#I ended up taking the coat off halfway through but it barely helped

[myname-isnia]

Walking home from grandma’s was literal hell and I only made it by some sheer miracle

[the100thtwilightmaze]

Could I get an embry imagine, where like you guys are cuddling and things get kinda steamy? Smut if you feel comfortable

Title: Warming Up (Feb. 13, 2024)

Embry Call x fem!reader Imagine (Twilight)

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUTTY SMUT/teasing/soft!dom Embry(I guess)/not proof read 😂

Y'ALL I DIDNT REALIZE THAT I HAD WRITTEN IN FOUR WHOLE YEARS WTF?!??!

so let's see if I still got it 😂 went back through my asks from apparently years ago 😬😂 and picked this one.

THIS IS MY FIRST SMUT PIECE PLEASE BE KIND 😭

PLEASE LIKE/REBLOG/COMMENT

The night was ending like many of your others. Embry in the driver's seat, you in the passenger. Leaving another dinner at the Black's. A warm meal surrounded by people you considered family was something you would never grow tired of.

Finally making it back to your apartment, you were greeted with warmth and shelter from the pelting rain.

"I think this storm's gonna be a bad one, babe. Looks like we made it home just in time." you heard Embry call out, making his way to you guy's bedroom.

"Maybe Sam will take pity on you and let you off of patrols tomorrow morning. Then, I can have you all to myself." you replied, pulling off you coat and following him into the bedroom.

In true Embry fashion, his shirt was already forgotten, thrown in some corner of our already cluttered room.

Now, this was also something you'd never grow tired of.

Embry was beautiful. Copper skin, long hair that made it nearly halfway down his back, his tribal tattoo, and a few other tattoos he had collected in the past few years scattered all over his lean physique. Muscles that required no maintenance from him. The sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips.

Good God

"Babe, I love your confidence but you know Sam takes more of a No Mercy type of approach." he joked, climbing into bed.

"Now, come on. Let's finish this movie we started the other day. I wanna see this plot twist you've been going on about." he said, pulling the covers back in invitation.

Never one to deny your imprinter much of anything, you accepted his invitation. Stripping of your day clothes and into your..... bear necessaties with a plan in mind.

"Y/N, what are you up to?" he quipped from behind you after you finally nestled yourself between his legs, your back to his front.

"Don't flatter yourself, Call. I'm just trying to warmed up since somebody still hasn't gotten the heat in the truck fixed." you replied, grabbing the remote and flipping to Netflix.

If you say so, you heard him mutter. Wrapping his arm around your middle and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

Now, Embry always got a little too engrossed in whatever was playing on the TV. So engrossed that he didn't even notice when your fingers began to trace over one of his numerous tattoos.

Or when you reached behind you and ran your nails along his scalp.

But you know what he did notice? When you slightly readjusted to where your ass was flush against the impressive bulge concealed under his sweats.

A guttural moan and his arm tightening around your middle was his response.

"Still not warm enough, Ms. Y/L/N?" he teased, skimming his lips up your shoulder and right below your ear, grabbing the remote to pause the movie.

"Not quite yet, Call. But I think you can help remedy that." you answered back, turning around to give him your full attention, straddling his growing erection.

A small smile he offered before one of his hands crept up to pull your lips to his. His other hand roaming to your rear.

Everyone thought of Embry as timid and shy. Quiet and reserved. But they never got to see this side of Embry (and they never would if you had anything to do with it). Primal and animalistic. Teeth scraping along your neck. One hand fisting your hair, the other making its way into your panties.

A small whimper escaped you, quickly swallowed up by Embry.

"I've barely even touched you yet baby and you're already soaked." Embry pulled back just enough to tease.

"Embry, please..." you moaned, feeling his thick fingers work through your folds.

"How long have you been waiting for me, baby? Huh?" he questioned, fingers still just barely missing where you need him most.

"Were you sitting at the dinner table, thinking of all the ways I could fuck you? Use your words, baby. Talk to me." he teased, ignoring your plea, using the hand that wasn't teasing your pussy to unclip your bra.

You couldn't even formulate words at this point. If it wasn't Embry, your imprinter and the love of your life, you would be embarrassed with how quickly you were reduced to a whimpering mess.

"Yes. Yes. God, yes." you moaned, legs shaking as one of his fingers teased your clit.

"That's my good girl. Always so eager for me." he replied, flipping you over on your back. Taking off your underwear and throwing to yet another corner of your room.

"God. Would you look at her? Making such a mess. Just waiting to be stuffed full." he teased, his eyes zeroed in to the apex of your legs, teasing your entrance yet again.

"And who am I to deny her?" he questioned while sinking two fingers in your wet walls.

"Fuck, Em!" you moaned at the intrusion.

"You're just sucking me right in, baby. Such a greedy little thing." he mocked, his thumb coming to teasing your bungle of nerves while his other fingers worked magic inside you.

Bringing his lips down, his teeth scraped across one of your harden nipples, making you fist your hand in his long locks.

You felt his hardened length teasing at your thigh, still (to your dismay) fully clothed.

Between the bites he was leaving across your chest, the thumb toying at your clit and the two fingers wreaking havoc inside you, you knew you wouldn't last long. That knot in your stomach was already growing, your legs already trembling.

"Embry, baby..." you managed to whimper. But his face was buried in the crook of your neck now, his lips whispering the filthiest things between kisses.

"Embry. Baby. Fuck. I need you. Fuck, baby. I need you inside. I need to feel you inside, baby. Please." you managed, just slightly louder than before. But he had heard you. Evidenced by the sudden stop in kisses and the halt in movement of his fingers.

"Fuck, Y/N. If that's what you want, I'll give it to you." he groaned, bringing his lips to yours and making quick work of his sweats.

Embry was girthy and just long enough to hit that one spot that had you seeing stars. His dick stood at attention, red and weaping. You moaned at the sight, remembering that delicious stretch.

He teased the head through your folds, smearing your wetness and his precum through your folds, making you both moan at the sensation.

"You ready, baby?" he asked, finally tearing his eyes away from your dripping cunt.

All you could do was nod your head in confirmation.

Bringing his lips to yours, Embry sank into you.

Swallowing each other's moans with a kiss, he set a steady rhythm. The only sounds to be heard in the small apartment were your moans and the sound of skin slapping.

"Fuck, you take me so well, baby. Look at you, creaming by dick. Such a good fucking girl." he muttered, eyes once again zeroed on where you were joined.

You moaned at his praise, involuntarily clenching around him causing his thrusts to stutter.

"You gonna cum, baby? Already?" he smirked, bringing that fucking thumb up to your clit once more.

"Then come, baby. Make a mess on this dick for me." he commanded, claiming your mouth once more.

You saw stars.

Glalxies.

And whatever else was out there.

A broken moan leaving you as Embry's orgasm followed shortly after.

Pulling his softening member from you, Embry collapsed next to you. Both of you offering small giggles in between trying to catch your breath.

Covering you up, he pulled you to him. Finally offering the warmth that you were so desperately asking for.

[folkloresthings]

seb + reader are in the car and they get in a fight. reader gets out of the car, it starts raining, and seb can’t find her and starts freaking out. when she finally gets home he’s super relieved and apologizes and they make up

vaguely inspired by the all too well tv (10 min vers.) music video but less toxicity 👍

BOILING POINT. ❨ sebastian vettel x reader ❩

the space between you had never been so tense. sebastian’s hands were gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white, your nails nicking at the hem of your dress. it was almost dark out, and you were headed back from a fancy dinner with some of sebastian’s colleagues.

it was your first time meeting most of sebastian’s work friends. people higher up in red bull, bosses and executives and what not. you’d been nervous, but sebastian didn’t seem to think he needed to help ease your nerves. for the most part, you spent the night in the corner of the room, cradling a wine glass and making awkward small talk. sebastian was laughing and making jokes and brushed you off any time you tried to speak to him.

“so, you’re not speaking to me now either?” you mumble, hating the silence.

“you’re being dramatic,” sebastian sighs, head falling back against the headrest as he turns another corner.

“you barely said a word to me all night!” you exclaim, sitting up. you look over at him, his eyes fixed hard and cold on the road. “it was embarrassing!”

“i was working,” he hisses, glancing over at you briefly. “i didn’t have time to talk to you, because i had to impress those people if i want to keep my job. you know, the job that pays for your dresses and holidays and—”

“stop the car.”

sebastian looks over at you, cheeks red with frustration. “what?”

“i said, stop the car.” you can feel the tears stinging your eyes, sebastian’s words pulling at the wrong heartstring. he got like this sometimes, all hot and harsh, but he was never mean. not like that.

he laughs a little, under his breath, but pulls the car over anyway. he doesn’t expect you to actually get out, only to make your point and shout at him a little more and then go home. but you click the door open as soon as the car rolls to a halt and slam the door behind you.

“y/n!” he calls, rolling down the window. “get back in the car!”

you don’t listen, arms crossed and legs moving quickly. sebastian’s used to your stubbornness, and he’s still to caught up in his anger to apologise. “fine! i’ll meet you at home.”

about halfway there, the heavens open and it begins raining heavier than sebastian had anticipated. the rain seems to clear his thinking a little bit, turning the car around with a sharp sigh. he follows the exact same road he took, but you’re nowhere to be found. he tries some other back streets, and still nothing.

panic rises in him. you’re out there, somewhere, cold and wet and sad — and it’s all his fault.

thirty minutes of looking and no avail, sebastian heads back to the house in hopes of finding you. he could have cried when he sees you there, stood at the door, drenched. you spot the car pulling in, watching as sebastian switches off the ignition and climbs out.

“you’ve got the keys,” you tell him, justifying why you were simply stood on the doorstep. your cheeks are red and blotchy, eyes swollen from where you cried the whole way home. sebastian sighs, hurrying over to unlock the door and usher you both in.

“come on, take these off,” he’s quick to help you remove your coat, your shoes, every piece of clothing that’s soaked through. fetching you some pyjamas, he helps you put those on too. when you’re sat at the end of the bed, still not speaking, hair towelled dry and mascara staining under your eyes, sebastian caves.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters, kneeling between your legs. begging for forgiveness. “i should have been better tonight. i should have kept you by my side, showed you off. i shouldn’t have said all of that stuff — i’m an idiot.”

you sniffle, letting his hands wander over you, lips pressing apologetic kisses to your thighs, your stomach, your hands.

“i’ve got the perfect woman, and i act like a fool,” he admits, reaching up to brush your hair out of your face, kissing your cheeks. “i’m so sorry, liebe. you can hit me, if you want.”

it pulls a small smile from you, one he celebrates with a kiss to your lips. swiftly and easily does he lift you from under the arms, switching positions so he’s sat on the mattress, you on his lap.

“what can i do to make it up to you?” he gives you a suggestive smirk, fingers dipping under your waistband. “give me the word and i’m yours, baby.”

you can’t help but smile, shifting a little in his lap, pulling a small groan from your boyfriend. “hm. don’t think you deserve that tonight — but some hot chocolate would be lovely.”

he groans again, this time in despair, falling back into the mattress and taking you with him. you giggle, tucking your head in his neck as he attacks you with kisses. eventually giving up, leaving you to curl up under the duvet as he drags himself to the kitchen. when your hot chocolate comes, it’s a work of art, topped with cream and marshmallows and chocolate shavings.

“only the best for my love.”

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

Ghost x Reader

NSFW, 18+, Shameless Smut, No Plot, Porn w/out Plot, Sex in the dark, Explicit, Graphic Language, Teasing, Touch-Starved Touching, Embarassing, First Time Together, Fingering, Sloppy Kisses, Somewhat Rough Sex, slightly Intimate, Ghost is a bit of a dom, Reader's a bit snarky, Slightly Proof Read, I'll fix what I miss later :)

First time writing a smut one-shot with zero plot sooooo here's my trial run. I'm a recovering former Catholic schoolgirl, bear with me. Enjoy. （。ˇ ⊖ˇ）♡

Word Count: 2.4k

Also I take requests, or I would like to, or I might just poll who I should write next. ヾ(´▽｀;)ゝ My other one-shot Soap | Price

You step into a dark bedroom, reaching over to flip on the light switch. That's when you feel Ghost's cold, gloved hand stop you halfway. Your hand, which is small in comparison to his own, can't help but be encompassed by his sudden grasp.

The door shuts behind you both, you and Ghost now standing in a nearly pitch-black bedroom. Alone.

"The lights stay off," Ghost orders.

The gravelly-like sound of his voice is deep in this empty room, soothing through your ears and sending a chill down your spine. You can just make out the large silhouette of his body, towering over you like a great, big shadow. Ready to devour you and leave you used.

And you wanted him to use you. To fill you with all he has to give. You've lusted for his touch since you first laid eyes on him. You longed to feel his strong grasp around your throat, his teeth against your skin, his cock buried deep in you. You always wondered what a man who brandishes a skull mask of all things would desire of you.

Your own hand could only suffice for so many nights. It was time for the real thing.

And you knew Ghost had wanted it too. He had wanted you bad. Not being able to have you until now only fueled his growing insatiable craving for you. His skin practically simmers from the rising arousal.

"No lights at all?" You pout.

"What's the matter?" The teasing tone to his voice lowers, as does his hand, as you feel his fingers trail up your arm. It leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake, before he's let it rest at the side of your jaw, taking a soft hold of your face. "You afraid of the dark?"

You feel his deep, olive eyes look you up and down hungrily through the darkness. Exploring every inch of your body. He could picture all the curves to you, his hands hardly able to keep away from reaching out. Envisioning your body shaking by the end of this, the anticipation having his blood rushing just thinking about it.

His thumb lightly trails over your lip, the glove of his thumb gently grazing it, faintly tugging. He parts them for himself, your tongue just slightly brushing against him. It makes a whimper leave your lips, as you start to playfully nip at the fabric of his glove with your teeth, coaxing something dark inside him.

"It's just us now, love," Ghost whispers. "I want these walls crumblin' down once I'm through with you."

You lift both your hands and let them dance delicately over his, your own hands so small it takes the two of them to even hold the entire thing. You tug at the fabric, removing the glove from his skin and revealing his bare knuckles to you. If not for the dark which surrounded them.

Unable to truly see him for youself, you let your touch fill that yearning to look upon him. You let the glove fall to the floor, as your hands take his again, your warmth clashing with the iciness of his own touch.

"Why don't you make that happen then," you taunt him.

You take his index finger and bring it to your lips, letting your tongue slowly swirl around it, as your saliva coats him, your breath making his skin shiver. You gently bob your head forward and suck his finger, taking your time getting it wet for him. Only just faintly being able to make out his mask in the dark.

You hear Ghost let out a heavy breath, before he's got you pressed flush against the door. He uses his large thigh between your legs and his other arm to box you in, his body pressing roughly against you, keeping you pinned against the door.

You were at a point of no return now. If this was what you wanted, then Ghost was prepared to give it to you, as he saw fit.

Ghost brings his free hand down, roughly pulling down the short little skirt you'd had your ass hanging out of all night, until you've felt the fabric hit your ankles below you. The second they hit the floor, Ghost plucks his finger from your lips, deciding to swap for a new pair to play with instead.

His fingers dip beneath your lace panties, letting those fall to your feet next, the chill of his hand making you jolt lightly, as you gasp. That's when he feels how dripping wet you had been this whole time. You coat the man's fingers in a matter of seconds, which he can't help but chuckle at.

"Fuckin' hell," he teases you. "Say less."

"Fuck you," you tease.

Ghost responds by bringing two wet fingers to your clit, massaging smooth circles against it, and sending a jolt of knee-wobbling pleasure through you. He gets the rhythm down damn near instantly, working a magic you should have only known he possessed. You can't help but moan to his touch, your head pressing back against the door as your body chases his fingers.

"You were saying?" Ghost teases you again. Only this time, before you've time to say something else, you feel his fingers make their way towards the entrance of your cunt, ghosting the hole purposefully, letting his hands grow damp with you. It makes the air catch in your throat.

His fingers slowly curve in, the warmth of your walls gripping tightly in retaliation. He pumps them in and out, going just a little deeper, each time they sank back in.

Pretty soon you've felt him go knuckle deep, his palm smacking roughly against your clit at each thrust. Each time left you throbbing with arousal, making you shake. The visceral, wet noises that came from your cunt paled in comparison to the moans you released alongside them.

The sensation was almost so overwhelming that your mind couldn't think straight. Tears welled at the corners of your eyes, as your voice took a mind of its own, letting Ghost know vocally just how much you enjoyed having his fingers roughly play with you like that.

Ghost would never forget these sweet sounds you made for him. They'll live in his mind 'til the day he dies, he's sure. As he'll be forever chasing after them now. Hearing you had been a newfound high

He eventually takes his hands from you, your fluids leaving a web-like trail on its exit out. In that brief moment, having found some composure over yourself, you let your hands raise up, until they've stopped at the edge of Ghost's balaclava.

You pause before attempting to lift it up, letting your fingers rest there, signaling to him what you wanted.

"Can I?" you ask.

Ghost pauses.

One of his hands meets your wrist, though it doesn't attempt to pull you away. Holding you there, instead. Hesitantly even.

Right now, he appeared but a dark figure you could only just make out, hellbent on seeing you at your most vulnerable. Ghost wouldn't let you see him. Not completely. And you would respect that. You could be happy with just the touch of him instead. The taste of him in your mouth could be enough.

Tonight at least.

When you see he won't stop you, you slowly begin to lift up his mask. You feel the fabric glide up the sides of his neck as he holds his breath. You bring it to the bridge of his nose, letting your fingers graze against his cheeks, and tracing the stubble of his defined jawline. Simply trying to feel a picture of him in to your mind.

The whole time, Ghost stands there frozen. Letting you touch him, not having let someone do so in such an intimate matter in quite some time now. Too long of a time. He's forgotten how bare it makes him feel. And yet, he didn't want you to stop.

You mirror his actions from before, letting your thumb brush against his bottom lip. You feel it quiver, and it makes you smile.

"Don't get shy now," you purr.

You flip that switch in him, and like a predator that's just caught its prey, his mouth is on yours, pressing against you so hard that his body nearly smashes you against the door. It releases a gasp out of you, one that Ghost uses to let his tongue take a quick swipe against yours, stealing a taste.

You chase his as it retreats, your lips following him organically. As though your mouths were two puzzle pieces; perfectly fitted for one another.

His kisses quickly turn starved, his tongue exploring every available inch your mouth provided to him, dominating you in every way. Letting you know that from here on out, your mouth belonged to him and him alone. Your lips. Your tongue. Your taste. You.

You belonged to him now.

You nip at his lip suddenly, giggling at the little gasp he lets out afterward. In response, Ghost brings his hands to the hem of your shirt and lifts it over your head, leaving you now bare before him, just as a silhouette in the dark to him as he were to you.

He brings his teeth to the groove between your neck, searing them deep and bringing a light hiss out of you. At the same time, his hands meet your breast, his finger gently rubbing against your nipples, as his palms massaged you gingerly.

His hands feel you as though he planned to sculpt a new woman out of you, and his lips trail down your neck as though they could help him memorize the taste your skin left lingering at every peck.

Your fingers grip at the back of his neck, pulling him in, clawing into what little skin he left bare for you to feel beneath his lifted mask. The sting your nails leave makes him throb almost painfully so.

Ghost pries his lips from you, letting his hands slide roughly down past your ass, before taking hold of your thighs. With one quick movement, he hoists you up, allowing your legs to straddle his waist. He then presses himself against you, grinding hard into you.

The sudden flood of ecstasy it washes over him brings a low, shaky breath out of him. One he wasn't too used to making. He continues grinding against you, keeping your back pressed against the wall and both his large hands gripped firmly beneath your ass, his hands moving you almost like you were his own personal doll.

And you submit.

You submit completely to him, keeping your hands wrapped around his neck, as the grinding of his hardening cock through his uniform re-erupts that lustful flood he'd pulled out of you only minutes ago.

Using the wall to help keep you upright, Ghost brings one of his hands down to the buckle of his pants, undoing them and allowing him to lower his them. Just enough for him to take hold of himself and uncover from his briefs.

It seems he's had enough of the teasing and the foreplay.

"You know we have a bed," you joke.

"I like to work on my feet," Ghost quips back.

You feel the head of his member begin to play at your folds, lightly spreading them apart, and preparing for what felt like would be something slightly larger than what you were used to. It makes the core of your groin quake with anticipation.

Ghost continues to tease himself against you, his breath growing shakier by the second, as precum began to slick between you. His hand on your ass tightens, and he brings himself to the center of your core once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

"Think you can take it?"

You swallow and then nod.

"Give it to me already."

As quickly as the words leave your mouth, Ghost lets himself thrust deeply into you, your walls just barely being able to take in the entire length of him. It sends a sharp sensation up your body, bubbling out into one of the loudest moans you've ever felt yourself let out. You feel it travel all the way up to your throat, making your heart race as though you'd just run a triathlon.

Once he saw you could take him, Ghost pumped deeper into you, pushing further and further in at every thrust, gliding in and out with ease. Soon you've taken him completely, feeling him smack against your cunt hard.

His lips find yours again, not wanting to waste another second away from you, as his fingers dig deep into your skin, forcing you to take all of him, as you willingly let him do what he wants with your body. He clearly knew what it wanted best.

He purposefully pulls back out slowly, allowing you to feel every inch of him leave your pussy, and stopping just before his head can exit. He then comes back in sharply, earning that chilling moan from you every time. He could go all night listening to it.

"That's right, lovey," Ghost pants against your lips. "That's fuckin' beautiful."

Ghost picks up his speed, each pump growing faster. Eventually, the pace had increased so much that you stopped noticing the blood you were drawing at the back of his neck from digging into it so roughly. Just as you didn't notice the forming bruises on your ass from how hard Ghost had been holding you.

All you could feel was him inside you, giving you everything he had to give, and hitting that sweet spot every single time.

"I'm so close!" you gasp out. You slide your hands back over to his face, cradling his cheeks in your palms, letting him know you were looking him in his eyes. Somehow you felt you could see his right now. "Cum with me."

Ghost takes your lips one final time, getting one last good taste of you, as he feels your walls tighten around him, your body vibrating, as you moan into his lips.

The orgasm shakes you so hard that your body moved almost involuntarily. The mixture of warmth and tight compression is enough to finally get it out of him as well, as Ghost cums alongside you, his cock throbbing against the heat of your cunt.

He lets out a breathy moan, his forehead resting against yours, as you both fight to catch your breaths.

As the moments settled, and your heart rates began to rest, you both continued to let faint images of each other dance in your minds, as un-pronounced as when you first walked in.

"Maybe we can have a nightlight on next time," you joke.

Ghost is quiet for a second, still attempting to reassess himself. He clears his throat before speaking again.

"I'm up for that."

♡( •ॢ◡-ॢ)✧˖° ♡

[inoreuct]

drink from me

a sherry-laced conversation about thirst and running away. zosan | 2k | hurt/comfort

Being a coward isn’t as easy as one might think.

It’s juxtaposition in its own right; cowardice is, as defined, a lack of bravery— And yet Sanji supposes it takes bravery to be able to ditch everything you stand for. To turn tail and run. Bravery to bear upon your shoulders the disappointment of everybody who had ever believed in you. 

He sighs deeply, tilting the bottle in his hand so that the dregs of liquor slosh within. This is why he doesn’t drink.

It’s relatively easy most days. To lock his past behind a set of double doors, bar the handles with a padlock and chain so he can pretend that everything he’s running from isn’t just three paces behind, snapping at his heels, starved and ready to eat him up whole. Alcohol slots the key back into place and twists it without his permission. Twists his heart until it aches.

He doesn’t know why he’d started. The bottle of sherry had sat, nondescript and guileless and half-full on the galley table after the night’s dessert, and Sanji had paused before he’d slowly wrapped his fingers around the neck of it and let his nails scrape against the dark glass.

The cork had popped almost too easily and here he is now, taffrail digging into his forearms as he takes a long drag from his cigarette and lets bitter smoke fill his lungs full to bursting. Blood orange coats the back of his tongue, cloyingly sweet, thick on the roof of his mouth— He’d made a layered trifle with cacao nibs and caramelised cream that had been slathered between slabs of boozy vanilla sponge, and the aftertaste clings to his teeth. Sanji peers down as what’s left of the sherry glimmers vaguely inside the bottle and fights the urge to chug the rest. 

He could, if he really wanted to. He hardly drinks but it certainly doesn’t mean he can’t. 

A soft scrape against wood catches his attention, barely perceptible. He fights to keep his spine from stiffening, fights to maintain his loose-limbed, easy demeanor; the liquid warmth in his veins helps some but not enough, and he’s halfway through another drag when near-silent footsteps stop just behind him. 

Zoro’s haori shifts in the wind, palm loosely wrapped around the end of Wado’s hilt where she’s strapped alone to his hip. “Was wondering where you went,” he says easily, looking out over the ocean. 

Sanji scoffs. It burns his throat more than the sherry did. “For someone built like that, you’re surprisingly quiet, marimo.”

The immediate urge to kick himself is something new. He rarely feels it— It appears often, don’t get him wrong, he just. Ignores it. It’s a little more difficult tonight. Built like that. The noise that escapes him is mirthless. What’s that even supposed to mean, huh? Alcohol’s always made him snappy and he does feel bad for once — But he’s tired, and the chores won’t do themselves. 

“Make it quick, would you?” he mutters when Zoro still hasn’t replied, low and quiet in the still evening air as he curves down to dig the heel of his palm into his temple. “My spice jars are still all over the counter, and I have to mop the floor before I wash the dishes—”

“It’s done.” 

Sanji blinks, before his eyes narrow and he turns his head to look at Zoro properly. “The dishes?”

“Everything.” The swordsman huffs when Sanji gives him a dubious look, gaze flicking over and away again as he rolls his eye. “Luffy asked me to clean up the galley. Said you needed a break.”

Well. The cook exhales, measured, and buries his face into the crook of his elbow. Taps his cig so that ash doesn’t fall into his hair where he’s holding it aloft above his head. “Tell him thanks, but I don’t.”

He clocks it out of his peripheral vision when Zoro smirks and waves a hand to gesture to his cigarette and his slouch and the glass bottle dangling against wood. “What’s this, then?”

I don’t know. Shop’s closed, please fuck off and come back tomorrow morning. 

The other words that sit at the tip of Sanji’s tongue are far more scathing. He feels them, bites them back viciously before he can burn anyone other than himself. “If there’s a single thing out of place in there I’m gonna—”

“Kick my ass, I know, I know.” Zoro chuckles under his breath. “Don’t you get tired of saying the same things over and over again?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t constantly choose to be selectively deaf, moss-for-brains.”

The swordsman huffs another soft laugh, and conversation peters out after that. Sanji feels an itch building at the base of his skull, flickering just under his skin; it’s making him restless. He taps the bottle against the rail just to fill the silence. Zoro reaches a hand out and Sanji gives it to him easily, unthinkingly, watching and pretending he isn’t as the swordsman thumbs over the faded paper label that’s peeling at the corner. 

Zoro’s hands are scarred, he notes. He knows this, of course, but he never gets tired of letting his gaze drift over tan skin and old scars, thin slivers of pearly tissue painted silver in the moonlight. A breeze ruffles his hair as Zoro finally drinks, and he’s distantly surprised to see that it’s a measured sip and not a swig like what it usually would have been. 

Fucking hell. Sanji’s inhale shudders when he pushes himself up and stands straight, now-free hand wrapping around lacquered wood as he finishes his cigarette and tosses the butt over the side. He needs to stop thinking. He’s paying too much attention. There’s a pressure building behind his forehead and Zoro is an overwhelming presence beside him, unavoidable, stoic and staunch as ever, perfect posture, perfect honour, a sentinel with a pure white sword like some sort of— of hero from a storybook. Perfect perfect perfect.

It’s all building like a scream behind his lips, a river at a bottleneck, and he clenches his jaw to keep it in. Grits his teeth until he hears them creak because what would happen if he opened his mouth? Nothing good, he’s sure. Nothing anyone needs.

Sanji nearly startles when the bottle taps against his elbow. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing to say,” he replies immediately, taking a careless gulp and holding in a cough. 

Zoro’s slow exhale feels like it shifts the wind itself. Their ship creaks gently. “You always have something to say, curls.”

“Look, you—” He cuts himself off, tempering his breath. “I’m tired, alright? So can you just get to the point?” Fuck, he needs another cigarette. 

Maybe that’s the problem. He knows he’s the problem, sure, but Sanji suspects that he’s been running for so long that he’s forgotten how to walk. It’s grown into him like weeds wound through his ribs, the way he sees poison in water that’s perfectly clean, the way peace makes him more anxious than chaos does. He needs to stop running. He doesn’t know how. 

Zoro pries the sherry from his fingers and it’s only then that he relaxes the death grip he’d unintentionally had, a shudder slipping over his shoulders. Zoro holds the bottle loosely between his scarred fingers and doesn’t drink.

The silence thickens. Static crackles within his bones.

Sanji doesn’t know why he starts talking. Doesn’t know why it feels like a dam breaking in his chest, but his mouth is open, and the words are emptying out. “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder for something that isn’t there. Luffy gave me something to run towards, for once, but—”

He doesn’t know how to say it’s not enough without sounding ungrateful, without being greedy. “Sometimes I think I could… consume every one of the Blues, and still want more,” he allows. “Need more.” His fingers lace together, and Sanji dips his head with a wry smile even as he looks at the endless expanse of sky in front of them. “I’m afraid I’ll drink the world and still come up dry.”

There is a thirst in him. Something different than what had wracked him for a month on that barren rock. Hunger he can handle; he eats just enough to stave it off and goes about his day. This, though— Sanji can’t help the way it buzzes in the back of his head and keeps him wound up like a coil of electrical wire. He kneads dough and whisks egg whites just to have something to do with his hands. He defaults to his usual barbs when he’s feeling ungrounded so he can kid himself into thinking he possesses some semblance of normality. His shoulders ache as he stares out over the sea and wonders what it’s like to hold so much and still, still, be so achingly empty.

The winds change, carding cool fingers through his hair. 

“Drink from me,” Zoro says, and Sanji’s breath catches between his teeth.

His head snaps up to find Zoro already looking at him, face unreadable, elbows on the taffrail and bottle cupped in his hands. The swordsman looks serene, Sanji thinks. Gaze trained straight ahead, ever clear of his objectives as Wado gleams at his side, starlight in an ivory sheath. 

“Drink from me,” he repeats. The words are solemn as they always are in moments like these, the liminal space just after dusk but before true night, as his eyes shift over to Sanji and lock in place. “I won’t let you go thirsty again.” 

Sanji’s mouth dries. It’s hard not to feel pinned as Zoro looks at him; the weight of his gaze is almost physically tangible, like a familiar green coat settling over his shoulders. That’s the thing about Zoro— For all Sanji jokes about him having plant life in his skull, the swordsman has a penchant for dropping absolutely earth-shaking statements without even seeming to think about them at all. The cook swallows once, twice, tries to find his words as his lips part and loses them as soon as he takes his next breath.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop feeling like a ticking time bomb. But as Zoro’s lashes flutter and he looks away, Sanji feels something in him settle. The relentless buzz that always seems to sit just beneath his skin soothes out into a quiet hum. 

Maybe part of it’s how Zoro’s scarred and still perfect. Untouchable. Sanji couldn’t hurt him even if he tried, even if he blows apart.

His fingers wrap, unthinking, around the neck of the bottle as it’s pushed back into his hand, the pressure of Zoro’s touch lingering until he’s sure that Sanji has a good grip. The swordsman’s boots brush softly across the planks as he turns to leave and he’s halfway to the stairs before Sanji speaks.

“Marimo.”

He knows Zoro turns without even looking. “Hm?”

“Did Luffy really ask you to clean up the galley?”

A pause, before Zoro starts walking again. “Get some sleep, cook. I’ll take the rest of your watch.”

The silence he leaves in his wake is honey-thick. First watch is Sanji’s shift, it always is— He cleans up the galley and stays awake until Zoro comes to take over. 

(The galley is clean. His watch is covered. His mind is quiet.

For once, he can’t find himself another reason to stay.)

 

The sherry holds no evidence of them ever having shared it. Sanji lifts the tinted glass and there’s no trace of Zoro, no proof that his mouth had ever been where Sanji’s is— None of the candied orange and rosemary from the duck they’d had for dinner, gamey and blood-sweet.

I won’t let you go thirsty again.

Sanji tastes it still, gentle in the back of his throat as he drains the bottle.

[bitten-fruit]

you invite him inside

It's Summer 2007, and you're on your way home from a party in Edinburgh. You encounter an exceptionally forward Scottish stranger with a buzzed head and a brow ring, calling himself Soap - you roll the dice, and let him walk you home.

18+ MDNI - cw: reader is drunk - 5k words

tags: Indie Sleaze(!!) Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish x f!Reader, teasing & denial, flirting & banter

a/n: this is (some) of the first chapter of my longfic Trainspotting on A03, bitterfruit. I thought I'd share on here since I'm working on a part 2!! ♡

You carve through the beating crowd of the house party; sloshing drinks and drunken hands intercept you as you attempt to navigate your way to the front door. MGMT’s Kids thunders from the speakers in the hallway, its deafening volume only exacerbated by the passionate chanting of the dancers that hover around it.

Control yourself! Take only what you neeeed from it!

Your friend Katie, who had brought you as a plus-one, had long disappeared with some boy she had been all over - taking your coat with her - leaving you to make your way home in nothing but your needlessly skimpy playboy bunny costume.

Finally stumbling out of the dense jungle of partygoers, you burst through the front door as if you’d just been birthed, sweaty and panting. 

Just a fifteen-minute walk.

With your arms crossed, you trudge down the steps in the stiletto pumps you had borrowed from Katie – glossy, sharp, and a size too small. Fuck, they ache. Before you even make it past the gate, you throw in the towel and unstuff your feet from their latex trappings; holding the shoes with two fingers hooked at the heels, doing your best to avoid stepping on the broken glass on the footpath.

As your distance from the house party grows and the echoes of Paper Planes begin to fade, it dawns on you that you’re far drunker than you had believed yourself to be. Being surrounded by students two boxes and three pingers deep has the tendency to make you feel staunchly sober by comparison.

Still, you feel the slabs of concrete wobbling beneath your feet, your head starts to spin like you’ve stepped off a carousel if you shut your eyes for too long. The streets are utterly quiet, devoid of cars or people, despite the neighbourhood’s proximity to the CBD. You may well have found it off-putting if you were sober, but in truth, you’re just thanking Christ there’s nobody around to see you trotting down the road in nothing but a bodysuit and fishnets. You imagine a car might pull up alongside you, rolling slowly on its wheels as the driver asks through his window, “how much for an hour?”

And that would almost be preferable to what you actually encounter once you’re halfway home – crossing the street, stumbling in your bare feet as you walk past shops with steel shutters blocking their doors and windows.

You hear the distinctive thuds of sprinting feet from far behind you; the soles of sneakers slamming hard on the footpath, in a rapid enough pace that the person might as well be an Olympian runner. As they get louder, closer, your first instinct is to flee – but before you even have the chance to turn to look over your shoulder, the sprinter has come to a screeching halt beside you, tearing off their jacket and tossing it over your shoulders as if it were a cape.

“What the fu–” You yelp, hastily cut short.

“Shh – shut up, pretend y’know me.”

A man, and a local, evidently – the kind of Scottish accent so thick you can barely distinguish the beginning of one word from the end of another. 

“Get away fr–”

He interrupts you once again, tossing an arm over your shoulder as he walks alongside you, shoving his other fist into the pocket of his loose black jeans. “Please, lassie, do me a favour and just go with it.”

Amidst his breathlessness he sounds quite desperate – voice deep and warm, oozing sincerity despite the edge in his tone. So you weigh your options, whether or not to trust him, or to help him, or to scream and flee. You tilt your head just enough to take a peek at him; he hunches over, shoulders shrugging high as if keeping his neck warm, head low like it might hide his buzzcut from whoever may be chasing him.

You quickly discover that there are, in fact, people chasing him – more echoes from further down the road of multiple sets of running feet. You hear an enraged roar from a man behind you; your body tenses on instinct, head twisting further in the hopes of checking how close they are to you.

“Don’t look at ‘em,” he instructs you pointedly, under his breath.

More indistinguishable yelling erupts from his pursuers, though they no longer seem to be approaching. “Cheap fucken’ trick, ye fucken’ coward!”

“Keep walkin’ with me,” he mutters, tugging you along with his heaving arm draped around the back of your neck, forcing you to accelerate so that you can keep up with him.

Adrenaline throbbing hotly in your ears, you try to steal glances at the controlling stranger, not able to see much of him in your periphery. You realise now that the gifting of his jacket was not a chivalrous gesture, but a failed attempt to trick his pursuers. “Sounds like they’ve spotted you,” you whisper-yell, facing ahead.  

“Aye,” he grunts, “but they won’t touch me if there’s a witness.”

“I don’t want to be a witness,” you squeak, nervous terror in your throat.

He chuckles breathily, gives a single shake of his head. “Too late.”

“Next time I see ye, yer a fucken’ dead man, hear me? With or without yer hoor!”

The stranger groans as he scoops you around a corner, keeping a hurried pace, shooting looks over his shoulder to ensure he’s no longer being followed. Fortunately – or, unfortunately – this was the corner you would have taken anyway.

“Did he just call me a whore?” You whisper, still in shock.

He chortles at you again, sliding his weighty arm from your shoulders and releasing you at long last. “Ignore ‘em. Fucken' wankers.”

You finally have the opportunity to turn around fully to check behind you, seeing only empty, silent street.

“They won’t follow us,” he assures you, still walking alongside you, arrogant in his assumption that you won’t tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t, not yet. “Why – why were they chasing you?”

“Nosy wee thing, aren’t ye?” He smiles, crossing his arms, and you finally get a good look at him.

Hair buzzed short, the sort of job he likely did himself over his sink with an electric clipper plugged into the wall. A curved barbel pierces through the tail of his left eyebrow, almost as flashy as the sharp grey eyes pointing down at you from beneath it. His grin pushes dimples into his densely stubbled cheeks, revealing charmingly crooked teeth, and a golden crown on his right canine.

There’s something tired, jaded about him, dark eyes and low brows; face speckled with a variety of little scars, one white slash through his right eyebrow, a few pink lines carving over his temple and through his shaven scalp.

You blink, reminding yourself to speak.

“Nosy?” You snap, “you brought me into this!”

He tilts his head, appearing to acquiesce. “Aye, true. They’re just mad ‘cos I short-changed ‘em.”

As he shrugs, the hem of his cropped t-shirt tugs up on his stomach, revealing the hem of plaid boxers sticking out from his baggy trousers, a sliver of firm abdomen, a dusting of curly hair trailing down from his navel. You swallow.

“Hm. For what?” You pester.

“Now yer bein’ nosy.”

You huff, crossing your arms underneath the cape of his jacket, checking over your shoulder one last time to be certain you’re no longer being stalked.

“Fine,” you pout. After a beat of silence, you decide to add; “I’m not a prostitute, by the way.”

He snickers hoarsely, “’course not. Prostitutes are much more subtle. You’d be the first I’ve ever seen dressed as a – a what, a bunny?”

He reaches behind you, the cocky prick, lifting the back of his cloaking jacket and flicking the puffball pinned to your ass. You gawk at him, a surge of adrenaline buzzing within your chest – curious, that it’s not out of fear but fascination.

“See a lot of prostitutes, do you?” You sneer, noting how briefly his gaze lingers on your backside before it flits to your face.

“Not ‘round this side of town,” he chortles. You suspect he’s joking, but who’s to say? “So… why a bunny?”

“Playboy bunny,” you correct him, turning your head to glance at him; he just looks bewildered. “Pimps and hoes party.”

He laughs, richly, lurching forward as he does. “Ha! Had no idea they still did those.”

“Sure do,” you say, failing to suppress your grin. “Too old for them, are you?”

“Aye, for house parties full o’ students,” he admits, “but not too old to party. M’only twenty-six.”

You smile. “Good for you.”

“Got no girlie-mates to walk ye home?” He changes the subject.

Peeking at him, you squint. “You’re not supposed to ask a girl if she’s alone, you know.” 

“Oh,” he frowns, “why’s that?”

“Like, stranger danger.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles deeply. “Do you think I’m dangerous?”

You turn to look at him, running your eyes from his cocksure grin, down to his Chucks and back again. He certainly looks the part. Rough around the edges. You wonder if you would have avoided him, had he not approached you so blithely.

“Very,” you nod. “Plus, you’re following me.”

“Am I?” He jibes, “well, love, if ye want me to leave y’alone, tell me and I’ll try to leave ye be.”

Your pout shifts into a girlish smirk despite your dire efforts to contain it. “You’ll try?”

“Mm. Might be easier said than done,” he ribs, leering down at you. Your quiet titter only serves to embolden him. “It’s probably for the best that I found ye.”

“You reckon?”

“Mm. Not very bright o’ye to be walking home by yerself at this hour. And in that.”

You click your tongue impatiently. “You sound like my mum.”

“Then she’s a smart woman,” he says, with a sternness that leaves you taken aback.

You peer up at him, scrutinising. For fuck’s sake, you curse at yourself, get a grip. All better judgement, your guardian angel, screams at you to stop flirting with this bizarre studded stranger and hurry your ass home. But the little devil on your other shoulder is far more interested in seeing how this unusual interaction plays out.

“You gonna protect me, are ya?” You probe.

“Naturally,” he chuffs.

“Walking me home, then?”

A devilish grin stretches in his lips. “Happily.”

“Promise you’re not a psychopath or something?”

He inhales deeply, blowing a raspberry as he puts his hands on his hips. “No promises.”

“Mm. Well, I shouldn’t be surprised,” you say, “only psychopaths would roam the streets at three-a.m.”

“Yeah? What does that make you?”

You giggle. “Shit. You got me.”

“You bet I do. What kind of psycho wears a fucken’ outfit like that ‘on the streets at 3-a.m.’?”

Taking a peek down at yourself, you’re confronted immediately by your obnoxious cleavage, unsure how you could have forgotten it was there. You decide to slip your arms into the roomy sleeves of his jacket, wearing it properly rather than as a cloak – much warmer.

“What’s wrong with it?” You wonder in jest, feigning offence.

“Yer jokin’.” He scoffs.

“What?” You gaze at him, with a cock of your brow; he unashamedly glowers at you, vibrantly grey eyes raking from your lips to your feet before climbing back to your stare.

He huffs petulantly. “I could see yer tits from across the street,” he murmurs, “don’t make me say something about the stockings.”

You laugh coyly, feeling your cheeks burn hot and red. Seems like you got the answer you wanted. “S’that why you ran up to me, huh?”

He shakes his head. “Nae. That was just dumb luck.”

“Ah. Lucky you.”

“Mhm,” he rumbles, voice low, “very lucky.”

Why is your heart fluttering? Why are you suddenly hanging on his every word like a fucking teenage girl? You blame the cherry-flavoured RTDs you were knocking back every ten minutes while you were at that party. They’ve made your cheeks all pink and your tongue all wet.

Yet in the current quiet, strolling nonchalantly down an empty street at half-past three in the morning, you don’t feel any awkwardness in the silence. You just smile at your feet like an idiot.

“What’s yer name, then?” He asks casually, both fists in his pockets.

You hum in thought, “hmm. I can’t tell you that.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“You’re a stranger, remember?”

“So?” He disputes, grinning and playfully biting his bottom lip with his top teeth, brandishing that glistening golden canine.

You shake your head. “Who knows what you could do with my name! You could be a stalker for all I know,” you explain defensively, “you might find out where I work on MySpace, or something.”

He snickers. “Wouldn’t need MySpace to figure that out, lass.”

Frowning, you give him a disapproving smirk. “You’re proving my point.”

“Ye really won’t tell me?”

“Nope.”

He huffs disappointedly. “Alright, then, I’ll just have to call ye the bunny I found on the street.”

“Fine by me,” you declare proudly. “What can I call you, then? The playboy?”

With a chuckle, he purses his lips in contemplation. “The playboy to yer bunny, I like that,” he says. “But, pals call me Soap.”

“Soap?” You question incredulously, “seriously?”

“Aye. If I can’t have yer name, y'can’t have mine.”

You snort. “Is it meant to be ironic?”

“Can’t be,” he refutes, quick to detect your insult, “I’m clean as a whistle.”

As you open your mouth to offer back some snippy response, you spot your mailbox, number eighteen, three terraced townhouses down – you had lost track of how long the walk was, your charming stranger having sponged up every last drop of your attention.  

You find yourself disappointed, unjustifiably; you even consider, briefly, not mentioning that you had arrived home just so you can keep walking with him. God, you’re pathetic.

But imagining yourself having to eventually turn around, having to admit that you purposefully missed your stop – you begrudgingly decide to be a good girl and put yourself to bed.

“This is me,” you say flatly, slowing your steps before you come to a stop.

“Ah,” he stops beside you and rocks on the balls of his feet. “Bugger.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, mindlessly slipping your hands into the pockets of his jacket, preceding a reluctant silence. “Well, um... thanks for walking me home. Who knows what danger I could’ve gotten into.”

He waves away your jocose gratitude. “Oh, ‘course,” he says, “had to make sure ye didn’t get tricked into a chase by some strange gadgie.”

You snicker. “Oh, yeah. That would be terrifying.”

Crossing his arms, her gives you a wide but wistful grin. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it, hen.”

“Okay,” you nod, chewing your lip, you feel something in his pocket – rolling it between your fingers, feels like a wad of paper. Cash? A receipt? You start to wonder what he might have ‘short-changed’ those thugs for. Don’t be nosy. “Oh – your jacket.”

As you slip it off your shoulders, he disputes; “don’t wanna keep it as a memento?”

You chuckle, frowning, shaking your head in bemusement. Memento? What a peculiar bloke. “No. It sorta smells.”

“Bollocks,” he retorts, reaching to take the jacket from you – a brown leather bomber, now that you can see it properly. “I smell divine.”

God, he does. Like patchouli and sweat and leather; some sort of earthy masculine concoction, the kind of scent that’s probably entirely accidental – underpinned, you note, by something strangely chemical, like he had just taken a walk through a hospital. Still, so delightfully distinct from the stench of Axe body spray that the boys at your university gassed themselves with daily.

You pass him the bomber, shivering once your scantily clad body is once again exposed to the chilly air of the night. He’s quite shameless, this stranger, eyes almost bulging as they comb brazenly over you – legs, hips, tits – finally getting a good look at you, he takes his time.

“Eyes up here, playboy,” you chide.

He smirks, piercing gaze jumping to yours while his head remains tilted down; you’re almost intimidated the intensity of his eye contact from under his brow. “Aye. They’re just as pretty.”

“Alright, alright,” you giggle, face glowing hot. “I’d better turn in.”

“Yes, you’d better.”

Before you bring yourself to turn around, his hand reaches toward you, plucking the bunny-eared headband from the top of your head.

“Oi!” You bark, smoothing your disturbed hair; watching in confusion as he meticulously sits them on his head, flicking one of the fuzzy white ears with a pleased grin stretched in his lips.

“I want a memento,” he explains boldly. “Never know when I'm dreamin’ these days.”

You stare at him in bewilderment, amused and oddly endeared. He slips on his jacket, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shrugging it over his shoulders.

“Fine, all yours,” you capitulate, smiling meekly, once again letting a pregnant silence linger while you resist a goodbye. “Um. Alright. Goodnight. Soap.”

He nods. “G’night, wee bunny.”

You nod, too, finally turning on your bare feet and walking up the stairs of your flat’s brick stoop. Fumbling around in your handbag, you pluck out your keys – jingling loudly with all of your various keychains as you unlock the painted white door.

You hear his footsteps as he strolls away, slowly, growing duller as the distance grows. You find yourself frozen in the open doorway, staring into the dark abyss of your foyer, facing solitude. Bouncing in dispute with yourself, you exert all strength to bite your tongue. Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid.

He starts to whistle, some obscure tune from just down the street, as if he is purposefully reminding you he’s still in earshot – a smug little prompt.

Fuck it.

Spinning around to face the road, you lean out of the door, and call out; “Hey!”

As though he had expected it, he stops in his tracks, twirling on his heel to face you with his hands still in his pockets. Had lit himself a cigarette already, in the thirty seconds since you had bid him farewell.

“Hm? Want the ears back after all?”

“Um–” You scramble to come up with an excuse. “Those guys won’t be looking for you, will they?”

He grins. “Oh, they could well be.”

“What’ll they do if they find you?”

“Who knows,” he huffs. “Probably kill me. Might gimme one o’ those Glasgow smiles.”

“That would be pretty terrible,” you remark solemnly.

“Aye. It sure would.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, battling with your drunken little demon. “Maybe you should hide out here for the night.” You daft bitch.

“Hm,” he ponders aloud, sauntering slowly back towards your stairs, squinting in thought. “Sounds like a bad idea.”

“How come?” You challenge, tapping the inside of the doorframe with shy fingers.

He creeps up your short footpath. “Never know what might happen.”

Your lips curl into an impish smirk. “That’s the best part.”

He laughs, plucking the cigarette from his teeth, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “How drunk are ye. On a scale one-through-ten.”

“Um,” you muse, biting your lip. “I’m not that drunk.”

“Well, hen, you must be steamed. ‘Cos that’s not a number.”

You snicker, then groan impatiently. “Four.”

“Only four, eh?” He asks dubiously, standing at the base of your stairs, he gazes up at you devilishly. “You gonna remember in the mornin’ that you asked me to come in?”

“’Course,” you say. “I want you to come inside.”

He sneers. Filthy boy. “Don’t wanna get in trouble,” he refutes.

“I want you to come in,” you insist, correcting your wording just slightly.

He hums, feigning deep thought, as if he hasn’t been hoping you’d ask. “Alright,” he surrenders. “Why not.”

You do your best to conceal your glee, nodding, grinning, you turn to step inside and you hear him follow you.

“Ye live alone?” He asks, as he looks around the empty hallway, shrouded in darkness.

Shutting the door behind you and locking it, you tut at him. “Still shouldn’t ask that.”  

“You’ve already invited me in,” he jeers, “if you’re worried I’ll hurt ye, you’ve made it well easy for me.”

“I s’pose so,” you admit, smiling sheepishly as you go to switch on the light hanging in the centre of the foyer. Christ, it’s a tip – you and Katie are equally dishevelled, leaving shoes and lip gloss and hair ties and clothes in your wake wherever you venture. “Can’t be too careful,” you add – very aware of how uncareful you are being.

“Do I scare ye?” He asks coyly, taking a raffish drag of his cigarette.

“I dunno,” you answer frankly, leaning bashfully against your front door with your hands tucked behind you. “Should I be scared of you?”

“Mm,” he shrugs, “probably.”

You purse your lips and nod. “Stranger danger,” you remind yourself.

“I reckon you’re a lot more dangerous than me,” he grins.

You frown. “Why’s that?”

He puts his cigarette between his lips, holding it with a pinch, taking a puff as he eyes you scrupulously. “Look at you.”

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth. Fucking hell.

“I have a flatmate,” you finally answer his initial question, and change the subject. “But she’s not home tonight.”

“Good,” he says, milky smoke spilling from his smile.

“Um,” you make noises to fill your flustered silence. “Want to go upstairs?”

He cocks his eyebrows. “Lead the way.”

Pushing yourself from the door, you slip past him and trot up the staircase that sits flush with the panelled wall. The old oak creaks and moans under the weight of his heavy steps, he follows you steadily.

Rushing to get to your room before he can see it, you scuttle across to your bedroom door from the landing, hoping he ignores the kaleidoscope of peeling stickers you’ve tacked above the handle. You shove it open, quickly kicking aside a pair of twisted up panties you had left on your red shag rug.

In a blink he’s behind you, standing in the doorframe, a terrifyingly tall and bulky silhouette against the dim glow emerging from downstairs – made uniquely funny by the rabbit ears sticking up from his head.

You step over the piles of discarded outfit options and switch on the lamp by your bed; the yellow bulb glows coral pink from behind the vintage fabric lampshade. Looking back at him, he’s already perusing your room like it’s a museum.

He picks up and analyses the assortment of trinkets on your shelves and chest-of-drawers (old jewellery, empty lighters, some strange ceramic babies you once picked up at a flea market), and admires the mosaic of posters on your wall (Gorillaz, Feist, The Killers, MGMT,  Arcade Fire, The Strokes, Peter Bjorn and John – careful cherry-picks of your favourite bands, in the hopes you’d one day impress some hot guy with taste as good as yours).

“Bit of an artiste, are ye?” He queries, nodding at the easel against your wall – housing a half-finished and long-hated painting of yours, an attempt at a masterwork copy of Monet; sitting amongst a bombsite of palettes, brushes in dirty cups, and curled-up tubes of oil paint.

“Guess so,” you answer. “It’s my degree.”

He leans into your hideous painting, taking a drag but careful not to stain the canvas with the smoke. “Still studying, then?”

“Yeah, uh, my Master’s.”

He nods. “If you’re already this good, what does a Master’s in painting get ye?”

You snort. “Good fuckin’ question.”

Feeling suddenly shy, you venture to busy yourself, electing to pull the curtains shut over your window.

You hear him chuckle while you aren’t looking. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?”

You spin on the ball of your foot, and freeze instantly – stare caught on your grape-coloured vibrator, held comfortably in the palm of his hand, he tosses it and catches it again. You had left it on your bed, a rookie mistake. You fucking idiot!

Your hand shoots to cover your mouth, fire burns white-hot behind your cheeks; but you can only giggle, humiliated. “Put that down,” you plead into your palm.

Ignoring you, he inspects it, quickly finding the button to turn it on; its buzzing rings out obnoxiously loud into the cripplingly awkward silence, forcing you to grimace. He doesn’t seem to find it awkward at all, holding the end of the purple rod into his other hand, curling his lips in disapproval as he evidently evaluates the vibration against his skin.

“Never understood why you girls like these things,” he remarks insouciantly.

“Please put it down,” you cry, staring at the ceiling as if it might hide you from the embarrassment.

He only sniggers. “Cannae compare to the real thing.”

You cover your eyes. “It fills the void,” you quietly admit.

He finally switches it off, but continues to fiddle with it as he ambles towards you. “Mustn’t do a very good job o’ that.”

Uncovering your face, finally, you jolt when you see how close he is to you – only a foot between you, you can feel the heat of him from where you stand. You do your utter best to prevent your eyes from jumping to the vibrator in his grip, but he still toys with it, as if just to taunt you.

“What makes you say that?”

He gazes down at you, lips stretched into a smug grin. “Why’d you invite me in, eh?”

You swallow, stifling a giggle – you look around capriciously, anywhere but his drilling stare. “Just wanted to help you out.”

“Help me out?” He interrogates you, inching forward, forcing you to step onto your back foot.

You’re suddenly short of breath. “I didn’t want you to get stabbed.”

He gleams that cheshire smile, suddenly his canines seem sharper. “You’re a bad liar, wee bunny.”

“Am I?” You utter, shambling back further has he continues to encroach.

“Took me to yer bedroom straight away… didn’t even offer me a drink…” he teases, “I’m thinkin’ ye want me to help you out.”

You feel a sudden bump as your back hits the door of your cupboard, shrinking as he leans over you, closing the gap. Your eyes catch on his lips as he again places his cigarette in between them, its smoke drifting softly over your face, your stare lingers.

“Dunno where you got that idea,” you breathe, entranced by the cloud that’s left in his mouth once he tugs the roll out again.

Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid. Don’t be stupid.

Ignoring any remaining shred of common sense, you step up on your tiptoes to slam your lips against his, sucking down the smoke lingering behind his teeth deep into your chest. He matches you with no hint of hesitation, leaning into you with the full weight of his body, you hear him finally drop the vibrator as it lands on the carpet with a dull thud.

Fuck, his tongue tastes good – like tobacco and peppermint chewing gum, soft and hungry as it writhes against yours. He does what he can with his one free hand, starting tastefully with a cup of your cheek, then a hold of the side of your neck, down to your shoulder – before plunging into a greedy handful of your breast, kneading it like dough.

His wet and eager lips drag along from yours, taking soft bites out of your cheek, hot tongue licking from your jaw to your neck, where he burrows his teeth. You let out a breathy whimper, fervid fingers clutch and claw at his chest through his t-shirt, using the fabric to pull him closer. His busy hand ventures along your waist, taking a palmful of your hip and tugging it only slightly towards him.

Impatient, ravenous, your fingers slither down his firm stomach to the waistband of his jeans, fumbling to get his button undone; you feel him smile against your skin, a breathy chuckle, before his other hand moves to stop you with a hold of your wrist.

He releases your neck from his maw, standing upright with a fucking cocky and self-satisfied grin plastered on his face. You let go of his button and return your hands to your sides, worried you’d been too eager, put him off with your fervour.

“Glad to know it’s this easy to get ye hot n’ bothered,” he drawls, taking another drag of what is now nearly just the butt.

“No idea what you mean,” you pant, utterly breathless, you sweep some stray hair from your forehead with your palm.  “I’m not hot and bothered.”

“Aren’t you?” He goads, and the hand that clutches your hip sneaks towards your centre, prompting you to hold your breath; he snakes it over your mound, gliding it brazenly between your closed legs.

His shrewd eyes watch you, arrogantly, as he palms your aching pussy through the thin fabric of your bodysuit – under which you wore no panties, you wonder if he can feel how damp it is. He pushes a coaxing pressure against your covered clit with the heel of his palm, forcing you to whine in desperation; your insatiable hands return to his chest, balling the fabric of his t-shirt into your fists – and he only chortles.

“I could fry an egg on that,” he says.

And suddenly you snort, breaking into cackling laughter as you shove him away with both hands. “God, you’re disgusting!”

He laughs with you, proud of himself, he finally takes off the fucking bunny ears.

“I could hang a towel on that,” you jab, eyes suddenly caught on the frightening tent pitched in his roomy trousers. That can’t be real.

“You could hang a lot on it,” he agrees rakishly, chuckling, palming the length under his pants to tuck it away.

You try to contain your giggles as you push yourself upright, attempting to un-fluster yourself by smoothing your hair and wiping the dampness of his saliva from your neck. You feel the slippery wetness of your cunt with a step. “You’re evil,” you spit, still throbbing from his attention.

“Cannae fuck you yet,” he declares bluntly, turning to dump the end of his cigarette into your paintbrush cup full of brown water.

“Why not?” You pout, whingeing like a spoilt brat.

He returns with a debonair grin. “Gotta give you a reason to see me again.”

[stevethehairington]

[read on ao3]

"We're making a fort."

Steve is barely even halfway through the door when he is accosted with the declaration. His slick raincoat is still zipped up, his wet umbrella still wide open and dripping onto the porch behind him.

"What?" He asks, fumbling to close the umbrella and shake it out before a stack of blankets are being shoved into his arms.

"We are making a fort," Eddie repeats, grinning at Steve. He's got his own heap of blankets bundled against his chest, and when Steve glances past his shoulder he can see that the bones of said fort are already mostly established — Wayne's armchair has already been moved from its cozy corner of the room to now sit directly across from the couch, and the coffee table has been pushed to the side so as to not be a nuisance to the building process.

And, well, it sounds like a lot of fun, actually.

"Yeah, sure, alright," Steve replies with a huff of a laugh. "Can I take my coat off first though?" He asks, scrunching his nose at Eddie and holding the blankets back out for him to take.

Eddie presses his lips together, pretends to mull it over for a second before he nods. "I guess so," he says, mouth quirking at the corners. He accepts the blankets from Steve, adding them back to his own pile.

Steve toes out of his shoes, nudging them together neatly amongst the mess of the rest of the shoes by the front door. He tugs the zip of his coat down next, and shrugs out of it before draping it over the back of the nearby chair so that it can dry. Then he goes to join Eddie by the couch.

Eddie has set the blankets down and is standing there, hands on his hips as he assesses the fort structure.

He's still in his favorite plaid pajama pants, probably hasn't changed out of them all day if Steve has to guess. It's not like he had anywhere to go today, unlike Steve, and the weather certainly wares itself to pj's all day. A pair of green knit socks (a gift from Mrs. Henderson; Steve knows because he recieved the exact same pair in a pretty shade of sky blue for Christmas) poke out from the bottoms of those pants. Eddie's also got on a thick knit maroon sweater, one that Steve recognizes as his own. Ah, so that's where it ended up.

Eddie looks so cozy like that, and Steve can't help himself as he pads across the room and immediately drapes himself over Eddie's back. His arms slip around Eddie's middle, earning a little gasp and a flinch and a "shit you're cold!" as he dips his icy finger beneath the warm fabric to get even closer and to leech some of that warmth. Steve tucks his chin over Eddie's shoulder, pressing a kiss to the juncture of his neck before he looks out at the fort too.

"Where do we go from here, boss?" Steve asks.

Eddie melts into Steve, dropping his head back against Steve's shoulder and tilting his chin so he can give him a sidelong glance. "Think it's time to put a roof on this bad boy," he says.

"Grab a blanket then, Munson, let's get to work," Steve replies, leaving one more kiss to his neck before he, begrudgingly, peels himself off of Eddie and moves towards the stack.

They work together to spread the blankets out and lay them across the open space between the backrest of the sofa and the top of Wayne's armchair. It takes about three blankets to get it all covered, and they have to weigh down the ends with a couple of heavy books stacked on top of each other so that they actually stay in place instead of caving in and slipping right off.

It takes a delicate hand and a balancing placement to create the outer walls, carefully draping new blankets over the already secured ones and hoping nothing falls. Eddie finds a couple of clothespins in their junk drawer and decides to use those as an extra precaution. It's a pretty smart idea and seems to do the trick.

When the shell of the fort is finally finished, Steve and Eddie high five each other and take a moment to beam at their creation.

It takes up most of the living room, nearly stretching from corner to corner. They hadn't skimped on using every available piece of furniture that they could get their hands on — including the television set, Wayne's old cot that they still had lying around even though he has his own bedroom now, and the extra chair from the little kitchen table. It's sort of lopsided, and some of the corners look a little precarious, like they could slip at any second, while others look like they could withstand a hurricane and live to tell the tale. None of the blankets match either, both in color and fabric, but there had been enough to put together the whole fort and still have some left over. Apparently mugs and baseball caps aren't the only things the Munson men collect.

"Looks pretty damn good if I do say so myself," Eddie comments, regarding their work with a sparkle of pride in his eyes.

"We make a good team," Steve replies, bumping his shoulder against Eddie's.

"That we do, sweetheart, that we do," Eddie agrees.

He claps his hands together then. "Now it's time to furnish the place."

Steve raises his eyebrow, very eager to see what exactly Eddie has in mind for this next part.

"You wait here," Eddie tells Steve, patting his chest before he disappears down the hall and into his bedroom.

He's gone for a couple of minutes before he makes his return, arms laden with treasures.

The duvet from his bed sits around his shoulders like a cape, both of his pillows are clamped under each of his armpits, he has a thick book balancing in the crook of his arm, a can of pringles and a package of oreos in one hand, a little baggie of party favors dangling between his middle and ring fingers, and his walkman and a couple of cassettes crowding his other hand.

A slow grin spreads across his face as he approaches Steve and he waggles his eyebrows. "Let it never be said that I don't provide for you," he jokes.

Steve snorts but moves to take a few of the things from Eddie before he drops any of them. "You're too good to me," he teases back, though there's very much a thread of truth to it.

He holds back the curtain that is their "front door" of the fort so that Eddie can crawl inside with his haul and start setting up.

"Grab the extra blankets, would you, Stevie?" Eddie calls.

Steve finds them near the kitchen and carries them back to the fort, ducking inside so he can pass them off to Eddie.

"Thanks," Eddie says, taking two of the blankets and lays them out across the floor. He layers his duvet down next, then takes the third and final blanket and settles it overtop. The pillows come after, and Eddie arranges them at the foot of the couch, giving each of them a little punch to fluff them up.

He turns to Steve then and spreads his fingers wide in a flashy pair of jazz hands. "Tada," he sing-songs.

Except before Steve can tell him it's perfect, Eddie's smile twists and he gasps. "Shit," he curses. "Forgot something, hang on a sec." Then he's scrambling past Steve and out of the fort.

Steve hears the squeak of a cabinet door opening, then a shuffling as Eddie digs through its contents, and finally a muffled "Hah! There ya are!" before the cabinet is slammed shut again and Eddie's footsteps make their way back.

The flap goes flying open and Eddie beams, holding up a box of Christmas lights and a handful of safety pins.

And, shit, that is a pretty brilliant addition.

"Help me pin these up," Eddie says, unboxing the lights and spilling half of the safety pins into Steve's open palm.

They work together once again to hang the lights, carefully twisting the string around each safety pin before securing them to the blanket along the perimeter of the fort.

There's an outlet nearby, thankfully, so they don't need to go searching for an extension cord, and Eddie exits the fort again so he can plug it in.

"Let there be light," he announces, then slides the plug home.

A gentle light floods the fort, bathing their snug little sanctuary in a soft warm glow. The nest of blankets and pillows, the little hoard of snacks, the variety of things to keep them entertained. The pretty lights.

It all makes the perfect, cozy little hideaway.

Steve's heart skips a beat as he settles into the pillows and the blankets. Eddie reenters the fort a moment later, and he pats the spot next to him, inviting Eddie to join him.

Eddie doesn't waste a second, crowding into Steve's space. He fits himself to Steve's side and tucks his arm around Steve's shoulders, pulling the duvet and the extra blanket over their legs.

"This was such a good idea," Steve tells him, curling his arm around Eddie's waist and nuzzling into his chest.

"Mm, I knew you'd like it," Eddie murmurs, burying his nose into Steve's hair, just above his ear. He kisses the shell of it and smiles.

"I was thinkin' we could read another chapter or two, if you wanted?" Eddie suggests, separating from Steve's side just long enough to reach over and snag the book he'd brought with him.

The Fellowship of the Ring. They'd made it through The Hobbit about two weeks ago, and had started working their way through the first proper book of Eddie's favorite series almost immediately after.

Steve had tried to read them on his own, but there had been way too many made up words and complicated names, and that didn't help the way his brain already had trouble with regular letters and words.

Eddie had offered to read them to Steve, though, and it was an offer Steve just couldn't refuse. He loved Eddie's voice, and he loved the way he narrated, bringing life to the story and captivating Steve in a way that Tolkien alone couldn't have done.

It turns out, Lord of the Rings is actually pretty cool.

(When Steve admitted that to Eddie, Eddie had grabbed his face, told him "that's the hottest thing you've ever said", then kissed him square on the mouth.)

"That sounds perfect," Steve says.

Eddie pulls his glasses out from their little stockpile and slides them onto the bridge of his nose before he opens the book to find their page. Steve's own glasses case is still in his jacket pocket, but he doesn't need them right now, so he just gets comfortable against Eddie.

Eddie picks up where they left off, diving right in with an enthusiasm that makes Steve smile.

They make it through two chapters before the sound of a key in the lock alerts them to Wayne's arrival home.

Eddie dogears their page and sets the book aside, then nudges Steve so they can sit up and poke their heads out of the flat to greet Wayne as he gets the door open and walks inside.

"Howdy, Wayne," Eddie says cheekily, putting on A Voice.

"Hi Wayne," Steve chimes in, a little more reserved.

Wayne's eyes catch on the blanket fort and he snorts in amusement. "I see you two had some fun," he comments. "Sandbox outside too wet to build your castles in?" He teases.

Eddie bleats out a laugh. "Don't be jealous, old man," he says. "This castle's top notch."

"I'm sure it is," Wayne says, sliding his jacket off. He hangs it off the hook on the wall, then bends to unlace his boots. When he gets those off, he straightens back up. "He's not holdin' you captive in there or anythin' is he, boy?" He asks, addressing Steve.

Steve laughs and shakes his head. "Not a chance," he replies and squeezes his hand where it rests against Eddie's hip.

"Good good," Wayne replies with a solid nod. "Now that that's settled, I'm gonna go clean this weather off'a me and take a nap. You boys holler if you need anythin', alright?"

"Thanks, Wayne," Steve says, giving him a two fingered salute.

"Sleep tight," Eddie tacks on. "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

And then the two of them duck back into their fort, settle back into the blankets, and pick back up where they left off.

As the afternoon stretches on, the rhythmic sound of the rain pounding down against the roof of the trailer and the smooth cadence of Eddie's voice become a dangerous combination, and Steve finds it harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

He tries to fight it, but it's a losing battle, and eventually his eyes flutter shut, and his breathing evens out, and he falls asleep, right there in the warm safety of Eddie's arms, the cozy comfort of their little pocket of the world.

Eddie notices it after a while, huffing out a fond little laugh when a soft, snuffling snore slips from Steve. He smooths back Steve's hair, then kisses his forehead, tucking the blankets more securely around him.

He dogears their page, but keeps reading on himself, silently this time, so as to not wake Steve.

But eventually the same lulling drone of the rain and the warmth of Steve and the blankets start to pull at his edges too.

It's maybe an hour or so after Wayne gets home that he gets out of the shower and follows his stomach into the kitchen, ready to whip a little something up for breakfast, lunch — whatever meal it is he's on, he's never been the best at keeping those straight with the hours he works — before that nap. Wayne's pretty sure they've got some cans of tomato soup in one of these cupboards, and a hot grilled cheese sounds heavenly.

He finishes dressing, then exits his bedroom and pads down the hall towards the kitchen. Except instead of turning into it, he keeps walking past it. If he's cooking for himself, he figures it won't be too much trouble to see if Eddie and Steve are getting the rumbly tummies too.

Wayne can't hear Eddie's voice anymore, but there are plenty of other activities they could be getting up to that don't involve talking — though he does hope they aren't doing that.

"Alright, I'm comin' in," He announces, giving them a couple of seconds to situate themselves if need be before bending at the waist a little so he can pull the curtain aside and poke his head in.

When his eyes land on the two of them, though, he realizes why he didn't get an answer.

Both Eddie and Steve are totally conked out, dead to the world, fast asleep.

Eddie's head is tipped back against the seat of the couch, hand limp around the book that lies flat against his stomach, like he fell asleep while he was reading it. Steve's nestled into his side, using his shoulder as a pillow, with his nose tucked into Eddie's neck and one hand slung around his waist.

Their legs are covered by the cocoon of blankets they've wrapped themselves up in, but their toes poke out the end, and Wayne can tell that they're tangled together beneath all those layers.

They look cozy, comfortable. They look sweet.

It makes his heart warm, and a ghost of a smile wisps onto his face as he slowly backs out of the fort and lets the flap fall back down.

He has no plans to wake them from that.

They deserve to hold onto this little moment of peace for as long as they can.

[midwestmade29]

Play With Me 😏

Thank you to Anonymous for sending in this request! 🥰 Word Count: 1,064 Divider by: @saradika-graphics GIF by: @supakixbabe

Disclaimers: Cursing, unprotected sex. Read at your own discretion 🙂

There's just something about Nick Jackson and his hair that does things to you...

There are many things to love about Nick, from his beautiful blue eyes to his silliness, to his kind soul and his athleticism. Sure, those were just a few things that made you fall hard for him, but one of the first things you noticed about Nick was his hair. It’s usually secured in a hair tie or under a hat, but your favorite is when he lets it down just for you. It doesn’t matter if it’s wet from him taking a shower or if it’s a tangled mess, you always have your fingers running through it. You love the way he closes his eyes and instantly relaxes when you play with his long strands, braiding them, twisting them around your finger, or brushing them. It’s a simple act of love and intimacy, but it’s definitely your favorite.

It was rare that you both had a night with nothing going on and no place to be. The quiet moments like these felt like they were few and far between, so you were taking full advantage of the alone time. You fixed Nick’s favorite meal for dinner and afterwards the two of you settled on the couch to watch a movie. About halfway through, Nick ended up resting his head in your lap, and you absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair. He wrapped his arms around one of your legs and nuzzled in close, his eyes still focused on the movie until his phone started ringing. He grabbed it off the ottoman and silenced it when he saw that it was Matt. “I’ll call him back later,” he shrugged. Instead of returning his attention back to the tv, he turned and laid on his side facing you, his blue eyes looking up at you with a smile on his face. “This is nice,” he commented affectionately. Your stroked his cheek with your fingers, making Nick melt into your touch. “What’s nice?” you asked curiously. “Having you all to myself. Spending time together with no interruptions or things we have to do. I don’t remember the last time we had an entire evening to do whatever we wanted,” Nick said coyly while planting a soft kiss on the top of your thigh. “Mr. Jackson, are you hinting at something?” Suddenly, you weren’t interested in the movie anymore.

With his head still on your lap, he kept his eyes on you as his fingertips lightly grazed your skin as his hand made its way underneath your shirt. When his fingers brushed up against your bra, you felt a rush of heat in between your legs. Nick had quite the effect on your body, no matter how soft or gentle his touch was. He began rubbing your nipple through the lacy fabric, causing you to squirm a little at the friction. “I take it we’re done watching the movie?” you teased. “I mean, I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather watch you come undone instead,” Nick sat up, grabbed the tv remote and shut it off before standing up. He held his hand out to you, and you gladly took it as he helped you to your feet. He kissed your lips hungrily, making quick work of getting your clothes off. They ended up in a pile on the floor making Nick smile appreciatively at your bare skin. His arms snaked around your sides; his fingers unhooked your bra with ease. When he slid it down your arms, he smirked at the goosebumps that had spread all over your body, “So beautiful, Y/N,”

In no time, Nick’s clothes joined yours on the floor, and he was now sitting on the couch. “Come here,” he said softly. You placed your legs on each side of his thighs, his hard length standing at attention just waiting for you to take it inside of you. Your cunt hovered above his tip, your wetness barely coating it which made the both of you gasp at the sensation. Before Nick took one of your stiff peaks into his mouth, he playfully teased you, “Your body is giving yourself away, Y/N. I don’t think you were interested in watching the movie either,” While his tongue flicked and glided over your nipple, he massaged your other breast with his hand, making you whimper at the pleasure, “Nick please! I need you!” He was unphased by your plea as he moved his mouth over to your other nipple and repeated the same ritual as he did on the other one.

Your hips started rocking causing your folds to slide around on his length, making your arousal grow that much more. You decided to take the lead when you reached between your legs, grabbing hold of Nick’s throbbing cock and positioning it at your entrance. As your tight cunt pulled him in inch by inch, you both cursed under your breath. “Jesus, Y/N! You feel incredible!” he moaned against your collarbone. You picked up your pace, rocking yourself as deeply and as quickly as you could while the delicious pressure continued building deep in your core. Nick’s hair was twisted and tangled around your fingers while his own were gripping your hips tightly, leaving little red marks on the skin there. When you tugged and pulled his hair, he hissed from the slight sting, but he didn’t stop you when you did it again. “I-I’m so close! So, fucking close Nick!” fell from your lips as you felt yourself about to topple over the edge.

Nick watched as you fell apart, a big grin covered his entire face as your body shuddered against him. You continued to ride out your release, bringing him over the edge with you as he filled you with everything he had to give. You rested your forehead on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against him while the both of you caught your breath and came down from your high. He groaned when you eventually removed yourself from him but reveled in the way your body felt against his skin. “You know anytime another person sits in this spot on the couch, I’m going to have a flashback to this moment, right?” Nick jested.

Through your laughter, you managed to squeak out a reply, “And you know that anytime I ever watch this movie again, I’ll be thinking about the same thing.”

[junekissed]

figure skates & cocoa dates

day thirteen of junkissed’s winter wonderland event

member — bf!chan x figure skater!reader genre — fluff, humor word count — 2.3k synopsis — chan is a great dancer, but unlucky for him, his coordination doesn’t carry through to the ice. lucky for you, you know exactly how to teach him. warnings — chan is really bad at skating, lil bit of smooching at the end notes — lowercase intended. thanks so much for all the support on this series i love you all very much :) happy new year!

one reblog = one hot cocoa kiss

“i don’t know why i let you talk me into this.”

chan groans, gripping the railing for dear life with one gloved hand. his other hand holds firmly in yours, squeezing your fingers until they turn white.

“i’m just surprised we’ve never gone skating together before now,” you giggle. usually when you wanted to go ice skating you’d invite your friends, who, like you, have been taking figure skating lessons since before they could walk. helping your boyfriend learn how to skate for the first time is completely new territory for you both.

loud pop music plays over the outdoor rink’s speakers as couples holding hands skate past you two, bundled up in winter coats and mittens.

you try to hold back a laugh as he lets go of the railing for a split second before grabbing back on tight, arms flailing, desperately trying to regain his balance.

for being such a good dancer, he’s completely out of his element on the ice. it’s almost endearing how bad he is at it. but everyone has to be bad at something, you figure; you can’t come up with choreography to save your life, he can’t skate to save his.

he looks down at your feet as you keep your balance easily on the thin blades. you tug him along at a snail’s pace as he purses his lips and holds onto the side of the rink tighter, his legs wobbling uncontrollably.

“how do you do it so easily?” he says, guiding his palms along the cold metal railing. he watches as you skate around in front of him and keep your pace, guiding him forwards while you skate slowly backwards.

“years and years of practice,” you admit with a grin. “but i’ve always loved figure skating. when i was little i wanted to skate in the olympics.”

“you’d win a gold medal for sure,” he teases as he trips over his feet. his grip on your hands tightens and you catch him, using the railing to help pull him back up before he can fall to the ground.

“i’m not that good,” you laugh. you can do a few simple turns, sure, but anyone can do that with a few lessons and a lot of practice. it’s nothing compared to the triple and quad jumps and complex tricks real olympic athletes can do.

“better than me, that’s for sure.”

he clutches to the side of the rink, dragging himself along with every step. you sigh. if he doesn’t let go of the wall soon, he’ll never get to skate properly. everyone else at the rink was gliding across the ice, or at the very least, stumbling along holding someone’s hand. but then again, it probably wasn’t their first time at a couple’s skate.

and there was chan, who hadn’t taken his hands off the railing since the moment he stepped onto the ice. 

“let me teach you. please?” you say, slowing to a stop. “but you have to get away from the wall, baby.”

his eyes flick up to you. “not a chance,” he snorts. “i’m staying right here.”

you fold your arms over your chest and pout. “fine. i’m going to skate by myself, then.”

panic flashes across his face. “wait, no, you can’t just leave me here–”

by now you’d worked your way halfway around the rink, farthest away from the exits. there’s no way he’d make it back on his own.

raising your eyebrows in a challenge, you let go of his hand and skate away from him, just barely out of reach. his eyes grow wide as he starts to fall forward, but at the last second he catches hold of the railing with both hands and awkwardly pulls himself back up. 

you giggle and skate away, quickly moving to the center of the rink, picking up speed as you glide gracefully across the ice. 

you skate a quick lap around the rink, every so often adding a little turn or a spin. yeah, maybe you were showing off a little, but you were having a blast.

out of the corner of your vision you keep an eye on chan, making sure he hasn’t gotten lost somehow. but no, he’s still glued to the railing, not moved an inch since you’d left him. from the other end of the rink you wave at him, smiling proudly.

finally you decide you’re done torturing him, and you make your way back around to where chan is still standing, hugging the wall. 

“thanks for the show,” he laughs. “are you gonna help me now?”

you stay in front of him, just barely an arm’s length away. “no, not unless you get off the wall.”

he frowns, still not budging. “you can be so stubborn sometimes.”

you smirk. “look who’s talking.”

he rolls his eyes. “fine,” he huffs. 

gingerly he leans away from the rail, letting go with just one hand. instantly you move closer, holding out your hands for support. he grabs your arm, and finally lets go of his other hand. he was still less than a few feet away from the wall, but it was progress, and you’d take anything you could get. 

you weren’t even moving, yet his legs still wobbled like a toddler learning to walk. you stood still, waiting for him to get his balance without the help of the wall.

“see, you got it! no more railing!”

“wonderful.”

you knew it’d be easier once he started moving. his fear of falling was making him too tense, and the more afraid he was to fall, the greater the chances were that he’d actually fall. 

a triumphant grin begins to creep across your face. “ready to start going?” you ask.

he sighs. “ready as i’ll ever be, i guess.”

you give him an encouraging smile and slowly slide your right foot back, dragging your left along behind it a moment later. chan watches intently, trying to follow along with the movement. you move your thumb gently along his hand, trying to keep him calm. if he freaked out and started flailing again, he was guaranteed to fall and bring the both of you crashing down.

you glance down at his legs, spread far apart. his knees were shaking. 

“you– baby, straighten your legs a little,” you giggle.

he stiffens his legs completely, almost causing him to fall over.

you try to hold in a laugh. “okay, not that much! bend your knees, just a little– there you go.”

you move forward from his side so you’re facing him skating backwards again, and he holds onto your hands tightly. “bring your feet closer together and move them back at an angle, it’ll make you go forward.”

“is this what they teach you in the olympics?” he jokes, a nervous look on his face. you knew he was trying his best, despite his aversion to skating, and you appreciated the effort. this would probably be the last time you go skating together, but it’s the thought that counts.

you laugh, squeezing his hands. “oh, yes, it’s a very advanced technique. you should be honored i’m teaching you all our secrets.”

as you start to move backwards, chan straightens slowly, watching your legs and mirroring your position, keeping his knees bent slightly like yours. 

“you got it,” you say, trying to encourage him. you smile. “you’re doing great, you know. better than i was the first time i put on a pair of skates.”

“okay, well, now you’re just lying to make me feel better,” he says, looking back up at you.

you laugh, raising an eyebrow. “is it working?”

he teeters forward, and you pull him back upright. he gains his balance again, faster than he had before, and he grins. “you know, i think it is.”

when you finally reach the other side of the rink, having completed a full lap, chan decides he’s ready to try skating on his own. 

“are you sure?” you ask, surprised.

“might as well,” he chuckles. “if i fall, then i fall. can’t avoid it forever.”

you grin. this is exactly what you’d wanted him to realize. “okay. i’ll be right here the whole time,” you say, skating back to his side and holding out your arm.

slowly he lets go of your hand, then the other. you keep them close for support, but now he stands fully on his own. he wobbles forward, awkwardly shuffling his skates back and forth, but he manages to keep his balance.

he makes it forward a couple feet, and he turns to you, grinning. “i got it!”

but as he turns to tell you his accomplishment, he trips and reaches out, swinging his arms, trying to regain his balance.

your hands shoot out to try to catch him, but he’s moving too fast for you to yank him back up. he falls flat on his ass, pulling you down with him, and you land between his legs, tangled up in a mess of arms and legs.

you burst out laughing, still holding onto his hands. his worried expression lifts, seeing that you hadn’t been hurt by his clumsiness. “sorry,” he says, choking out a laugh. 

“it was gonna happen, sooner or later,” you say, giggling as you pull yourself to your feet. you stick out a hand to help him up. 

“did you see me, though?” he asks proudly, taking your hand. 

“i did! you were doing great,” you grin, grabbing his shoulders and turning him so you can dust the ice off his backside. 

the music changes suddenly, a slow song coming over the speakers. the strings of lights around the edge of the rink change color, dimming to a deep orange. 

“couples skate only,” the dj hums into the microphone. “if you don’t have a partner, time for you to get off the ice.”

chan turns to you, a smile spreading across his face. “may i have this dance– er, skate?” he asks, holding out his hand. 

you grin and take his hand. “i would love to.”

he leads you out farther out into the center of the rink, still fairly close to the wall but a lot farther than he’d been before. you raise your eyebrows at him, and he winks at you, slowly starting to make loops on the ice.

it’s still far from perfect; he trips and loses his balance a few times, but you don’t fall again for the rest of the night.

once the song ends, you skate together for a little while longer, but you’re both exhausted. it’s finally time to go home.

“see, you weren’t that bad,” you say as you skate towards the exit, still holding his hand.

he laughs, his expression doubtful.

“and i’m not lying this time!” you add.

when you finish unlacing your skates and putting your outdoor shoes back on, you walk into the small cafe tent set up next to the rink. the inside of the tent is lined with heaters, and small tables and chairs are scattered around the space. strings of colorful lights hang from the top of the tent, giving the cafe a warm glow.

you buy paper cups of hot chocolate and walk back to the car to sit, a much more private spot than the tables. chan turns the key in the ignition, quickly cranking the heater up to the max. soon, the car warms up enough for you to shed some of your layers of clothes.

you relax back into the passenger seat, sipping your drink. he reaches over the center console, resting one hand on your thigh. you cover his hand with yours, absently playing with the cuff of his sweater.

“i had a lot of fun tonight,” he says. the atmosphere in the car is quiet and calm. “i didn’t think i’d be very good at it, but i did have fun.”

you smile, lacing your fingers through his. “ i knew you would. or if you didn’t, at least it’d be funny watching you fall,” you tease.

he rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

you set your cocoa in the cupholder and lean across the seat, cupping his head to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. 

he leans towards you, meeting your lips halfway. his fingertips on your jaw are ice cold, but his lips are warm and sweet. you smile into his mouth, tasting the chocolate on his tongue. or maybe it was your own hot chocolate you were tasting. either way, you love the feeling of his lips on yours, light and soft as freshly fallen snow. 

finally you pull away, running your hand along his head and tangling your fingers in his hair. he presses one last chaste kiss to your lips before leaning back into his seat.

“next time, i’m taking you snowboarding,” he says. 

you frown. “you know i’m not good at it,” you say, imagining yourself tumbling down the side of a mountain. 

“i’ll teach you.”

“there’s no rails on a mountain. what if i fall?”

“you can hold onto me, then.”

he looks excited about the idea, you don’t have the heart to say no. it was only fair; he’d tried what you liked, so the least you could do is try snowboarding with him. “fine. but only because it’s you. if anyone else asked, i’d say no.”

he smiles, letting his hand fall back to your lap. “even if you don’t like it, it’ll be funny watching you fall,” he teases, grinning.

“chan!”

“kidding, kidding. you know i love you.”

you pretend to pout. “do i know that?”

he reaches over and angles your chin up, pressing another long, affectionate kiss to your lips. “now you do,” he says, pulling away. 

“you’re so mean,” you mutter, but the wide smile on your face reveals how you really feel.

you can only hope this snowboarding date will go as well as your skating date went.

taglist | @foxdaisy @tinkerbell460 @dokyeomblr @just-here-to-read-01 @blizzardfluffykpop @ny0sang @noraehey @squiishymeow @pearlygraysky @baekhyunstruly @tenn87 @raevyng @aceofvernons @odetoyeonjun @dkakapizzaboy @enhacolor @highkey-fangirling @baldi-2 @kcxjae @onlymingyus @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @potatofrieswithketchup @wonuziex @stariightjoyy @strawberri-uyu @tigermoonbiss @diving1ntoyou @emmmm127 @matilde111

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thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed! if you liked this, reblog or leave an ask or a comment, it shows me you enjoyed this so i know to write more like this in the future!

[peppermintstarsonamintyway]

cacaoviar content from yours truly

woohoo finally finished that cacaoviar fic- believe me when i say i opted to cut it short cause i didn't know where to go (i am not a writer help me)

anyway cacaoviar mini-fic technically for @limboraptor under the cut :thumbsup: (y'all are free to draw stuff about this btw)

It was an early morning in the snow covered, cliffside, kingdom, truthfully a little too early for more than half the kingdom.

Dark Cacao, dressed in his royal kimono, furred cloak over his shoulders and crown discarded for the moment, was of the only few actually awake, a candle on the chabudai he used as his desk, and a cushion beneath his legs where he sat on his knees.

The contents atop the low built table consisted of paperwork and documents, mostly diplomatic things involving other kingdoms, a small ink vial, and the quill in the nobleman's hand.

If you were to ask him, Cacao wouldn't be able to give you a reason as to why he was up so early, mindlessly filling out paperwork. No one was to be visiting him, especially at such an hour of the morning, so it's not like he was just passing the time with paperwork.

Or, at least, he thought no one was supposed to be visiting him.

Turns out his seafaring, not yet boyfriend, boyfriend had different, specifically unannounced, plans.

Cacao was startled from the calm of methodical scratching against paper by the sound of the door to his quarters being forced open, rather unceremoniously too, the screeching of the sliding door against it's frame greatly unpleasant to his ears.

Before Cacao could look up, a familiarly warm hearted, albeit shivering, voice range from the door.

"Cacao!" A snow covered, and slightly frostbitten, Captain Caviar shouted with delight as he barged into the room, tossing aside his coat onto the wooden flooring.

With a soft sigh and warm smile, Cacao rose from his cushion, clasping his hands together as he moved to meet the sailor halfway.

"Caviar." Cacao greeted with a nod, before he brushed some snow off of Caviar's fluffy hair, unable to help himself from toying with the soft dark curls for just a moment. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too!" Caviar grinned widely in return, his hands placed on his hips as he leaned into that small moment of a gentle hand in his hair.

In the back of his mind, Caviar wanted that moment to last a lot longer than just a few seconds, but, he wouldn't admit that. At least not aloud.

"…You're freezing, aren't you?" Cacao suddenly chimed, narrowing his dark purple-ish brown eyes, as he moved to remove his cloak, draping the warm, heavy duty, fabric over the barely covered sailor, gently bundling him up.

"Whaattt?? I'm fine! A little cold never bothered me!"

"You frequent tropical seas more than you do glacial seas, you are more often on a boat than you are on land, and it's six in the morning."

"…Y-Yeah- so what?-"

"Do you truly expect me to believe that you didn't spend half a day tripping and falling through the snow just trying to get here? I'm well aware sea legs don't mix with multiple feet of snow."

"…Okay fine- I might have fallen a few times-"

Caviar crossed his arms, puffing up his cheeks as he snuggled up in the furred cloak, to which Cacao couldn't help but chuckle warmly at the sight of.

Cacao, taking one of Caviar's hands in his own, his own scarred fingers grazing over the callouses of the sailor's, callouses that he found beautiful in their own way, built from years of hardwork protecting his home.

With a small, gentle kiss to the back of the sailor's hand, the nobleman looked up at him through dark, white speckled, eyelashes, and spoke with loving concern. "My dear captain, do I need to remind you that you can't be visiting my kingdom without weather appropriate wear? One of these days, you'll end up catching a cold."

Caviar however, face flushed with bright red blush, looked away from Cacao, covering his face with his free hand.

"Look, I've been trying alright- wearing such heavy clothing just ain't comfortable-" Caviar tried to argue, yet was met with a look that quite clearly said "and yet you're soaking up being in my cloak".

Without even a proper word from Cacao, Caviar continued. "This thing's an exception alright!" The sailor argued, the nobleman giving not but a small laugh at the sailor's attempts to defend himself.

"I suppose, perhaps, I'll have to have something tailored for you then, yes?" Cacao offered, as he turned over Caviar's hand to nuzzle the sailor's palm, gently kissing the rough skin.

"Y-yeah…" Caviar managed to mutter, a rare sight for the sailor to stutter but one that Cacao reveled in nonetheless. "W-whatever floats your boat-"

Suddenly, Caviar stiffened, his face scrunching up, before he sneezed, his body reacting violently, his entire body bouncing a little. Rubbing his nose with his fist, Caviar was quiet for a few moments, Cacao staring at him in surprise.

Before inevitably bursting into a fit of soft laughter, pulling the sailor closer to him. "I believe my point has been further proven." Cacao murmured through his laughter, pressing his face against the sailor's forehead, brushing away some of his fluffy hair to kiss his skin.

The sailor sniffled, rubbing his face with his arm as he grumbled a little, visibly irritated by the fact the cold had gotten to him this time.

"It was just a snee-" Caviar went to retort, but before he could finish, he was cut off by a small yelp as Cacao clasped his hand, tugging him along after him.

Both grew quiet as Caviar stumbled after Cacao, the sailor's expression softening to match the nobleman's. Caviar would have said he was surprised when he noticed they were headed towards Cacao's bedroom, but truthfully he wasn't.

Nestling into the nobleman's bed with him had become a routine for the sailor, especially when making visits like these. It wasn't like anything had happened yet anyways.

So, without complaint, Caviar carefully clipped off any accessories he had and set them on the nearby nightstand after Cacao released his hand, the nobleman going to make the bed and get some tissues for the sailor's nose.

It took a couple minutes, but eventually, Caviar got comfortable.

Wrapped up in Cacao's cloak, with blankets pulled up over his body, and a plush of the nobleman in his arms, Caviar couldn't help but smile softly.

It wasn't long after Caviar got settled that Cacao joined him, carefully climbing under the covers with him, snuggling up to him despite the possibility of getting sick as well…if Caviar was sick.

"…You're a goof ball." Caviar grumbled despite shamelessly resting his head on Cacao's chest, pressing his nose into the slightest bit of skin the kimono couldn't cover.

The nobleman smiled, bringing his hand up to twine his fingers through the curly locks of Caviar's hair. "But I'm your goof ball, aren't I?" Cacao retort, grinning lightly against the sailor's hair.

Caviar released a soft chuff, rolling his eye in a manner that said "shut up and just cuddle", and quiet Cacao did grow. Aside from the faint rumbles that resonated from his chest alongside his beating heart.

It was an ever snowy afternoon in the cliffside kingdom when Caramel Arrow and Crunchy Chip found their king fast asleep with the sailor they'd come to know as his unofficial lover.

Neither cookie said a word, simply smiled softly as they looked between themselves and the sight before them. Eventually, they left after making sure the two were tucked in properly.

A small plushie of a rice cake hound was the only thing left behind that implied the two were ever there.

[final-girl96]

Firefly Chapter Fifty-Four

Authors Note: This chapter is in Ellie's pov. I felt it was important to put her pov and the flashback of her and Riley in this story. Chapter 55 will be the flashback, and Chapter 56 will probably be a mix of Ellie and yn pov. This will also follow the game version, Left Behind Flashback of Ellie and Riley.

Ellie

Yn and I got Joel onto one of the sleeping bags, using a rope to tie it to one of the horses. I could tell she was holding in the pain by the look on her face. We had to find shelter. The later it got, the colder it got. Yn was still bleeding where that fucker stabbed her in the shoulder. She would also need first aid supplies and that was one thing we didn't have. “There's a mall up ahead. We can take shelter there for the night.” I looked up to where yn was pointing and nodded my head.

When we made it to the mall, we found a way inside, and we led the horses into one of the stores closer to the entrance. It was the only one that had enough room for them. “We need to find a first aid kit. I can go out and search the mall stores. There has to be something around who, right?” I was checking how much ammo I had left in my gun. “You're not going out there alone,” yn said, kneeling beside an unconscious Joel. She lifted up his shirt, revealing the wound. It was deep enough that he needed stitches and would need medicine so it wouldn't get infected.

Yn took the flannel she was wearing under her coat off and ripped it into strips, tying them together and using a piece to place over the wound. Then she tied that around his waist to help slow the bleeding. “What about you?” I asked. She shrugged, still looking down at Joel. “I'll be fine.” She said, sitting back onto the floor. “Let's just rest here for a little while, then we'll go search the mall.” I didn't argue and sat down, propping myself up against an empty shelf. We sat in silence, and I watched yn slowly fall asleep. When I was sure she was sleeping, I got up and headed out into the mall.

I only intended to look in the shops on the ground floor where we were, but a lot of the stores were locked or boarded up. It looks like they tried to make this a safe haven for people. Parts of the mall were also barricaded and blocked off. I walked the whole bottom floor before turning around and heading up the escalators to the second floor. I walked to the end and was relieved to see a pharmacy around the corner. The other side of the mall was blocked off from where I stood.

The gate to the pharmacy was opened halfway, so I slid under it, my knife in hand. I pulled my backpack off and grabbed my flashlight, clicking it on. The small beam of light illuminated the disheveled shelves in front of me. Everything was in chaos, and the shelves were bare. I carefully walked down the aisles, lifting broken shelves to check the bottles under them, but every bottle was empty. “What did you do, take the pills and leave the bottle?”

I huffed and walked back to the front of the store where the counter was. There's a door that leads to the back where I assume they would have kept extra medication and things. Looking through the small window, I saw a first aid kit laying in the middle of the floor. “Jackpot.” My hand landed on the door knob but I was left disappointed when it was locked. “Damnit.” Turning around, I went to the counter and started looking in the drawers and around the register. “There has to be a key here somewhere.” While looking around on the floor and bottom shelves, a piece of paper caught my eyes.

PLEASE READ!

PHARMACIST WENT CRAZY AND ATTACKED ME. I HIT HIM PRETTY HARD HE'S UNCONSCIOUS. I LOCKED HIM IN THE AMERICAN PRINCESS STORE NEXT DOOR.

PLEASE GET HIM HELP COMBINATION:

35-30-31

“The pharmacists. Maybe he has the key.”

Stepping around the counter and ducking under the gate and back out into the mall. The American Princess shop was just right next door. After looking and listening to make sure there weren't any infected close by, I knelt down. There was a lock on the bottom of the gate. I glanced at the paper and quickly put the combination in. Feeling the lock click, I pushed the door up just enough to slip under. This store was darker than the pharmacy, and when I clicked, my light on spores surrounded me, floating in the air while the Cordyceps took over everything. There was definitely someone in here.

I stepped around the vines of fungus, careful not to step on them. I still remember what happened at the Capitol building when Joel killed that infected guy. How hundreds of them came sprinting straight for us. When I found the pharmacist, he was surrounded by it, slumped against the shelves. I crouched down in front of him and reached out to check his pockets. “Please be dead.” I felt in the front breast pocket of his once white jacket and both the key and pictures. It was him with some girl before the outbreak, I guessed. I didn't think much of it, wanting to get back to the pharmacy.

When I got back to the front, I stopped, crouching behind a shelf. An infected slowly passed by, and from the sounds it was making, it sounded like it was a clicker. After it passed, I slipped under the door, staying crouched down while following it, careful not to make any noise. My knife in hand raised up slowly, snuck up on it, and jumped on its back, sinking the blade into its temple before it could shrike and alert any other infected.

When I was sure it was dead, I made my way from the locked door, unlocking it, and rushing to the first aid kit. I was left disappointed when I opened it. “Fucking great!” I kicked it across the room in frustration that it was empty. The window to this room was busted out and led to the other side of the mall though, giving me more shops to explore. When I jumped through It, snow covered everything.

The roof had collapsed in, and the source of it gave me a little more hope of finding something. A medevac helicopter teetered on the edge of the baloney on top of steel beams just on the other side. “There has to be a first aid kit in that helicopter. I just need to get over there.” I looked around for a way I could get there. The easiest way was blocked, and the other way was destroyed. There was a camera store that I could go through to get to the other side, though. The only problem was that the roof was caved in over top of it and was filled with snow. I would need to be careful going through it.

[dragongodryss]

The ticket master at the haunted house had insisted people go in pairs, but Gray and Rogue didn't mind at all. If anything, it was an opportunity to enjoy Halloween with just the two of them. They, with their teams, had gone to the festival together to enjoy the holiday. The problem with that was that their teams didn't know that the two of them were dating, and thus couldn't take hints that the couple wanted to be alone.

It had been a little hard to make sure they ended up together, since as far as their teams knew, they barely tolerated each other. Natsu and Lucy had gone together, to Sting's disappointment. Minerva had gone with Yukino and Erza had promised to make sure Wendy wouldn't get scared. Carla and Frosch would stay outside, after Rogue had wrested a promise out of Carla that she'd keep an eye on Frosch and had made Frosch promise not to run off. Sting, meanwhile, had taken the coat Gray had dropped to disguise Happy and Lector as one person before realizing Rogue didn't have a partner. That was when Gray had swooped in to offer to go with Rogue. Yukino and Wendy had asked them not to fight and Sting and Natsu had requested that they not fight without them (priorities).

They went in last. Rogue grabbed Gray's hand once they were inside. Rogue's ability to see in the dark and hear things coming did weaken the experience for him, but he didn't mind. Gray was halfway immersed in the story being told, of two explorers searching for missing children, when Rogue nudged him.

"There's a door over there. Wanna take a look?" Gray knew it was probably a staff door, but the glint of mischief in Rogue's eyes sold him on the idea.

"Lead the way."

Rogue tried the door, which was locked. He stepped aside and waved dramatically at the lock.

"Your time to shine, darling." He cringed as soon as the words came out of his mouth, but despite the darkness, he could see Gray fighting a smile as he peered into the lock.

"This should do it." The key he made needed to be jiggled around a bit, since Gray had been going off the lock instead of copying the real key, but it did the job. "There we go."

Rogue led the way, listening out for trouble. The corridor they were in seemed to be part of a network spanning the whole house. It was narrow and poorly lit and the floorboards creaked underneath Gray's feet. Rogue, being lighter and generally quieter, didn't make a sound. Suddenly, he stopped Gray. "Someone's coming."

They ducked around a corner and waited as someone in a clown costume passed by them. It was a good thing Frosch had stayed outside. She hated clowns.

Once the coast was clear, they went back to exploring. Rogue found a rickety staircase that led to the basement, which creaked loudly enough that Gray was surprised that they hadn't alerted the whole house. They reached a fork in the corridor and Gray picked one.

"Not that way. Someone's waiting there." Rogue whispered. They found a small door in the wall with a spy hole in it and took turns looking through it into an empty room.

"Hey boss, we've got a code 7 on our hands." Rogue heard someone say. That probably involved them.

"Gray, I think they noticed we were gone." Rogue could hear footsteps around the house as the actors started to mobilize.

"Well, we're not Natsu or anything. Let's just sneak out." Gray suggested. Given that every corridor was being watched by now, it would be easier said than done. Rogue could leave on his own, but he wouldn't abandon Gray, even though the worst thing that could happen was a fine.

"They're all watching the corridors. Our best bet is to get back to the part we're supposed to be in and play dumb."

"Sounds like fun." Gray pushed the door open and stepped through, realizing that the other side was a painting. Rogue followed him and they quietly made their way through the last room. Since no one was operating it, nothing jumped out at them. Quietly, carefully and with a little help from Rogue's magic, they left the house.

"What took you guys so long, were you making out or something?" Sting asked tactlessly.

"What if we were?" Gray asked.

"You llllike hiiiiim." Happy drawled out.

"Well, what if I do?" Gray challenged him. Rogue decided that the best way to resolve this was to drape himself over Gray's shoulders, like a cat and give Happy a wide smirk.

"So you were making out. Got it." Sting said. Letting him believe that was probably in their best interest. If Sting or Natsu found out about the tunnels, things would probably escalate quickly.

Instead of responding, they went off to enjoy the rest of the festival.

[https-harlow]

Christmas Eve

Summary- How you and Jack spend Christmas Eve with Paisley and Olive

Word Count- 800

“Santa’s coming tonight!” Paisley cheered, while Olive looked over at you.

“Tonight?” Olive asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, tonight. It’s Christmas eve.” You explained and Olive nodded.

“That’s why were making cookies, so we can leave cookies out for Santa.” Jack said as he rolled out some cookie dough while you put the cookies onto a cookie sheet. 

“And Milk! Don’t forget the reindeer too.” Paisley reminded you both.

“We have carrots for the reindeer. Should we leave them inside, or outside?” You asked Paisley while Jack helped Olive use a cookie cutter to make a shape out of the cookie dough.

“Outside, 9 reindeer aren’t going to fit inside.” Paisley said, pressing her cookie cutter into the cookie dough.

“Outside it is then.” You agreed with her. 

“Do you remember what you asked Santa for?” Jack asked and both girls nodded.

“A slide!” Olive said excitedly.

“Do you think Santa’s going to bring you a slide?” Jack asked and Olive nodded.

“Yeah!”

“I asked for a dollhouse!” Paisley reminded you two.

“Do you think Santa’s going to bring a dollhouse?” Jack asked and Paisley nodded.

“I’ve been good, so yes.” Paisley said as you put some cookies into the oven. Setting the cookies that were already done to the side as you got out some icing and sprinkles you got to decorate the cookies. You set everything up while Jack, Paisley, and Olive made cookies out of the rest of the dough. Once you had enough cookies you set some out for the girls to start decorating.

Paisley spread some icing on the cookies, decorating them as carefully as she could with some of the sprinkles and M&M’s you put out, while Olive tried to pile as much icing on her cookies as she could. You and Jack even decorated a couple cookies while helping the girls.

“Santa is going to love them!” Olive said and Paisley nodded in agreement, looking up at her little sister’s cookies.

“That’s a lot of icing.” Paisley said and Olive shrugged.

“That’s my favorite.” Olive defended her cookies. You could barely see the cookies underneath the pile of icing.

“I wonder if Santa likes icing or the cookie more.” Paisley said and Olive let out a small gasp at the idea someone would like the cookie part more than the icing.

“Icing, like me!”

“I think he likes the cookie like I do.” Paisley said.

“I think he probably likes both.” Jack said before the girls could start arguing about what part of the cookie was the best, it was a common argument in your house recently.

Both girls took their time decorating their cookies before they finished.

“Okay, pick out which one you want to leave out for Santa.” You told them, they both picked out their favorite cookie so you could put it aside before letting them both eat a cookie or two themselves.

“Do you want to go look at Christmas lights?” Jack asked the girls once they were done with their cookies and they both nodded excitedly. 

The four of you put your coats on before you started to walk around your neighborhood, Paisley and Olive excitedly pointing out the houses that were decorated. Olive got tired halfway through, wanting Jack to carry her, which he did.

Olive eventually fell asleep with her head on Jack’s shoulder and Paisley got tired also, so you all decided to make your way back home. Jack woke up Olive to take her jacket off once you got home. The four of you setting out the cookies and milk for Santa and some carrots on the back porch for the reindeer.  

“Do you want to pick a movie to watch before bed?” You asked while Jack took Olive upstairs so she could go back to sleep, and Paisley nodded excitedly.

“Let’s watch Rudolph!” She suggested and you agreed, getting the blankets and pillows set up on the couch for your mini movie night. You and Paisley got comfortable before waiting for Jack. 

Once Jack got back, he hung up his and Olive’s jackets before joining you two on the couch, Paisley laying in-between you and Jack. Towards the end of the movie, Paisley fell asleep as well, Jack carrying her to bed once the movie was over before joining you back in the living room.

“That was easier than I thought it would be.” Jack said and laughed softly.

“Told you that between a movie and looking at Christmas lights they would both be asleep.” You teased. It wasn’t easy to get either of the girls to bed, they always got hyper before bed. Especially when they were already excited.

“You were right.” Jack admitted. “I knew I married you for a reason.” Jack teased as he smirked, making you playfully roll your eyes as Jack walked over to you and kissed you.

You and Jack spent the rest of the night getting everything ready for Christmas before going to bed yourselves.

Taglist @jackharloww @harlowcomehome

[dawnslight-aegis]

11. surrogate

Roric Blackthorn was not hiding. It just so happened that the table he had ended up at halfway through Kaede’s wedding reception was tucked in a corner away from the others, at least half of it not visible from the main hall. It certainly wasn’t that he was entirely overwhelmed by the sheer spectacle and number of people, though it certainly seemed as if half the damned realm – and the entirety of Ishgard – was present.

He was watching his wife mingle on the dance floor, a mostly-empty glass of very good brandy in hand, when he heard a soft shuffle-tap footstep cadence approaching.

A large, gloved hand grasped the back of an empty chair as an older elezen man – though younger than Roric had assumed, given the gait – came to a stop next to the table. “Might I join you?”

Roric squinted. He was sure Kaede had introduced this man, but to be honest, Ishgardian names started to blend together a bit after a while, all the Forlemortmentnauds and such. After a moment, though, he placed the man, and nodded. “O’ course. Make yerself comfortable.”

Edmont de Fortemps inclined his head with a faint smile, before dropping heavily into the chair, cane across his lap. “I fear I no longer possess the stamina needed for such events, and this occasion outstrips most in scale. As it should, considering the accomplishments of both involved.”

“Well, the way I figure it, we’ve got you t’ thank for this entire shindig. If it hadn’t been for you takin’ Kaede in after the damned blue coats framed her for killin’ the sultana, the realm’d be a very different place. Not t’ mention Kaede not finding herself a fancy young lad t’ marry.” Roric lifted his glass to the former count, realizing too late that it was rather rude to toast a man who had no drink of his own, but Edmont pulled a small, ornate flask from his coat and raised it in kind before taking a swallow.

Maybe some Ishgardian lords weren’t half bad, after all.

“To be frank, it was not wholly out of altruism that I made such a choice,” Edmont murmured, looking down over the party with a faraway look on his face. “I believed that I was aiding mine own future daughter-in-law, with the way my son spoke of her. Halone did not deign to give me daughters, and my sons, well… neither of the two that remain seem much interested in marriage. Kaede is the closest I have ever had, even if her feelings for Haurchefant were not equal to his for her.”

“Must be hard, then. Seein’ her married off to someone else.” He’d heard the stories about the lad who’d saved Kaede’s life and lost his in return, but the girl had never made mention that he was anything more than a good friend. He ought to have known, though. It would take a man better than any Roric had ever known to give his life for a simple ally.

Edmont shook his head. “No, I do not begrudge her her happiness. And Ser Aymeric is a good man. He reminds me a great deal of Haurchefant at times, in fact, and is a good friend to my eldest as well. I am proud to be asked to stand in for his family, Fury rest their souls.”

“Aye, I know th’ feeling. Kaede’s father by blood lives yet, but I’ve called her mine for most her life now, and damn near half my own.” He finished the glass of brandy, and set it aside with a sharp clink. “I’m damned grateful for you and yours takin’ her in when she needed it. The bloody Braves were breathin’ down our necks so close that I could barely scratch me arse with them knowin’. Drove me half-mad, not bein’ able t’ help her. And o’ course the bleedin’ Admiral was no help – but I never expected it to be Ishgard that would come to her aid. Owe you and that boy of yours a lot, more’n I could ever hope to repay. If Kaede names you family, then that makes you mine, as well.”

“The entire city owes her more than we can repay, as well – that makes us even, I believe. To raising children not our own, and seeing them do greater things than we could ever dream.” The former count extended the silver flask across the table, and Roric took it with a nod. He raised his eyebrows as the burn of strong whiskey hit his tongue, warming him all the way down.

Companionable silence fell between the two men for a long moment, until Roric spoke again.

“She’s well-loved here.” It was not a question, but a statement of fact. The turnout of people proved that much.

“More than you know. Some of the older noble families aside, anyway,” Edmont added with a chuckle. “Though I think they’ll come around, in the end. Or they won’t, and they’ll be poorer for it.”

Roric snorted. “Damned right.”

It had been a long, cursed road that got him here, littered with loss: his first wife, and the girl she’d carried in her belly, to sickness; his father and mother, to the mad king’s reign of terror; his brother, to the Garlean Empire’s invasion; so many of his friends, to the Calamity and Carteneau. A damn sight more darkness than one man might be expected to bear, but he’d done so regardless. And for his faith, Azeyma had sent him light – a wife, a daughter, a home finally freed from the empire’s iron hand, and the cruelty of the monarchy before it. The honor of knowing the girl he’d helped raise had brought that same light to so many other lives.

A small smile spread across Roric’s mouth as he watched Kaede dance with her new husband, nothing but pride in his heart. What more could a father ask for, than for his daughter to be loved – by a good man, by a city, by the world?

[indecentpause]

Find the Word Tag

tagged by @theunboundwriter to find the words Felt, Hold, Seen/Saw, and Left/Leave! thank!

again, from One More Time (With Feeling), about a bunch of artists in Chicago! wattpad || ao3

felt:

Chayton sits at the foot of your bed. The old box spring creaks under his weight. “I’m going to be right back,” you say. You put the sketchbook back down and take a step backward. “Um. Help yourself to looking at whatever. I’ll just be a minute.” He nods, distracted, as if he’s barely heard you. You duck out, closing the door only halfway behind you so as not to make him feel cornered, like you would. Once you’re out of view, you slap your hands over your mouth, pacing back and forth for a few seconds. What is wrong with you? You haven’t felt like this since you were at school working for a diploma, but this feels so much more important than a grade ever did. God, March, he’s just a guy! Who cares if he’s your idol and he’s sitting in your bedroom looking at your work oh God oh God oh God. You gently smack your own cheeks a few times and take a deep breath. You run into the kitchen for a glass of water, and then you can’t stall anymore, so you head back.

hold:

You step into a tiny hallway that leads to a kitchen on the left and into a large, single studio room ahead. There’s a mattress in the corner with an open laptop playing music resting on the green sheets. Above it is a dream catcher made of rainbow striped yarn and sticks, and the walls are covered with cork boards and magnetic white boards, with hundreds of scraps of paper with scribbles and sketches and paint samples and things cut out from magazines and newspapers pinned up. In the far corner is a painted up metal box full of cans of spray paint. There are windows on almost every wall and all of them have the shades open as he crouches down in the middle of the room, surrounded by scraps of fabric and bottles of ink and other screenprinting materials. “I like it,” you say. “Shut up,” he laughs. “It’s a mess.” “No, I mean it,” you say. He doesn’t look up. You walk around to his front and crouch down as he finishes putting down some ink over a stencil of bear, standing on its hind legs and holding a rocket launcher. “What’s this?” “I’m working on some new stencils for my silk screening business,” he says. He glances up for a moment. “Just messing around with some scraps until I get it right. Don’t waste shirts and bags and whatever that way.” “You have a business?” “Yeah,” he says.

saw:

Finally, you decide on [a canvas] about as long as you are tall and two feet or so high, thin and narrow. Perfect. It’s much too big for your easel so you spread your dropcloth out to its full size and lie the canvas down on the floor. You prime it with a coat of black, and before it dries, another, thicker one up top so it can drip down the front. Then, once it dries, another dripping layer of pearl star yellow, one of ivory, one of marigold. You want texture and substance and something you could bite into, layers so thick onlookers have to chew their way out. Once it dries, you sketch out a skyline with a white conté crayon, then drop it in your bucket of sketching odds and ends before going back to your paint. It’s not the Chicago skyline, it’s not even what you saw yesterday, it’s just… a place you see in your head sometimes and couldn’t figure out how to put down until last night.

left:

“This side,” he says, gesturing over to the right. You plop down in one of the forward facing seats, and he drops down in front of you. “I don’t have cooties,” you joke. He props himself up against the wall and turns to grin at you. “I know. But we both need to be able to see through the windows.” He pulls out another sticker from his pocket, a smaller one, this time, of a black and white stencil of a robot holding a sign that says, “Peace!” He peels it off and sticks it to the back of the seat in front of him, perfectly flat with no lines or bubbles, and crumples up the backing and slips it in his pocket. “How far is it?” you ask. You leave the lid on your coffee this time, so the bumping train doesn’t spill it down your front. You take a sip. He throws his left arm over the headrest of his seat and pulls his knees up, balancing his coffee cup on them with his other hand. “Not very,” he says.

tagging @drippingmoon @klywrites @papercutsunset to find the words blue, lamp, smoke, and magnet!

[greetingfromthedead]

C62: Day and Night

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Series Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Chapter: 62/84

Words: 1.8k

No particular warnings for this chapter.

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The two day track to Juukei turns into three. Vash kept his promise of doing you all day, and by the end of it, even you were exhausted and out of breath, barely taking any breaks to recover or to take care of your toma. As soon as you were back from tending to the birds, he pulled you back into his embrace to continue where you had left off.

Vash had fallen asleep between your legs, his head resting on your stomach. His coat engulfs your naked body while you sit halfway up and stroke his hair, gently holding him and caressing his skin as you keep watch over the night. You are so full of love—in love with the man in your arms, in love with your current outlook on life. You aren't afraid anymore of slipping away, of losing your mind, of losing the life you have.

Another day is lost in the little villages; the people seem happy, the children play in the streets, and you are filled with a different kind of peace. You remember enough of your past to understand people better, and Vash's presence fills you with comfort. He seems to be brimming with joy as the kids accidentally kick their ball towards him, and he gets to return it to them. He gives a friendly smile and waves as he guides his tomas by the headgear.

You spend the whole day mingling with the people; you get some food from the locals; and Vash buys the children ice cream. He looks so joyful as he gets to be with the people; it's easy to forget just how much he loves mankind and spending time with them. It's not just his guilt or duty pushing him to protect humans; it's genuine love and adoration. He helps everyone who needs it; he tries his best to make people happy and smile; he is so gentle with the villagers; it makes your heart burst.

As none of the villages had an inn, you move on to the town of Juukei, and suddenly the atmosphere changes completely. It's not quite dark yet, but the streets are mostly empty; women and children are nowhere to be seen; just some rougher looking men are moving around, giving the pair of you very mistrustful glances. This makes your skin tingle. How could there be such a vast difference between the settlements and what is going on here?

"We should get settled in," you say quietly to Vash from the top of your tomas.

"Yes." From his tone, you can tell he has picked up on the strange vibes too. "Excuse me, we heard there's an inn in this town, but we have circled around twice with no luck. Could you point us in the right direction?"

Vash's voice is kind and joyful, a masterful mask on his face as he addresses a man holding a shotgun over his shoulder. The man is skinny, with excess skin drooping on his face, the sun spots are dark on his cheeks and forehead. The balding head leans further back to get a clearer look, no longer just glaring through his gray eyebrows. He seems mistrustful of Vash's soft smile; your expression is more neutral in the back.

"And who might you be?" His tone is frank, "We don't like strangers coming to mess with us."

"We are just passing through. We mean no trouble." Vash stays calm and kind.

"And how would I know that?" His eyebrows rise higher. "We get a lot of weird strangers just passing through, except they leave with our money, our women, and our children! Get lost!"

"What is going on here?" Vash's tone becomes more concerned, "Is there trouble with bandits?"

"Bandits, thieves, lowlifes—you name it, they pour through our area!"

"We are only looking for a place to stay; we mean no trouble. You have our word."

"Ya may look harmless, but I don't trust you. But the inn is next to the pawnshop. There are no names on the building; don't need to invite trouble. You may go there, but know that there are always seven barrels pointed at you if you start any trouble at all."

"Thank you for your kindness!" Vash answers the old man with a smile, completely ignoring the threat he made. "Have a safe night!"

Vash pushes his tomas to move forward, and you follow him, giving the local a wave as you pass him. Your eyes go over the houses and streets again, and you notice all the residents having their eyes on you, some even more than that.

You manage to find the inn, but things don't get easier from there. There are a few men smoking and drinking in the corner; their gazes immediately start to follow the two of you. You can't make out what the hushed voices speak about, but from the general atmosphere, you assume it's about the two of you.

Vash manages to get a room from the innkeeper. The man was reluctant at first, not trusting either of you, but seemingly relaxed a bit thanks to your presence. Apparently there are a lot of disappearances in the area, not only the regular bandit problems with robberies and burglaries, but people have gone missing, mostly women and children, a few elderly, and on rare occasions, some men too. The locals suspect that they are being taken to December. Vash masterfully navigates through the conversation, getting details out of the man to piece together what is going on in the area.

You drop your bag onto the floor as Vash turns on the light in the room. Pushing off your boots, you let out a sigh. Your mind is distracted; the light mood of the day is replaced with something more sinister.

"Do you think the people were really moved to December?" you quietly ask.

"It could be, somewhere they are taken to, these people are scared," Vash says, taking off his red coat and hanging it over the back of a chair. He sits on the bed and looks at your approach. "Their loved ones are being kidnapped."

"You want to investigate, don't you?" You stand in front of him, your hand gently stroking his face.

"Yes." His hands rest on your hips. "I can't stand seeing people suffer."

"Then we'll investigate," you said, your thumb gently touching his birthmark. "Rest tonight; I'll stay up in case there is trouble."

"Are you sure?" His forehead leans against the upper part of your stomach, and his hands move around your body.

"Yes. You get some sleep; don't worry about a thing. If there is something, I'll wake you." Your hands cradle his head.

"You're the best." His muffled response vibrates against your skin. "I love you."

"I love you too. Don't worry your head about the rest right now." You try releasing his head to pull away, but instead his arms squeeze you tighter, and he leans backwards without letting go, pulling you closer. Your legs meet the frame of the bed. When you have nowhere else to go, he leans so far back that you end up falling onto the bed on top of him. He still won't let go as he turns to the side and his legs lock around you. It makes you laugh, and you play with his hair again as he settles in better, his limbs still tied around your body.

The night is quiet. Vash uses your lap as a pillow. His little snores echo in the room, but they don't drown out the voices coming from outside. The men patrol the streets, comparing notes and chatting as they meet. Apparently, it is calm; there are no new strangers in town, just two travelers, a man and a woman, who were looking for the inn.

Vash wakes with the early light, your fingers still stroking his soft hair. He takes your hand from his head, moves it to his lips, kisses the back of it, and then nuzzles his face into your palm. He mumbles something you can't make out.

"Good morning, Red!" You chuckle lightly. "I hope you slept well, but if you want to tell me something, then you need to speak up."

His eyes are still closed as his face moves up from your lap.

"I said I love you! And good morning!" He looks goofy, and his hair is an absolute mess. "I still feel bad for you staying up all night by yourself. You must be so bored."

"Don't worry, I counted the hairs on your head."

"Really?"

"No," you chuckle, "I was listening to the townsfolk. Three people have gone missing this week. One from Juukei, two from the village nearby. A little boy and his mother. I don't know about the third. First, the mother was taken in the evening, and the boy went to look for her by himself; he didn't come back. The third was taken during the night from their bed. The trouble comes with dusk; there are no problems during the day. It has been going on for a month."

"Should we stay another night?" his eyes open to look at you.

"They might not come or hit a different village. Maybe we should go check the surroundings again. Perhaps we can gather some more information during the day when they are less suspicious."

"You're right." His head settles back into your lap, but he turns onto his back to look at you better. "Are you sure you want to get tied up in this?"

"Of course." you smile and take his hand. "Even if I didn't think that it was important, I would still stick by you. I'll fight your fights alongside you."

You get ready, packing up your things again before going downstairs. The inn offers simple pre-fabricated porridge for breakfast, and the two of you eat in silence in a far corner, trying to pick up more information people might be talking about outside, but you gather no new intel, besides that, the men who stayed up all night to keep their families safe are tired, and with daylight they head home again.

The streets go quiet for a bit before more lively voices appear. Women and children go about their days as you finish your meal. You hear people cheerfully talking by the pawnshop, and the stark difference between now and last night strikes you as baffling. You finish up and throw your cloak over again to hide the knives you carry. You pick up your bag from the ground when you hear gunshots outside, and your eyes shoot to Vash, who has already reacted. His bag is under the table as he dashes to the door. You leave your stuff next to his as you follow.

Outside, there is an armored car, obviously stolen from a military police division. A few ruffians hang off from the sides of the vehicle, machine guns pointed into the air as they laugh maniacally, their course taken onto the pawnshop next to the inn.

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