#ty for the tag frost this is so

[catopoliscat]

sweet dreams, good morning / fem!reader/kento nanami.

you and your boyfriend nanami usually showered at different times. this morning, he decided to join you.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. afab!reader. established relationship. shower sex. penetrative sex. no set timeline but presumed canon!verse. fingering. creampie. unprotected sex (wrap it kids). nanami had a little dream about you. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever.

wc: 3.6k.

a/n: inspired by some nsfw pieces @jimwackthesecond sent to me of nanami on discord, ty babes I'm still throbbing about it

mdni.

It was rare for Nanami to join you like this. 

Even after months of living together, of being by each other's side; of cooking, eating, drinking and sleeping next to one another—showers together were rare. It wasn’t any conscious decision, really, just a difference in routine. You preferred to shower in the mornings. Nanami preferred to shower in the evenings. Small moments of solace and quiet amidst the hot water and soap. A moment of solitude between lives so tightly intertwined. 

Today, however, Nanami had surprised you. 

You were halfway through your usual semi-methodical routine, soap suds still clinging to your arms and chest, when you felt the door open. A cool gush of air rushed through the fog of the warm bathroom for a moment, skittering up your back in a gentle caress. You shiver, hearing Nanami’s familiar footsteps, but think little of it. You had thought you had been quiet when you had slipped from his sleepy embrace, wanting to give him a longer lie in bed for once—but perhaps you hadn’t been quiet enough.

Any moment, you had expected the tap to start running, the sound of toothpaste being uncapped and bristles against white teeth. Instead, the sound of rustling clothes just about reaches your ears over the sound of water thudding against the tiles beneath your feet, and then comes the slide of glass, a footstep and—

—strong, warm arms encircling your waist tightly, as if you might disappear into smoke if he let go. 

You smile softly to yourself as Nanami presses up close against your back, hard pectorals slotting against the ridges of your shoulder blades. The heat of his chest is a strong match to the warmth of the water against your front, seeping into your bones and warming you from the inside out. 

A nose nudges at the crook of your neck, moving upward before soft lips press against the spot right behind your ear. You chuckle softly, leaning back into the caress, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Not like you to shower in the morning,” you murmur, barely audible over the rush of the water. 

A low hum is your response. The arms wind tighter, and a large, calloused hand settles on your navel. His thumb brushes up and down in a languid, repetitive motion. You shiver slightly.

“I had an incentive,” Nanami replies, his voice a husky rumble, throat still thickened with the remnants of sleep. He presses another kiss against your skin, his lips lingering this time. “You don’t mind?” 

You chuckle again, shaking your head as you settle it back against him, feeling the hard ridge of his collarbone against your skull. “Of course not.” 

Even after all this time together, seeing each other at your most vulnerable, Nanami was always aware and respectful of boundaries, even unspoken.

A contented silence settles in the bathroom, broken only by the spray of the showerhead. Morning sunlight spills through the frosted, dewy glass, reflecting off the mirror that paints a portrait of a couple, very much in love. Nanami’s thumb continues its gentle caress, a soft swipe up and down that becomes as familiar to you as your own heartbeat. His other hand rests against your ribs, just underneath your breast, but makes no move to touch or cup it just yet. 

A sleepy comfortability takes over you. Between the heavy warmth of the water and steam, as well as the steady thrum of Nanami’s heartbeat behind you, you find yourself leaning more and more into his form. He supports you easily, hands tightening just slightly to bear more of your weight. You start to distinctly remember why you rushed through showers in the morning—sleep still clinging to your mind like condensation on glass. 

It was a weekend, though. Neither you nor Nanami had any work or missions, no business or meetings. There was no world to save. Not today. 

“I could fall asleep like this,” you mumble, eyes still shut. 

Another feathery kiss, against your shoulder this time. “Do you want to go back to bed?” 

Although the idea of crawling back into still-warm sheets is appealing, you shake your head. This was enough. More than enough. 

You wind a hand down your body, settling it above Nanami’s own where it rests against you. You don’t hesitate to intertwine your fingers with his, and he doesn’t hesitate to hold them, giving them a small squeeze. 

With his one thumb now restricted, his other thumb takes over its brother's repetitive motion, occasionally brushing against the underside of your breast. Although initially accidental and easily forgotten, the movement gradually becomes more intentional. Daring. One particular sweep brushes over the swell of your breast. The next is even higher, just across your nipple.

An involuntary breath leaves you as the slight sensation causes familiar goosebumps to erupt across your skin. Your lips part slightly as you arch into the touch, the curve of your back pushing your hips back into— 

Ah.

A soft puff of breath leaves Nanami’s lips as your ass brushes against his cock, the hard length rubbing up against the cleft. His grip tightens on your hand, and you can feel his responding shudder. He quickly moves his hips back again, keeping his chest pressed up against you instead.

You smile to yourself, a touch wryly. Nanami wasn’t easily worked up, and certainly not in tender moments like this. You can’t help but wonder if this is the product of just the proximity, or something more. 

“I’m flattered that my sleepy morning self has this effect on you,” you drawl, a layer of amusement in your tone that you can’t quite shed. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, as if he has anything at all to apologise about. “I…” 

You feel his lips open against the skin of your neck, but he shuts them again. That makes you raise an eyebrow, your eyes blinking open to squint against the steamy bathroom. You try to angle your head to get a look at him, but the angle is difficult. When you try to turn your body to face him properly, however, his arms tighten around your waist, preventing you from doing so. 

It wasn’t like Nanami to be this… reserved. Not this far into your relationship. 

“Nanami?” 

Another gush of air flutters against your wet shoulder, something close to a sigh of resignation. “I dreamt about you,” he finally says, the words imprinted against your skin. “This morning.” 

Ah. 

A wet dream? Hardly something to be self-conscious about, you think. Especially when you were clearly the star of said dream. Nanami was always oddly prudish around certain things, however. Traditional, in some senses.

“Oh? How rude, we hardly know each other.” 

You can almost feel the responding eye-roll in response to your teasing humour. He gives a small squeeze to your intertwined fingers, as if telling you to take this seriously—though you refused to. A dream was a dream, and you were less concerned with the fact he had one and more concerned with what exactly was in it. 

“I’m a thirty-year-old man,” he grumbles. 

“Who’s still human,” you remind him. You push your hips back again, pleased to feel Nanami’s cock still very much hard, nearly pulsing, against the swell of your ass. He exhales a slow, steadying breath, but makes no move to pull his hips away again. “Tell me about it.” 

Another small sigh against your shoulder. You can practically feel his hesitation, unwilling to unveil the explicit nature of his dream just yet. 

You push yourself back against him again, a slight movement of your hips that has his cock pressing a little deeper against your skin. You buy yourself a small grunt in response, a choked sound that hitches in the back of his throat.

“Come on,” you chuckle, the sound a little throaty now. Sensing he needed a little more push, you unlink your hand from his to lay atop his other one, guiding it up to cup your breast properly. “Did I at least look good?” 

“Mm.” He gives your breast a small squeeze; a well-practised, perfect amount of pressure that always makes your thighs clench together. “So beautiful… as always.”

“Where were we?” 

Another hesitation, though shorter this time. He occupies the time by kneading your breast slowly, massaging it almost in his calloused palm. “On a beach. It was just us. White sand, palm trees, lapping waves… the sun was so warm.” 

You smile at the picture he paints in your head. “I’m sure we made it feel warmer.” 

You feel a shuddering breath against the back of your neck before he hums in agreement. You can only imagine that whatever memory of his dream is replaying in his mind is a good one, because he presses his cock against you more firmly. 

“Yes,” he mutters against your nape, before pressing a hungry, hot, open-mouthed kiss against the skin there. “You have no idea what you do to me.” 

By the way he’s groping at your breasts and ever-so-subtly grinding his hips against your ass, you would say you have a general idea. You want to press him for more details on his dream. What did you do to rile him up so? What did he do in the dream to make him pursue you to the shower when he awoke? 

All those thoughts and questions are disappearing from your mind, however, as the hand against your navel is drifting down between your thighs. Your lips part in a soft exhale as he cups your heat, his middle finger running down your slit almost teasingly, smearing the dripping shower water along with your own arousal. 

Another shuddering breath fans against your neck as he dips his middle finger between your folds. “You were so wet, so tight around me,” he whispers, his words almost swallowed up by the sound of the shower and your own heartbeat in your ears. “It was maddening. I… I couldn’t stop.” 

He circles your clit once, causing your hips to twitch and a soft moan to leave your lips, before he dips his finger down, pressing it against your entrance before sinking inside. You both seem to moan simultaneously as your inner walls clench tight around his thick digit.

“You were so…” He swallows thickly around another groan. “…loud. Insatiable.” 

In, out, in, out. He thrusts slowly, languidly, as if savouring every contraction, every syrupy moan that left your plush lips. Slick gathers quickly, and before long the sound of his thrusting finger becomes wetter and wetter. A second finger soon joins the first, his palm pressing against your clit as his ministrations quicken, your thighs shaking in response. The steam of the shower, the heat of Nanami at your back, the fog of lust in your mind and the increasing pulse between your legs—it makes your head swim, your mind hazy and uncoordinated. 

He curses as you grip his fingers particularly tight, as if imagining the sensation around his cock instead. You feel a pressure against your nape, and you dully realise it's his forehead, hot and wet with sweat and water. “Please,” he murmurs, his low voice hot and wanting. “Can I have you? Here?” 

Even after all this time, he still asked—still cared enough to ask—even though your answer was always the same. 

“God, yes,” you’re replying before he’s barely finished his question, every thought in your mind evaporating into the same steam swirling around you. 

You’re leaning forward, arching your back before he even makes any move to position you, both of your palms resting against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. Shower water sprays across your shoulders and the back of Nanami’s neck as his head follows your descent, forehead now planted between your shoulder blades. His fingers don’t stop their ministrations, but his other hand does disappear from your breast. A moment later, you gasp as you feel his fingers slip from you—replaced instead by a familiar pressure. 

His cock, thick and heavy, presses against you, hesitating for only a moment before pressing forward slowly. The thicker head slips past the tight ring of muscle with a sharp stretch, your lips falling open in response as a ragged moan leaves you. No matter how many times you had done this, Nanami’s cock was always a stretch, making each time seem like the first all over again. 

“God,” he gasps, his jaw falling open against your shoulder blade. “P-Perfect… so perfect.” You can feel him practically shaking with restraint as he pushes forward slowly, oh-so-fucking-slowly, until his hips finally meet your rear. As always, he gives you a moment to adjust, no matter how wound up or turned on he is—his one hand bracing against the wall near your own, the other winding back around your waist to circle your clit with slow, languid movements. 

You’re shaking too, you realise, hands slipping on the wet shower wall. You clench tight around his cock despite his attempts to relax you, too wound up and dizzy with arousal to care about the discomfort. Bucking your hips back, you try to press him impossibly deeper, as if you weren’t already full of him. 

He groans at the attempt though, the slight friction you grant him causing his fingers to stutter against your bud. Quickly getting the hint, he pulls back just a few inches before sinking back into you again, just as slowly as before. You both moan again at the delicious drag, before he starts to set a slow, steady rhythm—pulling out a little deeper every time until the tip threatens to slip from you with each thrust. 

You had expected something quick, frantic perhaps. The dream he had seen had clearly riled him up. But Nanami was still Nanami—slow and methodical, passionate and loving. 

Long, hot puffs of breath fan against your neck, matching the slow, sensual rhythm of his hips against you. You can feel his eyebrows knitted against your back, and in your mind's eye, you can already picture his expression perfectly. Flushed skin on his high cheekbones, the sweat on his brow, the slight scrunch of his eyes and parted lips. 

Every thrust pushes deep, his slow pace ensuring that you felt every inch of each push until he bottomed out, only to repeat the whole cycle once more. His hand on the wall slips, bumps against your own, and with trembling fingers he places it on top of yours, pinning it against the wall before intertwining your fingers tightly. 

“I love you,” he groans, his voice thick and gravelly. “I love you, ngh—“ He pushes deep again, stills for a moment as he grinds against you, before withdrawing again. “I love you so much.” 

You meet his every thrust, pushing your hips back until your skin meets his with a satisfying ‘pap’. The slow, deep pace is driving you insane, deliciously perfect and yet wildly maddening. You can feel the heat pool in your gut with every stroke, the warmth blooming hotter and hotter like the slow lap of waves, threatening to consume you. 

You’re greedy, you know. You need more.

You push your hips back in a quicker rhythm and Nanami’s hips stutter in response, his rhythm thrown off. He hisses, clenched teeth brushing against your nape. The fingers on your clit disappear, a strong hand grasping the plush flesh around your hip instead, steadying you. You expect him to stop you or slow your rhythm down, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stops thrusting altogether, allowing you complete control of the pace as you fuck yourself on him. 

He’d always allow you to take what you wanted from him. 

“Ah, y-yes, yes—“ you pant, forehead pushing forward to rest against the cool tile. You tilt your hips, angling Nanami’s cock to prod against the exact spot you need him. He curses in response to the harsh clench of your walls around him, his hips bucking forward involuntarily. “Kento—“ 

“Tell me what you, ngh, need,” he grits out, now matching your rhythm until the clap of your flesh starts to match the pour of the water. The hand on your hip slides up, caressing your waist in loving strokes before winding around, palming at your breast again. “A-are you close?” 

“Yes!” You start to push back harder, more frantically. Nanami instantly matches it, thrust for thrust, the head of his cock dragging against your sensitive point with almost pin-point accuracy. He pinches, tweaking your nipple in a way that makes your thighs shake. “Harder, I need it—“ 

You don’t even have to say another word before both of Nanami’s hands disappear, only to grip your hips tightly. You feel the warm of his chest leave your back as he straightens, replaced by the spray of the shower water instead. A moment later, his pace becomes almost punishing, the hard lines of his Adonis belt hitting against the flesh of your rear with a smack. 

You practically reel, something guttural and primal leaving your lips as you arch forward, bracing fully against the tiled wall in front of you. You can feel your flesh ripple, your breasts jolting with the wet smack of flesh against flesh. Even now, he’s careful never to push harder than you need it, but experience and attention allows him to get it perfect. He was always perfect. 

A chorus of ‘just like that’ and ‘yes’ leaves you in a symphony, your eyes rolling and eyelids fluttering simultaneously. It doesn’t take long until you're practically clamping down on his cock like a vice, your lower stomach clenching impossibly tight as ragged, fractured moans tear from your lips. Distantly, you wonder if you’re as loud as you were in his dream—or maybe louder. 

Nanami doesn’t fair any better, harsh grunts and choked groans leaving in him in rhythm with the clap of his hips. With each thrust, it seems his body hunches further inward until he’s practically curled over you, his grip tightening on your hips, thumbs digging into your skin. Deep moans smother against your shoulder as lathers you with kisses, half-formed praises coating your skin with his love. 

“I’m close, my l-lo-“ He chokes up, curses, hips stuttering as he tries to maintain the hard pace. He starts pulling your hips back to meet his, cock plunging seemingly deeper and deeper—  

Stars are exploding behind your eyes a second later, your abdomen clenching and rolling as you cum hard around him. You call out his name, you think, jaw falling slack as Nanami continues to thrust and thrust you through your climax, pushing you toward oversensitivity and fast. You’re clenching down on him tighter and tighter, unable to stop as you babble nonsensically, delirious and drunk on steam and release. 

“S-Shit,” he hisses, his voice barely there, just breathless and torn. “So b-beautiful, so perfect, I love you, I love—“ 

A second later, Nanami’s following you over the edge; a deep, broken moan leaving him as his cock twitches and throbs, spilling into you. He continues to move, his hips erratic and rhythm broken, just bucking disjointedly as his voice cracks and splinters.

You’re trembling, he’s trembling, both of you panting and moaning weakly as Nanami continues to grind against you, albeit slowly. You rest your forehead against the cool tile in front of you for a moment, your hot breath making the ceramic fog up—before Nanami’s arms wind around your waist, pulling you back up and against his chest. 

Your thighs are shaking, body nearly limp in his arms, but he supports you once more easily. Soft kisses and brushes of his nose rain down against the crook of your neck as his hand brushes up and down your stomach, his cock still throbbing weakly inside your warm grip. You let your head loll back against him, a tired, contented smile on your lips. 

You reach a hand up and behind you, fingers fumbling for a moment before his head leans into them. You card your fingers through the short, wet strands behind his ear, a small sigh fluttering against your ear in response.

“We should shower together more often,” you murmur, which earns you a small, slightly breathless chuckle, the rumble of his chest vibrating against your back. 

Eyelashes flutter against your neck as he closes his eyes. “We should.”

“In the evening though,” you add. Between the hot water and well, everything else, your body was sated but drained. “I really could fall asleep now.” 

The idea of stepping out of the warmth of the shower and Nanami’s embrace only to get dressed and continue with whatever you had planned for the day wasn’t an appealing one. As if sensing this, his arms hold you tighter, unwilling to break the moment, or your intimate connection, just yet. 

“Then do,” he murmurs against your ear, before pressing a soft kiss to the shell. “I’ll take you back to bed.” 

And you know he would. You know that if you were to fall limp in his arms right now, he’d carry you; dry you off and settle you amongst the sheets again as if you’d never left them. It wouldn’t even be a question. 

You stay awake though, body still thrumming with remnants of your connection and your muscles at ease. Tilting your head slightly, capturing a glimpse of his profile, you raise an eyebrow.

“…so?” 

Nanami meets your gaze, raising an eyebrow in turn. “So?” 

“Was it as good as your dream?” 

He closes his eyes with a tormented sigh, burying his nose back into your skin. “…it always is.” 

You let out a laugh of disbelief, angling your head to try and face him better despite him seemingly burying his face in your skin deeper, unwilling to meet his gaze. “Always?! How many dreams have you had about me like this?”

You feel a small nip at your neck, just a brush of teeth really, but that seems to tell you that these ‘dreams’ of his were far more a regularity than the stoic sorcerer was willing to let on.  

masterlist.

[sprout-fics]

Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 5

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 5.6k Rating: PG-13 Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Sexual tension, Slow burn, Domesticity, Literal sleeping together, Bed sharing, Angst/Comfort, Fluff Warnings: Sexual harassment by unnamed characters

In the days that follow, you begin to feel your heart unfurl.

You wake before König most mornings, pad on bare feet to the hearth with its still glowing embers and allow fire to blossom under your hands. The infant flames ward off the growing chill of dawn, light against the planes of your face until they crackle against the logs. It's the sound of splintering wood and bubbling steam from the kettle that often wakes König, who refuses to draw from bed. Instead, he tucks himself closer into the covers, growls at the thought of wakefulness and dozes a little longer. You find it oddly endearing, and it makes sense, given his seemingly nocturnal nature and with the both of you spending long hours into the night talking about all manner of things.

"I've always loved the stars." He tells you one late evening, while you perch in the loft with him, a shawl draped over your shoulders and legs dangling over the edge. He gazes up at the beams of the cabin as if he can see the sky beyond. "I learned when I was a boy to navigate by the sky. I know the winter constellations- see?" He leans over to you, shoulders bumping and raising a hand to trace invisible paths beyond the ceiling. "There's der Wasserman, the water bearer- and der Widder, the ram."

You smile, lean further into him as if you can somehow see the heavens beyond his gaze. He smells like ferns, of damp soil and pine. It floats through your thoughts, holds you cradled against his side until your eyes grow heavy to the sound of his voice.

When you wake the next morning, you find yourself in your bed, one of his blankets tucked around your shoulders, and the faint memory of being aloft in his arms.

The blanket smells like him.

König stays inside during the daytime lest he be seen by your neighbors. You venture out on most days, relishing the sunlight on his behalf. There's always work to be done in the village, and for you, who lives alone, that goes thrice fold. You hike up your skirt as you chop wood for the stove, dig through damp earth for mushrooms and roots to trade for meat, gather apples from the wild orchards, let bread dough rise above the hearth so the scent fills the cottage. Normally the things that feel mundane, perhaps even a hindrance, are now tinted with a soft sense of joy- knowing that once they are finished you return home to him and his company.

There's a tenderness in your heart that you fail to notice at first. It blooms like soft spring flowers, hides the gentle pale of its petals until sunlight washes over it. The air you breathe feels lighter, scented with rosemary hanging from the rafters, filling your lungs in a way that is wholly unfamiliar and yet so welcome. It feels much like the sound of his voice, the brief glancing touches he seems almost afraid to offer. When you meet his stare, the green of his eyes feels like a misty springtime meadow.

König is gentle with you in a way no one else has ever been. He's a touch shy, but in a way that's blessedly endearing. He calls you by soft names, Fraulein, Liebchen, and your favorite: Rotty- a play on your red cloak. He drapes it around you one morning, tying the ribbon with fumbling fingers as his eyes dart from yours to the lopsided bow. When you smile at the sound of his voice, his eyes alight with joy that bleeds into your soul. The companionship between you two comes as naturally as breathing, two lonely souls gently entwining themselves against the growing November frost to keep warm the slow filling of your hearts.

You can't deny the glances you steal when he isn't looking, watching the way he stretches so his just too-small shirt rides up the planes of his stomach or the reach of his muscular arms as he climbs the ladder to the loft. You thought his build was wiry at first, the way he was hunched in his cave, frightened and scared. Yet the more König shares your meals with you the more he fills out, adding bulk to the broadness of his shoulders and thighs.

"See something you like, fraulein?" He asks playfully when he catches you ogling him one evening as the fire glows warmly against his skin. You only return the humor in his voice with your grin.

"I like you." You reply and laugh when he splutters. Yet then he rubs the back of his neck and turns, and the moment is lost.

There's a strangeness between you two that falls in the silence. You lay awake in your bed at night, listening to him snore softly in the loft, and feel your face warm when you wonder what it would be like to fall asleep in his arms. You remember the way he relaxed into your embrace when you looped your arms around him from behind on the night he told you of his mother, wishing he would draw you closer into him in the same way you wanted him. You want to feel the warmth of him bleed into you, chase away the distant ache of your heart as he whispers your name in the darkness.

You...might want him.

Yet, you aren't sure if König wants you.

It goes beyond his shyness. There seems to be a hesitancy to König sometimes that you can't fully understand. Every time he draws closer, lets his voice grow a touch softer, and you think maybe he'll reach out and touch you, he withdraws. Almost as if he doesn't trust himself, as if he won't allow himself. There’s secrets in him that wind around his heart like brambles. You want to reach out in the space he's left absent, tell him to come closer. Yet König seems to know that he might prick your fingers, draw red from the pad of your thumb like the same curse that befell Aurora.

He seems haunted by something you can't see, something that makes him toss and turn on some nights, muttering in his sleep. Yet by the time you climb up to the loft to try to wake him, he's settled once more into stillness, and his nightmares remain a mystery. Come morning his eyes are full of warmth, and the affection in them is sometimes so profound you have to avert your gaze as your face warms under his stare.

You wish he would tell you the things he is hiding, hope that it fills the unknowable distance between you so you can indulge in the feeling of his embrace. Maybe if he tells you, he’ll allow himself to harbor affections for you in the same way you do for him. You wonder, sometimes, if you'll ever get to know the things concealed by the brambles of his heart. Maybe if you push too hard he'll leave you, and you'll be alone again.

You wish...he would stay.

-----

When you arrive at Laswell's, the mood is sour.

You enter into a quiet scene, one filled only by the hushed discussions around Laswell's table and the crackling hearth beside it. They seem not to notice you as you enter and close the door behind you. You eye your companions uneasily, instantly able to discern the low, roiling tone of frustration and restlessness that permeates the cottage.

Price is leaning back in his chair at the table, arms crossed, brow furrowed, having not even lit his pipe- a tell-tale sign of uneasiness. Beside him, Soap leans into his hands with a similar expression, listening to whatever hushed words Laswell is saying to them. Gaz casts them anxious looks from where he crouches near the hearth, tending the flames. You feel the atmosphere press heavily down on your shoulders, stale the air in your lungs as you perch nervously by the heavy oak door.

It's Ghost who notices you, dark eyes flicking up to yours with a quiet greeting. It seems to startle the rest of them from their reverie, eyes turning towards you as you approach with a tender, anxious smile.

"Red." Laswell breathes, and the flintiness fades from her stare into something more familiar. "Please, come sit."

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should interrupt what seems to be a serious discussion. Yet there seems to be a relief in the expressions of your friends, so you settle on the chair Laswell has kicked out with her foot for you, depositing a basket of goods atop the table.

"What's all this?" Soap asks, quick to rifle through the contents of the basket, pulling aside the cloth atop it with eager fingers.

"Some bread, jam, dried fruit, a little bit of lamb." You supply, grinning as Soap's eyes light up happily. The announcement seems to dispel the growing air of anxiousness in the cabin with a sigh of gratitude. "I figured it's a lot to feed four hungry witchers. I'd rather you not eat Kate out of house and home."

Gaz strides over as well, plucking a glass jar of jam from Soap's hands and examining it with a broad grin. He turns it over in his hands a few times before his gaze alights upon you, eyes relieved and appreciative.

"I haven't had blackberry jam in ages." He conveys softly, a touch tender but more than pleased. "Usually we're eating on the run- rabbits, squirrels, boar if we're lucky."

"Snakes too." Soap tells you over a mouthful of bread, wasting no time in devouring some of the food. You think you might hear his stomach growl. "Ghost won' eat em. Can't blame him, they're a little gamey."

"I hate snakes." Ghost offers lowly with a mild sneer, though he too draws closer to the table, plucking a few dried apples and pocketing them for later.

"This was very sweet of you, Red." Price offers from where he sits, face relaxed from his previous scowl. His words are soft, reassuring, and seem to seep away the remnants of taut unrest from the room. You feel your shoulders relax, smiling in return at his friendly, beholden gaze.

"Did you walk here by yourself?" Laswell asks, and you turn to her to see her concerned gaze flicker across her gray eyes.

The unspokenness of the threat that continues to linger in the woods weighs heavy on her words. You needn't be reminded. The entire journey over here, despite the brightness of daylight dappling through the canopy above, was fraught with memories of a massive black shadow in the woods. Even now you can't shake the memory of glowing eyes at the periphery of a haloed lantern, gleaming in the darkness, watching.

"It's still bright out." You explain, shaking off the thought. "I'll be back before dark too. I promise."

Kate looks a little unconvinced, and though she opens her mouth to speak, she's interrupted by a grunt of disapproval from Soap as Gaz tries to wrestle a roll out of his hands. The two bicker for a moment before Laswell sighs, levies them with a stern look and gentle reminder of "Boys." that has both witchers instantly obey and duck their heads in apology.

"Let them eat, Kate." Price sighs, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. "They'll need their strength."

That seems to pass through the group like an electric current, summoning the bright flash of eyes and coiled muscles in response to Price's words. You blink at the return of this tense atmosphere, slide your eyes to Laswell's pinched expression. She catches your gaze, holds your stare for a long moment.

"The full moon is the night after tomorrow." Kate confesses quietly, and her hands reach between you to settle upon yours in your lap. You look from them to her face, your expression open with concern.

"But-" You manage, realization drawing across your thoughts. "You haven't found the wolf."

Somehow, it's Ghost's eyes you land upon in the room of averted gazes. The masked witcher refuses to look away for a few moments, and you think that if you peer past the mask you can see the tightness of his brow in frustration.

"There's been no sign of it." Gaz confesses quietly. "Not since that night."

That night, weeks ago now, the one where you had met them for the very first time. The one where you had allowed yourself a single look over your shoulder to see the mammoth, ragged shadow that seemed to blot out the light of the moon. It had gazed after you, your red cape fluttering behind you as Price rode off into the darkness, feeling the glowing stare of it chasing behind your thoughts.

"You injured it." You breathe, remembering Price at your door soon after. "Maybe...maybe you killed it?"

Price shakes his head, lips a thin line. "We would have found the body by now."

"T-then maybe you chased it off." You try, voice a little firmer now. "Maybe it got injured and retreated up to the mountains."

It's Soap who offers you a quiet, concerned gaze, having placed down his food. "Even if that were true, lass, it will come back. The thing needs blood, it needs to eat."

You feel an icy wave of dread wash over you, one that's not warmed by the crackling hearth at your back. Gaz nudges his friend a touch harshly, scowling.

"Don't scare her." Gaz warns quietly, and Soap levies a glancing frown at him.

"Not tryin’ tae scare her." He retorts, rubbing the spot on his arm. "She needs to know."

You swallow. Your throat feels dry.

"Know...what?" You venture quietly, and Soap turns to you once more, eyes softening as he takes in your frightened gaze. Yet it's Price who responds to your query.

"Your village." Price offers solemnly, and all eyes in the room draw to his hunched posture, his darkened gaze. "Many may die."

Devastating silence.

You stare at Price, your horror written clear across your face. The cabin suddenly feels too small, too thin, the perimeter of the woods pressing closer in on you. Suffocating. When you breathe, it isn't the familiar smell of dried herbs and bubbling stew. No, you swallow and taste the phantom scent of blood.

"W-what do you mean?" You manage, voice very small, wavering with fright.

Price stares at you grimly, and there's a faint concern to his stare that is shielded by the grave nature of his words.

"A wolf of this size may not stop at slaughtering livestock." He explains, voice low in prophetic warning. "We've seen what a monster like this can do. Even if you board your windows, lock your doors, paint the hinges with wolfsbane, it may not be enough to stop it."

A vision washes over you as you stare at the captain, eyes bright with fear. Your thoughts play the image of a massive, snarling beast destroying the walls and doors of houses, of snatching your neighbors from their homes and crushing them between its jaws as red seeps into the earth below a heavy, full moon. Screams slice through the air, and even with arrows lodged in the creature's back it only snarls, cuts through flesh with gigantic, glinting claws.

None will be safe.

"Red." Laswell presses forward, tone urgent. "Please. Come stay here. I know you don't want to leave your home, but it isn't safe. We can protect you. I don't-"

Laswell swallows, oddly emotional. Her gray eyes alight with a sudden insistency that plucks at your ribs. "I can't lose another friend." She whispers, feather light like graveyard mist. "Please."

Your face falls, mouth snapping shut as you regard your friend.

Gently, the soft smell of ferns, of earth and musk washes across your senses, draws you back through the winding forest paths and up the steps of your cottage. There, it's a familiar voice, gentle and pleased that greets you, that skims across your skin and leaves glowing captivation in its wake. His soft words wind around your thoughts, draw you closer to him, into the sensation of your arms wrapped around him while he whispers a question to the starlit sky, and to you.

“Would you ever leave?”

“…Yes.”

You can't leave him.

It's not that König needs you, you realize, but that you need him.

The realization thunders inside your chest hard enough to make you jolt, blink until your eyes focus once more on the woman in front of you. Kate's face is ashen with concern, and you swallow under the intensity of her stare, hands trembling.

Maybe, you think, maybe you can find a way to protect him, to keep you both safe, to bring him to your new friends without the promise of his destruction. If you can do that, if you can keep him until dawn rises on the third day-

"Just one more day." You whisper, even as the waxing moon inches closer towards fullness with every heartbeat.

"Just one more day."

-------

Your words linger in the back of your mind as you meander in the direction of the village. It's not dark, not yet, but the sunlight is fading beyond the trees, hiding behind the hills. The dimness nestled in the shadow of the valley slowly falls as a curtain over the forest and the creatures within it.

Price had once more offered you an escort back to the village, but you'd gently refused him. You need the time alone to think, and between the crowdedness of Kate's cottage and your sheltered guest back at your own, the woods offered a welcome respite from the tumult of your thoughts.

The threat of the wolf, of the monster you saw that night murmurs inside your chest with a heavy, consuming dread. Your dreams continue to be plagued by the beast, offering visions of your red cape snagged in brambles as you race through the darkened, misty woods. The wolf chases you, the earth thundering under your feet as you flee. When you stumble, fall, the creature halts to raise his fanged muzzle to the heavy yellow moon, howling a cursed abraxas before his glinting eyes fall upon you once more.

It's been several weeks now since that night, but the fear the monster presents has yet to fade. Now, in the imminent promise of the carnage to come, you huddle into yourself, look to the trees and wonder if these woods will be the same as they once were once all is over.

You're terrified, of course. For yourself, yes, but for your friends, fit to fight as they are. Soap's story of his young, brawny squad mates falling one by one to a werewolf's claws ripples across the vision of all of them, and you try not to imagine them befalling the same fate. The image of your tiny, unassuming village devastated by the wrath of a singular behemoth feels less like a nightmare and more like an imminent prophecy.

As you look down the streets just as you meet the edge of town, you try not to imagine them streaked with blood and ash, houses torn asunder and the mangled corpses of your neighbors strewn across the lanes. You feel powerless to stop it, knowing the fate that awaits you all, but unable to protect anyone. Not even yourself.

Not even him.

Your house glows with warm, welcoming lantern light in the distance, smoke curling from the chimney with the gentle whisper of birch across your senses. You know the sound of the voice that will greet you, know the soft skim of his fingers and the unblinking interest in his eyes he never speaks. You know you'll both talk long into the evening as you always do, laugh over steaming mugs of cider until your eyes droop heavy and he offers a ginger murmur of "Sleep, Rotty."

You want these evenings to go on forever, you think. Your home is no longer the hollow, empty thing it once was. It feels warm, full, embraced in a tender touch that soothes the lonely fringes of your soul. The presence of him feels so much like the pine scented cradle of the woods around you, something that holds you safe, ensconced in protection. It whispers words to you that you can't understand, but you know in your heart all the same.

Home.

A home about to be ravaged, destroyed, and perhaps him with it.

He asked you once before in a desperate plea not to tell the witchers of his presence, too afraid they might see a leper like him as something not human- a threat. You've worked hard to earn his trust, relish in the gift of it bestowed in chuckled laughter and fleeting touches. To betray it, to tell Laswell that as much she wants to protect you, you need to protect someone too, to reveal him to the people who may very well want to hurt him-

You pause just beyond the stone fence of your yard, look up at the small slope leading to your front door, and once more feel your chest ache with terrible indecision.

You can protect him, you think in a silent, daring hope. You can protect him just a little longer from them.

As your hand lands on the wooden gate to your garden there's a voice that calls out behind you, and you freeze.

You can't make out the words, slurred and unintelligible as they are, but it's the tone that makes you pause, your startled expression peeking from under your red hood.

A man stumbles his way towards you. You recognize him. He's one of the hunters' sons, a lanky, young fellow with large, boyish ears and scruffy dark hair. He's smiled at you before, but the intentions behind his eyes had seemed anything but gentle. The night you, Soap, and Gaz rode through the town square you think you might have seen him, silent as the accusation of your impurity rang hollow against your curled form.

He's holding something in his hand, and you shy away from him as he approaches, untrusting of the staggered sway of his feet and sinister sprawl of his lips. Your stomach roils with acute awareness, skin suddenly cold beyond the chill of sunset.

"Guten Abend." He greets casually, slurring his words. He leans on the corner post of your fence as you try and subtly shift towards your front door, senses awash with danger. "You looked so lonely walking home, fraulein. May I keep you company?"

"No." You respond quickly, voice flat. You scowl at him, trying to clearly display your steadfast disinterest, but the waver of your voice fails to conceal your fright. He seizes on it, straightens and takes a step towards you. It only makes you take a noticeable step back. "Please leave."

The hunter’s son frowns at that, pauses to raise the bottle in his hand to his lips. The wine inside runs a red rivulet down his chin. Yet the ire in his expression is gone in a moment, replaced once more by his ill-intentioned grin.

"It's almost the full moon." He croons, straightening and running one hand over the fence posts as he saunters towards you. You slip inside the gate as he does, chastising yourself for never fixing the latch. Your frowning disposition has taken on a skittish anxiety now as he tries to close the distance, instincts blaring with alarm as he continues. “It's dangerous to be here alone, by yourself."

I'm not. You almost say, jaw snapping shut before you can reveal the presence of König inside.

"I can protect you." He goes on, resting a heavy hand on your gate you'd closed behind you, and your skin prickles at the brazen encroachment on your territory, hands shaking at your sides. "I can keep you safe from the wolf."

"I don't need your help." You bite back, hackles rising now at the threat this man poses to you. Though you tremble where you stand you still plant your feet, raise your voice in an effort to ward him away from you and your home. "You need to leave."

The ire returns in the form of a sneer, and before you can stop him the man swings the gate wide and makes towards you with a growl. You skid on your feet for a moment before racing up the hill to your door, making it inside moments before his fist pounds on the wood. When he tries for the handle you’re quick to latch it, preventing him from entering. It does nothing to calm his temper, and he shoves at the door with your back pressed to it.

"You think you're better than us!" He yells abruptly from beyond the threshold, and you tremble as you desperately press yourself to the door, feeling it shake under his blows. "You're nothing more than a common whore! You and that witch have seduced those men, we can tell!"

Witch.

The accusation pulses through you like an axe to wood, bludgeoning your fragile nerves and making your hands rise to your mouth to contain a shuddering cry of despair. It’s a curse, a jinx meant only for ruin. Once you’ve been accused to the village of such a thing, no amount of protest could ever prove your innocence. Laswell, even with her gray-eyed wisdom, wouldn’t be able to escape.

Neither would you.

He’s cursed you both.

"I bet you're a witch too! Just like her!” He bellows, kicking the base of the door so hard you squeak a shrill, high sound choked in your throat. “You probably brought the wolf here yourselves to kill us all!!"

You can barely hold yourself upright, terrified beyond measure as the door trembles. The earth rolls underneath your feet, shuddering along with your form. Fear, dread, realization bubbles as a deadly potion inside your veins, making your whole body tremble and sway unsteadily. The drum of your heartbeat is fit to burst, the thrum in your ears thunderous, nearly blocking out the man’s voice.

“Do you hear me?! You’ll be the death of us all!!”

A shadow looms over you, falling across your figure and blotting out the warm haze of lantern light. You whimper on instinct, mind discerning just another threat as the body above you leans to brace his wide palms on the door. He leans to keep it from shaking at your back, green eyes watching you shake and shiver, hands pressed to your mouth to silence your cries.

"Don't listen." König tells you, loud enough for only you to hear. His voice is gentle, a startling juxtaposition to the man on the other side of your door. You cling to it desperately, trying to find an anchor amidst the fear and confusion of this sudden assault even as the man yells and pounds at the door. König remains silent, still, pressing his weight against it to try and keep it from trembling. His eyes look down at you even as tears threaten your own, feeling so much like a little girl lost in the woods with no way to escape.

At last, your accuser grows tired, hurls a few remaining curses at you before you hear him stumble down your garden and back towards the main road. You listen to him leave, take several long minutes to be entirely sure of his absence before finally unleashing a trembling, shaking breath of relief.

König waits a long moment before he removes his palms braced above you, no longer crowding you with his massive frame. Yet he doesn’t move away from you just yet, lingers before you even as you breathe into your palms, watery gaze cast to the floor. It’s only once his hand catches your chin, tilts you up to his masked gaze that he speaks.

“Rotty.” He whispers, that beloved nickname he’s bestowed upon you, now spoken with such tender hushed concern. “Are you alright?”

Your lip trembles as you look up at him, face warm with mortification, fear, and anger all rolled into one. Your eyes threaten tears, and through them you can see the soft, worried light of his gaze onto you. He holds you as if you’re something fragile, threatening to break apart should he dare touch you. Yet the warmth of him is undeniable, a flickering hearth that draws you closer. You desperately want to bask like springtime flowers under the dappled sunlight of his stare.

Like home. Your mind offers again, unbidden, and the thought is enough to finally make the tears overspill. A sob cracks your throat, the desperation of loneliness bubbling up in a cry before you can stop it, sending you hurtling into his chest.

You fall into him, arms stretching to wrap as far around the trunk of his form as they’ll go. König jolts at the unexpected touch, coiling in surprise. His hands flutter uncertainly over you, as if he’s not entirely sure where to put them. You think perhaps he’ll pull away, will gently pry himself from you with a hushed apology. He’s constantly like that, allowing himself to dance closer to your flickering flame, only to pull away once more into the shadows. So, your arms fasten around him, fists gripping at the fabric of his shirt in a silent bid to keep him there just a little longer.

Slowly, he eases, allows himself to unwind with a barely audible exhale. His hands descend to your shoulders, soothe downwards to your back, pressing you closer into him as you shudder. You drink in the scent of him, moss and rosemary that floats down from the rafters, of damp soil that coats your fingertips in a beloved embrace. There’s a part of you in this moment that thinks perhaps you’ve known him all your life, have been wandering these woods in search of him without knowing it ever since you were a child- lost and lonely…

…and now found.

“It’s alright, Schatz.” He murmurs in a hushed reassurance, buoying you against him as you desperately try to contain your sobs. His hands grip at you as if he’s trying to memorize the press of your figure against his, as if it will be the last time he will ever hold you. It summons a fresh bout of tears to your eyes, throat thick with a gasping sob as you nestle further into his chest.

“They can’t hurt you.” He goes on, and his voice takes on a dangerous intonation, the semblance of growl reverberating against your wet cheek. You feel his nails dig into your shoulder for the briefest of moments, as if suddenly sharpened by his anger, only to relax less than a heartbeat later. The meaning of his words is left unsaid but echoes in the scarce space between you all the same.

“I won’t let them.”

He allows you several long minutes of your shoulders trembling under his palms before he gently slides his arms around you, bending to cradle an arm beneath your legs. He lifts you to him, and you go without protest, looping your arms around his shoulders and tucking your chin under his jaw. He’s gentle as he moves, careful of where he steps and oddly different from his typical clumsy nature. After a few moments he slowly descends, releasing you so you gingerly slide into your bed.

Yet when he tries to carefully remove your arms around his shoulders you make a whimpering sound of protest, webbing your fingers together in an unbreakable hold.

“Please.” You whisper, throat hoarse from crying, afraid he’ll refuse you. “Stay.”

König pauses, until he releases his inhibitions with a soft exhale. “Of course, Rotty.” He murmurs, and moves to arrange himself beside you in bed, hauling you back into his embrace and curling around you protectively.

The last of your sobs abate, but the fear and worry there remains behind. You cling to König as if that will keep him by your side, protecting you from the curse about to befall your beloved valley in the shadow of the monster. You wind yourself around him like ivy, desperately trying to never part from him, keep him nestled in the hollow of your heart as long as you’re allowed. His deep, even breaths whisper across your skin, feeling like the barest whisper of a breeze through aspen trees.

“I’ll keep you safe.” He vows in a sacred whisper to you, an oath you shut your eyes against, wanting it desperately to be true. His arms close around with a sudden ferocity so fervent it steals the air from your chest. “I’ll protect you, Rotty. I won’t let them touch you.”

You stay silent, allowing the meaning of his words to wash over you. The secrets between you remain unspoken, and as desperately as you want to understand them you settle for this instead- the heat of him, the curl of his body around yours, the press of his hand in your hair, the arm settled heavy across your form that shelters you from the world. You try to memorize it, try to imbue it into the repository of your memories so that if you survive the imminent cataclysm you’ll continue to remember him.

One more day, you remind yourself with a silenced whisper. One more day here, with him. With us.

You send a prayer up to the heavens that after all of this is over you’ll both walk into the woods hand in hand, having found each other after a lifetime of wandering the fern lined paths.

The moon grows heavy in your thoughts.

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[bby-deerling]

two ghosts (sanji x reader nsfw)

sanji almost lets you slip between his fingers...

18+, mdni, nsfw wc: 1.9k masterlist

cw: afab!fem!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, almost breaking up, make up sex, emotional roller coaster, intimate and needy sex

tagging: @sanjisjuul @pileofmush @kibblz-n-bitz (thanks for sitting in call with me while i wrote this!)

The silence that hung in the sticky, evening air was palpable; it was heavy, hot, and suffocating.  Sanji wonders if you can feel the tension, the push and pull of the tether that binds you with every passing breath.  The orange sunset casts into the kitchen, illuminating the frosting smeared across your cheek as you pipe, deep in focus.  He’d taught you everything you needed to know about baking, icing, and proper presentation ages ago; quiet evenings like this used to be highlighted by your laughter, quick banter, and loving touches.  Now, despite the warmth of the light passing through the window, it was cold, empty, and sterile.

Things were different before, when everything was green and easy, and each day was filled with the thrill of limerence and the novelty of learning each other.  And then, suddenly, two years had passed, and the threads tying the two of you together became frayed, weathered and torn.  Once, the icing smeared across your cheek would have been teasingly lapped up by his tongue—now, it stays in place until your thumb absentmindedly swipes away the buttercream, a distant expression in your eyes.

Maybe if he was more pragmatic like Zoro, he would have thought things through before acting on his feelings.  Perhaps he would have waited before confessing him feelings until he was certain this would last, but he wasn’t—Sanji fell hard, loved hard, and the feeling of the fondness he has for you slipping through his fingers was hard for him.  It’s so difficult for him to stare at you from across the kitchen as you stare him down, your gaze hollow and hurt.

“Sanji, what’s wrong?” you ask, voice shaky and quivering; his heart drops when he realizes you’ve likely been working up the courage to voice your concerns to him for some time.  He had spent many sleepless nights agonizing over the way you seemingly hadn’t noticed his shift in behavior—the fact that you not only had, but were too afraid to confront him about it made the pain sting more.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, dear.” he lies.  The hoarseness in his voice gives him away, and your wide doe eyes are wounded from his audacity to swallow down his problems and push you away.

Your nails dig into your forearm, coating them in powdered sugar and nearly drawing blood.  “Please stop lying to me.  I can take it.” you whisper, defeated.  The tears pricking at the corners of your eyes are silent, but Sanji swears he can hear the wail of your cries echoing in the air.

Meeting your stare is too difficult, so he opts to stare at the floor as he chooses his next words with caution and care.  “Things aren’t like they used to be, angel.  Surely you’ve noticed it too.” he says, voice raspy and threatening to break.

Now you’re the one who cannot bear to meet his eyes, and you swallow hard as you try to regain control over your breathing—it’s difficult when Sanji is standing across the kitchen from you, turning the tension-heavy conversation into a western standoff.  “What did I do wrong, Sanji?  How did I drive you away?” you ask, holding back sobs as your body begins to shake.

“Nothing, dear.  Nothing at all.  We’re simply changed, and—” he starts, with more conviction that he imagined himself having, until you interrupt him.

“Are you giving up, Sanji?” you choke out.  It’s angry, and it’s frustrated, and it’s a plea for him to reconsider without resorting to dropping to your knees and begging—it’s a desperate attempt to stop him from finishing his sentence and going too far by speaking it into existence.

Sanji is frozen in place, his sky-blue eyes swirling as his resolve wavers.  Seeing the way he’s turning you into a broken mess stalls the motion in his chest and makes him look at you—truly look at you for the first time today.  Though your eyes are puffy and watery, your cheeks are rosy, and all the beautiful qualities of both your countenance and your aura radiate from you; all of a sudden it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

“No, love.” he whispers, voice as soft and light as a feather.  “I want to fix things, if you’ll have me.”

The pause before you speak is physically painful for Sanji to bear, though he knows he deserves it after twisting a knife through your chest only to pull it out and bandage you up right as you’re on the brink of death.

“Of course I’ll have you, Sanji.  I need you.” you reply, fatigued and exhausted from the push and pull.  He can’t hold back from comforting you any longer, and strides towards you; as he reaches you, he clasps his clammy, heated hands around yours, and presses frantic, heated kisses onto your forehead.

“I’m sorry, angel… I’m so sorry…” he whispers, silently vowing to change, to amend all the behaviors that had led him to this point.  He was honest when he said you had done nothing to push him away; he was simply unappreciative of everything in front of him, everything that had drawn you to him in an unrelenting frenzy when he first laid eyes on you.  He had taken you for granted, and was willing to spend the rest of his life atoning for it as long as he wouldn’t have to be deprived from the warmth of your gaze for the rest of his days.

You don’t tell him it’s okay, or I forgive you—it’s not, and you don’t—but you love him desperately and crave him more than your lungs need air; shaky fingers find the sides of his face, and gentle, soft thumbs brush away his tears as your lips press into his.  The kiss is sloppy, and passionate, and full of tongues as you frantically devour one another—as if this kiss would be the last, though you both vowed it wouldn’t be.

“I love you Sanji, please don’t let me go.” you plead as you break away, burying your face into his chest.  His cotton dress shirt becomes soaked with the dampness of your tears, and he holds you so close that three out of place vertebrae in your spine click back into place with a loud pop.

“Never.  I’ll never leave you, angel.” he whispers, moving his hand upward, tracing along your upper arms towards your jawline.  Though he intends to be soft with you, he can’t help the way he pins your back against the counter with both power and intent to prove his devotion—to physically bind himself to you and seal his promise to stay, to be better.  His hands are in your hair, his tongue is deep in your mouth, and his knee is slotted between your legs; you let out a weak whimper against his lips as your hips grind on his thigh for more friction, and the sound makes him dizzy, crazed, and hungry.

Sanji knows he should drop to his knees and pray; he should be worshipping at the altar of the goddess he’d blasphemed, but he lets a rare fit of selfishness consume him.  As he feels your arousal soak both your panties and the leg of his trousers, Sanji lets out a groan against your lips and feels the overwhelming urge to bury himself in the ecstasy of your walls.

“Up on the counter, dear.” he murmurs lowly, rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs into your hips.  Once you comply, he tilts your head to the side and smothers the column of your neck in heated love bites, licking over each indent of his teeth in your skin with his slick tongue.  His hand starts stroking your sensitive clit through your panties, but in an uncommon stroke of impatience, he slides them to the side and sinks two fingers into you; the gasp you let out is sharp, needy, and full of wanting as he scissors his fingers inside of you, spreading you wide open for him.

He pulls his digits from you and licks them clean, smirking at the way the sight makes you let out a breathy sigh.  Sanji swiftly removes his belt as you watch him spring his cock free; your body is steeped in anticipation as he gingerly pulls you in for a kiss with one hand, and slides his cock along your weeping slit with another.  It’s not long before his tip is just as soaked as you are, and his length slips into you with one quick motion.  Sensual moans fall from both your mouths, only to be muffled by your messy, sloppy liplock as he snaps his hips against yours.

He's frenzied, and insatiable, setting a harsher pace than you’re used to as he ruts into you.  Though it was his own folly, his own foolish behavior that almost led him to letting you go, he had almost lost you all the same, and felt a need to claim you, feel you, and knead the soft, plush skin of your thigh while he presses heated circles into your clit.  The tip of his head brushes against your sweet spot and causes your head to tip back in ecstasy; the line of drool that keeps your mouths connected spurs him to give you more, give you all of him, and give you everything.

You’re hot and twitching in his grasp, nearly undone as he rocks your hips in rhythm with his.  Pants and whines and blabbers of nonsense escape your lips as you get so close, but you needed help rising over the crest; Sanji’s deft fingers have memorized each favored and pleasurable motion and ministration better than your own could ever dream of doing, and he groans with satisfaction as a bit more pressure on your clit gets you to fall apart around him.

“Let go for me, angel… Fuck, you’re doing so well.” he praises as you let out a needy cry, your walls fluttering around him.  Your whimpers are heady as heat pools in your face, and the shockwaves racing throughout your body are tamped by the way his arm snakes around you, pulling you close as he buries his nose in your hair.  The way you clench around him so tightly makes him not far behind, seeing black as he rocks himself into your spent body with white hot need.

The moments after your climaxes subside are stretched for an eternity, as both of you mumble a barely audible I love you into each other’s skin.  His pulse felt reanimated under your touch, as if for the past few weeks he had been someone else, not quite living and not quite dead; his limbs entangle with yours, and his head buries into your shoulder, coating it with the remnants of his damp, salty tears.  Unable to hold back sobs of your own, your body shakes and heaves as droplets splatter against his collarbone.  Promises and apologies flow like like wine from swollen and blubbering lips, and when Sanji cups the side of your face, gingerly tilting your head up to look at him, he sees a light hidden behind the raw, aching pain in your eyes—a sign of life.

He had found your heartbeat, pounding under his touch, and he promises himself to never lose sight of it again.

[wedonthaveawhile]

Crimson and Clover

Garreth Weasley x MC (18+ only)

The Weasley's are known for their hospitality when it comes to those without a place to call home. In keeping with his family values, Garreth invites MC to the Weasley Christmas party, leading to some one-on-one time in the barn.

Tags: NSFW, aged-up characters, smut with plot, semi-public sex, dirty talk, oral sex, drunk sex, snowstorm, flirty Garreth, fluff, modern dating norms.

AO3 // Word count: 5.5k

The witch crunched over patches of frosty grass as she ascended the cracked cobblestone path to the Weasley cottage. She had a suspicion Garreth may have stretched the truth regarding the number of guests his family typically hosts over Christmas. His house was tiny. Undeniably adorable, with warm light spilling from frosted iron window frames, and crooked beams nestled between cobbled bricks, but it was definitely on the snug side.

A decent amount is what he’d told her when she’d interrogated him on the headcount. In hindsight, it was a very vague answer.

She probably should've kept her holiday plans—or lack thereof—to herself, considering his family's reputation for taking in students without a place to call home, but he’s so difficult to tune out when eagerly recounting one of his ridiculous anecdotes.

“—that’s when it dawned on me that I’d spiked the barrel with a tad too much firewhisky," Garreth had regaled, his hands waving dangerously close to the dormant devil snare. "Aunt Matilda is down for the count..."

His herbology partner stifled a laugh at the thought of their conjuration professor blackout drunk, only to be jolted into panic as Garreth's flailing hands nearly triggered a response from the roots.

"Garreth, will you focus!"

"Shit, my bad," he muttered, conjuring a beam of light to repel the advancing vines. “So anyway, we’re pretty sure Aunt Matilda’s dead at this point, but then she sits up and demands we bring her a man-”

A suppressed snort lodged in her throat and she promptly choked on it, triggering Garreth to erupt into a spirited cackle.

"Alright, my little seedlings," Professor Garlick began to softly chastise. "Let's ensure each leaf in this botanical cluster gets its chance to soak in the sunlight of knowledge without being overshadowed by the noise.”

They exchanged sheepish glances before refocusing their attention on their assignment.

“What about you, how was your Hallowe'en?” Garreth asked, brushing up the scattered soil on their table and sliding it into Duncan's bag.

“Peaceful. There were moments when it felt like I had the entire castle to myself, it was perfect." 

"Wait, you were here?" He swiped the back of his hand across his frown, smearing damp mud across his freckles. “Not typical for your watchdogs to let you roam alone, is it?” 

She nervously stole a glance across the table. Fortunately, both Sebastian and Ominis were too immersed in their own tasks to catch the jab. 

“Had I known, I would've persistently hounded you until you came to mine,” Garreth continued, “You could've witnessed drunk Professor Weasley in all her glory. Consider this an early Christmas invite."

"I appreciate it, but I actually love the calm during the holidays."

"Even over Christmas?" His brow furrowed as he struggled to grasp the idea of finding joy in silence. "What would you even do if you were on your own?"

She released a deep exhale as she contemplated her options, most scenarios revolving around the idea of staying in pyjamas all day. "I'd probably spend most of the day in bed—"

Garreth smirked, cleaning soil from his fingernails. "I could clear you a spot in mine."

She rolled her eyes, choosing to brush off his remark. He had a reputation for being a flirt but in the past few months he’d doubled down and the line was starting to blur between teasing and genuine intent.

Assuming the invitation was nothing more than a passing whim, she thought that would be the end of it, but she was mistaken. The occasional lingering glances they shared in passing—glances she typically tried to ignore—were now interpreted by him as an open invitation to approach. He relentlessly pestered her on whether she would be attending, shooting down each excuse with a stream of reasons why she should be there.

"Christmas is a family event, it would be strange for me to be there."

"Christmas at my house? Packed. Most of them? Total strangers."

"I'm dreadful at small talk. You'd have to stick to me like glue and handle all the mindless chatter."

"I'd do both of those things regardless."

She staved off his advances until early December when she ultimately surrendered just to put an end to his relentless pursuit. There were two weeks of holiday to enjoy, so giving him a few hours on Christmas Eve felt like a reasonable compromise. 

She released a shaky huff of breath, the warmth curling up and misting into the crisp air, before rapping her knuckles against the weathered door. After a series of muffled footsteps, it creaked open an inch and little fingers curled around the edge. A festive melody wafted through the hallway and spilt into the front garden. Through the narrow crack, a short, pudgy-face Garreth peered out.

"Hi there," she greeted with an awkward wave, her hand hesitating mid-air as the kid gawked up at her. "Is Garreth home?"

Following an uncooperative pause, a surge of relief rolled through her as the bug-eyed child was nudged aside, and the door swung open fully at the hands of her herbology partner.

There was an undeniable tightening in her chest at the sight of him in his party attire – a dark red shirt with sleeves pushed up to his elbows and a snug sweater vest layered over it. His unruly ginger hair had been somewhat tamed by a touch of pomade, but he’d mostly retained his customary wild waves. She attempted to toss out a snarky comment about his appearance, but an articulate sentence evaded her.

"Did you walk all the way from town?" he asked, leaning his head out the front door and tracking the trail of disturbed snow left by her footsteps. "We have a floo connection in our living room, you know. You could have come straight here."

"I felt awkward showing up in the middle of your house. I didn't want to get ambushed by a grandma."

Their eyes met and a brief silence hung between them until he blinked, "You returned an egg to a Hebridean black dragon on foot, but introducing yourself to Granny Meryl has you all nervous?"

"Mind if I come in?" she brushed off his question and crossed the uneven wooden threshold into the warmth of the hallway. He only half-turned to let her through, forcing her to brush up against him as she passed. It was going to be a long night.

Maybe he hadn't exaggerated the capacity of his house - the hallway alone was the size of the exterior. Bulky coats and scattered shoes adorned one side of the expansive hallway, while the aroma of festive spices wafted from the open living room door. Beyond it, she could hear a lively cluster of voices, more than she had expected. The concept of a bustling atmosphere rather than an intimate one managed to quell her nerves slightly.

"You're looking lovely," Garreth complimented as he took her coat and added it to the hectic mountain of others. When she turned to face him, he made no attempt to hide the fact that his eyes were wandering all over her, taking in the details of her emerald dress. "Did you put in all this effort for me?"

"No, it’s for Granny Meryl.”

Garreth groaned dramatically, tossing his head back as he led her into the living room. "Granny’s power of seduction knows no bounds.”

The interior of the cottage must have been expanded for the party, it felt like it went on forever as Garreth weaved them through the horde of inebriated partygoers. One of the perks of belonging to a pureblood family: The unrestricted use of transfiguration spells as the need arose.

They ducked past a drunk aunt merrily dancing on a table with a tie fastened around her forehead which took her way too long to realise was Professor Weasley. Securing a tankard of eggnog that leaned more towards pure brandy, they sank into one of the conjured sofas by the fireplace. She felt a flutter of unease as Garreth slouched a little too close on the worn-out crimson couch. The sagging base pressed their thighs together as it slanted inward, and his arm casually draped around the back of the sofa forced her to consciously resist leaning into him.

She indulged in a few gulps of her festive brew, hoping it would work its magic in loosening her up. She wrinkled her nose at its sharp bite. "Did you have a hand in creating this? It's pure alcohol."

"No, I wasn’t allowed," Garreth sighed, his eyes momentarily losing focus as if lost in a painful memory. "Not after last time."

She wasn't sure if she wanted to dig deeper into that story, but her attention was snagged when something bounced off her leg.

"How many of these are siblings?" she questioned, observing another hyperactive child nearly tripping over her ankles in a rapid dash. For every ginger kid zipping around, a blonde or brunette was in hot pursuit. It became increasingly clear that the Weasleys had not only gathered their immediate family but also an assortment of additional strays.

"Too many. I have two older and three younger, though don’t ask me to distinguish them from my cousins because I’ve already had a bit of brandy and they all have the same face.”

“Yeah, your face.”

“The Weasley genes are strong.”

She gestured toward the gawky child she had encountered when she arrived, "Surely that one's a brother? I initially thought it was you at the door, and you'd had some of that defective potion again—the age-reversing one."

Garreth burst into laughter. "I'd forgotten about that."

“Didn't Sharp have to carry you around on his hip the entire day until it wore off?" 

"What a day," he reminisced, wiping a tear from his eye. "And by the way, that's not the same kid who opened the door for you."

"What?"

"I might still have some of that potion," he dismissed her confusion, pondering aloud with a distant look in his eyes. His hand suddenly clamped down on her knee, and he turned to her with pure glee. "Let’s put it in the eggnog."

“Garreth, no.”

"You two are absolutely delightful," an elderly wizard chimed in, swaying slightly as he gestured between the two of them before delving into a nostalgic tangent about him and his wife in their prime.

She noticed she had gradually surrendered to the sinking sofa and was practically nestled in the crook of the arm Garreth had draped across the backrest, while his other hand maintained a firm grip on her knee.

"No, that's not..." she stammered, elbowing him away. "He's just my herbology partner." 

“Sorry, dear?”

"She said I’m her life partner—" Garreth’s quip morphed into a yelp as her elbow found its way into his ribs.

After downing just enough alcohol to straddle the fine line between tipsy and outrageously tired, the incessant chatter in the room began to verge on overwhelming. Politely removing herself from a longwinded conversation they’d found themselves in with a rambling cousin, she slipped out into the empty hallway for a brief respite.

The main lights had been extinguished, casting the corridor in a warm glow from the floating candles scattered across high beams. She leaned back against the wall, eyes closed and absorbed the relative quiet.

The living room door scuffed against a rug, unleashing a burst of joyous music before clicking shut again. She'd chalk it up to the eggnog later, but the flickering light cast a shadow over Garreth’s gentle features, and something in her gut pulled taut.

"Are you stalking me, Weasley?" She arched an eyebrow, resisting the urge to give him a once-over.

"You did mention the only way I'd get you to come is if I stuck to you like glue," he pointed out, leaning against the wall beside her.

"Oh, fuck, did I say that?" she sighed, too tired to argue, and couldn't anyway because he was completely right. "I’m not running off, I just needed a breather."

"I didn't think you were, I just wanted to check in." He pushed himself off the wall and started pacing down the hall, brimming with too much energy to stand still. "If you need a real timeout, we could go for a walk and get lost in the snow… It’s nice and quiet out there, where sounds don't carry."

"You could phrase it in a way that doesn't sound like you're plotting my death."

"I'm ready and willing to escape these prying eyes if you are?"

She gave a nod of approval at his somewhat improved wording, then scolded herself as her slightly tipsy gaze ran down the length of his body. Her relief at his lack of comment shifted to a sense of surrender as he summoned their coats, keenly aware he would torment her with it if she declined.

Over the past hour, the snow had whipped up into a flurry, the cottage obscured in a dreamy haze as their steps left imprints on the path that weaved through the fields.

Garreth wrapped them up in a warming charm, the flakes melting into droplets before reaching their skin and trickling down the edges of the shield. It took the edge off the biting December breeze, though it fell short of providing any substantial warmth.

"What's with the feeble charm?" she shivered, answering her own question as she edged a little closer to Garreth, attempting to pilfer some body heat.

"No clue what you’re on about, I’m perfectly warm.”

"You're a liar," she declared. She had wrapped her sleeves around her fingers in an attempt to ward off the chill but let a hand emerge to press the back of it to his flushed cheek. He wasn't lying, his skin burned against her frozen fingers.

"Feel free to turn up the heat," he smirked, leaning into her touch. She thought it was an invitation to enhance the charm, but the laughter that followed his comment hinted at something more suggestive.

"You're the host—it's on you to keep me comfortable," She dropped her hand, noticing she had subconsciously homed in on the warmth radiating from his neck. 

He intercepted it before it could fall limply at her side, slowly intertwining their fingers. He gave her every opportunity to pull away, but she found herself not wanting to. 

"I'm glad you agreed to come," his voice stumbled for just a split second, but she caught it. Nerves. 

It was endearing—a crack in his self-assured armour that stirred a feeling she’d experienced before but had always buried away—When his face lit up as she laughed at one of his one-liners. When he’d pickpocket the last red velvet cookie for her from his Quidditch meetings. When he'd spot her in a bustling crowd, bump his shoulder into hers and walk her to class. 

"I'm glad you asked me a hundred and twelve times," she teased, knocking her elbow against his arm. She stole a glance back across the field to catch sight of the cottage. Despite feeling that they hadn't covered much ground, all she could discern beyond five feet was a swirl of snowflakes and shadows.

“Are you nervous?”

She snickered at his question, having weathered harsher conditions in far less pleasant company. "No, I'm fine. I like a good snowstorm."

“Well, there’s a barn up ahead if you want to take some shelter and see if it calms down before we head back.”

"A barn? Do you have cows?" Her excitement bubbled up, pushing aside any suspicion of his ulterior motives. "Or horses?"

"No, we have stables up the hill, but we rent them out to folks in the village. This is just a hay barn. Although, there's a rather charming tourist attraction inside the barn that I'd love to show you."

"You're quite eager to get me inside that barn."

He responded with a sheepish smile. "I assure you, I'm being genuine—no funny business... Unless you initiate it."

The snowfall was thickening, and she admired how effortlessly he steered them through it. The barn didn't slowly come into view—she blinked, and suddenly the red wooden structure was looming over them.

The silence closed in as Garreth slammed the door shut and blocked out the insistent howling of the wind. The hush was only disturbed by the rustle of loose straw stirred by gusts slipping through the cracks in the beams. He flicked his wand towards the loft, and the spell ignited rows of candles lining the rafters. The soft glow revealed stacks of hay bales towering toward the loft, casting stretched shadows on the dusty wooden floor.

"Isn't that a fire hazard?"

"Muggle-borns," he scoffed, as though the mere suggestion was ludicrous.

“So, where’s this tourist attraction?”

He responded with a nod, directing her attention behind her. In the heart of the hay barn, a solitary rope swing dangled from a sturdy support beam.

"Oh, shit!" She dashed toward it, gathering momentum, and caught the swing midway. The worn fibres felt abrasive against her palms as she let it bear her weight. Hooking her foot into the loop, she tilted her head back, swinging with a jumbled grace. She was sure she hadn't consumed enough eggnog to be drunk, but as she propelled herself into the air, her brain began doing cartwheels. She inhaled the earthy aroma of aged wood to ground herself.

Vibrations travelled across the beam and down through the rope as Garreth clambered up a wooden ladder into the loft. There was a moment of rustling and a few mumbled incantations before a triumphant, "Aha!"

He stumbled out from behind a barrel, wrestling with the cork on an unopened bottle of firewhisky. "One thing about having a large family," he began, attempting to mask the strain in his voice, "is that you have to get creative with your hiding places."

"So, this is where you stash your treasure? Good to know."

"Nope," the word was punctuated by a pop as the cork shot out, chipping a battered beam in the process. "This is where my brother stashes his treasure."

"Oh, so you’re that kind of brother. That makes so much sense.”

“What kind?”

“A nosy little shit.”

He raised his wand in response, and the swing slowly began to pull back. She kept her cool until she reached the point parallel to the beam, at which she let out a shriek as her stomach lurched, and she plummeted. As the swing's momentum slowed, she came to a halt breathless and laughing.

"Stop hoarding the loot," she scolded as she emerged at the top of the ladder, finding him comfortably settled against a wooden beam swigging the stolen whisky. She swept aside a few strands of straw with her foot before settling down beside him.

"Come and claim it," he goaded, holding the bottle aloft and swinging it between two fingers.

"I thought you said no funny business."

"Unless you initiated it," he reminded her, "I'm just offering you the chance to kick things off."

On any other day, she would have suppressed the ache to clamber onto his lap, but the combination of a light buzz from the alcohol and him looking like that had left her defenceless. She didn't stand a chance. She intercepted the bottle as he raised it to his lips, taking it from his grasp and straddling his thighs. He seemed caught off-guard as if he hadn't expected things to go this far.

“You've got the talk down, but when it comes to walking the walk, you seem a little skittish," she teased, savouring the sharp burn of the liquid as it coursed down her throat.

His surprise vanished beneath a confident grin. "Skittish? I'm just savouring the moment." Though he sounded sure of himself, his eyes didn't quite meet hers as he reclaimed the bottle, taking a lingering sip.

Setting the glass down with a clink, he ran his hand up the length of her thigh. "I've got you all night, maybe I just want to take my time with you."

She attempted to mask her reaction to his expectations, but judging by the self-satisfied grin on his face, she didn't do a great job. "All night? This is news to me."

"Well, it's a blizzard," he remarked, tracing random patterns on the fabric of her dress. "I can't let you walk back to the village in this. I'm a gentleman."

"I thought your living room had a floo connection," she replied, feigning a mocking tone as she repeated his words back to him. 

“It’s one way.”

"Shut up," her laughter was stifled by a gust crashing against the barnyard doors. She jumped, suddenly aware anyone could walk in and catch him nestled between her legs.

"Don't look so frightened. Granny Meryl is much less likely to walk in on you screaming my name out here than in my bedroom."

She despised how much that stupid joke had turned her on, his words winding through her brain and choking out any thoughts that weren't focused on how close he was. Close enough to count each of his freckles, and how she wanted to kiss every one of them. "You seem pretty confident in your abilities."

He hummed, trailing his fingertips along her jaw. "If you're curious, all you have to do is ask."

Her fingers weaved through his hair as she kissed him. A satisfied sigh escaped her throat before she could stifle it, and her toes curled when he seized the opportunity to slide his tongue against hers. She rocked forward against his hips as he pulled her closer, shamelessly grinding against him.

"What do you want?" he whispered painfully soft, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh as he pulled her down, inviting her to feel more of him. He was thick and stiff between her thighs and when he rolled his hips up it sent a wave of sparks racing across her skin. 

"I want this off," she demanded, tugging impatiently at the hem of his shirt, aching for the absence of any fabric between them. He briefly tore his lips from her skin to wrench it off and fling it aside. Her hands trailed over the contours of his skin, firm beneath a satisfying layer of warmth and softness.

"Your turn," he whispered, moving with painstakingly slow precision as he started to unclasp the buttons of her dress. 

Timing couldn't have been more perfect, the snowstorm screamed through the cracks in the wood, but his skin was blazing against hers. Finding solace in the warmth, her freezing hands roamed across his body. Fumbling fingers traced a path downward, hungrily stumbling against his buttons.

"You haven't asked yet," he scolded, guiding her onto her back and settling between her parted legs. He took hold of her hands, rutting against them just once so she could feel how rock-hard he was before pinning them above her head with a sturdy hand. “I want to hear you ask for it.”

A surge of pride and a touch of defiance kept her from begging him to take her. After enduring months of chasing, the audacity for him to assume he would be in control of— 

“Can I?” His whispered words in her ear shattered any semblance of self-preservation. He used his free hand to tease the fabric at the neckline of her unfastened dress with delicate fingertips.

She nodded with more eagerness than she'd initially intended as he peeled the fabric down her body. "See how easy it is to ask for it?" he teased, his palm brushing faintly across the sensitive curve of her breasts. Goosebumps erupted across her skin as he flicked his tongue against her taut nipple before taking it in his mouth, his velvety hum vibrating against her skin.

"Garreth," she tried to sound stern, but it escaped as a needy gasp.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

Embarrassingly, a hushed whimper shot up her throat as the affectionate name slipped off his tongue.

"Let go of my hands," her nails traced a path down the nape of his neck as he instantly complied with her demand. Abandoning any pretence of playing coy, she added, "I want it, I want you. Please."

The carnal groan that she’d coaxed from him shuddered through her and pooled between her legs. His fingers trailed up her thigh and slipped under the elastic of her underwear, eliciting a strangled whimper as he exposed the sensitive bud between her legs.

"That's it, moan for me," his touch transitioned from oversensitive to pure bliss as began he circling her clit.

"So... bossy—" Her words melted away as he slid his finger through the gloss on her skin and pushed it inside her.

"It gets you wet though, doesn't it?" he murmured, his lips latching onto her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut, head tossing back as she surrendered to the sensation of him filling her up.

Her fingernails carved into the worn-down grooves of the wooden floor as she ground against his hand. His face faltered as if his brain had shattered at the sight of her riding his hand. "Fuck, keep moving just like that."

His erection strained against his underwear, protruding from his partially undone trousers. He scrambled to free it with one hand while dipping his head between her legs. His tongue circled her clit while his fingers quickened their pace. It was an onslaught - merciless and precise, sending deep waves of pleasure winding through her body. His hungry grunts prickled against her tender skin as he began using his free hand to touch himself.

"I’m right here, you should use me for that," she whispered, watching him pleasure himself through giddy eyes.

"Come on my face, and I’ll let you have it," he slung her thighs over his speckled shoulders and began to devour her. His hands grasped at her plump thighs, pulling her tight against his eager mouth. She could faintly hear herself whining—yes, please, and don't stop.

"Oh, fuck, Garreth please," she begged louder, a shockwave coursing through her body as his fingers found their way back inside her. She clutched at his thick hair, bucking her hips against his face. He groaned appreciatively, and that eager sound forced her over the edge, her orgasm striking her like lightning. He delved his tongue inside her as she lazily rutted against it, riding out the surges of euphoria.

“Look at you, following orders," he grinned, crawling up to cage her in his arms, claiming her lips with a rough kiss, "being so good for me." He spread her legs apart with his knees and directed his arousal between her thighs. His dick gently brushed against her, and she shivered at the heightened sensitivity. "Are you ready, or do you need a moment?"

“I’m ready,” she mumbled as he positioned himself at her entrance, pushing in inch by inch. It was painfully slow and taunting, and when she tried to grab his hip, he interlocked his fingers with hers and pinned it to the floorboards.

“You want more, sweetheart?”

She couldn’t do anything but nod. The way he stretched her out felt sinful, a delicious form of sweet agony. He was vocal, each measured thrust was met with a rough groan and the noise scrambled around in her wonderfully empty skull. She arched as he gave her everything he had, he seamlessly slid his arm into the space left behind with an intoxicating roll of his hips. 

"Right there, just like that," she whimpered as he struck a spot that sent shooting stars dancing across her vision.

His name dripped from her tongue like honey as he hit that spot again, driving him to thrust into her with increased force, each effort eliciting louder cries of his name.

"Oh, sweetheart, you feel like you were made for me." He came to a halt, buried to the hilt inside her as he worked a possessive love bite into her throat. "I've wanted this for so long," he confessed between each lingering suck, rocking his hips flush against hers. "Wanted you so bad. Fantasized about bending you over that herbology table. Making you scream."

She had never thought that words could bring her to the summit, especially not the words of Garreth Weasley who typically used them to irritate her. Yet, his rasping confessions were pushing her exceptionally close to the edge.

"Just—just.. stay like that," she pleaded. He was barely moving, but she felt on the verge of splintering apart from the way he was stretching her. His warm body pinned her helplessly to the ground and the unholy pressure of his cock deep inside her sent sparks radiating through her belly.

"You're trembling," he whispered as she fluttered around him. “You gonna come for me?”

"Yes," she whimpered, pulling him close for a kiss. He rocked into her and all she could do was moan as her orgasm slowly rolled through her body like a crashing wave. She had believed they were just two drunk friends giving in to some meaningless tension, but he was kissing her so slowly, stroking her face as he fucked her through each gentle pulse of her orgasm, and it was turning her to putty in his hands.

Wanting to contribute her share, she steadied her trembling legs and gave him a firm shove, rolling him onto his back. 

He quickly established a pace she had no control over, gripping her hips to keep her in place so there was nothing she could do but take it. His mouth enthusiastically explored her breasts, kissing and sucking until she felt light in the head. "Do you want it?" The crack in his voice was almost too much to bear. "Want me to come inside you?"

She ran her nails through his hair as his thrusts began to falter and fall out of rhythm. "I want you to come. Please, Garreth I want it." She whispered soft encouragements in his ear, needing him to be as stimulated as had been.

He mumbled her name against her throat, his hips slapping vigorously against her soaked thighs. His head fell back, fiery red hair clinging to his sweaty temples as he grunted with each rhythmic pulse. She nestled against his warm chest, listening to the thunderous pound of his heart as he released deep inside her.

He wrapped her in his arms, and they lay together for what felt like an eternity—his fingers gently trailing through her hair might have even lulled her to sleep for a few minutes before he eventually shifted to reach for his wand.

“Sorry," he told her without a trace of remorse, muttering a few charms to clean them both up.

Clarity slowly returned to her mind, and thoughts rushed in like an avalanche. Should she head home? Was he genuinely suggesting she stay the night? Sticking around for Christmas felt intrusive. Maybe she should muster the will to get dressed and leave—as soon as her legs felt like legs again.

Casting a sidelong glance at Garreth, he seemed to be experiencing the same inner turmoil as she was, absentmindedly picking at his wand while staring down at her. In an effort to dispel the tension, she sat up and delicately kissed the red lines she’d carved into his shoulders.

"If you want this to be a one-time thing," he began, his voice carrying the same vulnerability she heard when he'd held her hand, "I can respect that, I'll take you home and everything between us is good. On the other hand, we could go pilfer a troll sack full of food, bring it to my bedroom, and just be humans together. What do you think?"

"How much is a troll sack?" she smirked, as she delicately brushed some sticky strands of hair away from his eyes.

"Enough to last a couple of days," his confidence began to seep back in as he flashed her a smile. "I don't have any plans for New Years, or you know, any of the days leading up to it."

Pretending to consider the proposition, she glanced at her reflection in a nearby bucket, using it to smooth out her hair. "I say we rejoin the party. I should probably make an effort to socialise if I’m going to be overstaying my welcome."

Authors note: If you're interested in the story behind Garreth turning himself into a baby, and subsequently carried around by Sharp all day, you can find "Baby Garreth, and where to find him" here.

[coopigeoncoo]

Meat Cute, Chapter 2

Chapter Links: First, Previous <- Chapter 2 ->Next

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature (rating may change)

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Cannibalism, Reader is a cannibal, Fake/pretend relationship, Puns, Raccoon Reader, Tags may change, Swearing

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In a bid to appear more approachable to the denizens of the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor enlists the help of his favorite butcher to step into the roll of an (after)lifetime: pretending to be his paramour! ---

“You can't deny we have so much in common,” Alastor's grinned, his smile somehow, impossibly, widening even farther as he leaned down on the counter on a single elbow; his nose nearly touching yours as you stood frozen in place. “I'm somewhat of a Butcher myself, you know.”

–--

A story where one thing is certain: the steaks are never bigger than when love is on the line.

---

Continue reading below, or follow the link to A03!

Extermination came and went with you wrapped up in all the blankets from your bed, crammed into the walk-in cooler Hal used to age gigantic slabs of meat.  Once the distant screams had died down you were quickly pulled from the fridge and put back to work, barely able to hold a knife in your frost nipped fingers. 

“Lotsa screaming means lotsa bodies,” Hal explained, tying the strings of his apron around his wide hips in a tight double knot.  “And lotsa bodies means lotsa meat. ”

As though summoned by his words, a forceful knock sounded from the delivery entrance; a salesman bearing the first of many scavenged corpses sold to the shop for a quick buck. 

You stared down at the man laid across your chopping block, his face contorted to showcase the abject terror of his final moments.

“I'm sorry this happened to you,” you murmured quietly, fingers tracing the jagged cut that had ripped the man open from pelvis to sternum.  “But I promise to do a better job than they did.”

The angels had cut his life short.

And then you cut him into pieces.

It didn't seem particularly fair to you, but you supposed it was as balanced as things could be in Hell.  

Hal, in a rare show of mercy, gave his employees the weekend off to recuperate from the pre and post Extermination rushes.  You had been content to hole up inside your cramped apartment and sleep for the full two days, but once you remembered your promise to Ms. Rosie you managed to pull yourself out of bed and get dressed with a minimal amount of cursing. 

It wasn't difficult to find her once you actually managed to wake up enough to stumble down your apartment stairs without breaking your neck.  You'd pass by Franklin and Rosie's Emporium often enough running errands for Hal.  It would be hard to avoid the boutique considering it was smack dab in the middle of main street; placing it along just about every route through town.  

The Emporium offered a wide selection of impeccably tailored clothes you couldn't ever hope to afford with your meager earnings.  It was nearly impossible to swallow back the sour burn of envy roiling in your belly at the sight of the smartly dressed women spinning in front of mirrors in their tailored waistcoats and silver buttoned shoes.  You self consciously soothed out wrinkles in your burgundy colored skirt, the fabric likely permanently creased from being trapped under the tight sash of your butchery apron.

The checkout line moved slowly as every patron stopped to chat with Rosie or the woman standing beside her, and it felt like a small eternity had passed before you made it to the front of the queue.  Rosie's eyes widened as she saw you, a bright smile stretching across her face as she quickly skirted around to the front of the counter.

“Take over from me, Franklin!” Rosie called out to her companion over her shoulder, motioning you to follow her with an excited wave of her hand.  “I've got a special guest visiting!”

Rosie led you to a darling two person cafe table pushed into an alcove with a giant window overlooking the central square of Cannibal Town, where a barbershop quartet was starting to attract a fair bit of attention from passers by.  Rosie was silent as she slid up behind you, but the weight of her aura was somehow palpable; like a humidity that clogged the air and made breathing a laborious task.

“It's pretty peaceful for a place called ‘Cannibal Town’, isn't it?” Rosie boasted, but you couldn't fault her for her pride.  You knew from stories around town that the orderly life on display was the result of her tireless effort to secure a better life for the sinners under her rule.  

“It is,” you agreed readily, sliding carefully  into the chair that one of her attendants had pulled out for you while Rosie settled down across the table.  “You've built a lovely community, Ms. Rosie.”

“Oh, aren't you just the sweetest thing!” Rosie chirped in delight, hoisting a tray of finger foods up under your nose.  “Canapé?”

You were too nervous to be hungry, but grabbed a couple of crackers topped with thin slices of blood sausage and dollops of roasted marrow to be polite.  Not sure what to say, you quickly popped one of the hors d'oeuvres into your mouth immediately and hoped Rosie would take hold of the conversational reins.

Rosie, mercifully, rose to the occasion.  

“So, you seem to be fitting in pretty well around here.  That's unusual these days,” she said, deftly pouring some piping hot bone broth into dainty porcelain tea cups.  “Hard to find new sinners willing to live without television or cellular phones.”

You couldn't help but think of how much of your life had been squandered in front of screens; the endless hours of scrolling and watching and seeing and wanting - of wondering why your life never seemed to compare to the ones that clogged your social media feeds.  

“Those- those things do me more harm than good, I think,” you admit between small bites of sausage.  

“Oh, honey.  Those gadgets are nothing but trouble for everyone,” Rosie cooed comfortingly before angling her head down to mumble into her cup “especially down here.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head over,” Rosie laughed dismissively, pushing a platter of finger sandwiches towards your now empty plate.  You grabbed the one with a thumb poking out, saving the sandwiches stuffed with choicer pinky digits for your host.  

“It's nice to see you don't shy away from the…specialized fare Cannibal Town is known for,” Rosie said approvingly, watching as you skillfully de-nailed the finger in your sandwich.  “Did working at the butcher shop help acclimate ya?”

“A bit.  I won't lie, it was really hard at first.  I spent a lot of time pretending that I was eating other stuff- beef, pork, a really convincing soy substitute,” you admit. “But after a little while that started to feel, I don't know, disrespectful?”

“Oh?” 

“It's like- this person is nourishing me.  I am alive because of them.  It didn't seem right to pretend that they were somehow less than what they were; especially when they were providing me with so much.  Acknowledging their life, what they were-” you paused, considering your words along with the remaining phalange held between your fingers.  “It's the least I can do.  A way I can thank them.”

You feel a bit vulnerable from your confession, never having voiced your thoughts out loud before, and it takes you a moment to muster the courage to look up from your hands and meet your host’s gaze again.  Rosie is positively beaming at you, her small nose crinkled in delight.

“I need you to promise me you'll try and get out more, sweetie.  It's very inconsiderate for you to deprive the citizens of Cannibal Town of your company,” Rosie said, leaning over the table to place her hand on top of yours, the press of her fingers a balm to your touch-starved soul. “You're one of us now.  It's time to start acting like it.”

You'd reluctantly started to make appearances around town.  It started small, with short walks around the park when the belladonna began to bloom, followed by the weekly al fresco concerts once the early spring acid rains tapered off.  

And then suddenly a switch seemed to flip.  People would wave good morning to you from across the street, customers would ask about how your weekend was, and  your coworkers invited you out for drinks after work.  You'd gone from merely existing in Cannibal Town to really living in Cannibal Town.  

You tried to not dwell on how much happier you were in Hell than you were on Earth, fearful about what exactly that said about the sort of person you were. 

The years ticked by and before you knew it the workers at the butcher shop had surprised you with a lopsided devils food cake to celebrate your fifth death day.

“When you're facing down eternity you don't celebrate every single year,” the girl who usually worked the register explained.  “Five is the first milestone party, followed by twenty-five and fifty.  They get more spaced out as time goes on.”

You had woken up early the next day, dehydrated with a headache pounding behind your eyeballs from overindulging at your death day celebration.  Hal, in a show of incredible foresight, had scheduled you for the afternoon shift.  With a mug of watery coffee in hand, you were slowly shambling to the threadbare armchair in the corner of your room when the broken radio on the side table suddenly began shooting off sparks; the device alight with an eerie green glow.

“SWEET SASSY MOLASSY,” you screamed, accidentally spilling coffee down the front of your dressing gown as you leaped away from the ancient box radio.

“Salutations!  Good to be back on the air!” a staticky voice greeted, the cheery tone completely at odds with your abject misery as you pulled your soaked nightgown away from your chest to cool your singed flesh.

The radio was loud, the volume knob having been set to maximum when it suddenly powered on; but the sound inside your apartment was nothing compared to the uproarious cheers you heard coming from outside as the citizens of Cannibal Town overjoyed by the return of their favorite radio program.  

[myreia]

15 Lines of Dialogue Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well!

thanks for the tag, @thevikingwoman and @bearlytolerant, ty frens!

tagging: @roguelioness @lilas @galadae @ellstersmash @fourteenthz

@tsunael @birues @ardberts @gatheredfates @anneapocalypse

@impossible-rat-babies @coldshrugs @gefiltefished @consulaaris

sorry if you've been tagged before, I have... lost track of who has done what. 😂 No pressure, ofc! 💖 tags also for anyone else who would like to share their writing! Feel free to tag me even if I didn't tag you or even if we're not mutuals, I'd love to see what you're working on!!

These are from published (and one unpublished) ffxiv fics. Because a lot of my favourite Aureia lines happen within the context of banter, I had a hard time deciding what to cut and where.

— 1: Far From Happenstance [ARR]

“What’s that thing on your arm?” “This? Ah… well… Perhaps this conversation is best saved for later, perhaps in a less conspicuous place?” “Or we could have it now. Your choice.”

— 2: Uncertainty [ARR]

“Tailing unsuspecting women about the city is nothing to be proud of.” “I have done nothing of the sort! Our meetings have been no more than happenstance, a quirk of nature drawing us to the same spot at the same time. I assure you, Aureia, I am not following you—” She stifles a snort, laughter tugging at the corners of her lips. “Oh…” He blows out a breath. “Oh, you’re joking? That was a joke. You have an unfair sense of humour…” “Don’t make yourself such an easy target next time.”

— 3: To Ash and Ember [ARR]

Lahabrea stares at her, startled out of his victory, mouth twisted with contempt. “How—” Aureia raises a hand, palm sheathed in blinding light. “Get the fuck out of him, you bastard.”

— 4: Sand and Stone [ARR]

“This is good for us,” she says quietly. “The Scions, I mean. We’re exposed here. Ascians, Garleans… it’s only a matter of time before they try again. Mor Dhona will afford us some means of protection we’ve lost.”

— 5: Bitter Frost [ARR/HW]

“You press on,” she says after a moment. She cups her palm between them, subconsciously pulling on the aether around her. A faint flame sizzles to life, warming her fingers. “Guilt can only carry you so far before it bleeds you dry. Just know that the next time… the next time will be different. Better.”

— 6: Divergence of the Heart, Chp 5 [HW]

“I don’t care what they say about me. I’m a hero to some, a villain to others. I can live with it.” “You should not have to. If there was a way—” “Please, Aymeric, I’m begging you not to draft a new statute on my behalf. You can’t decree change and expect centuries-old beliefs to shift overnight.”

— 7: Divergence of the Heart, Chp 7 [HW]

“Happiness? What makes you think I’m happy with this? With any of this?” “You’re the Warrior of Light. Defender of Eorzea and a beacon of hope. Blessed by Hydaelyn and beloved by all. What possible reason could you have not to be?”  “Oh, fuck you.”

— 8: Divergence of the Heart, Chp 8 [HW]

She blinks. It shouldn’t be more simple than that. Does he not comprehend why this is so profoundly embarrassing? “And..?” “And how would this fact be of such radical importance that it would be the sole cause of a change in my opinion of you? Do you believe it so crucial to your identity that I should judge you differently for it?” “No, I don’t think that at all. I suppose I feel I’m… a failure, somehow. As a person.”

— 9: For All the Truths Left Unspoken [HW]

“Oh? Because you seem a little haggard, Thancred. Why don’t you look me in the eye and tell me what time you went to bed last night. Or if you went to bed at all, for that matter.” “It is not your concern—” “No, but you could have at least done the decency of admitting what was going on before you started fucking my friend.”

— 10: A Question of Desire [HW]

She cuts him off with a kiss. [Aymeric] groans softly, leaning into it, and she laughs with delight. “Save it for later,” she murmurs against his mouth.

— 11: Bound by Faith, Chp 2 [ShB]

“Under pain of further admonishment, I told her what I could.” “Nothing unfavourable, I trust,” she says drolly. “Who do you take me for, Aur?” “An idiot, if I’m being honest. Next question?” “…stumbled right into that one, didn’t I?” “Yes.” Her eyes sparkle with fondness. “You did.”

— 12: Bound by Faith, Chp 2 [ShB]

“There. That’s it. Aureia was a name I took by chance. Not because I wanted it, but because I needed it. An alias intended for Ul’dah alone, one I intended to relinquish the moment I could escape the city. But then you called me Aur and it… stuck.” She hesitates, her voice breaking. “I don’t know why it felt right, but it did. You gave me a name, Thancred, without even realizing that that was what you were doing.”

— 13: Bound by Faith, Chp 4 [ShB]

“They don’t hurt. At least, not like this. Sometimes, with astral fire…” She closes her eyes and swallows hard. “He did something to me, Thancred. Whether it was his intention or not, he left a mark that is more than skin deep. Like a part of his aether was seared onto mine. It makes me powerful, yes, but… my magic is not always controlled. It’s never been the same since then.”

— 14: Untitled Post-5.3. Fic, Chp 2

She glances at him and finds him glaring at her. It’s not a real glare—behind the dark look and mock exasperation is a knowing smile. “She’s taken full reign of the apartment. Mess everywhere. Looks like a tempest went through the place.” “Far too easy to imagine that.” “I don’t know where she gets it from.” “Oh, I know for certain. That’s the influence of your bad habits, not mine—” “I—listen here, you ass—” “Oh, an ass, am I? Bit early to deteriorate to name calling, no?”

— 15: Untitled Post-5.3. Fic, Chp 4

“Aur… that suite I mentioned earlier… I was quite serious about it.” “The suite or the sex you want to have with me in it?” “The whole matter.” She pauses, holding the soup out to him. “You should finish it,” she says quietly.

[cecilysass]

Shine On (10/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 10: None for You

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 23, 2015 6:50 am

Jackson wakes up and slides out of the twin bed, creeping over to peer out the guest room window.

Outside the light is strange and silver, sunrise filtered through the gunmetal gray of clouds overhead. Jackson’s eyes roam over the dim, silent farmland adjacent to Mulder’s property. He thinks it looks cold out, like it could even snow.

He goes to the pile of old clothes Mulder set out for him and paws through each item, looking for something practical and warm. He selects the jeans he wore yesterday, a long sleeve waffle weave shirt, and a striped sweater that looks from a different era, like it belongs to a Friends cast member or something. Again the sleeves are too long, completely covering his hands. He decides that will help keep him warmer.

As he sits on the bed tying his shoes, he listens closely for sounds in the house: first with his ears, then more carefully with his shine.

He’s pretty sure Scully slept downstairs last night. After Jackson came up to his room, he’d read ghost stories in bed for a while, studiously ignoring both of them. He just needed a break. No more questions, no more pressure.

But he felt these little wafts of emotions drifting up from time to time anyway. Later, after he heard Mulder come up the stairs, he still sensed that ember of Scully’s emotions glowing somewhere down there beneath the floorboards. He doesn’t think she ever left the first floor.

He stands up, shoes tied, considering his next move.

He decides to do the thing they do in movies: stuff some pillows in the twin bed, then throw the quilt over and shape the lumps so it looks like he is curled up underneath. He thinks he does a pretty convincing job. If someone looked in the door to the room, it would really look like he were asleep there.

Next he closes his eyes, clears his head, makes sure he’s alert to all the minds around him. He discovers Mulder is awake but still lying in bed, so he gently alters Mulder’s perception to make sure he’ll hear no footsteps on the stairs.

He reaches out to try to do the same to Scully, but he has trouble for some reason. When he sneaks out of his room and down the stairs, he sees why. As soon as he sets foot on the first floor, he can tell she is still asleep on the couch.

Hopefully she doesn’t wake up easily. Just in case, he has an altered image ready to shine in her mind: an impression that the room is empty and silent, that there is no one else there.

He tiptoes across the floor to stand behind the couch and glance down at her. This stranger, his biological mother, completely lost to sleep. Her face is crushed into the pillow, and her breathing is regular.

As he watches her, his shine unexpectedly picks up a strange image: she is lost in a snowstorm, blinding white, crying out for help, calling Mulder’s name, her abdomen swollen in pregnancy. Something snakelike is down her throat, keeping her from breathing properly.

Her lips twitch slightly in sleep as he stands there.

He blinks, shudders, clearing his mind of the picture. Disturbing dream. He wonders if any part of it really happened.

Trying to ignore any other images coming his way, he heads towards the front door. Mulder’s puffy winter coat is there, and he picks it up, pulling it around each of his arms without fastening it. It, too, is too big. Then he opens the latch, cracks the door, and slips outside.

Outside, the early morning cold nips at his face right away. Ghostly traces of fog linger around the house and in between trees. The ground glitters with frost. Each puff of breath curls out from his mouth, and he slips his hands into the deep pockets of Mulder’s coat.

He makes his way around the side of the little house, the ice-coated grass crunching underfoot. He’s aiming for the clump of trees near the back of Mulder’s property. Those trees grow in a tight knot, and whatever lies inside of them is dark with shadows.

He hesitates, squints, looking for any sign of anyone standing near the trees. All at once Jackson feels nervous.

He thinks about the man who came after them yesterday. What if someone unexpected is out here, waiting and watching? Someone who knows Jackson is out here, someone who is tracking his moves? Mulder and Scully had been so panicked about getting him inside. He remembers that sharp spiky thing Mulder had. Maybe he should have brought that with him, although he can’t imagine what he would have done with it.

Instantly, instinctively, he closes his eyes and stretches out with his shine to check around him. He can find no one else around, no people nearby at all, except for the muted minds of Scully and Mulder inside the house. Scully’s still asleep; Mulder’s pondering his life choices quietly in bed.

But he hadn’t shined that man’s mind yesterday either, had he? Nor had he ever been able to shine Rose.

He can’t shine Rose this time, either.

As he walks into the heart of the trees, she is standing inside, half obscured in purple shadow. She’s wearing a sleek black coat and black boots, like she has dressed not to be seen. She has a gray scarf over her mouth that she pulls down when she sees him.

He’s really happy to see her, as weird and slightly scary as she is. He raises his hand and smiles, but she only takes a single step towards him, her face calm and eyes unblinking.

“Hi, Jackson,” she says.

***

Even though Rose doesn’t say much, there is something about her that makes her easy for him to talk to. Jackson wants to tell her everything, and she listens, in that cool, serious way she has.

“So your problem is Dana?” she says, tilting her head in consideration.

“She herself isn’t the problem, really. It’s just it hurts to be around her,” Jackson says. “Is there a way to stop it? To control the flow coming from her?”

“There is,” Rose says. “I can show you. She can do a few things to help, too, if you think she’s willing.”

Jackson heaves a sigh, relieved. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Are you doing okay? Otherwise?” The young woman’s face betrays no emotion, and her words are businesslike. Even though he’s spent time with Rose before, it still feels funny to Jackson not to be able to use his shine on her. Something like being blindfolded. He can’t get over not having any idea what she’s thinking.

“Yeah, I guess,” Jackson says. “I’m still messed up about my parents, but … I’m glad you took me to Mulder. If I hadn’t found him—them— I don’t know what would have happened.”

She smiles a closed-lip smile. “I knew it was a good idea.”

“How? How did you know that?”

“I told you. I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a long time.”

“Why?” He tries the most important questions again. “How do you know me? Who are you, exactly?”

She gives him a quizzical look. “I actually thought you’d inferred.”

Jackson shakes his head. “Nothing I can think of makes any sense.”

She says nothing, and her eyes focus away from him, full of some dark-edged emotion Jackson is relieved he can’t shine. In the days they’d traveled to Virginia from Wyoming, when she was showing him things about his shine in conversations at rest stops and on the balconies of motels, she often drifted off like this, just gazing off. As though she were lost in some private sadness.

“They want to know how I got here,” Jackson persists. “They’re worried. They keep asking. Can’t I tell them?”

“No,” she says, her tone final and decisive.

“I don’t understand,” Jackson says. “How come they don’t—”

“It’s very complicated, Jackson.”

“Where do you live? Is Rose your real name?” Jackson pushes. “Don’t you go to college or have a job or anything?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Rose says shortly, ignoring his questions. “And don’t say anything to them. Nothing. If you do, it will cause… problems. If you keep quiet, we can still meet on occasion, when I’m able. I can keep showing you how to control your shine.”

“But why? Why do you do this for me?”

“We’re family,” she says lightly, with a tinge of irony. “You do things for family. Or so I’m told.”

Jackson ponders this carefully. He can’t tell if she is being entirely serious. He knows she’s not related to the Van De Kamps, and their relatives didn’t tend to be the types to show up mysteriously with magical powers anyway. Even not having known his biological parents for very long, he suspects if she’s being sincere, she must be related to him through Mulder and Scully.

Actually, she looks like a younger version of Scully. That realization stuns him for a second, because it is suddenly so completely obvious he can’t believe he didn’t see it before. Rose is short, shorter than him. Her hair is lighter than Scully’s, but it’s reddish blonde. She has those pale blue eyes. And her voice, too—the way she speaks. It reminds him of Scully.

But Mulder had said they didn’t have other kids besides him. And Jackson didn’t detect any hint of a lie from him at that moment, nothing to indicate he was telling anything other than the truth. He seemed kind of sad about it, actually; there was that heaviness of regret in his thoughts. Nor could Jackson think of why he might lie about that.

Is it possible to have a kid and not know about it?

Rose presses her lips together and puts her hand on his arm. “Listen. When she’s near you, picture, like, a glass wall between you and her. It doesn’t have to be glass. Any translucent material. Visualize it and imagine her feelings bouncing off of it, not hitting you. When you get better at it, you can imagine her feelings staying within her own chest, never expanding out.”

Jackson is skeptical. “That’s it? Just picturing shit?”

“Picturing shit is the whole ball game,” she says wryly. “And it’s not easy. You’ll have to practice it. You’ll get better with time.”

“Is that what you do? To keep me from using my shine on you?”

“I don’t really have to,” Rose says, her tongue running over her bottom lip quickly. Her expression is cryptic. “There are things about me that aren’t like other people.”

Jackson scowls. “But you have it, too? The shine?” he asks curiously.

She nods shortly, but doesn’t elaborate. “Dana can also help from her end,” she adds. “She can visualize keeping her feelings within. Not radiating them outward. Really that’s something she does naturally anyway, so she should get it.”

“So you know her? Scully?”

“I met her once,” Rose says. Her face is completely still. “When I was a kid.”

“You’re related to her?”

Rose nods, and she looks down, seemingly to casually examine her nails. They’re painted dark red. Rose red, Jackson thinks.

“I don’t really get any of this,” Jackson says. He swallows. “But, I mean, if you’re their family, I’m sure they’d like to see you.”

“It’s not safe,” she says, looking up from her nails. He can’t be sure, in the dim light, but he thinks there could be tears in her eyes, which shocks him. Rose has never shown any sign of getting emotional before. She leans forward and embraces him, suddenly, which startles him, too. When she pulls back, she looks unruffled again, the only sign of her slip that her blue eyes are slightly wet. “So you be careful, too.” 

What the fuck. He is too confused to answer properly.

She turns to walk away. “And yeah, Jackson,” she calls behind her, “you’re right. Rose didn’t used to be my name, like Jackson didn’t used to be yours. I chose the name Rose from an old song.”

There is a pause as Jackson waits for her to explain further. When she doesn’t—when she just begins to hurry into the woods—he just sighs in tired frustration, resigning himself to not knowing more.

But then she hesitates, ten feet away. Slowly she turns her icy eyes back to his.

As she does, the words of three perfectly formed sentences appear in his mind. The letters of each word slightly vibrate and jump around, but he reads them clearly, kind of like a computer screen or the titles of a movie.

Can’t you see? There’s nothing you can do. There’s loving everywhere but none for you.

The sentences send a chill through him that is unrelated to the cold morning.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he blurts out loud.

She just smiles slightly, mysteriously, and turns swiftly away towards the shadows.

***

Mulder pads down the stairs as quietly as he can, trying not to wake anyone else in the house up. At the foot of the stairs, he can hear hushed rhythmic breathing coming from the direction of the couch.

He follows the sounds and stands over the couch, letting himself look at her uninterrupted. Scully looks younger in sleep. Unguarded, like she did years ago when she’d routinely doze off against his shoulder on all those cross country flights. Like she’s got nothing to hide.

All morning he has been thinking about what happened last night, about the expression on her face as her lips touched his. The way her fingers trailed over his skin, each touch sending warm aches through him.

It was all exactly what he had hoped for. Practically an erotic dream come to life. The best possible thing that could have happened in his broken relationship with Scully: that she would reach out to him like that, tell him she missed him, kiss him with such need.

He would never have guessed he’d react like he did. Never. He’s been turning it over in his mind since he woke up.

On the couch Scully stirs a little in her sleep, and he fights with the urge to lean down and gently stroke her hair. Hold back until you’re sure, he reminds himself.

It was exactly her need that felt like the problem; it was exactly her need that worried him. He’d looked down at her, those wide and hungry blue eyes, and knew—just knew—that she would have walked away from him three days ago.

Because she doesn’t want just plain old sad sack Mulder, does she? She wants Mulder because he is Jackson’s biological father. Because Mulder can help her protect him. Because he is an important character in the all-consuming story of her baby, the son they lost.

And his failure in all of this—in doing a good job at any of it— is exactly why she stopped wanting him to begin with.

If they mess this up, if Jackson leaves, if he is taken from them, if they can’t protect him, if they aren’t good at this imitation parenting they’re doing… what will happen? Will that longing look in her eyes disappear? Will she revert back to polite and chilly small talk?

Much like hearing someone’s thoughts without wanting to, Mulder heard a sudden truth from his own mind: he won’t survive having and losing her again.

She murmurs something in her sleep, moving her lips soundlessly. Today is Scully’s birthday, Mulder remembers. He recalls what Jackson said, that she had been hoping he might be surprising her by taking her out. Maybe, Mulder thinks wistfully, that means she does have some interest in sad sack Mulder. Maybe there is some hope that he never entirely lost her love. But he doesn’t know that for sure. He doesn’t know anything about how she feels about this. He bites his lower lip, feeling as awkward as a teenager.

There is the squeak of a chair across the room, and Mulder looks up, suddenly on the alert.

Jackson is sitting at the kitchen table, wearing one of Mulder’s old sweaters, drinking a glass of water, and flipping through one of Mulder’s psychology texts. Strange. Mulder had not seen him there before. He scowls, puzzled, walking across the room to Jackson.

“Hey.” Mulder whispers. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Jackson says, looking up from the book. His cheeks are a little pink. Mulder wonders if it is the dry air.

“I didn’t know you were up,” Mulder says, keeping his voice lowered. “I somehow didn’t see you sitting there when I came downstairs.”

Jackson’s lips raise into a half smile. “Maybe you need some coffee.”

Mulder grins. “Yeah. Maybe so. Did you sleep well?”

“Sure,” Jackson says. His eyes drift uneasily across the room.

I didn’t leave anything out of place on his desk, did I?

The words land in Mulder’s mind like heavy rocks through a window, undeniable and painful. He has to force himself not to react—not to show his surprise on his face, and definitely not to look over at his desk. Keep busy in the kitchen, he tells himself. Start making coffee.

Mulder turns to get water for the coffee maker. As he does, he discreetly looks over towards his desk. It doesn’t look any different than usual at this distance. He needs to find a reason to go over there and inspect it more carefully.

As he’s pouring water into the coffee maker, he gets a sudden flash of a series of images from Jackson’s mind like some out of control slide show: the boy’s foot stepping on to the porch, his fingers latching the front door, Mulder’s winter coat slipping back on a hook.

Should be fine. Everything is back like it was.

Mulder feels an impact like a kick in the stomach. Jackson left the house. He actually went outside, despite the known danger. Why the fuck would he be outside? The idea that the boy is hiding something, something big, fills him with a sickening sense of betrayal he knows isn’t entirely logical.

And then as soon as he thinks it, he tries desperately not to think it. He can’t process it now. It’s too dangerous with Jackson here.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Mulder says casually, swallowing back the surge of nausea. “We have, uh, some bread. I think some oatmeal maybe?”

“You have eggs. I saw eggs yesterday,” Jackson says eagerly.

“You want eggs then?”

“I could make scrambled eggs,” Jackson offers. “I’m pretty good at that.”

Mulder widens his eyes. “All right,” he says. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, looking pleased. “I’m sure. Let me make breakfast. I make eggs at home all the time.”

Mulder watches as the boy gets up and starts pulling out bowls and spatulas, clearly excited about the project. He doesn’t look like someone who is hiding a big secret. He looks, frankly, like a kid.

“Try not to wake Scully up,” Mulder says lightly.

Jackson just nods vigorously as if that were obvious, and Mulder steps back, arms folded, trying to seem relaxed.

“I’m going to go see if Skinner emailed us the forms he was supposed to,” Mulder says, gesturing to his desk. “Let me know if, uh, you can’t find something you need.”

Jackson nods again, but he stops and looks over in Mulder’s direction for a half second before he opens the fridge.

You closed his laptop, right?

Again Mulder wills himself not to react to this sentence. In a way he hopes is natural, he glances over at Scully on the couch, who blissfully sleeps through anything. Then he casually approaches his desk, his chest tight.

For a moment he stares hard at the laptop sitting on the desk. Jackson had, apparently, remembered to close it.

Mulder forces himself to breathe in and out, trying to clear his mind. He knows he needs to calm down. Jackson could pick up on a snippet of his thoughts at any moment.

Carefully he turns and watches Jackson’s back in the kitchen, watching for any sign to suggest Jackson is already aware of his discomfort. But Jackson’s cheerfully cracking eggs into the bowl.

He sits down at his desk and opens up the laptop. It is password-protected—Chilmark61—but the password is written pretty prominently in Mulder’s scrawling handwriting on an orange sticky note on the desk, which Mulder admits isn’t his finest security move. He can just imagine the lecture he would have gotten from Frohike. But it’s usually him alone here at the house, and he forgets passwords more than he probably should.

There is nothing strange opened on the computer, nothing seemingly out of order. He opens a browser window. Could this be as simple and straightforward as a 13-year old looking at porn? Please let it be that simple, Mulder thinks. Please let this be about busty naked ladies.

He looks at the browser history and sees a few pages accessed this morning, about fifteen minutes ago. Specifically a search engine and a song lyrics site.

Song lyrics don’t seem particularly nefarious. But still Mulder’s heart thumps distractingly loudly. He opens the search engine page in the history to see what Jackson was searching for.

In the search field he’d typed “can’t you see, there’s nothing you can do, there’s loving everywhere but none for you.”

Eerie melancholy creeps over Mulder. The lines don’t mean anything to him, but they definitely seem ominous. So sad, so hopeless. What do they mean to Jackson? What could be going on in the kid’s head?

The results for his search were all pretty much the same. The words were part of the lyrics of a 1968 song by a British band, the Zombies, “A Rose for Emily.” Mulder thinks he might vaguely remember the song, but not very well. It really doesn’t seem like a song a kid should know anything about.

He clicks on the same lyrics page that Jackson had visited and scans the song’s lyrics more systematically.

Her roses are fading now She keeps her pride somehow That's all she has protecting her from pain And as the years go by She will grow old and die The roses in her garden fade away Not one left for her grave Not a rose for Emily Emily, can't you see There's nothing you can do? There's loving everywhere But none for you

Something tightens and twists painfully in Mulder’s stomach, a symptom he recognizes as anxiety. Why would Jackson be looking for this?

It could be for a perfectly innocent reason. Maybe he remembered hearing it somewhere, on the radio or something, and he had a few of the lyrics rattling around in his mind. Maybe he googled it just to know what song it was. That happens to everyone sometimes, doesn’t it?

But why would he be so concerned with keeping it a secret? And what did this have to do with him leaving the house?

Mulder closes the browser window. He presses his eyes closed and folds his hands together, strategizing what exactly to do and say. He stands up and walks back towards the kitchen.

Immediately he can see that Jackson doesn’t look so cheerful anymore. He is actively scrambling eggs now, turning them over and over with the spatula. He’s staring down at his work with no expression, his face stone.

Mulder knows he’s been using his shine.

“You know,” Jackson says casually, “you could have asked me.”

Mulder watches the spatula move across the pan, scooping up eggs and flipping them over. He waits.

“Instead of checking browser histories and all,” Jackson adds bluntly. “You said you were going to trust me.”

Mulder sighs heavily. “You’ve not exactly been honest with us, Jackson.”

“I haven’t lied to you.” Jackson’s eyes flash up dangerously at him, his lips pursing in anger. He looks shockingly like Scully.

“You don’t think using your abilities to mislead me … is a kind of lying?” Mulder says. “Because that’s what I think you did this morning. To keep me from knowing you left the house. To keep me from realizing that you used my laptop.”

Jackson turns off the heat on the stove. His jaw sets; he looks at the food so he does not make eye contact. “Speaking of lying,” he says in a tight voice, “you told me you didn’t have a shine. Not for years. You told me you couldn’t read people’s thoughts or feelings.”

Mulder nods, running his hand over his mouth. “Yeah. I did say that. Because until recently, it was true.”

“Well, I can’t help but notice that you seem to have one now.”

“For exactly one person,” Mulder says. “Only for you. Not for anyone else.”

Jackson’s eyes shoot up to Mulder’s. “Seriously? You’re being serious?”

“I am,” Mulder admits.

“You only can shine me?” repeats Jackson. He sets down the spatula, his eyes growing round in horror.

“Yeah,” Mulder says. “But it’s not like I–”

“Stay out of my head,” Jackson warns, taking a step backwards. “Don’t use your shine on me, Mulder.”

“You know it doesn’t work like that,” Mulder says gently. “I can’t help it. I’m not doing it on purpose. And I’m only getting little pieces every once in a while, Jackson. I’m not exactly—”

“I can’t handle this.” Jackson puts his hands up over his face.

“I know you’re overwhelmed,” Mulder says. “But Jackson, this is important. Why did you leave the house? Why are you searching for these song lyrics? What do they mean? Why are they important?”

“God, I can’t tell you,” Jackson says. “I already said.”

Cold panic runs through Mulder. “So this is about the person who brought you here? Is that person still around? Are you in contact with them?”

Jackson groans, covering his ears, and walks to the kitchen door, looking out the window.

“What’s going on?” Scully’s voice startles Mulder, and he whirls around to see her. She is standing at the kitchen table, hair messy from sleep, arms folded tightly, eyes wide.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” Mulder says to her, holding his hand out, “I just want to—”

He’s interrupted by a clear broadcast from Jackson’s mind, warning words thought loud and clear.

Are you there? Mulder can read my thoughts. I don’t think I can hide you from him in my mind. I’m sorry.

This isn’t aimed at him, Mulder realizes queasily.

He stands there blinking, staring blankly at Scully, trying to comprehend what he just heard.

“Mulder?” Scully takes a step towards him, concerned.

He turns back to Jackson, who has backed up against the kitchen door. He’s wrapped his arms around himself, and he looks young and frightened in Mulder’s too-big sweater.

Whoever Jackson just tried to send a message to must also have a shine, Mulder realizes. Which means this person is someone Jackson can communicate with anywhere and any time. He suddenly feels dizzy and weak.

He needs to pull it together, fast, and consider his next move carefully.

“I’m going upstairs for a second,” Mulder says in a hoarse voice. “I–” He shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll go for a run or something. Leave you two to talk.”

Jackson is still watching him warily, his back against the kitchen door. He says nothing.

Scully’s sharp gaze snaps from Mulder to Jackson, then back again. “All right,” she says carefully. Her forehead is creased, revealing her confusion and worry. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Mulder nods quickly.

“You’ll … let me know if you need something?”

“Yeah,” Mulder agrees roughly. “Of course. I just… I just need a minute.”

Feeling their eyes on him, he walks dazedly towards the stairs, each step suddenly feeling like an effort.

Partway up the stairs, he stops, gripping the handrail. He closes his eyes and summons all his will.

He’s not positive how to intentionally send a message out to someone unknown in the universe, but he’s sure going to try.

Whoever you are, he attempts to push out into the world. talk to me. Fucking talk to me. Let me know what you want with my kid. Let me fix whatever this is however I can. Come deal with me, face to face.

There. Done.

He walks up the stairs, feeling surprisingly like he’s done something significant. He needs to go put on warmer clothes if he’s going outside.

***

[soft-girl-musings]

challenge -> you’re starring in a movie with the last person you saved in your camera roll and the last song you listened to is the title

tagged by @pedrit0-pascalit0 (ty this is so cute)

UM LET'S GOOOOO

christmas romcom with salt & pepper oscar i am b e g g i n g

tagging @chrissymodi-frost @lunar-ghoulie @moon-knights-balls @cositsamarvelfan @fandxmslxt69 @virtie333 @mrsnadeem if you'd like to do it!!

[thequibblah]

opening line patterns

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (or however many you have) posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

intriguing! ty for the tag @emeralddoeadeer @kay-elle-cee ❣️

1. i bend like a willow thinking of you

“And so,” Lily finished, swilling her possibly-slightly-gone-off eggnog in its cup, “that’s why I reckon something’s not quite right about everything.”

2. you and i will die unbelievers

They’d set up the tents and the warming charms, which made the crackling fire in the central tent redundant.

3. in death we stand alone

Look, I didn’t want to be the Abhorsen.

4. acid trips

Usually, at a certain point in the night, Lily retreats to a corner and surveys the crowd.

5. certain sharp things

They insist on his entering with his new frock coat.

6. holy the air, the water, the fire;

Lily drew a finger absentmindedly around the rim of her teacup.

7. Two’s a Crowd

Only children must be taught to share.

8. as it is i’ll dream of her tonight

December at Hogwarts: holly was curling its way across suits of armour, frost pinching at students’ faces in the courtyards, but still no real snow.

9. tell me where your secrets lie

Severus Snape really, really wanted to be in Slytherin.

10. walking with you in the sunshine

All bad movies are messy, James has found, but all good movies are messy in fascinatingly different ways.

i actually think the pattern(s) here are more obvious than i expected. i often drop right into a story, as you can see in 1, 2, 4, 5, and 6 — arguably more too. i like a shorter first sentence that's declarative or prompts the reader to wonder "okay, and?" in a sort of improv-esque "yes and?" sense lol. i'm mostly just using the first line as a way to jump into the second and i don't put a lot of thought into how i open; most of these come about in my first draft.

the exception is 8, which is a more scene-setting line. i think if i remember correctly i added the opening paragraph after i'd already jumped into that fic, so that was a much more conscious attempt at constructing the throughline of james waiting for snow. i sometimes feel like it can feel like a really obvious connecting-the-dots to readers when i do that and i don't like the inelegance of it (or at least it seems inelegant to me!) but i like this one a lot, actually!

tagging @ghostofbambifanfiction @possessingtheproperspirit @clare-with-no-i @sunshinemarauder and anyone who hasn't done this <3

[tainted-heartz]

Hi again !! I just thought up another idea for Julie x Reader where they are shy about confessing to her. (Keep in mind they’ve always been a bit wary about telling their feelings to others in fear of rejection) So they write sweet lil love letters to her that slowly reveal who’s sending them.

Julie is super underrated as far as fanfics of her go so I might request more if I get ideas. I’ll tag myself as ☁️ so you know !

| julie is mostly underrated and it makes me upset bc she's just such a loveable character- ty for the request dear ☁ anon! |

- julie had started to get letters from an unknown sender and even gifts such as new curlers or flowers. she noticed them as little lover letters which just made her heart swell but she wondered who could be sending these..

- you couldn't handle words well at ALL so since you started having feelings for julie you just wanted to lock yourself away forever. she was just such a sweet person and the way she cared for you made you a rose red.

- so your solution was to send little love letters and gifts but you ever so slowly showed yourself as the sender as time went by. you didn't want to rush your feelings either.

- it even went to the extent of you making a heart shaped cake decorated with her favorite flower in frosting on the top for her birthday. this gift was what made her start to get suspicious of you , you're really the only person that knows her second favorite cake flavor is red velvet!

- one day she was brushing her hair and watching some tv before she heard a knock at her door possibly for the mail but no , it was you. you were shakily holder a rose and a love letter you wrote to match the ones you sent before. “ h-hello julie. I just brought you a small gi- ” you couldn't even finish your sentence before she pulled you into a tight hug , “ oh y/n I love it and I love you! you aren't good at hiding yourself you know. ” she pulled away with a smile on her face before kissing you on the cheek. “ now c'mon in silly! I wanna spend the day with you. ”

[iknowyuu]

HELLO!!! if you're taking in requests, can I please request a Yeonjun fic?

she/her pronouns

Prompt: established relationship. Yeonjun showly traces and softly kisses and admires reader's birthmarks and moles like a birthmark on their shoulder, thighs (like while he's lying down on her lap maybe) and her moles on her upper lip, arm, below the eyebrow, on the nose and maybe her ring finger (i have one there so why not add it right? 🤷🏻‍♀️). Like he's just enamoured by her beauty marks. Heck he can admire every small detail like her eyelashes or the way her lips curve at the edges.

I just want it to be very comforting and nothing sexual.

IT'S TOTALLY OK IF YOU DON'T TAKE MY REQUEST THO BUT THANK YOU IF YOU DO AND HAVE A NICE DAY LOVELY<333333

your sun

choi yeonjun x reader

// read req!

tags: she/her reader (mentioned once, feel free to replace with your own prnns!), reader described with "pretty", established relationship

note: TY FOR SUCH A DESCRIPTIVE REQUEST <3333 I ENJOYED WRITING THIS !! <3333 i hope u enjoy !!

♡

you sat on the couch with your boyfriend, eyes watching the television as you gently combed your fingers through his hair. he fell asleep a while ago; even though the two of you were supposed to be having a movie night. quoted from him, mind you: your lap was just too comfortable. his body heat and your blanket were the only things keeping you warm from the biting cold of the apartment, so you weren't complaining.

you sat there and continued watching without realizing he opened his eyes, his breathing pattern changing now that he was conscious. normally he'd greet you with something like "hi, pretty," or simply stopping your fingers and interlocking them with his, but he felt he didn't want to disturb the serenity he felt in the moment.

he stared at you from below, taking in your features, illuminated by the screen in front of you. the tiny splotches of different coloured skin decorating your body, your moles, every physical attribute he was absolutely enamored with. his heart swelled with pride and awe, were you really his? everything about you was perfect to him.

"you awake, jun?" you glanced down into your lap and found his eyes open, staring at you. "mhm," he turned to his side, placing a kiss on your thigh before finally sitting up. sitting beside you, he watched your side profile, still enchanted by you. you caught his glance and did a double take, "uhh.. are you good?" you chuckled at him, confused by his actions. "yeup," he smiled back at you before leaning in and cupping your cheek, turning your head, suddenly placing his lips on yours. he didn't know if you could feel the love radiating off him, he didn't know any other way to show how much he absolutely adored you.

you pulled back first in shock, even more confused. your lips tilted upwards in happiness, "you sure you good?" he laughed at your words. "what, can't kiss the love of my life anymore?" almost like a flower persevering through the bitter coldness of winter, your heart bloomed with warmth at his words, melting away the frost that had coated over it. he pulled you back towards him, this time kissing you deeper before moving to hold your face in his hands, kissing random spots on your face. first, your cheeks, then your forehead, then the bridge of your nose, your cheekbones, and even above your eyebrows. you giggled at his actions; his kisses tickled you. he smiled at the sound of your voice, loving everything about the moment.

"yah," he pulled away, "how is it that you're perfect? why not leave some for the rest of us?" he exclaimed in mock-anger, gesticulating with his words. you could barely maintain eye contact after that, "i could ask the same for you."

he hugged you, "love you, so much." the flower that is akin to your heart felt like it was being shined with the warmth that is the sun; yeonjun. he was your sun. you held him in your arms and smiled harder, if possible. "i love you too."

[cindernet-explorer]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers (ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡

1: FERRETS!! I love those weird little catsnakes!! They're so goofy!!

2: ELVES. Good lord any time I see an elf I go feral.

3: Heavy thunderstorms during the summer, or other warm days. They're so comforting and make being inside just that much cozier!

4: My partner @bunnyboybosom :')

5: Writing! I've found a LOVE for it now that I can write for what interests me and make my own stories! (instead of doing it for school)

Bonus 6th: GETTING THIS SAME ASK FROM 5 PEOPLE IN ONE DAY

(also not an ask technically but tagged by @hinganskies, so I'm counting it)

Ty for the ask(s)! (Also tagging you three so I don't need to post all 3 asks) @archaiclumina @gatheredfates @disciple-of-frost

[awooghan]

24 to 25 ✧.* y.ji (TEASER)

➳ PAIRING: jeongin x fem!reader

➳ GENRE: fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers

➳ WARNINGS: none (teaser only)

➳ WORD COUNT: 1.5k for teaser; 25k+ for full fic 😵‍💫

(UPDATE: i gravely underestimated my final wc t’s actually 47.7k 😭)

➳ SUMMARY: “stay for christmas?” was a phrase jeongin first uttered to you when you were both ten years old, but neither of you had any idea the bond those three little words would hold as the years go by.

➳ NOTES: hey besties! this is a backup account for @//plutominho , i got shadowbanned on there and just made a new account so ppl can actually see this come up in the tags 😭 this is my longest fic yet and i’m honestly still writing the last few parts of it 🫠 but i rly like how it’s turned out so far and i hope y’all will like it too! it’s a rewrite of a fic from last year. i’ll save the actual long note for when i post the final product but thank you so so much to @svtbabies for helping me throughout the course of writing this fic. you’ve helped so much in fleshing out the plot and the little details that i got stuck on and i absolutely adore what’s come out of this. also ty for the lovely banner ahhhhh ilysm 🥹🫂

ALSO LEMME KNOW IF U WANT TO BE TAGGED IN THE FULL FIC <3

@starlighthan @starseungs @crispy-chan @gloseoks @pearlychai @sulfurcosmos …uh hey i’m alive 👁👄👁

“Come on, Y/N, you can’t cling onto my shirt forever,” your mother urges you with a small chuckle.

You stiffen up in your spot at the edge of the picnic bench, and your eyes bounce between the several children on and around the playground equipment. Mixtures of squeals and cheerful laughter ring above the christmas song playing from the outdoor speaker your new neighbors, the Choi family, set up. You forgot if it was the one with the son older than you or the son your age, though—you didn’t exactly bother to learn their names when your mother introduced you.

“Go on, Y/N.” Her voice fills your ears again as she gently pushes you off the bench. Speak of the devil. 

Shoving your hands in your pockets, you kick the dust with your feet and you keep your gaze cast down on the ground. You didn’t want to socialize—why would you want to make new friends when you had perfectly good ones back in your old neighborhood? Why couldn’t you just go back there? Or just snatch your mother’s dingy old flip phone for a couple minutes to send them a message?

Besides, most of the children here don’t seem like ones you’d be particularly… compatible with. You shouldn’t be one to judge, but the majority of the ones doing laps on the playground equipment couldn’t have been older than five or six. At your big age of nine years old, there’s not much you would have in common with a literal kindergartener. Plus, it seems like they had all formed a friend group of their own, and you’re more than content just watching them chase each other around, gleeful, high-pitched squeals bubbling from their sticky mouths.

Turning your head slightly, you find a group of teenagers sitting around another bench several feet away from all the adults, two of which had their bottoms perched on top of the table as they faced their friends. You would approach them, but just like how you wouldn’t exactly favor befriending the five-year-olds with crayons up their noses, the teenagers likely thought the same of you. Closing your eyes in despair, you groan to yourself and resort to dragging your feet across the dirt.

Why did you even have to move?

As you let out a sigh, you perk up at the fact you could see it in the cold air. It sparks an insurmountable amount of joy for some reason. Perhaps it’s because of the timing of the puff of air with the line, ’Jack Frost nipping at your nose’ that rings from the speakers at the other end of the small neighborhood park, but it causes a giggle to slip past your lips. It’s almost like a new light under the already-dimming sky, the soft pinks and oranges slowly dissipating as the sun begins to dip behind the mountains and give way to the overcast above. 

However, you quickly get distracted by the sight of a boy your age—or at least, you assumed—and you hesitantly step closer.

And there he was.

He was short, upside down on the monkey bars, and wearing the most obnoxious shade of purple you had ever laid eyes on. You aren’t sure what hurts more: the sun in your eyes or staring at his sweater. 

Looking away from the light gray clouds that hung above the park, you let your gaze fall to the boy. He watches you quietly as he continues to hang upside down, and you notice the small smile that paints his slowly reddening face.

Here goes nothing, you guess.

“Um… hi.”

He stays silent, staring at you with his beady eyes. 

Gulping, you continue. “I'm Y/N.” 

He mumbles something back, but you can barely make out what he says and you tilt your head slightly in confusion.

“Huh?”

“My name is Jeongin,” he repeats, only the slightest bit louder. 

A smile of your own quickly forms on your face. You raise a hand up for him to shake, and he just stares at it for a second before moving one of his outstretched arms to meet you, his hand grasping yours at an awkward angle. You both can’t help but giggle as you give your best attempt at a handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Jeongin,” you say, slowly pulling your hand away and letting his drop above, or rather, below his upside-down head. “I'm Y/N.”

“You said that already,” He says, and his bluntness makes you chuckle.

Slowly, Jeongin maneuvers himself so he’s sitting on top of the monkey bars instead of hanging upside down. Once he gets upright and steadies himself from the blood rushing down from his head, he stares back down at you. 

You stuff your hands into your pockets and heave out a sigh. “My mom says I need a friend,” you explain your current plight to Jeongin, and you find his soft gaze once again. It’s strange, really—you've only exchanged a few words with this boy, but you already feel comfortable enough to complain about your mother’s nagging to him.

You suppose that helps your next words spill out more easily.

“Want to be friends?” 

You watch Jeongin expectantly as he looks down, picking at a piece of lint on his hideous purple sweater. He ponders your question for a minute, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you when he finally nods in response. If your mom wanted you to have a friend so badly, there you go. You got one.

You stand there awkwardly, your eyes drifting back up to the sky for a moment. It occurs to you that you’ve never asked someone to be friends with you; it’s always just kind of happened.

And now you’re stuck, unsure what to do next.

You let out another huff of air, another smile tickling your lips as you watch the faint, white puff form in front of your eyes. Then you look back up at the boy in the obnoxious purple sweater, who seems just as amused by the cold air as you as he lets out his own breath, exhaling like a small dragon.

A chuckle escapes your parted lips as you watch him, kicking his legs lightly as he stares up at the sky. After another minute, you speak again.

“Can I sit up there with you too?”

Nodding his head, he mumbles a small “yeah” and the corners of your mouth twitch up as you hurriedly climb your way up onto the monkey bars. You dangle your legs through the same section as Jeongin’s, and you shift your position slightly as you steady yourself.

A gust of cold air causes you to shiver and as a response, you pull your puffy coat closer to you. This seems to make Jeongin chuckle fondly, and you feel his eyes linger on you for a second before he looks out at the horizon. Neither of you are tall enough to see much above the houses in front of you, but you figure you can use your imaginations to picture what lies beyond that. It’ll have to do.

You both remain silent for a while like this, allowing the chatter and Christmas music below to fill the air around you. It’s comfortable, it feels like a weighted blanket wrapped around your shoulders—which is funny to say because you’re sharing this moment with a kid you’ve barely known for ten minutes. You don’t mind, though. By the looks of it, and the friendly glances you exchange with each other, Jeongin doesn’t seem to, either.

Suddenly, a cold, wet spot falls onto your nose, causing you to gasp and look up.

“Is that…”

Jeongin tilts his head up as well, and he chuckles when another wet drop lands on his face. Meanwhile, you’re in awe. You let your mouth fall open, and your eyes swirl with pure wonderment as you watch the white crystals above you flutter down. It sends chills down your spine, but wraps you up in a cocoon of warmth at the same time. 

“Snow…” is all you manage to mumble. 

Jeongin turns to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Have you never seen snow before?”

You glance at him once, shake your head, and look back up at the sky. 

The boy’s jaw drops. It almost mirrors your dazed expression, except his features are twisted in surprise. But it’s true—snow was something you had only witnessed in movies. As far as you were concerned, the fluffy, white particles only ever graced the stop-motion characters on the old-timey Christmas cartoons you rewatched every year, or the main couple in whatever cheesy Hallmark movie your parents decided to indulge in.

That is, until now.

You didn’t know at that moment what type of future you had in store, but you know one thing: the snow is beautiful. And as you follow Jeongin down the monkey bars and to your first snowball fight, you have an inkling that you’ll be sticking with him for a while.

Maybe this move won’t be so bad after all.

full version release date: december 25 (hopefully)

[spacenintendogs]

3 10 16or 17 for the httyd asks!!

3. Did you play School of Dragon? If so, what dragon(s) did you have?

i tried back in 2018 but my laptop couldn't handle it. i never got past the tutorial with toothless and immediately uninstalled it and then was still devastated when they shut it down :')

10. What are your favourite songs from the soundtracks?

the big 3: forbidden friendship, test drive, and romantic flight.

see you tomorrow is a BANGER

all of the jonsi songs!!

once there were dragons is also so good... listened to that on repeat after i saw the hidden world in 2019

16. What is your favourite plot arc?

edit: i realized this said plot arc and astrid's character arc doesn't rlly count but for plot arc: hiccup & snotlout's arc of learning to respect each other more in riders/defenders of berk. basically the screaming death arc!!

astrid's in the first movie... it's near perfect and her role in the story is so vital bc her mind being changed makes stoick's mind being changed so much more believable. astrid's arc is such an interesting throughline to see the movie through. astrid being the most viking like of the teens and taking everything so seriously only to decide to give hiccup a chance (yes she was hanging off a tree rlly high off the ground and then only apologized bc toothless was whipping her around as payback for her attitude lol) but once toothless calms down that's when astrid rlly sits back and gives toothless & hiccup a chance & you just. see her relaxed for the first time in the movie and smiling so wide and it's SOOOOOOO. i love her so much.

17. Do you read or write HTTYD fanfic? If so, give some recommendations!

i do both!!

for reading, i haven't done a lot & i am kinda particular abt what i read (i heed tags & stuff seriously!! they're there for a reason!!) but!! from recent memory & my bookmarks

promises, promises is by @artinandwritin and it's abt her httyd ocs and @beebooca's oc set post the hidden world (except the dragons are still there!!) and it's such a fun exploration of the effect things can have on oc characters based on what happens to the canon characters they're connected to!! it's very good (and i am honored to have helped beta read :'))

translations by @bignostalgias is a hijack fic where jack frost ends up on berk after following silver dream sand (and ends up becoming "alive" again) and there's the whole thing where he's confused abt how berk exists and seems to be behind modern day and dragons exist. everything is so thought out and carefully put together and i just can not wait for more!!

frowny kisses by @tysonrunningfox bc my snotstrid loving ass adores those losers so much and op has got them DOWN!! the original snotstrid person fr fr i am begging y'all to pls check out their stuff!!!!!!!!!

also fics by @eemoo1o-tfrmoo & @kolasharkattack are also rlly rlly good!!!!!!

and yea i write fics lol but i go through spurts of YEAH UPDATE LET'S GO WOO and then quickly losing steam & updates come rarely even tho they take up so much space in my brain bc writing hard :')

the summer snotlout jorgenson got laid is tied to my modern au & it's abt the brief period astrid & snotlout decided to try dating & obv they break up but hey. unrestrained summer fun :)

burn is a series following astrid & snotlout's friendship. there's only 2 fics rn but windburn is complete and heartburn is a work in progress. i have a few fics for series stewing around in my brain as well but!! yea!!

then there's the calm dragon nip provides which is basically my fishlout smokes weed fic and it's not even a year old yet & tbh i'm not happy with it at all but i don't regret it enough to delete it. u can read it if u wish but i'm not proud of it. c'est la vie.

and those are my most recent fics!! and then my docs are just. full of incomplete bullshit lol <3 ty!!

[sugaryapplepie]

❄️Winter Warmth❄️

Tags: SFW, Fluff, OC x Reader x Canon

Pairing: Chandrelle x Cassander x Astarion [Anthem of the Night] Tag List: @puppy-the-mask

Cassander had been looking forward to a cozy tent bundled up in their blankets...and instead what they saw was Astarion and Chandrelle setting down their own bedrolls beside his.

"Astarion, darling, all I am saying is that when you compare 5'9" to 6'5" you come up-" "Do not say short."

Cassander's face burst into blush. The two hottest people to grace the mortal plane are in his tent. Right now. And arranging their bedrolls. What is going on? Are they dreaming? Did something venomous sting them so now they're having a hallucination while in reality they lay dying by the side of the road? If so, may the gods not take him just yet.

As soon as the cold air hits the two, they turn. Chandrelle was first to speak. "Ah! There you are, Cassander. We wondered when you would return. Shut the flap, it is freezing out."

The bard quickly crawled into the tent, tying shut the flap with shaking fingers. When he moved to turn he jumped back, almost shrieking. Astarion was a few inches away, ruby eyes squinting as his cool hand touched Cassand's face. He clicks his tongue. "Just as we thought, Chandrelle. Look at him! Face pink, frost hanging off of his eyebrows. It seems we'll have to execute at once."

"Execute-?!" Cassander managed, but Astarion was already pulling him over to the bedrolls.

"Oh don't be silly, Elias, we're not going to kill you. You know I never bite without permission." Astarion looked Cassander up and down, a bit of a smirk coming to his handsome features. "Of course you could change that at any time once you're better."

Chandrelle pulled back the blankets as Astarion laid the human down. Both elves then slipped under the covers themselves, trapped Cassander between two halves of a cozy sandwich. "Our plan, you see, was that you must be awfully freezing after your hunting expedition. Humans are not exactly the most hardy of creatures, and so Star an I had a wonderful idea: that being to offer you heat ourselves."

Cassander couldn't help but ask, "Isn't Astarion...y'know...dead?"

Astarion huffed and rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Elias, I'd almost forgotten. Chandrelle was kind enough to keep me fed, so for the time being I can offer you some warmth." The spawn scooched closer, putting his chin on Cassander's head. "Now not another word, darling. The night is frigid and the winds are strong, and I need my beauty sleep."

Chandrelle sat up a bit and leaned over to kiss Astarion's cheek. "As if my darling Star needs any assistance in being the most beautiful creature to walk the world."

Astarion, flattered by this, gave a chuckle. "Not all of this happens on its own, Ellie. Even I need to trance."

Cassander was currently even more red-faced, as the leaning over meant he got a face full of F cups. He managed to supress and strangled sounds of sheer flusterment, but he still let out a squeak when Chandrelle was laid back down and guiding his head to rest on said boobs. "There we are, much more comfortable. We cannot have your head being unsupported."

This was heaven, right? It had to be. But if it was, what earthly act could ever be worthy of such a blessing? Cassander couldn't help but nuzzle a bit into the comfy cushions. Then things got ten times better. He could feel Astarion lifting up the back of his shirt before he began dragging his claws gently up and down his back. He let out a loud sigh of contentment.

"There we are." Astarion continued to move his claws in a slow pace, being sure to cover the whole of the back, the back of Cassander's neck, and even his shoulders. "Doesn't that feel nice?"

"M-mhm..." Cassander was sorely tempted to hide his face in Chandrelle's chest to hide his blush. Astarion then moved his chin to Cassander's shoulder, pressing his closed eyes against his neck. Chandrelle, meanwhile, began using her own long nails to graze his scalp, going all the way from the front of his head to the nape of his neck. This made Cassander shudder. He couldn't deny it- it was working. He was being absolutely spoiled right now.

After a few minutes, Cassander could feel himself slipping into a warm, comfy sleep. He'd definitely encourage more of these in the future (which unbeknownst to him, was exactly Astarion and Chandrelle's plan).

[lesbianboyfriend]

@screeensaver tagged me to put my on repeat on shuffle and list the first 10 songs!! hiii ty <3

1. steal smoked fish / the mountain goats

2. so much wine, merry christmas / katy kirby

3. even / julien baker

4. i’m your man / mitski

5. the frost / mitski

6. this city is a graveyard / baby storme

7. rejoice (audiotree live version) / julien baker

8. firearm / lizzy mcalpine

9. billy & anne / the altogether

10. renegade / paramore

gna tag @nowapocalypse @desertmp3 @librarycard @mumintroll @thekillerandthefinalgirl @elliotschafer if you all would like!!! kisses <3