#Tumbling snowflakes

[hansuart]

kinda forgot to post this here but anyway, lovestruck and head-over-heels remasters! 💗😵‍💫✨

bonus:

[angelicyoongie]

lovesick (XI)

— pairing: yandere ot7 x (f) reader — word count: 4.6k — warnings: yandere, stalking, obsessive behaviour, other content that may be triggering. — summary: You dreamed of the day you would get your very own soulmark. Though, you didn’t expect to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of your shoulder being dislocated and your forearm fractured. As if dealing with the worst possible soulmark ever wasn’t bad enough, you also have to come to terms with the fact that you’re being stalked. When the letters and gifts you receive begin to escalate and the police offers no help, you have no other option than to figure out who’s behind it yourself – and hopefully before it’s too late.

Previous – Next

You rest your head on the back of the couch, staring out at the snowflakes that drift to the ground one by one. The trees outside are blanketed in a thin layer of snow, white powder clinging to barren branches. Time has moved quickly yet all too slowly since you were brought here, the days blending into nothing. Judging by the weather, you think it must be late November by now. You prefer not to ask – without the finality of an exact date, it's easier to pretend that you haven't been here for over two months.

There's a soft hum going throughout the entire cabin, portable heaters working overtime to keep the chill out. Seokjin must've bought out an entire store with how many there are scattered around, the first one already appearing the day after Namjoon brought you back. The heaters have been added one by one with each passing week as the temperatures have continued to drop and you're honestly amazed that the old cabin can even handle such a high energy consumption. You do sometimes wonder how Jimin has explained away the no-doubt skyrocketing electrical bill, but considering no one has come to check it out; the station clearly doesn't find it all that suspicious. 

You shiver instinctively as the wind howls, the thin windows fighting against the frost that's beginning to cling to them. The crackling fireplace can't keep every room warm, not anymore, but it still gives the common room a little boost of coziness, a little extra warmth whenever the wind picks up outside. You're not actually cold but that doesn't stop the arm around your waist from pulling you back, plastering you against Taehyung's chest.

Seokjin didn't lie when he told you that they would be watching you around the clock. 

Your personal bubble is constantly invaded, the chilly weather being the perfect excuse for the boys to cling to you like a second skin. Some part of you is always being touched, regardless of whether you like it or not. They like to pretend it's just to 'keep you warm' but you can see the thinly veiled threat for what it is. This is their way of reminding you that they don't trust you – that you've brought all of this upon yourself. 

"What are you thinking about, babe?" Taehyung mumbles sleepily against the back of your neck. 

"Nothing special," You say, the words tumbling out easier than you'd like. "I'm just not looking forward to how cold it's going to get up here." 

"Hmm," Taehyung's mouth flutters over your skin as he tightens his grip around your waist, "You don't have to be worried, Y/n, I'm sure we can come up with lots of ways to keep you warm." 

You can't remember when your skin stopped crawling at Taehyung's flirty remarks. 

Maybe it was after those two weeks he and Jimin had been banned from the cabin – their own personal punishment for pushing you too far. You didn't think much of it, didn't care about how they fought and yelled about how unfair it was. You were still trapped, so what difference did five or seven hovering soulmates make? After all, the two of them had set you up, ruined your plans, so it felt like a small victory that their actions actually had consequences. Taehyung and Jimin didn't cross your mind once while they were away. So why, why, did you feel like you had missed them the day they returned? 

It was like a switch had been flipped in their absence, one you couldn't turn back off. Ever since that night you let yourself be held by Seokjin, something had happened. You could no longer find the energy to flinch or frown when they reached out to touch you. Their sweet words and love stricken gazes didn't garner the same disgust as it used to. It was like the fight had been drained out of you. You were so tired of feeling scared, angry, hopeless, so you simply just... stopped.

Something in you finally gave up that night and decided it was time to accept your fate. It was easier. It hurt less. And so you've slowly been coming to terms with it, with this, ever since. 

You sink into Taehyung's embrace as he lays back down on the couch, your head on his chest and your legs tangled together in the cramped space. He lets out a content breath at the way your body relaxes into him, at how you hold on to him like you want to be there. 

Small patterns are drawn on your back as you listen to the steady beat of Taehyung's heart. A wooden log crackles and fusses as it breaks apart, sending small embers floating into the burning flames. You never expected that you would ever end up here, feeling uncomfortable and yet somehow, undoubtedly, safe in one of your stalkers' arms. 

It should make you horrified, repulsed, after everything they put you through, but you can't help the way your soul sings at the close proximity. Being around them is starting to feel right – and you're no longer sure how much of you, the real you, will be left by the time the soulbond truly settles. 

It doesn't matter how much you hate it. You can't do anything to change it as long as you're stuck here, with them. 

You stare at the flickering flames, releasing a shuddering sigh. 

Maybe... Maybe your next life will be better.

That's the only comforting thought you allow yourself to have. 

"Can you pass me the salt, sunshine?" 

You wordlessly hand the shaker over to Hoseok, watching as he only adds a little dash to the dough he's mixing up. His arm flexes as he combines it all into a firm ball, strong hands making quick work of the rather heavy dough. After you let it slip a few days ago that you were craving cookies, Hoseok decided to make it his mission to bake you some. The amount of dough he's mixing up would have been enough to feed you for weeks if you were alone – but since you're currently living with seven men who can eat their own body weight for breakfast, lunch and dinner – it might just last you two days if you're lucky. 

Leaning your hip against the counter, you bite your lip as you continue to watch Hoseok work. 

There is a question you've been burning to ask him, that you feel like you need to know before you can fully accept your new reality; how did he find you?

While the other boys have told you of their own volition, Hoseok still hasn't mentioned it. You know he first saw you at that fundraiser but that doesn't explain how he managed to figure out your name or address. You had barely worked at Filter for a month when the event happened, so it's not like any of the other vendors knew who you were. The booth for the café was listed under your boss' name and you weren't wearing a name tag, so how did he do it? 

"Take a picture Y/n, it'll last you longer," Hoseok grins as he catches you staring at his profile. 

"Huh? N-no, I–" You stammer, eyes widening as you realize you must have zoned out while you were thinking.

You're momentarily saved from your embarrassment as Yoongi peeks his head into the kitchen, hair windswept and his cheeks flushed from the cold.

"I got you what you asked for from the store," He announces, showing you the plastic bag in his hand. 

"Thank you, Yoongi," You don't fight the soft smile that settles on your lips, your heart fluttering treacherously at the sweet grin you get in return. 

"Anything for you," He mumbles shyly as he leaves the bag by the kitchen entrance, cheeks a little pinker than before as he goes back to the common room. 

Your eyes jump from the plastic bag to one of the kitchen shelves just above it, gaze getting caught on the familiar black box that's perched upon it. The sight of it still makes something sour explode in your stomach. The contents inside are the whole reason you ended up here in the first place and you hate that you have to look at it every day. You've weighed the consequences of getting rid of it once or twice, of tossing it into the fireplace and watching the kaleidoscope of coloured letters burn into nothing, but you just can't find it in yourself to do so. Even if you'll never be able to use it, it's still evidence.

It's not the only thing that's been collected from your apartment, either. The mantle above the fireplace is decorated with a few of Taehyung's postcards and some of Yoongi's lyrics are framed on the wall alongside pictures Seokjin snapped of you. They must've removed all their gifts and letters to cover their tracks shortly after they took you. You're not sure why they felt the need to bring them here but you're sure that they have some twisted explanation for it. 

You can practically hear Jimin's voice saying 'we got you such nice gifts baby, why shouldn't they be on display?' whenever you look at them. 

"Hyung is such a softie," Hoseok chuckles, his voice bringing you out of your thoughts. 

You make a sound in agreement, shifting your weight nervously as you watch him finish up the dough. He carefully adds a pile of chopped-up chocolate, working the pieces into the firm mixture. 

As Hoseok pops the bowl into the fridge and moves over to the sink to wash his hands, you clear your throat, finally blurting out a rushed, "Can I ask you something?"

Hoseok hums under his breath as he scrubs his skin clean, taking his sweet time as he leaves you waiting for an answer. You barely catch the quick flicker of his gaze on your neck, eyes lingering on the bare skin that's visible above your sweater before he turns back to shut off the sink. 

"Sure," He agrees, eyebrow quirking as he reaches out for a towel to dry his hands, "I'll answer your questions if you promise to do something for me afterward."

You swallow thickly, uncertainty prickling at the back of your skull. You have no idea what kind of favour Hoseok will ask of you in return, but you're too curious to pass this chance up. 

"Okay," You nod. The gleam in Hoseok's eyes leaves you a little unsettled but you need to know the answer to your question. 

The fridge buzzes loudly in the beat of silence that passes between you. Hoseok leans against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other as he gives you an encouraging nod. "Ask away then, sunshine." 

"I want to know how you found me, how you figured out where I live," You breathe, your pulse kicking at the flash of surprise that passes over Hoseok's features. 

"Hm. That's a rather unexpected question but you'll get your answer," Hoseok says, pursing his lips.

"I first saw you at the fundraiser, you know that. I wanted to approach you, offer to drive you home to make sure you were okay after that bitch touched you–"

Hoseok utters the word with such venom it makes the hair on your arms raise, "–but your friend beat me to it. Heejun, was it? I couldn't just leave you, not after finally finding my soulmate, so I decided to follow you." 

Your heart squeezes at the mention of your best friend, longing filling every inch of your chest. 

"I wanted to make sure that you got home safe. I actually tried to approach you a few times after your shifts at Filter but something always got in the way, and you slipped away before I had the chance to introduce myself," He sighs.

"After a few weeks, I felt like I had missed my window but I couldn't just give up, not when I had finally found you. So I figured there was no harm in continuing to watch you from afar, making sure you were safe while I figured out how to break the news to you. By the way, your building isn't all that safe, sunshine, I got ahold of your apartment number just by asking one of the old ladies who were having a smoke outside."

Hoseok shakes his head, clicking his tongue as if he wasn't part of the problem that made your apartment unsafe in the first place. 

"I thought giving you letters and gifts was romantic, that it would make you curious about who your secret admirer might be – that you would feel happy to know there was someone out there who cared for you," Hoseok gives a flat chuckle. His eyes are stormy as they flick over to the black box, "But it turns out I was doing the opposite. I can't believe Tae managed to influence the bond that much." 

Hoseok seems surprisingly upset about how things played out, like he actually thought he was doing something nice. 

You give a small shrug, knowing that there's nothing you can say to lighten the mood. Even without Taehyung's influence, Hoseok still took things way too far – he was the one who decided to drug you, after all. 

"Did that answer your question, Y/n?"

"Yeah, thank you," You murmur.

Although it still makes a burst of fear flare up in your chest every time you think about what they've put you through, it's nice to finally know exactly how Hoseok did it. Although it's too late to do anything about it now, there is some solace in finally getting an answer to one of the many questions you've had ever since the first envelope showed up. 

"Now for your end of the deal," Hoseok says, nimble legs already carrying him across the kitchen, "Stay here for a second, sunshine, I'll be right back!"

Hoseok is only out of the room for thirty seconds tops before he returns, one hand hidden behind his back. He watches you carefully as he presents a familiar flat squared box to you, dark eyes drinking in every minuscule detail of your reaction. 

"Oh, that's–"

Your voice tapers off as Hoseok opens the box, revealing a necklace you've seen before. It's one of the jewelry pieces he gifted you alongside his letters, one of many you had stashed away under your bed to forget about. The golden chain is attached to a small, dainty sun pendant, the design simple yet clearly expensive. 

You have seen this necklace somewhere else before too, though. Your gaze flickers up to Hoseok's neck as you're hit with the memory of your first visit to his shop; of how you noticed the chain that slipped out of his shirt as he assisted you.

It's the exact same design. 

"They match," Hoseok confirms as he gently takes the necklace out of the box. 

Couple necklaces.

You give him a weak smile, "That's very, um, sweet."

"Isn't it?" Hoseok looks fondly down at the piece of jewelry. "Will you turn around so I can put it on you?"  

You do so easily, knowing that Hoseok could have asked you for something far worse in return for sating your curiosity.

Hoseok's breath hits the back of your neck as he steps closer, the warmth sending goosebumps all over your skin. You can almost feel the rise and fall of his chest as he brings the necklace around your neck, clasping it in place. The tips of his fingers skate across your throat under the pretense of fixing the chain, your breath hitching as a fluttering kiss is placed just below your ear. 

"Fits you perfectly," Hoseok murmurs against your skin. 

"Thank you," You whisper, swallowing thickly. You bring a hand up to touch the necklace, feeling how the pendant rests in the nook between your collarbone. 

Hoseok hands trail down the outline of your body as he pulls back, squeezing your hips as he reluctantly says, "You can go join the others in the common room, sunshine. We need to wait a bit before we can bake the cookies and there's no point getting the other snacks ready too soon, the others will just hover it up." 

"S-sounds good," You almost feel a little unsteady on your feet as Hoseok's touch finally leaves you. You flash him another feeble smile as you try not to hurry too quickly out of the kitchen, your hand moving from your gifted necklace to your chest. 

Did your heart just race because Hoseok touched you – because he kissed you? 

You halt in the hallway, in the one blind spot the cabin offers from the common room. Taking deep breaths to collect yourself, you will your heart to slow down. This is what you wanted, what you accepted would happen when you decided to give up, and yet, you can't help but feel a little betrayed by your own body. 

It's only been a little over a month.

Just how badly is your soul craving them that you're able to give in so easily, so quickly? 

"Y/n, darling, I saved you a spot next to me!"

You startle as Namjoon calls out to you, your thoughts slipping away at the sound of his voice.

"Not fair hyung, I saved her a spot too," Jungkook's pout is audible from your hiding spot.

Squaring your shoulders, you push down on the unease that seems to have made itself at home in your bones. After all, isn't this what you wanted; for things to be easier? Why are you still trying to fight it when you know nothing good will come of it?

"Just let it be," You mutter, defeated.

The smile you plaster on as you walk into the common room comes a little easier than before, doesn't feel as fake as it used to. You let yourself be pulled down on the couch between Jungkook and Seokjin, allowing them to fawn over you to their heart's desire. 

You don't let yourself linger on the worrying thought that the constant attention is starting to feel nice, for very long.

"Is it too scary for you?" 

You startle at the hushed whisper that brushes against your ear just as the heroine screams on screen. Turning your head to look at Seokjin, you find wide eyes staring back at you, his skin paler than normal. He flinches as another shrill yell comes from the TV, his already tight grip around your right hand only growing stronger.

"I'm okay," You murmur back, giving his fingers a light squeeze. 

Seokjin visibly deflates at that, his uneasy gaze flickering back to the movie. You clear your throat to tamper down the laugh that wants to bubble up, finding Seokjin's false bravado a little cute. It's clear as day that he's terrified of the scary movie Jungkook chose for your movie night – even without the death grip he has around your hand. You've been feeling Seokjin flinch and cower at every loud sound so far, his body somehow halfway hidden between you and the couch. Still, it seems he doesn't want to admit that it frightens him when the rest of the boys hardly seem fazed by what's playing out in front of them. 

"I'm a little thirsty though, do you think you could get me something from the kitchen?" You ask lowly, mindful not to disturb the others.

Seokjin's eyes snap back to you, relief flooding his features at the easy out, "Yes! I'll be right back." He doesn't waste another second before he practically leaps from the couch, the lights turning on as he hurries to the safety of the kitchen.

You flex your fingers with a small wince, skin tingling as blood is finally able to rush back into them. You glance around the room as you wait for the feeling in your hand to fully return, noting how absorbed the rest of the guys look. Jungkook's hold around your left hand has gone slack, his attention fully on the movie. Namjoon, Hoseok and Taehyung are pressed together on the other couch, a big bowl of popcorn half-devoured between the three of them.

The cookies you 'helped' Hoseok make earlier are almost gone, only a few of them left despite the double batch he cooked up. You quickly reach out to snatch up another one before the rest disappears, your gaze slipping over to Yoongi as you lean back on the couch. He's curled up on one of the chairs nearby, his eyes closing every so often despite the loud bangs and screams that fill the room. 

The sight of Yoongi nodding off with his cheek squished in his palm is stupidly endearing, so you end up stuffing the cookie into your mouth to keep your smile at bay. You chew slowly, enjoying the slight crunch from the crispy exterior of the cookie and how the soft insides somehow manage to melt in your mouth at the same time. It's honestly a little unfair just how good it is.

As you swallow the last bite, you glance around the room, confused, realizing Jimin is nowhere to be seen. The previously occupied chair next to Yoongi is now vacant and he isn't sprawled out on the floor anywhere either. 

Just as the thought strikes you, you feel the back of the couch dip, a figure gracefully jumping over the backrest to settle into Seokjin's spot. The sudden appearance startles you so badly that you let out a shocked noise, your hand covering your racing heart as Jimin makes himself comfortable. You have no idea how he managed to get to the back of the couch undetected or even why he decided to sneak around, but you've learned over the past month that there's no use questioning Jimin's antics. He simply just does whatever he feels like, when he feels like it. 

"Sorry," Jimin grins as he leans closer, not looking very sorry at all. "If I made it too obvious that I was stealing Seokjin hyung's spot, the others would fight me for it." 

You can't help the way you instinctively tense up as Jimin draws closer, some hesitancy still lingering after that night he caused you to explode. It has gotten easier over the past month to be near him, the constant forced proximity hasn't given you much of a choice but to grow closer to them. But Jimin has, surprisingly, been putting in some effort to make being around him a little more tolerable too. He's toned down his vulgar flirting and he no longer hovers and glares at you with suspicion whenever you interact with any of the others. It's still not great, but it is better. 

Jimin's smile falters as you grow stiff. He lets out a small sigh as he decides to show you mercy and turn his attention to the TV instead of you, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. It isn't until you've gradually begun to relax again, preoccupied with watching the movie, that you lean back into the cushions, feeling Jimin's fingertips brush over your shoulder the moment you do. The touch is light and fleeting, barely even there, as he tests the waters of what you'll allow. 

It's clearly an invitation for you to lean into his embrace but he doesn't push you to do it, doesn't force you like he would have a month ago. You think this must be Jimin's attempt at making amends – of him offering to do things at your pace instead of his. 

He tentatively curls his hand around your shoulder when you don't pull away, fingers almost floating over your skin with how hard he's trying to not be overbearing. 

If Jimin is putting in this much effort, shouldn't you be too? It'll only make things more painless. 

Between one deep breath and the next, it almost feels like your mind blanks as you shuffle closer to Jimin, letting him tug you to his chest as his arm drops to your shoulder. He preens with satisfaction that you're allowing him to touch you, chest puffing as he presses a quick kiss to your forehead. 

"Hyung," Jungkook whines from your left as you're pulled further away. His grip tightens around your hand, refusing to let go as he moves after you on the couch. He presses himself flush against your side, huffing as he pulls your hand back into his lap. 

"Jungkookie," Jimin glances at him over your head, whispering out an amused, "Why are you holding on to Y/n so tightly, hm? You're not even scared."

Jungkook pouts in the return. "So what? I'm holding Y/n's hand in case she gets scared. I'm just being thoughtful." 

Jimin snorts. He raises his hand from your shoulder to ruffle the back of Jungkook's hair, messing up his locks. Jungkook grumbles under his breath at the action but doesn't move to push him away, his head lolling comfortably back into Jimin's touch. 

You smile at the cute moment, heart lurching at the ease and content air they have about them whenever they're interacting. They, along with the rest, are such good friends – made for each other, almost – that you often find yourself wondering if your bond is a fluke, if they were actually supposed to be soulmates without you. The theory doesn't feel too far-fetched, not when you see them interact like they're puzzle pieces falling into place, perfectly fitting together.

It only makes you miss Heejun and Jaemin more.

Biting your lip, you turn back to the TV, just in time to watch the heroine escape the house she's been trapped in for the past two hours. The monster she's been running from is left behind, roaring and pacing behind the windows as she runs into the rising sun. Your stomach feels heavy as a hopeful smile spreads on her lips, the horror she's faced almost forgotten as she moves closer and closer to her rescue. 

Your breath gets caught in your throat as the camera pans back to the abandoned house before it fades to black, eyes shaking as it hits you that you haven't even thought about leaving the cabin for the last few days. It used to always linger in the back of your mind, squeezing your heart whenever you looked out the window and saw the freedom that was so close, yet so far away. But you can't recall a single moment lately where that was even a fleeting thought. Has being around them constantly really strengthened the bond that much, enough that you no longer feel the urge to leave? 

You slump into Jimin's embrace, ears ringing as the others begin to stretch and stand up. 

With each passing day, it's becoming worryingly easy to just sink into their arms and forget everything you tried to escape from in the first place. Has running away not crossed your mind just because it's been easier to not dwell on a future that's slipping further out of your reach – or, perhaps even more frighteningly, is it because you simply just don't want to anymore? 

You stare blankly at Jungkook as he tries to whisk you away to his room for the night, gut churning as your mind runs circles around you. There is one question you can't shake, one you don't have a proper answer for;

Do you want to stay? 

a/n: please leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the chapter -it means the world to me and makes writing all that much more fun! 💖

dun-dun.... it seems like our poor mc is really struggling with her soulbond :( what do we think about the different scenes of her hanging out with the boys? of her realizing she might actually want to stay with them? i'd love to hear your thoughts!!

(it seems like some of you are a little upset that the mc isn't fighting back more, but please keep in mind that this story was never supposed to be this long and y'all voted for smut, so girlie needs to at least like them before that happens lol)

see you again in two weeks for the next update on november 10th!

[sakufilms]

snowflakes falling gently ; hyj

m.list le sserafim m.list

summary. while taking a walk in the park, you run into someone—literally.

pairing. huh yunjin x gn!reader

genre. fluff, meet-cute, romantic.

word count. 0.8k words

warnings. non-idol au, a little cliché, one use of y/n, takes place in new york, yunjin introduces herself as jennifer since this takes place in ny/they’re speaking english.

✐ wanted to write a cute winter fic before the season ended <3 anyway, no longer going to be doing coloured text on my fics (unless it’s one in the drafts) because my computer is so slow i can’t get the website up </3

Your boots made a low clicking sound every time they hit the salted, snow free pavement of the sidewalk. There were still a few fallen leaves on the grass surrounding you that hadn’t blown away during autumn, and became blanketed under the now melting snow.

You appreciated the near silence you were given. Apart from the distant cars, and the few chattering voices, this area of the park was rather silent. It was different from what you were used to, and you enjoyed it.

You had the thought in the back of your mind that this would’ve been even better if you had a warm coffee with you, but it was too late for that now. You decided you’d get one on the way back to your apartment.

As you walked, you tried to get two steps in every square of the sidewalk. You wondered if this made you look strange to others—taking unusually large steps. You chose to ignore it. It was New York, anyway. Who cares.

A woman with a small dog passed by you, and she ignored you, but the dog had a look in its eyes like it wanted to run up to you. If given the okay, you would’ve ran right up to it—it was so cute.

You adjusted your two steps per square into three steps, looking up as you realized it was beginning to snow.

You tended to get in your own head often, losing sight of what’s around you. You were eyeing a snowflake that was headed right for you, and next thing you knew you were running into someone, who gasped in shock and tumbled back a few steps.

You looked down, your cheeks burning in embarrassment. There was no way that just happened.

You tried to rush out an apology, but you laid your eyes on the most beautiful girl you think you had ever seen. Her hair was dyed a deep, cherry red, similar to the colour staining her cheeks—which you guessed were red from the biting cold. And her eyes, a gorgeous honey brown, were wide with shock.

You weren’t really one to get speechless at the sight of someone beautiful, but in this moment, you found that you were.

She spoke first, saving you both from what could’ve been a terribly awkward silence.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?” She sounded just as embarrassed as you felt, but her voice was still soft and sweet and made you feel giddy inside. What was wrong with you?

“I— oh, I’m fine. I wasn’t looking where I was going either.” You laugh, a little embarrassed and you scratch the back of your neck. You find that you can hardly keep eye contact with her. Repeatedly looking from her to the ground. You probably looked ridiculous.

As your head is down, you hear her laugh, and when you look up, her nose is scrunched up and it’s adorable. She doesn’t say why she laughed, and her cheeks are still red. You begin to wonder if it’s from the cold or embarrassment.

Before you could let the silence go on for too long, you said, “I’m Y/n.” You half-wondered if she had planned on leaving and you had just made her stay longer by introducing yourself. Usually when people run into each other, they don’t start a whole conversation—they just go about their days.

“I’m Jennifer.” She smiled. Her lips were stained a soft red colour, complimenting her hair and red tights.

You pursed your lips together when you realized you had nothing else to say—you weren’t very good at small talk. You said what came to your mind first. “The weather isn’t to bad today, is it? I mean, for winter anyway. It’s starting to warm up, just a bit.” You blinked away the snowflakes that had fallen onto your eyelashes.

“Yeah, it’s not bad. A walk felt like a nice way to spend the morning.” Jennifer looked down at the snow glittering over the grass, then back up to you. “I was… just on my way to grab a coffee. You could come with me, if you want? I mean, if you weren’t busy.” She sounded nervous, choosing her words carefully.

You felt your heart warm, and you hoped you didn’t look too excited on the outside. “Sure, I was actually going to as well.” You couldn’t help the smile that was on your face.

At this, she smiled to. Her smile was as beautiful as the sun’s rays peeking through the clouds in the evening. “Great, there’s a new place I actually wanted to try, if that’s all right?” She began to walk, and you started to walk with her. You just nodded, and she began talking again. The way she spoke, so carefree and light, with the wind pulling her hair back, it all made you feel entranced. Was it too soon for you to feel this way? Was it possible that love at first sight was as real as books said it was?

It wasn’t long before you reached the café. Inside it smelled like pastries and freshly made coffee. You both quickly got your order and sat down.

As you looked out the window momentarily, you wondered if by the time flowers were blooming, your relationship would begin to bloom as well.

@ sakufilms

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

{ This is my little gift for you all! I had to do something! So i wipped this up toot sweet!!! I hope you all have a good Holiday Season!!!! }

🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

Eddie's not sure why he lied. Told the party, Hopper and Joyce, and Steve, that he couldn't stay for Christmas. He'd gotten everyone gifts. Brought them all to the house. Steve had rushed out the door when Eddie was struggling to grab them all, like he'd been watching out the window for Eddie to arrive or something.

Steve's warm smile and laugh as he steadied Eddie on the sidewalk, and unloaded several boxes into his own arms, had made Eddie's stomach all swishy. But he'd walked through the door, into the, very loud, house. He'd seen everyone. All of them shouting hello's and asking for presents and telling him where to put things and what they were eating and what time.

Eddie's chest felt tight. He didn't know why. He hadn't even smiled at any of them, except maybe Steve, he couldn't remember. But he'd set the gifts down, cleared his throat and the words had tumbled out of his mouth.

"Sadly gremlins. I cannot stay. Wayne just got home from his shift at work. They finally let them have a Christmas off. And I promised we'd do a nice quiet Christmas, just the two of us." And he unceremoniously ran for the door, the disappointed sounds of the house full of his friends following him as he ran, his heart pounding. He thought he might have heard Steve tell him to wait, but he couldn't. He ducked out the door, nearly slipped on the ice on the stairs and booked it down the sidewalk before scrambling into his van.

Steve was standing on the pourch when he chanced a glance that way as he was backing out, his arms wrapped around himself to fend off the cold. He raised his hand, waving at Eddie as he drove away.

He could feel the tears coming before he managed to get back to the trailer park. His vision swimming. He wiped at his face and slowed down a bit. It had started snowing again, big fluffy flakes falling down. He pulled up to the trailer, it's windows dark, the way he'd left it after Wayne had gone to work, and he'd headed out to Hopper and Joyce's house.

He slammed the van door and stood standing in the falling snow, looking at the empty trailer, tears falling down his cheeks.

"You're so fucking stupid." He hissed at himself, turned, kicked his tire several times and yelled before stomping up the steps and ducking inside.

He kicks his shoes off, yanks his clothes off, struggles into his pajama pants and his ratty comfy old Dio shirt and crawls into bed. He hadn't turned on one light in the trailer. Preferred to do his self loathing in the dark.

He doesn't know how long he lays there, crying into his pillow, listening to the wind and the light patter of chunky snowflakes hitting his window. But he barely hears the knock. He sniffles, lifts his head, waits.

Two knocks. Gentle but insistent.

His chest tightens but he tosses his blanket off and pads slowly to the door. His hand reaching out as two more knocks hit the door. He bites his lip and turns the small lock, pulls the door open to find exactly who he knew he'd find.

"Steve." His name. That's all he can manage right now. He's so tired.

"Hey." Steve responds, looking up at Eddie from the second step of his porch. There are snowflakes in his hair and his eyes are bright as he looks at Eddie, he's got a look on his face Eddie can't decipher right now.

"Are you okay?" Steve ask, blurts really, his hands shoving into his pockets, shoulders bunching around his neck. And oh. Nervous. Steve is nervous.

"I'm fine Steve. Just-" he sighs, deeply, covers his face with his hands and groans.

"You don't seem fine. And- and Wayne's clearly not here. And you just ran, man. What- what's wrong?" Steve had stepped up the last step, moved toward Eddie. Eddie missed his hands reaching out and dropping back down. But he didn't miss Steve pressing into his space. He could feel the warmth of Steve's chest against his arm, tears welling in his eyes again.

"I don't know." He whispers into his hands, before dropping them and looking at Steve, finally, his face wet.

"Hey. It's okay. Let's- can we go inside, you're gonna freeze." Steve's hands land on his shoulders, in comfort, and question, and guide him inside when Eddie nods.

Steve kicks his wet shoes off and grabs the blanket from the back of the couch. He wraps it around Eddie and then sits them both on the couch, their knees gently pressed together. His hands soothing over Eddie's arms. The comfort just makes Eddie feel like crying more. He shivers, fights the urge to  push Steve's hands away.

"Tell me what's going on in your head Ed's." Steve says, his voice quiet and soft.

"It was just... too much." Eddie shrugs, doesn't look up at Steve, just stares into his lap. He hears Steve sigh.

"I get that. Everyone in one place is definitely a lot." Steve moves his hands down, curls his fingers over Eddie's hands.

"I've never had that." Eddie admits, looks up at Steve then, finds his eyes wide and open and waiting.

"It was always me and my mom. Or me and Wayne. Sometimes my dad but he always disappeared at some point and no one really missed him." Eddie shrugged. Steve nodded, squeezed his hands.

"I don't know why I lied I'm sorry." Eddie's throat feels tight again, his voice tilting into a whine.

"Hey it's okay. You don't have to be sorry. It's okay. Come here." Steve grabs Eddie, pulls him agaisnt his chest. It's awkard, the angle, but it feels safe. Steve always makes him feel safe. Eddie takes a few deep breaths, breathing in Steve, his face smooshed against his deep red sweater.

"Did everyone like their gifts?" Eddie asks, he feels Steve laugh and then he's leaning back, letting Eddie sit up to look at him.

"What makes you think they opened them?" Steve gives him a look. Eddie gives him one right back that makes him laugh again.

"Yeah they loved them. Mike tried to touch Erica's without asking and she smacked him. She's gonna be busy painting those for awhile." He smiled at the memory.

"Oh. And you made Nancy cry. She didn't even know you knew Barb. Where'd you even get that picture?" Steve asked, smiling. Eddie sighed.

"I didn't know her super well. She was in my theater class two years in a row though. We did a skit together. A Shakespeare thing. Our teacher said her calm manner was the only one in class that could offset my manic energy." Eddie laughed, remembering how Barb had smiled at him when their teacher had said that.

"She was always nice to me. Even when people called me a devil worshiper. She never cared, or believed that, I don't think." Eddie shook his head.

"Anyway, one of the girls in stagecrew took the picture, it was during rehearsals. We were just goofin off." He shrugged again. Steve reached out, took his hand.

"She loved it Ed's. It was perfect. You uh, you're quite the gift giver." Steve says, a small smile creeping over his features.

"I like giving gifts." Eddie says, keeps his eyes on their hands as Steve's thumb moves over his skin, gentle and warm.

"Did you-" Eddie clears his throat.

"Did you open yours?" He asks, his teeth digging into his lip. Steve mirrors him, and then drops his head, looks up at Eddie through his bangs.

"Yeah. How long did it take you to make it?" He asks, his fingers twitching agaisnt Eddie's.

"Not as long as you'd think probably. Finding the right patches took the longest." He shrugged again, aiming for nonchalance.

"Mhm. And you left room for more. You'll have to sew them on for me if I find some. I don't know how to do that." Steve ducks his head again, trying to get Eddie to look at him.

"I could teach you how. It's not hard really, once you figure it out." Eddie looks up then, giving Steve a reassuring smile.

"Mhm. That could be nice." He squeezes Eddie's hand again and guilt shoots through Eddie. He scrunches his face as Steve looks at him.

"What? What's that face for?" Steve laughs.

"I finished your vest months ago." He blurts, his hands starting to shake in Steve's grasp.

"Oh." Is all Steve says, because he doesn't get it. He doesn't understand why that's a problem. Or a secret. Or whatever it is. But now that Eddie's said it, he can't not tell him why. Can't stop his mouth from telling Steve the things he's shouldn't tell him.

"I was afraid to give it to you." He says, Steve tilts his head to the side, looking like a fucking lost puppy with those fucking eyes of his.

"Why?" He finally asks when Eddie just stares at him.

"Because. I knew if you saw it. You'd know." Eddie says, his shoulders drooping.

"Know what?" Steve asks, Eddie's feels his hands clench, just barely. Eddie sighs, takes a deep breath, lets it out again.

"How I feel about you." Eddie says, in a sort of rush, and then his mouth really gets going.

"So ya know I figured, Christmas. That would solve it. I could give it to you at Christmas, when everyone gives gifts, that's a normal, friendly thing, to do. And I figured ya know, in a crowd, that it would be less... intimate? And maybe it wouldn't feel, so much... like what it so fucking clearly is. But I ruined that too. Cuz I fucking ran. And I didn't even get to see you open it." His hands flail out of Steve's grasp, and he stands, starts pacing.

"And maybe that's for the best. That I didn't see it. That might have made it worse. Seeing your gut reaction, not a reaction after the fact, that you had time to rehearse. Cuz if you actually hated it. And I saw that. God that would have been embarrassing. Here's me just fucking, declaring my love for you on a fucking peice of painstakingly perfected fabric and then there you would have been, opening it in front of everyone! Oh my god why did I think this was a good idea? This was so stupid. I'm a fucking idiot what the fuck was I- whoa what are you-" Eddie's words die in the air as Steve grabs him and yanks him to his chest, his fingers curled into Eddie's shirt, their chests pressed together firmly.

"Stop. Talking." Steve says, his mouth a crooked line as he smirks at Eddie.

"What?" Eddie asks, brows furrowed. Steve closes his eyes, shakes his head.

"You're ridiculous." He huffs, opens his eyes.

"I didn't hate it. Eddie. I'd never hate anything you made for me. But especially not that. I loved it." He breathes, leaning closer, just a fraction, Eddie can feel his breath ghosting over his skin. Steve's face hardens from the fond look into something more serious. He licks his lips. Takes a breath.

"I love you." He says, his hands uncurling and pressing flat against Eddie's chest, surly he can feel Eddie's heart pounding. Eddie nods.

"I love you too. Like a lot. Like it hurts sometimes how much. Does that make sense?" His face scrunches, Steve presses closer, slowly closing the small distance between.

"It makes perfect sense to me." He whispers agaisnt Eddie's lips, and kisses him. He hums into Eddie's mouth when Eddie gasps and scrambles for purchase on Steve's back.

Steve pulls back and brushes his nose against Eddie's. Resting his forehead against his as they breathe in each others air.

"Come back to the party. You can stay in your jammies." Steve whispers between then, giving Eddie's hips a squeeze. He squirms, further into Steve's grip.

"My jim jams." Eddie whispers, almost laughing.

"Mhm. Wanna spend Christmas with you. Was kinda really looking forward to it." Steve is still whispering. Eddie pulls back, shocked, for some reason.

"Really?" He asks. Steve bites his lip and nods.

"Yeah. Of course. Plus," he dips forward, presses a chaste kiss to Eddie's lips, because he can now.

"You've got gifts to open Mister." Steve smiles at him, tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear.

"Aww really. Gifts for lil ol me?" Eddie teases, but he feels his chest grow warm.

"Yeah. And if the party gets too much just tell me, and me and Rob and Nance will yell at everyone to shut the hell up." Steve shrugs, kisses Eddie's cheek.

"Yeah. Yeah okay. I'll get my coat." Eddie nods, untangling himself from Steve. Steve lets him go, but smacks Eddie's ass as he's walking away. Eddie yelps, jumps, and rubs at his butt as he walks down the hall.

Steve drives them back, carefully in the still falling snow. Eddie's sure Hawkins has never been so beautiful as it is right now. Eddie sitting in Steve's car, quiet Christmas music playing through the speakers as Steve takes them back to a house full of people who love him, and missed him, and want him there. Eddie watches the snow fall, tightens his fingers where they're laced with Steve's, and decides maybe Christmas isn't so bad after all.

[galaxysgal]

Reader sneaking into Lips window in the middle of the night because she misses him and can’t fall asleep without him 😭

awww i love this

lip wakes up when he hears the creaking of the window. you tumble in with a quiet ‘oof’ that wakes carl. he scowls and shoves where you’ve landed at the foot of his bed. ‘get offa me’ is followed by a little ‘hmph!’ as you hit the wood floorboards. carl snickers while ian rolls over with a groan, and lip calls down to you ‘baby, c’mon. up here.’

you crawl into bed at his side, mumbling ‘couldn’ sleep’ as you snuggle your face into his shoulder. he chuckles softly, kissing the crown of your head with warm lips. the snowflakes that cling to your lashes melt in the warmth of his arms, while he pulls the blanket over you both. ‘that’s alright. i like when you sleep over.’

[redwinterroses]

There’s a cherry tree in the middle of the redwood forest.

False isn’t sure what to make of that. She shifts her grip on the staff in her hand, its pale glow reflecting faintly off the fresh snow. She’s come out here for resources—the vault altar is demanding logs, and these giant trees are an easy source—but the incongruous sight of an enormous, blossoming cherry tree sending pink petals wafting on the frozen wind…

She wonders if this is what fish feel like, when they see a lure.

“Hello?” she calls, her voice echoing off the trees. The world stands in permanent semi-twilight here, and the deeper shadows hide the mobs that will venture out come nightfall. A sneak of creepers is bedded down in a sweetberry bramble just on the other side of the clearing, and False tenses when the lead boar lifts his head, but he apparently doesn’t deem her worth stalking so early in the day. 

There is no other reaction to her call.

False is of half a mind just to head back home and farm her own dang trees. It’s not like the vaultar is picky about the kinds of logs—she could just as easily grow up a bunch of birch and throw those in there. But that will take so much longer… not to mention she’s not sure if there are even enough saplings in her storage.

She unhooks her enchantment-glittered axe from her belt and pauses to mentally poke at her mana reserves. Plenty high. Whatever’s lingering near this tree, it can hardly be worse than what she deals with on the daily in the vaults. Overworld dangers are barely a challenge anymore.

The logic of that doesn’t change the uneasy feeling that buzzes over her skin though. 

Venturing further into the clearing. False’s gaze traces up the trunk of the cherry tree, following its branches to where they terminate in lush bursts of pink and white blooms. A sweet smell drifts on the wind. She wrinkles her nose, reminded of compost piles and fermented spiders’ eyes. 

The tree’s branches stretch long and low—a canopy of their own, heavy with flowers and dark, glossy leaves. The space underneath is filled with falling flowers and a fog of pollen, the air moisture-thick like a lush cave.

Lifting one hand, False catches a falling petal on her fingertip.

It sizzles as it touches her skin, stinging and buzzing like live redstone.

She hisses through her teeth, shaking her hand and letting the petal fall to the forest floor. “What the heck?”

Another petal tumbles past her face, and she watches it with narrowed eyes—right until it fizzles out of existence a few pixels above the forest floor.

“Glitch,” she mutters. “That’s… not good.”

Iskall needs to know about this—it could be a bug from one of the new updates, or it could be something deeper in the code, but either way: this glitched tree is a problem. She’s probably lucky it just stung her.

She reaches for her communicator, raising it to take a pic of the cherry tree.

“Oh, hi there, False!”

False yelps, spinning around with her axe ready to swing.

Gem is standing behind her, a wreath of cherry blossoms tangled in her hair and antlers, leaning casually on a tall staff of blooming cherry wood. Her smile is wide, and sap flows over her fingers, pale golden, dripping down her arms to leave dark spots on the faded denim of her overalls.

“Gem!” False lowers her axe. “Oh my gosh, you scared me. I didn’t know you were doing Vault Hunters.”

“Hm?” Gem raises one eyebrow, and for a moment her eyes flicker to red and then purple before settling back on green. “Oh—I’m not doing Vault Hunters, False.” Her voice is amused, almost chiding.

“Oh.” False feels unexpectedly small—which is impressive, considering she’s nearly half a block taller than Gem. 

More of the glitched petals fall, resting on Gem’s hair and slowly melting into it like snowflakes. The brief moment of relief when False had seen Gem’s familiar grin is fading into something like the sensation of freefall. 

“What’cha up to?” Gem asks, and her face blinks from one expression to the next like a bad video message. Her clothes are blue—no, green—no, bloodstained and grey—no, blue. They’ve always been blue.

False takes a step back.

“Uh, not much…” she glances up at the redwoods. “Just doing some… resource gathering. You know.”

“Cool!” Gem giggles, and stands up straight. False tenses, but Gem only spins around her staff and waves a hand at the glitched tree. “I didn’t realize this was an occupied server—are there many people here?”

There’s a buzzing in False’s skull, and she blinks rapidly. A muscle twitches under her eye. 

“Um…”

“I guess it doesn’t really matter.” Gem lifts one hand and grabs one of the lowest branches of the cherry tree. She really should not have been able to reach that.

Swinging herself up with the lithe, effortless strength of a cat, she perches on the limb and stares down at False. The grin is gone from her face now, and she looks down at False with bright eyes.

“Etho’s not here, is he?”

False opens her mouth to answer, the words yes, of course he is, I can take you to him heavy on her lips… And with effort, she swallows them back. 

They taste of sweet rot.

“Why... why doesn’t what matter?” she asks instead.

Gem stares at her for a long moment, expressionless. The flowers woven through her antlers are growing of their own accord, twining up to caress their brethren in the branches overhead. 

Then she smiles broadly, flashing teeth that nearly glow white in the dappled shadows. “Oh!” she exclaims. “No reason! I’m only passing through, is all.”

“You’re not… you’re not sticking around?” False tries—and mostly fails—to sound disappointed.

“Naaaaah…” Gem stands and walks along the branch, as secure and balanced as if it were a stone floor. The flowers in her hair flow along behind her, sliding from the branches and falling like a cape down her back. “Worldhopping is easy. Staying in one spot is way harder.” 

False watches the flowers move and swirl, their smooth, strange motion ensnaring her attention. The buzzing is back, too. Like bees, drunk on honey and sleepy in their hive.

“World hopping…?” she manages. “With admin commands?”

Gem’s laugh is as brilliant as a knife and as sharp as a spark. “False!” she crows. “You say the funniest things.”

False laughs. It seems appropriate. She isn’t sure why.

“Anyway,” Gem continues, fading into one patch of blossoms and reappearing on the other side of it. Her eyes are sprays of cherry flowers now. Her antlers are branches. “Anyway, cherry trees are all the same. They make it easy to get around.”

“That…” doesn’t make sense, False wants to say. But her lips are heavy, and coated in sticky sap. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.

“Oops! Behind you, False!” 

Gem’s chirped warning is flaked in glee, and False turns around, as slow as if her feet are buried in soul sand.

The creepers she had seen—the entire sneak—are standing behind her, pink flowers blooming from their eyes. 

“Oh no.”

The boar’s blinded head snaps toward her voice, hissing. He starts to aggro, bioluminescent streaks flashing from his snout to flanks in increasingly-swift pulses of light.

“See ya in season ten, False!” Gem cries out cheerfully.

The axe drops from False’s nerveless fingers, trailing strings of sap. She smells the inescapable stench of burning gunpowder, overlaid with rot.

“...Dangit.”

[FalseSymmetry was blown up by a creeper]

~*~

Jerking upright in her own bed, False swipes wildly at her face, trying to smear away tree sap that isn’t there. 

“What the heck, Gem?” she exclaims at her empty base. Her voice falls flat, swallowed up by the sky that surrounds her builds. The clock above her head ticks impatiently, and she huffs in frustration, pushing up out of her bed. All her tools, gone—her levels, gone... and after all that she still needs those logs for the vault. 

Grumbling, she starts pulling backup gear from various chests, trying to cobble together something that can get her back to the redwood grove before her items despawn—assuming they hadn’t all been obliterated by a second or third creeper explosion. She glances at the vaulter, and freezes.

It’s been completed. The crystal floats gently atop the stone pedestal, gleaming with an inner light. 

And, tumbled at the base of the vaulter—abandoned, more than was needed to fill the crystal’s requirements:

Half a stack of cherry logs.

[desceros]

tries to sleep, fails, gets melancholy, copes by writing purple turtle fic donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated t, 1.6k. insomnia, friends to.... friends, (were you ever just friends? are you something more? what is love if not friendship shifted an inch to the left?), yearning, yearning, yearning, yearning—

Donatello is sleeping.

Hefting a fatigued sigh, you hover in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment. Staring at his face, taking it in. He’s gotten unfairly handsome as the years have gone by. Beautiful, even. Pretty angles, sharp defined lines, dark seductive eyes. Like this, unmasked, slack in sleep, it’s free for you to look as much as you want. More than you can during the day. A little secret thing just for your own heart’s keeping.

…Best friends shouldn’t want to stare at each other like this, you think with an ache.

It’s late. You can’t sleep. Lying down has provided nothing but racing thoughts you can’t quiet. Things to do tomorrow. Things to say when you see someone. Things to write down if you can hold them until the morning. Things, things, things. So many things in your head, ten thousand little voices like little snowflakes in your skull. Each small, powerless; but together, a force too mighty to outrun.

And Donnie is sleeping. Normally he’s awake. Fiddling, poking, prodding, studying, twisting, cracking, bending. Available to draw you into sleep. Always soothing, petting your hair, cooing at you until you drift off at last to the dulcet sounds of his low rumbles.

But not tonight. Tonight he sleeps, pretty in his sheets even as he’s all sprawled out and drooling. Cute. He’s cute. He’s cute and close enough to touch but so, so far away that you know you never will. Not like that. Not like that. 

It’s late. You can’t sleep. 

Slowly, not wanting to wake him, infuriated with yourself just at the thought that you’d risked it by lingering as long as you have, you peel away from his door frame and sneak into the living room. The couch greets you again. Inviting, soft. It smells like turtle ass. Popcorn. Movie night. It smells like family, like home. Scratchy beneath your cheek. You’ve been meaning to get them some new pillows. The way Mikey had laughed so hard he’d snorted his drink. Leo’s squawk when it got all over him. The weight of Donnie’s arm on your shoulder when he’d leaned on you while laughing until he got the hiccups. His cologne, new, smells nice. You should tell him tomorrow.

(You can’t tell him. There’s no way for a best friend to look at the other with pupils shaped like hearts and be the same. You can’t tell him.)

Heavily, you sigh. It’s late. You can’t sleep.

You sit up. Get up off the couch. Stretch a little before exhaling and walking around a bit to try and work off some of this excess energy. The darkness of the living room isn’t so much, anymore, what with how your eyes have adjusted. You can see the pieces of the evening strewn about. A pizza box that Splinter’s going to find in the morning and yell at the lot of you for not throwing out. Raph’s teddy bear, leaning against the other couch where he’d been pretending he hadn’t been using it to hide his face in the scary parts. Mikey’s cup, half-full, forgotten in Leo’s panic to find paper towels. And—

—Donnie, standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed, arms folded. 

“Why are you awake?” he asks, voice tumbling over your ears like rocks on a riverbed. Guilt strikes you like a blow. He’s exhausted. You’ve woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say as an answer, tangling your fingers in the shirt you’d borrowed out of his closet. The shirt you always borrow. The shirt that’s half yours, now. 

Donnie’s quiet. You sink your teeth into your lower lip and hope he’ll shrug and go back to bed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s got enough sleep juice in him that he’ll drift right back off and forget this happened. 

He doesn’t. “…Can’t sleep?”

The guilt burns your skin like sand in the wind. You smile and pretend. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed, Don. You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t. 

“…Please?” you try again. 

You’re met, instead, with a sigh. He rubs the back of his head where his mask would tie if he were wearing it. Lets his arm fall to his side—ah, except no. He’s holding out his hand, palm outstretched, inviting you to come close. When you don’t, his beak wrinkles. “Come here.” 

You take a few steps closer, but don’t take his hand just yet. “What are you doing?”

“Just come here,” he says again, curling his fingers a few times in an imperious grabby command. You come closer. He opens his tired eyes in a squint, mouth dipped into a frown, and his gesture gets more demanding. “Come here.” 

Stepping closer, closer, closer, finally you get within range. You realize he wants your hand the moment he loses patience with you, watching as he rolls his eyes and reaches out to encircle your wrist with strong fingers. They eclipse the bones there easily, tugging as he turns, pulling you out of the living room. 

“Don—” you start to protest, but he stops you with a breath.

“Stubborn,” he accuses, though there’s no heat to the word. The scoff is thick on the back of your tongue—Donnie of all people calling you stubborn—but you don’t let it out, knowing it’ll be too-loud in the pitch night. 

He pulls you into his room, the very room that had been such a sweet siren song to you earlier. He pulls you towards his bed. He pulls you in behind him when he settles in. He pulls you beneath his blanket. He pulls, pulls, pulls, until your chest is flush to his plastron and his arm is around your waist and his breath is in your face and your heart is in your throat.

It’s late. You’re not going to be able to sleep.

“…Go to sleep,” he says after a few seconds, doubtless able to feel the way your pulse is like a hummingbird against his skin. 

“Sorry,” you say in lieu of—anything else. You don’t dare try to say another word, unsure of what exactly would tumble out instead. Perhaps a sweet poem about the texture of his skin against yours. Maybe a lament that he feels the need to tuck his thigh between yours so so so close to where you wake in a pool of sweat dreaming of his touch. Or possibly a whispered confession that tastes like lightning and blood and sugar all at the same time; that you want this but not this, you want this but more. 

Gently, a forehead bonks against yours. Dark eyes open and meet yours, centimeters away. He studies you, and you watch the gears turn. More slowly than usual, lethargic even, because of his slumber. 

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. Dumbly, you nod. “Need to talk about it?”

“…Yeah,” you admit, then, “…but I won’t.”

He doesn’t like that. A frown mars his beautiful, beautiful face. 

“Why?”

You swallow the incredulous laugh, the kaleidoscope of responses. They’re all irrelevant, impossible to share, save for one. “You should sleep.”

Donnie’s hand tightens, fingers curling in his—your—shirt in the small of your back. “So should you.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“…I don’t understand.” The confession, rare, makes you sigh. 

“…I don’t either,” you tell him. And you don’t. Why did you have to feel this way for him? Why couldn’t it be someone easier that stole your heart? Why does it have to be the one person you can’t stand to lose? Why does he have to be so comfortable touching you like this and making it hurt even worse? Why can’t you stop feeling this way?

Why can’t you sleep? Why can’t you sleep? 

His fingers unfurl from your shirt. His hand dips beneath the hem, finding the skin of your back. Slow shivers spread like little earthquakes as he strokes along your spine, tectonic caresses that ripple and destroy. It's familiar enough a touch that you don't stop him; unfamiliar enough that it rends you inside out.

Donnie leans in. Ghosts his lips along your jaw. It’s not a kiss; you’re just friends, after all. But it’s a sweet caress that feels good, all the way to where he lingers at your ear, whispering there, quivering at the touch that's too close to something else to be fair. “Close your eyes.”

You have one rule: listen to Donatello. So you do; you close your eyes, let his nails drag down your back, let his mouth press warm into your pulse, let his chest rumble with churrs that fill the night air with something akin to a lullaby. His legs curl around yours, mixing, confusing, making the separation of you disappear. 

It’s… maddening. You hate this. You love him. You love him so much. You hate that he can do this so easily. 

“Shhh,” comes the gentle coo against your skin, like he can tell you’re pulling away from his intent. You obey that, too. Donnie says to be quiet, so you quiet. Thoughts, movements, words; all of them fall away at his beckoning. “Just like that. Good.”

Good, you think, feeling a little fuzzy. It feels good to be good for him. God. You’d be so good for him—but no. None of that, now. Not when you can pretend that these little presses of his lips are kisses. That the thickness of his thigh pressed to your shorts means something. That his hand scratching lines in your skin is something meant to claim as much as it is to calm.

“Making me work for it tonight,” you hear him mumble, half-conscious of the words, not sure if they’re real or part of a dream he’s built for you. “Good job, sweetheart. Just like that.” 

More brushes of his mouth. A slow glide of tongue. A lovely dream, you think, finally letting your muscles go slack. A dream of a Donatello who would hold you like this, talk to you like this. A Donatello who is more than just your best friend.

It’s late. Finally, warm and held and pulled into a sweet dream, finally, you sleep.

[vampyrsm]

‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER NINETEEN | TOYOUKE

‣‣ Synopsis: Beneath the watchful eye of the moon, the executioner of the Shogun is bathed and washed of her transgressions, her sins nothing but faint memories as she loses herself in the sensation that is love.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 7.6k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, female reader, cannibalism, blood and gore, smut, no prep, creampie.

You awake to cold kisses from the snowflakes above. They flutter down from the sky as if to greet you, to welcome you home. They settle against the blood that had since dried and cracked on your battle-worn skin, melting into you as if they could solely wash away all that had transgressed in such a short amount of time.

Sukuna holds you in his arms, his own body now cloaked in a thick haori that shields him from the wind and snow. All four of his arms cradle you, tucking you beneath the fabric as well as into the warmth of his chest. You can feel each measured breath against the side of your face with each step he takes up the mountain. 

That’s when you realise you recognise the mountaintops, and you recognise the leaf-stark trees that cut sharp lines through the slow-rising morning. 

Home. You made it back home.

Cold fingers belonging to delicate snowflakes brush your eyelids closed once again, the gentle jostling of each step is enough to soothe you back into a dreamless sleep. 

It isn’t until sometime later, or perhaps it’s only moments because you hear the loud creak of the wooden grand doors opening. 

“Master Sukuna,” Uraume, another way of relief settles within you. “Welcome home.”

“Prepare our bedroom.” Sukuna talks as he continues to walk by, the deep octave of his voice rumbles against your cheek still pressed into the warm planes of his chest. It almost doesn’t feel real, to be held in his arms and carried through the temple that was now also your own—a home you could call your own, a place you felt safe in. 

Another rush of cold air has you instinctively curling further into Sukuna, and he in return tightens his arms around you as if he were strong enough to ward off the natural occurrence of wind. He continues to follow a path until you feel the warmth curling up from the hotspring you had bathed in so many times before.

“I know you’re awake.” He comments, and you look up to see him glancing down at you for a moment. A rare smile on his face, as if he’s relieved too to find you back in his arms—in his home. “We both need a wash.”

Quite the understatement. You hadn’t bathed in for far too long, the ‘baths’ they gave whilst you were imprisoned were more just a cold bucket thrown over you to see who could get you to cry or plead for mercy first. You let Sukuna unfurl you from his arms, his hands still holding you delicately by your waist as you find your feet once again in the world. 

You turn from Sukuna, and brace yourself for what was to come. His hands are genteel in the way they pull at the useless belt of the kimono and let it tumble to the floor. You don’t want to think about what he may see beneath all that dirt and grime, to see the true extent of your own mistakes. Because that is what it was, wasn’t it? Your own mistake. To run away like that, on a fool's errand.

The water bites viciously at your near-frozen toes, and that burn climbs higher and higher with each step you take into the spring. You can see the blood and dirt drift off away from you, to be pushed over the edge of the hot spring and forgotten in the surrounding foliage. You find yourself relishing in the pain, however, a reminder of all that had happened. 

With the water now lapping at the base of your throat, you turn around to assess whether or not Sukuna is disgusted by what he must see. He remains standing where you left him, unphased by the snowflakes that settle against his skin only to be instantly melted by the warmth that he radiates. Even from the water, you can see he fights an internal battle, one that he knows is fruitless.

For everyone who hurt you is dead. All except for one, that is. 

You can see the twitch of his finger, a subtle flinch in his cheek that gives away his need to chase down Sugawara and kill him. Kill him for standing idly and watching all that they did to you. It’s a war within his own mind that he’s evidently starting to lose if the way your hair stands on end at the sudden prickle of his cursed energy.

So you raise a hand from the water, still dirty from the obscenities that had occurred. Sukuna’s eyes hone in on it immediately, all four watching a single hand with the utmost attention. “Bathe with me.”

Not once does his eyes leave your hand, as if he could see the souls attached to the very hand that had been wiped away with a swipe of your blade. His hands move to remove the haori he had thrown over himself at some point, and then next go his trousers. He moves with the grace of a prowling predator, silent and deadly—even when entering the water, it’s near silent.

Your heart pounds in your chest when he approaches you. Sukuna stands close enough that you can feel his own warmth through the heat of the water, his chest moving with barely there breaths as he stares down at you along the ridge of his nose. You want to know what he’s thinking—his silence was unnerving. 

The warmth of his hand is stark against the coldness of your cheek, your skin stings against the cold wind that blows through the valley between mountains. Sukuna lets his thumb roam over the blood and dirt on your face, clearing a path to see your otherwise unblemished skin beneath. 

His eyes track the path he makes with his thumb, unearthing you from beneath all that grime and blood — to find the one he risked it all for. And as if he could finally see you again, truly, see you. His hand slides along your cheek and into the back of your matted hair, the claws of his fingers are careful not to scratch too harshly.

Sukuna then pulls you inwards, your face pressed to the centre of his chest where you can feel the rhythmic thump of his heart. An arm slips across your shoulders, securing you against him. And then his other two arms come across your back, one hand spanning the width of your bare side. He holds you hostage against his front, pressing you as closely as he can physically manage. 

A puff of hot air ruffles the hair at the crown of your head, and then you feel the press of his nose there. He takes a deep inhale in, and you know the scent of death doesn’t bother him as he squeezes you tighter. His heart thunders faster against his chest with each deep inhale he takes, his lungs crushing against you in the viper-like grip he has on you.

Sukuna holds you like you’re his own heart, his lifeline. He holds you like you had the power to wipe away his entire world with just a flick of a wrist… and perhaps you could, you realise. Sukuna holds you with the love of a deeply devoted husband, a man who knows nothing more than to serve and protect his loved one.

His nose moves from the crown of your head, replaced with the point of his chin. You can only keep your arms wrapped around his own body, tucked beneath the second set of arms. His skin is hot beneath your fingertips, slick with the steam that continues to curl around your body. You trace over the faded silvery lines of scars you’ve come to know and recognise. 

“You’re never to do that again.” He speaks in a low voice, a softened edge to it that almost goes unheard with the whistle of the wind. But you heard it, felt it in the rumble of his chest. 

You don’t dare untuck yourself from his arms, so instead you nestle yourself further into his chest. His heart was just a mere few inches away. “Never.” 

You’re unsure how long he holds you like that, close to his heart, close to where he shares a part of you with his very soul. But eventually, he untangles himself from you only to sit himself in the hot spring—and to bring you down with him. He settles you into his lap, the seat deep enough that the water laps just beneath your breasts. 

It’s an overly intimate position to be in, yet there’s no sexual intention with it. He runs his hands over your skin to soak it, to brush away the loose dirt and whatever else may be marring your skin. His eyes never leave the trail he paints for himself with the water, always watching and observing to see if he finds a new scar or wound to grow angry over. 

The cloth he procured from somewhere is gentle against your skin, he rubs harsher against the stubborn spots of dirt that had been there for some time before he soothes it over with the back of his knuckles along his fingers. It isn’t long until he’s cleaned you thoroughly enough that the air has grown lighter, the transgressions of all that had occurred to you slowly washed away. 

He doesn’t fight you when you take the cloth from his own hand, instead, he relaxes against the rocky lip of the spring and allows you to take over. His skin isn’t nearly as filthy as your own, but there are still deep patches of crimson red that stain his skin and dirt that made its way into the ridges of his muscles.

“I thought you’d never come for me.” You speak for the first time since the bathing had begun, and immediately Sukuna’s eyes meet your own. “I thought you’d realise it was a trap, and that you’d leave me to die instead.”

His jaw works for a second, and you wonder if perhaps you had offended him. He remains silent as you run the cloth over his neck, wiping away the blood that had dripped there from his many meals on the battlefield. There’s not a single scratch on him, you realise, his skin is unmarked and yet he had torn through so many with his bare hands. He truly was something to behold.

“It did occur to me that it was a trap.” He admits, his words are rich with a soft tone. “But I realised that I didn’t care. I’d do anything if it meant you came back to me.”

“Anything?” You ask, wiping the cloth down one of his arms he lifts just enough for you to clean thoroughly. 

“Anything.” He tucks a finger under your chin to meet your gaze. “If it meant I had to traverse a hundred—a thousand years for you. I’d do it.”

He lets your chin go at the sight of the smile on your lips, his own lips curled in a smile only reserved for you. You clean his hands, careful with the length of his claws and when you’re done — you lay a kiss on the centre of his palm. A gentle gesture that has Sukuna squeezing at your side with one of the hands he had beneath the water wrapped around you. 

“And I would do the same for you.” 

“I thought we just agreed that you’d never do something so reckless again.” He grumbles, all four eyes narrowed at you when you laugh in kind. 

“Well, actually. We agreed that I’d never leave—” “That by default is something reckless. Don’t twist my words back on me, woman.” His fingers pinch unforgivingly at your thigh. “Leave the traversing to me.”

“And what am I to do? Be your pretty helpless wife?” You question with a raised eyebrow, the corner of your lips settled into an easy smirk. Sukuna grins at your words, his hands moving along your body carefully. One arm lines up along your spine, and another comes up to cup the curve of the back of your head.

“Pretty, yes. Helpless? Never. I’d never ask of you to be useless, I have no need for useless things.” His other hands are warm against your sides, long claws dragging possessively over what he deems as his. “No, you’re to be at my side, to rule with me.”

“I like the sound of that.” Your eyes bounce between his own, and Sukuna practically preens under your attention. His muscles flex on their own volition, and he seats you deeper into his lap—you can feel the twitch between your own thighs, and neither of you comment on it. Not yet.

“I’m sure you do. I see the difference in you, you’re no longer an honour-bound Samurai. You’re something more. Lethal without her rules and binds.” The hand at the back of your head made its way through your hair as best it could with the state it was in, his claws careful to not scrape or drag. “That’s what makes you worthy of being at my side, for eternity.”

“For eternity.” You breathe, the words brushing against his own lips. You hadn’t realised him to be so close, but then he pulled back when you sought his lips for a kiss. 

“Relax for me.”

You hadn’t even realised your muscles were drawn so tightly, the ache in your back and thighs enough to tell you that you had indeed been tensed up for the entirety of your time in the water—memories that were working hard to be buried beneath the fog that lulled over your brain surface momentarily. 

You see the flashing faces of your uncle and your tormentors, you can still taste the cotton rag against your lips and the burn that came with being forced to choke on the water without being submerged. It has your fingers curling tightly around his biceps, and Sukuna doesn’t flinch when his eyes drift momentarily to see that you had in fact embedded claws into his skin. 

“Still your mind, you’re safe.” Sukuna coaxes you back to him, eyes of shimmering red a homing beacon for your own. His hands are gentle against your body, holding you firmly yet gently—preciously. “Breathe.”

It’s uncharacteristic the way Sukuna somehow manages to calm the raging tempest within you, how his words are gentler than most and his eyes hold a sense of worry that could only belong to that of a lover, no, more than that. Sukuna had always been more than that for you, you just hadn’t realised it until you were forced away from him.

So you breathe, you still your mind and relax carefully into his hold. It makes Sukuna relax along with you, his arms carefully relaxing their muscles when you retract your fingers from his arms. You find yourself watching him, how his expression morphs into something he must be unaware of. Because he’s looking at you like you were the one to hang the stars each night, the one who whispered in the ear of the sun to rise every morning. He’s looking at you like he’d die for you.

But you’re unable to further that thought when he leans you further backwards into the water, shifting you to sit deeper in his lap to ensure you don’t slip away. The hands on your body hold you steadfast, the water laps over your body but never submerges you. It laps just at your ears, and you try to stop the flinch of your thighs; the need to run bubbling up.

Your mind empties however when that hand at the back of your skull starts to card through your hair, as carefully as one can with long claws and fingers that were made to destroy. He works his way through the knots, through the matts that had formed from dirt and blood—he’s unperturbed when it builds against his fingers before he has to wash it away. 

His fingers explore the expanse of your skull, feeling, checking—ensuring you weren’t injured in a way that was unseen. The gentle movements of his fingers against your scalp have your eyes fluttering to a half-lidded position, the stress of the last however many days, weeks, floating away with the grime that had clung to your skin. 

Once Sukuna finds you to be unhurt, his hand slips from your hair to hold you at the base of your neck. A hand emerges from beneath the water, the cloth balled in his hand to wring out the excess water before he runs it delicately over your face. You feel the blood that had gathered on your lips, your chin, and your cheeks wash away with each swipe of the cloth, unmasking you from the person you had become in such a short amount of time.

A wipe of the cloth over each of your eyebrows, along the bridge of your nose. It’s such a wonder to behold; to watch Sukuna working meticulously. Something you doubt he’d do for anyone else. He brings the cloth back down along your cheek, lingering at your jaw. You watch through lidded eyes when his own naturally drift to observe your lips, wet from both the steam and the cloth he worked over your skin. 

His jaw flexes beneath the tips of your fingers when you bring it up from beneath the water, you trace along the dark line of his tattoo slowly to watch him lean into your touch. He closes the gap between you before you can blink, his breath catching against your wet skin, and you drag your hand up through his hair—strands of pink that seem longer when dripping in water.

Sukuna slants his lips over your own, unwilling to waste any more time in staring. His kiss is unyielding and all-consuming, as is everything that comes hand-in-hand with Sukuna. He kisses you like he’s still angry, not at you, but at the world—as if he has no other way to convey just how he felt in the time spent apart. 

His hands work to pull you up from the water, ensuring the kiss remains unbroken. Large palms press against your sides, flexing and squeezing to mould you further into his chest and subsequently deeper into his lap. He’s hard beneath the water, pressed snug up against your own unprotected centre. 

When the kiss does break, you’re forced to tip your head back. His lips and teeth drag their way down along the expanse of your throat, pressing into the artery that throbs and thrums in anticipation. His sharpened teeth linger there for a second; contemplating, you think, whether he should just devour you to truly express his feelings for you.

But then he moves on, his lips move down along your skin—chasing droplets of water until he finds your collarbone. He laves his tongue over the flesh, drinking the mixture of diluted blood and water until his lips find that smattering of scar tissue where he had first bit you all those moons ago.

Sukuna hovers there for a moment, basking in your warmth. And then he bites.

It’s excruciating as the first time, and the times after that. The scar tissue gives way easier, re-moulding itself to fit those elongated canines that are so used to ripping and tearing flesh apart. He growls against your skin, a guttural sound that should fill your stomach with fear—instead you feel nothing but untamed arousal. His hands cling to your skin, claws pressing hard enough to draw blood beneath the heated water.

The sundering of flesh is loud in your ear, more of a squelch and then nothing but insufferable pain. It blossoms rapidly and burrows itself deep into your muscles and along your bones. It ricochets up into your spine until you’re forced to go rigid in Sukuna’s lap, your fingers digging harshly into his forearms where your hands had come to rest.

Your vision swims and Sukuna fills the space between black dots that dance in your vision. His chin and lips are painted in your blood, teeth grinding and working through the raw flesh he had torn from your body. You watch his lips, how his jaw works to chew through the tougher bits of fat and muscle alike—then he swallows.

His breath is warm against your lips, the stench of copper strong enough to stick to the back of your throat. His hands come up to cup your face once more, large thumbs pressing into your cheeks before he drags you forward. Sukuna presses his slippery crimson-dyed lips to your own, the tang of copper explodes against your tongue when you urge it forward to collide with his own.

You lick into his mouth, along those sharpened teeth and the roof of his mouth. You savour the taste of your own flesh, your own blood. It drives you to dig your own fingers into his skin, grasping at his neck until you’re dragging him impossibly closer. The secondary face scratches against your skin, so rough to the touch that it bites into your cheek. 

When you pull back from the kiss to breathe, Sukuna looks at you with pupils blown wide. The red of his eyes practically glows with hunger, and that’s enough to drive your own insatiable darkness to surge forward and bare its teeth.

Sukuna doesn’t flinch nor reprimand you when you turn your head to the side, the thumb that was pressed into your cheek slips between your bruised and bloodied lips. He doesn’t fight when you widen your maw, canine teeth pointed and sharp. You think you can see Sukuna grin through the darkness that tints your vision—blinded by this need, this want, this desire. To devour.

Your teeth meet no resistance, his skin and bone break apart under the pressure of your jaw and teeth combined. It’s a loud crunch that you’d heard only a few hours prior with a man less worthy. Blood spills against your tongue, and spurts against the back of your throat when you sever the veins. It boils against your innards, a type of heat only capable of being harboured by someone like Sukuna. 

Sukuna watches you through half-mast eyes, his gaze following the rush of blood that spills down along the column of your throat and mingles with the open wound on your neck. You hold eye contact with him when you pull back enough for him to watch your jaw work, and the bob of your throat when you force the length of his finger down your throat—

Time stills, for a long moment, or so it feels. You feel something grasp at you, tangle its dark claws with your soul and tug. Sukuna’s face blurs before you when he leans in closer, grasping at your face with an intensity you hadn’t had turned your way in a long time. 

It feels like a storm has formed in the pit of your stomach, it bubbles and burns back up your chest until it scratches at your throat. You feel… power. Raw power. So different from what you had been allowed to use in tandem with the binding vow between souls; this was as if Sukuna had a physical place within you.

Then, it stops. The world resumes around you, the snowflakes from the skies above continue to melt against your heated bare shoulders and Sukuna is tilting his head in interest as he watches you come back to reality. 

“Fascinating.” He mumbles, more to himself, his hand brushes over your face and you realise he’s already healed the finger back into its rightful place. Another hand presses against your neck, digging into the exposed nerve endings and severed muscles before a cool relief washes over the stinging flesh. 

Hands beneath the water grasp at your waist, and the cold air bites against your bare skin. Nipples hardening against the gust of wind that battles with the billowing steam from the hot spring below, but it only lasts for a moment before you’re brought back down into the water.

You gasp, eyes rolling into the back of your skull at the sudden intrusion. The pain that should’ve accompanied being impaled on one of Sukuna’s cocks is nulled by the residual cursed energy that continues to pull together muscle and skin along your shoulder and neck. Yet the pressure remains, a snug fit no matter how many times he had fucked you previously. 

You find yourself sliding your hands along his jaw, thumbs dragging on both smooth and rough skin. His lips against yours are surprisingly gentle, consuming you with a delicacy that shouldn’t come from a man like Sukuna. And yet, he delivers it to you flawlessly. Large hands expand over the expanse of your back, fingertips digging into flesh and bone until it aches under the pressure he provides.

The first rise of your hips has you both breaking apart, his lips parting in time to breathe in your breathy moan. Your arms loop themselves around his shoulders, your nails that had been torn and ripped in battle dig into his flesh when he begins to move you with a little more of a pace; a rhythm soon to be picked up effortlessly.

Sukuna presses his forehead to your own, all of his eyes focused on you. That amount of attention would’ve unnerved you so long ago, but now you preen in it. His focus is locked solely onto you, watching each and every minute twitch of your face, watching the way your pupils expand rapidly.

Watching to ensure you’re with him, mind and soul. 

The length of his cock drags along the velveteen walls that continue to clench around him with each downward drag of your hips, his claws just shy of digging into your flesh when he directs you to ride him a little firmer. His chest rubs against your perked nipples, the sweat building between the two of you only worsens with the rising heat of the hot spring. 

Your fingers grasp at the damp strands of hair at the base of his neck, and you pull gently. A movement that you know Sukuna could refuse, but he allows you to move his head back enough to expose the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallows thickly. He stares up at you through the thickness of his eyelashes, a smouldering gaze that burns you alive.

Your blood boils and your muscles grow taut, the way he looks at you is nothing short of hungry. Sukuna must feel what’s cresting on the horizon for you, as his hands grasp at you much tighter than before and your world twists and turns.

The stone beneath you is freezing, your back arching away in an attempt to escape the snow-covered stone edge of the hot spring Sukuna had laid you out on. Two of his hands hold you steadfast at your waist, ensuring your lower half doesn’t sink back into the water whilst he fucks you at a pace that’s bruising. 

His other two hands explore your skin, large fingers pressing into your ribcage and brushing over the tip of your nipples. Your hands shoot downwards, only able to grab ahold of his forearms when he lowers his stance just slightly to fuck up into that spot he knows to exist. It’s enough to push a loud moan from somewhere deep in your chest, your head sinking back into the snow. 

The sky above you continues to sprinkle you with snowflakes, melting the second they reach your dewy skin. Sukuna’s hand comes to rest between your breasts, flat against your hummingbird of a heart. It thrums harder beneath his touch, and you don’t doubt that Sukuna’s own heart hammers against his ribcage in response. 

His hips continue to press against your own with each thrust, the water lapping over the edge of the spring warms your skin and fights away the cold that bites at your exposed skin. You can feel his second cock pressed between your ass cheeks, twitching with each thrust into your pussy. A wandering hand moves to press against your stomach, digging into the flesh just enough to cause discomfort—until you feel him fuck harder into you.

It quickly morphs from discomfort to blinding pleasure, your thighs tense and your toes curl relentlessly in the night air. Your nails bite into the skin of his forearms, giving you enough leverage to lift up your head and upper body to look Sukuna in the eye when he starts to fuck you in earnest.

“Cum for me,” he grunts, huffing out his words and you can’t help but admire the sheen on his face. “Now.”

The hand at your stomach swoops down, and a large thumb presses against your clit to rub quick smooth circles against it. Your entire body seizes up with the command that rolls off of his tongue so easily, and you obey. Your vision flutters away with the overwhelming sensitivity, your mouth parting in a silent moan.

Sukuna continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his fingers tighten around your waist and his claws sink into the flesh protecting your heart. The growl rumbling through his chest is morphed into a deep groan, a desperate noise that has your eyes opening once again to watch the man before you find his bliss.

His eyes are closed, head tilted back just enough to expose his throat once again and you want nothing but to sink your teeth into it. His lips part with another groan, and his breath comes out in a plume of white to mix with the frigid night sky. The cock buried deep within you twitches, once and then twice before he throws his hips forward to press himself uncomfortably against your cervix.

The thumb at your clit doesn’t stop its movement, easing you through the pressure of him spilling his seed so deep inside of you. Sukuna drops his head back down, all four of his eyes are half-lidded but they watch you intently. Lovingly. The hand at your chest releases you, brushing over the blood that started to spot your skin. 

You expect him to withdraw from inside you, to clean up the mess you had made but instead, Sukuna leans forward. In this position, it forces his cock somewhat impossibly deeper inside—his cum leaking out and dripping to mix with the steamy water that continues to flow over the edge into the surrounding land. 

His forehead presses against your temple, his nose pressed into your cheek. He breathes you in, deeply, uncaring for the way the sweat dappling your skin mixes with his own. Sukuna continues his way down along your body, a single kiss to your jaw, and then against the marred skin of your throat that had reformed the scar tissue there.

Finally, he comes to a stop. Hovering just a mere inch away from your chest, the blood that he had drawn from you is already dried up and sticking to your skin. His upper set of eyes flick upwards to spare you a glance before his lips graze along the centre of your chest.

Your heart lurches, a rapid beat that causes your blood to sing and the ringing in your ears to grow louder. It’s bewitching to watch. How he holds your gaze whilst his lips press against your chest—against your heart. His lips part and his tongue is hot against your skin, laving over the cuts he had left on your body in the throes of passion.

Sukuna leaves you too soon, pushing himself up to stand at his full height once again. His imposing figure cuts through the night sky, the snow that falls against him fades into nothing and the stars twinkle a little more dimly when you stare up at him. 

He pulls you up easily enough, holding you to his chest when his semi-hard cock slips free from your warmth. And then he’s sinking back into the water, keeping you close enough that you can feel his breath sticking to the tacky sweat that lines your body. His hands are gentle again when he cleans you, the cloth between your legs nothing but a quick yet precise few swipes before he tends to himself.

You had expected him to hand you the cloth to return the favour, but it would seem Sukuna is more content to hold you close to him. 

“Do you think I made a mistake?” You speak for the first time in what feels like an age, your words are warm against Sukuna’s chest. He doesn’t reply, instead only grunts in askance of your explanation. “Do you think I made a mistake in not killing Sugawara?”

Sukuna again does not reply, not straight away. His body is solid beneath your own, unmoving rock and you wonder if perhaps he truly does believe you a fool for letting him live. Then he releases a breath. 

“No.” He admits, his voice a rumble against your ear. “I would’ve killed him, but you did something much more deserving. You cursed his entire bloodline. I admire you for it.” 

His praise warms you, and you can’t stop the upturning of your lips into a smile. He didn’t think of you as the fool, an idiot who was too lenient on a man who was given the power of the Gods and refused to use it as such. “I should’ve kept his eyes.”

Sukuna laughs, and your smile grows tenfold. “They would’ve made interesting decorations. Or maybe they would’ve been a delicacy to eat, such power would taste divine.” 

His words draw you back to what had happened moments before he fucked you, the power you had momentarily felt when devouring one of his fingers. It was an odd sensation, something you had never felt before. It was unlike the bond you both had vowed to one another, this was like you had eaten power in a physical form.

There was no doubt that Sukuna’s cursed energy was strong, stronger than anyone who had ever existed before him. So it wouldn’t be entirely unheard of for cursed energy to be stored in fingers, into eyes as he had mentioned. Would you have felt the surge of power if you had devoured one of Sugawara’s eyes? Perhaps the power would’ve been too much for your body to handle—if it was that easy to obtain power, more people would be killing and devouring each other. 

If there was a risk of death when consuming the flesh of another with potent cursed energy, did Sukuna deem your cursed energy beneath his own where there was no risk? Or did he not care for the risk? Both questions burn in your mind, and Sukuna must’ve noticed you drifted away from the conversation as he breathes out a long breath that blows against the top of your head.

“You have questions, and you still hesitate to ask.” 

“When I consumed one of your fingers, I felt this surge of energy. It was entirely different to what I felt through the vow, it was raw power. Like I was capable of breathing through you, capable of becoming you. What was that?”

The look that overtakes Sukuna’s face is that of calculation, something he doesn’t wish to share with you. “It was a risk, a gamble of life and death. It’s not unheard of for humans to become cursed objects.” 

You know there’s more to his explanation, but something about the way his face becomes colder and more shut-off tells you that you shouldn’t pry further. Not right now. So you don’t push for an answer, opting to instead detangle yourself from Sukuna’s embrace.

He watches you silently, unmoving when you step around him to get out of the hotspring. His movements soon match your own, and you take a glance over your shoulder to watch the water roll off of his body. The steam curls around corded muscles and wisps around the quickly drying tips of his hair. 

The warmth of your wet feet melts away the snow that had gathered on the snow path, and the crunch of Sukuna’s footsteps behind your own is loud. You come to a stop just at the edge of the courtyard, to find a pile of clothing that is clean and fresh.

An encroaching warmth presses itself against your bare back, each of his breaths pushing against your very skin until you’re forced to look back at the man imposing himself on your space. Sukuna only looks at you with an amused lift of his eyebrow, holding out a hand in expectancy. 

“Your silence is loud, brooding over nothing is unfitting for someone like yourself.” He speaks once you drop the black cloth into his hand, which he unfolds to reveal loose-fitting hakama trousers. He slips them on, not once breaking eye contact with you—he’s challenging you already.

“I’m not brooding.” You retort, perhaps a little childishly, as you turn around you pick up your own haori to sling over your shoulders. Sukuna at least takes a minuscule step back to allow you to dress yourself. “If you won’t tell me the whole truth, I’ll only find it out myself.”

“Of course you will. Your determination is what sets you above others.” 

“It doesn’t bother you?” You don’t take the lead through the doors, instead opting to fall into step next to Sukuna. His eyes are set forward once again, and the shadows that overtake the corridor hide his growing smirk. 

“You wish for me to feed you everything like that of a baby bird? You’re no fledgling, not anymore. I prefer for you to figure things out for yourself, it turns me on to see you’re more than a brainless woman.” 

Your nose wrinkles for a brief moment, lips parting to retort with how he’s nothing but a pig—but instead your feet slow to a stop.

Faintly, there’s the feeling of something creeping up the length of your spine. A warning. You turn just in time to see a shadow move, slinking closer and closer. The smell it carries is one of a strong perfume; a floral scent that could only belong to someone trying to hide their true nature. It’s enough to even have Sukuna stopping in his tracks, half-turning to watch the shadow grow closer and closer.

“I did wonder if you’d return.” Kenjaku’s words carry through the darkness until they step forward, only illuminated by the moonlight that seeps through the cracks of barely opened windows. “I thought you might’ve succumbed to their torture.”

“Kenjaku,” Sukuna grumbles her name in the form of a greeting, and you watch Kenjaku flick her eyes towards Sukuna for a brief moment before they return back to you.

“It seems our little lamb is more of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” She grins, and nothing about it is kind. It’s conniving, her eyes filled with a glint that promises chaos. “Everyone is already talking about the carnage you rained down upon your own family—of course, they’ve already said it was someone else. Someone more… fitting, for their fable.”

“I don’t care for their hushed whispers of deceit.” You reply, even if it tastes like ash on your tongue. Replaced, in only a matter of days—assuming that’s how many days had passed since you were saved from the estate. The entire journey home you were unconscious, recovering mentally and physically from such a demanding battle.

“Don’t you?” Kenjaku takes a step closer, and Sukuna finally shifts on his feet until you can feel the warmth of his body close to your own. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re angry, beyond that, you’re the embodiment of unresolved rage and the chaos that you breathe…” 

“That’s enough,” Sukuna growls the words, no doubt threatening to bare his very teeth at Kenjaku. Instead, she smiles, not paying much mind to the man who could rip her head off before she even blinked.

“Of course.” Kenjaku bows her head concedingly before her eyes flit back to meet your own. “Tomorrow, we should talk more. I’d love to know the details of how you handled that sorcerer—the one who possessed the Six Eyes.”

Sukuna doesn’t speak for you this time, instead, he waits to see if you’d give your time to the woman before you. You can’t help but feel apprehensive about it, every encounter with Kenjaku had ended poorly. She had no regard for those who were seen as the strongest, as she herself was just as strong. She was a terribly strategic woman, everything she did was for a reason. 

But that was a brain you wanted to pick at. A woman such as her would know endless amounts of information, she had mentioned they were already spinning tales of what had happened — she must have her ways of learning such information across the entirety of Japan.

“Of course.” You try to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes and Kenjaku doesn’t miss it. “Tomorrow. I look forward to hearing the stories widowers and aged men have started to spin in my image.” 

Kenjaku grins this time, a fox with teeth filled with venom. “Very good.” Her attention finally drifts to Sukuna, and the look on her face is something you can’t decipher. A message perhaps, spoken without words between two violent creatures. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” 

She bows deeply, before disappearing back the way she came with a feline-like grace.

You turn to find Sukuna watching where Kenjaku had slinked off to, two arms crossed over his chest whilst the other two are buried in the pockets of his hakama trousers. “Don’t let her capture you in her web.” 

“How kind of you to warn me.” You muster the playful tone you need, and Sukuna only glares down at you. It’s enough to make you drop the act, he was serious about his warning. “I know she’s not who she seems to be.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Kenjaku is stronger than you realise. I may value her strength but I do not trust her, and neither should you.”

To be recognised by Sukuna for your strength was a feat in itself, he didn’t hand out the compliment freely. It had taken quite a beating for him to give you that—you wonder if Kenjaku and Sukuna had fought previously, a fight between two warring creatures that battled for the top spot on the food chain. It’s evident that Sukuna had prevailed, as Kenjaku is the one who bows her head in the presence of Sukuna. 

Yet, something feels wrong with the compliment that comes from Sukuna. He knows more about her true nature, about who she is beneath the mask she slips on in his presence. He wouldn’t tell you more, it was up to you if you wished to dig further into the past of a woman who was more volatile than Sukuna himself. 

Neither of you exchange a word until you’re outside a door, it slides open and you immediately realise it’s not the bedroom you had been staying in before you had ventured down to the village. Sukuna steps in first, immediately heading towards the hearth to ensure the flame doesn’t die out so soon.

You glance around, it’s not too different from the other bedroom but it is noticeable. Furniture was in different places, the clothing that had been stored in wooden storage boxes had been placed in neat piles nearing the wall. Something tingles at the base of your neck, a buzz of your spine and you turn to find your weapon. Waiting. 

As if you were on a tether, you’re drawn towards it. Your hand lifts to hover just over the hilt before you pause. There are residuals along the hilt, residual energy that you know intimately. Sukuna’s. 

“I had intended on bringing it to you. But whatever you had done to it, your cursed energy would revolt against my own.” Sukuna’s voice is just over your shoulder, no doubt inspecting the blade when your hand comes down to touch the hilt. “It was as if it knew I wasn’t its owner.”

“Because that’s the truth. I must’ve made a vow with it when I created it, only to be wielded by one until death. One soul, one sword.”  You release the hilt before you pick it up from the display stand, taking a deep breath. The sword was of an entirely different calibre of power, it was something designed to cleave the world. “I doubt there’ll be another in existence like it.”

You step away, turning to glance around at the room bathed in a flickering orange warmth. “Did the old room suffer damage?”

“It was destroyed when I realised you were gone,” Sukuna admits easily, unashamed that in a moment of anguish, he had ruined an entire bedroom. He moves away from your side to venture towards the cushioned seats on the floor around the hearth, folding himself easily enough to lounge in it. “Uraume was not impressed by the mess.”

“How is Uraume?” You find yourself wandering towards the bed, “I can sense them, out there. But it’s muddied as if they’re trying to hide.”

“Uraume is fine. You’ll speak soon.” Sukuna offers you a glance, before directing his gaze back to the flame. “Rest, you need to recover.”

You don’t argue with him, instead stripping yourself of the haori you had been draped in. You can feel Sukuna’s gaze on you almost immediately, only sparing him a look over your shoulder before you kneel down to get into bed. The sheets are freshly washed, soft against your skin and you can’t help but melt into the material.

It felt almost unreal to be back where you were safe and comfortable, your muscles take time to relax completely. But when they do, you realise your eyelids are already closing and sleep comes for you like a swoop of darkness, unable to be stopped once it consumes you.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[hansuart]

OC x Canon week

Day 2: "Seriously, I mean it. Thank you."

[starfried]

Through and Through

first fic i've written in a VERY long time hehe. this part is a lil silly and mostly just a prologue, next part will focus more on reader and law's relationship! this part and the next part take place during law's novel, before he sets off to sea. criticism welcomed & encouraged!

slowburn, childhood friends to lovers, multipart, not proofread (im on mobile xP, will comb through it later), no use of (y/n)/(name), gn reader (they/them pronouns, no gendered nicknames)

wc: 3.2k

You regularly found yourself lamenting the fact that you were born on a winter island. No matter how many layers you wore, or how thick your boots were, you were always freezing. Sure, the snow was beautiful when you watched it fall through a window in a warm house. But here you find yourself, lost in the woods, cursing every single snowflake that dares to cover up your previous footprints.

You kick a thick tree root in frustration, only to tumble over when your foot gets caught in it.

Great. Lovely. Whatever. You're cold, hungry and tired. If this is how you die, then oh well.

...

...

...

"I think they're dead."

I'd rather be dead than here. You think to yourself.

Something sharp jabs into your ribs.

"OW!"

"They're not dead!"

"Are you stupid, Penguin?! That's not how you check if someone's alive!"

You lift your head to scowl at them, but are quickly thrown off. Three boys and a...polar bear?

"And you-" the boy in the spotted hat says, pointing at you, "-are YOU stupid?"

"Huh?" You don't even have time to question the bear.

"Did you seriously just fall asleep in the middle of the woods?! No shelter, no fire, not even any food?"

"N-No! I...fell. I fell and haven't gotten up yet."

He narrows his eyes at you.

"You're covered in a layer of snow. If it takes you that long to get up after falling, you really need to exercise more."

Oh. You really are covered in a layer of snow. You push yourself up from the ground, only to stumble over again as soon as you put weight on your foot. Luckily for you, the polar bear was able to catch you before you faceplant into the snow.

"I gotcha!" The polar bear says.

"A talking bear?!" You shout in surprise, pushing yourself away. Ultimately, you end up face first in the snow again.

"Oh...I'm sorry...you'd rather let yourself fall than be near me. I get it. I'm pretty gross after all..."

"Huh?! No, I'm just...surprised?" You reply, completely dumbfounded.

The boy in the spotted hat pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Just...ugh. Bepo, carry them back to the cabin with us."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" You exclaim. "What cabin? You're taking me to a cabin in the middle of the woods? Can't you just...take me back to town?"

"That's over an hour walk," Spotted-Hat replies, "I doubt you can walk that far. And even if you could, the sun's almost down. I'm not going to drag you through the woods when we can barely even see."

"But...I just think that's really suspicious, y'know? Dragging me off to your cabin at night. That...sounds dangerous."

"Don't worry!" The boy with the hat covering his face chirps. "If we were gonna kill you, we would've done it already!"

"O-oh..."

"Stop whining!" Spotted-Hat barks, "What kind of doctor would I be if i just left you out here to die? You're just gonna have to trust us. Maybe this'll teach you not to wander aimlessly around the woods."

Reluctantly, you end up learning a bit about the four boys. Their names are Law, Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi. They're all relatively new to Swallow Island and happen to work small jobs in the city. Law, with his medical knowledge, wraps up your sprained ankle and chastises you for frost nipped ears and nose.

"Seriously, don't you have a scarf? You've lived here your whole life and you still can't understand how serious frostbite is?"

You even get to meet the great inventor Wolf, who's actually pretty well-known in the city. Though he grumbles about having to tend to 'yet another brat', he drives you back into town the next day with little complaints.

It wouldn't be the last they saw of you, though. Far from it in fact. In an attempt to repay them for helping you, you would slowly worm your way into their daily lives.

Especially Law's.

[fvsm4x]

#SNOW [Gojo Satoru]

SUMMARY: You and your best friend have a snowball fight and it somehow leads into the two of you confessing.

—C.W: best friend! Gojo Satoru x female reader , fluff , not proofread!

—WORD COUNT: 1.4k

masterlist

It was a typical day at Jujutsu High, but this time, a gentle snowfall transformed the campus into a serene winter wonderland.

Large, fluffy snowflakes drifted from the sky, covering the landscape in a pristine white blanket. The trees wore delicate frosted branches, and the pathways were lined with a soft layer of untouched snow.

You stepped outside, you were greeted by the sight of Gojo Satoru, your best friend and a fellow student, building a snowman near the courtyard. His fingers moved deftly, packing snow into a solid foundation for his snowy creation. You couldn't help but smile at the sight, but instead of going over to greet him, you decided to add a little playful twist to the snowy atmosphere.

Quietly, you gathered some snow in your gloved hands, forming it into a perfect snowball. Your mischievous intent was to take him by surprise. You crouched down behind a nearby snow-covered bush, getting ready to throw your snowball at Gojo. With a swift, motion, you hurled the snowball in his direction. It hit his shoulder with a soft thud, scattering flakes all around him.

Gojo's shoulders jolted as the snowball struck him, and he spun around, a look of surprise mixed with anger on his face. His eyes locked onto yours, and he grinned when he saw that it was you who threw the snowball at him. "You think you can just hit me with a snowball and get away with it, y/n?"

Without waiting for your response, he quickly scooped up some snow and started forming a snowball of his own. With a smirk, he launched it your way. The cold missile sailed through the air, narrowly missing you as you dodged to the side.

As you continued your snowball fight with Gojo, you couldn't help but notice that he was using his Infinity, to shield himself from your snowballs.

With a playful pout, you called out, "Gojo, that's not fair! Don't use Infinity; let's keep it fair."

He smirked,"Fair? Where's the fun in that, Y/n? Besides, you're doing great. Keep 'em coming!"

He ran up to you, quickly grabbing handfuls of snow and shoving it inside your jacket and hoodie. The freezing snow made direct contact with your skin, causing an icy shock to run down your spine.

You yelped and shivered, feeling the cold snow against your bare skin. Gojo burst into laughter, thoroughly enjoying the reaction he'd caused.

„Cut it out! What if I get a cold.“ you replied, trying to shake the snow out of your clothes.

Gojo wrapped his arms around you from behind, placing his chin on your shoulder. "Don't worry, you're too slow to catch a cold," he teased, pushing you into the snow with a playful smile.

You both tumbled into the snow, sharing a laughter-filled moment.

You propped yourself up on your elbows and took a moment to admire him. His laughter was infectious, and you couldn't help but smile. His eyes remained closed while his laughter filled the crisp winter air, and a rosy flush colored his cheeks. It was a sight that made your heart race with an inexplicable excitement.

You brushed away the delicate snowflakes from his white hair, revealing the skin beneath. Your fingers lightly traced down his forehead, and you couldn't resist teasing, "Wow, Satoru, your face is all red. Did you catch a cold?"

He opened his eyes, looking into yours, and replied with a mischievous grin, "No way!"

You smiled back at him, enjoying the playful banter. The snowflakes danced around you like a million shimmering stars in the night sky, making the moment feel even more enchanting. As you exchanged playful banter, your smiles illuminated the snowy landscape, adding warmth to the wintry scene. The serene beauty of the snowfall around you created a magical ambiance, and for a moment, it felt like time had stopped.

"Your eyes are pretty, you know that?" Gojo spoke, his eyes gleaming

Gojo's words made your heart flutter, and his shimmering eyes held a depth that left you mesmerized.

You laughed, "Says the person with the most gorgeous eyes in the whole world."

„Well thank you.“ he replied, turning to the sky. Gojo continued to lay beside you, and you couldn't help but admire the beauty of his profile against the snowy backdrop. This moment in the snow had a captivating quality that made you feel like you were in a winter fairy tale.

As you lay side by side, the snow-covered ground beneath you felt cold, but the warmth of your connection with Gojo was enough to keep you comfortable. The snowflakes continued to fall gently, adding a sense of serenity to the atmosphere.

You both remained silent for a while, enjoying the simple pleasure of each other's company and the beauty of the snow-covered landscape. The world around you seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

Finally, Gojo broke the silence, turning his gaze back to you. "You know, I've always enjoyed spending time with you, especially on days like this."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you met his gaze with a fond smile. "I feel the same way, Satoru. It's moments like these that make everything seem perfect."

As you locked eyes with him, the weight of unspoken feelings hung in the air. It was a beautiful winter day, and perhaps the perfect moment to share what had been on your minds for a while.

Gojo's expression softened as he reached out and gently brushed a snowflake from your cheek. "You're right, this day is perfect. You know, I've been wanting to tell you something for a while."

Your heart raced, and you swallowed nervously. "What is it, Satoru?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "Y/n, I... I care about you a lot. More than I've cared about anyone in a long time. And, well, I think I m-might be in love with you."

The world around you seemed to stand still as his words hung in the air. A mix of emotions swirled inside you, but the overwhelming feeling was one of joy and relief. You'd been harboring the same feelings for Gojo for a while but had been too afraid to confess.

Finally, you mustered the courage to speak, your voice trembling slightly. "Satoru, I l-love you too.. I have for a long time."

He reached out and gently took your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "I'm glad to hear that, Y/n. I've wanted to be more than just friends with you for a long time, but I was scared of ruining our friendship."

A sense of relief washed over you as you realized your feelings were mutual. "I was afraid of the same thing. But now that we've said it, I feel like a weight has been lifted."

Gojo leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft and tender kiss, as if sealing the unspoken connection that had been between you for so long. The snow continued to fall around you, but in that moment, the only world that mattered was the one you shared with him.

The kiss deepened, and the world around you seemed to fade away. It was as if the two of you were in your own snow-covered paradise, where nothing else mattered. The gentle caress of his lips against yours sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer.

Your heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and nervousness as Gojo's hands moved to cup your face. He broke the kiss, but his eyes never left yours. "Y/n- I want you to be mine.. I want us to be together forever.."

Your voice quivered with emotion as you replied, "Satoru..I want to be with you, too."

He smiled, a brilliant, joyful expression that made your heart soar.

.

.

.

The scolding from Yaga, their teacher, was hardly a surprise, given the reckless snowball fight they had engaged in. As they sat in the infirmary, Y/n couldn't help but glance at Gojo and giggle, earning a playful groan from him in response.

The effects of their snowball fight adventure had caught up with them. They both sported red noses, and their eyes were a little watery. Gojo's signature grin was replaced by a frown as he grumbled, "Who told you it was a good idea to go outside and get sick?"

Y/n, with a weak smile, replied, "I seem to recall someone being just as eager to throw snowballs."

© fvsm4x ; DO NOT REPOST

[ghouljams]

the brainrot for fae!price/ witch is soooo real and now i’m just thinking about price doing stuff like helping witch put on her coat and then walking her home 🥺🥺 i’m so soft rn

Oh this just leads into my favorite Witch headcanon which is that I think she loves winter. Sure she has familial ties to summer and whatever but she loves winter, loves warm drinks, and fluffy coats, and bundling up, and snow! OH MY GOD She loves snow.

You hold your hand out to catch a falling snowflake, as Price lights his cigar. The crystalline structure bends and melts on your warm skin. You light up like he's never seen you before.

Price doesn't see what the big deal is, a little frozen water, he sees it all the time. It's nothing spectacular. The city hardly gets enough snow to call a blanket. It gets cold though, cold enough most people would complain about walking through it. He would've thought with all your bonds to summer you'd be more susceptible to chill, but you hardly seem bothered.

Maybe it's your coat, there must be some sort of heat spell on it. Runes hidden in the sherpa lining, he can't see any on the outside of it marring the soft cream color. It doesn't feel magical.

But that's not true, is it? It does feel like magic to watch you push your hood off your head and cup your hands to warm them with your breath. To have you look at him and announce, "It's snowing!" All your summer warmth still shining in your smile. The fog of your breath puffs out excitedly. It curls with his smoke, holds onto it affectionately. You look up to the sky, the gently falling snow, and laugh when the freeze hits your cheeks.

Price looks up at the grey sky, the gentle drift of snow from the clouds, it's almost nostalgic. How can this little storm make you so happy? You have a whole season of snow on your back step. Shouldn't you be as tired of it as he is?

"Have you ever been through Winter?" He asks, watching you pull gloves from your pocket. You wiggle your fingers into the pink knit and shake your head.

"Just that one time, I've never had a reason to go through the wild. Besides, its dangerous without an escort," You hum, and start your walk again. He's quick to grab your hand and tug your down the first alley. You make a small noise of protest but follow without complaint. Achingly trusting. It squeezes tight in Price's chest, you put yourself in his hands without question it seems. What has he ever done to deserve that? (Nothing good)

He feels the streets molding to his will, feels the path straighten out turns as he pulls you further down the narrow alley towards the white glittering snow of winter. You stop short at the edge of the forest, the tumble of snow onto cobblestone just brushing your boots.

"Where are we going?" Finally suspicion edges your voice, it's good to hear.

"I'm walking you home," You narrow your eyes at him, "Your home." He clarifies. Unease clouds your features for a brief moment before you take a tentative step onto the snow. It crunches beautifully under your feet, and you bite down a smile.

It's not a long walk, it doesn't have to be, but you keep stopping. You crouch to gather snow between your hands, to build up little walls, tiny snowmen, or simply laying in the snow when the mood seizes you. Price offers a hand to pull you to your feet after one such mood, watching you giggle and brush the snow off of your back.

You're gorgeous, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes sparkling, your every breath wraps around him with thanks. If he'd known you were such a fan of winter he would've brought you out here ages ago. Although ages ago you wouldn't have trusted him enough to let him.

"I know this is probably taking longer than you wanted," You tilt your head forwards as he brushes the snow from your hood, "It's silly but I haven't seen snow like this since I was a kid."

"I don't mind." Really he doesn't, it's a treat seeing you enjoy yourself like this. You're usually so serious, so intent about everything. Seeing you play is refreshing. You don't let go of his hand as you walk. Price considers stretching out the path a little longer until he sees you shiver. Your free hand tugs your scarf over your nose, not so warm as you were at the start. Best to get you home before the cold ruins this for you.

Your smile doesn't dim as you lean against him, sharing warmth as you walk. The snow isnt deep, but you still cling to him like you need the help to get through it. You almost seem reluctant to return to your cozy patch of summer, stalling at your garden gate. Price snuffs his cigar on the garden wall while you kick your feet.

"C'mere," he turns you to face him, settles his hands on your waist and lifts. Your hands scramble to hold onto his shoulders as he lifts you up and over the brick wall. You pull up your feet to keep from bumping against the brick, before settling gently in the warm dirt of your garden.

"Thank you," you breathe and he feels the warmth of a tether hooking in his chest. One favor for another as always. Although again, you weigh the values wrong. Walking you home, seeing your unabashed joy for his season, he should be thanking you. It's your gift, but he has no intention of paying it back. Not when the tie it creates is so warm, so careful, so intent.

"My pleasure," he tells you, his hands sliding from your waist to press against the wall. Your threshold parts for him like an old friend when he leans over it. Your fingers hold his face, tentative but wanting, threading through his beard as you lean in and kiss him. Soft and sweet, and still biting with winter's chill. His absolute pleasure.

[xbadmuse]

Jealousy

This is Part I of the Jealous Simon Riley Story i wanted to post.

this is a nsfw story, like everything else on my blog.

this is about Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

i did not proof read, please excuse any mistakes.

You were sipping on your drink as the cool breeze of the cold winter weather hit your face whenever the door to the pub opened. You could see from the window how the snow was slowly falling in thin watery flakes but as the time passes, the snowflakes turned into bigger flakes. Your drink was somewhat empty already as you looked back around, watching the team getting tipsier as time passes, if not completely drunk already. Your legs were cold, cursing yourself for only wearing thin thighs to your skirt and knee high boots.

It was now past midnight, the pub getting louder and louder and fuller as the door was being opened every few seconds. You just wanted to go home at this point. You really loved spending time with the team but right now.. you wish you could stuff your cold legs into a heater and wait for them to warm up again.

You looked over to Simon, who was sitting right next to you. If a person didn't know Simon personally, they would think that he was just a relaxed person, sitting in the booth, staying quite and absorbing the people around him as well as the location with his stoic attitude but right now, he was definitely very far from being relaxed.

The anger bubbling inside his body was radiating a very unnerving aura, cutting a knife through your calm vibe until it is drained out of blood. This is also one of the reasons you just want to leave this place, immediately.

You kept an eye on him, every once in a while looking up while pretending to look somewhere else. He was sitting very close to you, making sure that his frame covered half of you in the booth. Simon was gripping his drink, side eying you quickly and taking a sip, placing the glass back down on the table a little more aggressive then expected. He was fuming, deeply but Simon knew better and how to hide the fact that he could set this pub on fire, burning it out of aggressiveness just about now.

***

30 Minutes before.

"no, thank you", you clutched your bag to your chest, taking in the man that was standing tall right in front of you. he was wearing a smug grin, his white teeth brighter than the lights in the pub hallway and his weird looking beard which he was probably forcefully trying to grow but only reached from the left side until the right side of his upper lip as well as his chin, taking in your form with his eyes.

"look, I am really not trying to be a creep but I feel like we could fit. I think you are gorgeous and I am not bad myself, so?", his hand was grazing your arm and you instantly took a few steps back, looking at him confused.

"I have a boyfriend, please just leave", the man started to laugh, taking a few closer steps towards you and placing a hand on your shoulder. His hand then travelled down your arm again as he stared into your eyes intensly.

"stop lying and give me a chance love", he leaned in, his lips almost on your ears and with that you grabbed his arm and pushed him off of you with full force. he tumbled a few steps back as you stepped further into his direction, pushing him once again with all your strength as he stumbled and hitting his back against the wall behind him.

"you bitch", he hissed, instantly standing straight again. He stared at you and was about to walk towards you as you took just one step towards him. He mustered you, confusingly taking a step back and then walking away out of embarrassment.

The moment he turned around his body full on crashed into Simon, turning the corner and taking his stance in the middle of the hallway. Simon was wearing his balaclava as always and the way he stared down at the man in front of him would have even you running away in fear.

"s'cuse me", the man said as he hushed away from Simon instantly and disappeared into the crowded Pub. You were eying this small interaction, clutching you handbag to your body again and standing just inches away from the bathroom door. You hoped that Simon has not seen one glimpse of what happened just moments ago because if he did, that man would be fighting for his life right now and he would lose bitterly. That is why you kept your mouth shut.

Simon walked towards you, stomping his boots on the tiles on the ground as you were about to turn around and walk into the bathroom.

„who was that?”, he said after he instantly grabbed your wrist with his hand and held you before you could make another move and enter the bathroom. You turned around and faced him with a confused look, his eyes bored into yours as you rolled your eyes.

“who?..”, you tried to free yourself from his grip but he tightened it again. He was controlling himself to not get overwhelmed with the anger and frustration that was building inside him as he stared down at you. He knew something happened and he wanted to hear it..from you. You just stared up at him, heart beating faster.

“Simon, I don’t know..I just wanted to go pee and he followed me and told me my outfit looks good”, you still stared into his eyes. His grip loosened on your wrist and you knew he cocked one eyebrow even under his mask, an asking look on his face. He did not speak or was about to and you knew that he was getting frustrated by the minute.

“I told him to leave me alone and then he left”, you looked up at him, your eyes pleading him to let go of your wrist and to not ask any more questions and with that, Simon let go off your wrist.

“Go to toilet, I’ll wait here”, he said. From the way he said this you already knew that Simon was definitely not in the mood to have any more conversation with you. 'Well, that was the end of a fun night', you thought to yourself.

“Simon, you don’t nee-“, pleading eyes as you looked up. Simon was not looking at you anymore, staring up into the hallway.

“I said go, I will wait here”, his eyes instantly shot your way and with that you clutched your bag again and took a few steps away from him to leave into the ladies bathroom.

***

"Next round friends?", Gaz exclaimed loudly for you all to hear. The Pub was getting fuller and fuller the later it got. It was loud, almost unbearable. You looked over at Simon who was finishing up his drink.

He placed the glass back down on the table as the rest nodded and agreed. Even though you were now keen to stay a little longer to not be with Simon alone and enjoy the night you stopped thinking that way the moment Simon placed his hand on your thigh since you were about to ask for another drink.

"We are leaving", he spoke up in his monotone voice. The table exclaimed disappointed with his statement and Soap eyed him from the side. "Why? We just started", he said loudly over the table as he looked over to you as well.

Simon stood up and grabbed your jacket from the seat next to you as he looked down at you. His eyes were demanding rather then asking and normally this is not something that you would tolerate but giving the circumstances you did not want to upset Simon further. You stood up from your seat and smiled at Soap.

"I need to get up early tomorrow to pick up my mother from the airport." you lied, smiling convincingly as Simon helped you into your jacket. Soap nodded understandingly and so was everyone else as you all bid your goodbyes.

Simon opened the door to the pub for you as you waved to the table behind you. The cold night air hit your hot face and you sipped your jacket up. Simon walked past you, just two steps ahead of you as he stomped through the snow to his car which was parked just a two minute walk from the pub. He opened the door for you as you got inside, he did not say a single word to you as he started his car and drove off to your apartment.

You and Simon were not sharing an apartment but whenever Simon was back in the city he stayed in yours. His apartment was a fifteen minute drive from yours but he still liked spending as much time as possible with you or near you.

But right now you were not really sure if that is the case..

"Whats wrong?", you asked and turning on the seat heater for both you and Simon. He glanced at your hand and immediately turned the heater off again, but only for himself and kept yours on. Simon looked straight forward, not giving you one second of attention.

"Hello? I am talking to you", you turned to him, annoyed that he is not talking to you and ignoring you. He turns to you and then back to the road. It was very dark outside but you still knew your whereabouts. It was only a few more minutes until both of you were at your apartment.

"Who was that guy?", he said after a few silent minutes. You still could not believe he was still thinking about that and you rolled your eyes at that. Looking over to him, he was still staring ahead as he drove into a parking spot right before your apartment.

"Are you being serious right now?", you exclaimed as Simon parked the car and turned the engine off. His eyes shot back to yours, looking at your face and squinting his eyes a bit. He raised his eyebrows and watched you. You opened the door to the car and stepped out, walking over to your apartment.

He did the same, slamming his car door and walking behind you. You opened the front door, walked to the elevator as it immediately opened for both of you to walk inside.

"Are you seriously mad at me because of that guy?", the elevator door shut and you turned to him. He was leaning against the elevator wall as he looked down at you.

"Tell me who that man was and we can stop this discussion", he said calmly as the elevator door opened. You walked out and to your apartment, opening the door and the second you walked inside you slipped your shoes off with a loud huff.

"I don't know Simon.. I have already told you so", you could not tell him. You knew this will end in a blood bath and that is something you dearly try to avoid, even though that man deserved it a little.

"Are we lying to each other now?", you turned around and saw him standing at the door, his jacket was still on as he mustered you. Your eyebrows furrowed feeling ashamed of lying to him.

"Simon pleas-", Simon stepped closer to you, his hand grabbing your cheeks but not too harshly as he made you look up at him.

"Who. was. this. man. (Y/N)?", your heart was beating wildly as he stared down at you. You could see him being calm and breathing steadily as if you had a normal conversation with him while you were about to melt like pudding. You stayed quite.

"Are you going to tell me who this man was? I will kill him regardless. Just tell me who he was and why he was touching you and we can end this discussion (Y/N)", he stared into your eyes, glancing from eye to the other as he waited for your responds. But you just shook your head.

He grinned. "Why did he touch you?", he asked sternly again.

"He didn't", a light sigh escaped your mouth the moment Simons hand was placed on your hips.

"Stop lying, I saw it", he squeezed your hip and pushed you towards him closer.

'Shit', you thought. He titled his head to the side and stared down at you. A few seconds past and he dig his fingers further into your hips as they traveled up your body, slowly gliding his fingers to your back. You sighed and closed your eyes.

“Come on baby, tell me what he did”, his hand was sliding from your hip further to the hem of your leggings. His fingers solely gliding alongside your thigh as a sigh escaped you.

“He was trying to flirt with me and tried to get closer but I told him to get away from me and then he came back. He started touching my shoulder and coming closer until I pushed him away and kicked him.” You told him, staring up into his eyes. His grip on your hip loosened as his eyes never left yours.

“So he touched you?”, he mustered annoyed, still looking at your face as his hand left your face. His fingers came back up to your hips as you stared up at him, just nodding.

You could feel the range that was building inside him, the fire in his eyes almost burning you to the ground with his eye contact. You would be lying if you said you didn’t like the attitude he was giving you, the fact that he was dangerously fuming because a stranger touched you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”, he raised his eyebrow and questioning you. Simon was still standing tall in front of you as he stared down. He never stopped the eye contact and continuing staring. Looking down at him you placed your hand on his chest, your thumb softly rubbed the thin fabric of his sweater.

“Look at me, I asked you a question (Y/N)”, his finger was under you chin lifting it up so you face him again. His eyes boring into yours.

“I didn’t want you to get mad.. i knew what you would have done”, you said calmly and blinked up at him. He hesitated but never stopped the eye contact. He was still fuming, you knew by the way his pupils were blown and his breathing started to get heavier.

“I’m still going to rip out his organs one by one”, a light shiver run down your spine by his words. His dangerous statement made you stop in your tracks and just watching his eyes.

“Why don’t you forget him and start taking care of me Simon?”, you were desperately trying to distract him. Your hand slowly gliding down his chest to his belt. You felt yourself feeling warmer the second his eyes fell to your lips. This handsome man in front of you would kill every human being for you.

He would do whatever you please and the thought of this alone made you feel dizzy. Simons pupils grew bigger and you could see a very small glint of a smile.

“Fucking hell.. do I turn you on baby?”

Part II

[froggibus]

Cozy Winter Nights - Leon S Kennedy

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x reader

Genre: fluff!! very cute and wholesome and domestic tbh

Word Count: 900

Summary: on a cold winter day, all you want is to cuddle up with your boyfriend on the couch and watch a movie

CW: Christmas time!! (yes I’m aware it’s June—leave me alone), cold weather, Leon ‘forgets’ to check the thermostat, very domestic

I was hardcore struggling to write but then someone unintentionally gave me this idea and now I once again have Christmas brainrot in the middle of the summer lol

————

“You will not believe how busy it is out there,” Leon slams the door behind him, flashing you a goofy grin. 

You raise an eyebrow at him from where you’re standing in the kitchen. His cheeks are tinged pink from the cold weather, a toque pulled over his blond hair. He shakes his head, half-melted snowflakes tumbling off of his hat and drifting onto the doormat. 

He drops his handful of shopping bags onto the ground and gets to work unlacing his boots. “How was your day?”

“It’s been good, I missed you,” you admit. “I got some baking done though.”

As if on cue, the timer for the oven goes off and you shuffle your way to the oven to take the cookies out. The warmth of the oven engulfs your skin and the sweet smell of gingersnaps fills the air. 

Leon sets his bags on the counter and steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist while you lay the cookies on the cooling rack. He nuzzles his head into your shoulder and plants a kiss to your neck. 

“Is it cold in here?” You ask. 

Leon tugs you in closer, the warmth of the oven spilling over both of you. “It’s a cold day,” he shrugs. “Don’t worry, honey, I can warm you up.”

You snort, turning around and tilting your head up to plant a kiss to his lips. He tugs you back to him by your hips, kissing you again. 

You giggle against his lips, placing a hand on his chest to push him away. “How about you go check the thermostat and I make us some drinks and we can meet back on the couch?”

“Sounds perfect,” he kisses you once more. 

You watch as he takes his mountain of bags back to your bedroom, admiring the broadness of his shoulders as he walks. As soon as he disappears from your sight, you get to work making drinks. 

You’ve never been much of a drinker, but you know it helps settle the darker parts of Leon. Especially during the seasons he feels loneliest. Still, you don’t mind a drink here and there with him if it makes him feel better, and rum and eggnog is too delicious to resist. 

You mix the drink and sprinkle a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg on the top. You throw some treats on a plate and bring everything over to the coffee table in the middle of the living room. 

You grab one of your comfiest throw blankets and toss it over the couch before retreating to your room to change into your pyjamas. Leon’s just pulling a plain black t-shirt over his toned back when you step inside, already clad in red flannel pyjama bottoms. 

You grin from ear to ear. “Hey, you’re wearing them.”

“Well, yeah,” he huffs, “they’re comfortable.”

“Sure,” you roll your eyes. 

You change into your matching pyjama bottoms and a black tank top, turning around just to see Leon staring at you. “What?” You tilt your head curiously. 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head. 

You narrow your eyes at him but drop it, following him out of the bedroom and into the living room. You turn out the lights on the way, letting the warm string lights from the Christmas tree illuminate the room. 

Leon looks so pretty in this lighting—all soft and warm and peaceful. He settles in on the couch, grabbing his drink off of the tray and taking a sip. 

You settle in next to him, grabbing the remote and turning on the tv. “Do you care what we watch?”

It’s a trick question. You know that Leon’s never cared about what you watch together as long as it’s not a super gory movie or something that reminds him of work. He’s just content with spending time with you and you know he’d watch pretty much anything if it makes you happy. 

“No,” he slings an arm over your shoulder and tugs you closer to him. 

You settle on Home Alone, swapping the remote for your drink and relaxing against Leon. You take a few sips, the cold drink and the cold air making you shiver. 

“Did you check the thermostat?”

“Wha—oh, yeah,” he nods. 

His answer is less than convincing, but you have no reason to not believe him. You shrug and pull the blanket over you and Leon, the plush fabric spread over your laps. You rest your head on his shoulder, focusing your attention back on the movie. 

“Do you think Kevin could work with you?”

Leon laughs at that. A genuine laugh. “He has potential,” he admits. “He’d probably end up working with the bad guys. He has a bit of a sadistic streak.”

“He’s like seven!”

“Yes and?”

You giggle at him, planting a kiss to his cheek. You go to get up and make another round of drinks but Leon tugs you back into him. You sigh at his antics but cuddle back into him regardless. 

Eventually your drinks are finished and you start to feel warm and sleepy, you and Leon adjusting so that he’s laying behind you on the couch, arms around your waist. You tug the blanket so that it covers both of you up to the shoulders. 

You snuggle farther into him, hips rubbing against his. “I really love you.”

“I love you too.”

And on such a perfect night, Leon’s never been happier to forget to check the thermostat. 

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Baby, it's cold outside

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 27

Prompt: Coffee shop/bookstore/tattoo studio AU

Rated: M

CW: Alcohol; Implied sex

Tags: Coffee shop owner Steve; Tattoo studio owner Eddie; Christmas fluff; Flirting; Sexual tension; Getting together

Notes: Continued from my December microfic, but can also stand alone

Eddie swivels morosely in his desk chair, stretches until something in his lower back pops. He glances out the window and immediately regrets it. If anything, the snow has gotten worse, the dark street outside near invisible behind the curtain of flakes that's been falling for hours. 

The blizzard hit just in time for Christmas, grinding all air traffic and most of the roads to a standstill. Eddie called Wayne to break the news, groaning and grumbling all the way, only to be gruffly told off.

“Ain't nothing to be done about it, kiddo. You be safe and I'll see ya when it clears.” 

He was right, of course, the old shit. Eddie is a sensible adult who knows this. And so he holed up at the tattoo studio for some long overdue paperwork. A perfectly reasonable, adult thing to do on a lonely holiday.

Except it's boring as fuck and his back hurts and the cold is creeping in from outside and now he's feeling like a little boy who's had Christmas stolen by the fucking Grinch. 

To top things off, he isn't even sure he'll make it back to his apartment with how things are looking outside.

He's just resigning himself to a night on the foldout in his office when there's a sharp rap against the front door. Eddie almost falls out of his chair. 

“Jesus fuck-” he mutters, bridging the distance and fumbling to unlock the door. “What the hell are you doing?” 

Steve stomps inside, shaking off snow as he goes. Even though it isn't more than a few steps from his door to Eddie’s, he's positively covered in the stuff, hair weighed down and uncharacteristically droopy. Cradled against the chest of his cable-knit sweater is a tray. Eddie spots cookies and two mugs overflowing with copious amounts of whipped cream. 

He watches how Steve sets the tray down on the table in his waiting area and runs his hands through his hair to get the residue snowflakes out. It leaves him looking deliciously disheveled, all mussed-up strands, golden skin flushed pink from the cold. Eddie finds his mouth watering for reasons not exclusively related to the scents wafting off the tray.

Steve is looking at him, like he's waiting for an answer, and shit, he said something, didn't he?

“Sorry, what?” Eddie asks. 

“I said,” Steve shakes his head, but there's no malice behind it. “Dig in, it's not getting any warmer.” 

Eddie crumples down onto the couch, hides his face behind one of the mugs … and blinks in surprise.

“Alcohol?” 

“Grand Marnier,” Steve says, settling down beside him and taking the other mug. Eddie has no idea what the fuck that means. Somehow though, the way the words tumble off Steve’s tongue, low and rumbly and distinctly French, really does it for him, so he doesn't complain. 

“Cheers,” he says and clanks their mugs together before taking a tentative sip. A firework of flavors bursts across his tongue - bitter coffee and thick, sweet cream and something heady and boozy and orange-flavored? 

“Good?”

“So fucking good, dude!” 

Behind his own mug, Steve's mouth tugs into a smile. Eddie isn’t quite sure if the heady rush that floods him is entirely due to the coffee. 

*

“Soooo,” Eddie slurs. The boozy coffee is long gone, as is the second helping Steve got from his shop. He's brought the entire bottle of the fancy French, orangey stuff though, pretty little genius that he is. Eddie giggles and takes another swig. “How c’me you're even here, huh? No family to visit, no girls to kiss under mistletoes?” 

“Have you looked outside?” Steve snorts, swaying into his space to snatch the bottle back. God he is pretty - cheeks flushed from the alcohol, cookie crumbs at the corners of his mouth. All Eddie would need to do is twist his fingers into that preppy sweater of his, yank him closer. Lick them off. 

“-not exactly on visiting terms with my folks,” Steve is saying and Eddie jerks back to attention. “Or speaking terms. My best friend was gonna visit, but I think she'd end me if I so much as brought a mistletoe near her. Anyhow, she can't come, what with the blizzard and all…” 

“So what?” Eddie grins, tongue loosened by alcohol and sugar and the way the light brings out the gold in Steve’s hair and eyes. “You decided to drop by out of the goodness of your heart and save my holiday like some perfect little Christmas angel?” 

Steve blinks. Averts his eyes. Flushes a whole new shade of pink. It blooms on top of the blush that has settled over his nose and cheekbones, like a fresh layer of color on a painting. Eddie thinks of all the other parts of Steve’s body he'd like to paint like this.

“Whatever,” Steve mumbles, “Just thought we'd both feel less alone, if- … It's getting late, I'd better-” 

“Go?” Eddie catches the sleeve of his sweater just as he's about to stand. Steve falls back into the couch. “Where? You're not gonna trudge home through that weather, are you?” 

Steve licks his lips, pink and glossy. Eddie wonders if they still taste like coffee and cream and oranges. His fingers find the soft skin of Steve's wrist under the hem of the sweater. 

“Just stay. You're right, I don't feel like being alone tonight.” 

“Stop it,” Steve's eyes are impossibly bright in the low light. “Please, I … I'll put up with your teasing any other day of the year, but not today.” 

“Steve …” Eddie rumbles. The heartbeat under his fingers flutters. “Stay … and I'll show you how serious I am.” 

He leans in, breathes his next words against the shell of a pink ear. “If you wanna, I'll even call you angel again.” 

They do end up using the foldout, the cold quickly forgotten.

All my holiday drabbles