keep your composure when Erebus sat down opposite you in the headmasters’ chair. “You assaulted my son.”

“He was being a foul-mouthed little brat,” you shot back but Erebus didn’t react.

“I know very well what this was about. In fact, that is why I’m here. You and I are going to have a little talk,” he declared calmly, yet there was something in his voice that sent shivers down your spine. Even when he was calm, Erebus seemed like a predator ready to pounce.

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, but we do. Sit. Down.”  Reluctantly you obeyed and slowly sat down on the chair opposite the head of the Gaunt family, avoiding his piercing stare. You could understand why Ominis always seemed to shrink when he was in a room with his family but forced yourself to sit upright, mirroring Erebus body language. It was clear that he was used to being in charge. He leaned back, observing your every move, not saying anything, seemingly waiting for you to pull back. It took all your willpower to remain expressionless in the uncomfortable silence that followed.

“I know that you are involved with Ominis. I should have guessed as much last time. Of course, he had to pick someone from an impure bloodline. To aggravate me no doubt,” Erebus broke the silence, his voice dripping with disgust.

“I can assure you our relationship has nothing to do with you,” you replied coolly.

“Shut your mouth, half-blood. I didn’t recall giving you permission to speak. You will leave my son today.”

“I have no intention of doing that.”

Another uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Then Erebus leaned in, so close you could see your own reflection in his dark eyes, and you instinctively backed away from him. “This was not a request. Fail to do as I say, and I will see to it that he suffers. He will never see Hogwarts or his friends ever again. I have allowed his nonsense long enough.”

Trying to regain your composure you straightened your back and coldly replied, “He doesn’t even live with you anymore. You have no power over him.” 

Erebus eyes darkened. No one had ever talked back to him like that. Losing his patience he spat, “Don’t forget who I am, little brat. I have connections everywhere. One word and he will be in an asylum for the rest of his life, no questions asked.”

“You wouldn’t do that to your own son.”

A wicked smile formed on Erebus lips. “It’s your choice.”