#the nose injury give it an extra touch

[islesnucks]

-> Mat Barzal - january 21st

[kachowden]

𝙸 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢

| Hockey TeamVarious x Reader

Солнышко (Little Sun)

Yandere x reader (Part 1?)

—————————————————————————

An idea I have had for a while now.

So imagine yourself on a team. Except you’re not a player, no.

Actually..you’re technically not on the team because you’re one of a few people who rotates your position. You’re the mascot.

The beloved silly mascot of your team. The logo, the literal image of your hockey team. And you’re damn good too!

You get the crowds roaring, positively pumped-up for the game! And whether your team wins or loses, the highlights are always the silly little mascot who throws popcorn into the crowd or tosses shirts at unsuspecting families.

From time to time during the game you’d make your way onto the ice. Play fight with the team, steal a puck, steal a stick. Toss them to a crowd member. It was always in good fun, and the audience loved it!

And you weren’t just beloved by the fans, oh no no no, you were beloved by the team too.

So much so that at some point, the demand for your specific “mascotting” was so great, the other workers had to find a new career path. Damn shame too, you happened to like them quite a bit. But extra pay right? And it’s hard to deny how flattering it is being the fan favorite.

Of course it didn’t even cross your mind to question these circumstances, nor did you think to question the sudden increasing interactions you had with the team. Publicity, you assumed.

From number 47 dragging you onto the ice for some impromptu lessons. Still in costume might I add. Mid Play.

To number 13 laughing joyfully as he shoved you into the locker room after an intense game, and offered to wash your back for spending so long in such a sweaty suit. You denied him of course, the locker rooms weren’t meant for you! Duh.

You didn’t even question when number 1, the captain and goalie of the team, braced you against a barrier during half time, when your mask had precariously been knocked off by a rowdy fan. Nor did you see the viscous scowls directed at said fan. It was probably just keep your identity safe after all.

The score was 7 to 0 that game, in favour of your team. You weren’t sure what had pumped them up so much but whatever works right?

Course, you did get a puck to the cheek at one point and had to sub out for a bit. The players were non too happy when they discovered a different worker under your special suit. They were in a bad mood for the remainder of the game.

Number 19, who had a pension for bad behavior on the ice, sought you out specifically after the game too.

———-47—————19————1—————13———-

Your shoulders sagged tiredly against the cool wall of the changing room, blessing the AC that pumped through the units. Your jersey stuck sweatily to your skin, and you gasped with a dry mouth before a gloved hand appeared in your vision, a water bottle covered in condensation presented before you like a holy grail.

“You look like shit.” A scratchy voice scolds lightly by your ear, your eyes fluttering to glance at the rugged features of one of the team players settled besides your face, wedged deep into your personal space. The scent of sweat and body spray (axe probably) wafts into your nostrils, causing your nose to scrunch instinctively before you give a lopsided smile.

“Hey Donovan, s’nice to see you. How’s the play been?” You gratefully take the cold bottle from his grasp, finger tips grazing the rough and warm texture of his gloves before meeting the cool plastic of the team merchandise bottle. Your little mascot stared back at you in a 2D style.

“Shitty. You’re supposed to be out there, not some random loser who can’t even get the crowd excited right. Now the teams pissed and it’s your fault.” His words end in a sneer, despite the attentive way his eyes are raking across your figure for injury beyond the welt on your cheek bone. His body near touches yours and causes another wave of sweat to seep into your skin.

With a thoughtful hum and a sip of refreshing water you push yourself from the locker, stepping into the more open air and cooling yourself off, while dark brown eyes watch you beneath a furrowed, displeased brow.

“Your guys’s concern flatters me. It’s nice having such thoughtful co-workers.” Your lips smile thoughtfully, glancing at him from your shoulder.

He looks incredulous, which somehow lands on being the least aggressive expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“Co-workers?” He echoes, like the word is the most foul tasting thing that’s ever touched his tongue. “We’re teammates. Not co-workers.”

You wave your hand dismissively, back turned and unaware of the tall figure that approaches your bubble again from behind. “Well, you and the guys definitely are. Maybe even the ice scrapers, though I’d argue they’re in the same realm as me to be honest. More staff than anything yknow?” Your tone is light, you know what your position is. And of course you’re grateful to be the main mascot, but you’re aware of your replacements that stand idle at the food stands, handing out popcorn between half times.

“I mean I’m just the person in the suit, anyone could play that part. I just hope I could train the next guy that signs up for the position, gotta make sure they do my legacy justice right-“

Big hands, no longer covered by scratchy material grip into your hips, swallowing the skin in raw heat and tugging you backwards. Your feet stumble and trip for less then a second before you’ve collided into a broad chest. The feeling of a hot breath condenses on the back of your neck, covering up your barely escaped laugh and choke.

Hair tickles the side of your forehead, as Donovan leans over your shoulder. His eyes set forward to the opposing wall lockers just like your own, his thumbs rubbing thoughtless shapes into your skin. He exhales, like he’s just spent the last four hours dealing with an ill tempered toddler that he’s finally reached his wits end with.

“You’re stupid.”

Your lips part in offense, ready to defend your intelligence before you’re prematurely silenced by a new hand that joins the mass of limbs, and rests gently across your dry lips.

“Let him finish, Солнышко.”(Solnishko)*

A thick accent reverberates into your ears, your eyes darting up to meet pale blue ones that gaze back at you so sternly. White teeth peer past his lips in what was probably a smile, but looked like a show of dominance with the way his canines sunk into the bottom of his lip.

“Don’t you have a team to manage, Cap?” Donovan snarls, teeth bared with displeasure at his private time with you being interrupted. With his arms circling more around your figure in a loose version of a back hug. You stay trapped between the two behemoths that cease every noise and shift of your joints with careful hands.

Carlson smiles, a thoughtful one that softens at you, his eyes never leaving yours now that he has your full attention, something that raises Donovan’s ire significantly. “I heard our little mascot wasn’t doing to well. I wanted to check up on them. I may have heard your little conversation as well.”

The word “little” always manages to filter into Carlsons sentences. And while one could blame it on English only being his second language, his reputation for being the teams most well spoken member speaks volumes otherwise. No, the real reason would have to be the sheer height he holds above all others. The authority he possesses that seeps into the rink and every room he walks into.

It’s not a simple slip of the tongue. It’s a reminder. That he is above every one he meets. He is the captain, and what he says is absolute.

Even the way he gazes down at you screams this thought, bullying its way into your skull as your brain refuses to acknowledge the sheer possessive, demeaning energy that seeps from his figure into yours, despite the alarm bells it rings through your system.

“It breaks my heart, Солнышко. You should know better.” His thumb curves along your jaw, thoughtful again, and practiced, engulfing your entire chin in what could be a crushing grip. But it isn’t, and it never will be. Not to you anyway. “Have we not shown you how much we adore your support in the rink? Have we been too dismissive of you?” He continues, though the mocking edge is nearly unnoticeable.

Donovan’s breath huffs into the shell of your ear, his figure hunched over you like a protective cloak, eyes still staring daggers at the taller man. “You think the team can we wait for us to…help remind our dear mascot how much we care about them?”

There’s a thoughtful hum, eye contact still unbroken through each word. “I’m sure they’ll be mad they didn’t get to join…but their forms were lacking today. They could use the extra practice.”

Carlson leaned forward, sky like eyes darkening like the sea as his nose hovers mere breathes from your own. “And I’ve heard that teaching in…more intimate settings, can lead to greater success in many fields..”

.

.

.

.

.

“Again.”

“I will not think lowly of my position on the team, I will not think of myself as replaceable, because I am the best-“

“Fucking.”

“….the best fucking mascot in the world. I am irreplaceable. I am the best.”

“Very good. Again.”

“It’s been 30 minutes!”

“Well last time we did 15 and that still wasn’t enough, so now we must double our efforts, Солнышко. Again.”

“Afterwards I’ll buy you one of those pretzels you like. If you want, I guess.”

“…….yeah okay.”

[endursent]

- Biting Cold - Searing Warmth

【 content; sunday x reader , astral express sunday , mutual masturbation , blood and injury, hurt/comfort , huddling for warmth , handjob , self-destructive thoughts , NSFW 】

【 note; thank you for all the likes, comments and reblogs on through the dark, the overwhelming support means a lot to me and gives my souls strength. please enjoy this much longer piece.

as always, the reader's gender is never mentioned, i avoided describing their genitalia and left it vague so that you can imagine your preference. 】

【 word count; 8.075 | read on ao3 】

He feels slightly out of place among the Astral Express, it’s not that he doesn’t physically ‘fit in’, all of you look different, act differently and portray yourself in very different ways… but Sunday hasn’t been able to see himself as part of the crew despite travelling with you for four months. 

  He feels like he’s made of stone, every movement is stiff and he has to make excruciating effort into every little action, he feels cold and hard, like an observing statue as opposed to a member. 

  There are days where he forgets that cold, when what he has come to recognise as typical shenanigans drags him into situations where he’s either forced to use his brain to solve complex problems or empathise with someone in a situation he didn’t think was possible. Days where he is on his feet and his mind tunnels to the mission at hand. 

  And there are others where there is silent travel, two days of calm traversal through the cosmos where he retreats to solitude and sees the sky get further away behind closed eyes. He tries to write down his thoughts and understand them, understand what his goal has become… the path he has taken leads towards the cosmos, towards discovery of himself as well as the universe, but what does he search for in the distant stars? 

  Is he merely searching for redemption? Should he not atone for the wrongs his ideals did to others? 

  Dan Heng had told him that endlessly searching to right a wrong that has already been done will only wear him down to his bones and bring no closure. That it will be an endless journey of selfish fulfilment, he will never be able to touch every person that was drawn into the dream—and that he should start with the person he can touch, himself. 

  He startles when he bumps into your back, his mind having been completely occupied with thoughts and distracted—as usual. Sunday grasps your shoulder to push himself back slightly as he gives the back of your head a glare. “Why do you walk in front of me? There’s more than enough space.”

  You give a small shrug. “Just making sure you don’t walk into something, think of me like a cushion,” you wave your hand vaguely as you turn back around. The snow is getting deeper as you venture through the woods, at one point in the densest part, it reaches up to your knees as you practically climb forward, raising your knee stomach-high with every step. 

  Looking around, you squint through the all-white forest… there’s supposed to be a research facility out here, at least according to one of the locals that showed the group around. But all you see is snow and trees.

  Sunday pulls his coat tighter around himself, he doesn’t yet have a very varied wardrobe to properly adjust based on the world the Express goes to next… perhaps he should have searched in the small town for an extra layer, the biting cold makes his fingers stiff and toes tingle uncomfortably. His nose is cold and whenever you turn your back to him, he tucks his wings against the front of his face like a shield, hoping his warm breath might give some comfort to his red nose and cheeks.

  Finally, the trees spread further apart and the snow congested less, you take out your phone and unlock it… no signal. Well, at least you’ve been walking in a straight line, it’s unlikely you’ll get… lost…

  You see a line of snow that’s been walked through across the clearing, it’s halfway snowed up again… and it looks exactly like the line the two of you have been leaving behind—but how could it be through this same clearing? You swear you haven’t turned at all since you left the town! 

  Sunday spots it as well and his teeth clench together. “That’s ours… have we been walking in circles?” he, too, was sure the path had been straight the entire time. How could you pass by your own footsteps leading across your current path? 

  You both stand still for a time, the gears in your head spinning, trying to understand how this came to be—does it mean that the way you came from now is wrong? Is left or right the way back. You heard Sunday click his tongue and turn to look at him… he looks terribly cold. 

  Feeling a bit bad for him—and certainly not wanting him to catch a cold, you zip down your thick jacket and pull your arms out of it. Being that you’re the only moving thing in his line of sight, Sunday immediately frowns at the sight. “What are you doing? You’ll freeze if you take that off—” he blinks as you hold the jacked out towards him, and he hugs his own coat closer to himself, lowering his chin under the scarf around his neck. “I don’t need your jacket, it is my own fault that I’m underdressed.”

  “Doesn’t mean you should freeze,” you push it against his chest. “Come on, while it’s warm—we can take turns.”

  Reluctantly, Sunday unwinds his stiffly cold arms from around himself and accepts the jacket, it doesn’t fit him perfectly… but the relief it brings is far more valuable. It’s still a bit warm from when it was wrapped around your own body, and he can faintly smell your scent along the neck of it. You give a smile and reach for the hood on the back, you pull it over his head, the fur lining it tickling his cheeks as his wings get pushed against his head and poke out of it, halo bobbing behind his head with snow lined around its outline. 

  “... thank yo—wh—?” his thanks is interrupted as you poke the feathers of his wings that are sticking out and push them inside the hood before pulling it slightly further down. “Stop—it’s perfectly suitable,” he waves your hand away. His cheeks were red already, but now more so with an embarrassed warmth as well.

  You immediately feel the chill of the cold wind and shake your arms a bit before rubbing them for some friction. “Alright, alright—I’ll leave you be, come on. The sooner we find this facility the faster we’ll be out of the cold.”

  He makes a ‘hmph’ sound and hunches slightly so that his face is nestled nicely in the collar of the puffy jacket. If you’re to take turns, he should try and warm up as quickly as possible… he doesn’t want you to be cold either. He only accepted as easily as he did because he knew you would hold him down and force the jacket onto him if he didn’t…

  But the gesture resonates with him nonetheless. It would be easy for you to continue in comfort, the jacket doesn’t prevent cold entirely, but it brings a significant barrier to the wind and chill, especially with the hood protecting his ears and neck. Yet you still chose to share it with him… it almost brought more warmth to him than the jacket. 

  You have always been like this, he shouldn’t be surprised at this point… with every offer, every smile and nudge, his chest grows warmer. 

  His sleepless nights were never unaccompanied, you were usually in the kitchen past midnight���once because you ‘forgot to boil eggs for breakfast and are too tired in the morning to do it’, another time because you were simply thirsty, then it was the night before Welt’s birthday and you and March 7th were baking cupcakes at three in the morning. 

  It has become a habit when he cannot sleep, be it because his thoughts will not stop interrupting him, or because the deeds of the past pull his stomach down until he has to use a bathroom or he simply feels restless and has a need to stand and move… to go to the kitchen. It’s a separate carriage from the bedrooms and gives some peace and quiet, once when you were not there as he had become accustomed to, he had taken out his phone to send you a message and ask if you were awake.

  Of course… he didn’t, as his thumb had hovered over the send button, he set his phone down and turned back to his water. Spending the dark hours of the night alone. 

  Not that there is a true night and day on the Express, it operates on a 24-hour cycle where the lights dim and the windows are blocked to emulate night—but Sunday is far accustomed to strange hours or wake and deep sleep. 

  Sunday is once again taken from his thoughts as you stop for the second time, looking around with a focused expression on your face. He follows your gaze but sees nothing amiss, just more snow and now distant trees. The sky is grey and the ground white, the falling flakes of snow blending the two seamlessly to blur the distance between earth and sky. “What is it?”

  With a shimmer, your weapon appears in your hand, sturdy and warm against your cold fingers. “I heard something…”

  Out here? It was a miracle if anyone found you out in the chilled wilderness like this.

  “Remember what those kids said earlier? When we were in town?” your voice lowers, eyes still scanning your surroundings. 

  Sunday nods. “That… we should be careful because ‘kids who get lost in the forest turn into ghosts that eat people’?” he didn’t entirely believe them, it was most likely just a cautionary tale their parents tell them so they don’t run into the forest and get lost. No child will survive for long. 

  “I don’t much like ghosts…” you mumble, the shiver on your skin not only because of the biting winds. Your muscles are coiled, ready and tense… you’re no stranger to duking it out with a monster or two, or even people. But what if you can’t whack it away like you could anything else? 

  Sunday is equally on guard as you are, but less experienced with direct combat. He’s mostly relied on intellectual disputes in the past, as well as planning for conflicts ahead of time where he won’t have to directly face off against something. 

  You see something shift in the corner of your eye—it’s not a whole form, it looks like a misty shape that drags into the snow as it moves. You shift your feet towards it as it speeds towards the two of you. Sunday grasps your shoulder as if he’s about to pull you backwards, but before he can, you swing your weapon—and the misty form dissipates.

  “...” your eyes flicker around to search for it. “Was that it?”

  “I doubt it,” Sunday says quietly next to your ear, his voice clear above the cool brush of wind that’s been chilling your skin. “There,” he gestures to a shift between trees. “There is a flicker of blue between the shoulders, it must be the weak spot.”

  Weak spot, you can deal with that—it can’t be much different from the game machines in Penacony, whack the glowing part. 

  “Be careful if it—” Sunday’s warning went ignored and interrupted as you lift your leg and charge toward the misty apparition. “Wait—!” damn it, he knows you have a tendency for recklessness, but at least let him do what he’s good at and create a plan of attack!

  He struggles to wade through the snow to follow you, unfamiliar with navigating high snow. But he has no chance of catching up with you. You raise your weapon again and raise your hands to swing downwards—but the misty form moves and you miss, the body dissipating again, it’s already a pretty small form, but it’s mostly translucent too, it’s not easy to follow.

  You’re so damn cold, it’s difficult to move as quickly as you usually could. You see Sunday stop halfway towards you and look around for the elusive creature… you’re not sure what it’s capable of, but your prickling instincts are telling you it’s absolutely not friendly. “Come, stay closer,” Sunday calls to you. “It’s less likely to surprise us if we watch each other’s flanks.”

  He’s right. You start to wade through the snow towards him when something moves in the corner of your eyes to your right—the wraith-looking creature seemed more condensed than before, its form whiter as if the falling snow had blanketed its outline and made it more visible. The blue hue in it’s torso flickered and expanded as a sharp shard of ice formed inside its body, it wasn’t wide, but it was long and jagged—and it was facing Sunday, too far from you to be able to get to him in time if the speed at which the shard was made was anything to believe. 

  He seemed to see it as well, eyes widening only slightly in surprise at the sight—his gaze snaps equally startled towards you as you dash towards the wraith. What are you doing!? Sunday calls your name in both warning and surprise, concern clear in his startled gaze, the creature is clearly preparing an attack—you should be falling back on the defensive, and not charging right at it!

  You hop surprisingly easily through the snow, each large step eating at the distance between the threat and yourself. Swinging the bat at it did nothing but dissipate it and let it reappear elsewhere—and you don’t have the body heat or stamina to chase it around for twenty minutes. Maybe if you grab the blue centre, it’ll materialise enough for you to break it. 

  Sunday cursed the high snow, trying to stumble through it towards you as you ran at the enemy. He watched as you leapt at it and tackled it down—surprisingly, the wraith did fall with you, but the way your body jerked as you landed in the puffy snow made his skin itch. 

  As soon as you tackled the wraith down, the shard of ice it was conjuring short forward as if it had been held back by a tight bowstring—and impaled itself in your body. The sudden, violent pain that burst from your torso made you nearly double over in on yourself. But you persisted and jabbed the end of your weapon into the core.

  With a loud crack and sound of shattering, the core broke apart like a light bulb, as if it had been entirely hollow. The misty form dissipated once more, leaving only shards of blue on the snow under you. 

  Sunday calls your name again with more urgency, heart hammering in his chest as he finally makes it to you, he bends down to take your shoulders in his hands. “Are you hurt? You shouldn’t rush li—” his words stop in his throat once he sees blood padder onto the snow, the red colour a stark contrast to the pure white of freshly fallen snow. 

  For a moment, he doesn’t move, unsure what to do—does he tug you up into a sitting position? Onto your back? Where is it coming from? You’re on all fours already, so perhaps you can straighten slightly. “Let me see, let me see,” his voice is urgent as he sees the tremble of your hands and hears a strange sound, as if a thin sheet of ice was being stepped on. Sunday takes your arm that twitched towards your torso and sees frost hardening on your clothes and skin. 

  As soon as you had physically touched the wraith, your skin began to feel extremely cold, like you were perpetually laid against ice. Your entire torso prickled, but the worse of the pain was coming low in your abdomen, your eyes lower and you see the shard imbedded in your lower left abdomen, it was wider at the bottom and stretched the skin apart and cut your clothes where blood bubbled and dripped down into the snow. It felt like you had drunk ice cold water, the feeling of it leaking down into your stomach—except it was spreading from the ice, and every surface you had touched of the ghost.   

  “Let me see,” he says for the third time, firmer this time despite the small crack of his voice, whether it was from the cold numbing his nose and lips or the creeping anxiety at the back of his mind, it was hard to tell. 

  You gasp and cry out slightly as he tries to right you up, it feels as if the sharp shard in your body had just cut through the entirety of your torso with the small movement, tears bubbling at the bottom of your eyelids from the overwhelming sensitivity and pain. “S-stop—” you pant, voice barely audible between short, quick breaths, as if you were afraid that breathing deeper would hurt more.

  Sunday swallows, he’s not a doctor and though he knows basic first aid, his knowledge of what to do in situations like this relies heavily on the fact further help was on the way—but out here in the snow and wind with no signal… 

  He shrugs off the puffy jacket you had handed to him earlier and he lays it over your back, the biting cold already cooling his shivering body. “I’m sorry,” Sunday apologises quietly, his heart is racing, and though he seems calm outwardly, it’s a very practised and well-crafted front. His thoughts are racing, heart hammering in his chest and cold fingers trembling. All he sees and seems to be able to focus on is the puff of your breath and the drops of blood continuously leaking from you. 

  He’s afraid. Afraid that trying to move you will hurt you further, afraid that it might do irreversible damage—afraid that the damage is already so bad that there is scarce time to act. 

  The wind blows again and a shiver shakes both of your bodies and Sunday knows that just sitting around fretting will do more harm than good. “I am sorry,” he apologises again, more sincerely, because he knows this will only cause more agony. 

  He wraps his arms around you, and hoists you up to your feet. Your breath leaves you as you instinctively try to hunch back down, the stretch of your torso is blinding, your vision almost whites out in pain as you gasp and curse. Sunday apologises for the third time as he tries to drag you with him, pulling your dead weight is no easy feat—he isn’t particularly strong physically, he would struggle to hold Pom-Pom for long. “Hold on…” Sunday says quietly, his breath heaving from the strain of dragging both of you through the cold. “It’s alright, you’ll be okay,” he tries to reassure you, he needs to keep you awake.

  Sunday wasn’t sure he had ever felt so… anxious? Afraid? His skin felt like it was trying to tear away from his body, his hands and knees trembled and his heart clenched with every beat. 

  He is the one who should suffer, not you. 

  “Talk to me, you need to stay awake,” he urges, pinching the skin over your ribs. Sunday doesn’t want to create more pain… but if you fall asleep now, there’s no guarantee you’ll wake up again, and the thought makes his breath tighten. 

  Talk to him? No thought forms in your head, all you feel is pain. You want to throw up, your head is spinning and it feels like your ears are blocked out. “... o-okay,” is all you can manage. You can’t even move your legs to walk with him, he’s taking the entirety of your weight at this awkward angle. 

  “Good,” he peers into the distance. You need shelter—it would be a miracle if he found the town you departed from, or the facility you were looking for. But Sunday doesn’t consider himself so lucky. He looks down at you, slumped against him with sweat on your forehead despite the cold, he tugs the jacket closer to your body, trying to make sure you get some respite from the winds. 

  His legs burn, but he sees a raised part of the earth—there, it must be enough. “Almost there,” he murmurs your name, worry gnawing at his gut. “You’ll be alright, I’ll make sure of it,” he promises, holding you tighter.

  You groan as he sets you down in the small cave you found, your limbs shaking terribly—laying on your back doesn’t feel great, but it’s probably the best position you could be in, it pulls slightly on your wound… but it’s better than being hauled around. Blood has leaked more from the wound because of the movement, and the cold spreading from it, as well as your arms and chest where you touched the wraith has begun freezing your clothes in place.  

  Sunday presses his lips together, this cave isn’t large, but he could immediately feel the relief that the shelter brought. The snow gathered at the entrance shielded you from the biting wind, and that’s what’s most important. He takes his phone out of his coat pocket, his fingers stiff and numb from the cold… no signal, still. It might be the snow and wind, perhaps it will come around if it dies down.

  For now, there’s a far more important matter to tend to.

  Sunday kneels by your side, his throat tight at the sight of your pain. He had never been particularly good at facing the pain of others with a calm and straight face, his deep sense of empathy and compassion makes him wish he could take the pain from you and bear it himself. Not to mention that he’s come to actually care for you, he has never felt himself so shaken like this—not since he had heard of Robin’s injury. Very few instances will shake him so thoroughly to his core as that did. 

  He tugs your sweater up, a small whimper leaving you as more cold brushes against your bare skin. The shard isn’t wide, it’s similar to his thumb, perhaps a bit wider… but he realises the severity of it nonetheless. It’s long, and…

  Sunday hears the cracking again.

  You had only moved your hand, your breath trembling. He looks down at the shard again and sees frost spread from it, it’s cooling your skin and hardening on it—it has to be removed. Everything in his mind is telling him not to touch it, leave it there so that you don’t bleed even more profusely. But if he leaves it in, your skin and body will freeze.

  He says your name quietly. “I need to remove the shard,” he says slowly. Sunday reaches for your hand and holds your fingers in his palm. They’re ice cold, frost covering the gloves and threatening to freeze them in place. “It… it will hurt, and I apologise for having to do it.”

  You squint at him, swallowing thickly. You can’t imagine how it will feel, and you feel anxious to let him. “A-are you sure?”

  “Yes,” he nods, his hand slides up your arm and rubs it slightly, as if he’s trying to create friction and warm your skin. His wings are lowered, sitting against his shoulders as if saddened. He wasn’t entirely sure what the best course of action is, but surely you will have a better chance with an open, but dressed wound and not being actively frozen alive, than you will with the shard still inside of you and trying to actively kill you? 

  It’s a chance you’ll have to take. 

  He takes off his scarf but leaves his gloves on, he doesn’t want to touch the shard with his bare hands. “I will need to remove it slowly to ensure it doesn’t cut you further…” Sunday shifts on his knees next to you, the cave floor is just as cold as kneeling on snow. “I’m sorry.”

  You’re not sure how often he’s apologised at this point, and you’re unsure why he feels the need to, this wasn’t his fault. 

  Before you can examine the thought further, he grips the shard and you gasp—even just touching it makes you panic. “W-w-wait—” your heart races. Don’t, it—

  He pulls gently, and the shard moves. A scream tears from your throat and Sunday’s breath catches. He almost stops, but steels himself. If he stops now, it’ll be worse, he’s already started—he has to finish. He repeats his apologies like a mantra, your body jerks and he uses his other hand to press down on your left hip, trying to hold you still. 

  It only takes a few seconds, but they feel like minutes, minutes of tears and screams, of trembling fingers and gentle pulling. He has to pay attention to his movements perfectly, and has to make sure it doesn’t hurt you further. 

  And when it’s all over, he tosses the shard aside and bundles his scarf to lay over the wound as blood wells in the wound. His white scarf immediately colours red at the edges as tears slip down your temples. Sunday feels a rush of emotions after the ordeal, your screams and tears, the blood. Almost as if moving instinctually, he lays over you and wraps one arm around you, cradling your head into his shoulder as his other still presses against the wound. “I’m sorry, it’s over, you’re okay,” he whispers into your ear, his arms shaking equally to your entire body. “Focus on breathing, slowly. It’s over.”

  He tears up as well, the soft wings by his head touch your jaw as he holds you, his breath shaking. He hadn’t even realised how tense he had gotten, and while the danger hasn’t passed—and you could potentially be in more danger freely bleeding as you are, it brings a small relief that the shard it out. 

  Your head spins, the pain has been so agonising, the fear and anxiety of pulling the shard out that you feel like you passed out for a moment. But feeling Sunday so close, holding you so tenderly, as if he were cradling a delicate feather between his palms… your hand that feels less frozen solid slowly raises, as if to return the hug—but your fingers poke at his halo by accident and he near shoots up, wet eyes large. Ah, touching a halovian’s halo probably doesn’t feel good, you think. 

  He blinks a few times and takes a breath. “L-let me focus on your wound, then we need to find a way to warm you up,” Sunday says hurriedly, sitting back on his knees. 

  His mind races as he tries to focus on pressing down on your wound, hoping it starts to clot faster. Your body was so cold, even your neck and cheek. Sunday himself doesn’t feel particularly warm… but he’s afraid that you’ll die from hypothermia if he doesn’t warm you up quickly. Sunday looks up to see that your eyes have slid shut and he feels his heart tighten. “Open your eyes,” he reaches up and pats your cheek with his palm, he says your name urgently. “Stay awake, just a little bit longer, please.”

  He tries to keep you awake with encouragements and small pokes and pats, but your near violently trembling body needs more help. Sunday ties the bundled scarf to the wound tightly with a long ribbon from his coat—maybe this needlessly complicated outfit has its uses after all. He then focuses on trying to warm you up, he places his hands on either side of your arms and rubs them, creating friction. The frost that had built up on your clothes and skin hasn’t spread further, it was likely driven by the shard. Now he just has to warm you up.

  But friction can only do so much, after a time, you’re moaning about it hurting, and as he lifts your jacket he sees the already reddened skin from the cold is raw and sensitive. 

  Sunday’s eyebrows pinch in thought as he does as before. “Let me share my warmth with you,” he utters and lays over you, now using both arms to wrap around you—he doesn’t dare move you into a different position than on your back. He still tries to rub every surface of your skin for warmth, but it’s not retaining heat well enough. 

  “We need to create warmth—” he jumps as he feels your cold fingers slide under his shirt. His stomach is warmer than his hands, and your icy fingers on it makes his entire body shiver. “O-okay,” he doesn’t say more, he doesn’t trust his voice to form fully. 

  This might be the method you need, and Sunday is determined to warm you up in any way you require… though this doesn’t very much help him retain his warmth.

  As your fingers feel warmer and it’s easier to move them, you retreat them from his stomach and slowly raise them to his ears. Sunday blinks at you in surprise as your warmed fingers envelop his cool ears. “What are you doing?” 

  You give a weak smile, you’re still in pain, but you’re more lucid now that there isn’t a foreign object stuck in you. “We warm each other.”

  His cheeks redden slightly as your fingers rub the shell of his ears to warm them, your fingers aren’t exactly warm, but they’re not completely cold either.

  “It won’t be sustainable like this,” he says, still laying over you, just raised slightly with his elbows on either side of your head, his misty breath wafting over your cheeks. “We need to warm faster, more directly.”

  You squint at him, he sounds like he was trying not to explicitly say something, but you had an inkling to what it was. “Like… sharing body heat?”

  His head turns slightly, gaze avoiding you as one of his wings twitches, moving to his cheek as if to hide his face, you’re unsure if it’s a conscious movement. “... for example.”

  You don’t see why not, desperate times and all that. “Okay, your coat is pretty big, we can use it as a blanket, my sweater too,” he has an easier time taking off his coat by himself, but has to help you take your sweater off. You shiver at first, but as Sunday sets his coat and your sweater over the two of you, and lays closer to you—still wearing a thin shirt—you feel subtle warmth. 

  Sunday struggled to even talk to you as soon as you huddled together, though there were thin shirts separating you, he felt the skin of your arms and collar against him. He’s never been this close to the glimpses of your skin only previously seen from a distance, now he’s close enough to smell you, to touch you. 

  He’s careful not to touch your wound, but keeps an eye on it. Your breaths mingle together and you lay your cold forehead against his shoulder to try and absorb any warmth he gives. Unfortunately, it’s not quite enough to keep both of you warm. He tries to rub your arms again, and you try to breathe warm air on his skin, but the solutions are very temporary. 

  Darkness has begun setting outside, and there’s little light inside the cave. You can still see each other, but it’s clear that nighttime is approaching. You whisper in Sunday’s ear next to you. “You cried for me, earlier.”

  He doesn’t reply immediately, his hands that were rubbing your thighs for warmth halting for a moment. “... I did.”

  “Do you often cry when people are hurt?” you wonder.

  “Sometimes,” he continues to focus on warming you, trying not to think of your lips brushing against his collar when you talk. 

  He hadn’t just cried because you were hurt, because you were in pain… a thought had occurred to him as you screamed and shook as he removed the shard that it might kill you—that his actions might. He had done nothing but stand and watch as you had battled the wraith, he had moved slowly and been unsure how to help you after you broke its core… and he had brought you more and more pain. Even in trying to help, how can his heart not ache? 

  You who have always been so kind and patient, even when he sought to entrap the cosmos. Even when you stood on opposite sides of the grand theatre. You didn’t hesitate to include him, to make him feel welcome as he hesitantly stepped onto the Express. You sat with him during long nights and caught him when he experienced his first warp.

  He doesn’t want you to die, he doesn’t want you to be hurt.

  You seemed to sense that he had fallen deep into thought yet again, you raise your head from his shoulder and he turns his head to look at you. As he does, your cool fingers slowly raise and touch his cheek, it’s warmer than before. “You’re very kind.”

  His lips part slightly, his expression is difficult to read as he stares at you from above, his eyes flicker from your eyes down to your hand, to your eyes again and do a round of your face. He opens his mouth further, as if he wants to say something, but only a breath leaves him that warms your own cheeks. He utters your name and it’s almost too quiet to hear. Slowly, his head lowers and you meet him halfway—his lips are soft, despite not having eaten or had water in hours, stuck in the cold, they don’t feel stiff or chapped at all.

  As if he’d snapped out of a trance, it had only been seconds that your lips touched and he was pulling back, eyes wide. “I-I’m sorry, I should—”

  “It’s okay,” you breathe, hand still on his cheek as you try to guide him back towards you. “You’re warm, and…”

  He doesn’t need more of a reason, he’s been aching to be closer, his arms tremble with the strain of holding back. His body is so damn cold, and the inside of your mouth is warm as his tongue slips between your chilly lips. Your hand that rested against his cheek slides behind his head as he kisses you deeply, your head lowered against the cold floor, only cushioned by the fluffy hood of your jacket. His wings flutter and brush against your wrist as your other hand touches his shoulder. Sunday’s fingers that had tried to keep your thighs warm rise to your hips, one hand dangerously close to your wound. 

  Your mouth opens to warm him, your lips separating for a moment, but he presses on again. “I know,” Sunday assures you, and his gentle tone eases your wariness. “I’ll be careful.”

  His lips part in tune with yours, the sounds of your wet kisses echoing in the cave, his thumbs rub at your hips as if he can’t keep his hands still and the only way to have them put in one place was to at least soothe you like this. Your cheeks are warm from the deep kissing, it’s almost suffocating the way his tongue drags over your lips and traces the inside of them, as if he’s trying to taste every surface of your mouth he can reach. 

  It was too much, the taste of you, the warmth of your mouth and your tight hold on his shoulder and behind his head. He needs more warmth, needs to feel it radiate from you and bask in it like touching a bonfire. Your cold fingers and shivering skin, the frost clinging to your sleeves and collar—he wants to make you warm again, feel your warm fingers against his own, like when you handed him a cup of tea during a long night and your fingers touched. Even the brief brush of another’s skin had stuck with him for weeks. 

  He groans against you and his mouth slides from yours, his lips trailing warmth to your cool jaw and throat, the chilled skin shivering again when he closes his mouth over thin skin between the juncture of your shoulder and neck. Your breath trembles as he worries it between his teeth, tongue gently brushing over the tingling spot once he’s done. 

  “I…” his breath is deep and wanting. “Let me warm you, please. I-I wish to touch you, to ensure you won’t shiver with cold any longer.”

  You nod. “Help me,” the words are pleading on your lips. Your feet are numb with cold and your body has bouts of harsh trembling. You want him to touch you. 

  Sunday takes your lips again with his, as if he can’t get enough of your taste and the feeling of your mouth moving against his, he tilts his head to kiss you deeper as his hands lift your thin shirt to your collar, moving any barriers in his way as he moves the heat from between your lips and to your chest. Your body will quickly warm itself if he stimulates it appropriately, and he intends for the two of you to feel comfortably warm. “Wha—“ you weren’t expecting his mouth to seek there so quickly, and certainly were you not prepared. 

  His lips close around your left nipple, the warmth brought from it makes you inhale softly—but as the texture of his tongue drags over it, you nearly jerk in surprise, your wound aching from the sudden moment. Sunday’s hand holds your hip down on the side where there is no injury, his eyes looking to you from under grey eyelashes. “Please be still, I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” his breath fans over the moist point of your chest and you shiver again—for entirely unrelated reasons to the cold. He resumes his attention and you find that ‘being still’ is your greatest challenge today. Every single drag of his tongue, flick and suckle sends sparks through your body, it makes your fingertips twitch where they’ve claimed hold of his shoulders and your thighs flex. The most prominent tingles settle between your legs where you’re desperately trying to will down the rising need for attention. 

  Your cheeks and neck warm—and you make a high-pitched sound as his gloved hand moves to your other nipple, a poke followed by a pinch and his thumb sliding left and right over it makes your body instinctively squirm and tense. “S-Sunday—“ you breathe his name, unsure exactly what you want him to do or don’t, the sensations of his warm mouth and cold glove on opposite sides makes your head nearly spin. 

  “Do you feel warmer?” he looks up at you again, his golden eyes seem to glow in the darkening cave. 

  You nod again. “A little,” you’re still cold, especially on your stomach that’s bare And exposed to the cold air of the cave. Your left hand rises slightly to touch the wing above his shoulder—causing Sunday to tense as he blinks at you. You want him to be warm too, he’s been so diligent in trying to make friction against your arms and thighs, in hugging your coats together and huddling close… “Warm us both, together.”

  He licks his lips in thought. Warm you both at the same time? He can only think of one method. Sunday takes your hands from his shoulders and holds them in his own, he raises them to his lips and blows air onto them before he guides them between your legs—and a distinct warmth emanates from there. It shouldn’t be surprising, having your chest touched and licked like that definitely pools heat there, but the way Sunday’s hands are so careful and his gaze so focused, as if he were unearthing a grand treasure or under an important assignment…

  He buttons open and lowers your pants only as far down as needed, not wanting to expose your skin to more cold air than necessary. Sunday still holds your hands as he lays them over the radiating warmth of your crotch, he doesn’t directly touch you, only using your own fingers as a proxy to slowly slide and rub your cool fingers over yourself. You bite your lip as you twitch under your cold fingers, the stark contrast of temperature making your heart race more than it was already. But it does warm your fingers, the more he moves them. “This might be uncomfortable at first,” Sunday utters as he brings your hands up before guiding them into your underwear—with no barrier between your warm flesh and cold fingers, the temperature difference is even more stark. 

  His own cheeks are red now as well, and he releases one hand from you to lean over you again and bring your bodies closer. “Keep your hands there, move and touch as you can,” he says and fully lets go of your hands. He holds himself over you with his elbow on the floor next to your head—which you instinctively tilt your head towards to rest against, seeking his touch—while his other hand unbuttons his own pants and tugs them down only slightly. “I-if we… do this, then our bodies will warm… and so long as we huddle together, then—“ his body almost jerks as his cold fingers touch his own aching need. “—then th-the cold should subside somewhat.”

  You nod, the movements familiar to you as your breath deepens—you were so sensitive, perhaps it was your cold fingers, or it could be the prelude of having your chest touched like that. This is surprisingly effective, but you still struggle to pay attention to your own pleasure and movements while Sunday is only a hair’s width of you, doing the same. So much of a distraction that your movements stilled, gaze fixed on the way his breath heaved, his head lowered so that his forehead was almost touching yours, his wings raised and shuddering. 

  Sunday seems to notice that you aren’t moving anymore, he swallows thickly and squints at you. “Wh-what is it?” his voice trembles slightly. “Does it hurt?” 

  He’s worried about your wound—and it certainly does ache, but your attention is far from being focused on that. “No… ah, can I… can I touch you?”

  “What?” he doesn’t understand you at first, even though he’s been quite good at reading your expressions and words today. “You… want to touch me?”

  You nod, and your hands leave yourself towards him, your warmed fingers touching his wrists—and his hands almost fly out of his pants in surprise. “I do,” you confirm. “Can I?”

  He seems conflicted for a moment, eyes lowering before he nods. “Okay… I’ll take care of you too.”

  A smile touches your lips. “Alright, I think it will warm us much faster.”

  Your fingers slide under his underwear, his cock is already straining against his underwear, hard and hot to your touch. Sunday gasps as you touch him—your fingers aren’t nearly as cold as they were before, but he still tenses as if you had shoved snow into his pants. You grasp him gingerly, not sure what is too fast of an approach for him, but as his breath seems to slow at your gentle touch, you take it as a go-ahead. 

  With every stroke and movement, his hips twitch—as if they want to move with you but are held back by sheer will alone. Sunday can barely think clearly, all he feels is you, all he smells is your skin, mixed with sweat and blood that stirs something in him. He joins you, his hand touching you in return and immediately it’s like your entire body flares to life, your hand moves faster, careful still—and Sunday leans down again, his lips on your neck kissing and suckling, his cool nose brushing against your warmed skin. 

  “S-Sunday—ah—“ your breath shudders. “More, l-little bit down—mnh,” warmth was pooling in your belly quicker than you’re used to, the flexing of your stomach amongst the pleasure tugged on your wound a little, but the brief pain was just an enhancement at this point.

  He breathes out your name, once, twice—with every stroke of your hand. You don’t feel that you can properly take care of him when his cock is confined within his pants like that, you turn your hand and tug his length out of them—and he springs free to the cold air, making Sunday suck in a breath, your sweater over his back almost sliding off. “Hahh, y-you don’t need to…”

  “I want to,” you assure him, licking your lips as you have much better freedom of movement now, your thumb strokes over the head and Sunday whines. His hands redouble their efforts between your legs, pushing your pants and underwear a bit further down to give himself more room as well. “Fuck, Sunday,” you curse on instinct, the overwhelming feeling of liquid heat searing through your veins causing you to respond to his hands with your hips—you were getting closer, and with every touch and twist on the upstroke you make, he is as well. 

  “Ahh, please,” he presses his forehead into your neck, Sunday’s hips make no effort to cease their movements now, he fully meets your strokes, hips rolling with your hand—he’s pressed down so much that your stroking him against your stomach, his thigh pressing against his hand as he prays to bring you equal pleasure with his own fingers as you are doing to him. He makes a particular movement that you can’t describe—and the tight coil in your stomach that’s been spreading fire through you for minutes finally releases its tension. 

  You cry out slightly, both surprised by the intensity as well as the relief and soothing warmth that surges through you from his fingers and out to your fingers and toes, to your ears and behind your eyes. 

  Sunday almost seems to come undone simply at the sight of you doing so, he needs only a few ruts against your tightened hand, instinctively flexed with pleasure, to achieve his own, his entire body jerking and shuddering as a sticky wetness splatters onto your stomach. 

  It takes the both of you a few moments to to catch your breaths, but as soon as Sunday’s thoughts realign to a comprehensive read, he tugs his coat and your sweater that’s slid a bit askew over his back—somehow miraculously not fallen off—to huddle the warms built by your combined pleasures. He nearly jumps when he feels the evidence of his pleasure sticking to your stomach and quickly starts to dry it with his shirt. “I-I apologise, I should’ve—should have turned away,” he stutters slightly, his voice not entirely reliable yet. 

  But you only laugh softly, wincing slightly from the strain put on your wound—the worry in his eyes from only a mere wince makes your chest warm more. “It’s okay. We’re warmer now, and… it was good, you’re good with your fingers.”

  His cheeks redden further—somehow—and his gaze leaves yours, looking at the floor next to your head. “Th-thank you… you did… very well, as well,” Sunday mumbles awkwardly. 

  You open your mouth to speak again, and suddenly both of your phones ping. 

  It’s stopped snowing and the winds have calmed, Sunday fishes for his phone to see seven unread messages from the Astral Express group chat. They’re asking for both of your locations and whether you’re alright, it’s been hours. He sighs in relief and sends your coordinates to them, the sooner you get medical assistance, the better. 

  You watch as he sets the phone aside. “No time for round two?”

  Sunday looks at you as if you’ve sprouted two additional heads. “Round two? Already—? No, you—the injury, if—what?” he stumbles through three different sentences, and you only laugh softly. The halovian lets out a ‘hmph’ and turns his head away from you—his cold halo bumping into your forehead.

  “Next time, then,” you rub the spot between your eyes where the spiky point of his halo smacked against you. 

  A sigh leaves Sunday and he turns his head to you again, a soft, warm kiss blessing the corner of your mouth. “… once you’re healed.” 

[jomiddlemarch]

A handkerchief of her own sewing

Rings and jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for me. Therefore the poet brings his poem; the shepherd, his lamb; the farmer, corn; the miner, a stone; the painter, his picture; the girl, a handkerchief of her own sewing.-- Emerson

Year One

Anne hemmed a dozen handkerchiefs with her monogram and hand-tatted the lace to edge each square. She ruined the first one weeping, burned it instead of letters, as she had none from him.

Lady Russell did not comment on the fact that her dozen was short. She insisted Anne buy a new bonnet, one trimmed with pink ribbon.

Year Two

Anne hemmed a handkerchief while Elizabeth complained about the number of Naval officers at Lady Vincent’s ball. Anne counted stitches instead of Elizabeth’s complaints, knowing her sister would exceed the capacity of her thread.

Year Three

Anne embroidered the handkerchief for Mary to carry to her wedding. Charles had waited six months before proposing, long enough for a respectable courtship. He’d found Anne alone once and said You’re certain, Nan, it isn’t too late, but she’d known she wasn’t ruining anyone life when she said no.

Year Four

Anne kept an extra handkerchief in her reticule when she visited Uppercross. Mary fretted that there were draughts in every room and the fires all smoked, Cook used too much pepper and the yellow paper in the sitting room would make a blind man’s eyes water. 

Mrs. Musgrove patted Mary’s hand and smiled at Anne. They had all expected Mary’s first confinement to be a bit difficult.

Year Five

Anne sewed handkerchiefs for the housekeeper Mrs. Cadell to distribute to all the staff. It was a bad year for the grippe. Her father instructed her to economize and then ordered a case of the best Madeira.

Her own handkerchiefs had ceased to be used for tears.

Year Six

Anne gave her nephew Charles his first handkerchief, his name spelled out in bright red silk. He wore it as a hat more often than attending to his nose. Mary lay on a chaise with a handkerchief soaked in cologne laid across her eyes, vowing that she had never felt so ill in her life and insisting Anne hand her another comfit.

Francis Musgrove weighed ten pounds when he was born.

Year Seven

For her birthday, the vicar gave her a silver thimble in appreciation for all the girls she’d taught and all the handkerchiefs and shirts she’d sewn for the poor. When Anne put it on, she saw her hands had begun to look old.

She took the thimble off and touched the base of her finger where Frederick had promised to put a rose-cut diamond as bright as her eyes.

Year Eight

Captain Wentworth offered a handkerchief to Henrietta Musgrove after her sister’s injury. Anne saw the faded monogram in the corner, pale blue after many launderings, remembered how solemn he’d been when he’d asked her to give him a token of her esteem, how he’d grinned when she’d handed it to him, as carefully folded as a flag.

Anne swallowed her tears.

Year Nine

Anne hemmed a dozen handkerchiefs with her monogram and hand-tatted the lace to edge each square. From the bow of the ship, she waved the delicate article, the sails billowing behind her. Frederick’s hand was warm at her waist and he murmured I’ve got you, madam, make no mistake.

The tears in Anne’s eyes she blinked away.

Written and posted (a day late, hopefully not a dollar short!) for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month for prompt: handkerchief

[brittscafe]

Pairing: Byakuya, Shunsui, Jushiro, and Gin x m! reader (separately)

Summary: Byakuya, Sunsui, Jushiro, and Gin all comfort their m! reader partner after they sprained their ankle.

Request: Can I please request some comfort for a m! Reader who just sprained their ankle with Byakuya, Shunsui, Jushiro or Gin :)

A/n: Hiii! Of course!! I loveeee writing comfort pieces <3

Content: Sprained ankles, injuries, fluffffff, fluffly comfort, so so much comfort.

Byakuya:

Rushes back to his estate as he soon as he hears word that you got injured.

Once he finds out that you are injured, he demands to his staff that they get you extra pillows, blankets, food, and medicine.

He stays with you the whole time, hand feeding you food even tho you protest that you can feed yourself (he does not believe that one bit)

Usually Byakuya isn't at the estate, but now he's there every second of the day.

He leaves everything on Renji, so that he can care for you.

Soft touches, a hand on your cheek and his hand hovering above your injured ankle, examining it.

Usually he comes home late and you're asleep by then, so it's nice that the two of you can fall asleep together.

Has his servants get you whatever you want and has them check in on you every 30 minutes.

Has the best doctors check on your ankle like it's a life or death injury.

Def scolds you for getting injured and makes you promise him that it won't happen again.

His words make seem firm or harsh, but you can tell that he really loves you.

Kisses your sprained ankle very gently and lightly.

Gives you lots of tiny little kisses on your face and hands.

Shunsui:

The first thing he does it make fun of you and tease you for spraining your ankle. I mean, come onnn, it's Shunsui, of course he's going to make fun of you.

Does not really express his concern through his words and more through his actions.

Shunsui is a soft, sweetheart, so there's lots of cuddles and times where you fall asleep on his chest.

Watches over you and will watch you sleep as he leans against the wall, a smug smirk on his face.

Big beefy man will def carry you anywhere and everywhere.

Makes sure you get the best treatment so your ankle can heal as fast as possible.

Is still naughty and inappropriate with you to get your mind off of your ankle.

Shunsui loves to tease you so that you never have time to really think about your ankle.

When you're sleeping, he'll caress your face and just admire you.

He makes sure nobody disturbs you in your sleep, he'll literally stand guard at the door or have someone else.

Lots of fun teasing, but gentle touches and soft words <3

Jushiro:

Makes you tea or any food that you want. Def gets you a whole bag of sweets.

Keeps worrying and asks if you are comfortable at least every 5 seconds.

Honestly, probably worries too much to the point where's being a little overbearing, but you know he means well.

LOTS OF TEAAA, sooo muchhhh and so many sweets. (I just had to mention that again.)

He lays on the bed beside you, rubbing your back and giving you gentle massages.

You'll be the little spoon with his arms wrapped around you and his nose pressed up against your back.

Babies you sooo much, it's like actually insane.

You are not allowed to do anything on your own. Jushiro will feed you himself and not even let you get out of bed.

It's hard to feel down because Jushiro is always encouraging and praising you.

He'll say he's proud of how hard you've been working and just praise you the whole time.

Jushiro doesn't want you to feel bad bc you sprained your ankle or anything, so he makes sure to shower you in love.

Gin:

Is concerned for you, but doesn't really show it.

Makes fun of you for spraining your ankle and laughs at you.

You can see the sly grin across his face disppear tho if you grunt or scrunch your face up in pain.

His concern and worry for you is something he doesn't show often.

You'll notice that he'll stay around you more often or that his eyes linger on you.

Doesn't usually engage in the activities you like to do, but will do them with you without you having to ask.

Will bring you your favorite food and spend time with you, watching your fav show or movie.

Is more affectionate when you're asleep, his knuckles run over your cheek, or he'll wrap you up in his arms.

His words are more soft and lovey.

Nobody in the soul society hasn't seen Gin around lately bc he's been inside with you.

He's very sly about the way he shows off his love for you.

Gin loves to stay inside with you watching a movie and snacking with his arm wrapped around you as you recover from your sprained ankle.

You can def tell that Gin loves you.

[celestiaras]

ft. doppio dropscythe x gn! reader — xsoleil, nijisanji en

╰₊✧patching up his injuries after a fight┊0.6k words

contains: mentions of fights & depictions of wounds

➤ author's note: that ver fic i promised is burning me out sm right now, i might have to put it on pause until after kinktober and it isn’t even that long?? anyways, here’s some doppio until then

“it’s now been zero days since you started shit,” you muttered, not surprised but still  disappointed about him breaking his week-and-a-half streak, applying disinfectant to the open gashes before pressing clean gauze into them and using band-aids to fasten them into place. “ver is going to give you an earful when he finds out, you can’t be breaking the rules now that you’re an enforcer.”

he doesn’t even hiss at the pain like he used to, so accustomed to the painful sensation that it feels more numb than anything. “don’t worry, ver doesn’t need to know! we could tell him that i fell down the stairs or something!”

“that only explains the bruises on your face,” you chuckle. he was cheerful as always, knowing that he did indeed win the fight even though it was three to one. “not the ones on your hands, they clearly have thrown a few punches.”

the student council president received a decent amount of flack for allowing a delinquent into the ranks, mainly from teachers who saw him as a good-for-nothing troublemaker, but he trusted doppio to behave himself and use his abilities for the right reasons.

“what were you guys fighting over anyway? it might have been something pretty important for you to throw yourself into it and break the other guy’s nose.”

he pursed his lips together, trying to decide if he should admit that he heard them saying some unsavory things about you and simply couldn’t keep his anger to himself. would you scold him for being a hot-headed idiot for putting himself at risk or praise him for coming in your defense? would you even care at all? he never was the best at reading people, it’s impossible to decipher what you were thinking right now. at least he knows that when he explains himself to ver, he will understand and let him off with a warning, but not without some teasing.

“well, you know,” he wiped away a faint trickle of blood coming from his nose, plastering a cocky smile across his face. “as the duke of discipline, it’s part of my job to enforce the rules by any means necessary!” it’s not entirely a lie, he’s sure that not saying inappropriate things on school grounds is listed somewhere in the handbook…

his eyes wandered down to where you held his hands, soft and gentle to the touch as you nimbly began to wrap bandages around the bloody knuckles of his calloused hands. heat crept up to his face under his skin, only now noticing that the reason you always had a first-aid kit around in your bag was specifically to care for him. there were very few others who would be willing to carry around extra weight on their shoulders daily just to have the ability to care for him at a moment’s notice, but you did it without a single word of complaint.

you gave him a doubtful look but chose not to press the matter anymore, much to his relief. shutting the plastic box with a snap and slipping it into your pack, you replaced your gaze with a sweet smile, “do you wanna skip class and go check out that new cafe?”

“i thought you said i ‘shouldn’t be breaking rules now that i’m an enforcer?’” he was only joking, but he really hoped deep down that you weren’t going to back out of it because he really wanted to spend more time with you.

“‘don’t worry, ver doesn’t need to know! we could tell him that…’” you hummed to yourself, “well, i don’t know what we’ll tell him, but you’re pretty good at coming up with excuses! so are you coming with me, or not?”

“of course, i’m coming with you! there’s nothing better than cupcakes after winning a fight!”

[hotteoki]

ateez in the multiverse ?!

pairing: ot8 x reader (no prns used)

genre: fluff, crack, drabble

cw: mentions of weaponry in seonghwa's, minor injury in san's and mentions of alcohol but no consuming in wooyoung's

wc: 2k in total

notes: ik some of these are longer than the others but that's cause they were meant to be an actual fic until i lost inspo to continue it :c

extra: ty @daesukiii and @pyeonghongrie for beta reading!

barista!hongjoong

hongjoong is a barista, yes. one at a cat cafe, to be specific. he finishes preparing your drink, just the way you like it, and walks around the counter to personally deliver it to you. he spots you at your usual table in the corner, petting one of the cats perched on your lap. as he makes his way over to you with, one hand holding a slice of cake and the other holding your drink, he glances around the cafe. it’s relatively empty today, only one customer sitting at the other side of the cafe immersed in whatever is on his computer and hongjoong’s co-workers all mingling in the kitchen.

he sets your plates on the table, bending down to coo at the cat before pressing a quick but soft kiss on the tip of your nose. “joongie, i didn’t pay for this,” you give him a look, gesturing at the cake. he places a kiss on your forehead and beaming down at you, “on the house, honey.” he ignores your disapproving look and only continues petting the cat.

spy!seonghwa

you lay flat down on a rooftop, eyes peering through the optic sight of your sniper, waiting patiently for your target to step near his apartment window for you to take your shot. there’s shuffling every now and then through your microphone from your boss pacing around his office in agitation, and though it distracts you a little, you decide not to tell him. 

someone clears their throat behind you, and you immediately spin your head around, your hand instinctively reaching for the knife in your belt pocket. upon laying your eyes on the person’s steely eyes, you move your microphone closer to your mouth, “your rival’s best sniper is here too.” your boss groans aloud, “get him away and do your mission!” he cuts off the microphone in irritation, yet you know him well enough that he would come back on in a few minutes. 

seonghwa perches beside you with his own sniper, preparing it while attempting to start small talk with you, “hey, my love.” you scrunch your nose at his words, continuing to look through your optic sight while replying to him, “don’t call me that.” you can practically hear the pout in his voice without looking up as he whines your name. “why not?” he raises a hand to caress your cheek softly with the pad of his thumb. you finally move to glare at him, revelling in the way his figure shrinks back away from you in fear, “you hoarded the blanket last night! i was freezing my ass off!” 

seonghwa stares at you for a couple of seconds before letting out a short laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your cheek, “is that why you were all grumpy this morning? ah, well, i’m sorry, baby.” you frown at him, “you’re cooking dinner tonight. all my favourite dishes.” he caresses your cheek once again with his soft touch, “anything for my love.”

officer!yunho

you slink into an alleyway, marvelling at the empty wall in front of you. you pull the phone to check the time, you calculate how long you have left until you have to meet your blind date your friend so kindly set you up with. nodding to yourself after noting down the 20 minutes you have to spare, you unzip your tattered gym bag, beginning to pick out a series of colours to choose from. you settle on a mixture of white, pink and red, shaking the bottles and beginning to spray on the empty wall.

you’re nearly finished until you hear a loud ‘oi, you!’ at the end of the alleyway, only his silhouette visible to you. you freeze in your tracks, raising both your hands up, waiting for the man to make the next move. as the shadowy figure steps closer, you begin to make out his handsome features. a streetlight unveils his face mid way and your heart skips a beat. you’ve just laid eyes on the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. yet as the officer walks even closer, your instincts kick in. you drop the empty spray cans on the ground and swing your bag over your shoulder, making a run for it. 

you hear a loud police whistle behind you, calling you to stop. you ignore his commands, moving from one alleyway to another until the footsteps can’t be heard anymore. you check the time again, realising you had a few minutes left before your reservation. cursing underneath your breath, you step out of the hoodie and joggers you had on, grateful you wore your formal clothes underneath, shoving the comfortable clothing into the zip bag and throwing it in an empty cardboard box nearby. you make a note to come back and collect it later. 

you rush into the restaurant, following the server to one of the tables by the corner, sitting down at the seat opposite your date and apologising frantically for being late. when you hear him clear his throat, you lift your head up from your small bow, eyes widening and heart dropping at the sight of the police officer chasing you mere minutes ago with a glare on his face. “well shit.”

florist!yeosang

the familiar ring of the doorbell echoes around your aunt’s floral shop as you step in, the familiar aroma of flowers hitting your nose almost immediately. your eyes land on your aunt’s sole employee, yeosang, who was arranging a bouquet on the working table before he lifts his head up to welcome you. “hey yeosang, how are you?” his smile widens, the constant pink on his cheeks reddening, “good, good… um, your aunt’s upstairs.” you nod, sending him a grateful smile as you move around him towards the staircase. 

he calls out your name quickly, catching your attention. when you turn around to face him again, yeosang is holding a small bouquet consisting of white and pink roses, along with a few hydrangea decorating them. he avoids your eyes and mumbles quietly, “your secret admirer stopped by to give this to you again.” you smile softly, taking the bouquet from him; you already know yeosang is your admirer from the first time he wrote a note tagged on it and you recognised the familiar scrawl of his handwriting. 

you take it from his hands gingerly, “well, thank you. i’ll be sure to thank him.” you step closer, daring yourself to land a kiss on his flushed cheek, murmuring a “thank you” against his hot skin, turning around and leaving him standing in shock. 

boxer!san

you sit on his lap clutching several wipes in hand, pressing a quick kiss on his lips before getting to work. san smiles as you dab the cut on his cheek carefully, unable to look at your worried face clearly from his swollen black eye, yet knowing you’re trying to hold back your tears upon seeing him hurt. he tightens his grip on your waist as an attempt to make you look at him, which you comply. 

he flashes you another smile, speaking softly while bringing both hands up to cup your cheeks, caressing your cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs, “c’mon baby, you promised me you wouldn’t cry if i won.” you let out a sniffle, placing your hands on top of his large ones, stammering out, “i’m not crying.” san lets out a short laugh as your tears betray your words, rolling down and wetting his fingers. he nuzzles his nose with yours, chuckling at your quiet giggle, “how ‘bout we go get something to eat, hm? i’m starving.” 

guitarist!mingi

mingi sits on a stool, securing the chains you picked out earlier on his wrist, before putting on a few rings his bandmates gifted him for his birthday. he hesitates for a few seconds, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek, holding up his ring-adorned hand for you to see, “you think this looks good, baby?” you let out a hum from behind him, tying his dyed hair into a half-up and stepping back to admire your handiwork with a smile, “what?” 

mingi waves his hand once to catch your attention, “how does this look?” you step around to stand in front of him, taking his hand and moving his rings around his fingers, mumbling under your breath about how he has no style. he lets out an offended gasp, interlocking his fingers with yours and tugging you closer to him, glaring up at you with a pout, “i have style.” you give him a sarcastic nod, “mhm.” 

a small whine elicits from him, pulling you closer to straddle his lap, grazing his lips over yours and muttering, “apologise, or i’m gonna be thinking about this all night. i’ll get distracted and the gig will be ruined. then hongjoong’s gonna tell me off for it and i’ll get sad. do you want that to happen to your cute boyfriend?” you roll your eyes at him, squeezing his hands, “you’re right. i’m sorry, min. you do have style, even better than mine, in fact, you big baby.” he gives you a satisfied grin at your words, kissing you gently.

frat boy!wooyoung

you swallow thickly, finding the loud booming in your ears unbelievably uncomfortable. you move to the kitchen where the drinks were, pouring a huge amount of alcohol in your red solo cup, raising it to your lips. the liquid barely touches your mouth until it’s pulled away from your hold and placed on the kitchen island counter. you look up at the culprit and can’t help but smile sheepishly at wooyoung as he gives you a frown, kissing your lips once. “why are you drinking, baby? you don’t like to drink.”

you look away from him, breathing deeply, “just thought i’d enjoy myself a little.” he stares at you blankly, leaning closer to you, speaking just loudly enough for you to hear his words, “i can always tell when you lie, baby.” you exhale through your nose, reluctantly answering him, “i’m not feeling very well.” he cups your cheeks with both his hands, thumb running over your cheekbones, “well, why didn’t you just say so?” you shrug, “i didn’t want the birthday boy’s night to be ruined by something so silly.” wooyoung gives you a stern look, shaking his head and clutching your hands, “you’re a hundred times more important than some stupid party, even if it’s mine. c’mon, let’s go get some fresh air outside.” 

model!jongho

you stand near the corner of the room, watching jongho move around in different poses to show off the extravagant clothes he's wearing from afar. the photoshoot soon ends and you move towards him, his coffee cup outstretched for him to hold. he takes it with a bright smile, rubbing your shoulder gratefully, “thank you.” you grin at the happiness radiating off of him, shaking your head, “it’s nothing. you go change out of your clothes, i’ll wait for you outside.”

“no,” he lets out a small whine, pulling you by your hand with his free one, lips forming into a tiny pout, “come to my dressing room with me.” you laugh a little at his antics, “jjongs, it’s only going to be a few minutes.” his pout grows, his grip on your hand tightening, “that’s a few minutes i could’ve spent with you.” “you’re like a giant, clingy teddy bear, gosh.” jongho sends you a gummy smile, “your giant, clingy teddy bear.” you can’t help but find him cringing at his own words absolutely adorable, finally nodding and giving in to his words, “lead the way then, bear.”

networks: @kflixnet k-labels kbookshelf neverendingdreams-net straykidsland @k-films @pirateeznet

[egotisticaleverything]

Stand Still - McSummers

WARNINGS/CONTAINS: NSFW, Anal sex, Anal fingering, spit as lube, normal teasing, (obvious) language, feeling up, homoerotic suit fittings, banter, floor sex, minor injury, consent checks

A/N: Gender and sex are NOT the same thing. Gender is what you identify as and sex is what Hank McCoy and Alex Summers had in that training bunker during first class when no one was around. STAY INFORMED.

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

“God would you just stand still for a second-?” Hank groaned, knelt down into the cold metal flooring of the bunker as Alex stood above him, squirming as he attempted to get his vest fitted.

“Yeah well if you weren’t getting so handsy I wouldn’t be wigglin’.” The blonde retorted, continuing to shy away from hanks touches, leading to yet another exasperated huff to escape the brunette’s lips,

“Maybe if you stayed still I wouldn’t have to get so handsy.” He muttered, moving himself to the other side to continue his work, his tone seething with annoyance as his hands grazed over Alex’s frame.

“You biting back today bozo?” Alex laughs, looking down at Hank as he inhales deeply through his nose, presumably calming himself.

“I don’t really have a choice in the matter when you’re this bratty now do I?” The taller man stands up, bringing his hands to the straps on Alex’s shoulders and adjusting them slightly, moving his hands down the others body as he finagled with the vest.

“Bratty? What am I four?” Alex scoffs cockily, his attitude shifting slightly as Hank’s hands made their way to his waist, tugging and loosening the straps in an attempt to even out the compression. The positioning sending a surprising wave of perplexing emotions through Alex’s body, a rising feeling of heat washing over him as Hank’s hands sweep across his figure, ever so gently.

“You sure act like it.” Hank chuckles, his breath brushing the back of Alex’s neck, lingering in his position seemingly purposefully before giving Alex’s shoulder a pat, “all good.” He says stepping back, “that’ll make sure the beam is directed forward, just gotta aim.”

“You’re stayin’?” Alex asks baffled, turning his head towards Hank as he leans on the wall behind him, genuine concern breaking through his voice.

“Unless you’re planning on spinning around to shoot be directly I should be fine.” The brunette shrugs, sliding his notebook out of his pocket along with a pen, flicking through it as he began to scribble down notes, “you gonna shoot or what?” He looks up for a second, a smirk tugging on the side of his mouth,

“You’re extra sassy today ay McCoy?” Alex chuckles, moving his feet to ground himself firmly on the floor, taking a deep breath in as he began to focus his energy onto his powers.

“It’s 4 in the morning, I’m not caffeinated and sleep deprived.” Hank answers plainly, still jotting down notes as Alex continues, “less of a voluntary choice and more of an… automatic psychological response.” He shrugs, fiddling with his pen between his fingers, eyes fixated on Alex.

“Quit talkin’ nerdy when I’m tryna focus Specs.” Alex grumbles, taking in another shaky breath as the heat of the building blast collecting inside him, sitting at his core heavily as it grew, the warmth of his body rising as all of his energy seemed to grow stronger, weighing heavy on his frame. Almost without warning it shot out, one singular beam, all of his intensity in one blast, causing him to stumble backwards, tripping over his own feet. “HANK-! Get down!” Alex squawked in a panic as he plummeted to the floor, his head hitting the hard pavement as his frame collapsed, the beam finally stopping as a jolt of pain stung through Alex’s entire body, from his head down to his spine, causing him to let out a pained cry.

“Alex!” Hank shrieked, lunging forward to kneel by the side of the blonde, bringing a hand up to check his head as the other cupped his cheek, his touch gentle, tender as he ran his hand through Alex’s hair to check for blood. “Oh my god, are you okay?” He spluttered, his voice laced with a genuine concern.

“Yeah- shit… I just didn’t ground myself properly… not used to it being so focused.” Alex says in a strangled groan as he hoists himself up onto his elbows, Hank’s hands moving down his body, one to his shoulder, the other to his chest, as a different type of warmth seemed to rise throughout his body.

“Oh my- I should have thought of that, I’m so sorry I’ll work on something to mellow out the blasts a bit or- or absorb some of the blow-“ Hank began to ramble, his hands moving all over Alex’s body searching for any visible injuries as he did. The sensation of Hanks gently caring touches sent a shiver down Alex’s spine as an expression filled with bewilderment was plastered across his face, now completely red. “I’m so so sorry- Alex?” Hank paused, his gaze meeting Alex’s as he stared at him in a flustered shock, his lips slightly parted as a shaky breath escaped him.

His gaze flickered to Hank’s lips, then back to his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, were they always so pretty? Even with his darkened under eyes and messy hair from lack of sleep Alex couldn’t deny Hank was devilishly attractive. I mean yes he had stopped to check him out once or twice but not for this long he never-

“Alex are you okay?” Hanks voice snapped the blonde out of his flustered daze, grounding him slightly as Hanks hands rested on his body, one on his hip, the other on his thigh. “Alex what’s going on say someth-“ Hank was cut off suddenly as Alex grabbed the sides of his face and practically smashed it into his, their lips colliding chaotically as Hank sat there wide eyed, a small whimper of shock escaping his lips before Alex pulled away,

“Oh my god.” He huffed out his eyes filled with fear as Hank stared at him, expressionless, lips still parted slightly. “I’m so sorry, we should stop-“ Alex quavered, shakily beginning to move his hands off of Hanks face.

Suddenly, and without a word Hank grabbed Alex’s wrist, moving his hand back to his cheek before he pulled him back in, lowering Alex onto the ground as he positioned himself above him. Their kiss this time more tender, warm, soft even. As Alex melted into Hank’s touch his eyes fluttered shut, a small groan escaping him as the taller boy tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth teasingly.

“Don’t stop.” Hank finally spoke, rushed between kisses, his breath sharp, voice laced with desperation. “Don’t ever stop. Alex, I-… Alex, I want you.” Hank panted, his eyes filled with emotion as his hand came up to stroke the side of Alex’s cheek, “Alex, I need you.”

Alex didn’t need another word. In one moment he slung one of his arms around Hank’s neck, pulling I’m back down into a kiss as his other hand traveled down his body, taking the brunette’s tie between his fingers and tugging harshly, earning a flustered squeak from the taller man. Hank brought his hands back down to Alex’s waist as he slotted their legs between one another, lightly pressing his knee into the groin of the man below him. The teasing contact making the blonde groan in frustration as he ground down, desperate for more friction. Hank pulled away momentarily, his chest heaving, breathing jagged as he stared down at Alex, face still completely flushed as his supple lips glistened with their shared saliva. He soon moved downwards, placing scattered kisses and bites along Alex’s jaw, slowly making his way down his neck as his noises grew more desperate and whiney,

“Hank I swear to god if you don’t rip my pants off and fuck me already-“ Alex complains through strangled whimpers,

“What? Can’t handle a little teasing?” Hank chuckles, unzipping the side of the vest as Alex discards it, moving his own hands to undo Hank’s belt before being stopped by a firm hand snatching his away, “Hey, I’m not fuckin’ you unprepped. I’m an asshole not a monster.” Hank smirks, tugging down Alex’s sweats and boxers in one go, spreading his legs further apart and settling himself in between them. “Spit.” Hank says plainly, holding up his fingers to Alex’s mouth,

“What?” Alex gawks, caught off guard by the others request.

“Quit being such a brat for two seconds and spit on my fingers.” Hank huffs, looking down at the blonde with an expectant glare through messy hair and fogged glasses. Alex complies, spitting on Hank’s hand as he rubs it through his fingers, placing his other hand on Alex’s waist, adjusting his position slightly. “Ready?” Hank asks calmly, his composure still somehow intact.

“Fuck- Yes. Of course Bozo or else I wouldn’t be splayed out on this bunker floor.” Alex throws his head back with an annoyed groan, “I swear if you don’t do something I-“ Alex cuts himself off with an almost ear shatteringly pornographic moan, as Hank jams two of his fingers into him, curling them slightly to hit his prostate.

“You were saying?” Hank nods with a smirk as he started pumping his fingers in an out, moving his free hand all over Alex’s abdomen, down his collarbone, around his pecs, brushing lightly over his nipples and down to his shaft. Running his hand gently along the length before rubbing his thumb over the leaking slit. Causing a slurry of unintelligible sounds of pleasure to escape Alex’s plump lips, “so pretty like this. I could just eat. You. Up.” Hank teases, leaning down to bite Alex’s neck, earning another ear ripping noise from the blonde below him.

“Fuckfuckfuck- Hank wait I can’t I’m gonna cum-!” Alex sputters out through strangled moans, his voice high pitched and laced with pathetic desperation. “I can’t… fuck I want- need you inside me now. Now.” He groans through gritted teeth.

“As you wish.” Hank replies cockily, pulling his two fingers out before starting to undo his belt, the metal clanking against the hard concrete as his pants fall, the imprint of his hardened dick making Alex’s eyes widen, “You know what they say about guys with big feet.” He says simply, shoving down his boxers, letting his cock press against Alex’s inner thigh for a moment before asking, “you okay with this?”

“Yes.” Alex replies instantly, his voice unbelievably certain, his eyes not leaving Hank’s shaft.

“Okay…” Hank mutters, pressing his tip against Alex’s entrance, slowly pushing himself inside as he gives Alex time to adjust. Strangled whines of pain and pleasure escaping Alex’s lips as he claws at Hank’s arms, his head thrown back in ecstasy. “Fuck you’re tight.” Hank groans out lowly as he bottoms out, staying still for a second before staring at Alex in anticipation, the blonde granting him a nod before he starts moving slowly. Hank quickly builds a rhythm, beginning slow, his touches gentle as his hands rest on Alex’s hips, so tender as he thrust into the smaller blonde.

“Fuck- Hank please,” Alex whines, his breath jagged and shaky, “I’m not fucking breakable, just fuck me already. Hard and fast.” He groans, bringing his hand up to grip the brunette’s jaw aggressively,

Those words were all that Hank needed, all he needed before he started to absolutely plough into Alex like a jackhammer, one hand on his hip and the other next to his head, keeping himself balanced as he abused the blonde’s prostate. A slurry of incoherent groans escaped him as his pace quickened, leaning down to leave a gallery of bite marks and hickeys along Alex’s neck. Soon enough Alex felt his climax approaching once again, his whimpers growing more desperate as he wrapped his legs around the brunette, using the leverage to shove himself down onto his cock at full force.

“Hank- shit- I’m gonna cum, don’t stop don’t you fucking dare stop.” Alex spilled through a wobbly groan, his head thrown back in pleasure, “fuuuck..”

“Fuck- no I’m not stopping. I’m never fucking stopping.” Hank huffs lowly, his head still buried in the others neck as he continues his violation of his core, his own climax fast approaching. “Cmon’ cum for me- please, Alex please.” He huffed out, his voice heightening in pitch as he felt himself growing closer, Alex let out a violently loud scream of pleasure, tearing through his vocal cords as he came, spilling out all over onto the pairs stomachs as Hank soon followed. Spilling himself deep into Alex’s core, biting down on the other’s shoulder with a loud groan as they both came down from their highs, before pulling out and flopping onto the floor beside him.

“Oh my god.” Alex wheezes, still catching his breath,

“We’re so fucked.” Hank says, still staring at the ceiling as he attempts to even out his own breathing,

“What?” Alex asks, still half in a daze,

“Charles is so gonna know.” The brunette turns his head to the blonde with a lopsided grin,

“Shiiiiit.”

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Ok so, I love all the shorts you post on here, you are building up a background of Competent Officer but Emotionally Stunted Price and Emotionally Intelligent and Badass Nik. Cool, fabulous.

But I've got to ask; what is Nik's sore spot?

With the extra decade it does make sense that he is more sure of himself and his relationships generally but you did touch on it with the body image/food one and mentioned it in passing with the how they met bit. Does the age gap get to him sometimes? All the loud machines (and guns) is he worried about his hearing going?

Or, his English is pretty good but does he sometimes get lost with fast speakers/strong accents?

What about something more silly? Is he fine with spiders but gets freaked out by daddy long legs (like me)? Is he wildly afraid of moths? Is he fine with big injuries but if he get a papercut is it the end of the world? Does he suffer terribly from Man Flu?

On a more domestic note, what irritates Price about him? I mean, no one is perfect right?

Does he always leave the bathroom in a state? Do all the broken noses mean he snores like a bear with a head cold (admittedly that might apply to Price as well)? Is he like my Dad and has very strong opinions on adverts and regularly go on rants about how the ad has nothing to do with the product? Does he like Marmite and Price hates it (or vice versa)?

Some excellent questions. I think Nik's weaknesses or vulnerabilities are tied up with his strengths, which I know sounds weird, but hear me out:

- This man is mad intelligent. He speaks eight languages, he canonically can fly pretty much anything (from what I've seen). He was significant enough in knowledge and skills for MI6 to go for him twice. Weakness: his intelligence can sometimes make him coldly logical. Look at how he didn't even blink twice at terrifying Butcher's family; I think that feeds well into Price's ruthlessness. He cares deeply about those he loves, but if you're not "his"? He won't even blink when pulling the trigger if it will help meet his goals.

- Linked to the above, he values his physical strength and his intellect. They make him worth something and he doesn't feel he has any intrinsic worth just as Nik. (Overbearing and demanding Soviet General father made it clear Nik needed to earn his place in the world.) If he feels they are declining or lessening, this is going to throw him through a loop. Big time. (Well noted from the food ficlet.)

- I think he was hugely, perhaps even suicidally, depressed when he turned informant. That conflict of loyalty and morality would have been difficult for his mind to process. I think that explains his apparently unflinching loyalty to Price and Laswell. In his eyes, they saved his life by giving him a purpose. (Nik you stupid fuck you literally set up Chimera and you're a hugely wealthy arms dealer off your own back wtf mate.) Nik never really had time to heal from that, he papered over it and got on with the job. I think as he settles down with Price, he will need to go to therapy. A lot of it.

- He is untidy (not unclean) at home. Laundry on the floor by the basket, never puts books away, gets fixated on a project at the expense of other things. It's like he left the military and his psyche rebelled against the bits he hated the most. Price can't compute how he can be so clinical at work and yet a complete clusterfuck at home. The garage is full of vehicles and appliances he disassembled and never put back together. Man's lucky he's dynamite in bed.

Nik is a "good" man in so far as he can be in a morally grey position. I write him with Price, through Price's lens, so we see "hero protagonist Nik" because that's who he is to/with Price. However, I do have a little ficlet tucked away when a jealous Ghost confronts him in Paris, and he tells Ghost, "If you take a shot, boy, you better not miss, because it will not happen again", and Ghost realises just why Price chose this man as his life partner. He's exactly the same level of ruthless.

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 2- Was It Worth It?

Hello lovebugs. Welcome back to day two, we got a shortie blurb for all of you!

Fictober Prompts/Masterlist

Patreon

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“Was it worth it?” Y/N grumbled as she gently wiped the cut on his forehead.

Harry had always been a hothead, but with a few drinks in him, his confidence flew. It flew all the way into a bar chair after trying to start a fight in the pub for a guy pulling Y/N close to his lap. She’d gone to report the creep for attempting something but had only gotten halfway through the crowded area when she heard someone yelling Harry’s name and for him to ‘chill out’.

 

The halloween trivia night had been a bust, it seems, but Y/N’s cat ears stuck well to her hair and her half assed attempt of a cat nose and whiskers had only smudged a tiny bit. She called that a win. The black bodysuit had been a hit with Harry, so much so that he had been extra touchy the whole night and kissing on her in the way that was gearing up for some fun at home.

The fight had sobered them both up, Y/N hissing when she saw the blood down her boyfriend’s face. It was a halloween theme so thankfully no one gave them much of a second look when they got into the uber, but she was annoyed he wouldn’t let her bring him to a hospital. 

“It was.” He hummed, pawing at her hips. Y/N was ignoring it mentally, but her body was only so strong. “Totally worth it. I told you I’d always protect you, my sweet girl. Always. And yeah, probably shouldn’t have thrown hands but he commented on your ass when I was going to tell him off so…” He shrugged his shoulders. Thankfully the only injuries seemed to be a superficial cut and a few split knuckles. Still she was going to keep him awake in case of a concussion. 

“You can keep me safe by not throwing hands in the middle of a pub.” She squeezed his chin, giving him a look as she finished tending to the head wound. They bled a lot and it was intimidating no matter what. 

“Hm. Maybe.” He pulled her in between his split legs. “I’m never going to not defend your honor. You’re my love. S’fucked if I just let someone say shit. And then they touch you?” He went to raise his brow but winced, the tender skin making him grunt. “Fucks sake. It was worth it, though. It’ll heal up and maybe I’ll have a cool scar and you can always remember who loves you enough to get his arse handed to him.” 

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, squishing his cheeks before placing a kiss to his mouth. “Fair enough, babe. Fair enough.” She was just glad she didn’t have to bail him out with a cat tail tied around her waist. “Get in the shower and wash the blood off of your hair so I can finish this up.” Her hands smacked his thighs, the sound echoing in the bathroom. “And before you ask, no. I will not join you. I will sit here and make sure you don’t pass out, god forbid, but if I step in there you will give yourself more of a headache trying to touch me.” 

She knew exactly how that would go. Harry wasn’t at all subtle when his shoulders fell, a groan leaving his lips as he stood up from the sink. “Fine. Only because this means you forgive me and you won’t be mad anymore.” He sang over his shoulder as he strolled over to the shower stall to turn on the water. “ No taking it back!”

[b00ks1ut]

I Got Your Back

Eugene Roe x GN!Reader

Warnings! Alcohol consumption, harassment, blood, mild violence, swearing, mild injury, my attempt at writing lol, I’m really hoping I got all the big stuff

This is based only off the tv series and I intend no offense to the real men of Easy Company or any veterans

Sorry if this is bad! I had such bad block while writing this and for some reason it’s taken me like 4 months to complete this short little thing😭 anyways I’m hoping it’s not horrible!

Also this was written for @executethyself35! Thank you so much for being so amazing and I’m so so sorry this has taken 5 and 1/2 years lol You’re amazing and literally the best <3

The bar was loud and stuffy and crowded, but it was fully of paratroopers, what did you expect? You were sat at a little round table, crowed with too many men; most now at least tipsy and all thourally enjoying the rare weekend pass that Sobel didn't take from them.

"You need another drink?" Eugene barely had to lean over in his chair to reach your ear due to the cramped situation that was your table.

"Oh, yeah. I'll get 'em this time, you got the last ones." You told him turning towards the medic sat next you, your noses nearly touching, and you had to almost lean back to stop yourself from bumping into him.

"No, I ain't gonna make you do that." He began to reach for your now empty glass but you quickly stopped his hand from fully grasping the cup.

"Please, I've gotta spend all this extra paratrooper money," you joked, pushing his hand away and giving it a quick squeeze. You quickly stood and grabbed his mug, not giving him a chance to object.

You had made it hardly 6 feet away from the occupied table, through the impossibility close crowd, when an unknown man had stepped into your path. You had attempted to step around him but it was no use, this man was a wall unwilling to move.

"I'm sorry is there a chance you could move please?" If he wasn't going to read your very obviously uninterested body language then he could hopefully read you as equally uninterested lips.

"Now how about I don't do that and instead take you home?" He was handsome in his own way, he definitely wasn't ugly but was certainly not your type.

"Oh no thank you, I'm just trying to get a couple of drinks for me and friend." You again tried to step around him but he kept moving in a step in front of you. You looked around hoping to catch someone's eye but for how many people were the damn bar you couldn't seem to catch the eye of a single you knew. "I'd really appreciate it if you just let me get my drink."

"How about if I let you get your drink, you'll owe me a drink." He was smirking to himself like this normally worked for him, intimidating people into dancing and sleeping with him. Now that you thought about it, maybe he wasn't just not your type; maybe he just wasn't everybody's type so he had to resort to this sad creepy behavior that definitely was getting him nowhere.

"They don't owe you a damned thing." The familiar Cajun accented voice had reached your ears before you were even aware he was nearby. "How about you get a move on now and we'll all have just a fine and dandy of the night."

"I don't think so no." This man was either the biggest piece of shit or was denser than fuck and you were certain it was the former. Before you could think of a response he had grabbed your arm and began trying to pull you away. As if it were second nature you took the glass in your hand and brought down hard on his hand.

The glass shattered. Pieces flying in all directions but most of the pieces finding their home in the back of the man's hand.

"You fucking whore!" He had quickly ripped his hand away cradled it in his other hand.

"I'm the whore here? I'm not sure what Not want to have sex with you makes me a whore but if it means you'll leave me alone then I'll make it a badge wear it on my uniform." You weren't sure where this attitude was coming from and you had nothing else to blame it on than your last few drinks and the current adrenaline racing through your veins.

The man was still standing there dumbstruck when you turned around to find Gene standing there. His eyes scanned across your face before leaping down the arm the man had just grabbed you by.

His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes became increasingly more concerned when he noticed the cuts on my arm from a few stray pieces of glass. His eyes flicked back to yours.

“I’ll getcha patched up.” He hadn’t left any room for argument but you might as well try.

“I’m alright, it’s nothing I can’t handle on my own.” But by the time the reply had left your lips Eugene already had your hand in his and was walking towards the door.

“You can’t just leave them glass pieces in, it’ll never get better.”

“Fine, I’ll take your word for it.” Why complain when the most attractive man you’ve ever met was asking to take care of you. Only an idiot would pass that up.

Cool dark of outside was a welcome change from the stuffy pub and you relished in it, not having had a break from the heat of George in a while.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was just a low rumble and you weren’t sure if you were imagining it.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he had now turned around and faced you, still holding your hand. “I shoulda gone with you to get drinks and I shoulda done more. I just-“ He ran his other hand over his face before rubbing the back of his neck.

“Gene, you have nothing the apologize for. I was the one who insisted I get the drinks, I was the one who couldn’t get myself out of the situation. It’s on me, not you.” You gave his hand a squeeze and his arm a little tug, causing him to finally look at you after staring at this boots this whole time. “But none of that matters anymore, he’s gone and now there’s nothing to worry about.”

“What about your arm? I can’t let you just ignore it.” He was looking at you with such concern and care and all you could do was stare. Yeah staring is rude but how could you not? His short hair was sticking up in different places from him running his hands through it and the light from the bar was casting a beautiful glow that made his eyes sparkle in a way you never saw them before.

He was gorgeous. Not that you’d never noticed this before, but the realization hit you like a truck and it completely stole your breath; he stole your breath.

“Ma joie?” His voice brought you back, a flush spreading across your face.

“Huh? Sorry.” You realized you were still holding his hand, and finally let it drop. The warmth of the rough skin of his was quickly wicked away by the night air.

“Where’d you go?” He was looking at you like you mattered, like you were more than a body. More than a number. More than the shell that Sobel had been working you down to.

“Sorry… um just distracted. What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you need help with your arm.” His eyes left yours to flick down to the still bloody and leaky cut of your arm.

“Oh. I can handle it on my own.” You were kicking yourself the moment the words left your mouth. The best man you’ve ever met wants to take care of you, and you can’t seem to let him.

“I really was just askin’ to be nice but there’s no way I’m letting you take care of this yourself. And I’m especially not letting you make your way back to base when filth like him are around.”

“I can hold my own, I was just wasn’t trying to make a scene in there.” You didn’t know why you kept making these excuses for him to leave you. You didn’t want him to walk away, every bit of yourself wanted to jump on him but a bit of you was too scared of just a little bit of rejection to have him just patch you up.

“I’m not doubting that you could but I am worried you might be a little drunk and that if I don’t help you get that arm cleaned up you’ll be nice and infected in a week.” He had a point, a good point he made a few times now. And what is there to be scared of with him. Eugene Roe is quite possibly one of the kindest most caring people you know what is there to be worried about, if you messed up and made a move he would react completely responsibly.

But for some reason you kept fighting it.

“I just don’t want to be a bother. Go have fun, Gene, I didn’t mean to upturn the night. I’m sure everyone is waiting for you in there.”

“Nope. Not a chance I’m leaving. You’re stuck here with me, and it’s cold and dark so while I’d love to continue this amazing little conversation I really think it might be our best interest to start the trip back to base.”

I was obvious he was done with the back and forth so you let it drop.

—————————

It wasn’t long until you were back where you needed to be. All of the light posts were turned on but no one was out and about save for the few drunk-ish men stumbling from barrack to barrack. Many of the lights to the cabins were on and laughter and conversation could be heard from the people within them.

Gene grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the dark, unlit medic tent. The walk a short and easy trek through the mazes of buildings, as he seemed to know where the tent was and could get you there with his eyes closed walking backwards.

You quietly arrived to the temporary shelter and are met with… nothing. No noise, no startling smell; just more dark. And the awareness that you’re all alone with Eugene.

He continues to tug you over to a table set up in the center of the room. A few crates next to them that he immediately begins to rummage through.

“Can I help with anything?” Your voice cuts through the quiet, just barely above a whisper.

“No, I got it.” He pauses briefly to look at you, never really stopping his hands from sifting through the supplies.

“Eugene, please. I want to help you, how can I help? Even just a little bit, I feel like I’m just in the way.”

“You can help by sitting yourself up on that table there and letting me take care of you. That’s all I ask, that you let someone take care of you; even if it’s just this one time.” His tone was soft, his accent showing through the caring tone. He had grabbed all of the items from the crate and was just staring at you. Looking at you.

Slowly, as if approaching a wild animal, Gene set the supplies on the table and stepped to you. His thighs brushing your knees

Everything about him was stunning. From his heavily disheveled hair all the way down to his spit shined boots, he was perfect.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice had come out uneven and hoarse, barely audible even in the quiet evening.

“What for?”

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me all night and I keep pushing you away. I don’t know why, I think I’m just scared. I mean… we ship off in just a few weeks and then anything could happen. I can’t go getting attached to anyone; especially you.” You averted your gaze to the ground so you wouldn’t have to see his face when he realized what a horrible coward you are.

But, instead of him lashing out and leaving you his hand gently came to your chin, tilting back up, forcing you to look at him again.

“I don’t blame you for that. We’re all terrified, but what’s the point of being here if we’re not going to make the most of it while we can. Why die regrettin’ what’s right in front of you when you all you gotta do is reach a little and grab it. I’m scared that some of the best people I’ve met are not going to come back and I might be included in that but I’m also scared that I’m not gonna take the beautiful opportunity I have right now… with you.” His gaze was soft and gentle. He looked quickly at your lips before taking a small step back. “But I should probably patch you up first.”

“I’m fine.” You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him to yourself until your lips met. Eugene didn’t move, he stayed completely still. You quickly pulled away. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- I didn’t ask. I just assumed-“

His lips swiftly covered yours. You returning the affection. His lips soft and gentle against yours, still tasting of the ale he left back at the pub.

It was all over before you could completely let yourself get absorbed into him. His soft breaths fanned over your face as his forehead tenderly connected with yours.

“Can I get you fixed up now?” A playful glint in his eye, and a blush so bright you could still see it in the dark, adorned his face.

“I suppose I’ll allow it.” Your smile morphing into a smirk.

He picked up a pair of tweezers, from the pile he had set next to you, pinching them at you jokingly.

“Let me know if I hurt you.” He gently grabbed your arm by the elbow and maneuvered it to where he needed it. The contact from him, although little, had a fresh blush creep up your neck.

“I’m sure that I’ll be fine.”

You soon learned that was not true. Once he had gotten all of the biggest pieces out of your arm, his search for the tinier shards started. You tried to muffle your winces but everyone he’d stop and wait until your face had returned to neutral.

“Ma joie, please let me know when I hurt you. I don’t have much left to get but I hate to be hurting you, so let me know so I can stop it.” Gene had set down the tweezers so he could hold your hands.

“I’m not hurting. I’m completely fine.” Your lie was obvious but he was doing enough for you already that why would you interrupt his process just because you’re not completely comfortable.

“Alright then.” He picked the tweezers up again and got the last few pieces out, still pausing whenever you flinched a little too hard. He then proceeded to do the most gentle cleaning and wrapping ever performed in history. He rinsed out the area, dabbing away all the water like if he pressed too hard your arm would fall off. Then he wrapped it all up in a sterile bandage, asking if it was too tight every two wraps around your bicep. “All done!”

You went to slide off the table but his hands held you in place. “I thought we were done?” He just stared, emotion clear in his eyes.

“Can I kiss you again?” You surprised yourself with the question. You had been thinking the thought since it happened the first time just 30 minutes before.

“Of course you can.” His hands came up to your face, cupping your cheeks and lead you together.

I was the same but different from the first kiss. This one wasn’t hesitant or awkward as you tried to find your placement, you meshed perfectly. Your lips moving over each others in perfect harmony. Little puffs of air from his nose tickling your lashes, and the way he smiled into the kiss had you melting into his hands.

Your arms went up his chest to his shoulders, stopping to loop around his neck; your fingers curling slightly into his hair. All of Eugene was surrounding you, his smell, his taste, his entire presence was all you could comprehend in the moment.

He eventually pulled away, breathing heavy. Eyes slowly opening back up to look into yours.

“Thank you.” You don’t know why you said it. You were saying for the man that left you alone when he arrived. You were saying it for the bandage snuggly tied around your bicep. You were saying it for the breath taking kiss you just had. But most of all you were saying it for the man that was going to be there for you in every moment he could be.

“I got your back; through it all.” He squeezed your hips, his eyes never leaving yours.

“And I yours.”

[lanitalay]

Before I Say Goodnight Chapter 12

a/n: I love pining, i really do

Warnings: depictions of a toxic relationship, canon typical mentions of violence/injuries.

Word count: 2.5k

Other chapters

“Why do you say things like that?” 

It was ridiculous. In the darkness of the dungeons it was almost impossible to tell when she was awake or asleep. The only grip to reality and the waking world would be when Eris would come to bring her food and water or when his father would visit. Beron never stayed for long, at first he would interrogate her, quickly get irritated when she wouldn’t say anything and then knock her out. The ways he knocked her out got more creative as the days blurred. The first time it was a straight punch to her right eye. The second, he brought a thick book to deliver a firm blow to the back of her head. The third she couldn’t remember. Recently, he’s resorted to putting a soaked  cloth over her nose and mouth and waiting until she inhales the putrid substance. It usually takes a few seconds for her to be out cold. He doesn’t ask questions anymore. When she wakes up the wound on her arm is fresh. 

Since Beron has altered his methods, the dreams seem to slip into the darkness of the dungeon. Sometimes they are based on the recent horrors she has come to experience. It's silly really, but the dreams that hurt the most are those that remind her of the past.

 “Sweetheart, I’m just being honest” he always prided himself in being sincere. 

“You’re being mean” he knew it, too. But that was the darkness Mathew carried. The sword he wielded and sharpened with her. His laughter made her skin crawl, he enjoyed the fighting. “Don’t be an idiot, I’m just saying that that dress doesn’t look good on you anymore”. How do I respond to that? “And you think telling me that five minutes before we leave is helpful?” He shrugs “it gives you five minutes to change”. She ground her teeth and walked back into the bedroom.

She must look and smell like hell. Her hands can’t run through her hair anymore. The strands are stuck together with a mixture of sweat and blood. She knows she’s pale because she hasn’t seen the sun in days or maybe weeks at this point. But her skin is covered in bruises, scrapes, dried blood and dirt. 

“You know I love you” she cringes at the memory of those words followed by cold dominating touches down her back. He would always remind her. After every fight and every insult those words would be loaded like bullets on a shotgun. She sighed with relief when a familiar glow appeared from the stairs.

Eris had been having trouble keeping up appearances and doing his usual tasks as heir in between plotting to get y/n out and far away from Beron’s grasp. It took every bit of restraint that he possessed to not slice his father’s head clean off. Each day she was more pale, she had new bruises and a fresh layer of blood would be coating her never healing arm. He had managed to convince his father to let her out so she could bathe and be fitted for a dress for the ball. “If you want to be convincing I can’t have a walking corpse as my escort” Eris had told him. He made a point to let his disgust show. “And leave her face alone, it is already difficult enough to stand being near her” that last line had been a risk. But as far as he could tell, her face had been left untouched. She had told him they were drugging her now. He didn’t know which was worse. 

“Hi” her soft voice brought him out of his thoughts. “Hello” he said back and kneeled down at the grates with a bowl of soup. She crawled over and sat in front of him. “How do you feel today?” It was a dumb question, but he always asked. She swallowed a few spoonfuls before answering “the same, I feel extra gross today”. He nodded “tomorrow someone will come get you to take a bath and get fitted for a dress”.  She didn’t say anything until she had finished the bowl. “I don’t know if I can even walk let alone dance at a ball” he held her hand through the grate. “I’ll have a healer come by during your fitting, the ball is three days away. Just three days, y/n, and you’re out”. She was so cold. The once lilac coat she wore was a brownish grayish color now, but it remained intact. “Why are you so cold? Does that coat not work?” She shook her head “the coat is fine, but I don’t know. I feel the cold in my bones” he sighs and motions for her to get closer. He opens his palms in front of her and lights two small fires “try to warm up”. With more light he can see the dark circles under her eyes and how dry and chapped her lips are. Usually she’s a thing of beauty and radiance. But down here she’s a poor soul trying to stay alive. 

“It's very convenient you can wield fire” she says, her face has regained the slightest bit of color and her posture is more relaxed. “I almost forgot” he pulls out a piece of chocolate cake he had taken from the kitchens and hands it to her “dessert”. She lights up when she sees the slice. “This looks delicious” he smiles, for a second, “dig in” and hands her a fork. He had to leave after an hour. It got harder with every visit. 

Azriel could count on one hand the number of hours he had slept since he found out she was being held hostage. The only thing keeping him somewhat sane was the knowledge that she was alive. But he knew where she was and who was in charge of her and that made him sick.  “I say we wait until the ball is in full swing and sneak her out through one of the back rooms. Winnow her back to Velaris” Rhysand suggested. But Azriel stepped in “they’ll take precautions so she isn’t left alone”. They had been debating how to get her out without declaring war on Autumn for hours and had not come to one single agreement. 

She flinched when she was met with the bright lights of the main level of the Forest House. They had dragged her up the stairs, through the servants quarters and hidden passages and into a luxurious bedroom where they had dropped her like a heap on the floor. She hadn’t walked properly in days now. With hands placed on the floor and knees braced to hold her weight, she pushes herself up slowly and manages to stay balanced for a few steps until she reaches an armchair. Letting herself melt into the soft cushions she moans at the feeling. This room reminded her of the one she used to have in the House of Wind. That seems so far away now. The bed is huge and perfectly made. There is a large window across from where she’s sitting and she can see that Autumn remains intact. She wonders how Muriel is doing since she's been gone. Gone. The word felt like a punch to the gut. Mindlessly she brings her hand to her stomach and winces. Beron had stopped hitting her face but he would kick her sometimes. There was a desk, littered with mountains of papers. Why would they bring me here? This is clearly someone’s room. She tenses when the door to the room opens. Eris walks in. He sighs with relief and scans her from head to toe. “Good, you made it” she was gaping “are you crazy?”  He helps her get up from the chair “this is better than buckets”. 

Eris walked her to the bathing room and filled the tub. “Take your time” he says and motions to where the towels and a fresh set of clothes are. Taking her clothes off took so much effort she was out of breath. Getting in the tub was tedious but she made it and groaned as the perfectly warm water enveloped her.  

She scrubbed every inch of her body and hoped the dark marks would wash away. But realized that she is trying to scrub away bruises. Sighing, she inspects her arm. A thin scab had formed along the gash. It was around this time each day that Beron would visit her and slice it open again. She washed her hair at least five times. Hands pruned by the time she got out. 

When she stepped out of the bathing room Eris was waiting for her with an older lady. “You look better,” he said. She hadn’t been brave enough to look in the mirror. “At least I’m clean” he helps her back to the chair. “This is Sylvia, she’s a healer. You can trust her. I need to leave for a while but I’ll be back soon” he leaves the room. 

Sylvia tells her she is dehydrated, anemic and sleep deprived. She rubs a salve all over her bruises and a different one on her forearm. Then, makes her lay down on the bed, tucks her in, under the thick earth toned covers and tells her to sleep. 

The feeling of slightly sinking wakes her. Eris is sitting at the end of the bed, hands covering his face. “What’s wrong?” He looks at her and tenses, “nothing, did you get some sleep?” She nods “like a baby”. “Your fitting is soon” right, the ball. “Tell me again how you are planning to sneak me out during a very public event?” Eris helps her get out of the bed “it’s better if you don’t know” she hums “that is not reassuring” he sighs “it’s the best I can do”. 

“The High Lord wants you in Autumn Court colors” the seamstress says as she inspects y/n. Her hands are perched on her hips as she circles the girl. “Orange would wash you out, maybe a deep cool tone green will do” she says and brings out swatches of fabrics. She pulls out measuring tape and jots down your measurements as she takes them. 

After the fitting, the same guards from the morning took her back to the dungeons. Two more days. Two more days and I’m out. 

She shivered as cold claws pierced her abdomen. Her scream was muffled by something slimy. The claws scraped down her skin, leaving three jagged lines in their wake. She struggled, as much as she could, but she was pinned against a tree. Presented like a meal. She could see the stones in front of her, behind the creature that suckled at her wounds. The sickening sound of its slurping made bile rise in her throat. Just kill me. But the thing was taking its time, playing with its food. 

When the guards came to get her she was catatonic. 

When Eris saw her he thought she had been broken. 

“Leave us” he ordered. Stepping closer he could tell that the bruises that had been visible were mostly healed. Her arm still raw. “Hey, are you there?” She didn’t look at him directly but nodded. “You’re getting out today, after the ball, everything is worked out” his voice a gentle whisper. Her bottom lip quivered and he rushed forward as her knees gave out “I can’t do it, I can’t” she hadn’t cried in so long. Fat salty tears poured down her cheeks “you can” Eris held her up, and brought her to his chest. She was shaking “this is a nightmare. I can’t do it anymore” he rubs her back, trying to warm her up. “It will be over soon,” she continued to weep. Not believing him. 

Azriel had never wanted to kill someone more than when he saw Beron enter the throne room in the Court of Nightmares. He and his wife walked in first, not looking at each other. They were followed by their middle sons. All dressed elegantly and carrying themselves as the royalty they were. Eris and y/n were the last to enter.

Azriel hated the way she clung to him like a lifeline. How her eyes didn’t meet his. How she had gone pale, her skin translucent. They had dressed her in a long sleeved dark green gown that matched Eris’ suit perfectly. Her hair was in loose waves and a golden tiara was placed on her head. Her neck was adorned with a gold necklace that, in his opinion, resembled a collar and there was an emerald ring on her left hand. There was no denying she looked stunning, but her eyes were gaunt and her lips were set in a thin line, a borderline frown. Her head hung low.

The dancing began. Eris was keeping her upright and leading her through dances that she did not know. It had been so long since she had heard music. A few times during the night she let her eyes close and moved with the rhythm of her own accord.

Azriel hated how he could smell her and hear her voice whisper in Eris’ ears but could not touch her. He could not rip his hands off her.  How he could not take her back to her room, which remained untouched since she had left. He hated how he could not be certain that she would remain unharmed. 

She couldn’t say she was having fun, not really. Her mind constantly going to the Shadowsinger lurking by the dias. She could feel his eyes on her and she fought against every fiber of instinct to not look at him. Eris had warned her of his father’s intentions. Which is why she tensed as the High Lord of Autumn called everyone’s attention. 

“I believe this is the perfect opportunity to make an announcement very pertinent to the future of Autumn, if you’ll allow me Rhysand” he practically sneers. The crowd murmurs. She swallows, knowing what is about to come. Rhysand waves his hand in disinterest but not objection. 

“There is to be a wedding, between my son and the newest resident of the Forest House. Join me in congratulations to Eris and Y/n” Beron lifts his glass of sparkling wine, as does the crowd. Y/n and Eris remain quiet and unmoving, no hint of elation at the announcement of their nuptials. 

Eris found the scheme to be laughable. Pretending to marry his heir to a human girl with no land or gold or title was absurd. But Beron played dirty, and he’d do anything to further his agenda.

Azriel’s siphons flared, reacting to his growing fury. He needed to calm down. There was a plan in place to get her out.

He needed to be patient and play his part.

taglist: @luvmoo @leeknows-wife

[roseofhybrids]

Drone Tessa AU idea:

When Cyn turned Tessa into a robot she decided at first to let her keep her human skin in order to disguise her alterations from her family.

Unfortunately she forgot to keep in consideration the lack of senses and the fact that human eyes aren’t pitch black visors and so she had to take it off of her once Tessa find out what she did and began to rip it off in a moment of madness.

Hey, look! The Elliot's daughter managed to make it out alive! Seems like she's doing ok:

(TesCYN continues to not beat the furby allegations)

for the eyes and senses

we know from CYN's puppy dog eyes in episode 5 that the drones can display full color images on their visors. So in theory, she could make fake human eyes on the display. Ala lego mario here:

Realistically speaking, I don't think anyone would be tricked into thinking they're real. But if the adults are paying so little attention that they can't notice the fact that she's a drone with skin wrapped around it, then maybe it could work.

The senses though are tricky.

Drones seem to have at least some sense of touch. Though, since the skin's nerves have presumably been separated from her brain, I'd imagine it feeling like she's wearing gloves, a mask, et cetera. (notably, something she'd have less reason to question if she were in the astronaut suit)

We've seen the drone's HUDs a view times, which are always tinted their lights color, and have some visual snow. But we know they can still discern color through V's reference to Uzi as purple and Doll as red. I think that would be one of the first things a human would notice. Unless CYN removes the UI elements, and we take the creative liberty to assume that since the drones can discern color that it would trick Tessa's brain into thinking nothing's wrong? It really depends on how long you want her to not know she's a robot. (another thing that the space suit could help with. If one puts some flavor text in about the helmet having some sort of UI)

Sound, I don't think we've seen anything to suggest the drone's hearing is too different from a human's. Can hear each other speak alright, react to sound cues, enjoy listening to nightcore and panic at the disco.

Taste, I mean. They do have tongues and N describes oil as sweet, so?

Scent here is a bit interesting. Because I can't recall any scenes where the drones have referenced the smell of anything. Not uncommon in any story, especially visual ones like video. It's just something we can forget about easily. For organic characters, we can assume they can, but with robots it's a little up in the air. They don't have visible noses, though there are animals that smell through their mouths rather than nostrils (snakes, lizards, some mammals have extra scent abilities alongside their noses, see "flehmen response"). Would the company have a reason to give them a sense of smell? Would the solver have a reason to? At the same time, it's not unheard of for humans to lose their sense of smell through injury or illness. So it would be possible to not have it without your first thought being "oh shit I've been turned into a robot" (and would you look at that another thing the space suit could cover up. If you're in an airtight suit, why question the fact that you can't smell all the corpses around you? Maybe question why you can't smell your own sweat in there, but that's more a blessing than a curse)

In terms of tricking people into thinking Tessa is human, including Tessa herself. That suit can account for a lot of things.

[brittscafe]

Hi! Maybe you consider writing some one-shot with Sukuna comforting fem reader while she has some decease? Not injury and not like she is having a flu, but some real decease. Doesn’t matter which one exactly. He is angry that he can’t help her and he is like extra soft and gentle with her 🥺 I know that it’s way out of his character, but domestic Sukuna is everything to me 🧎🏻‍♀️

Hiiiii <3 ofcccc, I live for soft Sukuna 😊 I hope you like this <3

Sukuna Ryomen could do anything he wanted to. He could murder a whole family, world domination, anything, you name it. But...the one thing he really wanted to do, but he just can't, is help you.

Ever since you've been diagnosed with your disease, you've been stuck in your bed all day and the days were you feel super good are rare. You thought Sukuna would leave you for sure, I mean, you couldn't really do anything. You were of no use to him, but Sukuna doesn't think that at all.

Once you told him the bad news, he was so anger and outraged, but he was also helpless and in a fit of sadness.

Helpless.

That's one thing Sukuna never thought he would be. He could do anything, but help you. No matter he badly he wanted to, no matter how bad his heart aches for you and the pain you're in everyday.

So, he spends every waking moment with you. Every night is spent with you, massaging your aching muscles and giving you soft, warm kisses. Always having his arms wrapped around you as you fall asleep in his loving arms.

He stays up for a while after you fall asleep, clenching his jaw and cursing the world for doing this to you. The love he carries for you in his heart is overflowing.

The mornings are always calm as you wake up in his arms. Sukuna is always awake before you and has a cup of tea or coffee for you. He helps you drink it and watches you carefully.

You roll your eyes at him and tell him you're not a baby who needs to be supervised. Sukuna chuckles and makes a sarcastic remark about you needing to be babied and how you are his baby.

Sukuna learns how to cook for you and he'll go run anywhere to get you anything you need. He takes care of you and lets you do anything you want.

He usually grimaces when you play with his hair or run your fingers through it, but now he smiles. He used to act so annoyed when you played with his hair, but deep down, he was always smiling.

Now he shows his smile, the one that no one else is allowed to see, but you. His words are affectionate and not harsh.

He runs hot baths for you and washes your body. His touches are so tender and slow, feeling your flesh under the pads of his fingers brings him such comfort.

Sometimes, he'll even get in the bath with you and wrap you up in his arms. You'll rest your back on his chest from behind, closing your eyes and relaxing in the moment.

Sukuna will cover your neck in wet kisses, whispering into your ear how much he loves you. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, breathing in your scent.

He'll never show you how sad he is that he cannot help you nor how anger he is. He has to hide that for you, he doesn't want you to see that side of him.

He cannot express how much he wishes he was not helpless..

Ko-Fi link

[paceypeternathanslawyer]

I really need people to understand how important little physical intimacies are with TV couples. And it's not even something you think about until you become a shipper of one such TV couple. Like I didn't know this existed until I learned of Pacey and Joey and since then I have been lucky to find 2 additional TV couples like that.

And when I talk about little physical intimacies I mean how in one scene Pacey takes Joey's hand, kisses it and then while still holding her hand puts it up against his heart. These are things that aren't scripted it's just an actor living in this role and immersing themselves in it and going the extra mile.

Or like Nathan and Haley in One Tree Hill. There was this little scene where Nathan is taking Haley's little boot thing off after her injury and James is just like picking lint off of her socks. It's something that is so simple but makes the scene feel so lived in and real.

Or John B and Sarah in Outer Banks. There's a scene where John B and Sarah are seen walking away with their arms around each other and Sarah is just tousling John B's hair playfully.

And these are just three cases of it. You'll see these characters touching each other's hair in scenes, or improvising kisses on the forehead or rubbing their noses against their costars cheek. These little things add a realism to the couple. Cause you do that stuff with your significant other. But it's not as common as you may think on TV. I think it takes a lot of bravery and confidence and also a close friendship with your costar to go beyond the script in those moments and add those little touches.

I need people to understand how special these couples are. Truly from the bottom of my heart I need to give big ups to Josh, Katie, James, Joy, Chase, and Madelyn cause they are just incredible at building these real relationships that feel so genuine and dynamic. And the fire chemistry never fades with these couples... mostly cause I think these actors just have chemistry for real life as well. For instance James and Joy still have crackling chemistry even 10+ years after the show ended.

[dailydragon08]

Nightmare I

Pairing: Luke Skywalker x F!Jedi!Reader Summary: Luke gives you all the touch and comfort you need during a rough night. Warnings: reader has a nightmare (but it isn't described), Star Wars universe curse words. A/N:  "Remnants" is a series of one shots in no particular order about the budding relationship between you and Luke as he trains you in the ways of the Force. Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

***

You watched rain slide down the Redeemer’s front windshield, the crashing thunder in the distance a comfort you didn’t know you needed. You and Luke had located another Force artifact on the jungle planet of Kenari and landed your ship near the cave it was supposedly found in. Since it was getting dark and the current storm had no intention of letting up, you and Luke had opted to get some sleep and start out in the morning instead. 

You sighed as you dug through your bag where it lay on the main hold’s large, circular table. “Kriff.”

“What’s wrong?” Luke turned from where he was tinkering with R2 in the corner. 

“I forgot to pack enough nightshirts,” you grumbled. You lifted a shirt you’d worn previously on this trip to your nose, barely biting back your gag at the smell. “Well, definitely not that one.”

“Here.” Luke quickly disappeared into his bedroom—which had been converted from one of the imperial shuttle’s many cargo holds, just like yours—before emerging with a large dark shirt in his hands. He almost looked nervous as he held it out to you. “I always keep a stash of clothes onboard, just in case, so I have extra.”

You hesitantly reached out to take the soft black fabric in your hand. “Are you sure? I don’t want to take it from you if you need it.”

He smiled softly and nodded. “I’m sure.”

You held his eyes for a moment before taking the shirt in your hand. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Borrow it as long as you need to.” He turned his focus back to the astromech in front of him. “I’m almost done with R2’s repairs and then I’ll be heading to bed, too. But let me know if I’m too loud.”

“I will.” You paused in your bedroom doorway, clutching the soft fabric in your hand. “Goodnight, Luke.”

“Goodnight, Y/N. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You let the door close behind you with a whoosh, staring at the shirt in your hand before taking a deep breath and shedding your clothes. You didn’t usually sleep in pants, but as you let Luke’s shirt fall over your shoulders, found it sank down mid-calf on you anyway. The v-neck that only exposed his collarbones went much lower on you, your hands disappearing inside the sleeves. You held them up to your nose and breathed in his scent before sinking into your sheets and letting sleep overtake you. 

***

You woke in a panic, screaming loud enough to wake the dead and clutching your sheets to your chest. You panted as you looked around frantically, feeling relief surge through you at the familiar walls of the Redeemer. 

You jumped again as your door flew open and Luke rushed in, wearing loose sweatpants and a tank top that he was still hastily pulling down over his torso. He took in your panicked stare, his blue eyes racking over your body for injuries. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you stuttered, feeling the tears building behind your eyes. “I had a nightmare. I…I’m so sorry—”

His eyes turned soft. “It’s all right. I get them, too.” He took a few steps closer, then hesitated. “Can I sit with you for a minute? Or do you want some space?”

“Stay,” you said before you even realized you’d spoken. “I mean…if you want.”

“Of course I will.” He made his way over to you and gently sat on the edge of your bed. He stared at you unsure for a moment before taking your hand in his, gently rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. “Is this okay?”

You nodded, biting your lip. His eyes were so full of genuine concern, it made your heart flutter. The dream, however, still had its claws sunk deep into you and you couldn’t stop your face from crumbling as the tears started to flow. 

His face fell and he looked like he was about to cry himself as he murmured your name. 

You futilely wiped a few tears from your cheek as more poured steadily down your face. “I’m sorry—”

“Hey, please don’t apologize. I want to be here for you.” He squeezed your hand in his before continuing softly. “Can I hold you?”

You looked up in surprise, your sleep-addled brain taking a moment to process. You could feel his hurt through the Force as more tears fell and he looked at you so tenderly and carefully, his fingers still gently caressing yours, it made your heart thump twice as hard in your chest. 

“It’s all right if you don’t want me to—”

“No, I—I do,” you answered, your voice cracking. “I…Please.”

Luke let go of your hand and didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you tightly against his chest. You buried your face in the warm skin of his neck and clung to him. The movement made his shirt slip down your shoulder and your heart skipped a beat at the feeling of his warm fingers gently stroking your skin there. He pressed his cheek to yours and you closed your eyes, breathing in his closeness and warmth like an antidote. You could feel your pulse settle as his fingers traced gentle shapes against your bare shoulder, his gloved hand gently massaging your back. 

He moved to press his cheek against your forehead and gently pulled the collar of the shirt up to cover your shoulder again. His flesh hand moved to gently stroke your hair away from your face and he pressed a feather-light kiss to your forehead. You felt his sudden embarrassment through the Force and he cleared his throat quietly. “Sorry, that was just…sort of instinctual.”

“It’s okay,” you breathed into his skin. “It feels nice.”

He hesitated a moment, his fingers still gently playing with the strands of your hair before kissing your forehead again. You pulled back to look him in the eye and felt your heart swell at how adorable his bedhead was. His hair looked so silky and it took all your strength to resist running your fingers through it—although with how much he was still playing with your hair, you’re not sure he would’ve minded.

“Thank you,” you breathed, realizing as your lips moved how close they were to his. 

He nodded, his eyes drinking in your form. His face suddenly bloomed an adorable shade of red as his shirt collar slipped down your shoulder again. His eyes tracked the movement before snapping up to your face as another tear escaped you, gently wiping it away with his thumb. He gently tucked your hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering on your jawline. 

You stared openly, glancing at his skin that peeked out from underneath the white tank top. It honestly didn’t cover much and really put his toned shoulders and arms on display. Your sleep-drunk brain couldn’t help but think his skin was such a nice golden color. 

His eyes went wide and you frowned for a moment before yours did, too. “Oh, Maker, was that out loud?”

He chuckled, looking down bashfully. “Um, yes, but…thank you.”

“Sorry, I’m…really tired.”

He met your eyes again, his gaze soft and holding something you couldn’t identify. He licked his lips, his thumb lingering over your collarbone momentarily as he inhaled deeply. His hand traced a gentle line up to the column of your neck and it took everything in you not to brush your lips against his. His voice was so soft, you almost didn’t hear it. “That looks so good on you….” He blinked and cleared his throat, quickly pulling the collar back up over your skin and scooting so there was more distance between you, although his arm was still securely wrapped around your waist. “Sorry, apparently I am, too.”

You held his gaze briefly before you both looked away, laughing nervously. “Um…t-thank you for checking on me and for the hug.”

He nodded, his lips curving slightly and highlighting his cheekbones. “Anytime.” He stared for a moment before letting out a shaky breath and dropping his arm from your side. You suddenly felt empty at the loss. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better.”

“Do you think you could go back to sleep now?”

You nodded. “If I can ever return the favor though…please let me know.”

He squeezed your hand. “I will. Thank you.” He hesitated, holding your gaze before standing and walking towards the door, pausing near the frame. “You do…look good…in that shirt. Keep it for as long as you need.”

You could feel the butterflies fill your stomach. “I will…Goodnight, Luke.”

“Night, Y/N.” He gazed at you for a moment before tearing himself away, the door closing behind him with a hiss. 

You settled back down into the mattress, holding onto the feeling of his arms, hands, and skin as you fell into the land of dreams once more.