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the-shadowed-one · 8 months

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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 scattered 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 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."

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