#we had an icy snowstorm a day or two ago

[juneknight]

•.Be Lost.• 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 1.5 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 2.5

Summary: after a series of failures to find a dominant, your long time best friend Marc offers to give topping you a shot.

About this: Marc Spector/f!reader, mentions of kink, dominance and submission, kneeling, orgasm control

Immersivity: reader is a non-physically described cisgender woman. She works with animals and spends months out of the year in a place where it is cold—but this is the extent of her description. If there are other details which need mentioned because they hinder your immersive experience, please feel free to point them out.

*

“Give up. Give In. in the end It would be better to surrender before you begin. be lost. Be lost—And then you will not care if you are ever found.”—Victoria Schwab

*

Marc sends the message one night after the two of you have hung up from a lengthy venting session about your latest dating failures. A simple, without context: 

You could do better

I know, you type back, squinting at the screen of your phone in the darkness. Outside, the wind howls—another snowstorm which you hope will either amount to nothing or be bad enough that you won’t have to traverse the icy roads to work in the morning. You roll onto your side, adjusting the pillow beneath you. You’re covered nose to toes beneath the coverlet and still shivering, but Marc always has a way of making you feel warm. That’s why I told that guy off, isn’t it? I know I can do better. 

You watch as he types, no hesitation: 

You could do me

*

In the morning, you text him with one hand, spooning Cheerios into your mouth with the other. 

What, are you offering? There. You’re giving him an out. His message had confused you, left you spending half the night awake wondering about its context. You could do me. You could do me. You could do me? However he had meant it, you knew you had to offer him an easy way out. A fire escape. Maybe one of those seats on the plane that are right by the emergency exits. There’s a parachute beneath your seat, Marc, you think to yourself, drinking the remnants of milk from your bowl. Take it. 

Yes. Give me a chance to help you feel better

Your face flushes. God, how embarrassing is it that Marc knows how bad you need fucked? Not just that—Marc knows how bad you need submitted. That was the caveat of having him as a best friend: he was more likely to listen than to speak, and as such, you told him everything. All your struggles with the kink scene up here in your little frozen section of the States. All the things every guy before him had done wrong…

You aren’t into that stuff, you text back. 

And at the end of your work day, toes frozen in your boots, cheeks dry and chapped from the wind, you finally pull out your phone to see his response: 

Says who?

*

I’m at a disadvantage here, you type to him while cooking dinner. The tiny kitchen of the sublet you rent during the winter months smells of pesto. You’re just glad it’s warm, wiggling your bare toes by the heat of the stove. You know all my kinks, I don’t know yours. 

Marc sends a voice chat. It’s just over a minute long. Your heart is in your throat while your finger hovers over the play button. God, what the fuck could he be saying? Is he listing them all out for you, in alphabetical order or something? It will be the first time you’ve heard his voice since his text (“You could do me”, the phrase haunted your dreams now). 

Pressing the button, you quickly hold the phone up to your ear. There’s no one else in the sublet with you, but you still imagine that his words will be scandalous enough to curl the nails in the floorboards. 

There is rustling—Marc’s voice in the background, bright and laughing and calling out to someone, and then obviously speaking lowly into the phone to you: “You know what my kink is? Three years ago when I tried to take you hiking on that backpacking-for-beginners trail and got us lost, you remember? We spent half the fucking day—literally six hours or something—finding our way out, and after we did, I felt so bad I took you out to dinner. We didn’t even go home first, we were so hungry. We went to that fancy Italian place in town, both of us smelling like sweat and covered in dirt and at least ten pounds lighter from all the energy we burned out there in the woods, and when the waiter finally set that plate of food in front of you, you took a bite and you made this sound, this sound like you’d been dying of thirst but now you were lapping water right out of God’s palm. It was pleasure, and, and relief all in one—hearing you make that noise, and getting you to make it over and over again? That’s my kink. Do with that what you will.”

The voice message ends.

You drop your pesto spoon in the pot of boiling noodles. 

*

You call him that night. You have to. 

You and Marc have been friends for years, meeting in your early days of adulthood. It had been a fast friendship, both of you complimenting each other well. Marc was so easy to love, it had only made sense that you’d fallen in love with him. He was handsome and gentle and sometimes scathing and often hilarious. The only thing standing between him and a long term relationship was what Marc considered his ‘baggage’: the terrible abuse he had suffered as a boy, and the ramifications of it which he was still actively working to overcome after all these years. Marc didn’t think himself fit for marriage or even long-term dating. It was a shame for all the single women out there. 

A blessing for you, though. 

“Is this weird?” you ask as soon as he picks up the phone. “I don’t want things to be weird, Marc.” 

“You spent half your day FaceTiming a horse,” says Marc dryly. “I don’t think your life can get any weirder.” 

It was true—you had had to walk out to the barn three separate times today through the sleet to let an owner FaceTime with her horse who was sick and under your care. It had felt a little strange, being the third wheel in that conversation, but you understood her anxiety. 

“I just—Marc, I don’t want to lose you. As a friend.” 

You hear the phone shift as he shuffles it from one ear to another. He says: “The only way you could lose me would be if you told me to get lost. So can we figure this out?”

“Are you even attracted to me?” Maybe it’s desperate, but you’ve asked it. Marc has always taken efforts to compliment your appearance (resulting in heart palpitations all afternoon for yourself), but he’s never explicitly said that he finds you attractive. 

On the other end, Marc lets out a breath which sounds a little like a laugh. Or a sigh? “Yes. Are you attracted to me?” 

Marc clearly has never looked in a mirror as long as he has been alive. Tan skin that turns golden in the right lighting, dark curls that you wouldn’t mind trying to manage with your fingers, brown eyes that hint at the color of whiskey, a jaw to die for…

You clear your throat. “I mean—sure.” 

“Sure.” You can hear his smile on the other end. It makes you want to die, just a little. 

“Kind of.” 

“Understandable.” 

“You’re passable.”

“I’ll take it.” 

*

One time, he texts while you brush your teeth. And if I’m no good at it, you can keep going to all those kink clubs up in the arctic circle 

And if you are good at it? you wonder, because Marc has never been bad at anything in his life. Because ever since he suggested it, it’s all you’ve been able to think about, the feelings that you’ve had for Marc surging forward from the dusty shelf in the back of your brain where you had stored them all these years. Marc could just give you a look and you’re pretty sure it would melt you. There’s no way he’s going to be bad at topping you. 

Then I’ll take care of you

Yes. Yes, melting already. You spit in the sink and rinse.

*

“Tell me again how it went with this last guy,” Marc says during your next phonecall. The two of you call each other every other night religiously when you are away (“up in the arctic circle” as he would say) for the coldest three months of the year. His voice is warm and low, quiet. 

Even though you have already told him once, it is different now, isn’t it? The thought of relaying again everything that happened makes your face heat, makes you tug the blankets over your head until it is dark all around you. 

“Do I have to?” you wonder. 

“Do I have to make you?” he wonders back, voice lowering a fraction.

Your heart stutters. Your breaths begin to come at a faster rate. 

“No,” you say, breathy and obviously on the verge of being devastated. “I’ll tell—we met on fetlife. He seemed nice and his picture was cute. Our interests lined up, so we met up at one of the clubs in town, but even though our interests had matched up on paper, we weren’t, like, meshing in real life. 

“Like—,” you have to pause to clear your throat, voice dropping down low enough to almost be considered a whisper. God, you couldn’t believe you were telling Marc this again. “He…he called me a slut. I had marked that I wasn’t into degradation like that, but I think he thought it was an exception.” 

“Why did he think that?” Marc asks. You’ve heard it said before that a lawyer never asks a witness a question that they don’t already know the answer to. In this moment, it seems like Marc is the same way. 

“Because he called me his slut,” you admit. “He thought that would like, negate…I don’t know.” 

“Are you?” Marc asks. “A slut, I mean.” 

It rolls off your tongue before you can stop it: “Not his.” 

There comes a breathy little exhale from Marc’s end of the line. It couldn’t be you—not when you’re holding your breath, eyes wide at your own audacity, at the mere suggestion that you would be okay being Marc’s slut, but not this stranger’s. Marc’s voice rasps from the other end: “I know, honey. I know.

“Tell me what happened next.” 

*

I’ve been thinking, you text the next morning (which is true, there is a single moment spent outside of work that you aren’t spent thinking about this). Maybe this is where I’m going wrong with every guy, but—maybe we should practice. On the phone, you know? 

Over text? he asks. 

Sure, you say, aiming for nonchalant. 

I want to hear your voice, he texts, effectively ruining any hope you had for nonchalance. It’s the last thing you want though. You’re terrified that hearing Marc’s voice croon such dangerous, sinful things to you will destroy you. You will be irrevocably changed. There will be the Before Marc times and the After Marc times.

Compromise? Start like this, and if we’re clicking, then we can do it over call. 

It, he teases. Can you say it? Can you tell me what you want? 

Jesus, Marc. You know what I want. 

Use your words. 

You whine, an honest-to-God audible whine beneath your blankets. He’s already slipping into the role so well. Or is he? Is he truly made to be dominant, some prodigious Dom, or are you simply made to melt at everything he does? But it also brings to light the question: what do you want? 

Can I think about it? 

Always, he says. 

*

It takes time for you to gather your thoughts. Everything to think about the fact that this is Marc you’re talking about, your brain gets fuzzy and you lose your words. Finally, you devote yourself to writing it out longhand and thinking in general terms. What would you have wanted from Mr. My-Slut if he had asked you the same question? 

When you’re finished, you text it to him before you can second guess yourself. 

I want to feel owned. I want to feel small but safe. I want to feel consumed, like nothing else matters but you and what you do to me and what I do for you. I want my head to feel empty of anything that isn’t good for me or doesn’t feel good. 

You bury your face in your pillow, but aren’t even there long enough to suffocate before your phone buzzes with a reply. 

I can do that. 

*

For a while, you don’t text Marc. You even miss one of your ritualistic calls. The thought of speaking to him when he knows what you want from a Dom is too much. Before, it had been easy to brush off your kinks to him. So much about wanting to be submitted had become akin to pop culture. Yeah, I want someone to tie me up and spank me and call me a slut, tee-hee! 

It had always gone so much deeper for you, and for so many others, you could imagine. You were a hard worker even as a child. You became someone that people could rely on—and too often, they did. It only made sense that you would crave a way to be useful to someone, crave a way to shut your mind off. Crave a way to feel loved. 

You throw yourself into your work, marking off days on a calendar. The first day of March, you will drive south back to the city. Back to Marc. Your contract here will be up, until next winter. God, you can’t wait to see him again. He always meets you outside the door to your building, chewing gum and pacing, like he’s nervous. Though only God knows what he would have to be nervous about. 

Marc doesn’t text or call you either. He must have picked up on the vibes. Instead, he gives you space. 

The next time you are due for your nightly vent sessions, Marc calls you. If you are worried you’ll get a talking to (or at least questions: why you hadn’t called, whether or not you were mad at him or other absurdities), you don’t get one. You slip back into the warm easiness that is your friendship, swapping stories about your days, talking about current events. Sometimes you don’t say anything, just sit in silence knowing the other person is there or listen to the quiet sounds of the other doing some mundane task: folding laundry, pouring a glass of water. 

You exchange your customary ‘Love you’s at the end of the call, but the words reverberate in your throat. You love him. You really do. 

*

Okay, show me what you got. 

? 

Come on, you know what I mean. I’m ready. Let me have it. 

Oh is that how this goes? 

You blink at the question. …yeah?

I don’t think so, he texts. You know how to ask for something you want. 

Your heart leaps to your throat. Thumbs shaking a little, you ask: How’s that? 

You say please. 

You take a deep, soothing breath. Please? 

That’s the word, yeah. Then he sends the thumb’s up emoji—monster. 

Marc, I’m ready. Can we try, please? Your nerves are shot, stomach in your throat as you wait for a response. As soon as you see him start typing, you lose your nerve and turn off your phone screen. It’s like a horror movie. You can’t watch. When he finally sends a response and you open it, your mouth drops. 

You can do better than that, can’t you? And a moment later: Beg me.

Fuck you, you text, laughing brightly at his audacity. 

Not with that attitude, he types. I only fuck good girls. 

“Jesus, Marc,” you mutter to yourself, breaths coming fast and short. How can he just say stuff like that? Single sentences that are hotter than any of the dirty talk men have given you during sex over the years. For a while, you are torn on what to answer. You want to quip, to say something bratty and whitty that will make him give one of his quiet exhales of laughter, the kind you are so familiar with hearing from the other end of your sofa while you both scroll through your phones. But, deep down—

What if I’m not a good girl? Maybe he’ll consider it just mindless sexy talk. Yeah, I’m not a good girl, I’m a bad girl. Maybe you’ve even said something like this before to one of those other guys. You can almost hear in some generic male voice the response: yeah, you’re such a bad girl. 

Which is why Marc’s answer is so striking: She’s in there. Do I need to help you? 

You have no idea what it could mean, but your fingers answer without any hesitation: Yes please

And your phone rings. 

You answer it. Holding the phone to your ear, you become aware of how you are holding your breath, not letting a single word or sound pass through your lips. 

On the other end, you can hear Marc’s steady, soft breathing. 

“You there, baby?” 

You hum in affirmation, but it comes out as a choked whine that makes your face turn hot. 

“You’re going to have to use your words,” he warns. “But I’ll help you. Alright? The only thing I need you to do is this: if I say something that isn’t true, don’t say it. Otherwise, just repeat after me. Can you do that?” 

“Uh-huh.”

“Good girl,” he says, voice dipping into a silky, pleased octave from his side of the phone. Your thighs clench together. Holy fuck. He’s going to destroy you. “Here we go: Marc Spector.”

“Marc Spector,” you sigh shakily. Easy enough. 

“I trust you.”

“I trust you.”

“I trust you so-o much.”

You snort. “I trust you so-o-o much.”

“That I trust you to know what I need.” Mouth dry, you repeat the words. He adds: “And I trust you to be able to give it to me.”

“Marc,” you whisper, though you don’t know why. 

“I love the way you sound when you say my name,” Marc admits to you. “Especially when you sound half-wrecked, and I’m five hundred miles away, not even able to touch you. But I need you to be a good girl and follow my directions. Repeat after me, or say nothing. Can you do that? Say, Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he says again. “I don’t know how anyone could mistake you for anything else. Now keep repeating, okay?: I trust you to be able to give me what I need.” 

“I trust you to be able to give me what I need,” you repeat. As you say it, the words strike you in the chest. They’re true. You really do. All the people in the world, and maybe you love Marc more than any of them. And he is the sort of man who keeps his word—always. 

“And I want it.”

“I want it,” you breathe. 

“Real bad, Marc.” 

“Really bad, Marc.” 

“Are you in bed?”

“Are you in—wait—“ Marc laughs. “Yes? I’m—“

“I want you to get out of bed and get on your knees,” he says—just casually. Oh, lovely evening, now get down on your knees for me. Like being on your knees for Marc wasn’t on your mind constantly these days. 

Without higher thought, you throw the blanket off, the cold air chilling your body. Sitting up, you let your legs dangle off the edge of the bed, holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder. Your socked-toes skim the floor. 

“What’s it matter if I go down there?” you whisper. “I’m in a different state. It’s not as if you can see me.”

“It matters to me,” he says. “If it’s too cold, put down a blanket. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Go on.” 

You don’t bother with the blanket, appreciating the chilly floors against your bare knees and shins. You sit on your heels, thighs squeezed tightly together. 

“What if I just lie?” you wonder. “Say I did it, but I’m still under the covers.” 

“You wouldn’t do that. Are you down there?”

“Uh-huh.” 

“Fuck. ‘What does it matter’, as if I need to see you. Like I can’t picture you clear as day in my head. Like it doesn’t mean more to me to know you’re on your knees a hundred-hundred miles away, just because I told you to.” Marc sounds strangely wrecked, and the knowledge that this menial action really has affected him so deeply has your shoulders going lax, bowing over to rest the top half of your frame against the soft mattress. Your cunt aches. 

“Marc,” you whine. 

“Yes?”

“Please,” you groan, turning to muffle your face into the mattress. Your further words are just inarticulate mumbles. He laughs, soft and warm. 

“Spread your knees apart,” he says. “Far apart, as wide as you can.” 

It is the last thing you want to do, but you do it. The brief sparks of pleasure that lit you up every time you clenched your thighs together are gone now, the cool air brushing against your heated sex through your underwear. It only emphasizes how much you ache, how little you’ve been satisfying yourself lately because every time your hand dips between your legs, Marc comes to mind, and you’re too flustered to give in and rub one out thinking of him. But oh god, that’s going to change. You can tell. 

“Are you wet right now?” he wonders lowly. 

You make a sound that is the vaguest affirmation you can give. 

He exhales, the sound shaky through the speaker. “You’re so fucking good. I don’t know how you could ever think otherwise. Absolutely perfect. That’s how I know you’re going to be good and follow this next rule of mine.” 

“Wha’s that?” you slur, head fuzzy where it rests against your sheets.

“You can touch yourself as often as you like,” he says, making your face burn hot again. “Use those toys I know you have—but absolutely no one else. Not in person, not over the phone. If we do this, you rely on me and I do the same for you. Deal?”

“Deal,” you sigh, relieved that his condition goes both ways. You aren’t necessarily strict on monogamy, but you are strict on devotion. The last thing you could ever do would be to go behind your partner’s back—and it’s something that could be liable to shatter your heart if it happened to you. 

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he says. “But this next part is just as important okay, so make sure you’re listening, yeah?” 

“I’m listenin’.” 

“If you want to cum, you get permission from me, first.”

#marc spector x reader

[vivwritescrappythings]

The Boy is Mine (Viv’s Version)

eddie munson x gn!reader

When I read about this I thought it was such a fun idea that I just had to participate! Thanks @carolmunson for putting it together :) I wrote a short little fluffy blurb to get it out of my system. As always, not proofread.

You and Eddie have a romantic night in the trailer making Christmas cookies.

tw: Eddie can lift reader, established relationship, allusions to sex

Word Count: 2k

masterlist

—

You bounded up the trailer steps two at a time, warm light spilling out of the windows and diffusing into the winter air. You were supposed to be there an hour ago, but your shift finished late and the snowstorm made the drive a disaster. You'd tried to call but the line was busy.

You grabbed the handle on the front door, finding it locked. “Eddie!” you shouted, pounding the palms of your hands against the door as a frantic knock. Snow was still coming down in droves, getting caught in your hair and on your clothes. It was so cold out that you were already sniffling and fingers stiff, your hands laden with full shopping bags. You’d conveniently forgotten your winter jacket before you left your house that day–in your defense it was sunny that morning. “Eddie! Let me in, I’m gonna freeze out here!”

Finally, you heard the deadbolt on the door open. “Look who decided to actually show up. Thought you came to your senses and went off to date some football player.” You heard him before you even saw him, a tinge of annoyance in his tone. He stood in the space of the door, wearing the terrible Christmas sweater your grandmother had made him last year over some well-loved sweatpants with cigarette sized holes in the dark gray fabric.

You just wanted to bury yourself in his warmth and never let go.

The pout on your face was inevitable, Eddie always coaxed it out of you whenever he insinuated you shouldn’t be together. “Aw, don’t be like that. That’s not even true,” you said, your brow furrowed. “My stupid manager made me stay late and the roads were icy and you know I’d never–”

Eddie cut off your rambling with a laugh, pushing the door open wider and pulling you across the threshold with an arm looped around your shoulders. “I know baby, I know,” he murmured into your temple, stamping a kiss there as he shut the door behind you. His big hands ran up and down your arms, an attempt to will some warmth back into you.

“You’re freezing,” he mumbled, looking down at you with wide brown eyes. He reminded you of a puppy when he was like this, all soft and sweet and so concerned with you.

You nodded as he curled you into a hug, mashing your face against his chest and making quiet tutting noises like a mother hen. He smelled like weed and cigarettes and the cheap vanilla shampoo he used, the familiar scent making you relax along his lanky form. His chin propped against the crown of your head, the two of you absorbing the feeling of one another in the living room.

“Come on, if we don’t start now we’ll never finish.” Your voice was muffled in the uneven knit of his sweater.

“Fine, fine,” Eddie breathed, freeing you and taking the grocery bags out of your hands. He swept them off to the kitchen, leaving you to take your soggy, snow-laden sneakers off before following.

“So remind me why we’re doing this again?” Eddie asked as you came to stand behind him, your mismatched socks slipping against the tile. You wrapped your arms around his narrow waist, your cheek pressing against the back of his arm as you watched him pull the groceries out and set them on the vinyl counter.

The question made you roll your eyes. “Because traditions are fun and nice to have, Eddie. We need traditions.”

You knew his family life wasn't quite normal growing up, he missed out on all the silly little practices and traditions that you had grown up with. They were some of your favorite memories, you wanted to give him the opportunity to make some of his own.

He chuckled, the sound breathy in his throat as he shook his head. “Traditions, got it.” He inspected each item, twisting it in his hands before moving on. You watched patiently around his arm, thumbs tracing circles over his sweater. “But why couldn’t our tradition be getting high and watching movies on the day before Christmas Eve?”

You groaned, gently shoving his shoulder with your palm as you pulled the small notebook out of the back pocket of your jeans. “Because we get high and watch movies every weekend. We need to do something special. I copied down my mom’s recipe, making Christmas cookies will be fun.”

You flipped it open to the page that had the recipe scrawled across it in your loopy script. You’d bought everything before you’d gone to work and stole a few of your mom’s cookie cutters from the junk drawer–simple stars and gingerbread men. You made them with her every year on the first of December, a tradition you wanted to pass along to Eddie.

“Yeah babe, fun.” His inflection was different from yours, sarcastic rather than eager. It was his turn to curl an arm around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder, reading the recipe along with you.

“You are being such a downer. If you don’t stop, we’re gonna have a problem,” you said, twisting in his arms so your back was pressed against the counter as you looked up at him. His frizzy, curly hair was a mess, brown locks twisting in every direction as you looked up at him with a scowl.

He grinned, the smile stretching across his face as he leaned down to nuzzle at the hinge of your jaw. “I’m sorry, I’ll be good,” he muttered, his hair tickling your nose.

You giggled, squirming in his grip as he left a playful bite on your neck. “You better, or you’ll have hell to pay, Munson,” you threatened, but you both knew the words were empty. There wasn’t a bone in your body that wanted to hurt him.

He rolled his eyes, his hands grabbing your hips to turn you back around. “Alright, what do we do first?”

Eddie pressed you firmly against the counter, his lanky body curling over yours so he could read the instructions. “We need measuring cups, and a big bowl.”

He hummed acknowledgment, moving away from you to dig through a cabinet near the sink. “I ran out of like, nice cups, is this okay?” Eddie asked, making you turn around to see what he was talking about.

He held an acrylic cup with a printed cartoon of Snoopy and Woodstock on it, the clear acrylic starting to fog. You snickered, shaking your head. “Measuring cups, Eddie. Measuring cups.”

—

That should have been your first indicator of the uphill battle that baking with him would become. Normally, he just watched, trying to sneak a taste of the batter or steal chocolate chips. Now you knew why.

Eddie was a disaster in the kitchen, clumsy and off in all his measurements. You’d taken the reins of scooping ingredients into the big mixing bowl, letting him crack the eggs and beat everything together.

“You just want me for the heavy labor,” he eventually complained, switching hands on the mixing spoon as he shot a sidelong glare at you. You'd forgotten to bring the electric mixer from home.

There was an absentminded sound of acknowledgement from your throat, but you didn't even turn to look at Eddie in his mock distress. You were spooning flour into a measuring cup, brows furrowed in concentration. “Well you’re so good at it,” you said, a giggle caught in your throat as you carefully dumped the flour in.

“You’re a little shit,” Eddie sneered, the smile on his face giving him away. He reached out with his free hand, pinching your waist hard enough to make you squeal and jolt.

Flour exploded in a dust cloud, covering you and the kitchen counter in a fine white powder. You coughed, frozen in place as Eddie burst into laughter. The spoon that had originally been full was now empty, paused in the air as your mind caught up with what happened.

“Eddie!” The shout was shrill and petulant. Before you could stop yourself you were delving the spoon into the paper bag and flinging a heap of flour at Eddie’s head.

It dispersed into his hair and across half of his face, making his hair look like a powdered wig. He gasped in mock horror, shaking it out and sending flour across the kitchen tiles. Of course, it didn't fix much–the two of you were starting to look like low-budget horror movie ghosts.

He was already moving, a ringed hand disappearing into a shopping back as he stepped toward you. “You think I’ll let you get away with that?” Eddie grabbed you by the waist, managing to wrestle the top of the vanilla frosting tub with his teeth.

You were laughing wholeheartedly, wheezing as you tried to get out of his iron grip. He messily dipped his fingers into the container, scooping out just enough frosting to smear across your cheek and down to your lips and throat.

You scoffed, plunging your hand in the flour to press a white handprint across the side of his face. The palm of the print was centered on his eye, fingers stretching across his forehead and the thumb looping on the bridge of his nose. “Guess you’re marked by Saruman now,” you teased, stamping a frosting-covered kiss to his lips.

Eddie’s eyes sparkled, his hands moving from your waist to the plush of your thighs to lift you up and set you on the counter next to the mixing bowl. The remainder of the frosting on his fingertips smeared into your jeans. “So that makes you Saruman, then?” he asked as he licked the icy off his mouth.

“Well you’re obviously Gandalf the Gray,” you said, ruffling his curly hair with a hand. The flour dispersed, floating down to cover his shoulder and the floor like the snow outside the trailer. “So if I had to be one of the Valar I don’t think I have many other options–maybe Radagast? But we certainly don't know enough about the blueses to make a choice.”

“Look at you, talking Lord of the Rings to me,” Eddie murmured, licking up your throat with the vanilla frosting serving as his guide.

“And you like that?” You shivered at his wide, warm tongue on your skin, shifting your knees further apart so he stood between your legs. His wide hands palmed at the fat of your thighs through your jeans, inching their way up to your ass.

“Love it,” he said, a smile curving the corners of his pink lips upward. You couldn’t help the heat that washed over your face at his praise, your nose knocking gently into the squish of his cheek as you leaned toward him. Eddie was always generous with praise, showering you in compliments and acknowledging even your smallest accomplishments.

You twisted your fingers in his curls, shaping them into neat springs at the nape of his neck. “You’re gonna give me an ego, Eddie,” you murmured, your tone a bit more shy than you’d intended.

His grin widened, umber colored eyes sparkling with mischief. He pulled you off the counter in a quick motion, holding your knees on either side of his waist as he staggered out of the kitchen to the connected living room. You made a soft noise of surprise, your arms winding around his shoulders for support as he carried you.

“You want an ego? I’ll give you an ego, baby,” he said, his voice dropping an octave to a deep rasp. He dropped you unceremoniously onto the couch, your head cushioned by a throw pillow as he sunk to his knees in front of you.

“Eddie, the cookies,” you muttered halfheartedly, your teeth digging into your lower lip as the heat traveled from your face to the pit of your stomach.

“They’ll still be there when I’m done. Just want to show you how much I love when you talk dork to me.” He was already kissing his way up your thighs, biting at your flesh through the rough fabric. His long fingers were pulling your sweater from where you'd tucked it in.

“This could always be our tradition,” you said with a giggle, a hand already carding through Eddie’s hair.

He laughed, calloused fingers playing with the button of your jeans. “Whatever you say, baby.”

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x gn!reader #reader insert #stranger things fanfiction #just a little fluffy little guy #joseph quinn

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

They're up at Burnley and it's snowing; lightly at first, a dusting of white over grass through the second half that had them shivering in their kits as they slid mud-spattered across the pitch. They'd won thanks to the fucking Roy Kent effect, everyone except Jamie 'cause that'd require coach to actually, well, coach him. To look at a space with Jamie in it and act like he saw a person instead of nothing at all, and he used to wish he was invisible, back when he was a kid dodging fists and snarled words but now he wants to cry, just a bit, 'cause he really is trying and why can't Roy try too?

They're up at Burnley and it's snowing in huge fluffy white flakes as they board the coach and Jamie feels sick, sits in the aisle beside Sam who presses against the window, breath fogging on the glass.

"You know I'd love to give you all a day out in town to celebrate but it looks like it's gonna be a snow day for us, folks," Ted says, stood at the front of the bus with a broad smile under his moustache. They all groan and he chuckles, hands held out in front of him. "Hey, I don't make the weather — and boy, that would be something, wouldn't it? Give y'all a taste of Kansas summer instead of all this rain you've got going on. Or snow, at the moment. Anyhow, we'll make our own fun, won't we boys?"

"It's barely even snowing," Zoreaux grumbles.

Jamie hurries off the coach, ready to crawl under the blankets and draw the curtains where he can't see any of it and he's halfway to the hotel entrance when he realizes Sam isn't with him. Turns and finds him with his face turned up in the middle of the carpark with snow dusted on his hair and his jacket and melting on his skin.

"It's very beautiful," he says softly. Jamie trudges back towards him and there's a look on his face he's never seen before, all wondering and open and in that moment with icy water trickling through his hair and his fingers frozen stiff in his pockets, Jamie thinks everything in his life has been worth it for this moment, watching Sam's face as he watches the snow.

Beside them, Dani kneels to scoop up a handful and yelps, shaking out his hands, pouting with betrayal. "And very cold!"

"You gotta wear gloves, mate," Jamie says. He knocks his shoulder against Dani and Dani knocks back.

"But it looks so soft!"

Inside, Ted leads them to the conference centre instead of up to their rooms and they sit in a circle on the floor, coaches and all. Jamie ends up huddled between Sam and Dani, arms looped over each other's shoulders, two lads who've never seen snow before in their lives and Jamie who has but the cold worms into him more than it does the others, never mind how Isaac teases him that he should be tougher, northern lad that he is.

There are eyes on him, a tiger watching from the brush. Jamie glances up and it's Roy, eyes dark and hard and searching and it's the first time they've met eyes since he returned, maybe ever. Jamie breaks first. Stares down at the carpet instead — ugly fucking thing, pilly and brown and worn out. They're a Championship League team now; can't afford the good hotels any longer. A year ago he'd've thrown a fit, quit in a huff to somewhere that deserved him like he might have done when Ted became gaffer if he hadn't had City to go back to. Only it turned out Richmond had made him too soft to handle Manchester and all that came with it. He'd made it twelve years with dad hanging over his head and then broke after barely a handful of months, huddled in his bathroom with blood in his teeth, told his agent he'd take whatever as long as it was far away.

The door crashes open and it's Zoreaux, back from raiding the hotel bar 'cause Ted wouldn't let him out no matter how much he insisted it weren't a proper snowstorm and the bartender let him buy by the bottle now half the guests who were supposed to come up had cancelled. Pass it around like they had at the curse fire and Jamie still feels stupid for that, a little, spilling his guts everywhere only to be sent back, but part of him wants to try again, just to test.

He hasn't drunk much since he got back, not much appeal in it after dad's drunken rages and the constant refills of neon-coloured cocktails on Lust Conquers All, but he drinks now, both hands wrapped around the bottle of vodka — not vanilla, the regular kind — when it comes his turn, warmer and warmer from the heat of their palms with each round. Sam's slung half over his shoulders and every few seconds he giggles at nothing and Dani says, "what is it, amigo?" and Sam says, "I don't know!" and it just makes him laugh harder. Jamie shoves playfully at his chest — "Right in my ear, mate? Really?" — and they both overbalance so the window stretches above them, one of those long thin floor-to-ceiling things. Looks up at the snow spiralling through the flat white of the sky and like this he can almost feel the cold bite of it on his face, the melting weight of it on his clothes as the water trickles down over his skin.

"I got lost in a snowstorm, once," he says, dreamily. Someone else is talking but they go silent at his voice and that's got to be on the list of prick shit he's not supposed to do, probably, to keep Ted from booting him off the team again, but he can't shove the words back inside now.

"Oh yeah?" Ted asks. "I didn't know y'all got those over here. Sounds like one heck of an experience, Jamie."

He shrugs against the carpet. "Not really. I was s'posed to drive for my da, right, 'cause his usual guy was being a fucking little bitch about it and didn't want to drive in the snow—" that's how dad had put it on the phone when Jamie got called into the principal's office, said his da was on the phone with a family emergency— "and I'd never even been to the fucking neighbourhood, right, so by the time I went and got the car off his mate and his mate gave me this whole fucking stupid lecture about not crashing or getting caught and shit and found the place it was a proper white-out, and my dad had been hanging around so long with this like, massive fucking TV that someone'd called the cops so I just fucking drove off, right? 'Cept I'd never driven in snow before so we got stuck in a ditch and me da sent me out to..." he blinked, bleary with drink. "Dunno. To find someone to tow us or some shit. But I didn't know where the fuck I was and I couldn't see shit so I just walked around 'til I found the road again, and by then dad had got himself unstuck and left, and the buses weren't running so I had to walk home." It's not really a bad story but his heart's pounding all the same and the room's gone quiet. He scratches harder at the carpet; tries to laugh but it comes out strangled and faint. "Good exercise at least, yeah?"

No one says anything, still. The carpet comes up in tufts; he piles them together like he used to do as a kid picking at grass during a fire drill. It's his turn with the vodka again, handed over by a solemn-faced Dani, and he takes a long pull. The alcohol calms the frantic buzz beneath his skin, leaves him tired and heavy and warm, the silence comforting instead of worrying.

After a while, Ted clears his throat. There's a funny tilt to his smile. "Hey, I love me a silver lining. Thanks for sharing that, Jamie," he says, strained. Maybe the cold's got him sick, or maybe it's just the way the floor's spinning that's making him look funny. Jamie flops onto his back.

"Uh-huh. Sure thing, coach."

"It is very stupid to volunteer your criminal history like that," Jan Maas says.

"'S not a crime to drive the getaway car," Jamie says.

"Pretty sure it is, bruv," Isaac says.

"Huh."

"Don't worry, Jamie Tartt! We will not tell anyone!" Dani says, very loudly or else very close to his ear. There's a general murmur of agreement.

"Thanks, amigo. I won't tell anyone 'bout your crimes, neither," Jamie says. "Not that I'm saying you've done crimes and that. But if you have. Unless it's like, murder, maybe. But if you murdered someone they probably deserve it so also not then." He holds up his fist; Dani bumps it on the second try.

"You cannot break a pact made during a snowstorm," Sam says wisely.

"I still can't believe you guys think this is a real snowstorm," Zoreaux says, and Jamie drifts off to a vivid description of the horrors of Montreal in winter.

He blinks awake to find the lads shuffling back to their rooms and Roy crouched over him with his giant fucking caterpillar eyebrows scrunched. The position can't be any good on his knee but Jamie's trying not to get in fights with the coaches so much this season so he doesn't say anything. Roy doesn't, either. He blows out a sigh like one of those panthers Jamie'd seen at the zoo with mummy way back when he was a kid, mouth working like he's trying to force himself to speak.

"Your dad's a piece of shit," he says. "You don't have to find a silver lining." And then he hauls Jamie to his feet and fucking dusts off the carpet lint with the sleeve of his jacket like Jamie's his seven-year-old niece. "You played fine today. Next time you can be fucking great, but first you need to get the fuck out of your head and be more aggressive."

Jamie breaks into a grin. "Aye aye, coach."

#behold the fruits of my poor time management skills #“it's not a crime to drive the getaway car” comes from my mom's cousin who got arrested for... driving the getaway car #jamie tartt #sam obisanya #dani rojas #ted lasso fanfic #kvetch oc

[yuniemaki]

we never got to say goodbye (i'll see you soon)

Rating: G Series: Honkai Star Rail Pairing: Serval/Cocolia Tags: Grief/Mourning, spoilers for Belobog arc Word count: 1k

Crossposted on AO3

Summary:

Serval’s hand stops, lingering on her name. “But this isn’t goodbye, is it?” she whispers, “It’s just a ‘see you soon’.”

In which Serval visits Cocolia's grave and reflects on the loss of a dear one.

Beyond the gates of Belobog, the cold is harsh and unforgiving.

Serval trudges through ankle-deep snow, wrapped in three layers of thermal wear. The icy wind whips at her blond hair, throwing her tresses into a frenzy, and flings snow onto her goggles and mask. An endless field of white stretches out before her, framed only by towering iron gates and mechanical remnants that matter no longer.

Even after the Stellaron’s destruction, the Eternal Freeze remains. 

You don’t need to go, Gepard had said, it’s over. 

“I have to,” Serval mutters to no one, stubbornly placing one foot in front of the other. I have to see the place Cocolia took her final breath— 

There. A silhouette in the blinding white, unmoving in the sweeping winds of Jarilo-IV. Serval quickens her pace, stomping through the snow until she reaches the metal wreckage lying at the peak of a snowy hill. The raging blizzard has long swept away all traces of battle, and the Stellaron has long been sealed by the trailblazers. 

But there, snuggled in its center, within the loving arms of this wreckage… lies a single tombstone. 

Serval doesn’t know what she expected. Perhaps a foolish part of her hoped to see Cocolia again, even if it’s just an echo. Perhaps she thought some piece of Cocolia lived on in the snowstorm. 

Or perhaps she still believed Cocolia would wait for her.

Of course not. After that day, there was no place in the Supreme Guardian’s heart for her, for Serval. Despite the cold, Serval perches herself on a small metal platform, staring at the tombstone now covered in snow. It's funny how she had an entire speech planned for this moment, including a long portion where she'd intended to yell at her grave. Yet when she's finally here, standing where Cocolia did before she left this world— Serval can't say a single word. It all clumps together into a thick lump in her throat. 

She manages a, “You know, Coco…” before her breath stutters. It has been years since she even uttered that nickname. Her eyes sting with tears.

They are two halves of a whole. If they were born in seasons, Cocolia would be born in winter, and Serval in summer. Where Serval had the passion to start new things, it was Cocolia who would see them to fruition. It was Cocolia, all those years ago, who forced Serval to go through with her rock’n’roll dream. To start a band, to run a gig. It was Cocolia who gifted her the guitar of her dreams, who turned her ideas into reality. And Serval loved her for it. 

But when she became the Supreme Guardian— 

A pause, in which Serval struggles to compose herself. “I… I still don’t understand what happened to you. I thought…”

I thought sealing the Stellaron would bring you back. 

Serval laughs, as bitterly as the blizzard bites at her fingers and toes. “I keep telling myself I’m over you, but how can I be? We shared everything. Until—”

She tears up at the memory. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Cocolia, the newly appointed Supreme Guardian of Belobog, was seated in a chair far too large for her, with the light of day at her back. Serval, smartest of the Silvermane Guards, was standing before her, livid. “You cannot do this,” she’d said, “Cutting off the Underworld like this… we’re dooming half of our people to die!”

“You dare to question my decision, Serval Landau?” 

Cocolia’s voice. So uncaring, so dismissive, it felt like a spear of ice piercing through Serval’s heart. Before she took the mantle of leadership, before she entered Qlipoth Fort… Cocolia had been different. She had been warm and tender and full of life.

“We are meant to protect the people,” Serval declared, “How is this—”

“This is our only option,” Cocolia had cut her off, swift and harsh. “And nothing will change my mind.”

“What about the Fragmentum? Shouldn’t we be fixing that instead of dividing our people?”

“The Fragmentum is the very reason I’m closing off the Underworld,” the Supreme Guardian had replied, rising to her feet. In her eyes, Serval saw nothing but ice, as cold as the Eternal Freeze. A chill had run down her spine. “We are done here.”

Serval took a step back, shivering. “Why, Cocolia… why have you grown so cold…?”

Something flared in that icy gaze. A hint of regret, perhaps. “Serval Landau… you were my most cherished friend.” Cocolia turned away, facing the light of her window. Serval remembers this clearly, for she looked nothing short of being a goddess bathed in wintry light.

Yet her next words would slip into her like a knife between her ribs, lodging into her heart like a shard of glass: “But there is no place for you in this new world.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“It’s like becoming the Supreme Guardian robbed you of life,” Serval whispers, shaking the memory off with a sigh. “I just…”

What is the point? Serval doesn’t know anymore. She stayed in Belobog for Cocolia, because Cocolia was still here, even if the Supreme Guardian wouldn't see her. It brought Serval comfort, at least, to know that Cocolia remained in Qlipoth Fort, watching over Belobog. But now she’s gone.

Serval reaches up, rubbing the tears from her eyes before putting her goggles back on. “Bronya found… the guitar,” she chokes out, “The one you made for me.” She lets out a hollow chuckle. “I can’t believe you kept it, you sentimental idiot.”

The tombstone does not answer.

She unhooks the strap, taking out the silver guitar. “I took it back to Neverwinter… gave it a little tuning.” Serval takes off her gloves, wincing as the freezing winds snap hungrily at her fingers. “It still works.” She strums the guitar, and smiles at the familiarity of the crisp, nasal tones it produces. 

“Remember our first gig? You were so nervous about being the bassist…” 

But we had so much fun, in the end. 

Serval strums out a tune, the first song they’d ever played together. She remembers looking back to see Cocolia strumming the bass guitar, a radiant smile on her lips. She remembers how the theater’s lights had shined, just for them, and all the magic they made that night. How the crowd had roared and cheered, how Cocolia’s breath had been taken away. How they'd danced into the night, hands entwined, and laughed till dawn.

How Cocolia had shyly pulled her close while she fumbled for the keys to their room, and pecked her ever so lightly on the lips. 

So much hope. So much life. 

Robbed from her in a single day, when she lost her daughter and her joy. The mantle of Supreme Guardian and its forbidden knowledge sank into her heart like a shard of ice, seeping away the warmth in her eyes.

Serval thinks about the possibilities often. If only she’d been more persistent. If only she’d tried harder. What if she’d written letters to Cocolia after being fired, instead of starting her own workshop and closing her heart away? What if she’d continued pursuing her study of the Stellaron in private? Could she have found a way to save Cocolia? Could her sacrifice have been avoided? 

Does any of this matter? She is gone.

The dead do not come back.

“I came to tell you something,” Serval finally says, clutching the guitar tightly in her bare hands. The cold has wormed its way into her fingers, and she can barely feel them. “Coco, I'm leaving. I don't know how long I'll be. So I thought I'd visit you first, because…” Her voice trails off. She bites back a sob.

The howling wind whips her hair into a frenzy. Serval stays motionless before the tombstone, like a piece of discarded metal.

“We never got to say goodbye, Cocolia…” Serval lays the guitar in the snow, running a hand across the tombstone. Snow falls away to reveal a simple epitaph, for such a complex woman. 

Here lies Cocolia Rand, 13th Supreme Guardian of Belobog.

Serval’s hand stops, lingering on her name. “But this isn’t goodbye, is it?” she whispers, “It’s just a ‘see you soon’.”

She gets to her feet, staring at the wreckage embracing Cocolia’s grave. It reminds her of a cradle, like a mother sheltering her innocent babe. 

Cocolia gave her life for Belobog, but this sanctuary means nothing to Serval now. To let go, she must leave Belobog. Leave Jarilo-IV. If she travels with the Astral Express, studies the Stellarons— she might yet find the answers she seeks. And perhaps, someday, she will find the strength to return to the land Cocolia so loved, more than she ever loved Serval herself.

Serval musters up a smile, and gives the tombstone a wave. “So… wait for me, okay? I’ll see you soon, Coco.”

I’ll see you soon.

#honkai star rail #hsr #serval #cocolia #servalia #hsr fanfic #fanfic #yuniewrites #crossposted on ao3 #honkai star rail spoilers #star rail

[yama951]

Snowpoint Settlement, Alabaster Icelands, Hisui Region, 1804 AC

Calaba knew the signs well. One didn't reach her age without experiencing at least one supernatural occurrence. The way Warden Ingo's eyes glowed in the dark, how the whites of his eyes glowed a soft blue when he was certain of the truth from time to time, the way he was just warm enough even when traversing the Alabaster Icelands at night in his tattered coat.

It was something the elders of the clan experienced once before and kept the knowledge to those who should be made aware of it, like Irida and some Wardens. Not Gaeric, and not Ingo. Lian would be told once he was older.

Calaba rested on Ingo's back as they headed back. The man had disassociated. She feared she broke the taboo when it came to someone like him, waking a dreaming god, but she knew that a god kept asleep for too long would cause more harm than good. Ingo was with them for a few years now, a lot longer than Gaeric's cold resilient father, he stayed for barely a year, but a god has their responsibility to the world to play. Much more important things to do than to play human in their long and deep sleep.

Ingo was silent when the linking cord her granddaughter made rang out. The whites of his eyes became a solid blue as he silently picked her up and automatically carried her all the way to the Snowpoint settlement without much of a word.

“I apologize for the deception, holy one.” She began on their trip. “But surely you must know you can't stay asleep forever.” silence was the reply. She sighed.

“This is a story that happened many years ago, forty years or so if my memory hasn’t failed me. You see, Lord Avalugg entered hibernation for the cold winter months. One year, he went to sleep a little too early, practically near the end of summer. We worried that he became ill or if age was coming to him early, or perhaps he simply wanted a nap after a hard year’s work, no one but Lord Avalugg knew the reason why. Then one autumn night, a sudden freak snowstorm struck. It lasted for an hour or two but when it ended, Lugvic appeared. He was like you in a way. Lost and no idea where he was. He couldn’t remember his name until a week among the Pearl Clan. Oh he was such a strong and handsome man with his icy blue hair and thick beard, that tanned brown skin, and those piercing yellow eyes. He quickly integrated into the clan as if he was born into it. He fell in love and married during the winter solstice. It was a happy life.” she gave a soft smile at the memories of the wedding. She then frowned as she continued.

“But I noticed strange things about him. I am a married woman and all but I was also one of the clan’s healers. I was the one who helped heal him up at the beginning. Lugvic’s skin remained cold to the touch no matter how hot the inside of the yurt could get. The most blatant of his strangeness was how he went around shirtless in the middle of winter as if it was a warm summer’s day. Those who noticed his oddness, mostly the elders, assumed he was some male froslass taking human form to live a happy life and it was better to stay quiet about it, lest sorrow and anguish struck the happy couple. They were deeply and truly in love. She was Lord Avalugg’s previous warden, before she stepped down due to her age, though I won’t leave my wardenship by something as silly as age. They were already planning on having a large family.”

She then sighed for a moment, her breath becoming visible as their surroundings slowly shifted into the Alabaster Icelands’ wintry embrace.

“Lord Avalugg stayed asleep at the start of spring, which was unusual for him. Lugvic helped as much as he could, even pulling the plow all by himself, but without Lord Avalugg’s strength, there would be less fields plowed and thus less food grown to keep starvation at bay in the coming winter. We asked a wise man from holy Michina for guidance and he, through a ritual, found that Lord Avalugg had entered a deep, deep sleep, a sleep so deep that their soul left their body and wandered out. We thought that Lord Avalugg had followed his ancestors, becoming one with the ice, but the wise man said that he was still alive, simply asleep, and that there was a way to awaken a sleeping god. I was then given the task by the wise man in private. To weave the colored strands into a braided rope with a bell on each end, the linking cord. The colors had to match the body and the spirit, to strengthen the bond between them enough to bring the spirit back into their body. So many colors, and even with the wise man’s allowance in making multiple cords, to make one that would awaken Lord Avalugg from his deep slumber was beyond me. But then, Almighty Sinnoh helped me one night. It was late at night as I was weaving another cord, the stress of multiple failures were getting to me. I had three strands that represented Lord Avalugg, one for the glacial ice, one for the rocky skin, and one for the sharp eyes. My thoughts then came to Lugvic, and thinking it would be another failure, I grabbed the threads that matched his hair, his skin, and his eyes. I wove them into a cord and attached a bell on each end. I then presented it to the wise man for another attempt at the ritual.”

Tears began to fall.

“It worked. With the ringing of the bell, Lord Avalugg was groused from his slumber, still asleep but his body was calling for his spirit to return, to awaken once more. We celebrated that night but I kept my eyes at Lugvic. He was sorrowful then. I think he knew what happened, that he became aware of his true status, that he became lucid. He promised her that should they have a son, she would name him Gaeric. My younger sister kept that promise. We partied until a freak snowstorm struck. Everyone fled back into the yurts, all but one. A young girl was lost in the sudden snow, screaming for help, and Lugvic ran out despite my sister’s plea. Before they parted, he hugged her tightly, kissed her a silent farewell, and promised that he would never forget her. He then ran off into the snowstorm. And once we lost sight of him in the snow, the snowstorm ended as suddenly as it appeared. The girl was found, safe and sound, with a familiar braided cord on her wrist, the ringing of the bells helped in finding her before the hyperthermia became serious. Lugvic, on the other hand, vanished just as he appeared. My sister was inconsolable for weeks. Until the tell-tale sign of pregnancy made her focus on the last reminder of Lugvic she had left.”

She then wiped away the tears before they could freeze.

“Gaeric was born a healthy baby boy, with some of his father’s features, especially the tolerance for the cold. One day, when I was alone before Lord Avalugg, I asked him if he remembered being Lugvic, of the love he shared with my sister, of all the plans and promises made that winter. Confusion was the only reply. As if he were nothing but a dream, Lord Avalugg recalled nothing of being Lugvic and even saw young Gaeric as nothing more than another child of the Pearl Clan, to play and entertain like all the other children. It was then I decided, for my sister’s sake. Let the elders whisper amongst themselves of Lugvic being a male froslass, this was a secret I would keep to my grave. My sister convinced herself that her love died saving the young girl. His body fell into the icy water and was swept away. Not realizing that Lugvic the man was the dream of Lord Avalugg himself. His promise to her was broken the moment he woke up, and yet she served him as his warden faithfully until she became too old to travel and had to step down. Only for Lord Avalugg to choose Gaeric as his next warden. And still I kept myself quiet.”

A sigh as the Snowpoint settlement became visible in the distance.

“I know you’re judging me with those blue eyes of yours, holy one. That my silence of Gaeric’s true heritage, the silence of the clan, is something that disgusts you. Do you think I should tell my sister and nephew the truth? That Lugvic, the man my sister loved so dearly that she never married again, was nothing more than a dream of Lord Avalugg? That Gaeric has the blood of a noble pokemon through his veins and that he serves his father without him knowing about it? That they were quickly forgotten despite Lugvic’s promise? Let them have that perfect ideal of him. That he was a strong and brave man who gave his life to save a child in need. That he was human even with all his quirks. That he was someone who was meant to be remembered, even if he was nothing more than a dream. That he was as real as anyone else. That he left his mark on the Pearl Clan. That he left a legacy through his son. That Lugvic the man would live on even if he was born of lies.”

The tears flowed out once more, only for a warm hearthfire touch to wipe them away and Ingo’s glowing blue eyes staring at her silently.

“For that’s what dreams are, isn’t it? Not real, not true, nothing but lies.”

A dream is not a Truth. But it can be a Truth made real. What is a lie, an Ideal, but a Truth yet to be made true?

Ingo seemed to speak through her mind, shocking her at the awesome and awful power, at the terrific and terrible strength, at the horrific and horrible Will.

Tell me, young Warden Calaba, are you dreaming right now?

The bells of Ingo’s linking cord, silent despite the shaking of his movements throughout the whole trip, rang out like a loud and sudden slam.

And Warden Calaba shot up from her bed with a sudden inhaling gasp.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she looked around. She was in her yurt back in the Snowpoint settlement, yet the moment between being brought to bed and being on Warden Ingo’s back some distance away was blank. As if something was Proclaimed to be true and so it was.

The door then opened as Gaeric entered the yurt. Shirtless as he usually went.

“Ah, auntie! You’re up! We were so worried about you! Warden Ingo carried you all the way from the mirelands. Mother thought your heart gave out from your duties.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m the older sister, she doesn’t need to baby me like I’m some wrinkly infant.”

Gaeric laughed at that.

“At least you’re feeling well then.” he said as he went to pour some water for her.

“Tell me, Gaeric.” she began. “Warden Ingo’s eyes, what color were they again?”

“Huh? They’re silver.”

“Were they silver when we arrived?”

“What sort of question is that? They were always silver. Sure they glow in the dark but I find that neat.”

Calaba snorted at that as she took a sip of water.

“Warden Ingo told us you ended up drinking a bit, hence why he had to carry you all the way from the Diamond Clan.” he said as she stared at her reflection in the ceramic cup.

“Warden Calaba?”

“I heard you the first time, no need to repeat yourself. So, where did Warden Ingo go? I doubt he would stay here for too long, what with that ruined coat of his.”

Gaeric laughed. It was a familiar laugh.

“Of course, he went back to the Coronet Highlands after he dropped you off. Still in his usual daze though.”

“Must have been a deep slumber…” she muttered much to Gaeric’s confusion.

“What was that?”

“Nothing but some elder nonsense you shouldn’t worry about. Now go, I’ll let my sister do the nagging. Aren’t you going to climb on Lord Avalugg’s back for a clean up or something?”

Gaeric laughed at that.

“No, no, just an early morning jog and swim before I begin my daily duties to Lord Avalugg.”

“Well, go jog around then. I’m perfectly capable of eating by myself.”

With a grin and a short respectful bow, her nephew ran out to jog shirtless in the snow and soon swim in the half frozen river.

She stayed silent at how much like Lugvic he was, not wanting him to disappear like a dream if she spoke out.

She would take the truth down to her grave, even if it gave that slumbering god their displeasure at her. Better the idealistic dream than the cynical truth.

#lucid twin dragons au #fanfic #world building #submas #pokemon fanfic #pokemon legends arceus #worldbuilding #fanfiction #submas au #my writing #subway master ingo #warden ingo #ingo #submas ingo #pokemon calaba #pla calaba #reshiram

[sims-inmymouth]

Delilah Five - Ep. Nine

Jan 26, 20XX

Things have felt a lot more normal lately. My life has been like a roller coaster, constant ups followed by downs followed by ups again with no real time to catch my breath. The big snowstorm has ended as of two days ago. Now it's sunny, and the snow has started to form a thin layer of ice on top. Most excitingly, Tamah is all better now! She was still bedridden for a few days after we found her some medicine, but lately she's regained most of her strength, and she hasn't had a fever today. She's still coughing every now and then, but she hasn't been contagious since her first round of medicine. We're forcing her to rest while we cover her house chores for her. It made her a little pissy, but it's for her own good. That didn't stop her from going outside and saying hello to the cows after almost a week in bed!

Theodora had a really good idea today. Since the storm has ended, and we have a surplus of food from the farm, she thought it would be a clever idea to make some food, give it to our neighbors, and offer to shovel for them. That is, if we can actually find any neighbors. Or if they're even close enough to be considered neighbors. You see, this operation doubles as making allies and actually finding which people still live near us. Tamah said she's lived on the farm since before the apocalypse, but ever since then, most of the people have left. She's not really sure who's gone where and who's settled nearby.

Since it was Theo's idea, she led the mission with me in tow. Hossannah gathered fruits from the kitchen and milk from the cows, while Tamah home pasteurized everything and made some cream. We wanted to go out and capture some frogs from the icy ponds so we could make hot frog soup. We packed an extra set of clothes, our radios, our guns, and set off.

Firstly, let me just say that I am VERY happy to announce that there were no zombies today. There were growls and moans in the distance, but that's just standard zombie fare. I heard gunshots at one point, and it made me feel... unusually uneasy. Theodora kept me safe, though. I felt comfortable standing with her.

We first ended up in this foresty area. For the first time in such a while, I've actually seen wild birds! Theo knows a little bit about birding, and she told me about the black-capped chickadee. He was hiding in a log and staring at me. Little cutie.

I've never seen this part of New Willow Creek before. It was too much wild forest and a lot less farmland. When we got back, Tamah told us that we had entered the Henford-on-Bagley county lines. She had hoped that we found other survivors there, and she was sad to learn that the only other living things we saw were little birds.

Once Theo and I decided to stop looking at birds and get back on track, we started down on this little stone path. Now, this makes Tamah really think some survivors are nearby. Tomorrow, she and I are going to check New Willow Creek, while Theo and Hossannah will go back to HOB and look for survivors.

There are a lot of broken shells of buildings in Henford-on-Bagley. The Bagley River itself is dirty and green-tinged from scum. There were parts of the town that were just... empty. It looked as if people could've been there, but the whole thing was just a ghost town. Theo held her gun tightly. I felt uneasy until we had actually reached a pond on the offshoot of the Bagley.

Now, the thing about frogs is that frogs are dicks. It took us TWO HOURS to get enough frogs to cook with. Theo and I changed into shorts and t-shirts so we wouldn't get bogged down by our heavy jackets. It. was. FREEZING! The only thing that kept us from getting hypothermia was our precious, precious breaks. Once we finally got those terrible frogs, we went home and practically worshipped the fireplace.

That's a drawing of me and Theo fighting over the frogs!

Now, at this point in the day Tamah and Hossannah had finished most of the food besides the frogs. It was all spread out on the table: sweet figs and pears, cream, milk, mushroom stew, shepard's pie, regular pie, and some strange mixture in a baking dish that I still can't really make heads or tails of. Hossannah prepared the frogs, and we all helped her with the cooking. It was mostly Hossannah cooking while us three watched and cheered her on.

We had a little bit of soup left, so we gathered around and ate the scraps. It was, surprisingly, really really good! I'll have to steal the recipe from Hossannah sometime.

Now, here's the best part of everything. All this talk of food got me thinking. I went inside the bunker for the very first time (The bunker is a round-ish building right next to the farmhouse. Inside, there's a bed for all of us, storage, food, and weaponry. It's also dark and cold as hell. Off topic). In there, they had a small pot and some plantain seeds. I took them back to the farmhouse and planted the plantains. Dear Abana, I'm sorry you had to die like this how you did. Everytime someone eats from this tree, may they think of you. May your name never be forgotten.

Yours,

Ruth Givens

#sims 4 #sims 4 screenshots #my sims #simblr #delilahfive #simlit #sims #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 zombies #sims story

[jmreyes9]

Photo credit - Cesar Montano 

 WINTER IS SO BEAUTIFUL!

   By Jesse Reyes

 What a statement! People in the Midwest and the East coast, especially the Northeast, enduring the latest wintry blast, are probably saying, “You’ve got to be kidding,” or “You must be out of your mind.” Those living out West, like California, where the winters are mild and all you need to wear when you go out, is a sweater or a vest, if that, are likely happy to stay where they are. This is especially true when they watch the news on TV of how the Midwest and Northeastern US are being battered by snowstorms and frigid temperatures.

     Well, I don’t blame you, my fellow Midwesterners or those of you in the Northeast, for harboring those thoughts, especially since during the past two weeks, we’ve had a couple of heavy snowstorms and arctic blasts of subzero temperatures. Northwest Indiana, where I worked before I retired, had the heaviest snowfall of the season as it entered 2014. I’m sure glad I retired and don’t have to yet again experience those perilous journeys to work during winter.

     In suburban Chicago, where I live, we’ve had about 8-10 inches of snow already since New Year’s Eve. Today, the temperature was a couple of degrees below zero with the wind chill factor, and there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight, as weathermen forecast temperatures of about 20 degrees below zero with the wind chill factor early next week. 

     I really miss the snow thrower my neighbor gave me a few years ago. I gave it away last year because it was humongous and heavy to push and control. I called it “the monster” and it was also very difficult to start. I had planned to buy a smaller snow blower since now, having retired, I have all day to clean my driveway. But I procrastinated and am paying a stiff price for it. 

     The last 2 days, I shoveled the snow in installments—3-4 inches yesterday afternoon, then 4-5 inches at about noon today and 1-2 inches again at 5 pm. I did this, well aware of the “Snow Shoveler’s Syndrome” (SSS {not Social Security System…lol}—I coined this myself) or simply put, chest pain due to a heart attack following shoveling of snow.  Well, I now have the retiree’s advantage of taking my sweet time shoveling, resting every now and then to have a drink of water or Gatorade and get some relief from and prevent frostbite due to the “Siberian” temperatures and ferocious winds.  I must admit, though, that I really enjoyed shoveling the snow today, since it was very soft, powdery and was almost as “light as a feather.” But please don’t let Mother Nature know about my enjoyment lest she comes up with some nasty ideas.

     Today, because of the cold temperatures and the snowy/icy roads, we were advised on the radio and TV to stay home and drive if only extremely necessary. They reported many minor crashes on the roads, which had not yet been cleaned. Well, it was extremely necessary for me to go out and drive.  I ran out of the eye drops for my glaucoma the night before. I decided to drive to the nearest pharmacy, normally only a 10-minute drive from my home. Today I drove at a snail’s pace because of the road conditions.

     As I came out of my garage, I immediately noticed my front yard and those of my neighbors’ blanketed by a thick layer of snow. The shrubs in front of my house lining our walkway, almost totally covered with snow, appeared like bunches of broccoli covered on their tops by melting cream or like cauliflower heads (why do I always think of vegetables?  The answer: Probably because of their high antioxidant content…lol). The upper surfaces of the leafless trunks and branches of the trees were now lined with snow, some of them seeming to be partially wrapped with white ribbons or crepe paper. This picture reminded me of my youth in the Philippines when we would cut down a trunk of a tree that had many branches and wrap them with white crepe paper and white ribbons and we would place cotton balls on the branch tips, to create a white Christmas tree. The spruce or fir tree of a neighbor across the street, looked like it was filled with multiple snow-laden cottony bulbs or small doll heads or even multiple hands wearing white boxing gloves, raised up in the air. The leafless branches of many trees in my neighborhood reminded me of my radiology days when I would interpret images of the inverted “tracheo-bronchial tree”, it’s branches extending into a patient’s pair of lungs.

     As I drove ever so slowly to the pharmacy, I passed a cemetery (also known as a graveyard…lol) next to a white church, the tombstones buried halfway in the snow. An expansive white snowy blanket covered the golf course nearby, its rather flat contour interrupted by undulating mounds of the greens--where small flags stuck out and flapped briskly in the wind--and small hills. There were also several scattered leafless trees. A small bridge arched gently over a rivulet, only partly covered by the snow. Just before reaching the pharmacy, I looked straight ahead to a far distance from the street. The silhouette of Sears Tower (now called Willis Tower), usually well seen on a clear day, was enshrouded by fog. 

     I then drove to the drive through window of the pharmacy to get my medicine, and quickly drove away. On the way back I saw the many cars parked near a nursing home, all covered with snow. When I was inside our subdivision, I took many pictures of the beautiful snow-laden trees, stopping and getting out of my car several times to study which vantage point would be best for a certain scene, oblivious of the frigid temperatures until my fingers and ears became numb.  There were a couple of large shrubs in front of a contemporary house that had the appearance of giant greenish-white mushrooms. 

     I then drove around the neighborhood, and was further amazed by Old Man Winter’s “show”. The street where I had taken a lot of pictures capturing the beauty of the autumn leaves about 4 or 5 weeks before (see my write-up in my wall—“The beautiful autumn leaves”) was starkly different now. Most of the trees were now leafless and snow had collected on the upper surfaces of the trunks and branches of the trees. The man-made lake nearby was now frozen. The evergreen conifers—mainly spruce, firs and arborvitae, their snow-laden branches and leaves bending slightly due to the weight of the snow, now “stole” the limelight. An array of medium-sized pine trees lining a street looked like outdoor Christmas trees, reminiscent of a white Christmas. They seemingly forgot that this was already the second day of the New Year. How I wish I had planted some conifers next to my house for they look quite elegant when “dressed” by the white, powdery snow.

     I was glad to have gotten out of the house today despite the frigid temperatures. It was a pleasurable experience to behold the beautiful and wonderful scenes of nature made by our Creator; it was like a famous painter depicting on his canvas the magnificent splendor of winter. I was able to capture some of these scenes with my iphone, so others, who may not have had the same privilege I had, may catch a glimpse of the winter wonderland I saw and enjoyed. Again, I say, winter is so beautiful! Our almighty God made it so.

                                                                                       Written on 1/2/14 in Chicago, IL. 

[averykedavra]

why don’t you go outside in late afternoon when the sky is blue and gold and look at the grass between the chunks of snow and skate on a frozen parking lot with ice so thick it’s pure white and listen to the mourning doves and maybe you’ll calm down

#aaaaaa guess what i just Did #i went on a walk and holy hell it was gorgeous #with the sunlight gold on the trees?? #and the ice so slippery? #we had an icy snowstorm a day or two ago #it left icicles all down the leaves of the trees #and now the snow i see is basically all ice #people have to break it into chunks to clear it off the sidewalk #and it's so easy to slide around on!! #it's so icy i didn't leave footprints #and there was so little snow that my shoes were barely wet #it was so coollll #a a a a i am at peace with the world #cold day beautiful evening 10000/10 #avery's argot

[rocorambles]

Shiny New Toy

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader 

Genre/Warnings: Military Officer Matsukawa x Prisoner of War Reader AU, Yandere, Non-Con/Rape, Bondage, Sex Toys, Degradation, Overstimulation, Objectification, Humiliation, Body Writing, Mentioned/Implied  Non-Con Branding, Knife Marking, Tattooing

Summary: Most people would consider having a white Christmas a stroke of good luck, but you’re about to find out just how untrue that is. 

Author’s Note: This fic is for the Lovesick Server’s December collab and the theme is Stormy Nights~ Be sure to check out the amazing work by other members here.

When most people dream of a white Christmas, they think about soft fluffy snow you can easily shape into snowmen, they think about fluttering snowflakes they can gaze at as they sit inside a cozy home surrounded by their family. 

Not you. 

When you dream of a white Christmas, you pray for a thunderous snowstorm, you pray for harsh winds, frigid temperatures, you pray for anything severe enough to serve as a distraction, to keep the demons and monsters at bay. 

And it takes every ounce of self-control not to accidentally betray how relieved and thankful you are as your guards for the day are sloppy enough to leave you uncuffed, hastily throwing down enough food to last you a few days in their rush to return to the safety and warmth of their barracks, unwilling to venture out more than necessary to feed you multiple times a day during the blizzard outside. 

They still have enough sense to lock the cell door behind them as they scurry back to the merry celebrations, too afraid to deal with the wrath of their superior officers. And you can’t blame them, not when Oikawa’s sadistic streak and Iwaizumi’s untempered rage are infamous throughout the nations, not when you’ve seen firsthand just how cruel the Seijoh Four can be. 

Painful memories of fire, screams, and blood flood your mind and you grit your teeth as you push them aside. There would be time for grief and mourning later. But for now, you need to escape first.

You examine the lock in front of you, the one thing separating you from freedom. It’s not a bad piece of work. Sturdy, strong, and reliable. But it’s nowhere near the craftsmanship and skill you’re used to. After all, when you come from Date Tech, the nation famous for its Iron Walls, its ironwork, its ability to manipulate all types of metal to do or be whatever the heart desires, nothing compares. And it’s laughably easy to make said lock useless as you quietly creep outside for the first time in months. 

It’s quiet. Not a soul is in sight and you slow your breathing and thoughts down as you concentrate. What’s the next step? Which direction should you go? What’s the overall plan?

For once you’re thankful for how the guards they’ve been sending could care less about your presence, treating you nothing more than an object as they blatantly ignore you and carry on conversation as if you’re not there. You know that despite the fact that most of Miyagi has been conquered, three nations still remain in an endless war against each other.

Karasuno. Shiratorizawa. Aoba Johsai. 

It’s just your luck that you’d ended up a prisoner of war by the worst of the three, humiliated and kept alive as a trophy and symbol of what they had accomplished. At least if Date Tech had been conquered by Shiratorizawa you’d be dead within seconds once Ushijima had deemed you unworthy and far too weak to live up the to high standards of his warriors. 

But Karasuno...you don’t know much about the crow nation, a nation that had kept a low profile for as long as you could remember, only to recently rear its head and prove that they’ve kept up with the best of the best despite their long isolation. But you do remember the kind faces of their high ranking officers when they had gotten into a conflict with Date Tech long ago, how surprisingly amicable the two sides were as Date Tech admitted defeat, preparing for the worst, only to be surprised as Karasuno had peacefully left after having your nation promise an alliance with them, leaving your home relatively in one piece, letting your authorities remain in power, allowing your people to live normally.

It’s decided then. The game plan is to escape to Karasuno and hope that Daichi Sawamura is as just and kind as you remember. 

Determined, you carefully listen and check your surroundings, grateful for the added coverage the snowstorm provides, relieved when you hear the distant drunken shouts and celebrations as the soldiers celebrate the joyous holiday, tucked away in the mess hall quite a distance from you. And you brace yourself as the wind howls around you, as the icy snow stings your bare feet and legs, soaking through your tattered clothing. But like hell you’re going to let something as silly as frostbite stop you and you darkly think that dying from hypothermia would be a preferable way to leave this world than by the hands of a Seijoh officer. 

Escape is tantalizingly close and you forget about the way your body feels numb from the bitter cold, forget about how your teeth chatter and your body shivers when you see the nearing enclosure, so focused on the exit that you don’t notice the solitary tall figure casually leaning against a wall nearby, curiously watching your stumbling weary body make its way towards the opening, amusement in his eyes when you pass him, completely unaware of his presence as your eyes sparkle from seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Matsukawa doesn’t care much for Christmas. Well to be fair, he doesn’t care much about holidays or celebrating in general, finding the rowdy atmosphere headache inducing, the raucous volume irritating, the crowds of people bothersome. But Oikawa and Hanamaki love their social events and it boosts squad morale, so needless to say of course there is an obnoxious holiday party raging on, with Iwaizumi playing babysitter. And Matsukawa had slipped out as soon as he could, finding strange comfort in the tumultuous weather outside, unfazed by the way snow slashed across his face as he walked and walked until only the sounds of wind and the night accompanied him. 

So imagine his surprise when their adorable little prisoner shows up in the midst of the blizzard like a ghostly apparition, struggling through the elements in a desperate attempt to escape. Honestly he doesn’t know why you’ve been kept in the cell for so long and he supposes you have Iwaizumi to thank for Oikawa not sinking his teeth and claws into you already, the green eyed general having a softer heart than most would assume knowing his reputation. But your luck has run out and not even Iwaizumi can save you from punishment and Matsukawa’s penchant for ruining pretty things. 

Suddenly Christmas doesn’t seem so bothersome after all as Matsukawa’s long legs swiftly carry him to you, his arm quickly wrapping around your neck from behind and squeezing until your nutrient deprived and half frozen body collapses in his arms. 

You groan when you come back to your senses, sinking into the soft surface you’re laying on. 

Wait. Soft surface?

Your eyes shoot open and your arms instinctively move to help you sit up, only for you to falter as something keeps your arms bound behind your back and you flail and struggle to move your tied up body as you gauge your surroundings, feeling nauseous when you recognize the turquoise and white uniform jacket hung up by the door, staring in disbelief and humiliation when you finally look down at yourself, the glowing Christmas lights adorning and highlighting your body as they weave around your breasts and between your legs. And you can only assume that’s what you feel wrapped around your arms, keeping them immobile behind your back as your naked body fights against its restraints on the bed you’ve been placed on. 

 But you scream, all thoughts of escape zapped out of you when two devices come to life inside of you and you sob in shame and panic as both your lower holes are assaulted by the vibrators inside of them, the tangle of lights looped between your legs keeping the toys firmly shoved inside of you despite the way you try to push them out of you. 

Matsukawa doesn’t understand the appeal of Christmas lights or decorations nor does he understand Oikawa’s fascination of sex toys and overwhelming his play things with plastic, rubber, and metal, preferring the surge of pride that courses through him when he wrecks his sluts with his body alone. But as he watches you writhe in front of him, your eyes glistening with hopeless tears, your nipples perky and erect, your moans and whimpers filling the room as he sits back and relaxes, his large hand slowly palming his hardening cock that he untucks out of his trousers, he admits that maybe he had been too quick to judge, grateful he hadn’t immediately dumped the box of gag gifts his brunette captain had gifted him bright and early this Christmas morning. 

“I know you don’t like toys, Mattsun. But you should test these out on the new batch of prisoners we get from the next raid!”

You aren’t a new prisoner, but he’s sure Oikawa wouldn’t mind that he was using them on you. If anything, the brunette would probably be jealous that he’d claimed you first. 

Time ceases to exist as Matsukawa watches you, fingers idly tapping away on buttons and a smirk spreading across his face at how receptive you are to the setting changes, how little he has to do to have your body contorting and your voice wantonly wailing as orgasm after orgasm is ripped from you. But he grows tired of watching from afar after he forces you to break apart countless times and he draws near, stroking his now fully erect cock as he mockingly whistles at how you’ve soaked the bed sheets near your cunt and drenched the lights shoved against your folds, laughing at how your back arches and your eyes roll back when he roughly pinches and twists your nipples. 

It’s like you were made to be played with. And suddenly Matsukawa can’t get his hands on his new toy fast enough, unwinding the soaked string of lights from your lower half and bending your legs before retying the lower strands of lights so that they bind your calves to your thighs, enjoying the view as the vibrator in your pussy easily slips out from your loosened sopping wet hole while he teasingly pulls and shoves back in the large vibrating plug he keeps nestled inside of your ass. 

You really are just like a sex toy or a fuck doll, other than that scowl on your face and the raging hate and disgust in your eyes. But the fierce look only stirs deeper lust and anticipation in the officer as he eagerly awaits the moment you completely break because of him, large hands easily hauling your bound body by the waist and forcing you to straddle his lap as he reclines against his headboard, smiling at how rage turns to a gorgeous look of fear when you feel the tip of his cock brush against your glistening entrance. 

It really is admirable how you hopelessly fight against him, against gravity as his hands guide you down and down, despair, pain, and maybe something on the border of pleasure overtaking you as you sink on an enemy’s shaft seemingly forever, the girth alone already stretching you far more than the vibrator had. But it’s the length that tears you apart and Matsukawa is painstakingly meticulous about making sure you swallow him at an agonizingly slow pace, making sure you have no choice but to feel every bit of him that enters you, that drags against your walls, further and further until you swear he’s in your cervix, in your stomach. 

You hate how sensitive his earlier torment has made you, how your pleasure addicted body is already chasing after another orgasm, your pussy fluttering in excitement around the new object filling it, your mouth drooling and unable to close as your mind goes blank from the sensation of being double stuffed again. And you sob in relief when you finally bottom out before you can humiliate yourself by cumming yet again, tensing as you wait for your captor to ruthlessly fuck you right away. 

But nothing happens and you stare in astonishment as Matsukawa merely reaches over to his nightstand to pick up a book, flipping through pages as you sit in his lap. 

“Be a good cock warmer and just stay still and look pretty, okay?” 

Humiliation courses through you at his words, but you obey. Or at least you try your best to. But he’s set you up for failure as the hand not holding his reading material finds its way between your legs, calloused fingertips gently and slowly rubbing against your clit in a way that has your body heating up, has your hips unconsciously grinding as they chase the building inferno inside of you until you’re desperately humping him like a bitch in heat in search of relief. And Matsukawa irritatedly sighs. 

“Aren’t fuck dolls supposed to just stay still and be quiet? If you want to cum that badly and distract me, at least entertain me.” 

You don’t even have the presence of mind to pay him any attention as you keep on bouncing as much as you can with your limited movement, completely ignorant of how he tosses his book to the side and rummages through the opened gift box besides him, a pleased hum escaping him when he pulls out two jingling objects. 

But you do notice the piercing pain from both your nipples as incredible pressure is applied to them and you scream as Matsukawa adjusts the nipple clamps, whimpering when he smacks your breasts and the bells attached to the devices loudly ring. Satisfied with your new decorations, once again he wraps his large hands around your waist and you wail as you’re easily lifted and slammed back down, face burning with shame and embarrassment when you realize you’re being fucked to the rhythm of Jingle Bells, the bells lewdly swinging from your sensitive buds only emphasizing your pathetic position with every shrill chime. 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. You shouldn’t be moaning like a whore. You shouldn’t be on the verge of yet another mind blowing orgasm. And you clench your eyes shut as you try to remember your home, remember your family, remember your friends, anything to distract you from the present. But Matsukawa has other plans for you and pleasure and pain strike you down like a bolt of lightning when he rips the clamps off of you and you let out an animalistic sound of ecstasy as you experience your most intense orgasm yet, one that has you twitching and mindless, slumping against the broad body in front of you in post-coital bliss and exhaustion.  

But you weakly cry out when large hands hold you still as strong hips thrust up hard into you. 

“Your performance was so good that now I’m in the mood.” 

All your pride goes down the drain as you beg and plead for him to let you rest, to stop, making a mess of his shirt and neck as your tears and snot smear across skin and fabric as you exhaustedly bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, crying even harder when fingers trace slow patterns on one ass cheek before slapping you harshly to shut up your whining. 

“A toy’s job is to make its owner feel good. Plus, I’m curious just how durable you are. Clearly if you’re conscious enough to annoy me with all your sniveling, then you’re in good enough shape for me to use some more.” 

You can only brokenly cry as he rails you from below, your torso still propped against him, face still buried in his shoulder, as he manhandles your body, forcefully slamming you down with every thrust, making sure you’re completely filled and unable to escape the delirious fullness and stimulation. And you can’t even breathe, unable to think of anything except for the aching overwhelming feeling bubbling inside of you, threatening to consume you as you’re brought to new highs over and over again.

But your weakened body can only take so much and your squeals trail off into silence, darkness encroaching on your consciousness as your body shuts down from overexertion. It’s too much and you gladly and wearily welcome slumber, can practically taste it on your tongue as a part of you shatters deep inside when you vaguely register the hot thick spurts filling your insides as Matsukawa slams balls deep inside of you one final time. 

Your heavy eyelids flutter shut and you can feel your breathing begin to even out, but panic forces you to stay awake and alert when a low teasing voice murmurs into your ear. 

“You lasted longer than I thought, but I guess you’re officially out of batteries now. Don’t worry. I’ll charge you right back up.”

You don’t know what he has planned for you, but it can’t be anything good and despite how fatigued you are, you thrash and wiggle, doing everything you can to avoid the inevitable despite your still bound position. But it’s useless and you feel so small, so vulnerable as you’re shoved face down in the corner of his room, twisting just enough to see Matsukawa holding the vibrator that had been inside of you earlier and plugging it to an outlet in the wall. And your heart plummets when he gives you a lazy grin as he abruptly shoves the toy inside of you once more. 

“Can’t have it running out of batteries while it keeps you loose and wet for me.”

You kick and scream as he adjusts the lights wrapped around your legs once again, only pausing as he rains down hard and heavy hits to your ass, and if you felt vulnerable before, you feel absolutely pathetic now with a strand of lights keeping both the vibrator and plug firmly inside of you once again and your binds adjusted until you’re in a hog-tie position. But you don’t have time to dwell too much on it, not when both vibrator and plug are suddenly set at their highest settings and you shriek, tears streaming down your face from the onslaught of sensations in your already spent body. 

And you can only feel, feel, and feel, brain dead and numb to anything else happening around you. Even when Matsukawa crouches in front of you, you just dumbly stare at him as drool trickles from your mouth and lewd moans spill from your lips. 

But even in your depraved state, the last dregs of your pride shout at you to do something, anything, as the officer holds a pair of socks and black briefs in front of your face. 

“As beautiful as you sound, I can’t have the entire unit complaining about how loud my little doll is. And toys don’t need to talk or see anyway, so I’m going to wrap you back up until I’m ready to use you again, okay?”

It’s a rhetorical question and before you can even think of retorting, the socks are brutally shoved into your mouth and you gag and choke as long fingers cruelly push and push, practically deep-throating you with the thick fabric, more hot tears cascading down your face as he removes his now saliva coated digits and wipes them clean on your face. 

But as the elastic band of his briefs are pulled over your head and snapped into place right beneath your eyes, rendering your eyesight useless, making the buzzing torment in your lower regions even more prominent, you go completely limp save for the uncontrollable tremors of pleasure, any fight you had in you shattered into a million pieces as you fully register what has happened and what you have been reduced to. 

And Matsukawa takes a moment to appreciate how broken you are already, barely looking human with the glow of the Christmas lights surrounding you and your facial features hidden for the most part by his briefs, looking every bit like a depraved whore, like human furniture, like a lewd object to be used by anyone, anytime. 

But Matsukawa has never been good at sharing his belongings and he plucks a permanent marker from his desk, scribbling dark unmistakable lines across both your ass cheeks, smirking down at his new mark of ownership. 

Issei’s Toy

The words look good on you. His name looks good on you. 

Maybe if you survive his treatment long enough, he’d get it permanently tattooed into your skin. Maybe he’d carve it into your skin. Maybe he’d burn it into your skin…

The possibilities are endless, but for now, he has an appearance to make, sighing tiredly at the responsibilities he has as a senior officer. Curse Oikawa and his insistence that all of the Seijoh Four had to at least show face at the beginning and end of the holiday party. And he rolls his eyes as he straightens out his uniform and throws on his jacket. 

But before he departs, he spares you one more glance, mood instantly lighting up when he sees your wrecked pitiful form laying on his ground like a forgotten toy. 

At least something good came out of this dreadful day, he thinks, as he quietly hums Jingle Bells all the way down to the mess hall. 

#haikyuu smut #matsukawa x reader #yandere haikyuu #yandere matsukawa #yandere matsukawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #tw: noncon #tw: rape

[hanniiesuckle17]

All I Want For Christmas

A/n: so this started off as a blurb......then i got carried away.......so.......happy christmas everyoneeeee also HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO MY SECRET SANTA GIFT PARTNER !!!!!! (also this is not thoroughly edited I'm soso sorry )

For: @hansoulmin  HAPPY CHRISTMAS BABY!!! I was your secret santa! I hope you like it! 

Tag List: @ashisparanoid @mini-meanhoe @leggomylino @hanstagrams @desertofdessert​ @hoes4hoseok​ @yangomangos​ @jeonqqin​ @geminirules​ @crscendoforsung​ @mrsunshine999​ @jisungsjheekies​ @hannie-squirrel00​ @cotccotc​ @kodzu-ken​ @konenichi​ @yangs-jeongin​ @strykiss​ @skzwriternet​

Warnings: cussing, lots of sexual tension maybe...idk

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: Minho and Y/n have never gotten along for reasons unknown to anyone. After circumstances arose, Y/n is stuck with Minho driving him up to the cabin the boys rented. It seems that things go terribly wrong at every turn as Y/n is kept from her long desired Christmas vacation. Will she be able to change Minho’s mind about Christmas....and possibly his view on her? 

Genre: Christmas au, enemies to lovers au, fluff, romance, slice of life au, forced to share bed trope, Fem reader

❅

Out of all people, the universe seemed to only choose you to throw misfortune on. You were nice. Some might even call you kind and selfless! You were by all means a good person! So why? Why out of all the eight other people going on this vacation did you have to stay behind a day and drive Satan’s spawn up to the cabin?

Lee Minho was a grown man of twenty two years. He should be able to drive himself! Also what was his deal? The rest of the boys had cleared their schedule for a week and a half of Christmas vacation.What was so important he had to delay your winter getaway as well?

The frigid winter wind bit at your skin, latching onto the soon disappearing warmth. You rolled your eyes watching the coat clad form of Minho come down the stairs of the entertainment building at a painstakingly slow pace. You had no clue why, but ever since you met, Minho had been nothing but cross and hateful towards you, and it seemed like he had no intention of changing. 

“Y/n.” Minho said coldy, tossing his duffel bag into my arms. 

“Satan.”

‘Clever.”

Deciding to be the bigger person, you securely placed his bag along with yours in the trunk and walked over the the driver’s side. The door slammed shut as Minho sunk into the passenger seat. “This is going to be a long ride,” you mumbled. 

An hour into journey and your prediction was already coming true. The two of you sat in awkward uncomfortable silence. Minho stared out the window seemingly unphased by the unwieldy tension. “Should I turn on some music?” You asked, reaching for the radio.

“No. It will just make things uncomfortable.”

You scoffed, retracting your hand. “I don’t see how it can get more uncomfortable than this.” Minho rolled his eyes turning to look at you. 

“It will be annoying for me when you start singing along to the radio and I have to tell you how utterly shit your voice is.” There was no hiding the scowl on your face. Your grip tightened on the steering wheel. Only five and half more hours with this asshole. 

You sighed, glancing over at the man in your car. He was messing around on his phone, completely ignoring you. It was like the conversation you had only a few seconds ago had never happened. “Look. I know you hate me and you definitely aren’t my favorite person either.” No response came from Minho. He simply rolled his eyes. “What was so important that you had to delay my Christmas vacation? Don’t you like Christmas? What possibly would be worth setting back such an amazing holiday?”

Hearing no response you looked over at Minho in question. He was looking out the window with a rather pointed scowl. “Not everyone loves Christmas.”

“What? Everyone loves Christmas! Christmas is the best time of the year!”

“Well, not me. I don’t like Christmas.”

“WHAT?!”

You turned to him eyes wide. “Hey! Eyes on the road!” Minho grabbed the steering wheel and jerked the car back into the right lane. “What’s so wrong about not liking Christmas?” Light snow flurries began to fall on the windshield. “Christmas is just another stupid holiday. There’s nothing special about it. Plus it’s cold.”

“Maybe you really are satan....” You mumbled under your breath. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing.....I just can’t believe you hate Christmas...”

❅

Two painful hours later you were driving your impossible passenger down a long stretch of snow filled road. The windshield wipers screeched as they pushed snow off the glass. The storm had really picked up as you drove further out of the city. The roads were icy and you did your best to keep your old run down car from drifting. 

“How much longer?” Minho sighed, resting his head on the cool glass. 

“Quite a bit-” BANG!

Suddenly, it was much harder to control your car. You felt a rumble in the back wheels. Minho shot up in his seat. “Wait- what the fuck is going on?” Easing your foot off the gas, you pulled over onto the side of the empty road. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” Hitting your steering wheel, you tried to hold back your frustration. Tears pricked at your eyes, begging to spill over. There was no way you were going to cry in front of Lee Minho. Couldn’t one thing go your way this year? As if this wasn’t bad enough, a loud bang came from your engine and smoke started spilling from the hood. “Fuck...” 

Defeated, you let your head fall onto the wheel. A long continuous blast came from the car horn. Minho grimaced, covering his ears. “Can you like....stop?” You turned to look at him. Feeling even more dejected under his gaze you lifted your head, ceasing the blaring noise. 

Taking a moment to gather your emotions, you blew out a shaky breath. “Just....stay in the car, I guess. Not like you’re gonna help anyway.”

Jerking open the car door, you stepped out onto the snowy road. Deciding to look at the hopefully less damaged part of your car, you wrapped your coat further around your body and walked to the back of your car. Just like you thought, the rear left tire was completely blown out. 

“I knew my car was shit, but I thought it was going to last at least another two years.”

Now it was time to face the music, or rather the smoke. Snow falling at a fast pace, you shuffled through the cold and around to the front of your car. Raising the hood more smoke rose into the winter air. Looking around you saw it was getting darker. You had told Chan you and Minho would be at the cabin the boys rented by dinner time. It was already six o’clock.

A quick glance under the hood was enough to tell that this car was going no where. Brain trying to solve the prediciment you somehow ended up in, you crouched down and attempted to come up with a way out of the situation. So deep in thought, you didn’t even hear the sound of the passenger door opening and closing. 

“I’m assuming you can’t fix this.”

Looking up you saw Minho standing over you. His hands were stuffed into his coat pockets and white snow flurries floated onto Minho’s dark brown hair. “Do you just assume I’m useless at everything?” Minho rolled his eyes. The man turned around and opened the trunk. He returned with your bag as well as his. 

“Come on.” Not even casting a glance your way, Minho tossed your bag at your kneeling figure. The momentum sent you falling onto your butt, the wet cold snow immediately seeping through the one warm layer you were wearing. 

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“There’s a hotel a couple miles away.” Minho said holding up his phone. 

Pushing yourself off the ground you grabbed the bag and hurried to catch up with the sulky hateful man who was already walking further into the snowfall. “Are you serious?” You questioned, trying not to slip on ice. “Hey- Minho! What the fuck, dude?” 

“Come on, idiot. Keep up.”

“Minho! Wait up!”

❅

The sky was almost pitch black by the time the two of you made it to the hotel. Whether it was from the snow clouds or time you weren’t sure. Minho had not bothered to wait for you. He was already through the sliding doors of the building before you had reached the hotel’s driveway. “Selfish jerk.” You mumbled, dragging your bag through the rising snow. 

You did your best not collapse as you were embraced by the warm heating in the hotel lobby. Minho was brushing the show from his hair as he confidently approached the front desk. The clerk greeted him with a friendly smile. 

“Hi. We need two rooms please.”

Her smile faltered a little bit. “I’m so sorry, sir.” She wrung her hands together, keeping that hospitality smile on her face. “With the snowstorm, almost every room is booked.” Minho sighed, casting an annoyed glare your way. 

“Are you sure?” 

After catching your breath, you joined the singer at the desk. The lady typed away on her computer. Looking over, you could see red boxes by all the rooms she scrolled through. “I’m so sorry, sir. But all but one of our rooms is booked.”

“We’ll take it.” You jumped in, eager to have any relief from the storm outside. 

She smiled and Minho grumbled something under his breath. “Okay then. Here is the key to our Honeymoon Suite. It’s on the fourth floor at the end of the hall.” There was no stopping the blush flooding your cheeks.

“H-honeymoon suite....?”

“Yes. It’s our last room.” 

Minho snatched the key card from the woman’s hands. “You’ve already said we’ll take it. Stop blubbering and get your stuff.” Grabbing his duffel, Minho began walking towards the elevator with no intention of waiting for you. 

The concierge looked at you with pity. “You’re boyfriend isn’t the nicest...is he?” 

With a scoff you replied, “Believe me, Minho is not my boyfriend.”

Rushing through the lobby, you squeezed through the elevator doors just as they were closing. Minho remained silent as you both rode up to the fourth floor. Your wet feet against the plush carpet was the only sound to be heard as you walked to the end of the hall. 

Before he could slide the keycard, Minho scowled at the heart engraved on the door. The happy beep and green light prompted him to push into the room. His scowl deepened as he flicked on the lights. 

Even with the lights turned on, the room was cast in a warm dim glow. There was only one bed, shaped like a huge heart with rose petals strewn across the duvet. Your eyes widened seeing a tall metal poll in one corner of the room, red light shining down on it. Subsequently a similar color grew on your cheeks. The whole room was lavishly decorated and had several interesting adult objects lying about.

“This is.....”

“What? You can’t handle a little atmosphere, Y/n?” Minho taunted with a smirk. He tossed his bag onto a chair, seeming to enjoy your embarrassed state. 

You sat on the bed only to jump up and scream feeling it move beneath you. “It vibrates?! What the fuck! Who makes a bed that vibrates?!” Minho chuckled, possibly the first time you had ever seen him give anything remotely close to a genuine smile. 

“Not kinky are you, Y/n?” 

You froze. Your hands gripped tightly onto your bag and you pulled it higher to cover your chest in embarrassment. “Regardless, there is no way I’m sleeping on that thing.” He shrugged and flopped onto the bed, rose petals flying into the air. He looked rather comfortable, completely unphased by his surroundings. 

“Suit yourself.”

Cautiously, you sat on the plush couch holding your bag like a teddy bear. This was certainly not how you imagined your Christmas. You were so looking forward to spending Christmas with your friends. Decorating the tree. Sitting by the fire in the rented cabin. Eggnog with slightly too much rum. Giving gifts you spent way too much of your paycheck on. Now you were stuck in some hotel sex dungeon with the devil spawn. What a Happy Christmas it was turning out to be. 

❅

After getting used to the room, you showered and changed clothes to leave Minho to do the same. While he cleaned up, you phoned a nearby auto-shop and asked them to tow your car in and fix it. Finally able to resolve the stressful phone call, you let your head fall into your hands. Minho exited the bathroom rubbing his hair with a towel. 

Just as you were about to tell him the only slightly good news, the lights shut off. Both of you looked around in confusion. “Minho, did you do this? Is this some kind of prank? Cause, I’m not afraid of the dark.” He shook his head and grabbed his phone from off the dresser, using it as a flashlight. 

It was then you noticed that the room was getting colder by the second. Rubbing your arms, you shuffled over to your bag and grabbed a cardigan. A knock sounded at the door. Sighing, Minho answered it.

“Ah- Mr. Lee! We are so sorry about the inconvenience. It seems the powerlines have frozen over and the hotel has lost all electricity.” A man wearing a bellhop uniform said. Hearing the news, you came to stand next to him. “We are doing our best to get our generator up and running. It seems our heating system is also down.”

“How do you expect us to stay like this?” Minho asked with a cold stare. The man shrunk under his gaze. 

Slapping Minho’s shoulder you pushed him aside. “Stop being a grinch. Thank you so much for letting us know.” The man nodded and pulled a blanket from a nearby cart. You flinched awak from his cold hands as he passed it to you. The poor thing. He must be freezing walking around the halls in his uniform. 

“Here. This extra blanket will help. The hotel will also discount your stay.”

“No, take the blanket. We’ll be fine. You need it more than us. Thank you for doing such hard work!” The man smiled and thanked you profusely before you closed the door. Turning, you found Minho looking at you strangely. “What?”

He looked you up and down before scoffing and turning away. “You’re just so nice to everybody. You’re so gullible.” 

“Gullible?” You couldn’t believe him. “I’m not gullible. It’s called being nice. Have a little Christmas spirit will you.”

He rolled his eyes, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “I already told you. Keep all that Christmas bullshit to yourself. It’s all just an excuse for the tinsel and ornament industry to make money off losers like you.” 

There was no convincing him otherwise, so you simply watched as he pushed back the covers of the bed and climbed in. “Fine. Be a grinch or a Scrooge or a Hans Gruber for all I care.”

“Hans Gruber?” Minho questioned, head popping up in the dark. 

“Die Hard is a Christmas movie too, okay?”

You were shocked to hear a chuckle come from the big heart shaped bed. Sure, you must be imagining things, you took down a rather thin blanket from the closet and headed to your spot on the couch. Your barefeet flinched at every step on the cold hardwood floor. Curling up into a ball on the sofa, helped your body temperature rise a little bit, but you still froze with the tiny blanket you used. Eventually, you fell into a cold restless sleep. 

❅

You awoke to some shuffling in the room. Assuming Minho was getting up to get a glass of water or something you tried to go back to sleep. But, you were puzzled as you heard his footsteps come closer to the sofa. Unsure what he was doing, you pretended to be asleep, wrapping the blanket more around your shivering body. 

“I’m only doing this cause I can’t sleep with all that teeth chattering,” Minho whispered under his breath. “It’s not like I care...” 

Suddenly you felt his long fingers gently reach out for your ankle. Still pretending to be asleep you resisted the urge to flinch away. Brows furrowed and eyes still closed, you tried to figure out what he was doing. Minho tenderly pulled what you imagined to be a pair of his socks over your cold bare feet. Your breath hitched as his soft hands brushed over your skin. He was....being kind? 

Hearing movement, you shut your eyes tighter as Minho pushed himself off the ground. “That should be fine.....” He whispered. You waited, but didn’t hear him walk away. “Why am I even bothering...” Again it seemed like he stayed. After another moment of silence he shifted. 

Surprisingly, you felt his hands reach under your legs and behind your back. He lifted you into the air and pulled you into his chest, carrying you as if you were the most fragile thing he had ever touched. Minho moved across the room before gently placing you on the bed. The covers were pulled up to your chin and you felt him tuck in the fabric around your body. You were shocked to say the least. 

Surprising you further, Minho climbed into bed next to you. His arm cautiously wrapped around your stomach and pulled you flush against his warm chest. You were feeling very conflicted for many reasons. Deciding to test just what was going on, you turned around, eyes still closed, and hugged onto him tighter. You buried your face into his chest. He froze obviously contemplating what to do. 

Hesitantly, like his body was stuttering, he let his arms fall around you in an embrace. You found yourself....content. His scent was comforting. He smelled like amber and some sort of spice you couldn’t quite name. Just as you were about to fall asleep, Minho sighed and let his fingers tenderly stroke your hair.

“This doesn’t mean I like you....” He whispered. There was something in his voice that made you not believe his words. You didn’t have time to think about them, because you were soon lulled into a deep sleep. 

❅

The next morning you woke up to soft white light streaming through the hotel curtains. Minho was still asleep next to you, fingers still tangled in your hair. The room around you was cold, but your body was nothing but warm in Minho’s arms. You smiled remembering Minho’s kind action last night. Not knowing how he would react you decided it might be best if you weren’t in the room when he woke up. 

Each time you moved, you were sure the man was bound to wake up. Finally you swung your legs over the side of the bed. You smiled, looking down and seeing his gray warm socks on your feet. Your eyes widened as realization passed through your mind. 

Did you like Minho?

Looking over at Minho’s sleeping face, you felt your hears start to beat faster. Grasping at your chest, you tried to still your literally beating heart. This was not a problem for now. Minho could wake up any second and you didn’t really want to confront these possible feelings with him awake. 

Sliding into a pair of the hotel slippers, you shuffled to the door, rubbing your arms to keep warm. Slipping the keycard into your cardigan pocket, you closed the door quietly so as not to wake up the sleeping singer just yet. 

“Oh- I am so sorry!” Someone said, bumping into you. 

“It’s fin-...Hey, I know you!” You turned to find the bellhop from the night before. “Has your shift not ended yet?” 

He shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The roads are icy, plus they have everyone staying because of the power situation.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. He seriously was a hard worker. “By the way, we got our back up generator working, but there seems to be something still wrong with the heater.” 

“Don’t worry about it! Minho and I were fine last night so I’m sure the other guests were as well.”

He chuckled. “You’re really nice. You’re like walking Christmas spirit.” You smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Oh- the kitchen staff managed to scrap together our usual breakfast service downstairs. You should go check it out. It was nice talking to you, Mrs. Lee! Merry Christmas!”

“Oh- I’m not...” But it was too late. The bellhop was already swiftly moving down the hall. 

Deciding to move past the conversation, you headed downstairs to the breakfast buffet. The lobby was full of Christmas decorations; something you had missed last night in your urgent desire to get a room. It made you smile. A reminder that Christmas Eve was tomorrow. 

Following the delectable odor of breakfast food, you wandered into the buffet area and built two plates for you and Minho. Balancing the full platters of food like a professional circus performer, you journeyed back up to the room. By some feat, you opened the door and entered the still freezing room.

Minho sat up in bed, still looking half asleep. “I...I- uh... I brought breakfast. I wasn’t sure what you liked so-”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll eat anything warm right now.” 

Wearing a nervous smile, you sat down on the bed across from Minho and handed him a plate. The two of you ate in semi awkward silence, this time for a very different reason. “So-”

“About last night...” Minho started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-...I-...you're teeth were chattering pretty loud and-”

You smiled, stopping his train of thought. You could practically see every word he had planned to say leave his brain. “You don’t have to say anything. Thank you, Minho.” The boy nodded, hair falling into his eyes as he looked down at the plate of food.

Another silence followed only slightly less awkward. “If you don’t mind me asking,” Minho’s head raised at your voice. “Why do you hate Christmas so much?” He sighed, shoving a sausage in his mouth and chewing on the savory food. 

“I just never really got the whole Christmas thing. My family never celebrated. Every time we try to get together for the holidays everything just seems to go wrong. Just like how things are going now.” He scoffed picking up another sausage.

“Okay...I can respect that. But...you’re hatred of Christmas seems to be more than that.”

Minho rolled his eyes. Contradicting his actions, he reached over and placed a piece of his toast on your plate. “It’s just....I don’t get it. Like, explain to me what is so great about Christmas.”

You set your plate down with a grin and ate the piece of toast Minho gave you. “I don’t know. I just get this warm feeling around Christmas time. I love seeing all the love that people share. There is just something about Christmas that brings people together. It’s beautiful everywhere and everything is just bright and happy.”

Minho smiled watching you talk. You rambled about all the things you loved about Christmas, from making snowmen to decorating the tree, to watching people unwrap their gifts. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something about the way you spoke that made his stomach twist in knots. 

At some point you stopped talking and noticed the dazed look on his face. “Did you even listen to me?” You looked down at your lap, slightly disappointed. Not liking the frown on your face Minho quickly nodded his head.

“Yeah, of course.” 

Before he could remedy the tension he accidentally created, your phone rang pulling away your attention. Minho watched you get off the bed and walk away to answer the phone. Your back turned, he started beating himself up about not paying full attention to what you were saying. 

“So, Minho,” You said turning to face him. “That was the auto shop. They said we should be able to pick up the car tomorrow afternoon. Thankfully we’ll be able to see the boys on Christmas Eve!” 

Minho smiled, watching your face light up at the good news. “That’s great.”

❅

After two nights in a hotel, you were finally pulling into the driveway of the rented cabin. It was gorgeous! The huge vaulted roof was covered in snow and the warm wood stood out against the blanketed white backdrop. “Minho,” You said slapping his arm to get his attention as you parked the car. “Look how pretty this is!”

He looked up from his phone, first looking at your bewildered grin, then the lodge in front of you. “Yeah,” You stared in wonder at the place you would be staying for the next week. “Really beautiful.” Turning you found Minho already looking back at you. For some reason, just the way he was looking at you had your stomach doing somersaults.

Pushing your hair behind your ear, you attempted to calm the heat on your cheeks. Both you and Minho awkwardly laughed and looked away from each other. Pressing your hands to your cheeks, you tried to pat away the blush like an idiot. 

“THEY’RE HERE!”

Suddenly, seven rambunctious boys stampeded out of the house and came bounding through the snow to your now fixed car. They pounded happily on the windows and had you not known them, the event would be absolutely terrifying. “Guys, let us out of the car!” Minho shouted with half a laugh. 

Eventually, you were dragged into the cabin by the idols and hugged until your faces turned blue. The inside was even more beautiful than the outside. Everything was made out of wood and there was practically a wall of huge windows overlooking the snow covered forest. 

“What took you guys so long?” Jisung asked hanging off your arm. 

You sighed, ruffling his fluffy hair. Minho watched with a pointed stare. “Well, my piece of junk car broke down and so Minho and I were stuck in a freezing hotel honeymoon suite. but, now we’re here and I cannot wait to start our Christmas vacation!”

“Woah, woah, woah, woah. Back up. Honeymoon suite?” Chan asked with raise brows, looking between Minho and you. The look stopped when Minho made a slice motion across his neck. “Well....um...guys I hate to break it to you, but there's only like 5 rooms and the rest of us have already paired off.”

The band collectively ‘oo-ed’ and started jokingly shoving Minho around. “Think you lovebirds can survive without biting off each other’s heads?” Jisung said jokingly. Obviously he was kidding, but you were blushing more in the last hour than probably ever in your life. 

Thankfully, Chan noticed your embarrassed state and ushered everyone away to let the two of you settle in. Christmas Eve with the rest of Stray Kids was quite possibly one of the greatest nights of your life. By the time everyone retired for the evening, it was almost midnight. Your room was smaller than the hotel suite but shared the commonality of having....one bed. 

While Minho was in the shower, you snuck downstairs to get a better look at the tree Hyunjin, Chan, and Jeongin had put up the other day. The lights twinkled on the real tree that was standing tall in the living room. A fire was raging in the fireplace. The glow of the flames reflected in the red, gold, white, and green ornaments. 

The tree reminded you of the one your parents used to put up when you were little. Feeling the urge to act childish you crawled on your hands and knees until you could lay down under the tree and look up into the lit branches. Resting your hands on your stomach, you smiled looking up at the shiny glass orbs. 

“Y/n?” Minho called out into the wide expanse that was more than an excuse for a living room. “You in here?” Turning your head, you watched his sock feet come down the stairs two at a time. 

“By the tree,”  Through the branches you watched him approach the large Christmas tree. 

Minho chuckled and kicked your leg lightly. “Whatcha doin’ down there, idiot? you look like the Wicked Witch of the East!” He soon regretted the comment as a swift kick was directed at his unprotected calf.  “Ow!” He exclaimed, rubbing his leg. “But, really, what are you doing down there?” 

“You never did this as a kid?” He shook his head. The strong smelling fronds obstructed most of his face from your view, but you could make out the glint of his round spectacles in the firelight. “Come here!” 

Letting out a sigh with an intention you couldn’t decipher, Minho got on all fours before crawling to lay next to you under the Christmas tree. His shoulder brushed up against yours, making your skin tingle. “What’s the point of this?” He whispered after a few moments of staring at the lights. 

Shrugging, you answered, “I don’t know. When I was little, my parents fought a lot. I used to walk down in the living room and lay under the tree. Sometimes I would pretend all the little lights were stars and I would wish for a Christmas miracle hoping maybe that this year they would stop fighting. Or at least fight a little less.” As you spoke, you watched the ornaments and colorful Christmas lights sparkle and twinkle. “Some years it worked. I really did get a Christmas miracle.”

“I think you were the Christmas miracle.” Minho said turning to look at you.

“I doubt that.”

“Well...you’ve made me not...not like...Christmas. I’d say that’s miracle quality.”

You laughed, reaching for his hand on instinct. His eyes widened, but the boy let you grasp onto his fingers. “Minho, you really aren’t so bad. I feel like maybe I just didn’t take the time to get to know you.” Minho grinned. You felt like it may have been the lights, but a rosy dust filled his cheeks. 

“Yeah, well....like I said. You’re my Christmas miracle.”

You were at a loss for words. Minho shifted his fingers to interlock with yours. “Can- can I kiss you?” He asked with baited breath and furrowed brows, eyes trained on your lips. If you weren’t sure of his feelings, you knew now. Fearing your voice would betray you with any attempt to speak, you nodded and looked through the glass lenses into his deep brown eyes. They were softer than you had once thought. 

Slowly leaning over Minho pressed his lips against yours. That warm feeling returned to your stomach and slowly traveled until you’re whole body felt like it was glowing. Minho kissed you under the twinkling colorful lights of the tree, earasing every other bad thought or thing he had ever said to you before. He pulled away as the grandfather clock in the hall struck twelve. 

“Merry Christmas, Minho.” You whispered, his lips still inches away from yours. 

“Merry Christmas, Y/n.”

❅

“GOOD MORNING CHRISTMAS LOVEBIRDS!” Hyunjin screamed, bursting into the room you and Minho shared. He shrieked seeing the two of you, legs tangled together under the sheets. With sleepy eyes, Minho sat up and tossed the pillow you were using at the blonde’s head. 

“Minho! That was my pillow!” Groaning, he just laid back down and pulled you into his chest, letting you use his arm as a headrest. 

Chan pulled Hyunjin from the floor shaking his head at the drama queen. “In all serious, guys, Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin are very eager to start opening presents so get your butts downstairs.” Minho raised his arm to shoo his leader away. The door closed returning you to your original state of privacy. 

Minho kissed your forehead, snuggling back under the warm duvet with you. “You know this is the first Christmas morning I’ve been excited to wake up. This time I’m just excited to see you though.” 

“Never would have pegged you for the cheesy type, Lee Minho.”

He chuckled, leaning down and capturing your lips in a kiss. You were unable to keep the smile from creeping up your face. “We should get down stairs. The boys will be missing us.” 

“Fiiiiine.” He grumbled, pushing himself off the bed. Slowly, your body still waking up, you swung your legs over the side. Before your barefeet could touch the ground, Minho’s hand once again wrapped gently around your ankle. He smiled up at you, kindness in his dark brown eyes. Tenderly, his long fingers slid a warm pair of his socks over your feet. “My Christmas miracle can’t have cold feet, can she?”

Smirking at your blush, Minho took your hand and led you out of the cabin bedroom. You joined the rest of the boys around the tree, Jisung already tearing open a gift and Seungmin passing out presents. Minho found the last empty spot on the couch and pulled you into his lap. 

“You too seem pretty cozy,” Changbin stated, with a knowing look on his face. 

Completley oblivious to the conversation, Jisung chimed in. “So, Minho, did you finally figure out what you want for Christmas? Shopping for you was so hard!” Jisung groaned, holding his new gifted plushie in his arms. 

“I gues all I want for Christmas this year is Y/n.” Minho said with a smile. He leaned over and kissed your cheek, not afraid of any of the boys making fun of him apparently. 

“SO I SHOULD JUST RETURN THE $475 JACKET I BOUGHT YOU HUH?”

❅

Masterlist

#stray kids imagines #skzwriternet #skznta2020 #lee know #lee minho imagines #lee know imagines #lee know imagine #lee know angst #lee know fluff #lee know smut #lee know oneshot #lee know au #lee know au imagine #lee minho au #stray kids angst #stray kids scenario #stray kids #stray kids au imagine #stray kids au imagines #lee know christmas au #stray kids incorrect quotes #stray kids reactions #stray kids christmas au #stray kids soulmate au #stray kids masterlist #lee know enemies to lovers #stray kids requests #stray kids college au #kpop imagines #rubber ducky you're the one

[katnissmellarkkk]

Chapter Four

“Dang it!” I bellow eight days later, as my body gives way and topples over, having used too great of force to yank a now dead primrose from the ground.

Yesterday morning I had come outside to discover the yellow evening primroses, the flowers Peeta had planted upon his arrival back in Twelve, had all but died.

And I didn’t even notice. I’ve been so distracted with everything else going on in my life—namely Peeta and his blonde companion—that I entirely forgot about the flowers. The flowers that my sister was named for. The flowers meant to represent her when she was no longer alive to represent herself.

The idea that I could forget the plant, that I let myself lag on the simple duty of keeping them alive and watered and healthy, felt as if I had let my little sister down all over again. It felt as if I’d failed Prim a second time.

And it’s more than I can handle. I can’t even endure the thought. The very implication that I am, in any way, dishonoring my sister’s memory is entirely unbearable. Even if it is just me implying it, inside my head.

But in any case, it looks like the primroses are too far gone and I don’t have even a chance at resurrecting them back to life. I took too long to notice their wilting, I was too caught up in other things, that I let the plants die and now there’s no going back.

For a split second I consider returning one of my mother’s many calls to ask for gardening advice. She has always had a green thumb and been able to grow whatever she set her mind to. I never had any of those skills. I was a hunter by nature, not a nurturer.

No, that was Prim. The soft and gentle one, who loved animals, who could heal any wound she could identify, who could garden and grow herbs just as well as our mother.

And I miss her so much. I miss my little sister so very much that I almost breakdown into tears right then and there, right in front of the dead primrose bush outside my house.

“Katniss?” I hear someone call in the distance. I recognize the voice instantly.

And rapidly get up and make a beeline towards my front door.

Unfortunately he’s determined to catch me. After eight solid days of evasion, Peeta is dead set on catching me at any given opportunity before him.

It’s almost funny how once upon a time it was him who wished to avoid me. It was him who craved distance between us, who acted icy and detached at every encounter, whether forced or by chance.

Now it’s him trying to force an encounter between us, trying desperately to make up for hurting me, trying to still be a part of my life, even after I pronounced our relationship finished.

The bread he left on my doorstep—that I immediately tossed in the garbage—is proof of that. The cheesebuns he left on my counter who met their demise to a flock of birds on my back porch is proof of that. The cookies he baked and passed through Greasy Sae when I went to trade at the new, rebuilt Hob is glaring proof of his efforts.

I did actually eat those but I made sure to do it in private, where Peeta would never know if his token was accepted or not.

Because I don’t want him to think we’re okay. I don’t want Peeta to believe me and him can still be friends, with Bailey Robyn, the uptight, controlling blonde still lingering over his every move.

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit overdramatic. Bailey isn’t residing over Peeta’s every action. She probably doesn’t even know he’s made all these treats for me. And she surely wasn’t sitting by his side in the corner of Greasy Sae’s booth when our eyes briefly met before I stubbornly stormed out.

But I feel like she is. I feel her presence overcast in every one of Peeta’s actions, in every deed he partakes in, in every moment I run into him. Maybe it’s only inside my head but it’s enough reason for me to avoid Peeta. It’s enough reason that I wish to stand by my words eight days ago and cut him directly out of my life. With a chainsaw if necessary, I wish to cut the invisible cord that has tied me and him together for so long now.

“Katniss!” Peeta calls again, his arms grasping my waist just in time to prevent my escape into the house.

“Go away,” I mutter under my breath, ire and ache still seeping off me even after a week separating this moment here with our last interaction.

“Why are you upset?” He asks, a little breathless now from the race to my front door. But even tired, concern still manages to leak into his tone. His blue eyes still show anxiety for my well-being.

And it’s still not enough to thaw me.

“You know why,” I say rigidly, pulling my front door open and shoving his hands away from me.

“No, no, I mean,” he quickly tries to correct his question. “I meant, what’s happened out here that has you upset?”

I audibly huff, my eyes about as warm as a popsicle in a snowstorm. The last thing I want to do is stand here and recount just about anything to Peeta, especially in regards to the way I’m currently feeling.

Especially after the last time we spoke about our feelings, when I chose to let him in and allowed him to see the vulnerable parts of me that I never trust anyone with.

Only for him to turn around and side with Bailey over me.

But knowing how persistent Peeta can be when properly determined—his intensity to train like a Career, Brutus’ murder and him warning District Thirteen about Snow’s incoming attack all fly to the top of that list—I merely gesture widely to my backyard, where the dead flowers lie.

It only takes Peeta a moment to click it all together, to his credit. Though I’m hesitant to even offer him that right now.

“I’ll replant them,” he instantly offers, like a dog begging to fetch his owner a carcass bone.

“Don’t bother,” I say, about as rude and uninviting as humanly possible. “It’s not your responsibility.”

I’m just stepping into the house when Peeta’s hand shoves on the door, hard enough to keep it open. For a split second, I contemplate putting all my strength behind it and slamming his fingers in the door. But even as mad as I am—even as wounded as I am—I won’t physically harm Peeta.

After all, he already lost his leg once about I tied it in a tourniquet. I may have saved his life but I also cost him half a limb and that thought alone stops me from nearly taking his fingers off too.

“Katniss, I want to,” he pleads and his eyes are so big and blue and I feel my heart involuntarily melt a bit upon at the sight. “I want to replant them.”

I release an unconscious breath, for the first time in over a week not completely hostile towards the boy with the bread, who in my eyes, completely turned his back on me. Or so it feels. “I’ll just end up killing them again, Peeta. I’m serious. Don’t even bother.”

“Then I’ll tend to them,” Peeta throws out, getting more and more desperate the more I refuse, it seems.

I’m about to brush off his offer once again when another voice joins us. “Oh, let him do it, sweetheart. The boy needs a hobby besides baking,” Haymitch chimes in, standing at the bottom of my porch, looking drunk as ever.

“You love that baking is his only hobby,” I shoot back at the paunchy, old man.

“Well, not anymore. Since you two started fighting he’s been making me fat. I need a break.”

I’m about to come back with another comment, probably one to suggest Haymitch doesn’t have to eat everything Peeta brings, when we’re joined by a third presence.

Of course, she has to join us. Bailey can’t seem to let Peeta go anywhere without her nowadays.

“What’s going on?” She murmurs, looking around at all our tense body language. Well, at mine and Peeta’s tense body language. Haymitch is currently sitting on the bottom step of my porch now, as relaxed as Buttercup is in the window.

Peeta opens his mouth to respond but then shuts it again, glancing back at me. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he doesn’t wish to discuss his offer to help me with his girlfriend or if it’s the fact that he clearly knows I dislike the notion of Bailey in my business, but either way I’m a little pleased when he closes his mouth and adverts eye contact away from the blonde.

Instead it’s my drunken mentor who elaborates. “The girl’s flowers died. Your boyfriend just wants to replant them.”

To my utter astonishment, Bailey seems amendable to the idea. “The flowers for your sister?” She inquires, looking right at me. I shoot her a quizzical—and perhaps slightly unfriendly—look out of the corner of my eye but she continues on anyway. “Peeta, you should help her plant them again. Especially since you let them die-“

But I’ve heard enough from her—and everyone else here, for that matter—and I turn to Peeta, my hand still holding the doorknob tightly, ready to slam it shut. “Fine,” I cave, my tone anything but grateful. “Go ahead and replant the primroses. If that’s going to help you, then go for it.”

I don’t wait to hear a response from any of the parties now camped out on my property. Instead I shove Peeta’s fingers off my door—first time I’ve touched him in eight days—and throw it shut with such a force I feel the walls in my entryway shake.

“She’s always been a spitfire,” I hear Haymitch mumble as three sets of footsteps make their way further from my porch.

I barely catch Peeta’s response. If I hadn’t been standing by the door, unintentionally listening to hear what they may be saying, I would have missed it altogether.

“That’s the best thing about her.”

/

It’s just mere hours later before I’m disturbed once again. This time not by a crew of three but by one solo intruder.

“Sweetheart?” Haymitch barks, evidently not too keen on the fact that I decided to turn every light in my house off after returning home from the Hob.

“Go away,” I mumble out, knowing well and clear that he can’t hear me from upstairs. I’m in my bedroom, lying in the safety of my own bed, in my own private sanctuary, where I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone at any cost.

Of course, it only takes a few minutes of bumping into things and cursing for Haymitch to track me down. “Girl, it’s six at night?” He says incredulously.

“So?” I snap, as he turns my light on, effectively blinding me.

“Did you just forget about dinner tonight?” He asks, his voice neither kind nor hostile. In all honesty, he just sounds puzzled.

“Why are you in my room, Haymitch?” I murmur, rubbing my eyes until they adjust to the beaming brightness and pulling myself upwards now. Off his dismissive glance, I let out a deep sigh. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Of course, we’re not really talking about me skipping a meal. I highly doubt Haymitch truly cares if I miss dinner by my own accord. He surely wasn’t too interested in my meal intake when he brought me home from the Capitol and dropped me off on my doorstep.

No, we’re referring to the weekly dinners me, Peeta and Haymitch have at the old man’s pig sty. The same dinners I’ve brought Delly along to, that Haymitch is constantly passing out drunk during, that Bailey has been crashing nonstop since arriving here in Twelve.

When I came home from trading at the Hob tonight, I decided I was done with those dinners. I don’t need to subject myself to bossy Bailey any longer, and my resolve to keep Peeta out of my life as much as humanly possible is still strong. Despite the fact that I agreed to let him plant the primroses in my garden again and tend to their growth, I still don’t wish for us to be friends. I still don’t want to subject myself any further to him and Bailey’s exhibits.

And I figured no one would mind my absence anyways. At least not for a few dinners. I knew eventually Haymitch would try to push me to come back and Peeta would probably ask me very sweetly to join again, but I didn’t think the first night I skipped would be a huge production.

And okay, maybe there is a small part of me who deep down hopes if I refuse to come, Bailey may be disinvited in order to make me feel welcome again. It’s a long shot and not one I’d consciously admit to counting on, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small, minuscule part of me wishing for that to happen just the same.

Haymitch glances at me suspiciously now. “You’re always hungry, kid.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most enthusiastic eater I know.”

Okay, he is blatantly confused apparently. His drunken goggles are blurring his perspective of reality, it would seem.

In any case, I flop backwards on my bed and roll away, hoping if I ignore my mentor long enough he’ll just evaporate into thin air.

But for some reason, Haymitch is weirdly dogged tonight. “Come on,” he urges, shaking my shoulder a bit too roughly. “I know the boy always says you’re just like me, but this little display is over the top, Katniss.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you even want me at those dinners, Haymitch? You have Peeta and Bailey there.” I can’t stop myself from throwing the extra emphasis on Bailey, as immature as it may be.

However, the old man isn’t interested in dignifying me with a response. “And Delly. And Johanna. And Annie Cresta.”

That catches me completely off-guard. “What?”

In the time since the war ended and I returned to Twelve—or rather, was exiled to Twelve—no one from the other districts have visited. I have barely seen anyone I know in the last few months, outside Haymitch, Peeta and Delly.

“Some of which are anxious to see you at dinner,” he adds, gesturing for me to get up.

I shoot him a mordant glance. “Johanna’s anxious to see me?”

“I said some. Meaning Delly and Annie,” he clarifies. Off my still hesitant expression, he reaches down and tugs on my wrist, trying to get me out of bed.

“Fine!” I exclaim, feeling strangely embarrassed now as I realize that our roles are suddenly being reversed. I’m the one who always forced him out of bed, who made him come to meals, who fought with him to hurry up and get moving.

In the end, I don’t bother cleaning myself up or trying to appear presentable. Johanna and Annie won’t care and Peeta doesn’t get to care anymore.

And it wouldn’t matter anyway. Even if Effie Trinket or my entire prep team were here, I’d never stand a chance of looking anything but plain next to Bailey.

It’s not that I care that she’s so blatantly pretty. It’s just that her looks are one more thing about her presence to be bothered by, and that list is getting long and extensive. Even after her apparent approval of Peeta gardening my primroses, even after no negative interactions in eight days, I still sense hostility with her. And I still can’t stare at her without feeling my stomach churn.

Because every time she’s around, I know I’m about to be the odd one out. For whatever reason, outside of Delly, the people I care for, hold a deep affinity for Bailey Robyn.

And it bothers me above anything I can express. It bothers me beyond words, beyond measure, beyond any sense of feeling.

“Look who I found,” Haymitch announces as we enter through the threshold of his filthy residence.

“Katniss!” Annie exclaims and tosses her arms around my neck, despite the fact that we’ve never been too close. I can’t even remember the last time we had a conversation in person. The only true communication between me and Annie is the letters she sends, the ones filled with details of her life in Four and Finnick’s son. The ones I rarely respond to, but always read just the same.

Still, despite the fact that Annie might as well be a glorified stranger to me, I return the embrace, instinctively at first and then, simply because I want to. Because no one besides Peeta has given me any sort of affection in months and I miss it. Now that Peeta has put conditions on our relationship, I am hungry for any physical touch at all.

It shocks me to realize, in that moment, just how completely starved I am, for closeness.

I hug Annie for far longer than I think anyone watching anticipated but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems to welcome it too.

Then again, her husband died and left her with seemingly no family at all to help raise their baby. So perhaps she’s just as desperate for a human touch—I suppose besides her son—as I am.

I don’t receive the same welcome from Johanna, unsurprisingly, but as soon as me and Annie break apart, she shoots me a satirical glance and pulls on a piece of my hair.

“Ow!” I exclaim, my thick brows furrowing in confusion. “What was that for?”

“It was sticking up,” she explains with a shrug and then smirks. “Did you just roll out of bed and come here?”

“Did you?” Her outfit is just denim pants and a low cut t-shirt. Not that different from my attire.

“Yes. And I’m not ashamed of it.” She runs a hand over her hair which has grown out to about length with her shoulders. “But I know how to use a hairbrush, at least.”

I roll my eyes as she nudges me. “This is dinner,” Haymitch deadpans as he makes his way to the table. “Not a Capitol Beauty Contest.”

Jo examines the unwashed table as we follow the grumpy man’s lead. As of right now, the table is completely void of substance. “Doesn’t dinner imply food?” She asks and Annie laughs lightly, suggesting she was thinking along the same lines.

“Haymitch doesn’t believe in cooking himself,” I retort, earning a look from the old man. “He’s waiting for Peeta to arrive with food.”

“You’re more than welcome to provide the meal, sweetheart.”

“And what are you providing?”

“The residence the meal is served at.”

“And what a residence it is!” Exclaims a completely different voice, a higher pitched soprano.

And like clockwork, three blonde heads round the corner of the dining room, abruptly joining the party.

Delly looks as enthusiastic to be walking with Peeta and Bailey as I am to be in their company right now. Which she further evidences by hurrying to the seat at my right.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a grin,” Haymitch remarks as he pulls out a bottle of white liquor and pours it into a half-clean glass.

“Wonder why that is,” I murmur out loud before thinking better of it. After all, Haymitch seems to care for Bailey more than me nowadays. I should probably not stir the pot before the food is even presented before me.

But he doesn’t reply back. Even if he did, I doubt I’d notice anyway.

Because, in the flash of a second, the attention of the room is completely shifted.

I knew Bailey was coming with Peeta. She’s practically glued to his hip at all times of day, almost as if she’s afraid to let him out of her sight. But it would seem that Haymitch did not inform Johanna or Annie about Peeta’s new relationship, effectively catching them both by surprise at the additional dinner guest.

And there’s little room for doubt to anyone with eyes that they’re together. Their hands are practically singed as one, in an airtight grasp, her manicured nails intertwined with his long fingers.

For a split second I wonder if that’s what my hand looked like inside Peeta’s last week. I wonder if this is what Bailey saw before her, when she caught us roaming through town at the crack of dawn.

“Barley?” Johanna says in a shocked voice.

It takes a moment for her comment to compute in my brain. “Bailey,” I correct, trying to be helpful. Though I’m unsure where she even managed to get the name Barley at all. Especially if Haymitch didn’t warn her about the girl Peeta was bringing and I strongly suspect he didn’t.

Jo looks at me like I’m insane for the amendment before turning back to Bailey and Peeta. “You’re dating Bailey Barley?” She say incredulously.

Bailey Barley? Is that a nickname? Now I’m the one who’s completely lost at sea, feeling like there was a good chunk of time I somehow missed.

Bailey’s blue eyes stare into Jo’s now, not exactly friendly but not as belligerent as I’ve seen her before. As I saw her last week.

I don’t know nor do I understand what they’re silently communicating, but I do comprehend one thing without a doubt.

Johanna knows Bailey. Somehow, someway, Johanna knows Bailey even more than I do.

Peeta doesn’t seem too confused though. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the exchange at all. Instead he drops Bailey’s hand—not soon enough, in my opinion—and moves to set some kind of meat and potato meal down on the table.

“Where did you get the meat?” I ask abruptly, recognizing it as deer. I just shot my first in a long time only the other day. How on Earth did Peeta get deer meat around the same time I did.

“I traded a cake for it. At the Hob,” he explains nonchalantly, avoiding my bewildered eyes now.

I just stare at him for a second, debating on even further commenting.

The Hob is where I traded the deer after killing it. Peeta literally baked a cake and traded it for meat, just because I wouldn’t speak to him.

He literally traded a cake so I could eat the meat that I hunted myself.

Something about that scenario vindicates me slightly. And I have to wonder if I’ve become sadistic with time and solitude.

My attention though is pulled back to Johanna and Bailey now. “What’re you doing in Twelve?”

Bailey takes her seat, between Haymitch and Peeta, with grace. “Peeta and I met in the Capitol,” she states simply. “I decided to come here and spend some more time with him. Get to know him a little better.”

As if to punctuate her words, she places one dainty hand on top of Peeta’s and gives it a squeeze.

I can’t even fight my eye roll.

“I see,” Jo murmurs, casting a sideway glance at me, none too subtle. “Well, it looks like you did... that.”

Delly snickers into her water glass and I don’t miss the way Bailey shoots her an irritated glance. Peeta seemingly does though. Haymitch is already too tipsy to care if an actual fight breaks out among us, his white liquor kicking in quick.

Annie on the other hand, who I’ve always believed to often be oblivious to all those around her, decidedly cuts the tension here. “Well, I’m hungry. Peeta, pass me a plate.”

And just like that, we’re having one of the most awkward meals I’ve ever had to endure.

Read More On AO3

#everlark #thg #everlark fic #hunger games #fanfic #writing #dancing on my own 💔👸🏼✨

[reylofanfictionanthology]

TO FIND YOUR KISS IS NOW LIVE!  

Authors will be revealed next week!  For now all fics are anonymous.  Treats can be posted through author reveals on 2/21.  We will post an updated masterpost at that time.

To Find Your Kiss collection on AO3 | Treats Masterpost

GIFT FIC MASTERPOST

- Reap the Stars for abbytheatre08

The prompt: After Ben's death, Rey goes mad and turns to the dark side. Only Ben's not dead anymore. ----------------------- She is consuming fire, magnificent in her rage. She will burn the galaxy to its foundations, until the ashes rain down and pile high as mountains. She will gather them into bouquets and scatter them like petals upon his grave.

He will be remembered, and they will not.

Call him The Light Bearer and Joy Giver. Call him He Who Loved and Laid Down His Life. Call him Ben.

- we are question marks that hang above the endless unexplained for AlwaysEverlark

The first time she walked into his club, she was looking for a job. Kylo took one look at her—the stubborn pout of her lip, the determined glint in her eyes, the ruddy glow of her face where the sun had kissed it—and swallowed a lump in his throat that was shaped like the words you’re too good for this place.

They needed a singer. Kira Johnson could hold a tune, knew the old standards, and had a knockout pair of tits to boot. A few slinky ballgowns and a touch of lipstick, and she’d more than do the trick of distracting suckers long enough to part them from their money.

The club solely needed to break even; anything they made on top of the Syndicate’s cut was gravy, and Kylo Ren had been lining his pockets with his own take for long enough that he could see Kira for the lump of clay that she was: rough-hewn, misshapen, but soft and supple and sure to curve under his touch.

- Eighty Bucks Says Sweetheart for Amoreusou

Ben likes puzzles. Rey needs help with a bunch of them. Good thing it's a slow day at the office.

- Seldom Visions for Andrina_Nightshade

After visiting an old Sith temple, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren has fallen into a deep sleep when he pricks his finger on the point of a red crystal. Rey become is the first to find him, but his rescuer isn't just any general or pilot, it's the woman he shares a soul with, who haunts his waking hours, who still sees him even in his sleep.

- The Dyad for aneighthdomain

Based of the Prompt: Groundhog Day scenario. Ben and Rey keep getting sent back to the first time they met and no matter what they do, Ben always dies so they stop trying to change events and just live a life time in the year between and couple of weeks and run away together.

- Saudade: The Love That Remains for AnneAnna

- The Delegation for aNerdObsessed

A humanitarian delegation from Naboo arrives at Niima Outpost. Rey is skeptical, to say the least.

- i don't want you like a best friend for anopendoor

It’s not like she hadn’t seen this coming—Rose told her weeks ago that he was invited. It was an inevitability Rey was always going to have to face, she just didn’t think that Rose would be so merciful as to also give every guest a plus one.

But Rey can’t really be upset—and she is totally, unequivocally not upset—that Ben's bringing someone because, well.

She is, too.

- Love is Weakness for bittersnake

“He’s someone I found on my recent trip to Corellia,” Rey replies placidly, her face practiced in its boredom. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Love is weakness,” her grandfather reminds her, the way he has for years. It’s why he doesn’t love her. He will not be weak. It’s why she doesn’t love him, either.

- in sickness and in health (with health being less likely) for BlueButterflyKisses

Deciding to spend the rest of their lives together is the easy part for both Rey and Ben; the trouble is in how to propose.

- Snowed In for Blueyedgurl

Never in her wildest dreams did Rey Johnson think she would ever get to meet her favorite other Kylo Ren. She also would have never entertained the idea of the scenario she found herself in. How did a hike in the woods lead to a snowstorm and taking shelter in a remote cabin in the woods? The idea was so ridiculous but had become reality. Stuck inside with a handsome stranger surrounded by a winter storm, Rey wonders what will happen with no power and only one bed. Will they be polite co-habitants stuck in a strange set of circumstances or is there room for something more?

- Curses, Comforts and Capybaras for Bombastique

Arrogant CEO bites off more than he can chew when he angers a witch... And suddenly finds himself transformed into a capybara. Can kindhearted wildlife rehabber Rey Niima help him break the curse?

- To Heal a Broken Soul for Cat2000

Ben survives the fallout of Exegol, but his connection to the physical world is in danger. Rey tends to him as she searched for a way to heal him.

- holding me like water in your hands for Ceallaigh

After Hux finds out Ben killed Snoke, Hux encases Ben in Carbonite. Rey refuses to let Ben stay frozen forever so she mounts a rescue.

- Like a Thief in the Night for chagrins

Their bond won't let them be alone. At least this time it's the middle of the night and they can't get into a shouting match.

- The Chance for Crysania

When Rey and Ben, long time co-workers who have never been able to admit their feelings to each other, go on a weekend retreat to work on a movie adaptation script together, a Nor’easter leaves them snowed in. On Valentine’s Day.

- Awake for cuddlesome

Something inside him is awake, and something inside her is about to wake up.

An alternate interrogation scene.

- darkness rises, and light to meet it for czechia

After the throne room, Jedi Ben Solo and Kira Ren meet again a year later.

- Not Quite a Fairytale for DarkMage13

Rey lets a stranger use the phone of the café she works at late one night. It changes the whole course of her life.

- You Won't Escape Me ('Cause I Set You Free) for DoorKeeper9

- The Canvas of Your Skin for darlingreadsalot

She was incapable of touching him without drawing blood, it seemed. Lines like vermillion paint streaked where her fingers sketched down the contours of his face, his back, and now his chest.

In which a Force bond is splintered, a resurrection goes wrong, a kiss is forgotten, and two almost-lovers avoid speaking for the better half of a year.

- Fleeing the Storm for driverfever

As the granddaughter of an merciless aristocrat, Rey’s life hangs on a thread at the hands of the French Revolutionaries. When her childhood friend, Ben, offers to platonically marry her in order to take her to his home in England to safety, she has no choice but to accept.

But her suitor and revolutionary Hux won’t give her up so easily. Hounded by revolutionaries and falling in love, Rey and Ben must use all their wits to flee Paris and make it to England.

- Equal Measure for dustoftheancients

When Princess Rey of Coruscant calls upon the cursed Sir Kylo Ren to help her escape her grandfather the emperor’s political machinations, she discovers freedom in the ancient familial magic that binds them together.

- Benimina Solo's Late On-Set Force Ability for Evangel10n

Benimina Solo has never, not even once, had an ounce of Force Sensitivity. She's done a great deal to move on with her life after failing out of her uncle's Jedi training school. So when Rey Palpatine comes into her life and suddenly everything changes, she's not a happy camper.

- Splatter for expendable

“You’re Palpatine’s girl,” he says coldly.

“His chief of staff, yes.” Rey’s eyes narrow. “And you have your hand on my ass, Kylo. Kindly take it off.”

“Or what?”

AKA powerful corporate rivals Kylo and Rey put the hate in love/hate.

- The Haunted Mirror for FangirlintheForest

When Rey travels to UK to attend the reading of his grandfather will, a grandfather she didn't know existed until that very moment, she finds a house, and a old story that will haunt her...

- i'm your secretary for firelord65

Kaydel pressed her lips together in a thin line, passing a pile of datapads over the desk. “I don’t know what that pretentious nerf herder has put into your brain, but these are tales of the key roles women have played in past rebellions.” She stood, tapping the pile. “They’re great reads,” she added, with a pointed raise of her eyebrow.

- and they danced across the sky for flipflop_diva

When he was still a child, he constantly watched the blue butterflies as they danced in the sky.

They seemed to be calling him, aiding him each instance that icy-cold darkness flowed through his very veins. The magnificent creatures saved him from the voices. They drowned out the incessant chatter in his head. Temporarily cleared away all the anger. During those brief respites, watching those blue wings flutter in the sky, Ben felt free.

But that’s another life. Another world. Another time. Another, another, another.

And Kylo's no longer a child.

No. He welcomes the darkness now. Embraces it.

- Finding The Answer for FrenchMartiniPlease

Rey pines for Ben Solo…so why does her soulmate mark always drain of colour whenever she gets close to him?

- Almost Unforgettable for HopeRebel

The woman in the mirror has blood on her clothes, cash in her bag, and a letter from her husband telling her it's better to forget. Well, he got his wish. She forgot everything-- including her name. And she wasn't the only one afflicted.

It'll take the combined efforts of gumshoes, a flatfoot, a washed-up Hollywood starlet, and more to get to the bottom of this bad business. In the end, these things always come back to the beginning.

- The Curl of a Sigh for irridesca

During the last song in Maxine’s set, a song she announces is called “Soul Companion,” Ben heads back out to the lobby to look for Rey. He finds her not with his eyes but with one broad shoulder, when he bumps into her and knocks her gig bag out of her hands and onto the plush carpet.

- and they were roommates for Lady_of_Haven

When Ben loses a bet to his roommate, Rey, he has to eat her out for 30 days.

- torn away from you (my heart is broken) for lakerose

The Force binds more than minds.

- If You Take Me for literallynoonecares

She sighed wistfully as she watched her two friends lean in toward each other as they danced, their lips meeting and melding together as they seemed to become one person instead of two separate beings. She had seen them kiss so many times, but this kiss … it was special.“I just want someone to kiss me like that,” she mused softly to herself, her eyes not leaving her friends.“I could make that happen if you wanted.”

- 3 Days in Vienna for Like_A_Dove

Kylo Ren, trained mercenary Alpha assassin, is on a mission—assassinate Chancellor Palpatine and bring his underground authoritarian regime to an end. It’s what the First Order demands, for the better of society.

It should be an easy task. He’s been getting close to the Chancellor and his cronies for years. So how is it that the unexpected appearance of an Omega, with a seemingly similar mission—and a wholly inconveniencing scent—become a distraction he hadn’t accounted for?

- Confidence and Desire for LittleLostStar

“Stay afraid, but do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually, the confidence will follow.” - Carrie Fisher

- Love brightens even the most monstrous parts of ourselves for LRRH17

No one knows since when the giant, black bear has lived in the forest near Theed. Many stories about the origin of Kylo Ren circulate in the small village. After Rey has run away from Jakku, and arrived in Theed she has heard them all of, but has never actually meet the creature. This changes when her and her friends get attacked by bandits on their way back from Otoh Gunga.

- Your Sweetness Comes With Sugar on the Side for Lutrosis

Rey's daughter loses her mother as she wanders around the Supermarket. Ben finds her and the two connect over both being Type 1 diabetics. They find Rey, and Ben and Rey are instantly smitten. As they date and fall in love they discover that Jade and Ben are connected more than they thought and healing is brought to the Solo/Skywalker clan.

- Allegories, or Allusions to Real Life for maq_moon

“Boys, please stop arguing.” Rose rubbed her temples. “Poe, we get it, you’re childhood best buddies, you’ve got a better grasp on his character than some rando of a rando you met at a party. Finn, for fuck’s sake, we’ve been working with Ben for months. I’m pretty sure if he’s a serial killer or whatever, it would have come out by now.” Finn sat back in his seat, grumbling. “Not how serial killers work.” Rey was going to have a headache if this continued any longer, so she lied through her teeth at the reality of a new player joining their D&D party. "He seems nice." She didn’t trust a single inch of skin on that man. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

- A Mad Man, with a Box for MBlair

Rey and Ben meet, move in together, get engaged, and marry.

- Invite the Wild In for midwinterspring

Kylo Ren, the mysterious senator who appeared from out of the deserts of Jakku and somehow brought them back to life, has spent a long and unproductive session on Hosnian Prime. Now, it's time to go home. After all, there's someone waiting for him and so much for them to do together.

(The ancient Sith had some interesting rituals.)

- Purim Party for MissCoppelia

Rey goes back to visit her foster mother for a Purim celebration. She meets Ben Solo who's visiting his parents, who are friends with her foster mother. They have an attraction to each other right away, but try to play it cool.

- The Banished Heart for misszeldasayre

On Rey of Niima’s nineteenth name day, Jakku gains a new wizard.

Jakku is a withering outpost of the kingdom, and its people hope the new wizard - the mysterious Kylo Ren - will bring them the rains the land needs to heal. Rey is a lonely, clanless girl living in Niima, and she has a secret. One she hopes the wizard will be able to help her with too.

- The Smuggler's Bride for MyJediLife

Miss Rey Nemo is the new mistress of Manor Takodana, left to her by the late Lord Skywalker. When a strange man named Kylo Ren appears on her doorstep, she decides to hire him as her new groundskeeper. As Rey faces sinister threats and secrets are revealed, Kylo Ren may be the only person who can save her.

- Annabel Lee for myownlittleinfinity

Rey keeps finding these ... notes in her locker. She doesn't quite get them. They seem like love notes, but she doesn't know who they could be from. Meanwhile she's paired up with Ben Solo (who hates her despite her gigantic crush on him) for this English assignment. Who knows how THIS will go.

- with my body i thee worship for niennathegrey

Miss Rey Nemo is the new mistress of Manor Takodana, left to her by the late Lord Skywalker. When a strange man named Kylo Ren appears on her doorstep, she decides to hire him as her new groundskeeper. As Rey faces sinister threats and secrets are revealed, Kylo Ren may be the only person who can save her.

- the losing game for no_big_deal

Sith Princess Rey Palpatine is given a peculiar gift for her Life Day: a Jedi. Not only that, one who is boorish, spirited, and stubborn. But, he presents an opportunity: one that could liberate her from a life under the thumb of her grandfather. She has seven weeks to change his heart before all her freedom is taken from her - forever.

- standing right in front of you for notkellymarie

When Senator Solo's engagement is pushed forward, he and his Jedi bodyguard, Rey, travel to Naboo alone for the announcement ball. The pair despise each other, constantly bickering and disagreeing with each other, which makes spending extensive amounts of time alone together all that more difficult. Until of course, one of them breaks...

- the good, the bad, and the smuggling for OccasionallyCreative

Ben Solo is a seasoned smuggler. And he’s not bad at it, either. But when bounty hunter Rey offers him a temporary partnership he can’t refuse, Ben will find himself pushed to the limits of his skill, patience, and resourcefulness on a job that’s dangerous enough to be his last.

It’s like his dad used to say: bounty hunters are nothing but trouble, kid.

- Whatever our souls are made of...his and mine are the same for Padawan_Writer

Ben and Rey meet only after Kylo has defected from the First Order and returned to the Resistance and his mother. Will the dyad still find a way to be?

- They say that only the dead have seen the end of war for politicalpadmé

“He traded his life for mine,” Rey choked, stomping back and forth in front of him so fast he could barely keep track of her. “He died. He died so I didn’t have to—and it’s not—it’s—after everything he’s gone through—it’s not fair.” Tears were running down her cheeks now, and Poe wanted to do nothing more than hug her, but there was nothing he could say—nothing she would want to hear. Poe remembered all the people he’d lost, all the times he had raged and screamed and cried about the unfairness of it all. “Leia sacrificed herself to bring him back,” Rey declared suddenly, ceasing her constant pacing around the fire as she looked straight at him. “And he sacrificed himself for me—and now no one’s going to know. All he’ll be remembered as is Kylo Ren, but he was—he was so much more.” She exhaled with a shudder and whispered, “He was a part of me, and I—I don’t feel whole without him.” ~

A Force Ghost Ben/Rey love story, with a side of rebuilding the galaxy.

- Cicatrix for Priestly

Getting cut up by Rey on Starkiller awakens something in Kylo.

- I Will Always Be With You for Prix

But she wouldn’t be able to hide her pregnancy for much longer. She was starting to show, and her friends would start asking questions. She would have to give them answers, some of them would not understand, and none of them would accept.

She carried his child. The tiny spark of light woven with darkness, just like her. Just like his father.

—————

The world has gone dark More times than you Or your mother Or your grandmother Can remember. And every hurricane That was meant to be The end of it all Had instead ended In sunshine again.

So believe me When I say; You will survive this And the next one too.

World’s End—Nikita Gill

- all my daydreams are disasters for QueenOfCarrotFlowers

During her search for the infamous Luke Skywalker — the man who predicted a devastating earthquake in New Madrid, Missouri — Rey finds herself entangled in Luke’s family history and with his brooding nephew, Ben Solo.

- on what ground I was founded (when I first saw you) for redbelles

Kylo dreams of Rey after the Battle of Crait. And the yearning is mutual...

Some Force Bond dream smut inspired by "Shrike" and "NFWMB" by Hozier.

- Last Summer for Reykenobi68

Rey had started to get used to Ben not living next door anymore by the time the holidays came around. Then he's back for the holidays. Rey is really expecting things to go wrong after the way he left at the end of the summer. ut is it really going to be that bad.

- The Long Way Home for reylotrash711

In the aftermath of Exegol, Ben and Rey are divided by misunderstandings.  It will take time and danger for them to work things out.

- Under the moonlight for shariling

I don't know why I followed you here. She wanted to reply. Maybe because you're so tall I couldn't help but notice you. Maybe it's because of your hair or the way you move, or maybe it's because of that kind of melancholic look in your eyes. There is something about you that I find terribly attractive and I don’t know what it is: maybe the moon or the alcohol or the wolf I have met before infected me with some strange parasite and now I am hopelessly attracted to dogs, I do not know. She could have said one of these things, any of them, instead she said: “I've never bitten anyone before, and I want you to be my first.”

- Fallen for shipperofdarkness

Prompt: Devil!Ben and Angel!Rey or Angel!Ben and Devil!Rey. How do these two on completely opposite sides fall in love and defy worlds to be together?

- come away with me for silentfleur

Rey owns a tinker shop, but her life changes when she meets Ben Solo and is cursed by a witch. Not necessarily in that order.

- A Picture of Me Without You for SpaceWaffleHouseTM

"I suppose I'd somehow struggle through / But I'd hate to picture myself without you."

It's impossible not to have a soulmark. It's not a big deal, not in the lax and gin-soaked speakeasies of 1920s Manhattan, but it's still a heavy weight to bear, as Ben Solo and Rey find out side by side.

- Lips Raw With Love for stellardarlings

Their kiss on Exegol wasn't their first kiss...

Nor would it be their last.

- Everyone Makes Divine Mistakes for Takekurabehime

Jedi Knight Ben Solo is sent to Naboo on an errand of mercy (and to visit his grandparents). He arrives in springtime; but will he be able to complete his mission without finding himself distracted and bewildered when love and intrigue waft through the fragrant air?

- Glitter & Gold for TearoomSaloon

Rey is lead singer in an up-and-coming glam metal band. They've finally got steady performances, but that means playing at the same club as the Knights of Ren, whose lead singer definitely isn't interested in any competition.

- To kiss like lovers do for the-reylo-void (Anysia)

Ben and Rey spend their formative years growing up together in Medieval Scotland and it looks like they will end up together. Circumstances intervene and Rey loses her chance to be with him. Devastated, she carries on until the day clan Ren attacks Castle Jakku lead by the notorious killer Kylo Ren.

- Snow Turns To Rain for thehobbem

For a moment, he wanted to ask what she meant, but if he was being completely honest, he already knew.  He asked himself that same question over the years, and none more often than tonight, since seeing her again.  Was leaving worth it?  Was going their separate ways worth leaving each other?

 “I’m not sure,” he said finally, shaking his head.  “I’m happy...” he said, and she tensed a little, so he continued, “with my work.  I’m glad I’m doing what I love, but....”

 “But?”

 “But it wasn’t the only thing I loved.”

- Change the Dance for theresonatinglight

- Meet Me in the Woods for thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)

“What do you mean no one goes in there?” A chuckle. “It’s haunted. People see all sorts of weird things in there and some don’t ever come out. You’re better off living with your curiosity.” Rey wakes in a shadowy forest with no memory of where she came from, only her name. With the help of the resident guardian she takes a journey to figure out her past, and maybe even discover her future.

- permanent calligraphy (your name on me forever) for Thursdaygirl

As they continue to work together, two things become clear. One: Ben Solo is an enigma. He’s preppy yet humble, privileged yet introspective. He’s the opposite of lazy; she kicks herself every day for assuming otherwise. And two: Ben Solo will never love her.

- show me the stars. for tmwillson3

“I don’t hate Christmas, I just don’t love it the way you do.” Lifting his head, he pulls a face, loosening up a tangled ornament of a poodle with pink, curly fluff. Rey snatches it from him possessively, tossing it back to the cart. “No one loves it the way you do, to be fair.”

“Now that’s the truth,” says Poe, who Finn invited about half an hour ago to keep him company.

“People have bad taste, I don’t know what to say.” Huffing, Rey scrolls through her phone with more intent. “Neither of you are helping me, anyway.”

“What’s the problem?” says Poe.

“Rey thinks her hot neighbor hates her —”

“He does hate me.”

“ — When really he’s been flirting with her for the past, oh I don’t know, how long have you lived there?”

- I realized that I need you, I wondered if I could come home for VR_Trakowski

Rey is doing exploration work for the Resistance, searching for force sensitive planets so any force sensitives that they find have a place to train.

One day, midflight she finds a slip of paper with the elegant scrawling words of the ones that came before. The ones that she found when Ben still roamed the galaxy.

When she lands on a dark and barren planet she is forced to face the feelings she thought she buried.

- Shadows of the Moon for walkingsaladshooter

The hallways got darker, the corridors grew longer. Shadows stretched across the walls. The ghosts of Breha Manor grew each night.

Rey clutched her necklace. Ben met her gaze.

And every night, there was weeping.

- show the way (the world could be) for writergenie

In the aftermath of the Battle of Crait, Rey struggles to find her place among the Resistance. However, her lingering Force bond with Kylo— Ben— whatever name he calls himself— complicates things, blurring the line between friend and foe.

When the tension threatens to boil over and a desperate plan goes awry, Rey begins to wonder whether there really is a line between light and dark after all.

(Stars do burn brightest in the blackness of space.)

- why don't we go (somewhere only we know) for XarisEirene

The bond snaps back into place, even stronger than before. He is here. With Rey, yes, but with Luke - Luke, who is looking at them now with that same dangerous glint in his eye that haunts Ben’s dreams.

- renewed, transfigured, in another pattern for yodalorian

Rey mourns on Tatooine while Ben is stuck in the World Between Worlds. But neither of them are alone, and blue butterflies light a path back to each other.

#reylo #reylo fanfiction anthology #rffa writers #to find your kiss #master post #mod post #photo edit

[kyogre-blue]

Dragonspine lore

Just gathering all this in one place, for my reference.

Information about the Frostbearing Tree, from the Frostbearer catalyst:

When the daughter of the priestess of Vindagnyr was born beneath this white tree, the king in the verdant mountain was filled with joy when she received her blessings. Surely, the blessing of Sal Vindagnyr would be everlasting, just as the undying silver-white tree whose roots pierced the earth.

When the nail that froze the world descended suddenly, and that tree, too, would be shattered by it, that girl took the most complete branch, thinking to breathe new life into the tree that once overshadowed a nation.

But in the end, the grafted life could not flourish. The cutting snowstorm eventually covered the moonlight like a curtain of countless blades...

A long, long time later, yet still long ago - when the deathmatch between the dragons of darkness and wind was decided at last, when corrosive blood stained the ashen valley red, the tree, at last, remembered that it had not died with that entombed city,

And it extended its greedy roots towards the warm ichor that irrigated the land. And as a certain someone poured a crimson essence upon it, the tree that should have long died remembered its past, and bore a single fruit from the gathering of all its might...

Here for those who dwelt in my safe shadow, for the priests who eulogized me, for that lovely maiden who oft painted upon my form, for all the happiness they could not possess - I enjoin them all into this crimson, icy fruit.

To the ones who can render recompense upon this poisonous world shall it go, and may they carry my innocent, bitter fruit as they enact justice.

To summarize: Long before Durin, the Dragonspine was called Sal Vindagnyr. It was a prosperous, verdant kingdom that worshipped a Leyline tree. However, one day the Skyfrost Nail fell from the sky, breaking the tree and engulfing the mountain in perpetual ice. The last princess of the kingdom had preserved a single branch from the tree, which lay dormant until the mountain was tainted by Durin's blood. Absorbing the tainted blood, the former silver Leyline branch sprouted into a crimson Frostbearing Tree...

The Ancient Writings on the tablets:

"...far from snow and strife, and came upon this verdant paradise. A monument was laid down in this place, and it was named Sal Vind[agnyr]..."

"...guided to where the pale white tree stood. That month, the underground waterway..."

"...dreamed of the black dragon that blotted down the sun, and knew it to be an omen of doom. That same month, the outlander..."

"...its soul, and Starsilver its bones. But the one who could wield it, the ice-breaking outlander, Imunlau[kr]..."

"...attempted to heal the Leylines, but the tree had already withered. After burying the princess..."

"...without result or reply, Varuch proceeded on to the summit..."

"...snow whipped across the skies. The pillar that fell from the heavens was riven in three..."

"...ended. There is no more need for records. Yet I regret nothing more than having been unable to watch her finish the fresco within that great hall..."

To summarize: The people of Sal Vindagnyr tried to stop the perpetual snowstorm, including the king (named Varuch) heading to the summit himself. However, only an outlander named Imunlaukr was able to wield the Starsilver weapon they forged for this. He was too late, and the princess had already died. Somewhere along the way, the Skyfrost Nail was split into three pieces, which is how we find it.

From Snow-Tombed Starsilver, the claymore in question:

Tainted black blood dripped from the blade of his greatsword, as he trudged through now-foreign snowy paths.

But when he returned to the great hall of that mountain country, naught but ringing deathly echoes welcomed him.

"So even here, there is nothing left for me to protect... You who dwell in the heavens, you must wish for naught but to watch our ashen suffering here below. In that case, then let me help you pass the time with a song of iron and blood."

The outlander left the Starsilver originally meant to shatter snow and wind alike between the frescoes. Then, he descended the mountain to search for a land full of war and strife - a place he might paint red with blood.

Note that the Imunlaukr clan is also mentioned in the Sacrificial Greatsword description. They were a clan that sought battle in the belief that it would amuse the gods and joined the new Mondstadt that Venti created after Andrius melted the ice across the region. Interesting point: This is also the description that says, "On the cliff facing the eastern sea, the ancestors worshiped the masters of Time and Anemo together." It also again brings up "brave warriors stained black with blood."

Purely speculating, Sal Vindagnyr was probably BEFORE the rebellion in Old Mondstadt (they are mentioned fleeing "snow and strife" to settle in Vindagnyr, which sounds like Mondstadt pre-Andrius unfreezing it and the Archon Wars, respectively). So the founding clan perhaps picked up these traditions of "fight for Celestia's amusement" from this specific dude after he left Dragonspine.

There's also this image of the inner chamber and the frescoes that the princess had been painting, which I saved from a tweet that doesn't seem to exist anymore (not mine):

Completely irrelevant small point: The eight letters outside the great hall which you have to make light up spell "veremini," which wiktionary tells me is second-person plural present active indicative or imperative of "vereor," which means "to revere" or "to dread."

Aside from this, there is a series of Ruin Guard remains which spell out, "For the nation, we can't forgo this skyborne power, but we failed." We know the Ruin Guards were created by Khaenri’ah, so they were probably sent to retrieve the Skyfrost Nail after Sal Vindagnyr had fallen but were unable to make it through the ice and snow. 

Most of this isn't particularly relevant to the main storyline, but there are two points that link back to the ongoing themes:

Even though this was before the Cataclysm, Gold, and Durin, Imunlaukr fought something with "tainted black blood," so the whole business with tainting is OLD. Gold wasn't the origin as such, they just used it. Imunlaukr particularly seems to have thought that going the Abyss (assumed) might have some answers re: the Skyfrost Nail.

Both the Frostbearing Tree and Imunlaukr consider what happened to Sal Vindagnyr to be unjust, and Celestia's fault. Now, this might be just their bitterness at what feels like meaningless suffering, but it could also be that the Skyfrost Nail didn't fall on them accidentally. (AKA Khaenri'ah was not the first or only case of human nations getting slapped down by the divine.)

#genshin impact #genshin lore

[baronessblixen]

Ficmas Day 13: Kissing in the snow

Early season 7. Tagging @today-in-fic

It starts with a few white flurries in the morning. The October air has been unusually crisp the last few days and weather channels have warned about icy roads. When Mulder gets to the office, he’s grinning from ear to ear.

“Snow in October, Scully,” he says excited, putting a steaming hot cup of coffee in front of her. “With extra cinnamon,” he adds with a wink. She takes a sip, needing an excuse for her flushed face. What started with a baseball date months ago has turned into them watching movies together on the weekends, not even pretending to meet for work reasons. These days, he brings her hot coffee, sometimes even a sweet pastry that he steals a bite or two of, their heads close together as if sharing a secret instead of baked goods.

“Climate change is nothing to be thrilled about,” she says, licking some cream off her lips, with Mulder watching her intently.

“Party pooper.” But he continues to smile at her, rendering her speechless. She can’t recall when she started looking at him differently, when her switch was flicked. Was it last year? The year before that? Glancing at him as he rifles through papers, mumbling inaudibly, she feels overcome by emotions. If luck had been on their side, right now, there’d be a little human growing inside her, half him and half her. Absent-mindedly, she touches her forever flat stomach, smiling in spite of herself.

“Scully, did you hear a single word I just said, or do you want me to leave you and that coffee alone for a while?”

She blushes a deep crimson. “Um, sorry, what did you say?”

But Mulder just laughs.

By mid-day, the few morning flurries have turned into a full-blown snowstorm. Mulder gets on a chair to stare out their tiny basement window but there’s nothing but white.

“Scully,” he says simply, with a wicked smile, waiting for her to decipher it.

“We have to work,” she replies, merely glancing at him.

“Come on, we need to have lunch, don’t we?” He leans into her space, charming her with his best puppy look and a pout. She pretends to think about it even though her mind is already made up.

“Let’s go,” she eventually says, and Mulder helps her into her coat, so excited that he briefly grazes her boob. She gasps but Mulder doesn’t seem to notice.

When they leave the Hoover building, they step right into a winter wonderland. Mulder turns to her with a grin and an open mouth, offering her his hand.

She stares at him, at his hand, hesitant. “We’re at work.”

“No one can tell it’s us,” he says, his hand still outstretched. Scully takes it and lets him lead her through the crunchy snow. The air is cold but Mulder’s body in front of her is like a warm shield. Peace settles over her with every step they take. The blanket of snow has created a new, quiet world, and Scully feels as if they were the only two people inhabiting it. There are no everyday sounds, no cars, no chaos. Just them and the cold air that’s pinching her nose and her cheeks.

“Mulder, slow down,” she says, “we don’t all have your long legs.”

He chuckles and slows down. But he doesn’t do it fast enough. Scully, once again cursing her heels, slips on some ice, and loses her footing. The snow is soft, but icy and wet, and she starts shivering immediately, the cold seeping through her clothes.

“Shit, Scully, are you okay?”

“I told you to slow down.”

“I’m sorry,” he says and his expression is full of guilt. “Take my hand, I’ll help you up.” She takes his hand, but instead of getting up, she tugs at it, and manages to bring him down with her. He lands half on top of her, making her giggle.

“What are you doing?” He asks, wiping snow off his face.

“You never listen,” she says, staring at his lips, where a snowflake settles and melts.

“Says the woman who thought her coffee was more interesting than me this morning.”

“The coffee had cinnamon.”

“I know.”

“I like cinnamon,” she says, her eyes never leaving his lips. Has he had cinnamon in his coffee this morning, too? Would she still be able to taste it? What would his lips feel like against hers? She forgets the cold and the snow. She ignores the fact that they’re laying on the sidewalk, in the middle of the city, like two fallen angels.

“I know,” he repeats, his voice as soft and peaceful as the snow.

“What do you like?” She asks.

“This.” And then she no longer needs to wonder what his lips feel like, how he tastes. She knows. Her eyes drift close and she holds him close, her mouth opening under his. She’s thought about kissing him a thousand times and in about as many ways. She thought it would happen on a case, in a seedy motel room, both too tired to resist. She thought it would happen after playing baseball, after every movie night. Yet, here they are, rolling in the snow like two teenagers.

“Hey!” Someone says from outside their snow bubble. “Do you need help?” They break apart, both breathing heavily, staring up at an elderly couple. “You’re on the ground, son.”

“We know,” Mulder says, scrambling to get up. He takes Scully’s hand and helps her to her feet.

“Gotta be careful,” the old lady says, linking her arm through her companion’s, who nods.

“You could get hurt.”

“Thank you,” Scully says. “We will be careful.”

The elderly man gives them a once over and slowly shakes his head. “Kids these days.”

Mulder grabs Scully’s hand and runs into other direction, both of them trying to stifle laughs. They come to a stop, out of breath, grinning at each other.

“Want to try that again?” He asks.

“Which part?”

“This one.” And he starts kissing her again.

#this took me forever omg #i hope it's soft msr #for grieving anon #more soft and cute stuff tomorrow! #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

[snarwor]

moon and old stars - chapter 9

holy shit it’s been awhile huh. no warnings for this one <3

Masterlist | Read on AO3

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

Din thought about frost a bit too much.

It made almost no sense. Navarro was a lava planet, sulfuric and burning in dangerous pools less than a klick outside of city limits. His missions took him through the hottest damn planets. One of his only memories of his childhood was whining at the cold, and feeling the heavy weight of his father’s jacket settling around his shoulders. Heat and warmth and weight, that was love.

Of course, the exception to this was the blurrg which had fallen on him on Arvala-7, which was hot and heavy and smelly.

But Grogu, the kid. He weighed barely anything and was no warmer than perhaps a Loth-cat, and yet the weight which had settled over Din the moment he’d shot IG-11, the warmth which had filled his bones when that little hand had reached out for him, it was unlike anything he’d experienced before.

Crash landing on the ice planet with Mrs. Frog and the kid had been an exercise in fear, in hopelessness, in compartmentalization. The Crest was damaged beyond reasonable repair, there was a very odd biological imperative happening, there were karking ice spiders, yet the thing that filled Din with the most dread had been the cold. It seeped in and leached the warmth and hope from his bones, staining his beskar with ice, splintering like cracks in stone. False fissures.

When they'd managed to get to the atmosphere again, he joked about all of them dying in the harsh vacuum of space, and it didn’t even register until they’d hit the balmy surface of Trask. He’d made light of an icy, deadly situation, which was, at its core, supposed to be heavy and blood-hot. He’d been horrified when he realized.

He remembered listening to Omera speak on Sorgan about the history of the valley they lived in, how everything had been ice thousands and thousands of years ago, a massive glacier which melted and froze and melted and froze until an entire mountain had split in two. Din couldn’t believe it, but when he’d gotten back on the holonet, he looked up the phenomenon, and marveled at how cold destruction could bring such an idyllic sanctuary.

He began to see signs of it all over his travels. Ancient canyons with split boulders, once-whole halves laying cleaved by no tool made by man or machine. Din told the kid his findings. “Frost did this. Water gets in everywhere, it settles deep and when the cold hits, that water expands, and breaks things if it’s lucky enough.” Of course, the kid only paid attention when he had dried meat rations in his hand, but he liked to think he was paying attention at least some of the time.

His sanity had sprung a leak on Morak. Boba Fett had taken an ax to that leak and filled every splintered part of him with water until he felt like he was near drowning. His first gasp of air was on the armchair at the safe house, when they had been the only people in the entire galaxy. The shame was his heart’s first winter after the flood. The setup on the Lothal moon was an early spring snowstorm. The safe house had been a mild summer. The water had not left him. But when they boarded the ship, when they fought the Dark troopers, when…

Don’t be afraid.

That had been such a shock to his system that all that latent love and affection in him, feelings left dormant and misunderstood in the abscesses of his heart, froze. It was so cataclysmic he couldn’t even hear himself think over the groaning heave of his every canyon and valley. He was broken. He could not be put back together at all. And when Boba had said those five words, the frost started to melt, sure, but the cracks and chasms remained, evidence of a too-cold climate for anything like love to grow in.

Unless.

The melting sensation Boba had given him, the weight and warmth Din had always associated with love, perhaps it had been as natural as a cleaved boulder, but thaw had been intentional as well. It wasn’t Boba’s fault for the freeze in his heart. It wasn’t Boba’s fault he had existing cracks in his foundation. But he’d cleaned up the aftermath, several times over, taken his broken pieces and patched them together, said “I know you’re not whole, but I love you just the same” with every soft pass of a hand over his hair. With every pleasured moan he drew from Din’s lips. With every suspended second their gazes held, and every gentle press of a kiss, Din realized that the crags in his heart had smoothed over in places, didn’t hurt him as much as they had before. It wasn’t Boba’s fault for this new fissure, and here Din was, cutting the man on his own broken edges.

“Why didn’t you let her just kill me when she had the chance?!”

And still.

“Din—”

And still.

“No. Tell me why.”

And still.

“Because I love you, Din.”

The words sat in the air between them like a physical thing, an old moon in orbit, waiting to see if the shooting star would strike it down or warm it back. The last words his mother had said to him, before she was gone forever. He’d always understood that love wasn’t something to be volleyed back and forth, love wasn’t supposed to be expected or returned, not the true love his mother had given, and not the shy, defeated love Boba was giving him now.

And still.

“I love you, too.”

Boba let out a shuddering breath, half a laugh, and a single tear. “Then you understand why I couldn’t let you go.”

Love could look selfish, but it never felt selfish. At least not to Din. He let go of the bottle, and hung his head in his hands instead. The familiar shame of crying in front of Boba washed over him, and as his shoulders shook, he mourned that freeze a little, because he could at least pretend he was solid when it was there. Not now, though. Not now.

With hesitation, Boba’s arm wrapped around the slumped line of his shoulders. Without hesitation, Din leaned into it. “He’s gone,” Din rasped.

Boba made a noise he probably hadn’t meant to before the other arm came up to pull Din into his lap, curl him up small and safe. With the beskar, he was much heavier, and less kind on his aching body, but Boba bore his weight without complaint. “Not gone, just somewhere else,” Boba said, stroking a hand over Din’s head in a well-practiced motion they’d perfected since Morak. “I’ll...” The promise sat on the tip of his tongue. “If you really want him back, I can help you find him.”

Din shook his head, cried out and drained. “You don’t have to,” he said softly. “Your debt to me is paid, you don’t—”

“I don’t offer this to you out of a sense of obligation. I don’t offer any of myself to you for that. Maybe once, but certainly not now, jat’ika.”

The name hurt Din like a punch to the gut. The objection sat behind his lips like a fathier at the starting gate. He lifted his head so their eyes could meet again. Openness sat in Boba’s expression, and Din realized, all at once, that the two of them had really changed in those soft weeks between Tython and here. Without breaking eye contact, he brought his hand up to cup the back of Boba’s neck, and leaned in to press their foreheads together. A stuttering breath left Boba’s chest, a flash of that softness Din didn’t often see in him.

“I’m sorry,” Din said. “For what I said about your father.”

“You were upset,” Boba hedged. Din shook his head, only a little, as to not break the mirshmure’cya too fast.

“It doesn’t excuse it. I won’t say anything like that again. Forgive me, please.”

“I understand,” Boba said, bringing his own hand up to touch the apple of Din’s cheek. “It’s forgiven. Don’t catastrophize a mistake, Din.”

Din couldn’t help but laugh, a little. “Catastrophize.”

“Exactly,” Boba said, returning the smile. “Do you need to talk some more? Are you injured from the mission?”

This time, Din hedged, “Cuts and bruises, rattled my brain fighting a darktrooper, nothing huge.” Boba leveled him with an unimpressed look. “If it bothered me, I would have taken care of it.”

“Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you can take care of yourself.”

“Hoverskiff daddying, are we?” Din asked, a smirk on his mouth that both endeared and infuriated Boba in equal doses. Boba leaned back to press a smacking kiss to Din’s forehead.

“Show you daddying. C’mon, up. We’ll talk while we get you patched up.”

As Boba removed the armor from Din’s body, the weight which pulled at Din’s conscience followed suit. He felt able to take a full breath of air again, letting Boba smear bacta on his cuts and bruises, like every breath got easier than the last. Boba made him laugh, made him smile and forget he was ever frozen, forget he was ever broken and jagged and rough-edged. And when Boba mentioned the kid, the memories came with an ache, but no sharp pain. He would have permission to grieve, later. He knew that much. But for now, they reveled in the feeling of being alive after another difficult day, a unique sensation to the two that felt more familiar than coming home ever had.

“Your helmet.” Boba finally reached that topic, which predictably pulled a sigh and a downcast expression from Din’s face.

“I broke the Creed on Morak. And again, on the cruiser.” He left out the moments with Boba specifically. You are not of a Creed you can disappoint while in here. The only truth is that you are mine.

“You were saying goodbye to your son. I know men who would raze whole planets to the ground for the chance. It’s an honorable thing, what you did. Not a dishonorable one.” Din can’t make himself believe it in its entirety, not really.

“But the armor—”

“You told me once I’d have to peel your armor off your dead body. Yet I had to, to patch your wounds, give you comfort.”

They looked at the pile in the corner, gleaming beskar and worn padding which had protected Din for years. Clearly, he wasn’t dead, and yet, the armor went. Boba continued.

“And that to hand mine over to me was against the Creed. Until the more honorable realization was proven, you were returning it to me.”

Ret’urcye mhi. How funny that goodbye sounds like return to me.

“Your helmet was in the way of protecting your foundling, until it was not. Ke’juri beskar’gam, but not at the expense of k’ara’novo aliit, nor ke’gaa’tayli aliit bralir, nor ke’ba’juri sa Mando’ade.” Din felt the tears fall, but did not look away. “You are no less Mandalorian for making the decisions you did. In fact, you are perhaps more suited to hold that saber because of it.” He took Din’s hands. “You have protected and cared for your family. One of your aliit is learning what you could not teach. Your son is Mandalorian because he is yours.”

“Then why do I feel so guilty?” Din asked, his chest jumping a little in a hiccup, eyes shining with yet-unshed tears. Boba brought his hands up to kiss at their knuckles.

“It’s not guilt. It’s grief. We carry it differently, but it does not make us. The same as our armor. It is something we wear, something sacred, but it is not the armor who protects a son.”

Din fell into his arms, pressing grateful kisses to Boba’s mouth, his face. Tears of relief, not shame, not guilt, fell across his cheeks and smeared onto Boba’s skin, but he didn’t mind. His soul was still redeemable, he was still an upright man, deserving of salvation and absolution, deserving of the love which patched him together.

He realized he was speaking. “I love, I love—”

“I know, I know,” Boba repeated, not in a volley, but letting Din know his love had somewhere safe and soft to land.

And that it always would.

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

Mando'a - Translation

jat'ika - y'all should know this one by now mirshmure'cya - Keldabe kiss, soft headbutt for emotion, or apply forcefully for stronger emotion ret'urcye mhi - see you again, goodbye aliit - family, clan

Tenets of the Resol'nare (Mandalorian Creed) mentioned in m&os ke'juri beskar'gam - you will wear armor k'ara'novo aliit - you will protect family ke'gaa'tayli aliit bralir - you will help your clan succeed ke'ba'juri sa Mando'ade - you will raise Mandalorians

Other Tenets not mentioned because they don't make me cry as much ke'jorhaa'i Mando'a - you will speak Mando'a ke'shekemi haar Mand'alor - you will rally to the cause of the Mand'alor

#moon and old stars #my writing #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #din djarin/boba fett #bobadin

[dwaynepride]

baby, it’s cold outside

summary: a snowstorm would put a damper on most people’s vacations. but you, pride, and gibbs find a way to make the most of it.

words: 9,122

warnings: smut, PWP, female reader, light cumplay, slight OOC

tags: @stanathanxoox​ @pageofultron​ @fairytale07​ @jrenn10​ @f4nboi​ @purplestarsr5​ @ladyzombiielove​ @littlemiss3ma​ @minikate--24-05​ @consultingdoctorwholock​ @6adb0y​ @thegoodlonelydalek​ @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy​ @ms-allenbrown​ @ikbenplant​ @dylpickles1267​ @diaryofafan17​ @specialagentlokitty​ @starryrevelations​ @thebeckyjolene​

author’s note: it’s finally here!! thank you all for your patience and support while i finished this monster of a fic, and i really hope it lives up to the hype

Red and orange flames, small as they were, flickered from the charred remains of the fire that Gibbs had started upon arrival. And you were sitting as close to the fireplace as you could, without the risk of going up in flames. The heat it provided was a necessity to the frigid cold in the rest of the cabin.

Even the cup of coffee gripped in your hands, which had once been a lifesaver, was starting to lose its heat.

It was difficult to believe that, just last week, you and Pride were excited for this vacation. Coming up to Virginia for a weekend of solitude in the woods. Three old friends enjoying each other’s company; reflecting on old times and taking the much needed time away from the stress of work. It’s been much too long since the three of you have had actual time together.

That was before a snowstorm rolled in the night before. Froze up half the state.

You set the coffee mug aside, blowing into your numb fingers. Just as you were starting to mentally complain about the lack of a good fire, the door to Jethro’s cabin was kicked open. He and Dwayne stumble inside, snow clinging to their clothes, arms full of wood. The wind is loud and bitterly cold and blows in a fresh icy breeze before Pride kicks the door shut behind him, and both men drop their loads by the door.

Though, you were keenly aware that the firewood they’d collected wouldn’t last long. Not with how cold it is. “That’s all you got?” You ask them, eyeing the logs before looking to Gibbs.

“Snow started coming sooner than we thought. We’ll just have to make it last,” he answers simply while toeing off his soaked boots.

“Will it be enough?”

“Hopefully.”

Hopefully?

You huff at his answer, but your attention wavers away from Gibbs picking out the driest logs of the bunch to look at Pride, who had plopped down next to you by the fire. He scoots closer to the last lickings of the flames, hands reaching out in hopes of warming them up. And it occurs to you that the man has lived in Louisiana his entire life. He’s traded swamps for snow, and the weather must be killing him.

So you move a little closer until your shoulder nudges his. And when Pride glances over, you offer a little smirk. “You okay?”

He lets out a shivery exhale, mimicking your smile. “Cold,” Dwayne answers simply. His shaky voice proves that.

There’s still snowflakes clinging to his hair, which you reach up and brush away before motioning toward the bathroom. “You might wanna change into something drier. You’ll catch your death.”

Dwayne’s reluctant to leave the warmth of the fire, but he knows you’re right. He can feel his clothes sticking to his numb skin, further sapping away his own body heat. So, with another shivering sigh, Pride stands, grabs his bag, and quickly enters the bathroom to change.

You turn back to the flickering flames in the fireplace - happy, at least, that the two men were able to bring back some amount of wood for the duration of the snowstorm. In the silence, you can heard the wind pick up outside. It’ll probably get stronger. The walls of the cabin may creak, and you’ll be wishing you were somewhere much warmer.

A tap on your shoulder brings you out of your thoughts. Glancing up, you meet eyes with Gibbs, who’s handing you a mug. That’s when you show him yours. “I got coffee,” you tell him. And you leave out the fact that it’s lukewarm.

“It’s not coffee.”

He gives no other explanation, only motions the mug closer until curiosity prompts you to take it. The contents are hard to make out in the lowlight, so taking a sip is the only way to find out what it is. The taste of the mystery liquid burns and you didn’t expect just how strong it’ll be; strong enough to make you gag and glance over your shoulder to Gibbs as he chuckles and takes a seat beside you. “What the hell is this?”

“Whiskey,” he answers simply. “Found it in the cupboard. It’ll help keep you warm.”

Gibbs takes a sip from his own mug, and there’s no hint that the strong whiskey affects him in any way. So you scoff. “I got my coffee. And the fire,” you tell him. Though, his eyes don’t leave the orange light. Gibbs simply shrugs, and you end up taking another sip of the whiskey.

Pride comes out of the bathroom moments later, looking much more comfortable in a dry pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. He thanks Gibbs when the Marine hands him a mug and, like you, Pride’s nose wrinkles harshly when he gets a taste of the whiskey. The sight makes you smirk before turning back to the fire.

A comfortable silence settles between the three of you. All huddled around the fire, quietly sipping at the harsh liquor and listening to the groan of the wind outside. It reminds you why you’d been so excited to take this trip; the moment reminds you of old times. Sure, you’re all older now. More worn out. Been through hell and back so many times and it’s left you all scarred. But this was like better times, and the sentiment of it all brings a soft smile to your face.

It takes Pride all but a few seconds to notice, and his eyes narrow curiously. “What’chu smilin’ at?” He asks, voice much more lively than it was just minutes ago.

You shrug at him, both hands clutching the whiskey mug tightly. “Nothing. I’m just glad we’re here. Even if we’re snowed in and facing hypothermia.” you answer, playful eyes glancing over when both men start laughing.

Then the night devolves into nostalgia. Bringing up old cases and old memories that haven’t seen the light of day in years.

Remembering Pride’s first winter in Virginia - when he fell into a snowbank and had a cold for damn near two weeks.

Remembering when Gibbs had a pistol leveled at his crotch by a very angry woman because she didn’t appreciate his little joke about blondes.

Despite the nip in the air, Gibbs was right; the whiskey was warming you right up. Made your face blush to chase away the numbness of your nose. Plus, it made your head light in a way that had the three of you laughing your asses off. Even Gibbs had a dopey grin on his face. 

Time passed damn quickly. It was Pride who settled down first; his face squished against his pillows, which thankfully muffled his soft snores. And you follow not long after, sighing once you hit the middle bedroll. Gibbs was the last to go, after throwing in another log so the fire doesn’t go out while you slept.

The three of you had decided to sleep close together, by the fire. Straying too far would mean waking up shivering, and the warm glowing light was too good to leave. Still, even on your bedroll with two grown men sleeping on either side, it’s pretty chilly. You have to pull the blankets up to your chin and curl up into yourself, wondering how you’ll get to sleep when it’s so cold. But eventually, it’s the whiskey that puts you to sleep.

Along with the snores of the men beside you.

-

The next time you open your eyes, it’s considerably darker.

But that was only the second thing you noticed. The first was the fierce, bone-chilling cold that cut right through your blanket. You wouldn’t have been surprised if the frigid air is what pulled you from your slumber. Instantly, you let out a shaky exhale, breathing into your fingers so they weren’t so numb.

Your warm breath alleviates the numbness for just a moment, but it gives you a chance to focus on the sounds bouncing off the wooden walls of the cabin. Shuffling around and frantic whispers. Whispers that you recognize as belonging to your old friends - Pride and Gibbs were awake, as well. And it sounds like they’ve been for a while; Gibbs’ hushed voice rises a little in frustration, while Pride’s stays low. Shushing him before he can wake you.

Despite the little warmth that the blanket provides, you pull your face away from the shelter. It’s propped up on the pillow, squinting through the darkness toward the hushed whispers. And you quickly find out why Gibbs sounds so frustrated; the fire had gone out during the night. Burned right through the wood he set in there and left faint embers behind.

Gibbs and Pride were trying to cultivate those embers with more wood. Trying to grow a new fire to chase away the cold, but it doesn’t seem like they’re succeeding.

With a huff, Gibbs tosses his old lighter on the floor and glances to your bedroll. Likely to check if you’re still asleep, but he sees your groggy eyes blink at him questioningly. He huffs again. “Yeah, I know it’s cold. We’re getting the fire started up again.”

Pride’s head whips up, blinking to Gibbs before noticing you’re awake. Even in the dark, you can see his hands clenching and unclenching. And it reminds you of your own numbed extremities. “Well, hurry up. I can’t feel my hands,” you respond, sinking back into the warmer shelter of your blanket.

Gibbs just grumbles something, but he remains by the fireplace while Pride returns to his bedroll next to yours. With him much closer, you can see his breath lightly billowing, reflecting the pale moonlight. It was fucking cold. “Hey,” he greets lightly.

“Hey.”

He’s quiet for just a moment, sitting on his bedroll before shrugging his broad shoulders. “Ya know, until the fire’s back up, you outta use my blanket,” Pride says. And just as the sentence ends, he’s tugging the fleece cover from his bed to yours.

It covers your legs, and honestly, the thought of having an extra layer was tempting.

But not tempting enough to fall back asleep to the thought of Dwayne freezing his ass off in a dark cabin. Despite the chill in the air, you sit up and toss his blanket back at him. “No, you need it,” you tell him firmly.

Dwayne tries to give it back. “Oh, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not stealing your blanket, Dwayne.”

“It ain’t stealing if I’m handing it over.”

“Quit it. We’ll all need our blankets,” Gibbs cuts in. And when the two of you look over, the Marine is moving back to his bed. There’s a small fire going, thankfully. But not enough to give off any real warmth or light. “It’ll still be a little while until the fire’s back up.”

He’s moving back under his covers, seemingly unaffected by the bitter cold, but you can also see his breath. Notice how his nose and cheeks are just a little more pink than usual. And beside you, Dwayne shudders and exhales into his numbed fingers. It prompts an idea - perhaps a little silly, but damn better than freezing all by yourself. “We should share blankets,” you blurt out.

From his bedroll, Gibbs turns his head and squints at you. “What?”

“We’d be warmer. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to try to fall asleep when I’m shivering cold.”

“I agree,” Pride chimes in. Though, judging by the shudder in his voice, he’d be down for just about anything that would provide some warmth. “Sharin’ body heat and all that.”

Gibbs doesn’t reply. You barely make out his expression, with only the faint moon and firelight to see him by. But he must be thinking it over, so you just have to nudge him a bit more. “What? Afraid to share blankets with two of your oldest friends?” You ask him teasingly. Then you glance back to Pride, whose eyes are crinkled with amusement.

The teasing worked, evidently. Gibbs breaks his silence with a cross huff, disbelieving that you got to him too easily. But, he concedes - you do know him pretty damn well.

He pushes his bedroll over until it connects with yours, and Dwayne does the same. And with that, the three of you maneuver the precious blankets until they’re spread out to cover each person. In the end, you’re basically all huddled in a big blanket pile, with Gibbs’ shoulder pressing against your spine and your knees touching Pride’s.

And yeah, at first, it’s a bit awkward. You’re facing Dwayne and the only way to quit the eye contact is to close your eyes and push your face into the pillow. And you’ve gotta be careful how you move, lest you press your ass back against Gibbs.

But despite the awkwardness, you’re already getting much warmer than you would’ve been sleeping alone. With the whiskey still swimming in your system, and the body heat of two grown men, you’re quickly growing groggy and heading back towards sleep. Though, Gibbs mumbles something from behind, low and deep, that makes you smile into the pillow:

“Something tells me you got the sweeter end of this deal.”

-

The next time you’re pulled from sleep, it’s not cold.

On the contrary, you’re almost hot.

Other than the snores of the two men beside you, the cabin is silent. The storm outside has calmed down, in comparison to earlier. But wind and ice still beat against the windows and makes you thankful for the warm glow of the fire.

But it doesn’t take you long at all to realize that it isn’t the fire that’s making you so damn hot. Yeah, you feel its heat, but it isn’t as all-encompassing as the big, solid body pressing against your back. The muscled arm around your waist keeps you close, and if it hadn’t been for the knowledge that your head is resting against Gibbs’ shoulder, you’d have to concentrate damn hard on which of the men was currently cuddling up to you.

Jethro’s earthy scent was all you could smell, but it was Dwayne’s strong heartbeat that you felt beating against your back.

Somehow, even while laying down, you felt a little lightheaded. Because it doesn’t take long for your body to tell you that this feels damn good.

You think about moving. Shuffling just out of Dwayne’s grasp, but with he and Gibbs so close, would you wake them? Could you even move? While you’re strategizing, Pride’s snores are interrupted by a soft sigh that billows your hair slightly. Then he hums, and his arm moves up from your hip, and the movement makes your head go blank. His hand is dangerously nestled under your chest.

To make matters worse, his body shifts to get more comfortable. It wouldn’t have even been so bad, but his hips roll just a little. Barely even noticeable, but through the intense heat and the blurred lines, you could feel something press against your ass. Half-hard. Trapped in denim. 

Some small part of you was mortified. Embarrassed, because this was your close friend and if Pride were awake, he’d be blushing and apologizing as if this were all his fault and then Gibbs would find out, too.

But the deep, hot wave of arousal makes it difficult to care about the embarrassment. C’mon, this was Dwayne Pride. Broad-shouldered agent of The Big Easy. You’d have to be blind not to notice his handsome laugh lines or muscled body and not think about them from time to time over the years of your friendship.

Even still, he was a friend. That’s all he’s ever been.

So, carefully, you pull your legs up closer to your chest. Use your arms to drag your body just a couple inches away from Dwayne. Away from his heat and his body and the little noises he makes every time you move against him.

Away from him, and towards Gibbs.

You hadn’t even noticed how close you were getting to the Marine until he sighed in his sleep. The messy silver hair on his head reflects the orange firelight - turns it amber, but you barely notice because Gibbs smells like whiskey and lumber and it becomes painfully obvious you’re stuck between a handsome rock and a gorgeous hard place.

Gibbs almost pulls you in, as if he has his own gravity. But you’re able to shift back with an unsteady breath. What to do....what to do.....

The sleep and the last lickings of the whiskey has your mind running at a snail’s pace. Unable to just decide on a single course of action that doesn’t involve cuddling up to either Gibbs or Pride. But that option is taken away from you when Dwayne’s breathing starts picking up.

All your moving around must’ve woken him. The arm he has resting on your flank, unfortunately, doesn’t pull away. Only half-awake, evidently, but his hips do that light roll again. The gentle grin of his hips against your ass prompts a moan from Dwayne. Right in your fucking ear and the sound goes right between your legs and you almost can’t stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together because as fucked as this situation is, he sounds so good.

Though, that brief moment of arousal is over quickly. Because from behind, you feel Dwayne’s muscles twitch and tighten up. Hear his breath lodge in his throat, and you know he’s finally woken up enough to realize what’s going on.

Is he in shock? Is he mad that you didn’t do enough to separate the two of you?

The questions linger in your mind until curiosity forces your head to turn. Eyes carefully peering over your shoulder, and they instantly meet Pride’s wide, green, terrified gaze. Blurry with sleep, but still clear with understanding. “I, uh-” he mumbles out, voice hoarse and choked back. “Sorry.”

Simple. Straight-forward. Maybe if he pulls away now, the two of you can wake up in the morning and pretend this never happened.

His arm starts retreating. His body shifts so Dwayne can turn around and try to go back to sleep facing the other side of the cabin.

“Don’t be.”

That makes him freeze. Hand now settled on your hip and unmoving.

The seconds that pass during this time feel like minutes. Dwayne’s eyes blink once at your two surprising words. Confusion was the first emotion that flickered in his gaze before another one followed it. Something darker and hotter and you readily fall into the smoldering look in his eyes because it’s just so damn easy to.

You both are leaning toward each other in a heartbeat. Lips crashing together in a clumsy first kiss but neither of you care because it just feels good. Dwayne lets out a small noise in the back of his throat and you have to stop yourself from gasping against his lips. It’s hot and passionate and needy because your head is swimming in heat and, judging by the light rocks of his hips, Dwayne is damn horny.

His hand squeezes your hip, wanting to move it under the blanket and touch your warm, soft skin - and you want him to. Need to feel the calloused skin of his palm more than you’ve ever needed anything.

So you flipped on your back (carefully, to not wake Gibbs) and tangled your fingers in his hair to pull Dwayne in closer. The change in position is all the permission he needs; his hands all but fumble to push past the thick blanket until he finally just throws it off you to give himself the room.

Your hips arch upward. Legs spread just a little. Pride’s hand reaches the waistband of your jeans, and as he starts to unbuckle it, there’s a brief moment of clarity. Probably brought upon by the noise of Gibbs sighing in his sleep right next to you.

The sound makes you think about what’s to come. About Dwayne tugging your jeans down. Kissing you hard while fucking you with his fingers and making you cum...all while Gibbs is quite literally right there.

And it would have been a reality, if Dwayne were able to get your belt unbuckled.

His soft, frustrated swearing draws your attention away from the sleeping Marine. Dwayne’s attempts at undoing your belt with a single hand aren’t going so well, and despite the need, you find yourself laughing quietly.

He notices. “What the hell kinda belt is this?” Dwayne whispers loudly.

“The normal kind.”

“You sure? I can get the normal kind.”

His raspy, annoyed complaints keep the amused smile plastered on your face. And your fingers lightly comb through his hair. “Want some help?” You offer lowly.

Pride’s head shakes once. “Nah. I got it.”

“I’m not really in the mood for waiting, Dwayne.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, neither am I.”

“Can you two bozos be any louder?”‘

In an instant, Dwayne’s hand stops its attempts at opening your belt. A breath stuck itself in your throat, threatening to completely cut off your breathing but in that moment, you thought that might be preferable to facing Gibbs, like this.

Regardless, your eyes finally flicker sideways. Part of you was terrified of looking up and seeing disgust in the Marine’s gaze. But seeing his bleary eyes and wild bedhead did nothing to calm your nerves. Serves you right for thinking you’d be able to tell how Gibbs is feeling so easily.

Dwayne’s hand is instantly pulled away from your half-open belt, leaning back into his own bedroll as Gibbs slowly brings himself up to lean on his elbows. And you’re frozen there; laying on your back and watching as he looks down and seems to inspect you. The usual icy-blue of his eyes is much darker, despite the golden firelight. Narrowed and unreadable and so, so different than the open door of raw emotion that were Dwayne’s eyes.

Gibbs gives a small tilt of his head before glancing up to his old friend. And to your utter shock, he fucking smirks. The devious, mischievous little smirk that you’ve never trusted before in your life. “Nah, you need some help, King,” is the only thing he says. Voice hoarse and deep with sleep and sends an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You don’t see the perplexed, and defensive, look on Pride’s face.

Instead, your eyes are all focused on Gibbs and the hand that he brings to your belt. There’s ample time to move away or find the words to speak out, but you just stare at his hand. His big, muscled, scarred hand that reaches your belt and has it open in a fraction of the time that Dwayne did.

Beside you, Pride gives a light huff. But you can’t will yourself to look at him. Gibbs and his hand and his eyes are much too captivating, in the moment. They lock onto yours and keep the connection, even as Gibbs pops the button of your jeans, pulls the zipper, and simply lets his fingertips graze the skin below your navel.

In reaction, your hips shift upward. Not so much the raw, visceral arch of your hips that Dwayne elicited, but its enough of a sign that prompts Gibbs to know what you need from him.

He’s merciful. Gibbs pushes his fingers past the waistband of your jeans. Though, your underwear serves as a barrier between you and his fingers. Even still, the friction and the pressure is enough to make you whimper. To instantly clasp Pride’s arm because it’s the closest thing and if you didn’t hold onto something, you’d start grinding against his hand - and you didn’t want to give Gibbs that satisfaction.

But it gets so much harder to keep from keening up once he starts moving his hand up and down, even curling his fingers just a little. Teasing you. Making you want him and if that bastard knows how to do anything, it’s how to get under people’s skin.

Your fingernails dig into Pride’s arm when you finally whimper out Jethro’s name.

The small sound has Gibbs leaning in a little closer. Arousal flickers in his eyes, brighter than even the orange flames in the fireplace because it’s so raw and real and for you. “Are you sure?” Gibbs prompts lowly, his voice rough. “Seems like you wanted King just a minute ago.” At that, his eyes move up to his friend.

Pride had been motionless, admittedly frozen and not quite knowing what he should do. His cock is still hard and pressing against the zipper of his jeans; that much hasn’t changed. In fact, seeing you so desperate has only turned him on that much more.

But Gibbs and his words surprised him. He’s torn - there’s nothing he’d rather do than climb over you and continue where you’d left off. But if you decided you’d rather fuck Gibbs, then Dwayne will just have to accept that. He’s not sure how, but he’ll get over it.

Pride leans away, almost as if he’s trying to pull himself out of the picture. But the hand you have gripping his arm tightens to keep him from straying too far.

“Both. Both of you.”

You’re looking at him, now. Eyes half-open and hazy. Chest panting and hair all astray and looking damn gorgeous.

But even the picture you present doesn’t stop both men from looking shocked. They both were expecting you to choose one or the other, but both? A third option had never crossed their minds.

Had the circumstances been different, they might’ve thought a bit more logically about this. But neither man was so keen to ignore your breathy pleas. Pride was panting, too. And Gibbs felt that familiar stirring in the pit of his stomach that only got worse when your hips started moving in tandem with his fingers.

So even if Gibbs is the one with his hand down your pants, Pride is the first to truly act.

He’s leaning back in, resuming the hot kisses. But this time, you’re so much more hot and needy and wound up, you’re moaning into his mouth. Opening your lips to taste more of Dwayne while your thighs squeeze together, hoping to just selfishly ride Gibbs’ hand.

He has to pry your legs apart to pull his hand free

Your body instantly reacts to the loss of his touch, huffing into Dwayne’s mouth and wishing you could break the kiss to yell at him - even though Gibbs is currently tugging your trousers down your legs and throwing them off somewhere in the darkness of the cabin.

It’s fucking cold, even through the rush of heat that leaves you gasping.

Dwayne’s hand is equally cold when it ventures up your shirt.

But really, it’s the chill of Jethro’s fingers as they trail up your inner thigh that really makes you shiver.

Or maybe it’s not at all the cold that elicits the shiver. Maybe it’s the realization that this isn’t some fucked up dream you’re having. That Gibbs and Pride really are seeing and touching so much of you, and it’s overwhelming. They’re two of your oldest friends, and yet, it was scarily easy to forget all that for a little while and just revel in their attention.

Like when Dwayne finally pushes your shirt up, revealing your belly and breasts that seem to glow like embers in the firelight. His breath is hot against the goosebumps. “You’re damn beautiful, honey,” Dwayne mumbles. It’s the first time he’s spoken in a while, and he sounds absolutely wrecked.

You want to hear more of that crackly voice, but his lips are creating a trail of kisses up your belly, across your sternum and into the valley of your breasts. The sensation is hot and electrifying and you tangle your fingers in his hair to keep him there.

Though, unfortunately for him, Gibbs once again steals the show.

Because this time, he doesn’t tease. Doesn’t make you seek out the pleasure: he readily gives it. Sinks his middle finger in with one fluid motion, and grinds the heel of his hand against you until your nails dig into Dwayne’s scalp with a harsh gasp.

Dwayne makes some kind of noise to the pain - you can feel the vibration, but he keeps on course.

“Dwayne’s right, ya know,” Gibbs comments. And from above, you can clearly see the light smirk playing on his lips. “You do look beautiful - especially right now.”

Cocky bastard.

Your mouth drops open, and you’re intent on telling him just that. But it seems like Pride and Gibbs are somehow working together. As if they know what the other is doing. Because in the same moment that Jethro curls his finger, Dwayne reaches his goal. His mouth is hot and wet, latching onto your nipple and flicking his tongue over the hard bud and the combination of the two makes your head tilt back in a loud, drawn-out moan.

As if Dwayne’s mouth weren’t enough stimulation, Gibbs thinks it’s a good idea to push in a second finger. It’s a tight, delicious stretch; damn near knocks the wind out of you. And as he pumps his fingers slowly, your hips start to writhe, seeking the friction you need to cum because it’s already so damn close.

Pride can hear your hard, panting breath. Can feel it against his hair and under his lips.

And it only gets harder and louder as time passes. Whatever Gibbs is doing, however he’s pleasuring you, must be fucking working. Because just seconds after he pulls off the first breast to pay attention to the second, your moans are so much louder. More desperate and keening and Dwayne can feel your body tighten up beneath him and it all makes him unbearably hard.

Your climax passes, and once your body goes slack, that’s when Pride lifts his head. His eyes are instantly locked on your face; cheeks pink in your exhilaration, hair mussed up and lips parted as you pant hard. And he wants you to lift your head to look at him. Pride wants to see that dazed look in your eye.

But he leaves you to rest. Presses a kiss to your heaving sternum, and then makes a new trail of wet kisses back down your body.

Pride can feel your muscles quiver, but Gibbs can see it.

Especially when he pulls his fingers free, and your body seems to miss them instantly. Your thighs squeeze together and you whimper softly, but Gibbs is far from done.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

Slowly, your eyes blink open. Jethro is leaning into view, blue eyes blown dark and his own lips are parted and panting because he’s just as turned on as Pride is (if the hurried kisses on your hips and thighs are anything to go by).

Gibbs watches you for a moment. Takes in your tired, but wanting, expression before he finally came in for a kiss. And his kisses are so different than Dwayne’s. Where his were sweet and allowed you to explore him, Jethro simply takes initiative and makes you keep up with him. Though, maybe you can blame his demanding lips on that fact that you just came hard on his fingers - but it’s enough to make your toes curl nonetheless.

His tongue teased your lips open, and just as you’re allowed a taste of him, Gibbs pulls away. His hot breath over your mouth, but before you could initiate another dizzying kiss, his fingers brush over your lips. Purposeful and wet, your mouth instinctively drops open. Gibbs slides them in, pressing down against your tongue, and you taste yourself between two thick fingers.

A moan rose from you, and as your tongue starts swirling between his fingers, his eyes go darker. His chest inflates in his careful breath to keep control.

You want to push him further. Make him lose control the way he did to you. But the feeling of two large hands pushing apart your thighs breaks the spell. In the time it takes for Jethro to pull his fingers free, slick in your saliva, those hands are replaced with two broad shoulders. Keeping your thighs apart while Dwayne gets himself comfortable, and the sensation of him there makes you gasp.

Your body is still receptive from the treatment of Jethro’s fingers; buzzing and sensitive and it only heightened the heat of Pride’s kisses across your inner thighs. It’s a light flutter against your skin, and you’re not positive if it’s his lips or the cold cabin air that gives you such vicious goosebumps. Maybe a little bit of both.

Either way, you know you’d just about die if Dwayne holds off on touching you.

Breaking your gaze from Gibbs, you look down to the man knelt between your knees - eyes turning a dark mossy green in the firelight, and it reflects off his messy hair. The contrast of light makes the sharp angles of his face pop.

The sight of Dwayne looking so raw, you can’t help but stare for a moment. But only a moment, because as soon as he pushes in two long fingers, your head tilts back again. Moaning out in the dark cabin and unwittingly giving Gibbs the perfect opportunity to suck a hickey into your neck.

Fuck it, let him. You’re much more interested in how Pride’s fingers are slowly pumping in and out.

Pleased with your reaction, you’re finally granted his mouth.

“Oh my fucking god, Dwayne,” you cry out, eyes screwed shut tight.

You can’t help it; his tongue is doing some magical things. Enough to make your back arch, toes curl, hips tilt up because the thing you need most in the world is to ride his face into another spectacular climax. Your fingers tangle into Dwayne’s hair, keeping him in place - as if he’d pull away when your noises are this fucking beautiful.

Gibbs doesn’t allow you to fall into the abyss that is Dwayne’s talented tongue. With a new hickey successfully inked into your skin, his lips move up to your ear, breath hot and hard as he whispers, “You the only one who’s gonna have all the fun?”

Your eyes blink open at his question. He should know you don’t have nearly enough brainpower for ask-and-tell. But seeing that familiar cocky look on his face, you figure it’s a question that doesn’t need an answer. Thank God.

Still, you can’t suss out what he meant. So you watch him, confused, until your eyes drop down the length of his body. And there it is; Jethro is using a single hand to undo his belt and jeans. Even from here, in the lowlight of the fire, you can see the hard outline of his cock press against the denim.

Instantly, your mouth waters just a bit. You blame it on the mental image of sucking Jethro off; of him fucking your mouth.

A noise comes up, somewhere between a moan and a whimper and it’s impossible to figure out the cause; Dwayne thrusting his fingers a little harder, or Gibbs coming up to his knees and crawling closer. Either way, you’re not thinking too hard about that. Not thinking too hard about anything other than pushing yourself up to your elbows and leaning towards Gibbs.

Your tongue comes out to wet your lips, and that only makes the Marine give a short chuckle. “Gonna be a good girl? You’ve been doing an awful lot of taking, sweetheart. Not doing a whole lot of giving.” he says in a rough voice.

“Then shut the fuck up and let me give,” you respond. And even to your ears, the words were much more solid and confident than you felt.

In reality, you should’ve sounded shaky and whiny and downright filthy. Because as your hand comes up to rest on his hip, helping Gibbs tug down his jeans, you want nothing more than to suck him off. To find out how he tastes and how he how he sounds.

His pants are tugged low, along with his boxers, until there’s finally enough room for his cock to spring out. Gibbs is hard and veiny and his head shines with smeared pre-cum. His hand wraps around it in a loose fist, strokes it slowly and the head just happens to brush against your lips. The contact - however brief and teasing it is - alights your body in a rush of hot desire that not even Dwayne’s talented tongue can really sate.

And the only real way to be sated is to suck him dry.

With your hand still on his hip, you pull him closer. Your tongue finally peeks out, running up under the head of Jethro’s cock and it makes him hiss in the most delicious way. And despite everything, you can’t help but feel just the smallest inkling of pride at the sound. Makes you wonder just how fucking cocky you’ll get when you make him cum.

That thought is motivation enough to drop your hand from Jethro’s hip, replacing the hand he has stroking his cock to continue the rhythm yourself.

And he’s much thicker than you thought. Hard and heavy in your hand, with a certain softness that prompts you to lean your head in and run your tongue up the length of his cock. Gibbs shivers, and he’s just wound up enough to arch his hips closer and let you work him up.

You’re getting bolder, with all these little reactions from Jethro. Twisting your fist around the head of his cock. Sinking half of him down your throat, just to try and draw out more. To try and turn the stubborn, hard-headed Marine into sawdust-scented putty in your hands.

But Dwayne chooses the worst time to start rubbing the pad of his thumb over your clit.

It’s a firm motion, with his tongue delving ever deeper, and you can’t stop yourself from outright moaning with Jethro’s cock still halfway down your throat. And you’re not too sure if it’s even considered a moan - it’s really only a series of stunted noises and vibrations.

Whatever the hell it was, Gibbs sure seems to have liked it. Pride’s little stunt that almost had you cumming on the spot was equally beneficial for Jethro, who gasped hard and suddenly had his fingers gripping your hair tight. His hips even give a very light rock, but you can tell he was really holding back.

“Your mouth feels good, honey,” Gibbs exhales. His voice is tighter than it was; like he’s fighting hard as hell to keep his control. You don’t see, but his eyes flicker down to Pride. “King, make her moan again.”

God. What a fucking bastard.

Before you can pull off and tell him that, Dwayne obliges. His fingers curl inside you, hitting a certain spot that would’ve been toe-curling alone. But this time, instead of his thumb, his lips are on your clit. Tonguing and even sucking it, and you’d be damned if you didn’t moan louder, this time. Hips angling to try and grind on his tongue, but your movements are awkward when Gibbs grips your hair even tighter.

He pulls his cock out, letting you suck in a lungful of air, before he sinks it deep.

Gibbs continues that pattern, reaping the benefits of Dwayne trying his hardest to get you to cum. He feels every little vibration on his cock, and even when he pulls back, you waste the chance to breathe because you just have to push a loud moan out into the air.

Eventually, the pleasure just builds to a point where even Gibbs can see you’re about to go over the edge.

He does grant the small courtesy of pulling back a bit to where you could breathe through your nose. But when Dwayne’s assault finally breaks you, he’s still in your mouth. Still feels your tongue glide against the head of his cock as you cum. Hard. Crying out and gasping as you ride Pride’s face and the vibrations of your moans still feel fucking heavenly. Gibbs is almost disappointed when you stop, and he only feels your hot panting against his cock. So he pulls it out and leans back against his feet.

The second orgasm really did take a lot out of you. Or maybe it’s because of the attack on two fronts and it’s all just a little much, right now. But your eyes are closed, readily falling into the satisfied afterglow that Dwayne had provided. You want to talk; tell him how fucking good he is with his mouth. But words don’t come easy, right now. Not with his hands stroking your thighs, and Jethro’s fingers lightly moving through your hair. Somehow, the combination of the two feels even better than the orgasm.

The sound of somebody moving, and the warm body heat that follows, prompts your heavy eyes open. Dwayne’s gaze, turned mossy green by the firelight, captures your eyes instantly. You scarcely notice his flushed face, or swollen lips, or messy hair because his eyes are so damn soft.

And then he’s kissing you, making you taste yourself on his tongue. When your teeth brush against his lower lip, Dwayne lets out a noise. Quiet, keening, more desperate than you’d expect from one of the most solid men you know.

Though, once his hips roll against yours and you can feel how hard his cock is straining against his jeans, you start to understand what’s got him so needy.

You hum softly. Wrap a leg over his hip and pull him closer, and the closeness has Dwayne hitching his breath. He pulls back from the kiss, blinking a couple times to see you through the horny haze he’s in.

“Your turn, Dwayne,” you tell him softly. And along with your hand slowly moving down the expanse of his chest, it just makes him shiver.

And he’s much too eager to take his turn. There’s even a light smirk on his face when Dwayne pushes himself up to his knees. After pulling his shirt off over his head, he undoes the button and zipper of his jeans to push them and his boxers down, revealing the deep V of his hips. His cock, sensitive after being locked away for so long, is long and hard. Longer than Jethro’s, and there’s a sudden small urge to derail Dwayne’s plans. To flip him over and give him the same treatment you provided to Gibbs.

But one of his hands grips your hip, the other working over his cock. Slowly, as to not get himself too close to the edge before he’s actually inside you. But as patient a man as Dwayne is, you can tell by the way he pants how much he needed this. Needed you.

So when he positions your hips in the right way, your spine arches to help. Granted, the help with nullified once Dwayne gently pushed the first inch inside - because you made a noise so fucking sweet, he could’ve came on the spot.

He doesn’t, though. It’s that famous self-restraint.

Dwayne does groan and screw his eyes shut when he gives a light thrust, pushing half his cock in. He wants more, but your gasp stills him. His cock is much thicker than his or Jethro’s fingers. It’s a stinging, delicious stretch that makes you grateful you have a leg around his hip; you tug him closer. Nearly all the way in, and that’s finally enough to make him swear.

His fingers will leave raisin-colored marks on your skin, that much is certain. But they still feel good - grounding, because the slow glide of his cock in and out surely would’ve made you forget how to breathe.

You’re more than willing to fall into the sensation of Dwayne, but suddenly, there’s a calloused hand on your cheek. Warm and strong and it prompts your eyes open. Dwayne and his gaping mouth and half-lidded eyes are visible for only a moment before your head is tilted to the side. And fire-lit golden skin is replaced with darkened cobalt eyes.

Jethro says not a word. You feel his breath on your lips, but he’s kissing you earnestly before you could babble out anything. A long moan - shamelessly wanton - rang against his lips because you’re too far gone with pleasure to even think, much less care.

Noses smush together. Tongues dancing and Jethro’s teeth nipped at your bottom lip, just to tease. And along the way, you wonder why the hell he keeps smirking. It doesn’t occur to you that Jethro finds it amusing that you whimper every time Dwayne hits a sweet spot.

Disappointingly, he breaks the kiss. Your eyes blink open, fighting to make out the blue in his eyes in the golden light of the fire. But Gibbs motions his head, silently beckoning your attention back to Dwayne. So you mindlessly follow his order and turn your head back. Your eyes meet Pride’s for just a moment, and it’s him who breaks the contact. Hanging his head to concentrate on keeping the (albeit sloppy) rhythm.

It’s still a fucking beautiful sight.

That’s when Jethro brushes his lips against the shell of your ear, his voice low and breath hot. “You like the way he’s fucking you?” He asks. “Like how it feels?”

Your brain isn’t in the state to be talking right now, so the most you can do is nod.

“You want me to fuck you like that?”

Again, you nod. More desperate, this time, as you keep watching Dwayne. His hips are going faster, harder, keeping less of a rhythm and more just chasing his orgasm.

Jethro pressing a soft kiss against the hinge of your jaw. “Can’t wait to hear you moan like that for me, honey.”

“Fuck!” Dwayne suddenly yelps. It’s loud, and you hadn’t been expecting a noise like that to come from him. And because of it, your attention wavers away from Jethro whispers things in your ear. Focus instead on Dwayne; his hips giving a few more sharp thrusts before he pulls out. His hand is instantly wrapped around his cock, pumping until streams of his cum shoot across your belly. Dwayne is breathing heavy with his eyes squeezed shut, moaning deep in the back of his throat until the orgasm passes. And his hand slows, languidly stroking his cock until he just stops altogether.

You hadn’t even noticed you were staring until Dwayne raises his head. Locks eyes with you and offers a small, shy smile. He’s still catching his breath, and the exertion makes his movements slow and wobbly. But after casting a brief glance to Gibbs, Dwayne moves away from between your legs. Collapses back on his bedroll next to you with a contented sigh.

“You really made a mess of things, King,” Jethro comments, moving to take his spot between your thighs. And a trail of goosebumps follow his hands when he moves them across your skin - you’re not yet so numb as to not feel the heat of his palms.

Dwayne lets out a small, almost disinterested hum. That’s when you shift slightly; throwing a smile up to Jethro as he uses his grip on your thighs to pull you closer. “I don’t mind the mess,” you tell him. Voice all hoarse and rough and the sound of it is enough to attract Dwayne’s attention. Make him just a little less groggy.

Jethro just huffed before his attention dropped between your legs. And you take advantage of the small moment of peace by looking sideways to Dwayne. He’s watching you, eyes heavy but bright with his half-smile - that post-orgasm affection. The tips of his fingers gently run over the skin of your arm. A feather-light touch that would’ve tickled, had you not been so fucked out.

The hitch of your breath didn’t come from Dwayne’s soft caress. It wasn’t anything so innocent; the blunt head of Jethro’s cock was the culprit, pushing through and stretching you back out with little warning.

The hitch became a gasp when Jethro gave an experimental thrust of his hips. Testing just how well you take him and gauging his speed. But by now, you were so wet and fucked open, it really didn’t take him much time to bottom out. Fingers tightly gripping your thighs, it didn’t matter to him that he was going second. Jethro’s sharp breath showcased his pleasure.

“God- fuck...”

So he did swear.

The air pushed from your lungs with each slow, deep thrust he took. And when Jethro found a quick rhythm, it didn’t help. He pushed your thighs up, knees apart, making ample room for himself to drive in over and over. And he knew he wouldn’t last too long; the memory of your hot mouth on his cock was still too fresh. But he was going to make you cum for a third time before he was done.

Past the blind pleasure and the weight of Jethro slamming against yours, there’s a pair of lips on your cheek. The soft fingers that had been stroking your arm now resting against your ribs, hand blossomed out like an orchid in bloom.

“You doin’ okay?” A low voice murmured in your ear. His nose nuzzled lightly against your temple; soft and affectionate.

Immediately, you turn your head to face him. And in that moment, you never needed Dwayne more than you did right now. Jethro was hitting all the best spots, but somehow, you needed more. “Dwayne,” you manage to whimper his name. Unable to say much more and praying he understood.

He’s known you for such a long time. Of course he caught on.

The way he kissed you wasn’t as rough and desperate as all the others have been. And in a way, that made it so much more intense. Dwayne’s tongue ran along your bottom lip, taking his time, letting you taste him and allowing himself to breathe you in. His hand stroked over your abdomen, further spreading his cum into your skin but not giving a damn about it.

And when Dwayne breaks the kiss to move down, his mouth once again latching onto your tits, your fingers instantly move to run through his hair.

Maybe because Jethro was getting rougher in his thrusts. Forcing you to climb up toward your third orgasm with him, and you just needed something to hang onto. Dwayne was the closest thing.

Case in point, when Gibbs slightly changed his position. His cock hammered in differently - better - and you cried out. Fingers tugging hard on Dwayne’s hair and making the poor man yelp into your soft skin. His head instinctively pulls away and, despite the pain, he’s wearing a sly smirk.

“S-sorry,” you manage weakly.

“Nah, you pull as hard you want,” Dwayne replies. And the soft, yet wrecked, sound of his voice is enough to give you goosebumps.

And with his mouth coming back to sucking hickeys into your skin, you’re well aware how fucking close you are to cumming again. Release so painfully near; a literal breath away. And from the look of Jethro, he’s in a similar state.

His thrusts have grown sloppy, large hands branding your thighs with fingerprint bruises; gripping them so hard to give himself leverage. Jaw dropped to catch his breath because you can tell the Marine is exerting a massive amount of self-control to keep himself from cumming. But even Leroy Jethro Gibbs has his limits, and it would be cruel to ask him to hold off much longer.

You angle your hips up just a little. “Jethro,” you call softly. His eyes rise to meet yours; hazy and dark in his pleasure. “Need you. Please. Please- fuck...make me cum again.” You’re not above pleading. Putting that extra edge in your voice to wind him up a bit more.

He swears; low and deep in his chest. Nearly sounding like a growl as one of his hands leaves your thigh, dropping in between your legs. And once Jethro quickly starts rubbing hard, tight circles around your clit, that’s when he starts falling over the edge. It’s not really his fault; you tightened up around him and cried out into the dark cabin and Jethro noticed how your fingers once again curled into Dwayne’s hair.

His body acts on its own - giving one, two more desperate thrusts before pulling out. The hand he used to help you cum instantly wraps around his cock, and Jethro even lets out a tight groan as his cum hits the inside of your thighs. It trickled down your leg slowly as he came down from his high, leaning back to sit on his feet. And yeah, he selfishly enjoys the image you lay out for him; panting and fucked out, painted with cum.

While Gibbs recuperated, Dwayne is actually the first to move. His eyes drag themselves away from you, glancing around the fire-lit cabin to find the shirt he’d so desperately tossed away. And when he spots the familiar fabric, he uses it to wipe away the mess he left behind on your belly.

Dwayne handed the shirt to Jethro, and he does the same with your thighs.

You listen as both men finally settle in on their respective bedrolls; their breathing still heavy, but slowly evening out. That’s when your eyes open, blinking up at the ceiling of Jethro’s cabin. The firelight flickers against the old wood; a strangely serene image. So starkly different from the images of hazy eyes and eager lips.

With things slowing down, it would be so easy to just close your eyes again. Your body feels weightless and it’s warm and you could so effortlessly fall asleep.

But Dwayne speaks up, cutting through the sound of crackling wood and howling wind. “Hey, Jethro?”

There’s a slight hesitance from Gibbs. “....Yeah?”

“I reckon we outta come out here more often.”

Maybe it’s you. All those endorphins still flew around in your head. Or maybe what Dwayne said was legitimately funny. But you burst out laughing, and Dwayne followed shortly after. And through it all, you even hear Jethro’s deep chuckles.

Your laughs had devolved into light giggles by the time Gibbs is pulling a blanket over you. It’s hard to tell whose blanket it is, actually, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s warm and comes with a soft caress over your hair from Jethro as you turn away from him.

Dwayne’s shoulder does make a damn fine pillow. And just in case it gets cold in the night again, the press of Jethro’s body against your back will assure you won’t freeze.

#ncis x reader #ncis new orleans x reader #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #dwayne pride x reader #ncis nola x reader #ncis reader insert