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blueskrugs · 2 years

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More than a Memory | Quinn Hughes

I write quinn now, but apparently only for @matthewtkachuk. surprise babe! hope you enjoy this one, my latest @antoineroussel fic exchange fic! (and it’s not even late!) it was unbelievably hard not to message you about this while I was writing it.

special shoutout to my real-life Sam, who inspired more of this fic than I’d care to admit.

recommended listening: More than a Memory by Garth Brooks

length: 5.3k words

When you were ten years old, Quinn Hughes was your almost-first-kiss.

You still remembered the moment as if it were yesterday. In a rare quiet moment in the Hughes household, you were sitting on their living room floor with your eyes closed, where Quinn had told you to wait. You almost flinched when you felt Quinn’s fingers brush your wrist. You cracked open one eye. Quinn was carefully winding a friendship bracelet around your wrist and tying it in a knot. You squeezed your eyes shut again.

Quinn pressed his forehead to yours. You didn’t dare breathe.

The back door slammed, Jack or Luke, probably, and you both jolted away from each other. Quinn kneed you in the side as he tried to roll away from you. You were both breathless with nervous laughter—and you with a little bit of pain—when Jack appeared in the doorway. He looked between the two of you for a moment with all the confusion of an eight year old who didn’t understand his older brother.

“Come outside, and play with us,” Jack complained.

It was January in Toronto, and it was cold out. Jack didn’t seem to care about that part. You and Quinn shared a look, but you both grabbed your coats and hats and followed Jack outside.

That had been over ten years ago.

You and Quinn had grown apart over the years after that day. Once best friends, you quickly felt like you were becoming strangers. Quinn started focusing more on hockey, and your friendship fell through the cracks. It was painful for a while. You missed Quinn terribly, even though he hadn’t gone anywhere. There was a whole year where he barely spoke to you at all, even though you spent all day in the same classrooms.

Eventually, hockey took the Hughes family to Michigan, and you lost contact with Quinn entirely. You did your best to forget about Quinn, but you kept the thin green friendship bracelet looped around your wrist.

But that was then, and this is now. That was before you grew up, before you left your family behind and moved across the country to Vancouver. Before, well, everything.

You didn’t think much about Quinn Hughes these days. You knew he’d been drafted out here, but you didn’t pay much more attention to his career than that. It was for your own sanity, really. Besides, Vancouver was a big city. The odds of you ever running into Quinn were pretty low.

Or so you thought. You run into Quinn for the first time at the grocery store of all places. You almost don’t recognize him at first, and he doesn’t see you, too focused on the bags of frozen vegetables. You freeze—fitting, for the aisle you were standing in. You debate just turning around and leaving the aisle, but you really need green beans, and they’re the last thing on your grocery list for the week.

“Excuse me,” you say, edging past Quinn’s cart and reaching for the bag of green beans.

“Oh, sorry,” Quinn says. He starts to move out of the way, but stops, staring at you. You meet his eyes briefly before carefully looking over his left shoulder. “Do I know you?”

You couldn’t remember what you looked like when you were 13 and saw Quinn for the last time, or imagine what he could see in your face now that would still be familiar. Quinn looks the same, yet different. Older, obviously, but it’s enough that you’re not sure you would have recognized him yourself if he weren’t an NHL player in the same city you lived in. His hair has grown out longer than you can ever remember it being, and there’s a day or two worth of stubble across his cheeks. Underneath it, he’s Quinny, but not the Quinn you knew.

You’ve been quiet for too long. Quinn’s still staring at you, trying to figure out where he knows you from. You could lie. Tell him you’ve never met before and move on.

What you say instead is: “We went to primary school together, actually.”

There’s a horrifying moment where you think Quinn still won’t recognize you. His eyebrows draw together in confusion, and you wish you hadn’t said anything at all. The moment passes, Quinn’s face clears, and, before you know it, he’s stepping around both of your carts to wrap you in a quick hug. He’s pulling away before you can even convince yourself to hug back.

“Oh my God, of course, Y/N!” Quinn says. “I didn’t know you lived in Vancouver now.”

You don’t have the time to explain all the reasons you left Toronto, so you say, “Yeah, it’s a recent thing. Needed a fresh start, y’know?”

Quinn nods like he does know. He’s moved around enough he might actually know. “I need to get going, but it was good to see you,” he says. “We need to get coffee some time, catch up, yeah?”

You find yourself nodding. Quinn smiles at you one last time before turning and walking away. You realize that you don’t even have his phone number. Whatever. He probably didn’t really mean anything by it, and you’re probably never going to see each other again. For real this time.

The second time you run into Quinn Hughes is actually your fault. You take a personal day off work on a Friday, but you feel too restless to sit around your too-small, too-empty apartment. You Google “ice rinks near me” and end up at Robson Square.

It’s easy enough to rent skates, and you are stepping onto the mostly empty ice before you can let yourself think too hard about it. You don’t know the last time you’d been ice skating. Years, probably. You wobble a bit at first, but it isn’t long before muscle memory kicks in, and you are gliding along as well as you can on the rough ice. It is early enough in the afternoon that it isn’t too crowded, only a few other families and college-aged couples, plus one other lone skater on the other end of the rink from you. It doesn’t take an expert to identify him as a hockey player, but you would recognize that skating anywhere. You had grown up skating alongside him and his brothers in Wedgewood Park back in Toronto.

Quinn isn’t wearing anything Canucks-branded, which is probably why no one else has recognized him. He’s skating in smaller circles than the rest of the crowd, not really paying anyone else any mind. You’re too far away from the door to double back and make an escape, but Quinn still hasn’t seen you, either. You keep skating, praying Quinn doesn’t look up from his crossovers.

A young child skates past you, then, laughing as they escape their parents. You skate sideways to avoid getting in the way, forgetting how close you’d gotten to Quinn. You are still looking over your shoulder for the kid’s parents when you bump into someone, and you’re both tumbling to the ice.

You had also forgotten how much it hurt to hit the ice.

You end up on top of Quinn, your legs tangled together, Quinn’s hands gripping your elbow and your hip.

“Oof,” he says. He looks up at you properly for the first time. “Oh, hi.”

“Hey,” you say, still a little breathless from falling. And maybe a little bit from being so close to Quinn. You choose to ignore that part.

Quinn winces. “D’you mind-”

“Right, fuck, sorry.” You remove your elbow from his gut. You start to roll off Quinn. His hands tighten for a split second before he lets you go. You were going to start drawing attention to yourselves soon if you don’t get off the ice, but you still lay on your back for a moment, trying to catch your breath.

Next to you, Quinn is already getting to his feet. He brushes the snow off his pants and holds out a hand for you. You debate ignoring it; you know how to skate, and you know how to get up after falling. You certainly don’t need Quinn’s help.

You roll to your knees and take Quinn’s hand, letting him pull you back to your feet. You drift close for a second, practically into Quinn’s chest. You both took a step backwards. Quinn starts skating again without letting go of your hand, and you have no choice but to skate after him.

Until Quinn realizes you were still holding hands, and he drops yours like he’s been burned.

You step off the ice as soon as you reach the door, not looking to see if Quinn is following you. You hear him sigh before he steps off too.

You find a bench and begin yanking at your skate laces with numb fingers. Quinn sits beside you and pulls your hand away. He rubs absently at your cold fingertips. You should have worn gloves.

“Hey, you’re not leaving already, are you?” he asks softly.

You shake your head. You don’t know. You don’t know if Quinn wants you anywhere near him, or if you want to stick around. This was supposed to be a nice afternoon by yourself, not another one haunted by ghosts of your past.

You miss the days when you knew how to act around Quinn, when you didn’t even have to think about it.

“What’re you even doing here?” you ask, deflecting. “Surely you have no shortage of access to ice.” It’s teasing, but it feels forced. A reminder of the reason your friendship fell apart all those years ago.

Quinn shrugs. “It’s nice, sometimes,” he says, “to get outside and skate like we used to as kids.”

You think you might understand, a little. “Yeah,” you say, speaking just as softly as Quinn.

“Haven’t seen you around much,” he says next.

That’s by design, a little bit. It hasn’t been hard, exactly, to avoid running into Quinn at the only place you know you have in common—the grocery store.

“Been busy,” you lie. You go to work, you go home, alone. You’ve been dragged out to happy hour after work a few times with your new coworkers, but you always duck out after one drink.

Quinn shoots you a sideways look like he can still see through you, even after a decade. He pulls out his phone, unlocks it, and hands it to you, before squatting down and beginning to untie your skates.

“Well, if you can spare some time, you still owe me a coffee,” he says, staring carefully at his fingers. You look up from typing your number into a new contact. “I owe you coffee?” you splutter. Quinn grins up at you, and you can’t help but laugh. You only have a vague idea of how much Quinn makes these days, but it is definitely more than you.

Quinn follows you over to the counter to return your skates. “You don’t have to leave just because I’m here,” he tells you.

You force yourself to smile at him over your shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, I just don’t think I’d be able to get up after another fall like that.” You’re already feeling stiff and cold from your hard landing on the ice. It might be a little bit to avoid making small talk with Quinn, too. “I’ll text you, okay?”

Your friendship with Quinn begins again in fits and starts after that. You do end up meeting for coffee: one sorta-painful Saturday morning, trying to fit a decade’s worth of the important stuff into an hour and a half. Quinn’s busier than you, practices and games and road trips, but he texts when he can. You find it easier than you expected to respond to his dumb memes and inane small talk. You dodge his attempts to hang out again. You’re not sure you’re ready for that, but you’re not entirely sure why.

Then, Quinn texts you that Jack and the Devils were going to be in town the next week, along with his parents. You didn’t even know Jack had gotten drafted to the Devils. Your heart aches for things you didn’t even know you were missing out on.

You open the text, but don’t answer it for days. Quinn finally calls you.

“You know, my parents are going to be pissed if they find out you’re avoiding them,” he says when you answer. He almost sounds angry.

“Fuck, hello to you, too,” you snap.

Quinn huffs. “Hi, you’ve been ignoring me,” he says. “C’mon, they’re looking forward to seeing you,” he adds. “My mom especially.”

You wish you could flip Quinn off right now. Ellen always was your favorite Hughes. You hadn’t even realized he had told his parents you were in Vancouver now.

“Quinn, I haven’t been to a hockey game in years,” you try. It’s a weak excuse, and you both know it.

“So?” Quinn says. “Listen, my mom already got you an extra ticket, you have to come.” He pauses. “Even Jack is excited to see you,” he wheedles.

“Have you told everyone I moved to Vancouver?” you ask.

“Well, not everyone,” Quinn says. “Just my family, and a few teammates.”

“So, pretty much everyone,” you laugh.

“I was excited!” Quinn defends, but he’s also laughing. “It’s not everyday I run into my best friend after ten years.” He has a point there. “I’ll text you the details, okay?” Quinn is saying, and then he’s hanging up.

You end up getting dragged out to dinner with the four Hugheses the night before the game, despite your protests, citing family time and other shit that Ellen doesn’t buy.

“You’re taller than me,” you complain, when Jack bounds out of Quinn’s car in front of the restaurant and wraps you in a hug. The last time you’d seen him you still had a few inches on him, at least.

“You should see how tall Lukey is now,” Jack says. “He’s taller than both of us.” Jack is laughing, but you can hear how much it’s killing him that his baby brother is taller than him.

God, you hadn’t even thought about Luke. “Shit, is he in college now?” That can’t be right.

Ellen smiles at you over her shoulder as you all head inside. “He just started his second year at Michigan.”

“He’s all the smartest out of all three of us,” Quinn whispers in your ear, a hand hovering over the small of your back. You imagine you can feel the heat of his palm across the distance and through your thin sweater.

It’s easier than you thought to lose yourself in the rhythm of conversation and get swept away in the controlled chaos that occurs with the Hughes family. You argue with Jack over appetizers, and you both take turns making fun of Quinn. It’s familiar, like a well-worn pair of shoes.

Ellen turns to you after the dinner plates have been cleared away, and Jack and Quinn are bickering good-naturedly over who has to foot the bill. There’s a worried look in her eyes that immediately sets you on edge.

“I’d had no idea you moved out to Vancouver,” she starts. “It’s been so long since your mom and I chatted.”

For as close as you and Quinn had been growing up, it only made sense that Ellen and your mom had become good friends, too, between supervising play dates and coordinating carpools. You hadn’t known if they’d kept in touch at all since the Hughes family moved to Michigan.

Ellen goes on. “Did that boy—oh, what’s his name—move with you?”

“Sam? Oh, no, that’s…over,” you say. That is the reason you moved across the continent at all. This isn’t the time or place for that part of the conversation, though. “Just me out here,” you say, uncomfortable.

“Sam?” Quinn asks, at the same time Jack says, “Who’s Sam?” Quinn looks worried, while Jack looks delighted by this development.

You wave your hand in a way you hope seems nonchalant. “Just an ex-boyfriend.” That answer isn’t good enough for either of them; Quinn’s frown deepens, and Jack’s eyebrows go up. “We were together for a while, I don’t know, everyone thought he was it for me, I guess.” You had even thought that Sam was it for you.

You had never been more wrong.

The boys let it go, and you turn back to Ellen. She tsks. “That’s too bad, your mom said you two were so cute together.”

You had been once, you supposed. “Yeah, well,” you say awkwardly. You’ve probably already said too much. You’re saved by the waitress delivering the bill, reigniting Jack and Quinn’s argument.

Quinn hugs you tightly outside the restaurant. “We need to hang out more,” he says firmly. “Quit fucking avoiding me.”

“Language,” Ellen warns from behind you. You laugh at the face Quinn makes. Jack ruffles your hair on the way past. You aim a kick at him, but he dodges you, cackling. You manage to grab onto the back of his shirt and reel him in for a hug, too.

“Missed you,” he admits. “Don’t be a stranger,” he adds. “Quinn knows where you live now, he will find you.”

It would be threatening if you hadn’t known these boys since you were literal children, and if Jack weren’t still about as intimidating as a puppy. Still, Quinn’s looking seriously at you over Jack’s shoulder, and you don’t doubt that he will start showing up at your front door to drag you out of the apartment.

October bleeds into November. It becomes harder to avoid Quinn and his pointed texts, but the Canucks go on the road for a week, saving you from coming up with excuses. You know Quinn too well to expect that he’d let his mom’s mention of your ex go without an interrogation.

But you slip up before Quinn gets the chance to confront you. Your anniversary with Sam is—was—November 14th. You buy a bottle of wine and drink it alone in your empty apartment. You find yourself calling Quinn without thinking about it, memories of years past blurring together.

“Hello?” Quinn mumbles when he answers the phone. Shit, you’d forgotten he’s on the East Coast—Boston? Buffalo? You’re not sure right now.

“Shit, sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” You feel like you’re on the verge of tears, and Quinn must be able to hear it through the phone. “Forget it, I’m sorry.”

He sounds worried, more awake, when he speaks again. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

His words set something off in you, and you’re crying in between one breath and the next. So much has happened, and you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to tell the story and do it justice. You faintly hear Quinn sigh on the other end of the line. He’s quiet as you try to collect yourself, the minutes stretching out between you.

“Am I always going to be alone?” you finally ask. You take a shuddery breath.

Quinn yawns, and you wince, suddenly remembering that you woke him because you were feeling melancholy. “What? Of course not, why would you even ask that?” Quinn doesn’t sound angry, just confused.

“Everybody always leaves,” you whisper.

Quinn left. A string of worthless ex-boyfriends before Sam all left. Sam had been the one, you’d thought, the one who would stay.

You ended up leaving before he could.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” Quinn says firmly. “Well, except for road trips, sometimes, and back to Michigan for the summer, I guess, but I’m bringing you with me to Michigan anyway, and you know what I mean.”

You giggle in spite of yourself. “I’m sorry for waking you,” you say again, fighting back a yawn of your own. Your head is starting to hurt.

There’s muffled rustling on Quinn’s end that tells you he’s shrugging. You’re still lying on your living room floor. You should probably move, go to bed, something. You drag a blanket off your couch and over yourself. Just a few more minutes.

You wake up to your phone alarm blaring next to your head the next morning. You groan and roll over. You never did make it to bed, and you’re sore and stiff from laying on your floor all night. You slap at your phone to turn your alarm off. It’s nearly dead, another consequence of falling asleep on the floor.

You drag yourself into the kitchen for a glass of water and a phone charger. Your call log is still open. The call with Quinn lasted hours; Quinn must have only ended it when he woke up this morning. You should probably apologize for drunk dialing and wallowing, again.

There’s a text waiting for you from Quinn, too: you owe me coffee again 💤

You roll your eyes and dislike the message to be annoying.

Quinn shows up at your door a few days later with coffee in hand. He shoulders his way past you before you can make up an excuse about being busy, despite the fact that it’s a Saturday morning and you’re definitely still in pajamas, and thrusts one of the cups of coffee at you.

You take it, suspicious. “I thought I was supposed to be buying you coffee, not the other way around,” you grumble. Quinn got your coffee order right, because of course he did.

“I’ll send you a Venmo request or something,” Quinn says, unconcerned. “Are you mad at me?”

You don’t know what you were expecting Quinn to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “Am I— what?”

“Are you mad at me? For leaving Toronto?”

You were, once. That anger faded a long time ago, though, softened by nostalgia and simply missing your best friend. “What? No, not any more.” “Not any more?” Quinn echoes.

“I mean, I was, when we were younger, but that was stupid.” It wasn’t really Quinn’s fault, and, seeing how far he’s gotten now, you really can’t blame him for wanting to follow hockey for as long as he could.

“You said everybody leaves,” Quinn insists. “I left you.”

“Quinny, we were kids,” you say. “I’m not mad at you for something that happened over a decade ago, oh my God.”

“But you said—”

“I’m just tired of dating shitty guys, okay?”

“Oh.” Quinn takes a sip of his coffee. He opens his mouth, ready to argue some more.

“I’m not having any more of this conversation without coffee,” you say. You wave the cup of coffee in your hand for emphasis.

Quinn drops it after that.

Weeks pass. Quinn grows more insistent on spending time with you, whether it’s at your apartment or his, or sneaking in a breakfast or lunch not-date when your schedules allow. He even invites you to hang out with a few of his teammates, and you spend one surprisingly nice evening squished between Quinn and Brock on Quinn’s couch, playing video games that you’re not particularly good at. You and Brock spend most of the time ganging up on Quinn for some light bullying, much to Quinn’s despair.

You keep expecting Quinn to bring up Sam and your relationship again. He never does, but you see the way he watches you sometimes, the same “worried older brother” look he used to cast upon Jack and Luke. After a while, you and Quinn settle into a rhythm of friendship, not unlike the one you had when you were kids. You talk frequently, you hang out when you can.

You fan the flames of a childhood crush you thought had been extinguished a long time ago.

“Hey, are you going home for Christmas?” Quinn says randomly one afternoon in December. He’s sitting on your couch, craning his neck around to see you where you’re standing in your kitchen.

“Uh? No?” You’re still close enough with your family, but they understand why you avoid Toronto pretty much these days. There’s too many ruined relationships haunting those streets.

Quinn huffs. “What are you running from?” His face does something complicated before settling on worried again. “He didn’t, like, hurt you, did he?”

“Sam? No, absolutely not.” You reconsider. “I mean, like, emotionally, yeah, but that was just the break-up.”

Quinn cracks a small smile, but he still looks concerned. “So, you’re really not going home because of him?”

You shrug. “Easier to avoid running into an ex if you’re not even in the same city. Besides, I kinda…cut all ties and got out of dodge. It’s too awkward to go back now.”

Quinn’s eyebrows furrow like he’s trying to figure out what question he wants to ask next. “You really—” He switches tacks. “Do you—like—I’m going to Michigan, and it’s only for, like, a day, but you know my mom would love to have you, but only if you want, and—” He takes a deep breath. “Do you want to come to Michigan for Christmas?”

You stare at Quinn, unsure how to react. There was once a time when you were as comfortable in the Hughes’ house as your own. That was a long time ago, in a house in a different country. You feel like you and Quinn have been dancing around the question of whether or not your friendship could be something more—that tenuous moment from when you were 10 still not forgotten—and this feels like crossing that unspoken line somehow.

Quinn looks unsure now, watching you hesitantly from across the room.

“I don’t know, Quinn,” you say finally. “I don’t want to impose, and you barely get to see your family as it is—”

Quinn waves a hand at you. “Luke will be out in Halifax for World Junior’s by then, and I’m serious, you know Mom would love to have you.” He frowns. “You shouldn’t have to be alone on Christmas.”

It would be nice to not be alone for the holidays. You glance over at your sad little Christmas tree, still undecorated in a corner of your living room.

Still, “I’ll be fine,” you insist.

You expect Quinn to let it go, the way he lets a lot of things go with you lately. He’s been careful, afraid to push you into difficult conversations since you reconnected. Instead, he frowns harder and crosses his arms at you.

You’re almost glad for it, mentally preparing yourself for a fight.

“You’re coming to Michigan,” he says firmly. “I’ll book your fucking flight myself if I have to.”

“Q—” you start, but Quinn’s not done.

“What are you so afraid of? What did your ex do to you that you’re so scared to let people in? Ever since you’ve been in Vancouver, you keep everyone at a distance, even me. We used to tell each other everything.”

You don’t have the words to respond. You turn on your heel and stalk off towards your bedroom. You hear Quinn call your name, but you ignore him. You yank your bedside table drawer open, fishing around blindly until your hand closes around the item you’re looking for. You head back towards the living room.

Quinn’s still standing there with his arms crossed, looking angry and confused and hurt all at once.

You throw the object in your hand at Quinn. He catches it easily. Hockey player reflexes.

“A ring box? I don’t understand.” He opens the box carefully. Inside, nestled in the velvet, is a beautiful, sparkling engagement ring. Quinn stares at it, open-mouthed.

“We were supposed to get married,” you tell Quinn. Your voice sounds hollow, even to your own ears. “Sam and I, next summer.” Quinn takes the ring out of the box and turns it over in his hand. It glints in the light. “We’d met in college. God, I was so in love.”

“I still don’t—I don’t get it.”

You continue. “I came home from work one day and found him fucking one of our friends. Had been going on for a while, apparently. We were in the middle of planning the wedding, we were about to buy a house, everything. I was going to ask her to be one of my bridesmaids.” You let out a humorless laugh. You realize your eyes are wet. “I cleaned all my shit out of our apartment while he was at work a few days later, hid out at my parents’ for a few days. I think I had everything settled to move to Vancouver within a couple weeks.”

You watch as Quinn slots the ring back into its box.

You had needed the distance. It wouldn’t have been long before all of your friends found out about Sam, and you didn’t think you could handle the endless explanations of why your engagement had ended. Plus, Vancouver had brought Quinn back to you, and that was easily the best part of your year.

Quinn finally seems to notice your crying. “Hey, come here,” he says gently, opening his arms for you. You step into them without hesitation, letting Quinn wrap you in a hug. You let yourself linger, safe and comfortable in Quinn’s arms.

“You know, I used to be taller than you,” you mumble into Quinn’s chest. Those years had been nice. Quinn doesn’t tower over you now, but you’re tucked neatly under his chin. He pinches your side. You jerk and squirm away, laughing.

Quinn grabs you by the wrist suddenly, bringing your hand close to his face to inspect it. “What is this?” he asks, twisting the little, braided green bracelet around his finger until it tightens against your wrist.

You try to tug your hand away, but Quinn holds on.

“It’s a bracelet, Q, I know you’ve seen them before.” Quinn pinches you again, gently on the skin of your forearm this time. You whine at him.

“I gave this to you,” he says. It’s not a question. He finally tears his eyes away from the bracelet and looks at you. “I gave this to you,” he repeats, “when we were like, ten.”

“Yeah,” you say, helpless. You had no idea Quinn even remembered that day, or giving you the bracelet.

“You still wear it?” he asks. You shrug. “That was, like, over ten years ago, what the hell.”

You finally pull your hand free from Quinn. You shrug again, uncomfortable. “I didn’t start wearing it regularly until you moved to Michigan.” It had been a nice reminder of your best friend, and after a while, you honestly forgot it was tied around your wrist.

“I almost kissed you that day,” Quinn says thoughtfully.

If you were drinking something, you probably would have choked. You’re suddenly very aware of how closely you and Quinn are still standing. Quinn pauses. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks, softly.

You nod before you can even think about it, winding your arms around Quinn’s neck and letting him pull you in by the hips. It’s better than it would have been at 10, yet it’s exactly what you breathlessly wished for all those years ago. Quinn’s lips move easily against yours, just as gentle as he always is with you.

When you pull away to catch your breath, you rest your forehead on Quinn’s shoulder. You’re both silent for a long moment.

“I have a confession,” you say.

“Another one?” Quinn squeezes your hip.

“I don’t think I’m ready for another relationship,” you admit.

Quinn squeezes your hip again. “Baby, I’ve been waiting on you since we were kids.” You laugh, smacking Quinn on the back of the head. “Ow, hey. This just means I get to woo you, yeah?”

You laugh harder. “Never fucking say that again, oh my God.”

Quinn sways a little bit, and you rock with him. “I mean it. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

“D’you promise?”

“Promise.” Quinn steps over to the couch, and you let him tug you until you land next to him. You rest your head on his shoulder again. “You definitely have to come home with me for Christmas now.”

You lob a decorative pillow at his head as he dissolves into laughter.

#cait writes things #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes imagine #vancouver canucks imagine #vancouver canucks fic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine

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deepperplexity · 9 months

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Prompt 21: Star Of Wishes [B8]

Pairing: Snape x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Setting: OC’s home -> Severus’s hidden place

Continuation of: Prompt 2. Restless Waiting, 3. Snowballing, 7. Stormy Reunion, 8. Rosemary For Holly, 16. Keep Warm, 19. Hope & 20. Returning Home

A/N: TODAY WE WRAP UP SEVERUS’ STORY! I’m super drained, tbh, but I so loved writing this part and giving everyone that HEA even if it doesn’t happen until the very end so to say 😂🙈 We do get some lovely smut though, hope you'll enjoy the emotional ride of the intimacy too 🤭 This might be the last long fic for the year. I have 0 time, I have no idea how I’m gonna be able to write the next 3 fics and get them up but I’ll manage somehow 😂 I still don’t know what prompt 23 and 24 will be this year, I do know that tomorrows prompt will be the one I use to wrap up Turpin’s story — how, I have no idea yet. We’ll see 😂👍

+A/N: This part of the serial contains a relationship dynamic in the beginning that can be extremely toxic and dangerous when real, but this is FICTION, and as the author I have created this relationship with the intention of it being trauma-healing, safe, loving, and no harm have or will come to any of the characters due to the relationship or any acts of either of the characters. If you feel this relationship matches yours, PLEASE take a step back and really evaluate if you are in a dangerous relationship - if your partner is treating you in a manner that isn’t loving or safe.

Tags/TW’s: Kisses, embracing, Harsh and Soft Touching, Apologising For Ones Behaviour, Slight Snark, Trying Ones Best, Stunted Emotional Development, Confessions of Regret/Hurt/Anger/Fear/Pain/Lacking Knowledge/Love/Affection/Trust, Explicit Description, Dark Sexual Past, Gentle and Caring Touches, Hints At Past Sexual Abuse/Coercion/Rape (not graphic or described),

Word Count: 4.7k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

It had been over seven months since the day I thought my heart would stop. The day I found him more dead than alive in the Shrieking Shack. The day a strange little elf was sent to me with a message from someone a mere boy, which led me to find the man I loved so broken — poisoned, snake venom slithering through his veins no magic could have stopped. But my mom, she stopped it. My mom, a muggle who the Dark Lord so much detested, had won over his own snake.

The year had passed in a blurry ordeal of pain, love, recovery, and healing. But still, there was so much healing needed I could barely wrap my head around it. Christmas was upon us, and I hadn’t the heart to decorate our home. The home we ended up sharing, just me and Severus. At first, it was to get away from everyone and give him a chance to heal, but it changed about a month ago. A month ago, it became something different, an emotional journey for the two of us one could say. Spewed words of hatred, panic attacks through dark nights, long stretches of time without a word spoken from him, my dear broken man.

I didn’t give up, yet yesterday, when he’d so viciously barked at me about the time I’d decorated his office and how stupid I’d been to do such a thing — well, something broke in me. I hadn’t decorated our home, I hadn’t put up anything related to Christmas despite it being the 21st of December now and my most loved holiday. I’d simply allowed our home to remain barren, for his sake, as he seemed to hate the holiday with a vengeance unlike any I’d ever seen.

“I’ll take a walk,” I called through the little house, not expecting any response. The cold winter air greeted me but there was no wind, not a sound from beyond the bubble the little house sat in at the very end of a clearing in some ancient forest I still had no idea of the location of. I could only apparate there since I knew what it looked like.

My heart ached for the man left behind in the house while stepping into the night. No matter what, I wouldn’t give up on him. He had every right to be broken, hurt, lost — but sometimes I had to take some time for myself to find the strength and courage I needed to go on when his hatred and pain shined too brightly. Sometimes, I was the only one around he could lash out against and even if it hurt beyond anything else to hear such foul words in his voice directed at me, I still loved him more than anything and the nights when I held him tight I just knew it would pass. Eventually, time would heal his wounds and I’d still be there. I would never abandon him, something I knew he feared above all else yet he always showed I was free to come and go as I pleased. He knew what it was to be trapped, he didn't wish that for me in any sense of the word.

The snow crunched beneath my shoes, I slipped on my mittens and shoved my hands into my coat’s pockets while walking ahead. Above me, just before I left the clearing and the trees would obscure the sky, I saw the little stars speckling the darkness. I paused for a second to just look at the enormity of the universe, to get perspective perhaps, or simply allow myself to think of how small things can mean so much in the enormity of it all. A falling star streaked by, and I couldn’t help but close my eyes and send a wish to it. It was a childish thing to do perhaps, but I wished for Severus to allow me to help him and be close with him. Some day it might come true, he’s trying already…

I walked around for nearly two hours, until my toes were numb and my cheeks beyond chilly. Just breathing, imagining a happy Christmas with him. “In the future, when he’s healed… Maybe then…” I murmured to myself as I stomped off my boots and stepped back into our little home.

I lost my breath.

When I left, the house had been dark, dreary, void of all things Christmas but now… Now there were decorations everywhere. Eternally burning candles, perfectly green garlands, golden ornaments, and red bows littered every surface, door frame, and window. The house had turned into a Christmas-littered haven perfectly decorated to my own taste, almost as I had decorated Severus’s office a year ago — just slightly different colours.

“What in the world,” I whispered as I dragged off my fluffy mittens and shrugged out of my coat. “S-Severus! I don’t mean to alarm you but I think Santa broke in!” I called, my brain not able to think of another reason why our house looked like Christmas heaven. “No, love,” he murmured as he appeared in the doorway to the living room beyond the hallway I was moving through. “I am apologizing,” he continued and the sweet look of guilt and hope covering his features made my heart ache.

“Severus, what-, why?” I asked as he straightened and reached for my hand to tug me into his arms. I followed without any resistance. I always wanted to be in his arms, one of the many things I always wished for while I nursed him back to health physically after my mom had saved his life. “I said dreadful things.” “You’re trying, Sev.” “No, you are trying, Linna—” he exhaled the words into my hair “—and I’m constantly making it harder for you.” “Healing takes time, Sev. It takes time.” “It gives me no right to take it out on you, you have done nothing but stand by me.” “I always will, I won’t abandon you.” “I almost wish you would, it would be easier to be in misery than… deal with it all.” “Oh, stop, you’re a strong man, you can deal with it.” “Love, you overestimate my abilities, and underestimate your importance…”

For a long moment, I said nothing, just thought about his words — the sweet ones he now spoke and the hurtful ones that came out when we tried to process his trauma. It wasn’t easy to stay, wasn’t easy to take it and not retort or yell or scream or cry. But the hardest thing I had ever done was stay away from him, nothing else came close to it.

“Will you forgive me?” he asked, his voice low and nearly that of someone frightened. “I-, Severus… you don’t need my—” “Your forgiveness is the only one I need.” “I won’t forgive you then,” I said softly. “I won’t forgive you until you fight harder.” “Love, I—” “No, you’re the strongest man I’ve ever met. I’m nothing compared to you and I have nothing to equal your pain and hurt, your strength, or your bravery, so if I only have this one thing to hold over your head I bloody well will, Sev.” “Feisty today, are we?”

His voice was teasing, yet the hurt and fear still lingered behind it all and I couldn’t help but feel even more love for the man who dealt so poorly with his own emotions — he’d never been allowed any, so how would he ever know how to deal with them properly? I did the only thing I could think of, I hugged him with all my strength until his arms wrapped around me and I felt some of the tension leave his body. “Silly man,” I whispered. “You really need to learn how to deal with your emotions.” “I’m… I am trying,” he confessed and I knew he spoke true. He was trying with everything he had and I’d be with him every step of the way.

We stood there, for the longest moment, until I felt the urge to explore all the Christmas decorations he’d filled the house with. “I thought you hated Christmas with a passion as strong as amortentia’s power to make people go insane with obsession.” “I do.” “Then, why?” “You are the obsessed in this case,” he chuckled. “So, for me, then?” He merely nodded but I smiled warmly at him. It was a giant act of care and love on his part, it only made me love the holiday even more.

We walked through the little house, I looked at everything he’d done in a sort of stunned silence until we got to the bedroom. “Really?” I asked and arched a brow at him, he shrugged while raising his own brows in a sort of “what?” kind of expression. “Rosemary?” “Well…” he murmured as his cheeks took on the tiniest hint of pink, barely there but significant enough for me to notice after having gotten to know him so well the past few months. “I love it,” I said and kissed his cheek gently. “It’s perfect,” I continued while allowing my eyes to rest another moment on the rosemary twigs replacing the holly — just like it had done a year ago.

“Love, I truly am sorry… I shouldn’t have said the things I did, or done it in the manner I did.” “I know, and you know, and it’s in the past.” “It is not in the past,” he said and sighed. “I fear I’ll never be able to… To…” “Sev, schh, it’s okay. You’re learning. Have you ever had a right to express yourself? Or even have feelings at all?” “No.” “So you’re a baby.” He sneered at that, almost recoiling. “If you think about it logically, you’re as able as a child to deal with your emotions and when children feel truly safe with someone they’ll act up, they’ll cry and scream and get pissed because they feel it’s safe to show their emotions and, eventually, with the help of safe adults they learn to communicate and deal with their emotions in a healthy and proper manner. Yes, you’re a grown man, but you’ve never had the chance to learn or become comfortable with your emotions.” “I’m comfortable with you.” “And I am with you, we can both show our emotions, and right now your emotions aren’t under control but that’s not your fault. You’ll learn, grow, and become able to handle it eventually.”

Severus simply stared at me. It felt like an eternity passed while his eyes seemed to dig themselves into mine. Eventually, he drew a long breath. “You are far too good.” “I’ll be anything you need me to be.” “I merely need you, just as you are. If you… if you are willing to be patient, with… me…” It sounded as if he had to push with all his might to say the word in a calm and collected manner, as if he felt a need to either spit them out or say nothing at all. It warmed my heart and I nodded gently, smiling up at him as I took his hands gently in my own. “I’ll always be patient with you,” I said and leaned up to kiss him. His thin lips pushed harshly against mine while he tugged me closer.

He backed me up, toward our bed, and gently laid me down without our lips ever leaving each other. “Severus?” I asked, my heart hammering too hard while my entire body tightened warmly under him. “If you don’t want this, say so now, love.” “I-, I do…” It feels like I’ve waited all my life for this moment. “But are you ready?” I asked in return, remembering all the times he’d recoiled at my soft touch or jolted at a sweet caress of his cheek. Loving touches, as I’d learned over the past months, wasn’t something he was used to or even knew how to deal with.

“I want to try,” he confessed after another kiss. “Okay,” I whispered and he kissed me again while his hands roughly caressed my sides. His kisses turned harsher and he bent my legs to fit himself between them. I simply moved with him, allowed him to lead the way while I avoided touching him, keeping my hands above my head even if all I wished to do was strip him and ravish him with all my love and adoration, thousands of kisses and hundreds of soft caresses — with all my warmth.

His hands travelled up my arms until one of them clamped around my wrists before the other tore open my blouse with a jerk. His breathing turned ragged, his hand clamped around my wrists harder while he undid my pants with his free hand — tugging at the buttons too harshly.

“S-Sev,” I whispered against his lips. All his motions halted. He looked down at me, his eyes darker than ever. “I won’t run away,” I whispered. “Even if you don’t hold me down, I won’t touch you unless you allow it,” I continued. “I-, I don’t know how to… How to do this…” His voice was a mere murmur, a deep droning of a confession barely audible. “I know. I understand. But I do… Let me show you?” I asked gently while holding his eyes with my own.

He hesitated, a fear of what was to come in those onyx eyes of his, while I laid utterly still despite the need to love him clawing at my skin with a burning desire. He nodded, a stiff motion, while he slowly released my hands.

I sat up and he backed off the bed, standing between my knees. I looked up at him, not making any quick moves but standing up while he took a step back and his fists clenched. “Will you let me lead?” I asked. He merely nodded. “No, Severus. I need you to say the words.” He looked bewildered for a second before his fists unclenched on a deep exhale. “You lead.” “Thank you.”

I gently reached out while he stood absolutely still. “I’m going to undress you. And then you will undress me, slowly.” He nodded at my words and I got to work with the buttons of his shirt, not letting my fingers tremble while he watched them work. I tugged the shirt off his shoulders without touching his skin, dragging the fabric down his arms while searching his eyes before it floated to the floor. I undid the belt of his pants, then the button and zipper before bending to tug them off as he wore no shoes.

He lifted each leg for me to remove the pants fully while simultaneously slipping my finger within the hem of his socks and taking them off at the same time. I heard him draw a shaky breath as I rose before him as he stood in just his boxers. He was such a beautiful sight in the candlelight and I couldn’t help but look him up and down while my cheeks heated, no matter how hard I tried to control my own emotions for his benefit.

“Now, you undress me in the same manner. But, you can touch me if you want to.” He nodded at my words and as he reached for my already open blouse I caught a glimpse of his unsteady fingers that seemed to be both stiff and trembling. But he managed to undress me in a somewhat slow fashion, even if he didn’t look at me while he did so. His eyes flickered all over the place as if he didn’t know where to look.

When he stood up we were only in our underwear. I was strangely relaxed while he seemed tense. So I stepped closer, my eyes seeking his, and allowed my hands to reach out. “I’ll touch you now,” I said and his eyes found mine. He looked terrified, but he didn’t move away as my hands reached his chest dusted with dark hair so soft to the touch I wanted to moan at just the sensation of him. “Touch me, Severus, feel my body. It belongs to you,” I said gently to encourage him to dare. “I-, I have never in-, in this manner,” he confessed. “Tell me how you’ve done it, share your experiences with me while we do this gently.” “Love… No,” he said, a darkness to his voice. “Tell me, and touch me.”

I allowed my hands to stroke down his arms, slip to his hips, and go up along his sides until I could spread my fingers over his chest — his heart pounded. Then his hands reached out for my hips. “It was rough,” he began while his uncertain fingers began exploring my body in a jaggedly jumpy fashion. “Never out of care or, want… A necessity, sometimes something done without my approval. Merely for the… mission …” “Never again, darling,” I whispered while my hands explored his back and my front went flush against his, forcing his hands to slip behind me as well.

I kissed his collarbone and allowed my lips to slant up along his throat until I met his jawline. “This will only ever happen if you want it,” I assured him and his fingers stiffened at my lower back while I felt his cock press against my pelvis. “I can’t talk about it,” he confessed. “Not like this,” he continued and I nodded before kissing his cheek. “That’s okay, Sev. Will you still allow me to lead and touch?” “Yes…” “Say stop and it all stops.”

I stepped back and took off my underwear before ridding him of his. As we stood face to face I searched his eyes, tried to read what few emotions he showed, I found none truly alarming so I continued to kiss and caress him before we ended up on the bed. He was stiff beneath me, but I kept kissing and caressing his upper body while snuggling myself between his legs.

“Love…” he murmured. “Yes, Sev?” “Are you-, do you truly wish for this?” “Yes. I want all of you, all you are willing to gift me.” “All?” “Yes, all . There is no part of you I don’t love. I want to be close to you, care for you, love you.” He seemed to soften beneath me at that. “I will try,” he said quietly while his hands finally began to caress my skin, travelling along my sides until his fingers reached my face and he pulled me closer before kissing me softly.

I moaned into his mouth and kissed him back with all I had while still keeping the pace slow and the touch gentle. His thumb caressed my cheek and the kiss ended. I began stroking his side, travelling from his ribs to his hips before lifting myself a bit to reach his cock. He exhaled deeply as my fingers wrapped around him and I began stroking him gently, each movement measured and controlled to be gentle and comforting.

“It-, it feels good,” he whispered as he laid back fully, relaxing and taking in my touch. “I’ll always make you feel good, Sev,” I said, my voice too low but I was desperate to keep my control when all I truly wished to do was ravish him and have him fill my aching cunt. But we both needed this, he needed this to be different and I wanted him to feel safe and adored with me — as he always should feel.

I worked him to the point of him moaning deeply beneath me, my hands touching and stroking, my lips slanting and kissing, my mouth whispering sweet words of adoration and care. The room turned too warm, his breaths came harder and his muscles tensed beneath me while my core turned slick and needy.

“Sev, I’m going to ride you,” I said, making sure he knew what was about to happen before I did anything, giving him the chance to stop me. But he didn’t, he merely looked at me with warm eyes of want even if a small sliver of worry still lingered within the onyx colour.

I climbed atop him, guiding his thick cock to my entrance while straddling him. He looked up at me, his hands landing on my thighs as I began to sink, allowing him to slip inside and fill me up deliciously slow. He groaned and threw his head back as I took him to the hilt. It felt too good. He felt too perfect within me.

His hands flexed, his fingers digging into my flesh, and I moaned his name while taking in the sensation of being with him. I had dreamt of that moment for so long, wondered what it would be like, what he’d feel like, how he’d react — never had I imagined I’d be the one leading. But with Severus, things were always different.

“Love,” he groaned as I began riding him slowly. “You feel so good, Sev,” I moaned as my cunt adjusted to his size. “Belinna,” he moaned. “I-, I can’t,” he continued with a strain to his dark rumble of a voice. “Want me to stop?” I asked while keeping on riding him in slow motions, steady rising and falling, using all of my power to not allow the frenzy building within me to take over. “No, no don’t stop,” he groaned as his fingers dug themselves into my flesh with a grip so tight I wondered if he’d leave marks on me from his desperate hold. “But I can’t, I can’t hold out,” he panted while I felt his entire body turn nearly solid beneath me.

I’d only barely begun, but I wouldn’t take away his pleasure or deny him a release he so obviously needed. “Then let go, darling,” I said while I upped the pace a tiny bit. “Just let go.” “ Belinna ,” he moaned in a near prayer as I splayed my hands out on his chest, leaning forward to find a new angle to take him. He jerked beneath me, his jaw clenched tightly while his hips bucked upwards, and I moaned as he came undone beneath me.

His cock jerked with me, warm waves coating my insides while I kept riding him steadily while my hands felt the hammering of his heart. “You’re so good, Sev,” I praised while he groaned deeply. “So good, darling,” I continued and he moaned a strange sound of relief and something darker. I slowed my pace until I stilled fully, not chasing my release.

I watched him, the pale skin with a slight tint to his cheeks and little beads of sweat across his forehead, and couldn’t help but be filled with a desperate need to comfort him. He looked strangely satisfied but confused, tense but relaxed at the same time.

“Sev, are you alright?” I asked while stroking away a few stray strands of his hair. He looked up at me, I was unable to understand what his eyes were filled with though. He just looked at me, his chest still rising and falling rapidly, while I felt him soften within me his hands released their grip on my flesh.

“I-, I don’t know,” he confessed. “That’s okay,” I said and leaned forward to kiss his hooked nose while he slipped out of me, a gushing of sticky cum flowing out of me. “We’re a mess, would you like to shower with me?” I asked with a smile even if my entire body was reeling with the need to come. He shook his head and I nodded before kissing his thin lips gently. “I’ll be right back, I don’t like cleaning up with magic.”

I handed him his wand after having stood and went to the bathroom on shaky legs. My insides pulsed and his cum streaked down my thighs. I locked the door and stepped into the shower, the warm water cascaded over me and I reached down to find the release I so desperately needed while his moans and groans filled my head from mere memory. His cum and my slick covered my fingers as I stroked myself into a trembling mess, taking support from the wall while biting down on my lip to not make a sound. I made quick work of it all, finding my release swiftly only to rush through cleaning myself.

I grabbed my robe from the hook on the wall and left the bathroom while cinching the sash around my waist. When I stepped into the bedroom Severus sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in a new shirt and his black silken pyjama pants. He was leaning his elbows on his knees, a hunch to his shoulders and a stiffness to his back.

I walked up, sinking down on my knees before him. “Sev? Are you alright?” I asked anew but he shook his head. “What’s wrong?” I continued while wrapping my hands around his where they were entwined before me. “Is that how it’s supposed to be?” he asked quietly. “What do you mean?” “Soft, caring… Warm …” My eyes widened as he looked up at me. “Sev… Darling… Yes, it’s supposed to be all those things. It’s supposed to feel only good.” My heart screamed at the torment and confusion in his eyes while he looked at me so intently that I felt as if he were trying to enter my soul.

“What do you need, darling?” I asked while squeezing his hands. “Need?” “Yes, what do you need from me?” “Nothing you haven’t already given too much of.” “Okay, what would make you feel safe and cared for right now?” I asked to change his view on the question I was asking. “I-, I don’t know.” “Cuddles?” I asked. “Or alone time? Food? Words of affirmation?” I kept going to try and jog his thoughts about it all. I knew what I wanted but what I needed was to comfort him in whatever manner he needed.

“I usually prefer some cuddles and snuggles after getting clean, and talking about what felt good and what didn’t,” I said to open up about my own wants to hopefully make him see it was okay to ask for something more, for what one needs. “There was nothing about that which did not feel good, love,” Severus murmured, his eyes cast down on our hands. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Would you like me to stay or give you some time?” I asked after another moment. “Don’t leave,” he whispered. “Stay. Please…” The confusion and worry in his voice was heartbreaking but that he asked me to stay warmed me. “I’ll stay, for as long as you wish.” “Forever. I wish you to stay forever,” he said and I felt my eyes water at his honesty. “I love you, Severus.” “I love you too. And I am trying, I am truly trying, Belinna.” “I know,” I said and reached my hand up to caress his chilly cheek.

He leaned into my hand, a small smile across his lips. Such a difference to just a few weeks ago. “It may sound foolish,” he began quietly, “but I… I wished on a falling star for the bravery needed to be closer to you. It fell across the sky just as you left for your walk.” “I-, Sev, I wished on that star too,” I confessed and he blinked at me. “I wished for you to allow me to be close to you…” “Is that so?” “Yes…” “Star of wishes, perhaps we needn’t wish on stars in the future…” “Perhaps we can simply… talk with each other more?”

Severus reached up and cupped my face, smiling softly while I placed my hands on his chest. His heart beat steadily beneath my palms and warmth seemed to envelop the two of us among the garlands and candlelight. “I wish for nothing more than a future where we can speak openly,” he said gently and I felt as if I were melting on the inside. “Let’s make that future a reality, together.” “Together,” he echoed and kissed me deeply. My wish came true, and my hard work and patience were rewarded in the end. My own little Christmas miracle…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: WAAAAAAAH!!!! Gosh, frikkin darn it, I love this so much and it's so sweet and they are so loving and caring and waaaaah..! I hope you enjoyed the end to this Rickmas2023 serial as well darlings! 🥰👏

+A/N: I am so so so sorry I haven't had the chance to reply to comments/reblogs yet - I am itching to do it and I will get to it as soon as I have a chance to and life isn't going crazy (I love and adore that you comment and reblog darling! I really do!) ❤

Q: Do you feel ready for 2024? A: I am so so so ready for 2023 to be over, it's been the most insane year and I can't quite wrap my head around it now that we're on the home stretch - how did I manage all I managed this year?

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[Dec:2023]

#rickmas2023 #rickmas #alan rickman #rickmaniac #pro snape #severus snape #snape x oc #snape fic #snape lives au #chrsitmas fic #event fic

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yukidragon · 2 years

Note

Will u make more of your take on aphrodesia!Sunny day jack? No pressure if u dont want to!

I’m so glad you want to see more of the Something’s Wrong With Sunny Day Jack and Aphrodesia crossover AU! I certainly want to do more with it, particularly writing some short fics and art in that setting. For the most part I’ve been taking a break with writing and drawing in general to recharge (which is why Sunshine in Hell hasn’t been updated in a while), but with the occasional writing blurb here and there for funsies. It’s kind of like the writer equivalent of doodling.

Since you were so kind to ask for more of this crossover AU, and in the spirit of celebrating the kickstarter getting successfully funded and reaching 300 followers on my twitter, I suppose I could post a little narrative doodle. I’m not sure if I’ll actually finish this little rough snippet, but I had fun making it. Maybe you’ll like it too.

If I do wind up finishing it, I’ll be sure to post the polished version in Sunshine in Another World. I hope you enjoy it!

Oh, and as a heads up, this flashfic is for Adults Only. These fandoms are for Adults over the age of 18 Only. Things are pretty explicit right from the outset, and it’s a bit kinkier than my usual spicy writing, so it’s going to be entirely hidden behind a cut.

I never thought I’d be writing a smut piece about cockwarming with a mafia boss, but here we are.

...

Alice had to learn to be patient about a lot of things ever since she was inducted into the Sunny Family. She had to learn how to sit still and focused for hours to be an effective sniper. Back when she was barely hanging onto the lowest rung of the family she had to be patient and ready to be summoned at a moment’s notice by her boss. Most of all, she had to be patient until her debt was paid off, and she could finally leave this bloody life behind her and return to her real family.

One thing Alice never thought she would have to be patient for was for Sunny Day Jack to just fuck her already.

Ever since the two of them got together officially as a couple, Jack never seemed to be able to keep his hands off Alice. Well, admittedly he had a hard time keeping his hands off her since the day they met, but he was nothing if not respectful of her boundaries. However, at some point their physical contact crossed from platonic hand holding to a heck of a lot more. It had been such a striking change in her life, going from never having sex to making love practically every day. They spent every single day together, and it was rare that they wouldn’t wind up naked and entwined together at some point.

Despite how active her sex life had become recently, Alice still had no idea how she wound up in the lap of the leader of the most powerful and respected crime families of St. Valens with his large dick buried deep inside her. What was even more inexplicable was how Jack expected her to just keep still while he filled her so completely to the brim. She was so acutely aware of every inch of him, especially the part of him that faintly throbbed inside her, hot, hard and more than ready to just finally rail her over the desk already.

How the hell did I get in this mess? Alice wondered, not for the first time since she got embroiled in the seedy criminal underbelly that infested the city of St. Valens. Sure, indulging in her boyfriend’s kinky request was a far cry from the worst thing she had ever done while here, but it was hard not to feel frustrated when her body throbbed with need.

Unfortunately, her boss ordered her not to move until he was finished with his paperwork. ‘Let’s play a little game,’ he said. ‘Won’t that be fun?’ he said.

Jack even sweetened the deal by offering Alice some sort of prize if she ‘won’ their little game, though he didn’t say what that would be. He also didn’t say what her ‘penalty’ would be if she ‘lost.’

That damn prize better be worth it, Alice thought bitterly as she watched the most dangerous crime boss in the city sign yet another paper while she struggled desperately not to start slamming her hips down on his dick - penalties be damned.

Jack pretended to take no notice of his assistant’s discomfort. He didn’t exactly ignore Alice, idly stroking her hair in an almost offhand manner as he used the other to thumb through his paperwork. Seeing her so impatient for him was intoxicating. He wanted the game to last for as long as possible. The flush of her pouty cheeks was so cute, and the exquisite velvety feeling of her pussy wrapped around him was heaven. She was so perfect, as though she was made for him. There was nothing in the world better than to be one with her like this.

Well, admittedly, it was a little taxing on his patience. Although Alice did well not to move, her occasional twitches around his dick sent small sparks of pleasure that was sweet torture. It was difficult for Jack to hold back and continue the game instead of bending her over the desk to pound himself into that deliciously hot and wet pussy of hers, but he was committed to seeing it through.

Besides, teasing Alice was pretty fun. Jack wondered just how long it would take for her to break down and beg him to make love to her. She was already so impatient, so needy for him.

This game was as good as won.

“You’re doing so good,” Jack murmured as he pressed a kiss to Alice’s forehead. She still flinched a little where his lips touched her scars, but not as much as she did at the beginning. It was enough to send another spark shooting through his dick as her spongy walls fluttered around him. His breathing caught for a moment, but he managed to keep a straight face despire the sweet torture the game put them both through. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Jack…,” Alice said, cringing at the needy whine in her voice. “How much longer?”

Jack chuckled, the corner of his mouth hooking into a smirk as he admired her flushed cheeks. “Just a little longer, sunshine.” He pressed another kiss into her cotton candy soft hair this time. “Don’t worry, I’ll be done soon.”

Alice couldn’t stop her sigh of frustration. “You said that half an hour ago.”

“Yes,” Jack admitted almost a little too innocently. “I suppose that is true, but ‘soon’ is just a little sooner now than it was before.”

Alice huffed as she pressed her cheek into her boyfriend’s shoulder, taking solace in at least his warmth. She tried not to think about the burning in her core, but it was impossible not to ache for Jack to make love to her. He was so warm, his embrace so comforting, and he gently toyed with her hair or rubbed her arm in a gentle affirmation that she was precious to him.

It was wonderful, but it wasn’t enough. Alice couldn’t ignore the way her pussy throbbed with need and begged to be pounded into until she lost all sense of reason.

There had to be a way to get Jack to end the game sooner without losing.

Another kiss to her cheek, along one of her most prominent scars. The action was so tender and loving that her insides fluttered despite her frustration. It wasn’t just her chest that constricted with emotion, and Alice caught the shuddering breath Jack let out, as well as the small noise that was suspiciously like a whimper. It was so cute.

It also gave Alice an idea.

Jack was in the middle of his signature, when a gentle squeeze around his dick sent a jolt of pleasure through him that caused him to scrape his pen across the page. He had to take a moment to compose himself, but another squeeze drew out a whimper that he failed to bite back.

“Sunshine,” Jack said in a slightly husky tone.

“Hmm?” Alice asked with an innocent smile painted on her lips.

“I told you to keep still,” Jack chided as he poked one of her pinked cheeks with a finger.

Alice just made her faux innocence even more obviously fake as she batted her eyelashes cutely at Jack. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said sweetly even as she squeezed around his dick again, her voice catching a little. It also sent a shudder through him and into her that felt absolutely delicious. “I haven’t moved my hips an inch, just like you told me to.”

Jack eyed his mischievous sunshine with a considering look, but found his train of thought interrupted by another jolt of pleasure as Alice tightened herself around him again. He moaned her name despite his composure, and he put both hands on her hips to stabilize himself, only for her to do it again, and again, wearing him down in the most wonderful of ways.

Maybe the game wouldn’t be so easy for Jack to win after all.

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #swwsdj #sdj #AphroDesia #Mafia AU #Ask #My Writing

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brasideios · 1 year

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A Random Valhalla Fanfic Snippet

A couple of years ago, I replaced my iPad mini with an iPad, and since then, I’ve not really looked in the notes app. And the thing is, I used to write all my fanfic there. The notes app was basically broken and refused to move things to the cloud, so I used to email them to myself. But there were things I never bothered to move.

Anyway, in the search for old login details today, I booted up ye olde iPad mini, and on a whim, peeped into my notes app. I really had forgotten the volume of writing I’d left behind.

The good news is the app & cloud decided to oblige me at last, and all my writing has now been moved from the local drive to the cloud - hooray!

It opened on a snippet of AC Valhalla fic that I have no recollection of writing. I have no idea where it was going. I don’t think I knew even in March of 2021.

But heck. I’m posting it here because I felt like I was visiting old friends for a moment, and maybe someone else might like to as well. Nostalgia: my besetting sin :)

8 Mar 21.

Petra was up before the rest of the village most days, and this morning was no different. It was just as the world began to tip from dark to light, while the seasons began to tip from light to dark - the beginning of autumn, the air redolent with smoke, and the soft drip of rain from the eves into thick leaves below.

As she slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder and ducked out the door, a breeze was blowing high in the landmark tree, flapping the green banners against the lightening sky, and she could just make out the shifting shapes of clouds - she thought it likely to rain again before midday.

She cut through the town, heading towards the western edge of the village down near the river; passing the bureau where she caught a glimpse of Hytham rubbing his eyes in candlelight, a scroll already in hand though not yet unrolled; then she passed the cartographers and Swanburrow’s home, and there the woods took over.

She could always breathe easier beyond the small community. Being in the forest, the quiet of the hunt - that was what she lived for.

It’d been difficult in the first years, when she and Eivor had briefly been seeing each other. She’d hoped for more, but the whole time knowing deep down that that was more than she could really hope for; so when it’d petered out, she hadn’t been surprised.

What she hadn’t expected was Ubba Ragnarsson. When he’d appeared in the village and taken up his place as Eivor’s consort, there’d been real bitterness. Seeing them together, so totally in love, was enough to make her sick. She was ashamed now of the times she had tried to persuade Wallace to leave the village. Fortunately, he’d only shaken his head and told her he’d warned her not to get involved, and she’d just have to learn to live with it.

They hadn’t talked for a time; but that too had passed. And she had learnt to live with it, though it was still not easy sometimes…

She pushed these thoughts aside as she reached the quiet rustle of the woods. Hunting required concentration. There was no time to dwell.

Hytham heard rather than saw Petra passing outside, and glanced out into the relative darkness to gauge how long it would be before the sun came up.

He’d agreed to meet with Olsen, the cartographer, early. He’d returned to Ravensthorpe from Lunden with a new map he promised Hytham he’d want to see. Hytham had suggested he show him it straight away - sleep, like everything else, could wait - but it’d been very late, and Olsen said laughingly that he wanted to bathe and get some rest.

Hytham didn’t understand this weakness to fatigue. He slept little and lightly himself, but he knew better than to press him. He’d learnt the hard way to bend to the needs of others...

There was the sudden clanging of the bell at the Jomsviking Hall, carried across the town on the wind. Eivor was awake then, he thought, preparing to go on a raid.

Hytham frowned. He didn’t understand their obsession with that particular activity at all; but he added with a sigh to himself, people in general were an enigma to him.

Vagn was woken by the bell. He stirred, but by his side Earys sat bolt upright.

‘That fucking bell,’ she said, and hastily stood to dress. ‘I swear I’m going to fling it in the river.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Vagn said comfortably, smiling happily at her as she stormed towards the door. He loved to see her angry. At her infernal best.

She paused before going outside to blow him a kiss, then she was gone.

Vagn lingered lazily for a moment. He could hear both Eivor and Ubba talking outside with a cluster of keen Jomsvikingr in preparation for the raid.

He should get up. He would get up. Any moment now…

Eivor’s lieutenant, Varfeitr, saw Earys leaving Vagn’s hut and raised a hand in respectful greeting.

She nodded and passed on, and he turned to Eivor.

‘Rollo wants to come with us. He’s been petitioning me relentlessly.’

Eivor grinned.

‘Rollo! I thought he had his hands full?’

Tove, who’d been sleeping with him since Yule, had caught him making eyes and crude suggestions to Sunniva when he’d drunk too much ale. Sunniva had, of course, laughed in his face, and told him she had more than enough trouble with two lovers and a small daughter - but Tove had been wildly furious, no matter how many times he’d apologised.

Varfeitr smiled. ‘He does - I think that’s why he wants to come.’

Eivor considered this. ‘Alright. Take orders to the barracks. Tell him he can go. You’ll raid along the border of Snotinghamscire. There’s a letter that needs taking to Vili Hemmingson. Be sure you see it delivered.’

Ubba looked at Eivor from the side of his eye, lips pursed.

Varfeitr nodded. ‘You wish me to lead?’

‘It’s your decision. Finnr can do it if you’d rather come with us to the Exe.’

‘No - I’ll go north, make sure the letter reaches Hemsthorpe.’

Eivor rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment, and said ‘My thanks. Travel safely.’

‘You too, my jarl.’

Vagn had finally dragged himself from his bed. He emerged out of the hut just as the sun peeped over the hills and through the trees.

He said cheerfully, ‘You’re early and loud this morning.’

Eivor smiled. ‘Ravensthorpe is making you soft.’

Vagn chuckled, but didn’t deny it.

‘The Exe today you said?

‘Last raid of the season I think.’

He pondered the sky, as though the future days could be read there.

‘We might risk another yet - but we’ll see what the weather does.’

He went to oversee last minute preparations, and Eivor turned to Ubba.

‘You’ll be alright here, with Norna?’

‘Of course,’ he said, smiling, though feeling a little terse. He hated watching the raiders leave. That first day was always the worst. By tomorrow, he knew, he would have got over it.

Eivor studied his face a moment, then nodded, reassured.

‘Then I’ll see you in a few days.’

‘You will. Be safe.’

Eivor grinned. ‘Of course. Then he turned away - but he paused a moment to look back and say, ‘No jumping off the lookout this time.’

Ubba only grunted, but he couldn’t entirely repress the smile this roused. Eivor would never let him forget about the damn broken leg.

#assassin’s creed valhalla #eivor varinsson #ravensthorpe #fanfiction #i wish I knew what I’d intended for this #some small things have returned reading it #but this is the joy of archives I guess #jpdoingwords

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writingwordsanddrawingpictures · 1 year

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So, I did a thing...

As any of you who, for reasons best known to yourselves, still follow me (and aren’t a porn bot!) you’ll know that it’s been a couple of years since I posted anything original, either writing or art. Fair to say I’ve been in a slump and I’ve not really done anything creative for *gestures wildly* reasons...

However...

I saw last Friday’s FFF prompt - An Eternal Summer - and it spoke to me. More to the point, it wouldn’t give up so I started typing on my phone while waiting for some rice to cook (rock & roll!). I then had to leave it to one side (work and other commitments getting in the way), but picked it back up again this Friday (armed with the new FFF prompt as well - What Comes Next) and ended up writing until about 2am.

It’s ended up being rather more than a flash fic at around 3,200 words (so I hope you don’t mind being tagged in anyway @flashfictionfridayofficial), and as I said, it’s the first thing I’ve written in a couple of years, and it’s rough, but I hope you enjoy it.

An Endless Summer / What Comes Next?

People often say that they wish things could last forever - a day, a night, a holiday - but they never stop to think what the consequences of that could be. Me? I was living them.

Years ago, when I was in my awkward early teens, I had an experience that changed my life. I'd never been a popular person, certainly not one of the 'cool' kids as I was far too shy and, dare I say, nerdy. It was the start of the summer holidays, and I'd been looking forward to the break from school - not so much the place, more the other students. People can be cruel, especially if there's something different about you, and teenage girls can be some of the worst offenders. Anyway, I was going to be taking a trip to the countryside to visit some distant relatives and, hopefully, de-stress. It was a gift from my parents for acing my exams, plus I think they didn't want to face having me around the house for the whole summer. It was somewhere down around Devon and Cornwall, I can't remember the name of the village, but it was a picturesque place with winding, tree-lined country lanes that made you feel like you were in Middle Earth and you were going to stumble across a group of hobbits heading off on an adventure around the next bend. My relatives' place turned out to be a small farm on the edge of the village - not what I'd expected, but a world away from the city I'd come from. For some reason, I'd never really heard my folks talk about these relations - a pair of sisters, I thought - other than in slightly hushed tones as if they were the black sheep of the family. The reality, as I experienced it, was that they were warm, welcoming and very friendly. We hit it off from the moment I turned up with my backpack, and I loved helping them out on the farm with the animals and crops. They were more family to me than some of my closer blood relations - funny how these things work - and they took me under their collective wing, teaching me a lot about life including why they were treated the way they were by the rest of the family. But, I digress. I need to set this down so there's at least some record of why things are the way they are now, and my role in causing it. Even though I worked hard at the farm, I still had plenty of time to explore the surroundings. The 'sisters' had told me some of the local folk tales, and cautioned me about certain areas, but I didn't regard some of the folksy warnings as being serious - I mean, fairies, goblins and that aren't real... One afternoon I was wandering through a local wood and came across a beautiful clearing. The sun was breaking through the leafy canopy, giving a gorgeous dappled lighting to the place. I could hear sweet birdsong and, if I was still, I could see a rare red squirrel on one of the nearby trees was eyeing me nervously. "Don't worry, your nuts are safe around me." I told them, giggling to myself. To my surprise, they settled down on the branch they were on and just regarded me with curiosity. Slowly, I set down my small day pack at the foot of a sturdy oak and pulled out my sketchpad. "You don't mind if I...?" I asked the squirrel, feeling a little foolish. I still swear to this day that the squirrel gave me a small nod, while repositioning slightly, as if to say 'okay, but this is my best side'. I don't know how long I was sat there under the broad branches of the oak, sketching my subject in the most perfect light, but I became aware of a presence behind me. "Oh! You've captured Peter's cheeky character so well there!" A melodious voice exclaimed behind my right ear. "Thank you, I... Wait... Ahhhhhh!" I jumped, remembering I was in the woods and had no idea who this was. I scrambled, clutching my pad and pack to my now heaving chest, and turned to where the voice had come from. I swear it was a trick of the light, but the figure I could see was bathed in a greeny-golden aura and I'm sure I saw slightly pointed ears. The most surprising thing was just the sheer feeling of positive feelings that were radiating from this figure - beauty, confidence, serenity, playfulness...actually, a lot of playfulness. I was awestruck. Then I blinked, and saw someone about my own age, still beautiful, but slightly rugged with it. Dirty knees, some grass stains on their wispy skirt and top, which looked really out of place with their boots. They - she, I think - regarded me curiously, head cocked to the side almost like the squirrel earlier. Then she looked concerned. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you'd heard me when I walked up, but I think you were too engrossed in your drawing - which is beautiful, by the way." Her voice was strangely deep, not what I was expecting it to sound like, but it was also warm and soothing like a warm bath at the end of a hard day's work. "I... I... Thank you?" "Do you think I could have a closer look at it, please? Peter tends to be so shy, so I'm surprised he was such a willing subject for you." The mellow sound of her voice was definitely calming, although my heart was still pounding for some reason. "I... I guess so. Wait, Peter?" "I may have named him when I first saw him. I come here a lot, so it seemed rude to not name my friends." While my brain was struggling to comprehend what it was hearing, she stepped closer to me, extending her hand. She moved with the poise and grace of a dancer, but carefully as if trying to not spook a scared animal. She succeeded. "I forget my manners, I'm Faye" I blinked again, gave my head a little shake, then placed my hand in hers. "R...Riley." "A pleasure to meet you, Riley. That's a lovely name. Suits you." Faye said, looking into my eyes which felt like she was gazing into my soul. "Th...thank you. Faye's a beautiful name too." I could feel my shock and nervousness ebbing away, even if my heart was still pounding in my chest. She smiled at me, and I'm sure I felt my heart melt. It wasn't a 'million dollar smile', but it was sincere and just made me feel...happy. She nodded to the pad I still held in a death-grip. "So, can I?" "Huh? Oh, hell. Of course!" We sat back under the oak tree and talked. Faye complimented my art, which I tried to brush off until she insisted, so I showed her some more and her face lit up. I clumsily complimented her, which she seemed to like. Turned out she was a local - had always lived in the area, and loved spending time outside, whatever the weather. A proper outdoorsy girl. I explained about being there for the summer, and enjoying the mix of farm work and exploring the outdoors... I glanced at my watch. "Hell! I need to get back." "So soon?" Faye seemed disappointed. "Sorry, I've got jobs to help out with. Can I... er... Could I maybe...?" "Tomorrow? Here? Absolutely!" She grinned. "Perfect" I said as I dropped my pad back into my pack. "Oh, what time?" "Whenever you can. The trees will tell me when you're here." She winked at me and I'm sure my heart briefly stopped. "Huh...? Okay, sure. See you tomorrow, Faye!" "May your feet guide you safely back, Riley." I was a little late back, but the 'sisters' could see I was happy about something, so let it go without comment. My meetings with Faye became the part of my day I looked forward to the most. She just made me feel more at ease than anyone else I'd ever known, including my parents. We'd talk, laugh, play silly games and just enjoy each other's company. She even managed to persuade me to draw her. It's not something I do, as people are so hard to get right, and it took a couple of sittings, but I finally got something I was reasonably happy with. "Can I see? Can I see? Can I see?" Faye was practically jumping up and down with excitement and anticipation. I knew I couldn't put this off any longer. "Okay, but just remember I've done the best I can - I'm no portrait artist." "Show me! Show me! Show me!" I opened the pad and handed it to Faye. She looked down at the paper and her face shifted into a look of utter shock. "What's wrong? Don't you like it? I knew this was beyond m..." Faye pressed a finger to my lips, still staring at the picture. A tear formed in the corner of her right eye, rolled down her cheek and dripped onto the edge of the page. She closed her eyes, still keeping her finger on my lips. My heart was pounding fit to burst. I reached out my hand to her shoulder, and she was trembling. What had I done? My mind was going into overdrive with all the ways this was going to go wrong. Faye's finger briefly pressed harder on my lips, then she lifted it away. "Faye?" I asked, worriedly. Without saying anything, she turned to face me, then threw her arms around me, holding me tightly. I could feel her still shaking, her warmth, and the pounding of her heart as well. We stood like this for an eternity, or so it felt, neither of us saying a word. Me, too scared to, Faye, I didn't know. I felt her cheek move against mine, followed by the warmth of her breath against my ear. "It's beautiful beyond words. You are such a special person, Riley, and you have a rare talent." I felt tears start to roll down my cheeks, and held her tighter. It was hard heading back to the farm that evening after such an intensely emotional afternoon. I think the 'sisters' could tell I was struggling with something, so I was given a free pass on the jobs for the evening, and they both came to see me individually later to see what was wrong. I was torn - I knew they were genuinely trying to help, but I couldn't put into words what I was feeling. In retrospect, I know they would have known exactly what I was feeling, but that's hindsight for you. I didn't sleep well that night. I had so many things running around in my head. The end of summer - and my time there - was looming like a black cloud on the horizon, and I didn't know what to do. I wanted to stay, but knew I couldn't. I wanted to keep seeing Faye, but I'd be so far away from her. What had happened to me? I'd sort of had friends, but I'd never had someone I felt so close to, so much a part of. The following day was a blur. I was on autopilot during the morning until I'd done all the jobs I'd been asked to do. Then I grabbed my pack and set off to our clearing. It was still as beautiful there as the first time I saw it, and I think that's what started the first of the tears. I sat down under the oak and then the floodgates opened. It wasn't fair. The first time I'd felt comfortable, the first genuine friend I'd made, and it was all going to disappear in a couple of weeks. I sobbed my heart out. As the tears subsided, I realised there were arms wrapped around me, holding me tight, and a warmth pressed against me. "Oh Riley, my dear." "Faye?" I croaked. "I'm here. It's okay." We sat like that for a while, then Faye moved round to sit in front of me. She gently placed her hands on my cheeks and rested her forehead against mine. "Faye?" "Yes, my dear?" "I... I wish this summer could last forever." Silence. Strangely, not even any birdsong. It was like the world was on pause apart from the two of us. "An eternal summer? Would that make you happy, Riley?" "If... If I..." I sighed "Only if I could spend it with you." I heard Faye's breathing hitch in her chest. "I... I would also like that, Riley. It's been lonely." "Then I wish for an eternal summer, together with you." "Are you sure, Riley?" "I am, Faye." I heard Faye exhale, as if she'd been holding a breath in for an eternity. "Then it shall be so, this I promise." Faye took one of her hands from the side of my face and lifted my chin up until I was eye to eye with her, the tips of our noses now touching. "I promise." She tilted her head slightly to the side, then kissed me on the lips. I was not prepared for that! It was the first time I'd been kissed on the lips, and the passion I could feel behind it was incredible. I placed a hand on the side of Faye's face and kissed her back. My world was exploding, and I didn't care. I now knew what I'd been feeling, and I wanted to say it out loud. I pulled back gently and looked at Faye. "I..." She softly put a finger on my lips and leant forwards so she could whisper in my ear. "I love you too, Riley." And then she whispered something else, a name I think, and I was overcome with a flood of emotions, images that made no sense, and a cacophony of voices. All was still. "Faye? I don't feel..." The next thing I remember after that was waking up in my bed at the farm with the 'sisters' sat nervously by the bedside. I don't know what happened, but I'd apparently been out cold for a day. Someone had brought me back - although they couldn't say who, and when I asked "Faye?", they shared a knowing yet scared look. I was on bed rest for the following day, which really annoyed me, but I wasn't given any choice in the matter. I resolved myself to going to see Faye the next day, but the best laid plans, and all that... I was in one of the barns when the 'sisters' came to find me. They'd had a phone call and my folks had been in an accident. My mum was okay, but dad was in hospital in a bad way. I needed to go back now. I hurriedly packed up my backpack, thinking about Faye and my folks, and headed out to the 'sisters' truck for the ride to the station. On my way to it, I spotted a fox sat next to a package wrapped in a wispy fabric. I'll swear the fox nodded at me, then the package, then back at me. Getting the message, I grabbed the package on my way past and received another nod from the fox before it wandered off. I ran the rest of the way to the truck and jumped up into the flatbed so I could get my last lungfuls of fresh air before the train ride back to the city. As we drove, I checked the package I'd picked up. There was an intricately carved stone of some description threaded onto a thin strip of leather to make a necklace; my sketch pad, which I'd forgotten I'd left with Faye; and a note, written in the most beautiful hand I'd ever seen: Riley, my love. I know you have to go back, but I will be here waiting for you to return and enjoy our eternal summer together. If you feel lost, hold the stone and think of me. Keep it close to your heart. May your feet guide you safely back. I couldn't make out the signature, but it looked too long for 'Faye'. I'd decipher that later, I decided as I tied the necklace together around my neck and stowed the note, my pad and the fabric into my pack. The journey home was uneventful, and I spent the rest of the holiday before school resumed going back and forth to the hospital. Luckily, my dad was always stubborn and managed to make a decent recovery. No-one noticed anything odd with the weather until about October... Everywhere was still experiencing summer weather, even though it was supposed to be autumn. Climate change was the answer that satisfied people... ...until it was 30 degrees on Christmas day. And it didn't stop there. It was summer in January, February, March, April...all year round. That meant far less rain, rivers and reservoirs drying up, crops starting to fail... Not in the first year, there were still ways to mitigate at that point. But the longer the summer lasted, the bleaker - ironically - the outlook was. Being on an island, desalination plants were trialled, and were successful in some areas. That's where the deregulation of sewage release into the sea came back to bite firmly on the arse. During this time, I studied, I worked, and I joined a gym to keep up my fitness. I also learnt to box, which definitely helped reduce issues at school. I also missed Faye terribly. I tried calling the 'sisters' to see if they'd pass a message on for me, but as soon as I'd mention Faye, they'd get nervous and change the subject. I didn't remember about the eternal summer promise until our 7th year of summer. Scientists had given up trying to find a cause, and were just fighting to keep us alive. We ended up going underground instead of going ever skyward, because it was cooler. There were also some underground watercourses that were still viable. For now. I tried and tried to contact Faye, but to no avail. The 'sisters' had vanished, and a lot of villages had either been abandoned or demolished in the pursuit of going underground. I studied the necklace, note and fabric, having no other leads. The carvings were similar to some designs said to relate to the 'Fair Folk', or Fae. That set me off to learn everything I could about them. Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe they did exist. I also studied contract law, hoping if they did exist it might give me a hand in bargaining. Either way, I'm here, ten years on from a wish I made as a teen that's completely changed the world. I am not a 'chosen one', I don't have years of combat / magic training to make me a force to be reckoned with. There is no prophecy foretelling my defeating this problem. I'm a woman with an eclectic mix of skills, a desire to put things right, and a need to find the Fae I love - whose real name I now remember. I will move heaven and hell to solve this, or die horribly in the attempt. What comes next? Where do we go from here? Cornwall seems a good place to start.

@contes-de-rheio, @bookishdiplodocus, @pheita, @siarven, @aeschknight, @madammuffins, @esbarrison-author

Hope you guys don’t mind being tagged here

#writeblr #my writing #fff197 #fff198 #back from hiatus #but for how long?

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wasjustred · 2 years

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Hey I'm not sure if you write Larissa x student!reader x Marilyn but if you do could I please request a fic where Larissa and the reader are having a meeting about their grades again and the reader ends up fucking Larissa (she makes a comment like, "you're so intelligent I'm convinced you only fail to get between my legs"). Marilyn walks in on them because she was going to defend the reader to Larissa as the reader has being helping marilyn out for awhile in more ways than one, which leads to them all having fun together.

this is a good question and if you don’t mind anon, i’m gonna use it to give a little context to my own background and reasons for writing some topics over others!

first to answer your question: i won’t write any romantic larissa x student!reader, even if reader is over the age of 18. i would however be totally open to writing this scenario with another professor instead, say a new/young one, where there’s still a power imbalance at play. if that’s something you’re interested in, lmk and i’ll get right on it!

having said that, i do want to explain why i won’t write romantic larissa x student!reader. i don’t feel that i necessarily have to, but there are a few reasons i’d like to, one being that what you’ve requested is just the type of fic i would’ve loved to read or write when i was in secondary/high school, full disclosure. i absolutely understand the appeal. and because of that, i have no illusions that there are very likely minors reading these fics. i myself crushed HARD on a number of my teachers/administrators in school and was almost desperate to read these dynamics somewhere.

i say that bc i think it’s important that younger people be able to explore their thoughts, feelings, and desires without being shamed for it! i know that feeling wrong or dirty about my sexuality had an effect on me at that age. however i do feel that i have an obligation now to set that boundary, both as someone a little bit older and as someone who was IN a number of inappropriate, unbalanced relationships with authority figures when i was younger. i just don’t feel it appropriate that i write something like that, even if it is all fun and steamy, because fiction tends to reflect real life and vice versa and i don’t want ANY minors to end up in that position. trust me, it screws you up, even though it often feels validating/special/exciting at the time. no adult should be interacting with a student under their care in that way.

so this is all just a veryyyyy long-winded way of saying i get it, but i can’t write it. ♡

﹠. again, if you’d like a young/new prof in that situation with larissa and marilyn, i’d be thrilled to write it! just shoot me an ask and let me know. 🤍

#answered #♡#i rlly do get it tho esp with this scenario #i may just have to write it with a new/young prof regardless!#wasjustred

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hismercytomyjustice · 3 months

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Omfggg I cannot believe my little BG3 fic is about to hit 70 subscribers!!! (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

It is wonderful and terrifying all at the same time haha!!! It’s also weirdly humbling knowing almost 70 people trust me and this story enough to want updates as it’s posted???

Thank fuck I’ve written most of it already because otherwise I would be STRESSING TF OUT.

I crossed the 75k word threshold the other day. The 75k maximum I thought I would probably hit seeing as I’ve never written much over like 50k before and that was only once in the fanfic world and 3x in the “this will likely never see the light of day” original work world haha.

PLEASE TELL ME HOW THE FUCK I STILL FOUR FULL CHAPTERS LEFT TO WRITE.

In the event you clicked to see more, just know you’re about to see a lot of rambling of mental health and writing.

I’m winding down chapter 14 now and chapter 18 is at least 50-75% done after I skipped to it in a panic due to the massive writers block I hit in 13 over hardcore stressing over my characterization of Cazador. Just “he is not being horrible enough, he needs to be more horrible, but not too horrible or this fic will need to be even longer and I’m already wildly out of my word count comfort zone” lol.

So that leaves the tail end of 14 and 18, and then I just have to write 15, 16, and 17.

Oh thank fuck. It’s only three I thought it was four full length ones left. Oh god. This simultaneously brings me relief and anxiety lmaooo.

Oh god.

But this fic is going to have such a special place in my heart because writing it has reminded me THAT I LOVE WRITING.

I’ve barely written in the last decade for a variety of reasons and tbh until I started writing this fic, I was starting to wonder if I really even enjoyed writing and wanted to do it anymore.

Not because I didn’t, but because the level of passion I used to have for it seemed to just be…missing? I kept thinking “it’s so weird how writing used to be such a huge part of my life and now I never seem to be able to do it or want to do it”.

I’ve come to realize in the last month or so, the biggest culprit was my previously semi-diagnosed OCD. Second biggest may have been my definitely undiagnosed ADHD.

Any time I’d try to sit down to plot or draft or anything I would get into OCD spirals and either completely talk myself out of it or get into it for a little bit and then hit a roadblock in the story I couldn’t get past or convince myself what I wrote was awful and no one would ever want to read it because I would get bored writing it so why the hell would anyone want to read it? So then I’d convince myself I needed to read up on the craft of writing to make up for my deficiencies. And the more I learned the more I realized I didn’t know or the more deficiencies I saw and the more I’d get into my own head.

I spent some much time kind of wishing I hadn’t read so many books, went to so many convention panels, listened to so many podcasts about writing, etc. Because any time I looked at a blank page, I couldn’t get out of my own head enough to fucking WRITE.

Just an endless stream of: The first line is super important and has to hook the reader, make sure you start in the middle of the story, your protagonist should have xyz, your villain should have abc, every sentence should do more than one thing, if you don’t regularly make time to write you’re not a real writer, all these other people make time to write and their lives are way busier than yours so what’s wrong with you, you must hate writing otherwise you’d actually do it, you’ll never get anything published because you lack discipline, etc etc etc.

I just desperately wanted to go back to the days where I could just flip open a blank notebook and go to town without giving a shit about what anyone else thought a story had to be and without second guessing every single letter I put on the page.

And then such a weird combo of stars aligned that finally made me remember why I fucking love writing and why I do it in the first place???

Consuming media that makes me passionate about storytelling and reawakens my creative drive.

My friend offhandedly mentioning she writes on her phone sometimes and isn’t a phone kind of like a little notebook you can carry around and whip out whenever? Bonus, you don’t have to retype everything after writing by hand!

Getting officially officially diagnosed with OCD. Third therapist’s is a charm amirite? If I had a nickel for every therapist who told me I was exhibiting signs of OCD I’d have three nickels… I didn’t even go to my current therapist for OCD. My former therapist suggested finding a specialist in exposure therapy to help with an unrelated phobia (I will not go into on here and probably never will because it’s deeply personal) and the specialist I found happens to specialize in OCD because exposure therapy is often used to treat it.

And my current therapist taught me what OCD thought spirals are, how they start up, how they take root, how they get out of control. Suddenly it wasn’t just “oh, I have anxiety so I need to use decision techniques to combat it” it was “ohhh this is therapy designed with my brain in mind and my brain isn’t as weird or scary as I thought.” It’s just wild to spend decades of your life thinking your brain is fucked up and you don’t understand what’s wrong with it so how could anyone but then you get a literal fucking worksheet that maps out an example spiral with a note on it that reads “this you?”.

Specifically, she taught me about Inference-based Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (ICBT). If anyone reads this and is curious about ICBT. this article does a pretty good job of explaining it.

It was just wild to look at this piece of paper that was like “oh, no, this is a regular/common enough brain thing that we’ve done research on it and made a fun little worksheet for it” that makes it all feel so weirdly mundane and less scary as a result? Like decades of “I’m scared of my own brain” turned into “your brain isn’t scary, there’s a clear pattern to this kind of thing and lots of people go through it”.

And then I decided to take piano lessons. Because I started writing a POTO AU before I started my BG3 fic and I remembered how much I loved music in the same way. How much I enjoy the violin but struggle to get myself to play now that I’m not part of an ensemble. And that was another thing I haven’t found much joy in lately either.

And my OCD went off the fucking RAILS with that. Because of all my insecurities around being someone who always struggled to practice regularly and realizing how much of a refresher I needed on music in general after so much time away. Leaving lessons wanting to cry because of how fucking stupid an inept I felt and being utterly convinced I was wasting my teacher’s time.

BUT. Because of ICBT and my therapist, I could see I was hardcore OCD spiraling. It marginally helped because at least part of me was like “okay, these feelings aren’t the truth and they are irrational” even as I still struggled to find any actual self-compassion over it all. Because why the fuck is wrong with me it’s piano, I am paying for lessons, I do not have to be perfect. My therapist insisted my only obligation was to just show up for the lessons and SHE IS RIGHT. Like, yeah, it’s great to practice and I want to get better at it, but OCD-ing myself to the point I’m fucking miserable and never practice (much like I did with writing) is not the answer.

Piano made me realize my OCD impacts my day-to-day life in a variety. Not just my 10/10 OCD spirals/fears.

Do I still struggle with how fucking ridiculous getting worked up over voluntarily taking piano lessons made me feel? 10000%. Am I actually enjoying and looking forward to my lessons and actually practicing because I want to instead of feeling paralyzed or over analyzing or avoiding or forcing myself to? Also 10000% true!!! It’s fucking wild how much you can enjoy things you like when your OCD SHUTS THE FUCK UP FOR FIVE GODDAMN SECONDS.

Like obvs I still have a lot of work to do on the OCD front, but I’ve made so much fucking progress over the past few months. It feels like night and day sometimes. If you’d told me like 6 months ago I’d have written 75k on one fanfic in addition more on others, I would have laughed on your face and then doom spiraled about it.

God I have missed actually ENJOYING things. My therapist was not exaggerating when she talked about me having a breakthrough last session about overcompensating and how it negatively has impacted myself and my fledgling self-compassion.

It feels so fucking GOOD.

Navigating OCD and ADHD, especially as a late diagnosed person isn’t easy. I’m still learning so much and also puzzling out what does and doesn’t work for me. But for the first time in such a long time, I feel like I’m actually making progress on those fronts and it is such a fucking relief after borderline hating myself for years now.

This got wildly out of hand, but OH WELL. I’m just so fucking happy and relieved to be seeing some progress for myself that I was starting to worry might never fucking happen.

#hismercy’s musings #my writing #ancient books and horror stories #personal #actually ocd #actually adhd

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wander-wren · 9 months

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on fanfic, original fic, and living on the boundary

most of the time, you hear about fanfic authors who eventually “make it” writing Real Books. very rarely, you might hear it the other way around. once upon a time, not too long ago, it was common for fanfic authors to aspire to write fic that mimicked Real Books, and very likely some of them still do. i’ve thought about it and realized the two were not separate experiences for me—something i suspect is becoming more common as fandom becomes more mainstream.

pretty much all of my earliest stories (elementary-age) were derivative. i loved multiple series about horses, and especially black beauty; the cats vs dogs movies, underdog, racing in the rain, and the whole dog’s life series. and more! those are just the ones i can distinctly identify as being stories i pulled from when i wrote about horses and dogs escaping abusive humans to go be spies. or wander the wilderness and be rescued by nice humans. i was also a big fan of dramatic angst, so not much has really changed. perhaps you could call those things fanfiction at a stretch, but i really wouldn’t.

once i hit 12-14, i started making things that were more original—all work is derivative, but this wasn’t consciously inspired by media i’d seen. i was, however, really big into ya dystopia, so that genre came up a lot alongside fantasy. i also found my way to fandom spaces and real fic at the start of this period. at the time, though, i didn’t even clock it as something different. i was simply writing “my warrior cat stories” right alongside my stories about kids in magic school and teens living underground post-nuclear war.

when i was around 13 i discovered the terms and community around fandom, moved to wattpad, then ao3, and more firmly separated origfic and fanfic in my mind. posted some more of both. finished like six things ever, all of them pretty short.

at 15, i started to Take Writing Seriously. i finally finished my first (original) novel, then my first longfic. wrote a few more fics. started a few more novels that didnt quite get off the ground. took a year-ish break from fic to really focus on original fiction, then wrote both at once again, and then in the last year or so, mostly abandoned original fic (except for editing) in order to throw myself back into the fandom sphere.

what i’m saying, in this very long-winded way, is that there is no ascending the writing ladder from lowly fic to super professional original work, to me. do i spend more time and energy on original stuff? sure! that’s the harder sell, and the one that, in theory, will eventually make me money. is my style exactly the same? no! they’re different mediums and i’ve honed each separately to reflect different strengths.

but my original work is still fanfic-y, in the sense of being extremely character driven, slim on the worldbuilding that’s not directly relevant, and emotional.

i think writing a first draft of something my own is a nearly identical process to writing a longfic, if that longfic actually has a plot (mine don’t always) and i know my audience is going in fandom blind. i still have to explain things like character backstory and how the world works, but it’s hardly the priority and i only need the bare minimum to get what’s going on. everything is focused on the high-emotion moments, skipping past all the boring bits in between. things happen with very flimsy justification, characters are ooc to serve the plot, and somehow we went on several tangents on our way to the end that didn’t all get resolved.

that makes my fanfic sound bad! but those things in fic are features, not bugs.

the second draft and beyond, then, is an effort to turn the story into a source material, rather than a fic based off the source in my head. features in fanfic are, unfortunately, bugs in novels, and they must be squished. but the core of the story is always the emotions, the character arcs, the relationships. they’re what i build around and what i follow like a compass when i revise.

i’m a very fannish person, i suppose. my silly little hope is that approaching my original stuff this way might entice a small fandom of its own to form around it.

this is also here as yet another reminder that you don’t have to use fanfic as “practice” for future, more legitimate works. it does not have to be a training ground until you’re good enough to move to the big leagues and push it aside. that’s not how this works for me. i would not have any kind of writing career without my fanfic. i would be such a wildly different human it is painful to think about. fanfiction is my heart, and it informs everything.

#wren wrambles #fanfiction #ao3 #writeblr #iiiiits 4am #so excuse any typos or over-poeticism #i used to separate these two more strongly. that has changed #i love fandom SO much #i will defend fanfic’s ‘flaws’ to the ends of the earth thank you

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britany1997 · 2 years

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Writer asks: 😅🥺💖💞

Thank you friend❤️❤️❤️

😅 What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?

Hmm maybe that scene in Everything Now where Dwayne leashes David on his belt, but I’d only be embarrassed if someone I know in real life read it because it’s the smuttiest thing I’ve ever written lmaooo (other than that I love the scene😏)

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

Any time I write the boys telling reader that they love them unconditionally, and that nothing could turn them away. That always makes me tear up because I think that’s the kind of love we all want and the kind of love I strive to give

💖 What made you start writing?

I’ve been writing short stories on and off since kindergarten (my first was about a bluebonnet that was different from all the other bluebonnets and his only friend was the wind, and so he set out to travel the world with his friend and fell in love with a rose lol) I’m sure my mom still has it somewhere

I did a lot of original and OC stuff for classes and for fun but never thought I’d be able to write fics and use someone else’s characters but then I read @auntvamp ‘s stuff! I requested fics from her on anon and I loved everything she wrote and was super inspired by her so I was like, I wanna try and see if I could actually do this and the rest is history:)

I know and follow more tlb accounts now, and I continue to be in awe of and inspired by my writer friends and mutuals on this app:)

💞 Who's your comfort character?

Paul🥹 I love him

His bubbly, sweet, golden retriever personality makes me so happy, he’s my favorite to write for:)

I like Dwayne a lot too, I give him a lot of my personality traits because he’s perceived as bookish, like Dwayne likes Russian lit in my fics because I like Russian lit lol

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midnightwhispers12 · 3 years

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So, I have this idea in my head, and I’ll never write it out into a coherent fic, but the basic outline is:

The story starts with a montage of Stiles doing his caretaker-shtick - grocery shopping, cooking healthy meals, washing dishes, cleaning up the pack’s shared spaces, planning ahead for who needs to be where at what time, making sure everyone has everything they need, doing laundry, reminding the ‘wolves to schedule themselves off when they inevitably forget what day the full moon is again, etc, etc.

But.

The thing is? Stiles hates it. He HATES it. He started doing this stuff for his dad after his mom died and his dad disappeared into the office and a bottle of Jack, but it was always an obligation of the “if I’m more useful and less trouble, maybe he’ll want to spend time with me more often” variety. Their relationship eventually got better again (mostly), but if Stiles stopped doing the household chores, they just didn’t ever seem to get done. And eventually, they’d be out of food for the second week in a row, or he’d run out of clean clothes, or bathtub would be growing the mold that aggravated Scott’s asthma again, and Stiles would give in and just take care of it. And after enough times of trying to subtly shift some of the responsibility back onto his dad, and it failing every time, he just quit trying. It was less infuriating to do just do it himself.

When he moved in with Derek, some small, unspoken part of him was hoping that things would change. And, in Derek’s defense, it’s not like he just immediately refused to do anything around the apartment. But Stiles had a long habit at that point of just doing what needed done, and not waiting for someone else to do it. So he’d pick up groceries on his way home from work or class, and it wasn’t like he was going to intentionally not get the bananas for Derek’s nasty protein shakes while he was there anyway. He’d do his own laundry, and throw Derek’s laundry in too, because there’s no need to waste water on two half-full loads.

And slowly but surely, almost without even realizing it, he was back to being responsible for ALL the household chores. It only got worse once the pack filtered back in to living in Beacon Hills full time as they finished their degrees. A pack meeting needed to happen, so who was responsible for planning it? Stiles. Who was in charge of knowing when everyone was available? Stiles. Who had to clean up when the pack showed up uninvited and left their living room and kitchen in shambles? Stiles.

It’s not like he got to just stop taking care of his dad’s house either. He didn’t do as much anymore, but he and Derek had dinner at his dad’s at least every Sunday evening. They used to bring take-out over, but after the Sheriff gained 20lbs and got chewed out by his doctor for his cholesterol levels, Stiles went back to cooking for all of them every Sunday. Which turned into bringing groceries over for the meal he intended to make, because John didn’t have what he needed in the house. Which turned into bringing over a week’s worth of groceries, because the pantry and fridge were completely bare. Which turned into meal-prepping for the next week after dinner, while his dad and Derek watched whatever ESPN was showing, because seriously, eating fast food six days a week was just beyond unhealthy. And if he wanted space to cook, he had to do the week’s worth of dishes piled up in the sink. Plus, he always wound up cleaning whatever bathroom he used if he needed the toilet while they were visiting, because... gross. At least his dad seemed to be doing his own laundry now?

It doesn’t happen all at once, of course. Things build up over time, so slowly he doesn’t notice taking on one more task, and one more, and one more. No one likes doing chores, right? But someone’s got to do them. Someone has to plan ahead for the pack. If he sees that something needs done, it’s best to just go ahead and do it and get it over with, right?

Until one day, he’s just exhausted. It doesn’t make any sense, because he slept a full 7 hours last night, work is no more stressful than normal, there’s not a murderous monster of the week trying to kill everyone, nothing is wrong - everything’s actually been going surprisingly well for a while now. But Stiles is still completely and utterly wiped. Maybe he’s coming down with a bug or something? Since it’s Saturday, he decides to just take it easy and hopefully he’ll feel better tomorrow.

Derek comes over and scratches his scalp, taking a beyond obvious sniff of him (weirdo werewolves) when he sees there’s no breakfast happening, but just kisses his head and gets himself a bowl of cereal when he doesn’t smell anything amiss. The pack comes over and someone throws together sandwiches for lunch, and then they order takeout for supper. His dad shows up after his shift is over, and really, it’s a pretty typical Saturday, other than Stiles staying on the couch most of the day, instead of being up and moving around constantly. By midnight, he still doesn’t feel sick, which is good, and his mind and body both feel a little more rested. But he’s still somehow... existentially exhausted, maybe? Or something like that anyway, he doesn’t really know. It doesn’t make any sense!

But then he gets up to go to the bathroom and refill his water bottle. He looks around, and sees the clutter around the living room - the scattered pillows and blankets, magazines and books, cups and popcorn bowls, crumbs everywhere, water rings and greasy fingerprints on every flat surface. He walks into the kitchen and sees the sink completely full of dishes, the countertops piled with empty takeout boxes and trash. His foot actually sticks to the floor when he takes another step, where apparently someone spilled something and didn’t clean it up. The half-bath off the kitchen is occupied, so he shuffles toward the bedroom, and sees the laundry basket piled high; he usually does laundry on Saturday mornings, but he didn’t get to it this morning, and clearly Derek didn’t either. He finally makes it into the master bathroom, and sees Derek’s wet towels from this morning thrown on the floor.

As Stiles takes care of business on auto-pilot, he thinks about needing to go to his dad’s house tomorrow - planning what to make for the week, picking up groceries on the way there, cleaning the kitchen, cooking supper, cleaning up, making meals for the rest of the week to put in the fridge, cleaning up again, probably cleaning the bathroom.

He thinks about all the other things he’ll need to do tomorrow here at home - laundry he didn’t get done today, cleaning the living room and kitchen where it was left a mess, which means dishes, trash, sweeping, mopping, and picking up all the clutter, at least. Then MORE meal planning and grocery shopping because he didn’t get that done today either. The pack decided earlier that they wanted to go to the beach next weekend, so that’ll need planned - who’s driving, where they’re going, food and drinks to buy and pack, sunscreen, towels, after-sun gel (because werewolves always say they can’t burn, but then they do, and they WHINE, it’s so ridiculous), extra clothes because someone always forgets, talc powder and wet wipes to get all the sand off before they get back in the car, umbrellas, toys to make sandcastles (and enough shovels that the giant children won’t fight over them), a volleyball for the net... so many things. And if he doesn’t plan ahead for it all, and gather everything they need, then no one will, and it’ll be a miserable trip full of grouchy ‘wolves.

The more Stiles thinks about everything that needs done, the heavier the invisible weight on him feels, and he finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling more tired than he did when he woke up this morning. Derek walks into the bedroom, apparently to change out of his tight jeans and into sweatpants for the last movie of the night, but he throws his jeans down on the floor NEXT to the laundry basket, which is RIGHT THERE.....

And something snaps in Stiles. The proverbial straw has officially broken the camel’s back, and he’s just DONE. He can’t remember the last time anyone else did a chore, or cleaned up their own mess. He’s not entirely sure how everything got to this point, but he’s abruptly furious enough to make sure it doesn’t continue on this way.

Derek trails off from his last sentence, looking over at Stiles when he smells the boiling rage coming off of him, and follows after Stiles as Stiles stalks back out into the living room to glare at all the people gathered there, werewolf and human alike. One by one, the pack notices the steam coming out of Stiles’ ears, and fall silent in apprehension. Stiles is irritated and annoyed pretty frequently, but this level of anger is rare. What’s the deal?

The deal is - Stiles is on strike. They are a bunch of full grown adults, and as of right now, they’re going to have to pull on their big wolf undies and start acting like it. He is DONE acting like their parent, and he’s not going to do it anymore. If they want to eat, they’ll have to cook. If they want to eat nothing but fast food and die of a heart attack, that’s their choice to make. If they want to live in filth, so be it. If they have a miserable trip to the beach because no one planned ahead and packed the necessities, well, it sucks to be them. If they schedule themselves to work on the full moon, that’s their own problem, he’s not warning them or fixing it for them anymore. He’ll be getting a separate laundry basket for himself, and if Derek wants clean clothes, he can wash them himself.

They want to know what happened to family/pack taking care of each other? You know what, what DID happen to that? When’s the last time anyone attempted to take care of something for HIM? When’s the last time someone else saw something that needed done, and just did it? Or do they even SEE the things that need done anymore? No, because they’re too used to Stiles just taking care of it, and they don’t have to think about it. But this system has turned them all into spoiled, ungrateful brats, and he’s not enabling that anymore. He’s just not.

At first, the pack thinks Stiles is just being overly dramatic, Derek had warned them he wasn’t feeling well, after all. But over the next few weeks, they start to notice. Things just aren’t getting done. Who was responsible for this before? Oh yeah, Stiles. Why don’t they have want they need? Oh right, Stiles stopped packing for anyone but himself. It’s just little things here and there at first, but they add up quickly.

Meanwhile, Stiles has given himself permission to quit carrying the mental load for everyone, and he’s stopped trying to take care of every single little thing for a giant group of people, and he’s feeling so much more relaxed than even he expected. Yeah, it’s a little strange not cooking for Derek, but they had a long talk about it the day after Stiles exploded rage all over everyone, and Derek sees where he hasn’t held up his end. Stiles staunchly refused to do any household caretaking for the next month, and Derek agreed; they’re going to talk about it when the month is up, and decide then how they can fairly divide their responsibilities. No one else in the pack has even tried to talk to him about it, not even his dad. They did show up for Sunday dinner like usual, but when Stiles refused to cook or clean the kitchen so someone else could cook, they wound up just ordering from the local pizza place. Stiles felt a little guilty as he watched his dad eat greasy pizza, but he reminded himself over and over that his dad was a grown man who could make his own decisions.

It takes time for the pack to feel normal again, and Stiles sometimes feels a little guilty about that too, but Derek is on his side, so it’s bearable. Derek is the one that had to clean up the mess the pack left when they all stormed out the night Stiles went on strike, after all. Slowly though, one by one, the pack members come to Stiles and each one quietly apologizes for taking Stiles for granted, for not appreciating everything he did for them. Over time, they all begin to take up more responsibility for the pack, and as a result, they feel more invested in the pack too. They become less a group of people thrown together, and more a cohesive unit. Stiles does start contributing again, but he’s careful to only take on his share. And he has to take some deep breaths to not burst into tears the first time a pack member comes over with a haul of junk food for movie night, and they actually thought to bring him Reese’s cups and Twizzlers, his two favorites.

He thought life was good before, and it was. But this? This is better.

#sterek #teen wolf #fic outline #more than I thought I’d wind up writing? but still not a real fic #and I don’t THINK I’ve read this exact plot line anywhere but I’m also very aware it’s not a super original idea #it’s probably completely OOC but i don’t care #because chores suck and one person shouldn’t be responsible for all of them #everyone should contribute

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majestyeverlasting · 3 years

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Hi!! Could you write for Bucky prompts 4 and 26??

♡ Hi, Anon!! I love this prompt pairing so much! Thank you for requesting this, and for waiting on me to get around to it! In this one, Bucky and the reader visit a park in Brooklyn that stirs up some nostalgic memories. But what he doesn't know is that, later that night, he'll learn that he's going to be a father. There's some pretty fall imagery and lots of sweet moments. I hope you like it! (Note: this isn’t canon regarding Bucky’s true age)

♡ Prompt 4: "Remember we used to come here when we were kids?"

♡ Prompt 26: “I’m not reading this thing wrong, am I? You’re really pregnant?”

All I Ever Wanted

There was a crispness to the evening air as the beginnings of fall settled within Brooklyn. The trees of Prospect Park, once green, were slowly transitioning into rich shades of orange and red. As you and Bucky walked along one of the pathways, leaves crunching beneath your shoes, there was an absence of car engines and horns—it was peaceful. All there was to be heard was chirping birds, the soft chatter of other park-goers, and the occasional whir of a cyclist’s wheels whenever one passed by.

Upon reaching a wooden bridge, the gentle sound of flowing water emerged as well. Beneath it, was a slender waterfall that fed into a small pond with dead leaves floating on the surface. Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist as the two of you admired it from over the railing. Somehow the whole day, including that moment itself, had managed to feel like a dream.

The two of you hadn’t been to Prospect Park in what felt like forever. Life had a way of sweeping you up in winds of responsibility that kept you from enjoying moments of stillness. But those winds had since drifted elsewhere, leaving the two of you with the freedom to simply be. Venturing out into nature and away from the noise had been Bucky’s suggestion earlier that morning. There was no place like the outdoors that was capable of soothing the soul.

“Look, doll,” he said eventually. Your eyes followed where his free hand pointed.

On one of the big rocks peeking out of the water below, a yellow butterfly had perched itself on a rock. “Yeah, I see it. It’s so pretty.” You smiled when he gave you a gentle squeeze.

“You know what butterflies symbolize?” You met his gaze, willing for him to continue. “Life and new beginnings,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

For a fraction of a second, you froze. You’d managed to keep yourself collected for the entirety of the day, but hearing those words quickened your heartbeat. Enough so that you became all the more reminded of what he didn’t know—not yet.

That morning, as he spoke to you through the bathroom door about going to Prospect Park, you’d been staring at a positive pregnancy test. You barely had enough breath to agree to the outing. And when he’d asked if you were okay, you told him you were fine, but left out the fact that your lives would be changing forever in the months to come.

The two lines on the stick explained weeks worth of your body trying to communicate to you. It explained that deep sense of knowing that refused to go away. To say that you wanted to merely tell Bucky would’ve been the largest understatement of your lifetime. With all the emotions that stirred within you, you wanted to scream, cry, and jump at the same time.

A voice within you encouraged you to make the moment you told Bucky really special and intimate. Especially considering every turn that his life had taken over the years. So you vowed to wait until the two of you arrived home from your evening at the park.

“Life and new beginnings,” you repeated. You were already aware that such was associated with butterflies, but hearing him say it in that moment carried a certain magnitude. “I love the sound of that.”

Later, after walking further, you found yourselves nestled on one of the benches overlooking the lake. The water sparkled in the warm light of the sun as it prepared to set. A couple men stood peppered along the bank fishing. Children giggled as they chased after each other. Paired with the fall trees and colors all around, it was nothing short of a beautiful scene.

You let your head rest on Bucky’s shoulder, and took his real hand in yours to play with his fingers. There was a time, years ago, when the two of you would play along that same lake—throughout the whole park, actually.

You were the first to speak after a while, “Remember we used to come here when we were kids?” You straightened up from his shoulder to look at him.

“Of course I do,” he said, a smile starting on his face. “Especially during the summer. We’d always try to find open fire hydrants to play in after we left. And if we were lucky, our mom’s would let us get ice cream or shaved ice,” he recounted, chuckling. “Those were the days.”

You shook your head. “I know. Now look at us.” About to have a child of our own, you thought.

“Yup. Time flies when you’re having fun,” he said, casting out a brief look around at the serenic evening. Then he focused back on you, his tone shifting, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah...” you tried not to answer too fast. “Why?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes a bit and gave a shrug. “I don’t know, I can just tell that something’s on your mind—ever since this morning,” he noted. “But you have yet to tell me what that something is, pretty girl.”

It took everything not to tell him right then and there, as you sat under a blue and orange sky in the park you knew like the back of your hand.

You offered him half a smile. “I’m that easy to read?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Not necessarily. I’ve been reading you for a long time so it’s easy.” You allowed yourself to chuckle when he playfully quirked his brows. “So am I gonna have to work really hard to coax it out of you?”

You shook your head earnestly. “I promise I'll tell you when we get home… I have something to show you.”

On your way out of the park, there was a mama duck waddling under a tree with her ducklings trailing behind her.

It wasn’t until after you and Bucky made it back to your apartment, and had changed into something comfortable, that you told him you were ready. He sat on the edge of the bed as you went to retrieve the small gift box holding the pregnancy test. It was a miracle that you had had enough supplies left over from birthdays and holidays to be able to make it look as presentable as it did.

You extended it to him from a couple feet away. So much anticipation had built within you that you felt light, and as though you were buzzing.

Bucky accepted the box, and looked up at you. There was a sparkle in his blue eyes. “Why are you standing a mile away from me? C’mere.” You inched closer, and laughed when he pulled you to stand more so between his spread legs.

As he began to undo the white ribbon on the box, your lower lip was secured between your teeth. It seemed as though he was moving entirely too slow and fast at the same time.

As soon as he popped the lid off to reveal the pregnancy test sitting on top of little strips of crinkled, beige paper strips, your heartbeat sped up. Bucky’s attention lingered on the test. When he finally looked up, his gaze attested to the influx of thoughts that had been sparked into motion within his mind.

“I’m not reading this thing wrong, am I?” He briefly looked back down to stick again. Two lines. “You’re really pregnant?”

A smile broke across your face. With the news out, it felt as though you were uncaging a group of birds that had been longing for freedom for way too long. Before you could say anything else, Bucky set the box aside and stood to press his lips to yours. You stumbled back at the intentness in which he gripped your waist. It was a kiss that you felt every part of him through; his love, his passion, his warmth. And an intoxicating mix of joy and expectation.

He pulled away just enough to speak. “We’re gonna be parents?” His breath fanned over your lips. Then he leaned back in to kiss you once more, a soft peck. “You’re carrying our child?”

Bucky’s hands slipped under your shirt, and the feeling of palms against your skin was pleasant in the best way. One was cooler than the other, but they were both gentle and reverent.

“Yes,” you breathed. “I found out this morning.”

He scratched gently at your stomach, sending a shiver through you. “You managed to keep it to yourself the whole day. That’s what was on your mind?” He kissed you again.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted to tell you. No idea.” You brought your hands up to his cheeks, the budding stubble scratchy against your palms. “But I wanted to wait until we came back from Prospect.”

Bucky released a breath after a few beats of silence. “I don’t even know what to say,” he said, voice low. “This is so crazy—a good crazy.”

“I know. I’m happy and terrified at the same time,” you admitted. “I’ve never felt this way in my entire life, but it feels….”

“Good,” he finished.

A laugh escaped you. “Yeah.”

Seconds later, he was getting down onto his knees to be level with your stomach. It wasn’t until he lifted your shirt to press a kiss to your stomach that the reality of the moment set in. For the first time since learning about your pregnancy, tears slipped down your cheeks.

Bucky heard you sniffle, and stood back up to take your hands in his. “This is all I ever wanted, you know that, doll?” A few tears had come to the waterline of his eyes. “A beautiful wife, a family. This is all something I thought I’d never have.”

You sniffled again, nodding. “You deserve everything,” you murmured.

“I have my everything right in front of me.”

Without waiting another moment, you wrapped your arms around his waist and squeezed him tighter than you had in a while. Parents. The two of you were going to be parents.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a comment, if you'd like. For more fluffy Bucky Barnes fics, click here.

#Bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #avengers fluff #the avengers #marvel #marvel fluff #winter soldier #sebastian stan #fatws

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kpostedsum · 3 years

Text

daddy issues; D.M

summary: you and draco bond over issues in 6th year

word count: 2.4k

warnings: err angst, comfort, illusions to sex

song: daddy issues (the remix) - the neighbourhood

a/n: i tried not to make it stereotypical bc i didn’t wanna make it seem all “i like older men lol”, probably my fav fic i’ve written, also arent these anime gifs so cute

masterlist | taglist

Take you like a drug

I taste you on my tongue

Tongues battling for dominance, bodies rubbing against each other searching for a feeling. It’s become routine now, a different person in your dorm swallowing a new pill, entangling limbs with someone just to feel something.

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

Tell me something that I'll forget

And you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you'll do for a friend

It was a constant cycle, putting yourself out there seeking the male attention you crave, seeking validation, constant reassurance and trusting too easily. That’s how you ended up with a different guy who always in the end leaves. You trusted too easily and people took advantage of how trusting and naive you are just for a quick shag.

You wished it wasn’t like this but that’s all you knew, wanting to be the best version of yourself for someone just to feel needed, no matter if the person was good or bad for you. You didn’t care, you wanted love from anyone you could get it from even if it just hurt you more.

You’re familiar with the absence, something stable made you feel a bit wary. It wasn’t something you were used to. Your father wasn’t the most present in your life, and even though he's there, he's never really there.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

You always wondered where you went wrong, he preferred your siblings over you and doesn't pay you a piece of his mind. Constantly going out of your way to get his attention whether it was academically or acting a certain way just to get some sort of reaction. But he was too preoccupied with his other children, even if they were from your mom or his affairs.

That’s how you found yourself right now sitting in the astronomy tower past curfew watching the rain fall, trying to clear your head while humming softly to yourself to keep yourself distracted.

You hear distant chattering from below and quickly get up from where you were sitting and make your way to your dorm unnoticed by anyone.

Except one person, Draco Malfoy.

I tried to write your name in the rain

But the rain never came

So I made with the sun

The shade

Always comes at the worst time

He’s seen you before, you’re known around Hogwarts for how you put yourself out there and how ‘desperate’ you are for some affection. He almost feels bad for you, but he’s in no place to judge. With his dad in Azkaban Draco had so much more to worry about, like his task and how he can succeed. But there was something about you that intrigued him that he couldn't ignore.

He saw you again in transfiguration the next day and noticed a few hickeys littering your neck that you had tried to cover but it didn’t work. He wondered why you gave yourself up to so many people, but once again he was in no place to judge. He noticed the way your tongue would stick out when you focused extra hard, the way your hands would tighten around your quill when you got a question wrong and your face.

The same face that many boys including the older years would fawn over, the face that entranced and attracted many, the face of someone who would do anything for someone for some affection and the face of someone who seeked out all the wrong things.

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

Tell me something that I'll forget

And you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you'll do for a friend

You walk out of transfiguration on your way to the owlery to send a letter to your parents and feel eyes watching you everywhere. You like it, the attention, it’s something that you thrived in, but you couldn’t help but feel a new set of eyes on you.

Once you reached the owlery you realized you weren't the only one there, Draco Malfoy was also there sending a letter to who you assumed was his mother.

“y/n, right?” he asked, trying to spark a conversation.

“Yea, listen i’m sorry about what happened with your father i know you really looked up--”

“Dont worry about it, he wasn’t as good an influence as I made him out to be,” he sighed, looking away.

“My dad isn’t the best either if i’m being honest, i guess we’re in the same boat” you let out a light chuckle.

And that’s how you found yourself hanging out with draco malfoy bonding over your shared issues.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues

It’s been weeks since you two started hanging out since the interaction in the owlery and have been getting closer ever since. You both sat down together in the astronomy tower, backed against the wall as the cool wind blew against your faces. The aura between you two was calm, a comfortable silence.

“So tell me about your dad, how is it with him in Azkaban?” you asked, tilting your head towards him.

“Mother’s not taking it well” he frowned. “I can’t even say potter’s wrong for getting him locked up because he deserves it. All my life he praised the dark lord and taught me to be selfish and always defend my blood, but he was never there for me when I needed him. I would have done everything just to hear ‘i’m proud of you’ but it never came. It’s worse now because mother’s all alone. I wish I could have stayed with her” he sighed looking out the tower watching the stars twinkle.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been much quieter this year as well, you stopped making fun of people. It’s not that nice on the receiving end huh?” you said with a teasing look on your face.

He shook his head at you scooting closer to you, it’s like the demeanor between you two have changed over the past few weeks. You found yourself pining over him rather than being in someone's bed. But this is how the cycle always goes, you get attached and they leave, you couldn’t help but hope this wasn’t the situation this time.

“Tell me about your father”

Daddy stuck around but he wasn't present

Cheated on your mom but she never left him

First I didn't get it, now I understand

He broke her heart, left money in her hand

So everything got paid for

She made sure you and your brother had way more

Than she ever had growing up

And when you told me the whole story I felt like throwing up

“ I don't know if i’d even call him my father at this point, he doesn't want me.” you sighed. “He's been cheating on my mum for years now and she still won't leave him because she thinks they can work it out. He’s had affairs with different pureblood women and has children with them. But what hurts the most is how he treats them as his own children and treats me as if I don't exist” you said, looking down as tears pooled your eyes.

Draco moved closer to you and brought his arm around your shoulders for a sense of comfort and waited for you to catch your breath so you can continue.

“I just want him to love me” you cried. “I go out my way to try and get his attention with my school work but it never works. That's why I get along with so many guys. I seek the validation, the comfort and the reassurance that I can get from him from others and I am so tired of it. I just want him to want me draco.” tears slipping out your eyes as you looked up at him, you’ve never confessed this to anyone before.

“Everyone always leaves, please don't leave me” you cried

“I’m not going anywhere” he turned his face towards you, leaning forward cautiously as if you were made of glass.

You leaned forward, wanting the exact same thing. Both very hesitant he gently pressed his soft lips against yours and they moved together in sequence, only taking a break to go back to his dorm and to breathe, limbs tangled together for the rest of the night until the sun rose.

I can see it on your face it was rough left a bad taste on your tongue

And she didn't even take any drug

She would rain all day

Couldn't wait for her son to shine

And you made it shine

There when she cried, you saved her life

It's been a week since that night in the astronomy tower and draco had already been avoiding you. It’s humiliating, but you should have known. You thought the ‘bond’ you had with him would last, it felt so genuine this time. So real.

You’d see him around the halls snogging pansy on your way back to the ravenclaw tower, lowering your head down so he wouldn’t be able to see you so you could get by quickly and unnoticed.

But he saw you.

He stared you right down in your teary eyes as he made out with pansy. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal, for someone who promised he wouldn’t leave you like everyone else, he did the exact same.

You did the only thing you knew of, you ran.

I keep on trying to let you go

I'm dying to let you know

How I'm getting on

I didn't cry when you left at first

But now that you're dead it hurts

This time I gotta know

Where did my daddy go?

I'm not entirely here

Half of me has disappeared

Draco followed you to the girls lavatory, hearing your shallow cries coming from one of the stalls. He approached the stall you were in trying not to make too much noise so he doesn't startle you.

He felt awful.

He promised he would never leave you, after you both poured your hearts out to each other but he still left. He had too, he was putting you in danger just by being with him. If Voldemort ever found out about you and hurt you he wouldn't be able to live with himself, that's why he took it upon himself to hurt you first.

“y/n are you in here?” he called out even though he knew the answer.

You recognized that familiar voice anywhere. “What do you want draco?” you said, trying to make it seem as if you weren’t just crying.

“I want to talk to you, please”

“No,” you said getting up and pushing yourself out of the stall. “You don't get to just throw me away after I told you everything and just come back into my life like nothing ever happened. Just go away, that's all you guys are good for” you spat.

“Just listen to me, it was to keep you safe. I didn;t want to but i couldn't bear seeing you hurt” he tried to explain.

“Safe?” you laughed. “ and what exactly do i need saving from, malfoy.”

“From me” he said as he pulled up his sleeve revealing his dark mark to you. Your body instantly tensed, you knew he was having problems and his family was involved with the dark lord but you never knew it was like this.

“Draco i-” you tried to say something but the words were stuck in your throat. He stood there looking at you desperately like he was waiting for you to tell him everything was okay, you wanted to be there for him but you didn’t know what to do. You trusted him with everything but he couldn't trust you with this? You thought the bond you had made would have made him trust you in the slightest, but clearly it's always you who’s more trusting.

“Why didn't you tell me?” you managed to say, your voice hoarse.

“I thought you’d leave me, you were the only good thing i had. Please don't leave me” he begged, salty tears escaping his eyes and running down his cheeks as he looked at you with desperation.

“So you thought pushing me away by snogging pansy was better?” you yelled, as he continued to look at you slightly taken aback by your lashing out.

“You know what, go ahead and cry little boy. You know that your daddy did too, you know what your mama went through. You gotta let it out soon, just let it out” you taunted walking closer to him looking straight into his teary eyes.

“This time I'll be the one that leaves.” and with that you were gone.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

It’s been months since that night in the girls lavatory, and you missed him. You wanted to visit him in the hospital wing once you heard what happened with Harry Potter, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. He left you, and you were tired of always going back to people who just hurt you.

Now here you were at the battle of Hogwarts, standing with everyone while Voldemort and his death eaters stood across from you all.

“Draco, draco come here” you heard narcissa call from across the scene. He looked hesitant, as if he was waiting for someone to stop him but no one did. So he started walking over to his parents.

But you grabbed his hand.

“Stay please” you whispered looking up into his eyes.

He looked back at his parents and back at you like he was contemplating his answer.

“I’ll stay”

If you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

—————-

tagging fun ppl nd ppl who interacted (so srry if u don’t wanna be tagged)

@hellohellook @astoria-malfcy @justfangirlthingies @sfdlm @falling-loki @notvasi @gwlvr @malfoytookmyheart

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spencersawkward · 4 years

Note

i’m so happy ur on tumblr now!! i love between the lines so much, could you write a blurb or one shot about mgg and a younger co-star, but like very spicy if possible 🙃, idk i just love that scenario🥵.

i was literally about to write "omg i love this concept too!" and then i was like “well no fucking shit, sophi.” lol. YES i can 10/10 write you a one-shot with a similar scenario! also thank you for your kind words that was the first fic i ever wrote so it’s very near and dear to my heart!

summary: reader goes to a holiday party with her co-stars and best friend, Matthew... but all the fun happens in the dressing room.

content warnings: this one is quite dirty but i’m also proud of it lol. unprotected penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), degradation, use of the term “little girl,” creampie, age gap. dirty talk?

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

"no."

"what do you mean, 'no’?” Matthew laughs, looking between me and the mirror.

"I look like the Ghost of Christmas Past." I lift up the soft white tulle of the dress, watching it float back down to settle over my skin. he's got his eyebrows raised and there's a smirk on his lips like he's holding back a laugh. I resist the urge to reach around and hit him.

"would you rather wear that?" he points to the punch-stained gown that's now laying pathetically over the back of the vanity chair. I genuinely ponder the idea for a moment.

"honestly, the crime scene vibes might work well with the theme of our show."

"seriously, it's not bad, Y/N!" he insists, drawing my attention back to the mirror.

"you're just saying that because you're the one who spilled on me and you don't want people making fun of how clumsy you are." I cross my arms over my chest. he gives me a dubious expression in our reflection on the wall.

"do I seem like I care about that?" he challenges.

"I--" the truth is that no, Matthew is not the type. Matthew is the kind of person to flounder in front of anyone and proceed to crack a joke about himself. he's humble. but I kind of like when we talk like this, our back and forth.

after a year of working together on the same show, he and I have grown incredibly close. I'm friends with all my co-stars, but he and I just have the natural friendship chemistry that makes me want to spend all my time with him. when we're not on set, we're hanging out on his couch or ordering dinner or driving out of town to check out wacky sites around California. we just have fun. pure, clean, honest fun.

of course, in my dreams it isn't pure or honest. frankly, there's a lot of sordid scandal to what goes on in my head when he accidentally touches my arm or brushes his fingers over mine. the amount of times I have gone to cast parties trying to work up the nerve to kiss him are embarrassing. he's older and more experienced and, obviously, he has no interest in me.

but that doesn't matter.

the only reason I'm standing in a dressing room alone with him is because he knew someone on the crew who could hook me up with a replacement for the night. he left while I slipped out of the old one and came back in only after knocking and checking, like, twice to make sure I was decent. he's so respectful that it's almost like he's afraid of making me think the wrong thing-- which makes me feel absolutely stupid for my almost schoolgirl crush.

"come on, you look great. let's go enjoy the party."

"was this a dress one of the victims was wearing?" I ask with a laugh.

"probably. not like we carry a lot of gowns on set." he grabs my hand, makes my heart leap into my throat. he only does it to urge me along, but it still feels intimate as I follow him out of the room, tossing one more evaluative glance at myself in the mirror. I seem terrified.

we continue to do our rounds at the party, Matthew filling my glass of eggnog even though I hate it. I wince and take a sip while we talk to some of our co-stars.

"what's wrong with you?" Shemar chuckles at my expression.

"lost a bet."

"with whom?" he glances between Matthew and me, knowing damn well already from the mischievous grin on the former's face.

"I told you not to take it." Matthew says over the rim of his glass.

"if you mention it one more time, I'm gonna throw up eggnog all over your outfit." I threaten him, but we're both smiling. Shemar frowns.

"what was the bet?"

"you know David-- the guy I was telling you about?" I reply quickly, determined to give my side of the story. Shemar nods; I told him last week when David oh-so-chivalrously danced up on me at a club and asked me out. usually in those situations, guys just want a one-night stand, so I was impressed and agreed. "anyway, Matthew said if it turned out that he was a weirdo, he would get to pick my drinks for the next week whenever we go out."

"your drinks? that's specific."

"she's so picky!" Matthew teases me.

"leave me alone, you dick!" I elbow him and he dodges just in time.

"tell him why he was a weirdo." he grins. the glare I give could kill. but Shemar is waiting expectantly for me to share the information, so I sigh and set my jaw before telling the truth.

"he collects antique dental tools."

"what?" Shemar laughs disbelievingly. I throw my hands up.

"I don't fucking know. we went back to his apartment and he showed me his whole collection."

"you're attracted to weird people, Y/N." Matthew says. I raise my eyebrows and almost say something that dooms me. I hold my tongue, however, and turn back to Shemar with a reserved smile.

"anyway, how are you?"

...

the cast holiday party is actually pretty fun. I tend to leave these functions early in favor of my couch and some ice cream, but something about the bright colors and the smell of wintergreen in the air makes me want to linger in the studio.

I stuff myself with sugar cookies and Matthew mercifully lets me switch from eggnog to Sprite. normally, I'd drink at such an occasion, but I'm a messy drunk and this is one of my first real jobs as an actress. I don't want to even come close to jeopardizing that by breaking some expensive equipment or something.

my throat gets a little sore from all the talking I do-- Paget and I spend about half an hour horribly belting out Christmas carols at the baby grand piano they brought in. they originally had someone hired to play it, but the guy disappeared about an hour ago.

by the time it hits around ten pm, my limbs are tired. I thought people would be leaving (a lot of them have families), but the party is still very much raging when I start to wind down. maybe it's because I'm sober.

"hey." Matthew sidles up next to me as I sit at the piano bench with a slice of lime in my mouth. I like to suck the juice out of them; sour things are my favorite.

"hi." I pluck the fruit out and drop it back into my soda. he sits next to me, his cologne filling my senses with the kind of sensual warmth that it shouldn't be making me feel. he always smells so good.

"ladylike." he gestures to the movement.

"is that why you call me 'princess?'" I smirk, half-joking.

"once-- I called you that once!" he defends. it's not a lie. he used the nickname when he was mocking me for my somewhat selective food preferences. it was sarcastic, but I wish it wasn't. something about the way he said it in the moment made me blush.

"is there a reason you've come to grate my nerves?" I raise an eyebrow and he turns away from me as he bites back a smile. I pout. "what?"

"you're talking like a Jane Austen novel."

"what's wrong with Jane Austen?" I defend, skin heating up. his proximity is doing things to me that it shouldn't.

"nothing," he glances at me before moving his gaze to the ivory keys. "do you play?"

"elementary level, sure." I giggle. he runs his fingers over them, never pressing down hard enough to release a sound. I'm entranced by the delicate nature of his actions, the veins and the curve of his fingertips, the sheer width of his hand. I think about it too much for it to be healthy.

"show me." it's a direct order, one that doesn't feel directive but still ends with me placing both hands on the piano and wracking my brain for something to play. I decide on a piece that Paget and I were doing earlier, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

I've never been quite good at piano, and the nearness of his body is like an anvil on my fingers, but I play anyway. and it feels good. his eyes are on me, drawn to my tracings over the instrument as they press and lift and glide.

"sing." I tell him.

"no!" he protests. I don't stop playing, only now getting into the thick of the tune.

"oh, come on. just the chorus..." I plead, turning my head to beg. "please?"

I bat my lashes playfully, fully intending it as a joke, but Matthew softens a bit. for a fraction of a second, I think he looks at my mouth. he turns his head back to the piano and lets out a quiet "here we are as in olden days... happy golden days of yore..."

"there you go!" I egg him on, and he starts to get more into it. his voice is absolutely off-key; he's no singer, and somehow that makes him even more endearing to me.

Matthew has always been this flawless, intimidating figure in my mind. even when we first met, I was certain that he was hiding something because everything else about him is so... perfect. he's funny, sweet, genuinely kind, handsomer than hell. it didn't make sense. but knowing that he can't carry a tune makes me feel a bit better. it humanizes his beauty.

while he sings, I can't help looking at him. his side profile is even more enchanting; the curve of his features meeting a smooth elegance in his jaw and cheek, especially when his mouth is open. he catches me smiling at him and returns it with his own gleeful face, now totally fine with singing like a fool in front of everyone. nobody is even really looking at us-- they're several drinks in and lost in their own universe of drunken laughter.

there's something kind of magical about that, I think. we're sober. when the song draws to a close, I lift my fingers off the keys and into my lap.

"you're quite the Pavarotti." I joke.

"the who?" he furrows his brow with a smile.

"he's a famous opera singer."

"oh," he laughs, "thanks, Mozart."

I twist my face up as I hide my smile. this is also part of the reason I could never tell Matthew how I feel; we just fit together too well. he almost always gets my references and I understand his, even though there's an age gap between us. he's an old soul with a youthful heart.

"how's your night going?" I ask him softly, changing the subject. he sets his hands on his lap, absent-mindedly toying with his fingers. it's not a nervous tendency at all. he does it whenever we're on set.

"as of right now? pretty damn good." he replies with a smile. I get warm again at the implication. he doesn't mean it like that, but god, do I wish he did.

"very smooth." I compliment appreciatively.

"how about you?"

"it was kind of boring, but then this rando sat next to me and started singing Christmas songs and it got a little better." I say flatly, grabbing my glass off the top of the piano and running my fingertip over the rim. he drops his head in a giggle.

"you're something else."

"insult?" I clarify.

"definitely a compliment."

"I like compliments."

"well, I wasn't lying before. you look really beautiful in that dress."

"the murder dress?" I glance down at it to hide the absolute wideness of my eyes at his words. he's completely flustering me and I'm starting to find it hard to breathe. he said I look beautiful. not "pretty," not "great"-- beautiful.

"yes, the murder dress." he gets a little pink in his cheeks, and that makes me want to explode on the spot.

"well, say goodbye to it because I'm gonna go change back into my plebeian clothes," I stand from the piano bench. "it's past my bedtime."

Matthew looks up at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my heart flutter in my chest. I hate leaving him. "do you wanna come with me? like-- walk with me?"

"sure." he nods, stands, and follows behind. I can feel his presence like a delightful reminder of the emotions surging in my stomach. we wind through the crowd of party-goers until we end up back in the dressing room, away from the party. it's quiet.

Matthew walks in with me, carrying our drinks in his hand, and he's about to stroll back out so I can change when I touch his arm. the door shuts automatically behind him.

"wait," I swallow quickly. "can you unzip me?"

"oh." Matthew looks at me, then at the glasses in his arms, then at the vanity. he sets them down and comes back quickly, his frame behind me while his fingertips locate the little piece at the top of my gown. my breath hitches in my throat when he brushes over my spine by accident, one nail dragging accidentally against my skin as the fabric slowly gives way. I don't know if he hears it-- it's nearly imperceptible-- but he definitely hesitates once he reaches the place where my back starts to curve into my ass. he pauses, doesn't breathe until he reaches the end of the zipper.

"there you go." he mutters. his voice is a little more hoarse than usual, and he clears his throat as he steps away. I know he's going to back out. he's going to back out of the room and wait for me to slip into nothing and I know, somehow, that he's going to be thinking about how I look in here with my clothes off. he's going to wish he stayed.

and I'm going to wish he'd done more than stayed.

before I can lose my nerve and allow the moment to be swallowed up by practicality, I shrug the straps of the dress down my shoulders and let gravity take over. it drops to the floor, leaving me in only my bra and panties. I can sense him behind me; he's silent for a moment.

"Matthew." I say, the name sitting on my tongue like a sugar cube. perfectly formed, slowly dissolving.

"y-yeah?" he stutters for the first time since I've met him.

"are you looking at my ass right now?" I ask, still turned around. the way he's frozen in place tells me that I'm right.

"yeah." he admits.

"you can touch it, if you want." I murmur softly. part of me doesn't think this is real, the way each sentence leaves my throat like it's been pre-planned. truly, I don't understand how my brain is moving so quickly.

"are you... sure?" he's hesitant, but even I can taste the longing.

"yes."

his hand smooths over my butt, softly at first like he's still not believing his own eyes, before moving back to grab it. he squeezes the flesh, and a low exhale from him tells me that he's excited.

"do you want more?" my voice barely carries. my head is almost foggy from how good it is to have his grip on my body, even in such a simple way. I can feel myself getting wet.

"how much more?" his lips brush over my shoulder and I get goosebumps. my mouth opens and closes for a moment, searching for the right words.

"however much you want."

it's flint and steel, the way he sparks. the air literally leaves my lungs when Matthew grabs my hips and spins me around to face him. my lips part as I peer up at him, at the lust that now darkens those hazel eyes and the way he holds mine. his touch is certain. he pulls our bodies together, tilts my chin up to kiss me.

it's passionate, strong, the kind of kiss that causes me to lean back a bit just to receive the full force of his desire. but I return the affection easily, moaning into his mouth. I've never been held the way that Matthew holds me. like I'm made of sugar glass, like he wants desperately to feel the soft give of my skin and make a home of me.

the heat between our bodies is almost overwhelming, and I sigh when he subtly pushes our hips together. his erection is against my stomach.

"fuck." I mutter when I pull away for air. Matthew doesn't stop his perfect movements, though, tugging my earlobe between his teeth and starting to leave love bites up my skin and over my shoulder. he chuckles against my throat. I shiver.

"you alright, little girl?" he asks.

"just--" I let out a moan at the sensation of his fingers exploring my bare waist. he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. "just surprised."

"about?" he slides the straps down my shoulders and looks me in the eye. the lack of physical contact makes me whine.

"that you want me."

"how is that surprising?" he smiles, using one index finger to guide me to look at him.

"you don't seem like it."

Matthew raises his eyebrows as if I'm a crazy person. truly dumbstruck. "what?"

"you-- well, I don't know." I frown, but Matthew takes my hand and moves it over his torso until my palm is resting over the considerable bulge in his pants.

"is this enough proof?"

I struggle for words, sputtering. "yeah-- yeah, it is."

he bucks into my hand a little and I bite my lip, eyes moving up to meet his. something passes between us that I don't fully understand, but feel in my bones. I have never, in my life, wanted someone to fuck me as much as I want Matthew to fuck me right now. my jaw clenches.

"I need you." I tell him like this is the most relevant piece of information that will ever pass between us. he smirks.

"yeah?"

"mhmm."

"then lean against the wall and let me give you what you deserve." he orders. for a second, I try to think through what he means. then I look behind me at the open space and back up, him following me closely. his hands move up to cup my breasts, kneading and tweaking my nipples as he kisses my lips. the coolness against my back causes me to gasp, and he swallows the sound with his tongue before moving down my body.

he's torturously slow, taking one of my nipples into his mouth while he shrugs off his suit jacket. he switches to my other peak, one hand splayed over my stomach, and then proceeds southward with his lips. his kisses are delicate, open-mouthed, as they find their way to the waistband of my panties.

he hooks his fingers in them and looks up at me.

"can I eat you out, baby?" he asks. I bite my lip.

"please." like a beg.

"oh, you're polite tonight." he smirks, tugging the garment down my legs and discarding it somewhere in the room. I don't respond, and he doesn't seem to need me to, because he pushes one leg up for better access to my pussy. "let's see if it lasts."

my back curves off of the wall involuntarily when he holds the flat of his tongue against my clit suddenly, trying to roll my hips against his face. my fingers tangle in his hair, one leg resting over his shoulder.

he starts to flick at my clit. I lose grasp of my own language.

"Matthew, that feels so good, I--"

he attaches himself to my bundle of nerves, seemingly turned on by the sounds I'm making for him. he groans as he laps at the wetness between my legs, dipping into my folds and sucking the soul out of me. I whine and use his curls as leverage to gain more friction. he peers up at me.

"needy little girl." he mumbles against my pussy. I shove him back into me.

"make me cum, then." I beg. I can practically feel the devilish smirk on his face as he devours me like he'll never get enough. every twist and lick of his tongue is sending me to new places. I'm panting, chest heaving, while I grab my own tits and buck into his mouth.

he moans. my orgasm hits me like a wave, causing me to nearly thrash with pleasure as I cry out.

"Matthew, keep going, fuck yes!" I feel tears prick the back of my eyes, the culmination almost too much to bear as we hold contact. he stares into my fucking soul as he eats me out, and I want to stay like this forever. it's hard to support myself with my legs going weak, but I love it. the sensations are otherworldly. it's only when I'm about to collapse that I push his face away from me.

"I love your pussy." he tells me, licking his lips as he sets my legs down. I grin and let my head fall back against the wall.

"thanks."

"come here, princess." he takes hold of my hips and guides me over to the mirror, turning me so that he's standing behind my frame. the pet name causes me to smile.

"what?" I reference our reflection. he stares at me, reaching around to squeeze my tits.

"I wanna fuck you in the mirror." such a vulgar thing, said so beautifully. he kisses my cheek. "if that's okay with you."

"I don't care what position we do as long as you're fucking me." I breathe honestly. he chuckles and draws me towards him so his clothed boner is against my ass. I reach behind and work the button on his pants. he undoes the ones on his shirt. we're silent, him watching my naked body move like he's trying to memorize every detail.

when he's finally stripped, he lets me stroke his cock for a couple moments before pushing my upper back forward so I'm holding onto the sides of the mirror. I see him biting his lip as he lines himself up at my entrance.

"you ready?" he checks. I nod and he smiles at me once. pushing in, the smile melts into a jaw-dropped haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Y/N..."

"it's so big." I try to breathe. he's so deep, I grip the mirror until my knuckles turn white. he's going to snap my body in two with the angle of his cock, filling me easily.

"tight little thing." he grunts as he holds himself inside. I can only watch in shock as I try to adjust to the sheer feeling of him. Matthew runs his hands over my sides, my ass, touching whatever he can. "how's that?"

I start to wiggle my hips and he groans at the feeling of my walls desperately swallowing him up. "Matthew, I need it."

"need what?" he thrusts into me and I have to fight a scream.

"need you."

"fuck... yes." he hisses out, sliding into me. "you're so wet I don't even need to try."

I bite my lip to withhold my sounds and he stares me in the eyes in the mirror as he starts to fuck me harder, building a pace with his hips. he growls a little if he hits certain angles, getting ruthless.

"so many times when I wanted to be inside you, princess..." he trails off. I start to play with my clit with one hand, using the other to stabilize myself with the mirror. the idea turns me on.

"when?"

"whenever you have attitude," he pants. "tonight, in that innocent fucking dress. making me wanna pound you like a little slut."

I make a high-pitched sound at the shudder of pleasure that jolts through my stomach at his words, wanting more. I've never heard him talk this way before.

"Matthew, shit--" I rub myself in circles, caught between watching his face and watching the way his hips slam into mine.

"you're begging to be fucked, you know that?"

"am I?" I smile sweetly in the mirror. we're in our own world, locked in a fantasy that I never want to leave. I can feel him in every corner of my body, sinking beneath my skin. he digs his nails into my ass.

"mhmm." he hums. I can feel the familiar weight in my stomach that indicates how close I'm getting. a knot that screams to be undone by his perfect length. I would do anything for more of this. I can taste everything good in the world on my tongue.

"I'm so close." I whine.

"I can tell," he studies my face in the mirror. "so pretty when you're breaking."

"oh--" I feel my thighs tense and my body pulses, the euphoria almost overwhelming. we move steadily, rhythmically, and he pushes my climax to new levels. "faster." I cry.

Matthew is quick to respond, gripping me closer while he plows into me like he's never going to have my body again. the sound of it is filthy, perfect, a mess. he groans at the sensation of my cunt pulsating around his cock.

"cum for me, princess." he moans, losing himself in the embrace of my core. the foggy stare in his eyes is like drowning in the ocean. I sink below, not caring at all about the consequences of him inside me. fuck working together; I need him. "where should I cum?"

"in me." I groan.

"beg." he commands easily, watching my face contort in pleasure. I could pretend to fight it, to give a little attitude, but I don't want to. I love begging for him.

"fill me up, Matthew. please." each word punctuated by the breathlessness of my voice. he gets even more ferocious with me, beating up my pussy until I'm sure he's going to leave me sore.

"right there, right there," he gasps, hitting the same spot that makes me go cross-eyed. "such a good little slut."

his cum shoots into me, deep and warm and erotically twisted, and I nearly collapse. it feels weird, but so good at the same time. full. he groans out my name and withdraws, quick to grab my shoulders and hold me up as I almost fall. I hadn't realized that most of my body weight was supported purely by his thrusts.

"whoa." he lets out a tired laugh, gentle in his touch. I'm heaving air into my lungs.

"sorry." I apologize, my body unstable.

"are you okay?" he seems genuinely concerned and I nod.

"yeah, I'm fine. just a little overwhelmed."

"here," he scoops me into his arms and brings me over to the old love seat in the dressing room, laying his jacket down before putting me on top of it. "can I get you something?"

"Sprite." I gesture to the glass on the vanity, and he smiles as he goes to get it. I gulp down whatever remains of it. "thanks."

"of course." he keeps glancing at my face and the red marks on my hips where he was clutching me like a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

"what?" I set the cup down. "don't ever be sorry for fucking me like that."

"no, I meant--" he laughs, but then he sees my playful expression and realizes that I'm genuinely alright. I think my legs were asleep.

"you're a saint." I tell him. he frowns and shakes his head bashfully. I'm already getting up and collecting my clothes. "or maybe what we just did prevents you from reaching sainthood. I don't know."

he places his hand on my lower back, kisses my forehead tenderly.

"seriously. you're okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine," I assure him. "but I would be better with a milkshake."

Matthew breaks into a slow grin, staring at me like I've done something miraculous.

"how are you so perfect?"

#matthew gray gubler #mgg smut #mgg oneshot #mgg x reader

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scoutdoesstuff · 2 years

Text

day ten!!

(i'm doing a thing where i write 500-1000ish words a day based on the name of a daily tea sample i've gotten as part of a month long subscription package. you can find the rest of the results here provided the link behaves well on mobile).

today's prompt is actually going to be part of a larger fic that i'm working on in the background, a hockey au that incorporates the general storyline of seasons 4 and 5, but with obvious liberties taken because the fic's a hockey au. that fic likely won't be out for a bit, but here's a taster courtesy of our flavor of the day, peach rooibos.

Discussions of hockey superstitions are had and Dean runs afoul of his team captain.

Hockey players are, by definition, an incredibly superstitious lot. Some are more honest about it than others — Sam was infamous for telling people all about both his pre-game meal and pre-game hair style back when he was still playing— but they all have their little habits and routines that get them ready for a game. Some guys keep it simple, with just a nap and a favorite meal, other guys go to extremes. Everyone had a way to cope with the chaos of game schedules and the physical strain that came with being on the ice.

Dean was one of those players who liked to keep things simple. He made sure that he had a decent nap and a full belly a few hours before the game, enough to keep him going through the calorie burn but not enough that he was going to wind up puking on the ice. Sometimes, when he had a chance to wander through the farmer’s market on a day off, he’d bring a piece of fruit or two with him to munch on before warm ups. He’d gotten lucky this week and gone on a day where Cesar and Jesse were selling some of their stupidly good looking (and tasting) produce. He didn’t know how they got peaches to grow so well this far north, but he’d worked through half of the bag he’d bought from them in two days. He was hoping they’d be back a little later in the week so he could pick up more and make a fucking awesome pie during his rare back to back two days off.

With an eye on the clock, he dumped some pre-cut chunks into a container and hustled out of his motel room to where Baby was parked, gleaming and ready for action just outside. He glanced to his left and caught the tell tale faux casual stance of photographers. Fuck.

Dean continuing to live out of a motel room was becoming something of a human interest story in the hockey journalism circles. Dean didn’t know how to explain to people the bone crushing fear of being broke as fuck again so he’d just been claiming that he was too lazy to find an apartment to reporters. They apparently weren’t buying his bullshit anymore and were trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

At this rate, Bobby was going to pick out an apartment for Dean if Dean didn’t commit to something more suburb friendly soon.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered. He folded himself into Baby’s front seat as fast as he could and sped off towards the arena.

Benny was waiting for him after Dean did his fashionista walk past the cameras and into the arena.

The trainer whistled at Dean’s new suit, spinning Dean around in a circle to coo over how well tailored and expensive looking it was.

“I thought I’d start wearing something nice, since you fuckers told me I looked like a teenager going to prom,” Dean said, trying to hide a smile. It was nice to have people notice things about him again without the fear of what upper management might say or do to Dean in retaliation.

“You did,” Sonny comes walking in behind him. “God, that one droopy black one you wore to your first game made you look like a drowned kitten.”

“Hey, fuck you!” Dean gave Sonny a playful shove as Benny cackled behind him.

“Now all we gotta do is get you an apartment,” Benny said, still snickering as Sonny shoved playfully at Dean’s closest shoulder in retribution.

“Aw fuck, man,” Dean said, wilting, “not you, too.”

“Winner, you’re a real fucking hockey player with a real fucking salary,” Sonny said, suddenly weirdly serious. “We’re getting you a decent place to live.”

“Boys weekend out?” Benny asked, looking directly at Sonny.

“Do I not get a vote?” Dean hated being voluntold for shit, even if it was something he was secretly dreaming about doing for himself.

“No,” both Benny and Sonny said at the same time.

“We’ll pick him up around ten?” Benny continued, still not consulting Dean.

“Yeah, that works. Marie might want to tag along and help, now that I think of it,” Sonny said, also not consulting Dean.

“Oh, Winner here will love hanging with the kids,” Benny said, not in a mean way, but being talked over hit some old wounds of Dean’s harder than he would’ve liked to admit.

“Ok, assholes,” Dean said, perhaps a trifle too loud considering how close they were to Castiel’s pre-game hiding spot. “I am a big boy —“

“At six feet and two hundred and twenty pounds, I would never call you little, pal,” Benny said, leaning on Dean’s shoulder to snicker with Victor.

“Ok, folks, show’s over, you’re both assholes and I will not be speaking to either of you ever again!” Dean’s words probably would’ve had more punch if he wasn’t grinning from ear to ear but you couldn’t win them all.

Someone cleared their throat behind the three men. Dean, Benny, and Sonny all turned around guiltily, like children caught in the hall after class had started without a hall pass.

Castiel stood behind them, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of rooibos tea. He’d already changed into his warm up sweats per his own exacting pre-game routine, but still managed to look prim and proper, like a perfect little choirboy. Dean envied the other man his composure. Dean never looked so put together in the team branded t-shirt and gym shorts. He always looked like a freshman on his first day of gym class.

“Do you mind if I settle in?” Castiel asked, jerking his chin towards the alcove that Dean, Benny, and Sonny had stationed themselves in front of.

“Oh, yeah, sure, dude,” Dean said, moving slightly out of the way for the man to get into the alcove. “Go right ahead.”

Sonny pulled at Dean’s shoulder like he was trying to pull Dean towards the locker room. Dean shot him a questioning glance, but Sonny wasn’t looking at Dean.

“Sorry about the interruption, Castiel,” Sonny said, still pulling at Dean’s shoulder.

“It’s all right, Victor,” Castiel said, acknowledging Sonny’s words, but his eyes never left Dean’s face. “I’d prefer to be alone, Dean.”

Castiel’s absolute refusal to call anyone by their nicknames was off-putting, but Dean had learned to live with some of the guy’s more noticable quirks so far. But being dismissed like a child was a bridge too far.

Dean didn’t believe in the superstitious bullshit, but a lot of guys did. Castiel was one of them. He was infamous for his myriad of patterns and preparations that had to be done just so before every single game. And Dean got it, he really did, the guy was under a stupid amount of pressure and you needed something to keep you sane through the blitz that came with being the face of the NHL and the wunderkind of your generation and one of the best hockey players of all time. It didn’t mean that you got to be a dick because people were standing slightly in front of your coping mechanism, though.

So, like an idiot, Dean snapped at the captain of his team and Castiel snapped back. Sonny and Benny eventually grabbed Dean and shoved him towards the locker room before things could get real testy, but the damage had already been done. Dean’s last view of Castiel was the man disappearing into his little alcove like a surly alley cat. He thought that was the last of it until Castiel cornered him one on one in the locker room while the guys were changing into their gear.

“Don’t get in my way, Dean,” Castiel said, staring at Dean with something like venom in his eyes, “and I won’t get in yours.”

Dean stared at Castiel, dumbfounded, until the other man returned to his portion of the bench and began methodically attaching his pads to his body.

Fucking asshole, Dean thought. How the fuck was he supposed to play with this guy?

#quick note #i use hockey nicknames in this #so sonny is victor hendrickson and they call dean winner because that's the best i could come up with for winchester lol #but basically you get a cutsy nickname when you join a hockey league #based off of your last name #it's great #spn #my fic #tea prompts

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oh-no-my-hand-slipped · 3 years

Note

A new prompt for you! (Finally :3)

I'm picturing multiple couples or a family group (4+ adults) who share a cottage together in the middle of nowhere, living off the land. Winter is coming, bringing with it its chill winds and early dustings of snow. The people are hard at work every day, chopping wood and putting aside the last of the food for winter.

It's the worst possible time to get sick, yet someone does, coming down with a miserable, streaming cold and high fever. What do they do about it? How do the others respond?

Could have definite cottage core elements, or fantasy (since you're so good at writing that!) or contagion if you choose. Can't wait to see the results :)

It’s been so long since I’ve written a real, honest to god fic, so this will be my debut back into snzfucker favor!

Okay, okay, who to include in this house of contagion?

We need a soft healer boi that takes care of everyone before themselves, of course. A very strong, stoic, hardworking warrior with muscles of steel - but the same can’t be said for his immune system. A hyper comic relief (like if Scout from TF2 was in a fantasy setting) that insists he isn’t sick, but can’t keep back his sneezes long enough to prove his point. And, of course, a tall, thin scholar whose cold heart is only melted by his fever.

Adventurers packing it in for the winter and preparing for journeying in the spring, now only at most a few yards from each other and having shot immune systems from the exhausting work. Illness doesn’t have to travel far to infect…

Oh, this is gonna be good.

***********************

“Look look look! Otto, you’re not gonna believe this!”

Barlow skidded to a halt, almost tripping over his own two feet before regaining his balance. Otto chuckled.

“Alright, alright, que pasa? What is so exciting?”

Barlow fumbled with his cloak before pulling a shiny coin out of one of the pockets.

“I got this off a path when I was pickin’ berries! Must’ve been a merchant or something…”

Barlow’s eyes suddenly lit up.

“Or maybe a warrior! Ooh, or a knight! Definitely somebody with a cape.”

He flung the back of his cloak behind him and stood tall, crossing his arms with a self-satisfied grin. However, Barlow couldn’t keep the pose long - the frigid air made him close the thin burlap around himself again, shivering. Otto knitted their brow.

“You’re wearing your summer cloak,” they said, looking Barlow up and down. “You must be freezing, chiquito!”

Barlow waved his hand, as if batting away Otto’s concern.

“Don’t worry about it, doc. It’s gonna take more than a little wind to get me down.”

As if to prove a point, he spread out his arms and spun around, laughing at the many leaves he kicked up.

Otto would usually be charmed by the sprite’s antics, but their concern soon outweighed their amusement.

“Just make sure to change into your winter clothes soon, okay? I would hate for you to get sick.”

Barlow stopped spinning, coughing a bit as he caught his breath with chilly autumn air. His hot breath clouded around his face like smoke.

“Okay, okay,” he panted, “I’ll grab it when I go by the cottage. Forgot my basket anyway. See you around, doc.”

With a quick salute, Barlow ran off, cloak billowing behind him, still clenching the coin in a tight fist. Otto shook their head and sighed. They knew that Barlow just didn’t want them to worry - but that only made them worry more. The healer in them couldn’t help but notice red-tipped fingers, congested voices, and pallid complexions. Besides, with a harsh winter underway, a cold could very quickly rear its ugly head, turning into bronchitis, pneumonia, and even infect a person’s magic…

Otto took a deep breath. Their thoughts had run away with them - and now, more than ever, it was important to stay focused.

The doctor gathered up their scrolls, pulled their coat close, and started back to the cottage.

Perhaps a little tea would calm their nerves.

***************

“it’CHEW! CHEW!”

“Salud.”

“Ugh…thanks, doc. Snf!”

Otto looked up from his knitting to see Barlow rubbing his long, pointy ears with a pained look on his face.

“Do your ears hurt?”

Barlow put his hands in his lap. “No! Just, uh, a little itchy.”

Severin, who had been reading on the sofa across from Otto, hid a smirk behind the yellowed pages.

“Someone must be talking about you,” he drawled smugly. “Considering the way you conduct yourself, I’m not surprised.”

Instead of snapping back, Barlow still scratched at his ears. Severin slit his eyes and continued to read. He almost seemed disappointed.

“Could be thragweed,” Godric rumbled from a large wooden stool, rubbing his beard in thought, “but they usually shrivel up by the first frost. Didja see any three-leaved plants while you were out foragin’?”

Barlow shrugged, wincing as he rubbed harder. “Um…maybe?”

Otto frowned. “Be careful. You’ll hurt yourself if you keep scratching like that.”

“S-sorry, I…huh-hold on…”

Barlow buried himself in his cloak, with only his mop of red hair showing.

“hit’SHEW! Huh…it’TCHEW!”

The sprite continued to let out sneeze after sneeze, his wrinkled, pink nose only showing when he needed to come up for air. Otto got up from their chair, and they were soon holding him by the shoulders to keep him from knocking himself over.

Barlow finally finished, snuffling into his sleeve. He looked up at Otto with bleary eyes.

“Sorry, doc, I don’d dow whad’s gotten into be…”

Otto hushed him with a gentle pat, using their free hand to feel Barlow’s forehead. They clucked their tongue.

“Oh, mijo, you have a fever...”

Barlow’s breath caught, and he coughed into his shoulder. “Nah, I…I’b okay, Otto, really. I’ll be…snrk…fide in the morning. Just gotta sleep it off…”

Otto smiled gently. “Well, you’re right about one thing. A good night’s sleep is exactly what you need. And maybe a little salve for your poor ears…”

Their hand still on Barlow’s shoulder, Otto guided the sprite to his bedroom, mumbled protests and miserable sneezes trailing behind them.

***************

Barlow’s fever never grew very high - his burning ears and nose, however, kept him up for most of the night. By the time morning came, he was too exhausted to even feign health. Otto had to put him back to bed, which was only met with pitiful murmurings.

“‘M fide, doc, I…hetch’CHIIIEW!”

“Pobrecito! You sound even worse than yesterday…”

“C’mon, Otto, I…”

“I don’t want to see you out of bed today, okay, cariño? You need to rest.”

“Nngh…”

Otto and Severin split the foraging work, since their respective jobs were mostly planning and budgeting the winter ahead of them. Godric promised to keep a good eye on the patient, but that didn’t lessen the doctor’s worry any.

“I wonder how Barlow’s doing,” Otto murmured, probably for the umpteenth time since they’d begun their work.

Severin scrutinized his severely pricked thumb. “Children always carry around such nasty things. It’s a wonder he hasn’t caught the plague instead of a simple cold.”

Otto froze mid-pick, and Severin hurried to correct himself.

“Peace, my friend. It is just a cold, after all.

He grimaced.

“One I dearly hope he keeps to himself.”

They both continued to fill their baskets with berries, wiping the frost off their shiny, black skins. However, Otto’s mind continued to race.

I shouldn’t have left him. Godric only knows so much. What happens if his fever spikes? I’m a healer, I’m not supposed to leave the sick behind. Should I go back? I should go back. No, I promised Barlow I’d get his foraging done. But I can’t keep a promise if he’s dead. What if he’s already dead? What if Godric’s on his way right now to tell me? What if I’m already too late? How will we bury him, the ground is too hard. Otto, your friend has died and all you can think about is how to bury him. You must be the most selfish -

“Otto.”

Otto snapped back to reality to see Severin giving him a fierce side-eye.

“It’s only a cold.”

Otto took a deep breath. “Right. Gracias. I…I lost myself, didn’t I?”

The afternoon went by in a quiet fervor, both of them trying to fill their baskets before the sun went down. With Otto’s quick fingers and Severin’s thin ones, it was an easy job, and the managed to get back before it got too dark.

Otto wasn’t two steps through the door before they were at Godric’s heels, wringing their hands and stammering through the worries that had built up through the day.

“Are you sure…how…did he…should I…?”

The warrior just chuckled and put a gigantic, calloused hand on the their head.

“He’s on tha’ mend, doc, on the mend. Sneezin’ his head off, sure, but gettin’ better.”

As if on cue, two loud sneezes interrupted them from one of the bedrooms, followed by a mumbled curse and a few wet sniffles. Godric shook his head.

“Been like that all day, poor tyke. When he wasn’ dozin’ off, tha’ is.”

Severin took a few scrolls out of his dragon-scale satchel.

“I understand you have a more…pressing engagement. Why don’t I take the calculations tonight?”

But Otto was already on their way to Barlow’s bedside, medicine bag in tow. Severin only lifted his eyebrows and turned on his heel, setting up the many notes he had taken and a few quills on the oaken table.

“Besides,” he murmured to himself, “I don’t want to get near whatever affliction that sprite’s come down with.”

*************

Barlow was scratching at his drooping ears, which were now covered in a red, peeling rash. Otto gently pushed his hands back under the quilt.

“I know it itches, but you need to try not to scratch.”

The healer took a small glass container out of their bag, dipping two fingers into the greenish-gray ointment inside. They began to apply the salve to Barlow’s ears, taking care not to put on too much.

“Tell me when you need a break,” Otto said.

Barlow nodded, eyes squeezed shut. After a few minutes, his nostrils started to twitch, and he held up a hand.

“G-gudda��huh…!”

He jerked forward into his knees.

“hit’CHEW! hhhit’SHEW! Uh…hut’SHIEW!”

Barlow snuffled into the quilt, and Otto handed him a tissue.

“Salud.”

“Ugh…sorry, doc…”

Otto put the cork back into the glass bottle and set it on the bedside table.

“It’s alright - most sprites have the same reflex.”

“No, I beant…for…”

Barlow bit his lip, his ears drooping even lower.

“For geddin’ sick.”

Otto put a hand on the sprite’s back.

“Oh, mijo…”

“I-I didn’d mean to,” Barlow whimpered. “I…I should’ve god by coat like you told be to…and dow w-we’re - hic - gudda starve…”

Otto hushed him, pulling Barlow into an embrace and rocking him slowly back and forth.

“We will be fine, mijo,” they whispered, their voice soothing Barlow into a sniffle. “We will forage until you are better, and not a day before. That is what friends do. They protect each other, they take care of each other, and they love each other like family. And that is how I love you. Like my family.”

Barlow hiccuped, trying to speak through his tears.

“Shhh, mijo…it’s okay…”

Otto wrapped the quilt tighter around Barlow and laid him down, pushing hair damp with both tears and sweat out of his face. The sobs quieted, then dissolved into shaky breaths. Before Otto even made it through the doorway, they could hear small, congested snores coming from the pile of blankets.

*****************

Scritch scritch scritch…scriiiitch…

Harried quill scratching filled the air as Otto entered the living room, putting on their tweed coat and wool gloves. They stretched out their arms.

“Buenos días!”

Godric lifted his coffee mug as a greeting, his famous half-smile dancing over his lips.

“Well, aren’tcha bright as tha’ north star this mornin’!”

Otto beamed. Barlow had slept soundly through the night, and he was still fast asleep when they had checked on him. Not a sniffle or a sneeze came from that room.

“Severin, I was thinking we could pick up acorns today,” Otto thought aloud, buttoning their coat. “There is a beautiful place in the forest…”

Silence. The quill scratching only grew more manic. Otto glanced up.

Severin was hunched over the table, writing madly on several open scrolls, only pausing to move a few beads on his abacus. Otto went back to getting ready. Sometimes it took a while for Severin to answer if he was engrossed in his calculations. He would respond when he got to a stopping point.

After about fifteen minutes of fidgeting with their scarf, though, Otto tried again.

“From what I’ve seen, we should be ready for winter in a week, maybe less. All that’s left is the dried vegetables and a few more logs for firewood.”

Again, there was no answer. But now that Otto was a little closer, they could see why.

Severin’s eyes were inflamed and painful, as were his gaunt cheeks. His long, usually well-preened hair was matted against his forehead, with stray hairs sticking up this way and that. Thin shoulder blades came together with each labored breath. Long fingers shivered around a red quill, leaving stray marks on the parchment.

“Mi sombro,” Otto breathed.

The shadowling blinked, raising his head stiffly. Pools of sweat, shaken loose by the movement, streaked down their face.

“I…couldn’t sleep,” Severin croaked. “Have I…have I been awake…?”

Godric looked up from his mug, finally noticing the sorcerer’s state. “Stars above, lad! Ya look like hell frozen over!”

The shadowling stared straight ahead, his breath coming in ragged strains.

“Could someone…please put out the fireplace…?”

Otto clucked their tongue, putting their hands on either side of Severin’s neck. His dark eyes fluttered shut, as if with great relief.

“Mm…”

“Ay, tu cabeza,” Otto cooed, putting their hand on Severin’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

Severin finally looked down at the doctor. His tense gaze was now dazed, vulnerable - even afraid.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said again, hoarsely.

Otto rubbed their thumb on Severin’s feverish cheek. “I know, cariño. I know.”

***************

It took a lot more doing to get Severin to bed than it did Barlow. Not only did he insist he was perfectly well, only warm from the unlit fireplace, but that he had seen terrifying visions outside the window.

“Their eyes, doctor…they stared into my very essence…a…a beast of some kind…we’ll be killed…”

“Shhh, my love. It’s only a nightmare from your fever. You will feel better soon.”

In the end, the only way Otto could leave the cottage was by taking a small talisman Severin had in his cloak. They weren’t superstitious, but Otto wanted to do anything they could to put the sick sorcerer at ease.

Now with one less healthy person in the group, Otto rushed to get the last of the supplies for the cold winter ahead. The first snowflakes were beginning to fall, which made finding acorns that much more difficult. Before the sun reached its peak, the ground was completely covered in a thin layer of snow. But, for once, Otto’s anxiety was an advantage.

They plowed through every task as if their life depended on it. Another of their friends falling ill had kicked their healer instinct into high gear; whenever they were fatigued or sore, all it took was a few words of the healing oath to get them going again.

“From the monsters of the cave, of the sea, of the heart,” they whispered while peeling wild wolf onions, “I shall protect and provide for those who cannot.”

As morning turned to afternoon, the light flurry of the morning became a bitter gale that howled through the trees like a hungry animal. The world was silent except for the frigid wind - all the creatures of the forest knew well enough that the winter ahead would not be kind to them.

But Otto knew nothing of this.

And so they marched forward.

It was quite past dark when Otto returned to the cottage. Much to their delight, a fire was flickering in the fireplace, and a wonderful, familiar smell lingered in the air - a mixture of tender meat and spices.

As Otto had hoped, there was a pot of stew left over the flames. The broth still bubbled with warmth, and the chicken and vegetables gave off a heavenly steam. Their stomach suddenly felt very hollow.

They hadn’t eaten all day, had they?

With raw fingers, the doctor tried their best to use the ladle, which was as big as their entire arm and weighed twice as much. Gripping the handle with both hands, they brought the brew to their lips, taking care not to burn their tongue.

A beautiful, soothing flavor poured down Otto’s throat. They leaned their head back and closed their eyes, making sure to drink up every last tasty morsel. It was a long time before the ladle was empty again.

Once they were finished, the healer felt a heaviness collect around their eyes. Finally, at long last, they could rest. The cottage was fast asleep - and now it was time for Otto to follow suit.

Sleep came upon Otto too quickly for them to retire to their own bed. Like a hound after a successful hunt, they crawled onto the sofa and curled into a ball, dead to the world before their head hit the soft cushions.

*******************

Otto wasn’t sure how long they slept. They remembered bits and pieces of dreams, of words, or memories - but mostly a comforting darkness that lulled them into a deep drowse.

When they finally awoke, the first thing they saw was the flitting of the fire. The flame had all but burned itself out during the night. Otto rolled over, stretching and sighing with satisfaction. That was the best they had slept in several days.

They indulged themselves in a large yawn and shifted off the sofa, cringing from cold stone against their bare feet.

The cottage was still silent with sleep - not a thing stirred but the creaks and groans of the wooden beams. A frigid wind had picked up outside, and bits of snow swirled in the air.

How cold Godric must be this morning, Otto thought as they padded towards the hallway. The warrior was always up and working by first light - quite before anyone else was awake - but came back inside to drink some hot coffee and see how the preparations were going. Godric made a strong cup of coffee. One could smell it and be ready for a new day; that’s usually all most could stand without sputtering.

Today, however, there was no earthy aroma of it brewing. All Otto could smell was a hint of the stew they had eaten the night before - the husk of a beautiful, delicious dream.

The doctor peeked his head into Barlow’s room. The sprite was laying on his stomach, eyes closed and breath soft. Though they had been feeling better for the past day or so, Barlow’s nose frequently ran away with him, and was still very pink and sensitive. His upright ear twitched ever so slightly, but there was no sign of him stirring any time soon.

Severin, on the other hand, had fared much worse. Despite the many wet rags coating almost every inch of his febrile body, his breathing was still heavy and labored, and his eyes darted under closed eyelids. Bite marks covered cracking lips. Otto made sure they made little noise as they tiptoed from the doorway. Severin needed all the rest he could get.

Otto turned from his patients, a familiar heaviness weighing upon their heart. Such misery in what was supposed to be a warm season of reaping and feasting.

Perhaps it came back with them from market, or from the many travelers that take the nearby road into town. With how hard everyone had been working, and how many nights were left unslept…

Otto massaged the bridge of their nose, dashing from one possibility to the next, feeling more and more ashamed by how little they prepared, how stupid they must have been, how utterly selfish! They had been so busy with preparations that they had barely noticed that their journeymates were wasting away!

They could have done something. This was all their fault, wasn’t it? How could they be a healer if they couldn’t even keep the ones they loved safe?

Otto was roused from their guilt by the sound of harsh coughing. They peeked their head into the past two rooms, fearing that one of them had been awakened by their footsteps. However, both of them were still out cold. Or out warm, in Severin’s case.

No, the coughing wasn’t coming from their rooms, Otto realized. It was coming from the third bedroom - the one that they and Godric shared.

The door creaked open as Otto shuffled inside, already knowing the worst was yet to come.

“Doc? Is tha’ you?”

Godric was sitting up in bed, quilt wrapped around him, his chest heaving with another hacking fit. His cheeks were flushed with effort and fever. Otto went to his bedside, their heart dropping into their stomach.

“Real nice ‘a this cold to leave the healer last, eh?” the warrior joked before laying back down with a quiet groan.

Otto pushed the hair off Godric’s neck and felt his lymph nodes, which were not only hot, but terribly swollen.

“I can chop those few pieces ‘a wood, an’ then I’ll-”

“You are not getting out of this bed,” Otto said sternly. Then, with a kinder tone, “I know you want to finish your work, but you are very sick. You shouldn’t be out in the snow.”

“But how-”

“I will take care of it, cariño. Just rest.”

Godric opened his mouth to say something else, but just coughed and covered himself up with his quilt.

“Take care of yerself, doc,” he said before Otto went to check on the others. “There isn’t anythin’ I can’t do after I’m back on m’feet.”

***************

Between taking care of three sick creatures and the final preparations, Otto ran themselves ragged over the next few days. None of their friends were particularly hard to take care of - especially after Severin’s fever broke - but the heaviness of their heart continued to weigh upon them.

With no other options, they threw themselves into work.

If they chopped enough wood for an extra week, they chopped enough wood for two extra weeks. The larder was more than full. Their fingers and hands and back and everything else was sore, but they couldn’t stop for long without feeling their guilt gnaw away at them.

One frigid morning, Otto had taken to the axe, splitting wood and putting them in the shed to keep them dry. They had run out of pre-cut trunks a long time ago, so they started cutting sticks in half for kindling. Out of the corner of their eye, mid-swing, they saw a figure marching through the snow - lifting their foot high before stomping it down again with a crunch.

After a few minutes, Otto could finally see a pair of long ears fluttering in the cold wind.

“Barlow!”

The sprite grinned as he approached Otto, holding up a steaming container of something in his mittened hands.

“I got soup!” he called out, trying to move faster in the deep snow. “Godric felt a lot better today, so he wanted to try somethin’ new. It’s real good! Even Severin ate a whole bowl of it, so you know it’s gotta be great.”

Barlow sat next to the chopping block, and patted a mound of snow next to him. Otto sat down, wincing as their sore muscles twinged.

“Godric says we’re all packed up for winter,” Barlow continued as he handed Otto the food. “And we’ll even have stuff to eat in the spring, too.”

Otto didn’t answer, but tucked into the soup, not even blowing it off before putting the spoon in their mouth. Barlow thought for a little bit, then spoke again.

“Doc, Godric told me that we got more than enough food and wood to last through the winter. If you wanna come inside, we’ve got a checker game goin’…”

Otto didn’t respond, but they had started to shiver from the cold. Barlow took of his coat and draped it around Otto’s shoulders.

“C’mon, let’s get back. Everybody’s waitin’ for us.”

Barlow took Otto by the hand and pulled them up, then led them back towards the cottage. Otto trailed behind like a quivering lamb, both exhausted and numb. They couldn’t think of much else than putting one foot in front of the other.

When the pair finally got back to the cottage, a warm, cozy scene awaited them. Severin was on the couch, doing needlepoint with half-open eyes and content look on his face. Godric was above the stove, stirring a pot and putting one seasoning or another into it. The fire was blazing in a lovely orange hue that painted the scene with a beautiful glow.

While Barlow went right inside and was greeted by the others, Otto stood in the doorway, weary eyes closed, soaking up the light and warmth as much as they could.

“Doctor?”

Severin was up now, his quiet wisdom regained. Before Otto could answer, the sorcerer started to remove their soaked outer layers with quick fingers.

“If Barlow didn’t bring you here,” Severin said, “you would have worked yourself to a frozen skeleton.”

Otto suddenly jerked his head to the side.

“het’TCH! TCH! TCH’UH!”

“Many blessings, doctor.”

Severin smiled and tilted his head.

“Many, many blessings.”

Otto sniffled, rubbing their nose with stiff fingers.

“Nngh…gracias. Just a little…heh…htch’CHU!”

“Aye, I don’ like tha’ sound of that,” Godric rumbled from the kitchen, turning his head to see the sickly healer.

Otto waved their hand. “Just a li-hih-ttle sdiffle…”

“One that is long overdue, I think,” Severin said, putting the last of their wet things away.

Otto was ushered in front of the fire, still at the mercy of his nose. With each sneeze came a chorus of blessings and, if need be, another handkerchief.

“That’s a real nasty cold, huh?” Barlow commented after a particularly forceful fit. “Even I didn’t sneeze that much.”

As the day came to a close, the group all gathered on the couch, listening to the wind howling outside and treating themselves to Godric’s famous roast and sweet apple tea. Otto didn’t eat very much, but the hot tea soothed their sore throat.

“Tank you for taking such good care of be,” Otto snuffled.

Godric chuckled. “Ya care so much about us, doc. It only makes sense that we’s care an awful lot about you, ‘specially when ya aren’t feelin’ well.”

“And after you tended so well to us, may I add,” Severin said, leaning his head back.

“Yeah!” Barlow agreed, not exactly as good with words as the others, but still just as thankful.

Otto, overcome, buried their face in Godric’s side and began to cry, letting out everything that they had felt in the past few days. They wanted to stop, they wanted to explain, but it was lost in desperate sobs and hiccuping. Godric held them closer to him while the others offered quiet support until the doctor quieted.

“There ya go,” Godric said, putting a large hand on Otto’s head. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Filled with comfort and warm food, Otto quickly dozed off, and the others weren’t far behind. The only sounds were the falling of fresh snow, the crackling of the fireplace, and the snores of deep, contented sleep.

And, as winter finally settled into Harbinger Woods, they all settled down for their long winter’s rest.

******************

Not only do I want to dedicate this to @perfectpaperbluebirds , who gave me the prompt, but also @sneezytomatosquish , who has been feeling emotionally and physically under the weather lately. That may have changed by the time this fic is finished, but I shall gift it to you anyway. You are one of my favorite creators, but I want to create something for you for a change. You deserve it.

Get well soon!

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