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ghouljams · 5 months

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Spare Warmth Rating: G tags: Hesh x reader, established relationship, snowed in(sort of), Hesh being handy, domestic fluff Summary: You and Hesh take a trip up north to enjoy the ice and snow, everything is perfect. Except that your rental is a little... colder than you expected.

There's a little cabin in a wide dense forest, just butting against a lake. Snow covers the roof and sticks to the needles of the ever green trees that surround it. It's cozy, but old and a little run down. Still, it's beautiful, picturesque in a way you only see in paintings. When you got here yesterday you couldn't believe your eyes, couldn't fathom that somewhere like this existed outside of your imagination. The frozen lake sparkled in the blinding sunlight, and your breath puffed excitedly in front of you. Hesh had pulled your knit cap further down over your ears and tugged you inside to get the place warmed up.

It's funny, he grew up in California, moved to Texas after his military career, he's never really known the cold. So why he wanted to go north and see the snow for Christmas was beyond you. If anything the man should be avoiding the cold at all costs, but it's sort of sweet. Just the two of you, playing house.

You wake up to thick, heavy, arms holding you close and Hesh snuggled against your back. The little cabin you rented is just on the wrong side of chilly, and your nose is cold where it sticks out over the quilts. You wiggle back down under the blankets, back against Hesh who only hums and hugs you tighter. You tug the blanket up over your ears and enjoy the trapped heat of your bodies. Until Hesh pulls away to scratch his nose and a rush of cold hits you. You shiver and curl a little closer in on yourself.

"Fuck it's cold," Hesh grumbles, turning to grab his phone and check the temperature outside. You're honestly more worried about the temperature inside, but you suppose one informs the other. Hesh lets out a low whistle and turns back to you so you can get a look at the screen. Minus 15(-26 C). Ouch.

Hesh tosses the quilts aside as he gets up and you yelp at the frigid air. He laughs and tucks you back in nice and snug, kissing your forehead with a gentle apology. "Gonna check that the heat's on, be right back." He tells you.

"Take a jacket," You mumble from under the blankets. He kisses you again, properly this time, when you tip your head back and pucker your lips. His skin is already starting to get cold. "And hurry back," You smile when he pulls away.

"Always." He promises.

You sneak your phone under the covers as he leaves the room, your warm fingers scrolling over the cold screen. You stretch your legs out into the cold part of the sheets and then pull them back to the warmth. You can hear Hesh fussing about in the little living area at the front of the cabin, muttering to himself in the silence before you hear the click of the front door.

The front door? You sit up in bed, almost immediately shiver against the cold of the room. Fucking hell it's freezing in here. You tug the quilts around your shoulders, wrap yourself up in the warmth as best you can. The snow outside the window seems impossibly deep and cold, not the sort of weather your man should be going out in.

You fish around over the side of the bed for a pair of socks and carefully slip out with your blanket cape. You pad into the living area and see Hesh tramping around past one of the big windows. He's got his coat and hat, warming his fingers against his mouth as he kicks snow by the cabin wall. You settle on the couch to wait, and grab an extra flannel blanket just for the trouble of getting out of bed.

There's a lot of banging going on outside, and at one point Hesh disappears, only to reappear looking significantly dirtier. His hands have black on them when he makes his way back inside. He spots you on the couch and grabs his leather gloves off the kitchen table, a little sheepishly.

"Furnace is out of oil," He tugs his gloves on, flexes his fingers, "I'm gonna grab some wood for a fire, then head to the gas station."

"You want me to put a kettle on?" You offer. He gives you a grateful glance.

"Coffee, you know how I take it."

You nod and hop off the couch to start your kitchen prep. You might as well make something warm while you're up. No sense in being cold and hungry when you can help it. You tap an egg against the cast iron pan you'd found, grateful the furnace didn't seem to impact the gas stove. It takes maybe 15 minutes for you to get a decent breakfast together, and Hesh still isn't back yet. You frown, glancing out the window, and decide to brave the cold(just a little) to find him.

You tug on your boots and shuffle out the door. The snow crunches wonderfully under your feet, and you follow Hesh's footprints around the house, careful to keep your blanket from dragging in the snow. It's definitely worse out here than inside, but not by much. You hear the thunk of an ax as you turn the corner to the back of the house. Hesh looks up from the thick stump his ax is lodged in and a smile splits his face.

"Look'it you," He laughs, grabbing the split wood on either side of his ax. "Here, make yourself useful baby," He holds the wood out to you and you hurry forward to grab it, picking up the bucket he offers you as well. It looks like plenty for a fire, it's certainly heavy enough. Hesh tugs the ax free and follows after you back to the front door. You wonder where he found that thing.

"There's breakfast," You let him know, shaking off some of the snow clinging to your boots as you walk up onto the little porch, "eat while I get the fire started." Hesh shakes his head but beelines for the kitchen as you haul the wood over to the little wood stove in the corner of the living room.

It's easy busy work feeding wood and kindling into the little iron mouth of the stove, striking a match and making sure the flame catches before stuffing your starter in with the rest of the mess. Fires are easy, you're good with fire. You still sit in front of the open door to make sure that the fire actually catches on the wood Hesh broke up before closing the stove up. Amazing how quickly that little thing can heat up the room.

You glance over your shoulder to find Hesh watching you. His eyes sparkle over the rim of his coffee mug, absolutely smitten with you. Another man might complain about the heat going out, or being forced to fix it on his vacation, but not him. It's nothing worse than he's dealt with in the military, and you're here.

He sets his mug down on the table and comes over to kiss you. You tip your head back, not bothering to get up off the floor as he leans down to meet your eager lips. He's wonderfully warm from the coffee, and you can taste its bitterness when his tongue slides against yours. You can weather any storm as long as Hesh is here with you. What's a busted furnace up against the two of you?

You still call the rental people when Hesh leaves, you doubt one canister of gas is enough for the furnace and you'd rather not go the rest of the week without heat. You might not notice the cold when you're wrapped up in your partner's arms, but you certainly notice it when he leaves. You can't spend all week being held, or- no, no you should get the heat on. Then you can just... turn it off as needed.

#cod x reader #x reader #david hesh walker x reader #david walker x reader #david walker cod #david hesh walker #hesh cod #hesh ghosts #hesh walker #cod hesh #hesh x reader #technically this is #cowboy!hesh #but he's off the farm rn #big man is warm and strong

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joelswritingmistress · 4 months

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You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 30

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

Dr. Miller sat beside me on an oversized rock by the lake. We laced up our skates and I glanced out at the frozen lake outstretched before us. Way out in the center I could see others moving about, though the daylight was rapidly fading.

I glanced over at him and a breath puffed into the air as I spoke. “You're sure we're okay?”

He nodded, motioning to other skaters and held out a gloved hand. I took it and let him take a one-step lead onto the ice. After a few seconds of getting my bearings, I began to glide more naturally.

Dr. Miller whipped ahead of me a few strides and then turned and began to skate backwards so we faced one another.

“And he can skate,” I gushed with a wide smile.

“I was a pond hockey hero as a teenager,” he joked, making me laugh.

“Let me guess, you're a Rangers fan.”

He shook his head. “Bruins, believe it or not. My father was from Boston.”

“Are you close with your dad?”

Dr. Miller slowed down a bit. “Yeah. He’s someone I’ve looked up to my whole life.”

I smiled and was about to say something but Dr. Miller twirled me in a circle and I was surprised how perfectly I spun around, only to come face to face with him again.

“Whoa.” I let out a laugh and he chuckled. “I don't know how I just did that.”

“Let the ice do the work.”

I stared out all around us for a moment. The giant frozen lake was surrounded on all sides by oversized pine trees still holding their green color, and just as many bare oak trees and maples and whatever else lingered in the thick forests. Houses were strategically plotted around the body of water, leaving plenty of room for privacy between each one.

Beyond the tops of the trees, the darker black and blue colors pushed down on the pinkish-orange glow of the setting sun. It left a shimmer along the length of the ice.

“Come on.” Dr. Miller reached for my hand and we skated around aimlessly. I glanced around at the other properties. Some had lights on and others were barren. I wondered if the people who lived here were seasonal or lived here year round. Maybe they spent the summers here and used the house as a rental for couples like us throughout the winter.

“This is the best Valentine's Day I've ever had,” I told him. Ice skating outdoors in such a beautiful place made me feel like a kid again. “This is so much fun.”

Dr. Miller smiled and I slowed us both down to give him a kiss.

“Thank you,” I said again.

“You're welcome.” He rested a gloved hand on my cheek.

I looked down toward my skates and then back up. “Everything was fine in my life before, but I've never been this happy. I really just.. I love this. All of it.” I blurted out what I was feeling in that perfectly magical moment. “I love you, Joel.”

His expression changed and he pulled me back into him, hugging me tightly. With his lips to my ear he said quietly, as if he was telling me a secret, “I love you, too.”

Dr. Miller pulled back to face me. I smiled, his face was more serious but he managed a half-smirk. I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders by confessing that to him; and him saying it back made me want to melt into a puddle on the ice.

He pulled me back into a hug and lifted my hat to kiss my forehead. I closed my eyes and sighed again into his chest. I didn't want to let him go.

Dr. Miller looked down at me. He pecked my lips. “I'm glad you had the courage to say it first. Because I was afraid you might run away if I did.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Between asking you to move in with me, and then depositing the money into your account. I thought saying something like that might completely overwhelm you.” He brushed some hair away from my face.

“Well, I'm glad I could take the lead on this one thing then,” I said to him. “I'm on board with all of it.”

“I’m glad you didn't leave that night,” Dr. Miller confessed. “Because I don't think I could sleep without you.”

“I didn't even make it halfway down to the gate,” I told him with a laugh.

“I know.” He leaned in and kissed me again.. and again. “I love you.”

I breathed out a big, smokey breath. I needed to say it again. “I love you, too.”

Dr. Miller took my hand and we skated back toward our little cabin where the lights in the windows led us back. Our shoes waited for us on the bank where we’d left them by the oversized rock. A light snow began to fall as we walked inside.

I took a deep breath and the warmth of the indoors welcomed me. The contrast was heavenly.

Dr. Miller hung his jacket and scarf, and then made his way into the kitchen where we’d left the bags of food. He reached into one of them and retrieved a bottle of wine. Inside one of the cabinets he found two glasses.

I walked toward him, kicking off my shoes by the door first, and helped him locate a corkscrew.

“What do you say we take this outside?” He asked.

I glanced out the front windows where the snowfall was illuminated by the porch light. “Out there?”

Dr. Miller grinned. “I bet the hot tub temperature is about a hundred degrees.” He popped the cork out of the top of the wine bottle and poured us each a glass. “What do you say?”

I smirked and took one of the wine glasses from the counter, taking a sip. I placed it back down and let the lighter than air mood I was in guide me. I removed my jacket first and tossed it onto the back of a wooden rocking chair in the corner of the living room before peeling off the hooded sweatshirt I had on.

Dr. Miller snickered as I stood in my tank top and jeans before slowly lifting the sleeveless shirt up and over my head, tossing it away.

I never would have done this prior to being with him. Over the course of the relationship thus far I found myself becoming more and more comfortable in these types of situations.

I backed away toward the door, causing him to trail me there with the pair of wine glasses and ditched my pants on the way. My bra went next and I reached for Dr. Miller’s scarf on a hook by the door.

Donning just my skimpy underwear and the scarf, I turned, letting it fall over each of my breasts. He chuckled again and sucked his teeth as he approached where I stood by the door. Dr. Miller placed the glasses down on a small, wooden table.

“You're making a solid argument to stay inside,” he said, pulling me to him for a heated kiss.

“Mmm.. I was trying to make a case to go out.”

“I think you're underestimating my lack of willpower when it comes to you.” Dr. Miller shoved his hand down the front of my lacy, red panties and sighed in my ear as he pulled me against him.

My eyes closed when he nibbled on my neck and penetrated me with his middle two fingers. It was instant gratification; instant pleasure. I moaned quietly and gripped him hard.

“Mmm..” I took a breath, “Now you're making a good argument to stay inside.”

Dr. Miller removed his fingers but kept his hand against me beneath my underwear as he kissed me again. When he pulled back a few seconds later I reached for his hand, trying to pull him back to me.

He stepped back a few feet and just drank me in from head to toe. “That is the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life.” Dr. Miller visibly gritted his teeth and sighed out loud. “You in my scarf and those see-through panties.” He huffed a lusty breath, “Fuck.”

I ran my hands down both sides of the blue and white scarf and then turned and reached for the doorknob.

“I thought we were staying inside,” Dr. Miller said.

“From what I could tell from being out on the lake, there are no other houses nearby.” I smirked, “And it's not every day you get to have crazy sex outdoors in a hot tub.. in the middle of the woods.. in a snowstorm.”

“On Valentine's Day,” he added.

I opened the door and shuddered from the cold, “Are you coming?”

Dr. Miller snickered again. “I'm most definitely coming.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

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bakedbakermom · 10 months

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Enough.

Rated X / 4800 words / tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr / posted on ao3

Summary: Dana Scully has had enough.

Author's Note: This is the first fanfic I have written, in this or any other fandom, for almost 20 years. It felt great to stretch the old muscles, and I hope you enjoyed it. Comments will be printed, laminated, and hung on the wall <3

_________

God, I only meant to kiss him, Scully thought, gasping, before Mulder’s tongue swirled around her nipple and she lost the ability to think.

And it was true - thoughts of kissing Mulder had been brewing deep in her core for weeks, crowding out her ability to think of much else. She had found herself watching his mouth when she should have been listening to his words, and feeling vaguely envious of everything that touched his lips. He brought them some truly terrible vending machine coffee during an all-nighter at a crummy hotel in the midwest, and the way his tongue had toyed with the little opening on the lid as he waited for it to cool made her thighs clench. In yet another rental car on yet another nameless backroad, she watched his jaw work as he split the shells of his favorite sunflower seeds, wondering how that sharp tongue that worked them so deftly open would feel in her own mouth, if he would taste of salt and beer. He licked barbecue sauce from his fingers at an all-night diner in the middle of nowhere, his tongue swirling around tips, and she had nearly choked on her iced tea.

Oh yes, thoughts of kissing Mulder had been occupying her more and more. And from the way he would catch her eye, sending her an almost imperceptible smirk each time he saw her watching, he knew exactly the effect he was having on her. She kept waiting for him to stop being such a gentleman, to take that first bold step the way he so often did. But each time she felt that line rising up to be crossed, he pulled away.

And Dana Scully had had enough.

She’d decided tonight, as she rode up the elevator for one of their not-a-date-nights that had become their post-case norm of late, that she was ready - or more accurately, that she was so far past ready that she might actually die if she didn’t kiss him soon. She brought wine - nothing too fancy, nothing that would be out of place in the mismatched glasses he kept in the cabinet, but a step up from the usual ales and lagers they usually shared. And she wore a soft v-neck sweater cut just a tad lower than she would usually wear, the better to show off the enticing cleavage her new bra presented.

When she had slipped into the matching panties, she had very firmly told herself it was simply a personal preference for symmetry, and not any sort of statement about where this desperately-needed kiss would lead.

From the moment he popped Tarantula into the VCR (for the fourth time, “It’s a classic, Scully!”), she had begun planning her move. She drained her first glass of wine faster than she should have, before he’d even finished making the popcorn, letting the liquid courage percolate through her system. He settled in beside her with a large bowl in his lap, loaded with butter and salt just how she likes it, just the way he’s talked her into liking it; and she eased herself slowly closer to him on the worn leather couch until the heat of his thigh pressed against her own. By the time Leo G. Carrol’s assistant went up in flames, she was nestled quite cozily against him. She watched him from the corner of her eye, and saw with some satisfaction that he was watching her as well.

She had never let herself get quite this close to him before, or at least not without some life-threatening context. (Except for that time on the baseball diamond, when she thought maybe this was it, but he had done nothing more than flirt and hit pop-flies and leave her flushed and frustrated).

But there were no invisible forest men now, no cultists armed with rifles, no bees or beasts or black-suited thugs. Just them, and a cheesy sci-fi movie, and a bowl of popcorn in his lap so that each time she reached for a handful she was acutely aware of just what lay beneath it; with each bite he would slowly lick the salt from his lips, and something in her heart would sputter. She had the sudden sense he was doing it on purpose - that he knew exactly what she was thinking, and as always, their minds were traveling down the same road together.

When the giant spider crested the dry scrubby hills surrounding Desert Rock, Arizona, to devour the hero, he had draped his arm across the back cushions, the very picture of a nervous teenager at the drive-in. She took the chance to move more closely still, the heat and the scent of him nearly overwhelming. Her heartbeat seemed to thrum through every inch of her body, and she felt certain he could feel it through her skin. She had stopped watching the screen entirely, unable to concentrate on anything but the pounding of her heart and the body of the man beside her. When she couldn’t stand it another second, she took one last breath for courage, turned in the circle of his arm, and tilted up to press her mouth to his.

The first brush of their lips was tentative, soft, toe-curlingly tender and if he tasted like wine and popcorn instead of seeds and beer, well, she was absolutely not complaining. When his tongue brushed against her lower lip, she opened for him, and the way his tongue slid into her mouth felt like coming home. Scully had thought that it would be enough just to kiss him, just to sit together on the creaking leather of his old couch, under the warm, scratchy weight of the Navajo blanket he kept there more for her sake than for his, and languidly lap at the font of his mouth until morning.

What she hadn’t anticipated, but in hindsight should have known based on years of observing his oral fixation, was that Fox Mulder would be an absolutely amazing kisser. He was slow and exploratory and unrelenting, running his tongue along her teeth and her lips and the roof of her mouth as if he could read her desires written there in braille. He nibbled at her lower lip and suckled at the upper and still she really could have just kissed, just necked him like a teenager for hours, until he cupped her jaw with one wide hand and his thumb brushed against the pulse point in her throat and she whimpered. Actually whimpered, a wholly unexpected, desperate, animal sound that she would have found utterly embarrassing had he not answered with a soft growl that reverberated down her throat and straight into her pelvis, and it was all bets off from there.

A whirl of hands and mouths and somehow she is lying half beneath him, his shirt gone and her sweater pushed up and that pretty new bra pulled down to expose one rosey-peaked breast to the dual pleasures of his hand and his mouth. When her knee brushes against his growing erection, he bites her nipple just hard enough to make her gasp. He chuckles into her skin and looks up to meet her eyes, delighted to find her pupils blown out with lust and her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink. Her fingers curl in his hair and pull; he releases her nipple with a sinfully wet pop and crashes his mouth into hers with a force that clacks their teeth together.

He rolls her over his body until she’s straddling him, heat blooming everywhere they touch. The soft springy hairs of his chest tickle her oversensitive skin, and he runs his hands from her shoulders, down the fine curve of her waist to grip and knead at the firm flesh of her ass. She scratches her nails across the broad plains of his shoulders - softly at first, then more firmly when he hums his assent into her mouth. The muscles of his back flex beneath her hands, and his whole body shudders as she moves them to his front, his nipples pebbling beneath her touch.

He pulls her down against him and presses up at the same time, trying to find some relief for the near-painful ache in his groin. She moans into his mouth and he does it again, and she arches against him in pleasure.

Mulder uses this distraction to pull her top off all the way, unclasping her bra with one hand and bringing his mouth back to her breast before the fabric has even hit the floor. She writhes above him, panting and gasping as he learns the right combination of lips, teeth, and tongue to make her shudder. Always such a curious mind, single-focused and driven, now turned to uncovering the mysteries of her body, and she revels in being the object of his obsession.

“I want you, Scully,” he whispers as he moves to the other breast. She arches into his mouth but doesn’t answer.

He stills, eyes wary, that lost little boy inside peeking through. Waiting for rejection, waiting for her to say it was all a mistake and walk away. With their height difference, their eyes are level now even with her straddling his lap. He brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes and gently thumbs her cheekbones. The sadness in his voice is palpable. “Do you want to stop?”

She shakes her head just slightly, her brows knitting together and her mouth moving into a particular smirk that, in the complex language of Scully Microexpressions, means I need a second to find the right words. His hands skim along her sides, walking the line between comforting, tickling, and arousing. It takes a few deep breaths before she remembers how to speak; the last one comes out on a shudder as she presses her lips to his forehead.

The credits are rolling on the TV across the room, the monster immolated and the town safe; shadows flicker over their faces as she looks into his eyes, unsurprised to find a sheen of unshed tears there that matches her own. She had thought that meeting his gaze after they had kissed - or, more accurately, after he had her nipple in his mouth and his erection pressing against her - might be awkward, but like everything else between them the last seven years, it somehow feels natural. They’re stepping across this line together.

“I don’t want to stop, Mulder,” she whispers, nuzzling along his nose, “I’ve just been thinking about kissing you for so long, I never really let myself think about what might come after.”

“Mmm,” he hums into her skin, peppering her face with kisses before moving down her neck and along her collarbone. “Good thing I have.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrow lifts; he can hear it in her voice even though his face is buried in her hair.

“Often, and in great detail.” His lips find that same pulse point, right where her jaw meets her throat, and he grins as her thighs squeeze his. One hand cups the back of her head, tilting her this way and that so his mouth can reach every possible inch of skin; the other hand comes up to her breast, kneading and rolling. She is soft and pliant above him, allowing him to explore, making soft sounds each time he finds a sensitive spot, and his profiler’s mind is tucking each one away for later.

“Tell me,” she pants as he presses a kiss to the hollow of her throat. She slips her hand between them and presses her palm against the thick ridge of his erection, grinning as he moans into her skin. “Show me.”

"Christ, Scully. Where should I begin?" Mulder presses another kiss to her lips, so soft and tender she forgets how to breathe for a moment. He sips at her like fine wine, savoring each taste of her tongue, her lips, the ivory ridge of her teeth. By the time he pulls back she is shivering, aching to see what happens next.

"There is one thing I fantasize about quite frequently," he husks close to her ear. The scratch of his stubble is intoxicating. "I can't stop wondering what you taste like." He reaches between them to cup her, hot and throbbing, through her slacks, and her blushing nod is the only answer she can manage.

All she can do is moan in anticipation as he leans her slowly back, supporting the full weight of her in his arms, until her shoulders come to rest on the arm of the couch, his body nestled hard and hot between her trembling thighs.

She will never again be able to smell leather without remembering this moment.

He kisses his way down her body with a slow deliberation that borders on agonizing, nipping and sucking and licking every inch he can reach. When his tongue swirls into the dip of her navel she nearly cries with pleasure. He runs his teeth over the ridge of her hip bones as he parts the zipper on her slacks. His mouth leaves her body only long enough to shuck the pants to the floor, and then he is nosing along the hem of her panties.

"Fuck, Scully, I can smell you." He runs his fingers over the lacy fabric, scraping his nails along the gusset until she shakes. "You're so wet, you're soaking through."

With anyone else she might have felt embarrassed, but Mulder's words only enflame her further. She rolls her hips, shamelessly rubbing herself against him. "Please," she pants, "please touch me."

He laughs darkly, continuing to run his fingers slowly up and down the length of her slit, and rubs his stubble against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. He licks her, once, over the lace, and she bucks desperately towards his mouth. “Easy there, G-woman,” he murmurs, pressing her back down with one firm hand on her hip. “I’m living my dream, here.”

She laughs, a short huff that eases some of the tension in her gut, and tries to relax into his ministrations. He smiles as she softens beneath him, and rewards her by sliding one long finger under the sheer scrap of fabric, just barely grazing her entrance. “So wet,” he says again.

He looks up to see that her eyes have fluttered closed. “Look at me,” he says, and when she finds enough will to meet his eyes, he lifts his finger, glistening with her wetness, into his mouth and sucks deeply. "You're just as sweet as I imagined."

“Fuck,” she whimpers, and knows she is dripping. “More. Please.”

Apparently he renders her monosyllabic.

“How much do you love these?” he asks, appraising the delicate lace, the tiny stitches along the seams.

“Not at all. Hate them. Please.” She is gasping, writhing, and when he rips her panties off she nearly keens with pleasure.

He stares at her for so long she begins to feel nervous, and a flush creeps up her chest and floods her cheeks. He takes in the auburn thatch of curls between her thighs, the dark pink swell of her labia, the tiny freckles sprinkled across the creamy expanse of her skin. He drags his fingers down the length of her slit, marveling at the way her lower lips spread for him, at the moisture leaking from her sweet little cunt. “Beautiful,” he breathes.

“Mulder,” she huffs, squirming, “if you don’t quit staring and touch me soon, I’m going to shoot you. Again.”

A quick grin and then his mouth is on her, his tongue lapping at the entrance to her sex, and the first brush of his lips over her clit nearly sends her over the edge.

If the way he kissed her felt obsessive, he eats her out with something that borders on worship.

He slides one long finger inside her, then another, curling them against her front wall until he finds the spot that makes her gush and shake around him. He flicks his tongue over the hardened nub of her clitoris - slow, fast, gentle, hard - and she fists her hands in his hair when it’s just the right combination. He presses the hood back with his thumb and suckles directly on the little bundle of nerves; her belly coils tight with pleasure and she manages to gasp, “Yes, there, I’m so close, oh -” before she can’t make sense anymore.

He swirls and suckles on her clit, pumping gently in and out with his fingers, and experimentally runs his little finger down her perineum to brush gently over the tight pucker of her asshole. She shudders and her whimpers reach a new, higher pitch. He hums his satisfaction into her dripping sex, and that’s all it takes - she is gone, shaking and gasping and making strangled little cries that might be his name.

Mulder continues to lap tenderly at her sex as she comes down, riding out tremors and trembles until she is heavy-limbed and boneless beneath him. Her smile looks almost drunken as she cards her fingers through his hair. “Good, Scully?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh.

She nods and hums, riding a cloud of oxytocin. He eases out from between her legs; her smile begins to fade into confusion until he slides one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her easily, and carries her down the hall to his bedroom.

His sheets are softer than she had expected, as if he had been hoping for company; she wonders if this is the first time he has prepared a bed for them, how many movie nights he has slept alone on these soft sheets after the door snicked shut behind her without so much as a kiss. The thought strikes a surprisingly sad chord in her heart.

The bed dips as he settles in beside her, and she curls into his open arms with a happy sigh. “A girl could get used to this,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his bare chest.

“I sure hope she does,” he answers.

She drapes one of her legs over his and - “Oh.” She lifts the sheet and sees he somehow still has his jeans on, and is still sporting a rather impressive tent. “You appear to be overdressed,” she teases.

“Don’t worry about me, Scully. This has already been so much more than I -”

She puts a finger over his lips and shoots him one of her more serious looks. “Mulder. Shut up.”

And, for perhaps the first time in his life, he does.

Scully’s legs are still a little weak as she climbs on top of him, rubbing herself shamelessly over the bulge in his pants. She’s wet again already and hungry for him in a way she hasn’t felt in years. Her hair falls around them in an amber curtain as she leans down to kiss him, long and slow and deep. He’s grinning like an idiot by the time she pulls away, and she decides that looking down on Mulder may be her new favorite place to be.

She grinds down harder with her hips, the seam of his jeans pressing right where she wants it the most. He moans, trying not to buck beneath her and throw off her rhythm. He has to clench his fists in the sheets. She’s making a wet spot on his pants; he’ll have to wash them - and the sheets, and the couch - in the morning, but he couldn’t care less about any of that because Scully’s breasts are bouncing just in front of his face and she is writhing on top of him like an animal in heat. He reaches for her hips, trying to get just a little more pressure, but she grabs his wrists and holds them down.

“Nuh-uh,” she huffs. “You made me beg. Now it’s your turn.” She waits until he stops trying to lift his hands, then rakes her nails down his chest, leaving little streaks of pink in their wake.

“Fuck, Scully,” he moans, throwing his head back and thrusting up with his hips, which only makes her lift herself away. “I don’t know how much of this I can take.”

She only casts him a wicked grin before lowering her mouth to his, plunging her tongue deep inside and moaning. He is the first to break away, gasping for breath, and she waits for his eyes to find hers before she leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses down the length of his torso. He is not as sensitive as she had been, though he does jump when she runs her tongue across the firm plains of his stomach. She finds the fine trail of dark hair beneath his navel and nips and sucks her way down it until it ends at the waist of his pants.

He expects her to undo the fly and pull them off, but instead she rubs her cheek against the stiff bulge of his cock, as if to mark it with her scent. She catches his eye again, to make sure he is watching, and then runs her tongue slowly over the full length of it. She can taste herself on the fabric and is surprised at how erotic it is.

“God, Scully. Please.”

“Mmm,” she hums against him and thumbs open the button on his fly. “Begging. I see the appeal.” She slides one hand under the waistband and scratches through the coarse hair just above his cock.

“I would get on my knees but I think something might break off.”

“Then allow me.”

She kneels between his legs, pulling down his zipper and shimmying his soft jeans down the length of his legs. She has a moment to wonder at the fact that he doesn’t appear to be wearing any boxers - does he go commando in general these days, or, like the sheets, was he hoping for something to happen tonight? - and then her eyes land on his cock and she forgets how to think.

She’s seen him naked before, of course, but always under the guise of a medical professional. Glimpsing his body while treating injury or disease is one thing. Never has she seen him hard, and now faced with the full monty - or rather, the full Mulder - she is only slightly more impressed than intimidated. She takes him in her hand, pumping up and down slowly, and a small bead of precum leaks from the purple tip. Her heart jumps, her mouth begins to water, and she licks her lips as she realizes it’s all for her.

“Oh Christ, don’t do that,” he moans, eyes glued to her mouth. “I’m trying to be cool here.” So of course she stares into his eyes, parts her lips, and then very slowly runs her tongue in a full circle around them.

He’s about to say something else but it cuts off with a gurgle when she takes him into her mouth. He’s too big to take in too deeply just yet, but she licks the tip of him like an ice cream cone, her tongue moving in lazy circles as she pumps him languidly with one hand. The other comes up beneath to cup the soft weight of his balls. He is salty and tangy and strangely sweet, and she moans as the taste of him floods her senses. She is so aroused it’s almost painful, and she wishes she had a third hand so she could touch herself as she sucks him. She takes him deeper, surprised at how much she enjoys this - the twitching of his thighs as he tries not to thrust, the way he is moaning her name between strings of curse words, the startling way his cock bumps against the back of her throat.

She’s just beginning to wonder if she can relax her throat enough to swallow him further down when Mulder’s hands land suddenly in her hair, pulling her mouth away from him with a wet and undignified slurping sound. “Hey,” she protests, donning an exaggerated and teasing pout. Her mouth and chin glisten with a mix of saliva and precum. “I was enjoying that.”

He sits up and slides his fingers between her legs. “I can tell,” he says, circling her clit and making her gasp. “And don’t get me wrong, I was too. But…”

He pulls her up the length of his body until she is nestled in his lap, her thighs braced on either side of his and his cock only inches from the wet heat of her cunt. “Please, Scully.”

“More begging?,” she purrs as she takes him in her fist again. She shifts so she can rub the tip of him between her wet and swollen folds until he moans. She positions him right against her entrance, his tip just barely inside. “Is this what you want?” she pants. For all the playfulness in her voice, she is trembling with want, and shudders as she feels herself dripping around him.

“Yes,” he hisses into her ear, crushing her tight against him and pressing his hips up. He slips another inch inside her. “Fuck me, Scully, please.” Another small thrust, another inch of her clenching around him.

Enough teasing, she decides. Enough begging. Enough waiting.

She doesn’t trust her voice not to break, so she only nods and kisses him as if she could devour him whole.

She slides down onto him slowly, adjusting to the width of him until he is buried to the hilt. They are both shaking now, their panting breaths a humid cloud between them. A long moment passes before she can move, before her body can handle the way he stretches and fills her. She is slow and deliberate, rising until he nearly slips from her body, then easing down to grind her clit against his pelvis. Waves of pleasure wash through her with each stroke, and she drops her head to his shoulder, overwhelmed.

He reaches down to cup her ass, spreading her wide and taking some control over her motion. They moan in unison as he begins to thrust in counterpoint to the slow roll of her hips.

It doesn’t take long before Scully begins to feel the flame of another orgasm kindle deep in her belly. The moan that comes from her throat belongs to another woman, one who is wild and wanton and apparently capable of coming more than once in a night; and oh how she wants to be that woman.

“Mulder,” she pants, “I need - I’m -” Another moan, and the coil inside her tightens further, closing off her ability to speak.

He understands, he always understands, licking his thumb and then sliding it between their sweating bodies to press hard against her clit. “Fuck, yes, Scully,” he says as she grinds down on his hand. “I want to feel you come.”

His mouth seeks out that same damn spot on her neck that started this whole thing, sucking and nibbling with the same rhythm of his thumb circling her clit. “Come for me, Scully,” he growls into her skin, and then bites down hard enough to bruise.

She shatters around him, bucking her hips wildly against him and muffling her cries of “Mulder, oh God, Mulder,” into his shoulder until she is hoarse. He tumbles over the edge right behind her, hot and pulsing, and the feel of his cock twitching as he fills her with his cum is nearly enough to set her off again.

They stay entwined for a long time, shudders passing back and forth between them, until their sweat cools and their mingled fluids begin to leak onto his thighs.

Mulder leans back first, brushing damp hair from her face so he can look into her eyes. “Hey.”

Her answering smile is almost bashful, but there’s not an ounce of regret in it. “Hey.”

“So. Wine. Fancy underwear. That sweater.”

“No boxers,” she counters. “Clean, soft sheets?”

She quirks an eyebrow, he tilts his chin and smiles.

And just like that they are themselves, again, still, always, but now with a new layer of togetherness to explore. He moistens a washcloth in the bathroom sink and tenderly cleans them both, and they curl up on the soft - if rumpled and damp - sheets together.

They do not share “I love you”s. Not tonight. Not yet. But they both feel it in the brush of the other’s fingers, taste it in the tenderness of the last kiss they share before falling asleep together.

And that is enough.

#x files fanfic #the x files #xf fic #xf fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #smut #xfiles #the xfiles #mulder and scully #my fic #my writing #enough

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noirsfantasy · 4 months

Text

On the ninth day of Christmas...

𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝕺𝖓 𝕴𝖈𝖊

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 ➛ 1610!Miles Morales x Black!Fem Reader

𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 ➛ Fluff

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 ➛ 2K

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 ➛ In the middle of winter break, Miles, feeling restless, hits you up to see if you'd wanna hang out. You suggest ice skating and soon enough, you're on the ice. You find yourself realizing exactly how you feel about Miles and that, maybe, he feels the same.

𝔞/𝔫 ➛ Here's a cute lil oneshot for ya. I absolutely love Spiderverse, so it's always fun to make fanfics of it. I hope you guys like it!

12 Days of Christmas Masterlist

The winter chill has settled over Brooklyn, New York, covering the streets in a layer of pristine snow. School has just gotten out for winter break and it seems like the crime has died down a bit, so Miles hasn't really had anything to do. Feeling a bit restless, he glances out of his window at the snowy world below. With a sigh, Miles reaches for his phone, deciding to make his day more interesting and text his best friend, Y/N.

Miles: "Yo, you busy?"

You were in your home, lounging in your room as you scroll on your phone. A notification shows up at the top of your screen and you see it's a message from Miles. You look at the text you received and raise an eyebrow, curious as to why he was asking.

Y/N: "Nah, I'm free right now. What's up?

Miles: "You wanna hang out? I'm bored..."

Y/N: "Yeah, I'm down. What did you have in mind?"

Miles: "Dunno, we could just chill at my house?"

You sigh at his suggestion, rolling your eyes and shaking your head.

Y/N: "I'm tired of being inside, I wanna go out somewhere. How 'bout that ice skating place that just opened a few weeks ago?"

Miles had to pause, contemplating on whether or not to go. But he decided that if it made you happy, he wanted to take you there.

Miles: "Sure, I'm down. You better not be scared to go ice skating."

His reply sounded as if he was mocking you.

Y/N: "Speak for yourself. They don't call me Ice Queen for nothin'😉❄️"

Miles couldn't help but chuckle.

Miles: "Sure, Miss 'Ice Queen'. Let's do this."

Fifteen minutes later, you and Miles are walking down the snowy streets, heading towards the ice skating rink. While walking, the cold surrounded you two, a slight breeze causing Miles to wince and rub his arms a bit.

"Dang, it's kinda cold out here." He says, looking over at you, presuming you were also cold.

"What? You can't handle a little chill?" You ask teasingly, hiding the fact that you are chilly as well. Miles scoffs and looks over as his breath is visible.

"You don't look any less frozen than me, Ice Queen." He moves closer to you, rubbing his shoulder against yours in an attempt to warm himself. You laugh sarcastically at his joke and bump his shoulder playfully.

"We're almost there, crybaby," You say, pointing up ahead. Miles was going to give a comeback in response, but he was too damn cold to really care too much.

"Good, I'm freezing my ass off." He admits, his teeth chattering a bit as he speaks. When we get inside, it's still cold but definitely warmer than outside. We head up to the front desk and pay for some rentals before heading over to a bench to put the skates on. Miles struggles a bit with his. He's a bit uncoordinated sometimes, so it takes him some time to actually put them on properly. Although, once he's done, he smiles and looks at you expectantly.

"So? Show me what you got, Ice Queen." He says with a slight laugh. You meet his challenge with a smirk.

"Watch and learn, Morales!" You glide out gracefully onto the ice, noticing that there's not that many people out. Miles shuffles over to the ice, holding onto the wall as he watches you. "See? I know what I'm doing." Miles rolls his eyes playfully at you.

"Sure, keep thinking that. But hey, if you fall, I'll be there to catch you. Sound fair?" He laughs, sounding a bit flirtatious. You laugh in response.

"You wish I would fall!" You shout as you take a lap around the rink. You come back around and Miles is still waiting at the edge of the ice. "Whatchu waiting for, slow poke?" You taunt. He gives you a determined look and steps out onto the ice. Although, before he can even finish taking a step, he falls onto the cold floor, landing on his butt. You skate over to him, holding out a hand. Miles looks up at you, seeming a little bit embarrassed.

"What was that you said about catching me if I fall? Maybe I should've been saying that." You tease as you stifle a laugh. He shakes his head as he grabs your hand and pulls himself up.

"Shut up. I tripped." He insists, obviously lying to himself.

"On thin air, or your ego?" You stick your tongue out tauntingly and start skating forward.

"Thin air, definitely. My ego's still very much in tact, thank you." You chuckle as he catches up, the two of you now gliding on the ice together. Miles is a bit wobbly, but he finds his balance, hoping not to fall on his ass again. You shake your head and hold your hand out to him.

"Here, just hold onto me." You offer with a small smirk on your face. Miles gives you a smug look back, taking your hand and standing upright.

"My hero." He replies mockingly. You roll your eyes and he pulls you closer to him as you both skate forward. "You know, if you wanted to hold my hand, Y/N, you could've just said so." He teases, giving you a wink.

"What? No, I was just being nice. If you wanted to hold my hand, you could've just asked." You retort playfully, giving him a nudge with your elbow. He looks as if he's going to lose his balance for a moment, but then recovers, glaring at you as you snicker at him.

"Uh huh, that's what they all say." He scoffs and you continue to laugh at him. Suddenly, he loses his balance again and he grabs onto your shoulders for support, gasping loudly. He ended up accidentally pushing my back against the railing of the rink. To others it looks like he's just giving me a hug, but he's really trying not to fall again.

"Ah! Miles!" You instinctively grab onto him as you hold him up and you can't help but to giggle. Miles sighs, looking off to the side but it's obvious that he's enjoying how close he gets to be to you.

"You're so bad at this! You almost took us both down!" You exclaim, scolding him jokingly. He leans in close to you and looks into your eyes as your faces are only a few inches apart now.

"Hey. You know, they say that people fall in love when they accidentally fall on each other?" He teases, trying his best to maintain his balance.

"Who said that?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Um, I did..." Miles says nonchalantly with a slight grin on his face, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You laugh, shaking your head once again at his silliness. But you couldn't help but blush slightly. A smile crept onto his lips as he smirks at you. "Oh? Am I making you nervous?" He asks tauntingly. You clear your throat and shake your head.

"No! I could never get nervous around you. Pft..." You say mockingly, but as you're speaking, your voice cracks a bit.

"Oh, is that so?" The grin on his face grew wider, almost as if he knew you weren't telling the truth about not being nervous. "Well, tell that to the blush on your face." He smirks at you before letting go of your shoulders and skating off, as if he never had any trouble before. You watch him, stunned as he doesn't even look unsteady.

"Were you faking the whole time?!" You shout after him in surprise, skating to catch up with him. He turns to face me as he skates ahead of me, skating backwards now. My jaw drops.

"Me? Fake? Never..." He replies with a smug look. "You know, you're cute when you're shocked."

"Oh don't even- That's not true. You said you couldn't skate!" You deflect, pointing a finger at him. As you catch up to him, he turns back forward, smirking at you.

"Never said that. You just assumed I couldn't because I fell earlier." He points out. "Besides, you're so easy to tease. It was very fun seeing your reaction." Miles chuckles.

"Oh, so now you're calling me easy?" You raise an eyebrow at him, hiding a smile.

"Easy to tease. If you were easy to get, I'd have gotten you a while ago. You're really making me work for it, Y/N." He says slyly, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

"What are you talking about?" I question, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, don't act oblivious now. Since you know everything, I bet you've been playing hard to get and you want me to chase you." He replies confidently.

"Ooh, so you're on to me, now? Hm, I guess you're smarter than I thought." You smirk at him and he seems a bit surprised. "Maybe I do want you to chase me, Miles." You give him a wink and skate ahead again. You had him at a loss for words for a moment, but then he skates after you. You both laugh as he tries to grab you and you dodge him.

As you glide across the ice, you lose your balance. But before you fall, Miles catches you and you two are now inches apart. You both stop in the center of the rink, panting softly. A few seconds pass, but no one makes a move. He looks at you and you look back at him. Then you feel his grip on your waist and he pulls you in a little closer. You can feel his breath on your face. It's as if you are the only two in the rink.

Finally, Miles leans in a little further and kisses you softly on the lips. His lips on yours sends a slight tingle up your spine and you feel your heart beat faster as you kiss him back. His hand moves to the back of your neck and he kisses you deeper, putting more passion behind the kiss.

After a few seconds, he pulls back but he still holds you close. As he moves his head away, he looks at you with a small smile on his face. You gaze at each other, both slightly blushing, but not embarrassed at all. Miles looks as if he's about to say something to you, but he's interrupted by one of the skating rink workers.

"Hey! No stopping in place on the ice! Keep it moving." He tells you both.

"Oh! Right, sorry." Miles says to the man before turning back to you. "Let's get outta here." He suggests, grabbing your hand.

"Yeah, let's go." You respond, as he pulls you to the side of the rink. He looks at you once more before he suddenly kisses your cheek.

"Sorry, couldn't resist." He smiles as he sees you blush again.

"Sure, you couldn't." You roll your eyes, stepping off the ice as Miles follows you.

You both leave the rink and head outside, noticing that the sun has set. The cold air is still a bit chilly on your skin, but it's not too bad. You notice that Miles has gotten you to hold his arm as he walks you home, as if he's not letting you go after the kiss that you two shared.

"So... I guess all that chasing wasn't for nothing then, huh?" Miles raises his eyebrows, smirking at you.

"I guess the chase was worth it. You caught your prize, now what?" You reply playfully, looking up at him. He pulls you a little closer and wraps his arms around you.

"Now, I get to keep it," He says as he kisses you gently on the lips. The world around you blurs as Miles kisses you under the soft glow of the streetlights. The snowflakes gently fall around you, creating a magical atmosphere. It's a moment frozen in time, one that you wish could last forever.

After a while, he breaks the kiss and looks at you. He can't keep his eyes off your face, his smile growing as he holds you in his warm embrace. Suddenly, a gentle breeze causes you both to shiver a bit, but the cold doesn't matter to you. All that matters is that you are there with Miles. The two of you start to walk again, Mile's arm around your shoulder as you walk down the street.

#fluff #oneshot #black reader fluff #black reader #noirsfantasy #12 days of christmas #christmas #miles morales #itsv #atsv #atsv miles #miles morales 1610 #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #spiderverse

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d0youc0py · 11 months

Note

Hello! May I request ⛸️ and/or 🌌 for Soap please? Thank you 💕

“Who thought this was a good idea?” You chuckled, holding onto Johnny for dear life.

“Someone who has never been Ice Skating.” He laughed back. It was date night and you thought it would be fun to try something neither of you had done. Ice Skating. Not just any ice skating- ice skating under the stars. You didn’t realize that under the stars meant it would be almost completely pitch black- except for the spheres of gas a million light years away. Plus they weren’t super pretty when you were laying on your ass with your tailbone throbbing. Luckily Johnny was willing to take most of the crashes for you, using his own body to shield you.

“Someone is going to post this on YouTube.” You grumbled.

“As long as they split the check with us.” He smiled, patting your bottom. He had one arm wrapped around you, the other gripping onto the wall to slowly inch you both towards the exit. “I really thought I’d be better at this.” He sighed, both your skates finally hitting hard ground. Laughter spilt from both of you as you hobbled to a bench.

“Wait here.” He whispered, kissing the top of your head. He grabbed both of your skates and dropped them back off to the rental lady, disappearing down the path that led to the car park. He came back with a warm fluffy blanket.

“Jo?” You questioned.

“Figured we wouldn’t last too long.” He smiled sitting back down. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulder pulling you to his side under his arm. You cuddled against him, following his gaze to the stars above.

“Johnny Mactavish saves the day again.” You whispered.

#d0youc0py #doyoucopy #cod #cod men #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod mwf2 #fluff #sfw #johnny soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap fluff #soap cod #soap x you #soap x y/n #gn reader #follower special

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bcrnyours · 4 months

Text

The French Ballerina might as well have been an eskimo in white tights. Bundled up in her thick coat with it's fur hood as she inspected the way her car- her rental car- ended up smack dab in the ditch. Cherise had never drove against black ice and it was no surprise the first time she did, she lost that battle. Heading back to her open car door, she leaned inside and fished in her bag for her phone. Surely Triple A would be available even if it was a holiday. But if things continued in her favor, Cherise would be scared. Because her phone was on one percent, the screen blinking a final goodbye before shutting off, and there seemed to not be a single car on this snowy covered road.

@mysterymanjoseph

#m; cherise #mysterymanjoseph #cherise + joseph

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 2 years

Text

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where a spring break trip ends with snow. And an unexpected rut ends with Felix.

Or the eighth installment of the SKZ!pack prequel series.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, SKZ!pack, SKZ!abo, stay, skz x you, skz x reader, ot8 x you, ot8 x reader, skz!pack prequel, pack!prequel, prequel series, Y/N, Seo Changbin, Lee Minho, Bang Chan, Han Jisung, Hwang Hyunjin, Lee Felix, Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin, Fluff, smut, Poly!skz

Genre: Fluff, Non-explicit Smut

Title: Snowed In

“I can’t believe you guys are going on a trip without me.”

Changbin hoists another suitcase into the back of the rental car, grunting a little under the effort, and turns to look at you where you’re pouting from the curb with a slightly guilty expression in his dark eyes.

“Sorry, baby. But you did say you needed to stay and take your late finals. And that we weren’t allowed to talk you out of it.”

“I know what I said.” You huff under your breath, crossing your arms over your chest against the early spring chill, the weak sunlight barely warming your skin. “But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Ahhhhh.” Jisung appears at your side, reaching out to pinch your cheek, even as you swat his hand away, eyes bright and heart shaped grin pulling his lips back to reveal white teeth. “Sweet baby alpha. Poor noona. Gonna miss out on all the spring break fun.”

“I hate you.” You pout, even as you let him gather you into the warmth of his embrace, resting his chin on the crown of your head, the tip of your cold nose brushing against the juncture of his jaw, just enough to get a faint whiff of detergent.

Your wolf whines plaintively.

“Oh my god, Hyunjin.” Changbin groans with annoyance, as he heaves the omega’s telltale floral print suitcase into the trunk, and slams the hatchback shut, huffing and puffing for air, even though you know he’s in perfect shape and most of it is just for show. “Did you pack your entire apartment in that thing? Good lord, man, we’re only going to be gone for five days!”

Hyunjin pushes his designer sunglasses back on top of his head and regards the alpha with an air of offended superiority.

“I can’t help it if this-” He motions to himself, down the length of his body, to everything. “-takes more than a little work and high end product, hyung!”

Minho appears then, suitcase in one hand, iced americano in the other, and wraps an affectionate arm around Hyunjin, tugging him to his side with a crook around the omega’s neck and a smirk in Changbin’s direction.

“Don’t waste your breath, Jinnie. A meathead like him wouldn’t get it anyway.”

“Hey!” Changbin protests, hackles rising, and you hold back a laugh, Jisung grinning beside you.

There’s been an uneasy truce between the two alphas the last few weeks, their jibes and taunts getting less pointed and hurtfully serious, and more all encompassing, bordering on almost teasing.

It’s more than you thought you’d be able to say, and you’re happy with the progress.

Minho arches a brow and lowers his sunglasses, staring down the other alpha over the black rims.

“Seo Changbin. Show me your suitcase.”

Changbin opens and closes his mouth, like he’s trying to think of a retort, and then, the tips of his ears going red, reaches into the back seat and proceeds to pull out an overly stuffed hiking backpack.

“That’s all you’re taking?” Hyunjin practically screeches, looking entirely and utterly appalled, and Minho looks smugly vindicated.

“Checkmate.”

“Hey, listen-” Changbin starts to protest wildly, tossing the backpack unceremoniously back into its spot in the back seat. “I brought changes of clothes and a toothbrush-”

“Oh my god.” Hyunjin wails dramatically, like it’s the end of the world, and Minho pats him sympathetically on the back. “Hyung, you’re going to kill me. Where’s your moisturizer? Or your hair products? Or-” Hyunjin gasps, like he’s just thought of something too heinous to say out loud, and his voice drops into a horrified whisper. “-what about your facial wash?”

Changbin looks entirely and utterly confused now.

‘I mean, I brought a bar of soap-”

“Oh my god!”

“Hey!” You interrupt Hyunjin’s obvious crisis, waving your hands to get everyone’s attention, and Changbin looks more than a little relieved to have the focus off of him for a moment, even though you’re sure he’s going to hear it for the entire three hour car ride to the mountains. “I’m the one who should be dramatic here. My entire pack is leaving me for five days to go spend spring break in the mountains-in a freaking cabin-while I have to stay behind and study cell mitosis!”

“Must suck.” Jisung quips offhandedly, and you reach out to cuff him on the side of the head, but he dodges your attack easily.

“I can’t believe I agreed to go to a cabin in the first place.” Minho gripes halfheartedly, rustling Hyunjin’s hair before releasing him, tossing Changbin his suitcase like he’s a waiting chauffeur, even as the other alpha fumbles to catch it on the fly.

“I can.” You smirk, and the other alpha glances at you pointedly, as if daring you to go on. You do. “It was Jisungie’s idea, and we all know you’re whipped for him.”

Minho points at you with the iced coffee in his hand, eyes unreadable behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

“Watch it, sweetheart.”

“Ahh, hyung.” Jisung teases in an overly sappy tone, throwing his arms around his boyfriend’s neck from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder as he gives him a dopey grin. “That’s so sweet. I never knew you were whipped for me.”

“I’m not.” Minho deadpans, shaking the beta off, as he opens the passenger side door and slides one foot into the car. “That’s why I’m making you sit with Hyunjin in the back for three hours.”

“Damn, hyung, you’re cruel.”

“And you’re a masochist.” Hyunjin quips lightly, skipping up to Jisung and putting a long finger beneath his chin, as he leans in to kiss him briefly on the lips, before sliding into the open backseat. “So we all know you like it.”

“Guilty.”

Jisung shrugs and slides in to sit next to the omega in the backseat.

“Guess this means I’m driving.” Changbin mutters beneath his breath, even as he shuts the back door and steps toward where you’re still pouting on the curb, arms folded tightly across your chest.

He puts a finger under your chin, and you resist for the briefest of moments, just to wallow in self misery for at least a second longer.

“Baby girl. Look at me.”

You sniff and meet his gaze, the smell of warm, wooded campfire filling your nose.

He smiles at you, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from your forehead, and then leans forward to bump his nose gently into yours.

“I’m sorry you have to stay behind. Promise we’ll make it up to you when we get back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You wave him off, but not before fitting your lips to his for one last, lingering, farewell kiss.

Okay, so maybe you’re being a little dramatic.

He tastes like chapstick, and the workout shake he drank this morning, and underneath it all, the tang of smoke.

“Seo Changbin. Get in the car. We need to get going if we’re going to make it before lunch.”

Lips still pressed to yours, Changbin rolls his eyes at the commanding tone of Minho’s voice, making you giggle into his mouth, before he gives you one last kiss and pulls back, glowering over his shoulder at the other alpha hanging out the passenger side window, phone in hand.

“Do I have to do all of the work around here?”

“Yes. Otherwise, what are all those muscles for?” Minho quips back quickly, making your two pack mates in the backseat cackle. “I’m navigating.” He waves his phone impatiently at Changbin, brows rising. “It’s arguably the most important job.”

“Next to literally driving the car.” Changbin mutters for only you to hear, and you swat his ass affectionately as he turns to leave, earning yourself a halfhearted glare. “Be good while we’re gone, yeah?”

“No promises.”

You grin and wave as he finally slides into the driver’s seat, Minho already leaning over to critique him on his hand position.

“Ten and two, meathead. My god, did they teach you nothing in Yongin?”

“Minho, I will literally murder you.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

“Hey, hyungs? I’m hungry, can we stop for food soon?”

“We haven’t even left yet, dumbass.”

“Don’t call me dumbass.”

“Don’t touch my sunglasses.”

“Don’t touch my side of the seat then.”

“Pups. Don’t make alpha come back there.”

“Yes alpha. Sorry alpha.”

Changbin sighs heavily, shoots you one last helpless look, and lurches the car into motion.

Jisung and Hyunjin wave wildly to you from the backseat, alternating between blowing you kisses and flipping you off, and you return the farewell motion vigorously until your wrist is aching and they’re long gone out of sight.

A headache is starting to pound behind your eyes, and you realize, as your wolf whines-long and needy-that it’s going to be a long ass week.

******

It’s on the morning of your second final, when you wake up hot and sweaty and aching all over, that you realize just how long the week is going to actually be.

“Shit.” You mumble beneath your breath, your mouth feeling like it’s full of cotton, the sun hurting your eyes, even as you blindly fumble for the glass of water you’d left on your night stand the night before, after hastily downing painkillers like they were going out of style.

You manage to knock the glass off onto the carpet, the water splashing onto your arm-cool and refreshing compared to the burning of your skin-and swear again under your breath, collapsing back onto the bed, fully out of breath and energy from just the limited motion.

“Shit.” You repeat, more vehemently this time, as if maybe saying it again will take the edge off of your misery.

It doesn’t.

The headache is back-pounding insistently behind your left eye-and it takes every last ounce of strength you have to find your phone and type a quick email to your professor.

It probably sounds something along the nonsensical lines of ‘hey sorry my pack (unofficial) is out of town and it must have triggered something because I’m having a surprise rut and honestly I’m probably just going to die, so I won’t be able to make the final, might as well just fail me now, thanks, good wishes.’

You don’t know, because you barely look at the screen of your phone as you’re typing-the lowest setting still hurting your eyes-and hit send without even proofreading, because your professor will get the gist, and if he doesn’t, honestly that’s on him.

He can see you weren’t lying when he attends your funeral.

You groan and flop back on the bed, letting your arm go limp across your chest, the familiar, heavy weight of your phone clenched in your fingers.

God, has it always been this bad? You don’t remember it being this bad.

As if on cue, your phone starts to vibrate in your hand, and with herculean effort, you manage to lift it to your ear and hit the answer button, it must be the answer button, because almost immediately, Jisung’s excited, loud voice is echoing through the speaker, making you wince and hold the phone a considerable distance from your ear on reflex.

Meanwhile, your headache chips away at the inside of your skull, and your mouth is so dry you feel like you’ve been in the desert all night, not your tiny, campus-issued, temperature controlled dorm room.

And beneath it all, the persistent urge to vomit. Or jump the bones of anything that moves. Either or.

“Noona, are you listening?”

You focus back in-with effort-on the beta’s ramblings, and force yourself to swallow down the bile rising in your throat, ignoring the hot, firelike itch that is creeping like flames across your skin, making you desperate for relief.

“Yeah, Sung. I’m listening.”

“It snowed so much last night! Minho-hyung hates it, he’s wearing a winter coat inside, but Jinnie and I dragged Changbin-hyung sledding this morning and it was so much fun!”

You know Jisung is excited, can tell in the tones of his voice, but all you can hear are the low notes of his words, the way his timber scratches over the g’s and t’s of his consonants, almost a growl, but not quite, and god, has Han Jisung always sounded this sexy?

You can almost smell the harsh, clean, chemical scent of laundry detergent, and saliva pools in the corners of your mouth, puddling behind your teeth.

Beneath the misery, your wolf growls.

Our beta, make him beg for it, for you. Tell him he needs to come back right this instant and take alpha’s knot and beg to be bred like a good boy-

God, you really need to go to horny jail.

He’s moved on to talking about something else now, something about hot chocolate and Hyunjin’s apparent aversion to marshmallows, and you clear your throat, regaining control of your senses just enough to scratch out, “Hey, Sung?”

A pause. A breath.

“Yeah, noona?”

“Can you-” You clear your throat once more, trying to ignore the shiver his voice sends down your spine, and push back down the insistent itch. “-can you put Changbin on the line for just a minute?”

“Yeah.” You don’t miss the disappointment that’s clear in the beta’s tone, and you make a silent promise to yourself to make it up to him later, but right now, you can’t focus enough to trust yourself to talk to anyone beside Changbin.

He’ll get it. He’ll understand. He’ll know what to do.

There is a brief moment of silence on the other end of the line, the sound of rustling and muted voices that you can’t quite make out, like an itch of something familiar that you can’t quite place in the back of your hazy mind, and for just a second, you worry that Hyunjin will pick up the phone, and god, if Hyunjin-if he-if the omega-

Omega, your wolf latches onto the word like a life saver, frenzied now, and you fist your hand, biting down-hard-on your knuckles to stifle the slight whimper that wants to break through your lips at just the thought of Hyunjin.

Our omega. Tell him. Tell him he needs to come back and-

“(Y/N)?”

Changbin’s voice comes through the phone, and it’s like a breath of cool air against your heated skin, just for a moment, just for enough time that you break away from your wolf and resurface for air, into the realm of human thought, long enough to manage to form a coherent word, maybe even a sentence if you’re lucky.

“Bin.” Your voice is low, hoarse, a stranger even to you, and you have to work incredibly hard to keep your words from wobbling.

“Baby? You okay?”

You groan, long and low in your throat, and shift around aimlessly in your sheets. They feel too rough on your overly sensitive skin.

“Not really.”

You hear the sound of Jisung yelling at Hyunjin for something and then the noise of a door shutting, and the voices in the background fade out of earshot, and all you can hear is Changbin’s slow and steady breathing, and god, if it doesn’t make you clench up.

Focus, (Y/N).

“What’s wrong?”

There it is, the alpha timber creeping into his words beneath the concern, and though he’s phrased it as a question, you know it’s not.

It’s a command.

You have to tell him.

You shuck off your blankets, the air of the room feeling too hot against your molten skin, and throw an arm over your eyes to block out the morning sunlight sneaking past your blinds.

God, your head is throbbing.

“I started.” A pause, silence from the other end of the phone. “My rut, I mean.”

There is the sound of a harsh exhale, and when Changbin speaks next, his voice is urgent, hushed, like he doesn’t want anyone else to overhear.

You’re grateful.

“When?”

“This morning.” The words come out on a shuddered sigh, and you curl your fingers into a fist against your forehead, praying the pressure will help your pounding headache.

It doesn’t.

You feel like you want to cry. After absolutely destroying someone sexually of course.

“You’re not on schedule, right-?” Changbin falters slightly, and you can hear the clear worry in his tone, and it helps to clear your head, if only for a moment.

“No.” You shake your head on reflex and instantly regret the motion, groaning as it jostles the thundering ache behind your eyes. You take a moment to breathe through the pain, the heat, the persistent itch, and then you say, “It caught me off guard. Maybe you guys leaving triggered something. I dunno. Shit.” You breathe the swear out harshly, leaning down to grab the hem of your t-shirt as you rip it over your head in one frantic motion. “God, it’s so freaking hot.”

“I know.” Changbin sympathizes, and you hear him rustling through something, maybe a suitcase, or a drawer. “It’s okay, baby.” A pause, and then his voice, dropping in volume once more, hesitant now. “Do you want me to stay on the line while you uh-you know?”

“While I what?” You huff out, already reaching for the drawstring of your sweats, your body literally boiling alive.

You know, even through the rut haze descending over your cognitive functions, what he’s insinuating, but some part of you wants to hear him say it.

Changbin clears his throat and pushes ahead. “While you touch yourself or something? Would that help?”

“Oh my god.” You manage to choke out an entirely unamused, slightly embarrassed laugh, the blush descending across your cheeks only furthering the heat creeping across your skin. “No.”

There’s the sound of a door opening, saving you both from further embarrasment, and then Changbin murmurs hurriedly, quietly, into the phone, “Hold on, Minho’s here.”

“Great.” You quip back, but maybe Minho can help, maybe he can come up with something that will just stop the burning long enough to-

There’s the sound of a rushed, muted conversation in the background, far enough away that you can’t make out any of the words, or maybe it’s just the hazy cloud that’s decensed over you the longer the suffering continues that’s made you incapable of functioning, but Changbin’s voice comes back on the line after just a moment, farther away now, as he says breathlessly, “Okay, baby? You’re on speaker phone. Minho knows what’s up.”

“Tough luck, sweetheart.” Minho’s voice now, still slightly sarcastic, but a lot more serious than you’ve ever heard him before, echoes through the speaker. “Are you dying?”

“Feels like it.” You groan out, desperately wishing you hadn’t spilled the only cup of water within reach, as your throat and mouth continue to fill with cotton and sand.

“ Unfortunately, sweetheart, I’ve got more bad news for you.”

You whine. “Of course you do.”

Minho’s voice softens a little, dropping into more of a soothing tone, as if he’s coddling you, trying to wheedle and appeal to the snapping, impatient wolf that must be evident in every misery filled word you utter.

“It snowed last night. A lot. I’m sure Jisung told you, but that also means the roads are impassable. And we won’t know when they’ll make it up here to clear them.”

“So I’m screwed.”

“For the foreseeable future at least, yes.”

“What happened to breaking it to her gently?” Changbin hisses, and you can almost picture, in your fevered brain, Minho shrugging offhandedly.

“I offered you a solution, and you shut it down, so-”

“Don’t, Minho.”

Changbin’s voice has dropped into a growl now, low and threatening, but Minho doesn’t waver.

“Okay, your call. But she’s just going to suffer more, and it’ll be because of your weirdly possessive selfishness.”

Their hushed arguement catches the attention of you and your wolf alike, and you manage to push yourself up on one elbow, long enough to look for another glass of water as you complain into the phone, almost a pathetic whine, “Seriously? Just tell me your idea. I’m desperate here.”

Changbin growls again, but reluctantly acquieses.

“Minho-” He hesitates over the word, as if fighting himself, fighting his alpha, and his voice is slightly choked, strangled, as if he really doesn’t want to say it out loud, but knows he needs to. “-Minho says that if you’re suffering that much already, and it’s just going to get worse, and you need help before we can get out of here and get back, that he can ask-” Another pause, another intake of harsh breath. “-Felix. To help you out.”

Your wolf readily agrees to the idea-to the omega-even as every inch of your human body and heart balks immediately, violently at the other alpha’s words.

“Absolutely not.”

“Well then-” Minho sighs, long suffering and annoyed, as if he’d already been through this exact same reaction and scenario with Changbin previously. “-guess you’ll be taking lots of cold showers and getting very well acquainted with your fingers this weeked, eh, sweetheart?”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, I’m only trying to help.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve done ruts on my own before just-” Your words cut off, and you bite back a gasp as you force yourself to sit up, the room instantly spinning, the nausea stampeding to the forefront.

You sit on the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the thin mattress, until the black spots start to disperse from your vision.

When you think you can form words again without instantly vomiting, you continue.

“Just promise you won’t tell Jisung. Or Hyunjin.”

The omega’s name, rolling off your tongue, makes you clench up with repressed need, and the heat is back, insistent, itchy, infuriating.

You try very hard not to focus on thinking about your omega boyfriend at all. At least not until you get into the relative soundproof, private safety of the alpha dorm showers.

God, you’d forgotten about the miserable horniness of all this.

You hate it.

A brief pause, and then Changbin agrees in a hushed, careful tone.

“Okay. We won’t tell them. But promise me you’ll do something-” His voice drops, and there’s an edge now, dangerous, but also deadly serious, to his words, and you instantly catch his meaning, even if he doesn’t say it out loud, can’t say it out loud. “-anything-if it gets too bad before we can get to you.”

“I’ll be fine.” You grate out between clenched teeth, as you force yourself up from the edge of the bed onto shaking legs. “Promise.”

It’s a lie, and you all know it, but you’re grateful Minho and Changbin don’t call you out on it.

*******

You’re considering if it’s worth it to make the trek to the showers again-you don’t know if your legs can take another trip, let alone the rest of your body-when there’s a timid knock at your door.

You ignore it, bundled under the blankets, hot and sweaty and absolutely miserable, until the knock sounds again, louder this time, more insistent.

You growl in irritation, throwing the blanket off of you-the soft one, that Jisung always sleeps with, because it’s the only thing you can stand against your skin right now-and squint, making your way to unlock the door.

Cracking it open, the smell hits you before you even catch sight of the unwelcome visitor, and it instantly has you floundering backward, away from the doorknob, like you’ve been physically burned.

“Felix?” You manage to croak out, already putting measurable distance between yourself and the omega, who enters your room without so much as a backward glance, quietly clicking the door shut behind him.

“Hey.” He offers the hint of an unsure wave, lips trembling into the start of an awkward smile.

You try not to count the freckles that crinkle across the bridge of his nose because of it.

“Hey noona.” He repeats again, still slightly unsure, and another wave of baked goods and slightly spiced vanilla hits your nose with his words.

God, he smells heavenly.

You force your suddenly frantic wolf deep, deep down and try to ignore the sudden ache in your teeth, the almost instantaneous pool of saliva gathering around your gums.

“Felix-” You repeat, dumbfounded, because between the haze of rut and the unlikely visitor standing hesitantly in your doorway, you’re not really sure what else to say. “-you really need to leave.”

You know, know Felix isn’t stupid, know by the way his nostrils flare and his pupils dilate that he can instantly tell what’s happening, is instantly aware of how badly you want to pounce him, like a predator finally cornering its prey.

And yet, he doesn’t back down in the slightest, swallowing hard enough that his adam’s apple bobs, before he says, deep voice vibrating in every core of your being, “I can help you know.”

The words bounce around in your head like the screensaver on a microsoft computer, and it takes you a moment to form a response, takes you a moment to catch up, to realize what he’s offering.

Your wolf eggs you on, wills you to take it, staring down, unblinking, unyielding, the pretty, perfect omega standing before you.

Omega. He’s willing. You want him. Take it. See how well he handles your knot, how easily he takes to being bred, like a good little boy, good little omega-

Something inside of you clenches, nauseous, at the thought, and when Felix takes a step toward you, you instinctually back up, running your back into the windowsill with a painful bump.

“Felix, I can’t-”

Can’t what? Can’t accept him? Can’t handle this right now? Can’t control yourself? Can’t, can’t, can’t.

Something in Felix’s face grows resolute, and he reaches out a hand, even though he’s nowhere near close enough to touch you.

“Please let me help. Alpha.”

The reverently uttered title has every muscle in your body shaking, the saliva gushing in around your tongue, canines clicking together sharply in frustration. Your fingers curl around the windowsill behind you, just in one last futile attempt to keep yourself grounded, and the sharp scent of wisteria blooms in the air between you-heady, intense, distressed, desperate.

“Felix-” You pant out, shutting your eyes for a moment, trying to focus on anything but the sweet smell of butter cookies slowly filling the small room. You can feel the way the sweat is starting to drip down your forehead and into your eyes, salty and stinging, keeping you grounded, only slightly, in reality. “I can’t. It’s fine. I’ll just-”

“You’ll just what?” Felix demands, and the suddenly sharp tone to his usually soft, demure voice has you blinking at him owlishly, trying to keep up with his sudden change of emotion. There’s a spark in his eyes now, angry, frustrated. “You’ll just what, noona? Handle it yourself? Stay locked away and suffer through it?”

You bite down so hard on your tongue that you taste the coppery warmth of blood against your teeth, and when you speak again, your voice is as shaky as the rest of you.

“Please, Felix-”

Please what? Please help me? Please go away? Please don’t leave me? Please, please, please.

Felix’s eyes soften into dark pools of warmth, and he takes another hesitant step toward you.

Your wolf practically keens with need.

“Hyunjin texted me.”

The words are slow to render, as if they have to travel through percolated molasses in your head before you can comprehend them, and you feel yourself floundering.

Beneath it all, the persistent itch grows to a dull ache.

“Yeah?” You ask stupidly, your words slow, even to your own ears, and Felix nods, offering you the hint of a soft smile.

“Yeah.” He tilts his head and watches you, curled against the window like a scared animal, and then he closes even more of the space.

You’re salivating so much now, the taste of cookies on your tongue, that you’re surpised you’re not openly drooling.

“He said it’s okay. It’s all okay, noona. They don’t want you to suffer through it on your own.”

“Yeah?” You repeat again because it’s the only thing you can think to say, the only word you can form in your slow downward spiral into insanity. You sound exhausted and pathetic, even to yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

If Hyunjin and the others said it was okay-

You feel your shoulders relax marginally, and it finally feels like you can suck in a full breath of air for the first time since your rut started.

Your fingers itch to touch Felix’s skin.

Something nags at the back of your mind, and before your wolf can pull you under, before you give in to instinct and lose all humanity and ravage the omega standing before you whole, you have to ask.

“Felix.”

Felix’s pupils blow-large and dark-at the drop of your voice into alpha timber, and the air is chilled with the scent of frosted pine, heightening the spicy undertones of vanilla.

“Yes, alpha?”

“Do you want to help me?”

“God yes.” Felix breathes back, lips parted slightly, already drawing closer to you, and you know it’s the rut strengthened pheromones, because he looks slightly out of it already.

A dam inside of you breaks as he closes the distance between the two of you, something you didn’t know you were holding back in the first place, because now, now it’s all okay.

Felix is here. And your pack knows. And everyone is okay with everything and god, you really don’t want to do this on your own anymore-

And yet, as your fingers trace over Felix’s scent gland and he leans into your touch, you’re still hesitant, still unsure.

Inside, your wolf growls impatiently.

“Felix.” You say again, for what feels like the hundredth time, and he looks up at you, all doe eyes and black pupils. You swallow down the excess saliva coating your tongue and try to breathe through your mouth, filtering out the sweet, slick smell of baking cookies. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me.” He assures immediately, hand going up to cover your own where it rests against the base of his throat. His pulse is fluttering beneath the palm of your hand. He tilts his head and offers you the hint of a wry smile, freckles rippling as he does so. “I’m an omega. I was made for taking knots.”

Something about his words make your hackles rise, wolf at sudden attention, ears pricked, and you take a deep breath in, before sliding your fingers up the slender column of his throat, letting your thumbs rest in the indents beneath his jaw, gently, insistent, against the cool of his skin.

“Do you actually believe and more importantly, want that? Or did society just teach you that?”

Felix’s eyes widen subtly, dark eyelashes fluttering against his skin.

“Does it matter?”

You nod, letting your fingers trace upward, across the plush, pink bow of his lips, the high, delicate arch of his cheekbones, the constellations of freckles dotting his skin.

“It does to me.”

Something akin to surprise flashes across the omega’s expression, and you don’t know Felix well enough-not yet-to read him completely, but you note the way his shoulders relax at your statement, the way his body seems to melt into the space of your own.

“I want it.” He murmurs, looking up at you through impossibly dark lashes, expression serious.

“You want it?” You repeat back, and you let a little alpha slip into your tone now, growling as you capture his chin in your fingers and tug him toward you, snagging his bottom lip none too gently between your teeth. “You want to be a good little omega for alpha, is that it?”

“Yes.” Felix stutters out, whining against your lips as you lick into the hot recesses of his open mouth. “God, yes.”

Felix tastes just like he smells-like a bakery full of the sweetest confectionary you could possibly ever hope to eat-and he’s all too willing and pliable as you lead him to the bed.

Rut, and more importantly, rut sex, is never romantic-it’s frantic and biological and honestly a pain in the ass-but Felix is also undeniably pretty, and so after you’ve stripped both of you from your clothes, you take the moment to admire him, straddling his tiny waist, fingers curled around his wrists.

“You’re pretty.” You remark offhandedly, cocking your head as you appreciate the view.

Beneath your weight and the pattern of his freckles, Felix flushes.

The smell of bakery in the air grows.

“Thank you, alpha.”

“I don’t want you to thank me.” You purr, leaning forward into his space now, running your nose first across his scent gland and then up the column of his throat.

Beneath you, Felix whines.

You smirk against his skin, sucking open mouthed kisses back down the path you just traced up his throat, and lick a stripe across the hollow of his collarbone, before you assuredly drag your teeth across the same spot, making him squirm and whine again-low in the back of his throat.

You pull back to look at him, flushed and impatient beneath you, and your mouth waters at the smell of slick starting to pervade the air, barely noticeable beneath your own twisted concotion of wisteria and vanilla.

You put your lips to his ear.

“I want you to beg.”

Felix chases your lips as you pull away, and you let him win, slotting your lips with his, teeth bumping and tongues tangling, hot and wet and messy.

“Please-” Felix pants out when you separate, and you reach up to rub the tip of your finger across his spit swollen lips, red from kissing.

“Please what?”

“Please-” Felix digs his fingers into your waist, rolling his hips up into yours for friction, and you drop your head into his neck, lips parting, at the sudden contact, even as the omega lets his own head drop back against the mattress, gasping for air, as he forms the words. “Please let me have your knot.”

“Good boy.”

Felix is responsive, and sensitive, and altogether way too pretty for anyone’s good, and maybe it’s that fact, or the fact that he’s practically the picture perfect omega-all soft angles and flawless skin and lithe lines and sweet scent-but whatever it is, by the end, as you’re both gasping into coming, you feel the immeasurable urge to bite, to mark, to claim.

You pin Felix down beneath you, stopping his movements abruptly, and even though he’s still panting, trying to reclaim his lost breath, coming down from the high, he stills, staring up at you with wide, surprised eyes.

“Alpha-”

“Felix.” You grate out, clenching your teeth, swallowing hard, as you try to force the urge back down into the pit of your stomach, clenching your eyes shut and biting back against the sudden, violent ache in your teeth. “Felix, just, I need you to-”

You suck in a hiss of breath through your teeth, and will yourself to remain in control, try to ignore the saliva gathering beneath your tongue, the way Felix’s saccharine scent has seemed to heighten suddenly.

You do everything in your power to not look at the weeping scent gland marking the side of Felix’s throat.

Your teeth hurt and your jaw spasms.

“Felix.” You repeat again on a huff of air, finally meeting his gaze, muscles trembling, as you hold yourself above him, connected by your knot. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.” Felix breathes out, and he’s got that post knot glow that only omegas seem to get. You try not to focus on that thought too much.

“Tell me not to bite you.”

Felix’s eyes widen, dark and swirling, and then he swallows, throat bobbing, before he whispers out haltingly, “Don’t-bite me.”

“No claiming.” You go on, even though you know it sounds absolutely insane, seeing as how you don’t even really know each other.

You wait silently for him to repeat it back to you.

“No claiming.” Felix parrots obediently, the confusion on his face giving way to open curiosity.

You manage to force yourself to listen to his words, and with a frustrated click of your canines, force your wolf back down.

“Shit.” You roll both of you onto your sides, so you’re staring at each other, and manage the hint of an exhausted smile. “That was intense.”

Felix nods, reaching out to touch the sheen of sweat still on your forehead with a gentle poke of his finger.

The air smells like warming cookies.

His lips quirk into the hint of a wry smile as he continues to stare at you.

“So. I guess I should say, nice to get to know you?”

You chuckle tiredly, and nod.

“Nice to get to know you.”

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

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aquagirl1978 · 11 months

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Ahoy Aqua! I'm still thinking about that Gilbert and Son fic you wrote the other day and I was wondering if I could request wholesome family headcanons about having a water gun fight with Gilbert and your child as well as Chevalier and your child?

Oh, you mean the fic I posted like over a month ago - oh wait, you mean like a year ago? Sorry I'm so slow with requests 😂 You'll have to forgive me for tweeking your prompt. When I saw those cute lil cyberpunk chibis, and saw Gil with his giant bazooka I was reminded of this request that remained unanswered. A/N: You, as the reader, are alive and well but not present in this paint gun battle. It will become obvious why you are not there as you read along - think of this as a "choose your suitor" story. Disclaimer: I took some liberties in writing this - most notably with their choice of clothing and gameplay. Please do not play paintball without the proper gear and always follow the rules.

IKEMEN PRINCE HEADCANONS - WHOLESOME FAMILY PAINT GUN BATTLES (GILBERT, CHEVALIER)

Arrival at the Arena

The members of the von Obsidian family were frequent visitors at the paintball arena.

Today's outing was led by Gilbert, the proud papa, who was joined by his four children.

They arrived dressed for the occasion - head-to-toe black and red. The two eldest children dragged in what appeared to be a small armory - enough guns for each of them to have at least three and enough ammo to last all afternoon.

Gilbert was busy checking each gun before handing it off to a child as another family entered the space.

Chevalier Michel had never stepped foot into such a place before in his life. It was dark and dingy, and had his teenage son not begged him to come to this place, Chevalier would have been home, reading in his library.

He scowled as his son led him to the long counter - apparently this was where one obtained the equipment necessary to participate.

"Do you want to rent or purchase?" the clerk asked.

"Rent," Chevalier grumbled. There was no need to purchase something he would have no use for after today.

"Hey, Dad, do you know that man over there? He's waving at you."

His ice blue eyes glanced up, a loud sigh escaping his lips before closing his eyes momentarily.

Gilbert wasted no time approaching Chevalier when he ignored his wave. "Fancy seeing you here," Gilbert said with a smile. "Didn't anyone tell you not to wear white here?" he asked, poking Chevalier in the chest with his long finger.

Chevalier roughly brushed Gilbert's hand away. "Didn't anyone tell you to fix your jacket?" he asked, his eyes flickering to the jacket falling from Gilbert's frame, exposing his pale shoulders.

"My wife likes it this way," Gilbert replied, still smiling. "Since you're here, we should play against each other."

Let the Games Begin!

"You're a bit short there..." Gilbert apprised as his single eye flicked between Chevalier and son and his army of four.

"Oh, I know...you can borrow a few of mine." He tapped two of his sons and motioned for them to join Chevalier.

"That wasn't necessary," Chevalier said, frowning at the two mini-Gilberts now standing by his side. "And I out-number you now," he added with a raised brow.

"I know," Gilbert replied with a smile as sharp as a knife.

What did I get myself into? Chevalier felt a sharp sting in his stomach, reminiscent of the pains one might experience when Clavis was nearby. This will not end well.

Chevalier led his team to their designated hideout. He watched in awe as Gilbert's two sons unpacked enough paintball guns to equip a small army.

"Here, take this. It's better than any of the stuff they rent here."

Chevalier tossed his rental gun to the side; the one the mini-Gilbert handed him was a far superior model. Large, yet light in his hands, he nodded approvingly as they handed a similar styled gun to his son.

"You've never played before, have you?" one of the mini-Gilberts asked Chevalier, eyeing his white jacket.

"Just show me how to load this thing," Chevalier replied gruffly, grabbing a handful of paintballs.

After a brief rundown of how to operate the equipment and how to play, the team was ready to split up and start the battle.

"Papa likes to hide," one of the mini-Gilberts warned before the team split up.

Chevalier nodded as he directed the others which way to head.

He crept along his path, his gun at the ready, expecting the worst from Gilbert.

But it was quiet. Too quiet. So quiet, Chevalier found himself growing bored with this game.

He was about ready to drop his gun to his side when out of nowhere came a small figure screaming loudly.

"What the -" Chevalier shouted, shooting the child straight in the chest.

"You got me...." Gilbert's daughter clutched her heart as he body crumped to the ground.

"Dramatic. Just like your father," he said as he stood over her prone body.

One down, two to go.

"What happened to you?" Chevalier asked when he ran into one of the mini-Gilberts from his team.

"My brother....he's down that way. You might be able to sneak up on him."

Chevalier nodded silently and followed down the path until he found his target.

He hid behind cover as he watched and waited for the perfect moment.

When the moment was right, in the darkness of shadows, Chevalier stalked his prey, his gun at the ready.

When the mini-Gilbert's back was turned, Chevalier slipped from the shadows and aimed his gun.

Splat! Bright yellow mixed with black and red, a bright sun in the center of darkness.

"Ah, crap," the mini-Gilbert muttered as his hand reached around his back, his dark glove touching the yellow splatters of paint.

Two down, one to go.

It didn't take long for Chevalier to find the Final Boss; he simply went to where he would have hid.

When he heard Gilbert's familiar laughter, he knew he was in the right spot.

When he turned the final corner, Chevalier couldn't believe his eyes.

"What the bloody hell?!"

Gilbert was perched on a pile of wooden crates, his usual grin plastered on his face.

And a rather large bazooka in his hands.

"What are you doing with that thing?" Chevalier asked, telling himself that he was in no way, shape or form jealous of the weapon in Gilbert's hand.

"No one's ever actually found me during one of these paintball battles, so I've never actually used it. So sad, isn't it?"

Chevalier watched the strange, little man with curiosity as Gilbert stroked the weapon as if it were his pet.

"Do you know what you're doing with that thing?" Chevalier asked.

"Of course I do!" Gilbert exclaimed, offended to be asked such a question. "I built this myself, I -"

BOOM!

All of a sudden, the ground began to shake as the air filled with a giant cloud of acrid smoke. Chevalier covered his mouth with his forearm, his head still ringing, confused as to what exactly happened.

"Oops," Gilbert choked out in between coughs.

The Aftermath

"This was fun, we have to do it again. How's tomorrow?" Gilbert said with a smile as everyone was packing up their gear.

One of the mini-Gilberts pushed his bangs from his forehead as he let out a low sigh. "No, Papa. We have to wait a week. That's how long it will take the place to repair the damage you caused with your bazooka."

"Oh. How's next week then?" Gilbert asked, his smile sad, but not yet quite a frown.

"Yeah, sure," Chevalier mumbled as he and his son left.

"Dad?" Chevalier's son asked once they were outside. "I thought you and mom were going to that book fair next week?"

"Indeed."

"Then why'd you agree to come play then?"

"I won't be coming; your Uncle Clavis will. He and his army of Lelouchians would enjoy this barbaric game immensely."

#forgive me this is so long #ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #chevalier michel #ikepri chevalier #ikemen chevalier #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikemen gilbert #ikepri headcanons #ikemen headcanons #ikepri fanfic #ikemen fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic #otome headcanons

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rabbitcruiser · 2 years

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'Black Cow' Root Beer Float Day

Today we celebrate the black cow, which in many locations is simply another name for a root beer float—a drink consisting of root beer and vanilla ice cream. They are sometimes called chocolate cows or brown cows when chocolate ice cream is used in place of vanilla. In some locations, a black or brown cow is made with cola instead of root beer. In other locations, root beer and ice cream are mixed together, instead of the ice cream sitting on top.

Frank J. Wisner, the owner of Cripple Creek Brewing in Colorado, made the first black cow on today's date in 1893, after observing the snow caps of Cow Mountain the night before, and thinking they looked like ice cream scoops on top of soda. The first drinks were made by combining Myers Avenue Red root beer and vanilla ice cream. He soon began making the drink using cola. The drink became known as the Black Cow Mountain drink, and it is said that children shortened the name to the black cow.

How to Observe 'Black Cow' Root Beer Float Day

Celebrate the day by having a black cow! Pour root beer—such as Myers Avenue Red, the first root beer used to make black cows—into a glass, add ice cream, and then top it off with more soda. You could also buy one at a restaurant, such as at A&W, where they are particularly popular in the United States and Canada.

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a-midnight-rabbit-writes · 5 months

Text

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Rook Hunt x Male!Reader

A lover of all things beautiful, Rook Hunt wouldn’t dream of shying away from the chance to watch you practice your newest figure-skating routine, sans invite, of course.

CW: brief mention of past character death

Word Count: 1171

A/N: This drabble is brought to you by the yearly reawakening of my Yuri On Ice obsession

(Still patiently waiting for Ice Adolescence cuz I'm delulu)

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The spinning of the empty arena around you halted as your skates made contact with the ice again, gliding forward on its smooth, frozen surface as you prepared yourself for your next jump. You could clearly see your breath in front of you, panting in the frigid air, as you realized that you were a bit more out of practice than you had previously thought.

An avid figure skater in your old world, though perhaps nothing overly extraordinary, you were no Olympian, it had been several months past your arrival at NRC when you had finally learned that Sage Island had a small ice skating rink of its own. Skating around one of the school’s frozen ponds with your classmates on a rather nice day set in the deepest part of Winter you had mentioned in passing to the other freshmen that back in your world you had several years of experience on the ice, and had lamented the loss of your ability to continue with your regularly scheduled practice routine. (Though surely your body was grateful for the temporary hiatus.) Cue Epel dragging you down to the city center the following day, right up to the doors of the Sage Island Ice Rink.

It didn’t take you very long to become familiar with the owner of the rink, a kindly older woman who had been quite the figure skater herself in her youth, trophies and plaques displayed next to black and white photographs behind the skate rental counter, and who eventually gave you permission to come by the rink after closing whenever your homework load let up enough that you had the spare time to re-immerse yourself in your sport.

And so here you were, just you, the ice, your music playlist, and a lurking Rook Hunt who was not even trying to hide the fact that he was watching you skate. Drifting backwards past the section where he was seated, a prime spot right in the front, you raised your eyebrows slightly at him in curiosity, receiving his signature cheery smile in return. Shaking your head teasingly, you turned your attention back to the set you were currently working on.

You had been attempting to choreograph this one back home, to one of your favorite pieces of music, a lively piano and violin piece that you no longer had access to here in a whole different world. Back then, you had been struggling with just how to fit together the last few pieces of your performance, somehow every time failing to compose it in a way that felt just right. Yet right here you were twirling through the air and sliding across the ice in a perfectly seamless transition from one step to another, to a whole new musical composition, one you could have never heard until landing yourself in Twisted Wonderland. As if it were some strange destiny that you bring your artistic vision to fruition only after having woken up in this peculiar, dangerous, beautiful land.

Ever so graceful off of the ice, the last thing that you could remember before falling out of that magical coffin and into Night Raven College’s first year ceremony was tripping over your own feet in the arena locker room after a competition, the world abruptly going black as your head made harsh contact with the very edge of the changing room bench. You would never admit this aloud to anyone though. You knew that Ace would never let you live it down if he got word that you went out in such a way.

As the music slowly came to a finish, you found yourself sliding to a gentle stop at the edge of the arena, your skates stilling right in front of where your upperclassman was perched, no longer in his seat but instead leaning over the wall, chin resting in his hand, his intense emerald gaze fixed upon your figure.

“What a simply marvelous performance, Prince de la Glace.” Rook exclaimed, as you braced your hands on your knees, letting your upper body droop as you caught your breath after such intense exercise. “Such passion in your performance! C’est trop bien! Your confidence upon the ice has re-emerged like a bright spring flower blossoming through fallen snow.”

Anybody else wouldn’t have been able to tell if you were flushed from embarrassment, or from the stinging chill of the ice rink, but you were certain that Rook knew, with those uncanny green eyes that seemed to stare right past the surface every time the two of you happened to make eye contact. (Which happened more frequently than you cared to admit.) You supposed it could be unnerving, everyone else seemed to be in agreement that the Pomefiore vice housewarden was peculiar, to say the least. Most tried to avoid him. However, you were doubtful that there was ever a quarry that could elude the evasive hunter. You must have been a bit odd yourself, not minding that you had caught his attention.

“You only ever visit the rink to watch me skate,” you remarked, standing yourself upright again, and meeting the hunter’s sharp eyes. “Maybe you’d like to try it out for yourself for once?”

You gestured to the small expanse of ice behind you.

Fetching a pair of ice skates in Rook's size, the other student allowed you to tie his laces for him before you led him out onto the ice. Skating in a group with friends had always been enjoyable, but this was something quite different.

There was always something so much more intimate about sharing the ice with just one other person. There was also the excitement at the thought that you might get to watch the normally graceful hunter fall flat on his ass. Truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

You tried not to smile at the thought, prepared to aid your classmate should he end up sprawled on the ice. Yet it turned out that the self-proclaimed Chasseur D’Amour was more sure on his feet than you had previously anticipated, remaining perfectly poised and balanced only a few steps behind you, leaving you to wonder if this was truly his first time on the ice as he had led you to believe.

Instead, it was you, the veteran figure skater, who lost your balance first, a surprised gasp stealing the air from your lungs as your feet slipped out from under you, sending you tumbling backwards. In that split-second, you had prepared yourself for the jolting pain that usually came with such harsh contact with the frozen surface beneath you, however that moment never came to pass. Instead of the frozen ice of the rink, you felt a warm pair of well muscled arms wrap around you, your back bumping against Rook’s chest as he caught you.

“Quelle tragédie!” Rook exclaimed, his arms snug around your waist. “It would appear that you have fallen for me, my dear Prince de la Glace!”

This time there would be no blaming your reddened cheeks on the ice.

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Thank you for reading! Likes/comments/reblogs always appreciated!!

🐇♥️🐇

#tumblr drabbles #twst drabbles #rook hunt #twst rook #rook hunt x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #nrc #yuu #pomefiore #figure skating fic

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olet-lucernam · 1 month

Text

A Hollow Promise [25] chapter vi, part ii

{_[on AO3]_}

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture

summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

chapter summary : astrid gathers her allies, and draws the attention of her enemies. loki pays a heavy price for a victory.

recommended listening : rebel soul, katharine appleton, maja norming

tag list: @femmealec, @mischief2sarawr

[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]

Astrid had told the truth, as always. Ophelia was not her only appointment.

Neither was she the first, however.

Hours earlier, wrapped in a fine, black woollen pea coat and comfortable trainers, Astrid had been walking through the fog and frigid, sea-soaked air of the Cornish coastal town of Looe.

The historical fishing village was sheltered within a deep valley, prefaced inland by thick, verdant forests and winding country roads. Ivory villas and weathered stone cottages were built into the slopes of the cliffs, bordered by a riot of meadow-flora and hardy coastal shrubs, the settlement split in half by the river that decanted into the small marina, and the open, pewter waters of the North Atlantic.

The place held a kind of quaint, antique seaside charm that was ubiquitous to Britain, in Astrid’s experience- a nostalgia that was just slightly foreign to her, evoking the same feeling as the second-hand copies of those interbellum novels by Enid Blyton and Agatha Christie that she used to read on rainy days at home.

She could feel Loki watching through her eyes, dozing gently, shamelessly indolent as he clung to sleep.

Exhaling a smile, Astrid consciously drank in as much as she could. She drew the mouldering, salt-stained tang of seaweed and ocean shallows deep into her lungs, face raised to the damp air, clear-eyed and refreshed.

It was one of the many reasons to be relieved to be out of SHIELD’s custody: wherever she went, and whatever she saw, Loki could experience it through their link. And she was one of the rare, fortunate few who could go anywhere, at any time, with little enough effort.

A flush of affection bloomed in her, like a kiss at the nape of her neck, Loki reading her intentions like braille.

Astrid giggled, the ache of want in her chest ebbing slightly, and glanced out across the harbour.

It was the off-season; the tourism trade withered into hibernation with the last days of August, and first weeks of September. Even so, the picturesque village obviously received a fair number of visitors in the summer months. Across the town, there was an abundance of cafés, bakeries, fishmongers, local crafts shops, ice cream parlours, wetsuit and board rental stores. A sprawling car park had been cut at the base of the hill, and a number of small commercial pleasure boats were moored against the harbour walls, anchored between algae-stained tangerine buoys, advertising sea safaris and recreational fishing trips on printed boards affixed to the weather-rusted harbour railing. A few places were shuttered, but other businesses remained open even into November, catering to the permanent residents of the town.

As she chased the slope upwards, approaching from the narrow, eastern flank of the harbour, towards the ageing arcade and stone bridge across the river, a thought occurred to her.

“Loki. Do you like seafood?”

She felt Loki stir. Astrid could almost imagine his head lifting from his cupped hand- or rolling across a pillow to look at her, black curls spilling, eyebrows steepled in mild askance.

I tend to eat more game, I suppose, he answered cautiously. Hunts are too popular on Asgard for it to be otherwise. But I do like shellfish. Although it is seen as peasant food on Asgard. Cheap fare, common as mud, to be eaten at the harbour by tradesfolk.

“It used to be the same here, for centuries,” Astrid replied, the corner of her mouth twisting up sardonically. “Oysters were still delicious when they were only good for the poor.”

Loki laughed softly. It is ridiculous, is it not? The arbitrary standards of high taste.

He hesitated for a long moment.

I do like oysters, he admitted, almost nervous.

A lilt kicked into Astrid’s step, her mood lifting.

“Oysters, then.” Widening her stride into a loping gait, forming rolling bounce on the balls of her feet, she lifted her face to the headwinds, letting it blow her hair back. “Maybe mussels or scallops, if I can’t find any? Oh- and cream tea.”

Cream tea?

“It’s, ah- like a dessert version of afternoon tea, I suppose? It’s sometimes called Cornish tea.” Astrid crossed the bridge at a brisk clip, shoulder bag tapping at her hip. “You’ll love it. Black tea, served with split scones, clotted cream, and jam. Strawberry is traditional, but I prefer raspberry.”

At the mention of something sweet, she felt Loki’s interest instantly perk.

Astrid’s victory dimmed as Loki swiftly crushed down on his eagerness, cooling into reflexive indifference.

Then you should have raspberry, my heart, he replied mildly, like fingers skimming her cheekbone.

“Mm.”

Astrid strummed her fingers against the cross-strap of her bag, tension furling.

She wondered if she could just scream I want to give you this, let me give you this, I want to give you everything, be selfish with me, just ask me and it’s yours, yours, yours, just say the word, put me to the test, let me prove it across the connection, or if that would be too blunt.

She opted for a subtler option. For now. “Seeing as we’re breaking tradition, we could change the tea out as well.”

Peppermint?

“I thought you might prefer rosehip. Or something floral.”

It’s your tongue, darling.

Astrid nipped her lower lip.

“I like sharing my tongue with you.”

She felt his train of thought stutter, before heating.

You’re playing a dangerous game, Astra, Loki warned, dark and edging into primal, shifting into a voice behind her left ear that seemed spoken through gritted teeth.

Astrid startled, almost tripping, as she felt the sensation of the pads of his fingers swiping at her inner thigh.

Her brain short-circuited for a moment.

Hm. Are you curious, darling?

She bit her lip, restraining the impulse to goad him further.

Following Loki revealing how he could twist his magic into her through their link, Astrid had begun asking about the possibilities. The conversation had been mostly practical- but the thought had occurred to her, even if she had quickly become distracted when it struck her exactly how ingenious the method was, how brilliant Loki was, how blithely oblivious he seemed to that fact.

But now- despite herself, folding her lip between her teeth in an effort to pin her unravelling thoughts in place- Astrid lingered over exactly how far and how intensely he could project sensation into her, how much sensory feedback he received back through their link, and whether-

No. Nope. Nope, nope, no. Work first, North. We’ll explore that another time.

Despite the curl of delighted, thoroughly distracted mischief from Loki, he let the matter drop.

Astrid exhaled quietly, grateful.

Today, she was visiting an old friend. It would be unwise to arrive disarmed of her wits.

Astrid swung off the bridge and into West Looe, swerving in a hairpin turn back down the hill, sinking into the warren of the town. There were only a few figures out in the midmorning light, walking dogs or tending to their boats, the quiet seeming to echo against the rush of the sea. The narrow streets were barely broad enough to accommodate a single car, the cobbles uneven and worn smooth underfoot, none of the structures more than two or three stories tall; most of them were at least a century or two old, patchworked with modern features, dating to the days of smugglers and portside inns and the great age of sail, their timbers ancient and their walls full of ghosts and memories.

She came to a halt outside a particular storefront.

The entire street was built into the incline of the hill, its rowhouses sitting a foot or so below the edge of the pavement, squatting low. The windows of the ground floor were almost level with Astrid’s crown, the sills above within reach if she cared to make the short jump, walls a washed white between dark Tudor beams.

Astrid tipped her head up a millimetre, the aperture of her senses opening to sweep the interior, as she read the sign affixed above the door.

Witches’ Brew, it read, white font upon a rich violet backing. On the left side of the sign was the outline of a cat, paws upon the rim of a bubbling cauldron to peer at the contents.

Bookshop, was added underneath, in smaller, blunter font. Tarot. Occult. Café.

You know, Loki commented, there is an infusion made from íviðia blossoms called witches’ brew.

Astrid tipped her head. “Really?” She asked softly.

Mother sent some blossoms to my cell recently- if you care to share my tongue later?

She winced into a grin, knowing that he wasn’t going to let that go any time soon. “Mm, in exchange for cream tea?” She teased.

Astrid felt a pair of arms slip and loop around her midriff, a mouth skimming her crown.

She felt the gentle billow of his sigh, the phantom of his chest against her back.

You drive quite a bargain.

With a faint smile, Astrid stepped down to the shop’s door, and turned the handle.

A classic shopkeeper’s bell chimed overhead, jostled into motion, before the door clicked shut behind her.

She was met with the fragrance of incense- a thicker, heavier curtain of agarwood, compared to the delicately floral smoke that lingered in the training halls where she grew up, and which her father preferred- blended with the earthiness of burned white sage, and coffee grounds.

The shop was quiet. Her steps were muffled by a dark patterned carpet, the space airy and inviting, despite the low ceilings and semi-subterranean position. At the right, the space folded into a geometric puzzle of tall bookshelves, walls paved with spines, the stacks labelled by genre with signs in blackboard and chalk, a few tables laid out with bricks of bestsellers and new arrivals. To her left was the register- unoccupied, with a bell to ring for service- and several tables and shelves, displaying various occult-themed wares. There were box-trays of tumbled, semi-precious gemstones, kitsch plastic goblets with dragons curled around their stems, dowsing crystals and decorative glass figurines, starter guides to palmistry and divining the stars.

Her eyes skipped past all of them, and up.

A large sign was placed at the bottom of a flight of narrow stairs. It advertised the café on the second floor, and tea leaf readings.

Astrid didn’t move to ring the bell on the counter, but the one at the door must have been enough.

“I’ll be right with you, dear!”

A woman’s voice called down from the upper floor. It was American-accented, almost neutral, but underscored with something in the region of Massachusetts.

Astrid smiled, folding her arms and turning away.

“That’s alright!” She replied, voice raised to carry as clear as struck crystal, twisting at the waist to speak over her shoulder. “Take your time! I’m here to see a friend.”

Movement upstairs stilled.

A beat passed, before Astrid felt the familiar crackle of magical wards being activated.

Loki reacted, his mana surging into her nerves with a precision that knocked the breath from her chest, pressing up to the surface of her skin, preparing to force his own counter-wards into her flesh.

Catching her breath, fingers fluttering at the foreign magic in her blood, Astrid sent him a gentle nudge of reassurance.

“Did you not hear the word friend, Agatha?” She yelled up, tone dry and hip cocking. “Your wards didn’t react when I walked in. Now would you please quit it?”

Before Loki tries to rip apart your spellwork and fracture your magical core in the backlash, she added internally.

Don’t tempt me, darling, Loki warned, poised like an adder to strike. Who is she?

The wards lingered, bristling like spines- before settling back.

A moment later, Astrid heard footsteps, and the creak of the ageing banister under new weight.

As I said. She’s a friend… of a sort.

Of a sort?

The subject of discussion halted, a few steps above ground floor.

Astrid remained with her back turned for several seconds, shoulder blades open and unguarded.

After deeming that her message had sufficient time to sink in- if it was going to at all- Astrid turned.

It had been about a century and a quarter, chronologically, since they had last seen each other- during the last of her father’s missions that Astrid had accompanied him on, before she had gone looking for answers.

The inciting incident that drove her to look for answers, in fact.

True to form, however, Agatha Harkness had adapted, and today was the very image of a modern, new-age witch.

Stocky, square-jawed, and casually confident, she possessed the mien and bone structure that would command the description of a handsome woman. Dressed in plimsoles, thick black leggings, and a cable-knit sweater the exact velvety depth of wolfsbane, she looked deceptively, cosily middle-class, her dark chestnut hair styled in a cloud of tight waves to her shoulders, framing her fair, round face and dark cobalt eyes.

“Well.” She draped an elbow across the rail, sleeves rolled back, sizing Astrid up with a wide, crooked smile and a gaze as hard as flint. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Astrid was simultaneously reminded of a salacious, bored housewife with a mind like a steel trap, and a large crocodile sunbathing by the water’s edge.

“It’s good to see you, Agatha,” Astrid said sincerely, light as air. “You look well. I’m glad.”

She tried to sacrifice my soul to Mephistopheles once, Astrid admitted to Loki, deciding that it would be better to get it out of the way now.

She did what? Loki snarled, alarmed.

Long story. Daddy stepped in. She came to regret it.

She could feel Loki glaring into her. Because you made her regret it, or because she decided to regret it? Because that’s quite a distinction, darling.

Astrid almost laughed. His mind was always so quick.

Alright, fine. A little of both.

Jaw and mouth pursed tightly, Agatha’s eyes flitted sharply across and behind Astrid’s form, darting as dragonflies.

Astrid softened her stance, loosening her limbs and opening her posture.

“It’s just us,” she said reassuringly.

Conveniently, Astrid did not mention that us included the sorcerer-prince whose mind was currently linked to her nervous system.

Astra.

His tone was grim, steeled, but quietly restrained.

Astrid sensed the unspoken undercurrent underneath- that he wanted her out of that shop, now.

Astrid reached for him, slotting herself into his edges, feeling him shift to accommodate her.

Please trust me, Loki. I have this.

She felt him hesitate, her calm focus an emollient.

Besides, she added. You might find that you like her.

I highly doubt that, dove, Loki replied haughtily, even as he relented.

She kept silent. Something told her that Loki would refuse to see the similarities, even if she informed him of exactly how her long story with Agatha had ended.

Agatha’s expression had stiffened slightly, eyes narrowing to a squint.

“Just so that we’re clear,” she drawled, gesturing vaguely across her with a jabbing index finger, “you’re not here to check in on me, or- drag me away to some kind of tribunal, are you?”

Astrid tipped her head consideringly. “Have you done anything to warrant it?”

Once again, Astrid opted not mention that she already had a fair idea of the answer. She had made it her responsibility to know; confidence in her decision didn’t negate the gamble, and Astrid wouldn’t ignore her culpability if things went sour.

As far as she could tell, however, Agatha had been smart. She had spent the years since they had last seen each other travelling and researching and collecting, restraining herself to a few petty grudges, mild curses, and mostly harmless, mostly necessary fraud. All in all, nothing that Astrid had found worth getting into a snit over.

Besides. That thing with the carnivorous rabbit had been pretty funny.

Astrid could feel Loki trying to pretend that he wasn’t intrigued.

Agatha snorted. “Not in my book, but we both know that doesn’t mean much. Even my best behaviour means being a little badsometimes.”

“Mm. Well, so long as they deserved it, I’m happy to remain ignorant.”

Brows raised, corners of her mouth tugging into a shrug, Agatha looked pleasantly surprised.

“Huh. Well, in that case- it’s good to see you too, Little Miss Dante,” she said wryly, dragging out the old nickname as though she were dusting off a spellbook, descending the last few steps. “Now that we’ve got the formalities out of the way, how have you been for the past- oh, hundred and thirty years or so?”

“Not quite so long on my side, Madame Virgil,” Astrid admitted, satin-smooth as sugar ribbons, “but I’ve- been busy.”

The Divine Comedy? Loki noticed.

Mm, good catch.

He paused, quietly assessing- before relaxing slightly in realisation.

Aha. I see.

Astrid held down her smile, but sent its warmth in his direction.

“And what about your dish of a father?” Agatha asked.

“Not interested, Agatha.”

And still hung up on whoever gave him that watch.

“Huh. Pity.” Agatha paused, appraising Astrid with long, slow sweeps. One forearm folded against her lower ribs, the opposite hand raised, fingertips rubbing together. “Any luck, then, dear, with that little- soul-searching identity quest of yours?”

Lifting one shoulder, Astrid let herself smile abstrusely.

“Some. Thank you for asking.”

“Well, you know. I like to know who and what I’ve made a deal with,” she said, head lowered into an unblinking stare, as though wondering how Astrid’s liver might taste, “as a rule.”

“It’s a good rule.” She said mildly.

Agatha looked at her for a long moment, one corner of her mouth and eye tensing- then straightened, clapping her palms together and spinning on her heel.

“Well, since you came all this way- fancy some tea? I could read your leaves for you! I must say, I’ve gotten pretty good- or, well, as good as you can get, with fortune-telling. It’s always a bit of a crapshoot, you know. Less mess than the animal guts, though.”

Astrid adjusted the strap of her bag against her shoulder as Agatha began to head up towards the café, not even waiting for her reply.

“Why not? We do have a lot to catch up on.” She began to follow her up the stairs, drawing a shallow breath as she went in for the kill. “And I think I have a way to get Karmar-Taj off your back so that you can come out of hiding, so I’m sure you’ll want to-”

Agatha turned back to her sharply. “What?”

Her eyes were slightly wild, incredulous, and treacherously hopeful.

Reflecting briefly, Astrid supposed that she should feel a little bad.

That was, if not for the memory of choking sulphur, of her face and throat scorching with brimstone-heat, and the sound of dimensions ripping apart like adipose from muscle tissue and Agatha laughing broad and wild- just before Mephistopheles betrayed her, just before Astrid regained the strength to yank the witch away from the consequences of her own actions.

Just because she had forgiven did not mean she was inclined to be nice.

Besides. Agatha would respect her less if she was.

Loki watched her work, ruthlessly, using honesty as a weapon and the truth like she she owned it, cautious and amused and a little proud.

Astrid arched her brows, both at him and the witch standing before her.

“You didn’t think I’d come without a gift, did you?”

Some time later, a platter of a dozen shucked oysters in front of her, seated with a sea view and décor of scrubbed wood and clean white walls, Astrid made the first entry on her shopping list.

Tea leaves.

[PREVIOUS] | [MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]

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gracev0609 · 5 months

Text

Love to Keep Me Warm

Josh X Danny X Reader

This is a direct continuation of Giving & Receiving, please read that first! All fics can be found on my pinned post.

This is my first fluff only fic! I love my little throuple, so here's a Christmas edition ❤️🎄❤️

Word Count: 2k+

A huge shout out to @lipstickitty for helping me with all my little ramblings and ideas for them🫶

Danny's hand was resting on your thigh as he navigated your family through the streets of Frankenmuth, on the way back to the Kiszka household for the second time this holiday season. Josh poked his head through the seats as he sat in the back,” You sure you're okay baby? You feel okay?”

You reached your hand to cup his face and your thumb stroked his cheek softly as he nuzzled into your touch.

“I'm fine Josh, a little tired from traveling, but we're okay.”

Your manicured fingers settled on your stomach cradling the tiny pea sized baby inside of you.

Danny's fingers tightened on your thigh,” Promise you'll tell us if you're not okay. We're here for you baby. We're telling our families tonight when they're all together and I know they'd do anything for you.”

“You guys are fretting for nothing. But I promise. I'm excited to tell everyone,” a laugh escaped your lips,” Jake has been texting me for days that ‘we need to tell them soon because I can't keep it a secret much longer ‘“

Danny pulled the rental truck, similar to the one you rented last time, into the driveway. Their home looked the same except for a few extra Christmas decorations on the porch. Numerous other vehicles were parked in the driveway.

Danny shifted the vehicle in park,” My parents are already here.”

You all exited the truck and started to pull your luggage out. A black BMW pulled into the driveway behind them and Jake hopped out of the driver's seat. He popped the trunk and grabbed a few bags of groceries. He quickly joined your group and sat the bags down at his feet, his arms wrapping you up in a hug,” I don't care what you say, you're not allowed to carry anything.”

“But the doctor-”

“I don't care who said it's okay, Uncle Jake says you can't.”

He releases you from his hold and greets his brother and Danny with a hug.

“Merry Christmas boys, are you excited? I'm so excited.”

Josh beams and starts loading your bags onto his shoulder,” I think our parents are going to flip. First grandbaby? That we know of at least, Sam's a little loosey goosey.”

Danny snorts and starts walking up the snow cleared pathway. The three of you follow him up the wooden stairs, ice melt crackling underneath your feet. You take one more deep breath before entering the warm household, one that you're sure you'll visit for the rest of time.

“Mom, I'm back, and I found Y/N and some knuckleheads!” Jake called out into the foyer.

“Jake what the fuck?!” Josh jested.

Jake keeps walking into the house, forgoing taking his boots off, to his mother's dismay.

The three of you unzip your winter boots and leave them at the door. Danny leans down and kisses Josh's hair,” Come on knucklehead, let's go say hi.”

Josh quickly turns around to face Danny, scoffing.

You lead your boys into the house, following the voices of Danny and Josh's moms.

“Y/N! Honey, how do you look more beautiful this visit than the last? We missed you sweetie.” Karen stands from the table and envelopes you in a hug.

“Our boys have been treating you well, correct?” Lori inquires, taking you into her grasp and giving you an equally tight hug.

Muffled into her shoulder you respond,” They've been treating me very well, don't worry.”

Karen went to the threshold of the living and scolded her husband and Danny's father for not immediately getting up and greeting your group's arrival. Moments later the men arrived in the kitchen, first hugging you and then their sons.

After pleasantries were exchanged with parents and siblings Danny, Josh and Jake took your luggage down to the basement, back to where you slept before on the pull out couch.

The boys were setting up the bedding when you overheard Danny muttering about needing more pillows for you.

“We can grab the extras off of my old bed,” Josh said, spreading out the comforter flat.

“Let me go get them.” Jake stated, turning on his heel about to retrieve the extra pillows.

You held your hand out to stop him,” Hold up guys. I know this is coming from a place of love , but you can't be treating me like fine China! I'm pregnant, I'm not broken! Please.. just please take a chill pill.”

Jake takes his palm and rubs the back of his neck,” I'm sorry Y/N, I did come on kinda strong.”

“It's alright. I just need you all to understand that I can do things for myself. At least right now, maybe when it's like I have a watermelon strapped to my body I'll want to be doted on.”

A small chuckle leaves your lips,” But for the record, I would very much enjoy extra pillows, my back felt like shit sleeping on that mattress last time.”

A smile lit up on Jake's face as he gave you a silly military salute, before heading up the staircase,” On it, boss!”

A few minutes later Jake comes back with a stack of pillows, he hands them to Josh and Danny so they can put them on the bed.

“Jake… I feel like that's more than what was just on Josh's bed.” You pointed out with a smile.

He shot you a wink before heading back up the stairs, calling out, ”Just a few!”

Turning your attention back to your loves you ask,” Who do you think is going to cry when we tell them?”

Danny points a finger at Josh,” Your mom, one hundred percent, she cries at everything. His highschool musical performances, she cried. Our first arena show, she cried.”

Josh holds his hands up in surrender, “You're right! She did cry, at every one.” He looks at you, “ I kind of want to tell them now. I'm so excited and jittery, I think it would be good to tell them sooner than later.”

You mulled it over in your head, what was the harm in telling them before dinner versus after like you planned. You looked at your beautiful partners with beaming smiles on their faces, anxiously awaiting your answer.

“Yeah… let's do it. You guys can't keep a secret anyway!”

You stand up and head towards the landing of the stairs, Josh following behind you.

“Hey, come here for a second.” Danny calls the both of you back over to him.

He pulls you and Josh into his chest into a tight embrace and presses his lips to each of yours, “ I love you. I love our family. I'm so ecstatic to go on this journey of life with the both of you, I've found my home. I can't wait to watch you be a mom, and I can't wait to watch you be a dad alongside me. We have so much love surrounding us.”

You press your body into his, resting your head on his taut chest, “I love you Danny.”

Josh breaks the embrace, wiping his eyes with the heels of his palms, “Fuck! Yeah, let's go do this.”

The three of you worked your way into the living room where everyone was gathered. The Christmas tree was in the corner, tucked under the stairs. White lights glowing, ornaments from years gone by hung on each branch. Some beautiful and antique, some made by children's hands. Presents were neatly tucked underneath, glimmering in red and gold wrapping paper. There was a soft lit pine garland strung on the tv stand, and vintage lit ceramic Christmas trees on the end tables. The room was warm and comforting, mirroring the family's auras.

You sat yourself down on the couch in between Sam and Jake as Josh and Danny caught up and made small talk with everyone else.

Josh grabbed everyone's attention, waving his hands around,”Okay! Okay! I want to say that I love you all dearly. We love you all dearly. And I know that it's early, but you all know I can't keep my mouth shut for shit. But, we wanted to announce to you all that our lovely Y/N is pregnant.”

He grabs your hands and hoists you off the couch, into his arms and places a fat kiss on your lips.

Karen grips Lori's hands in her own,” We're going to be grandmas? This is such a happy day!”

Excited chatter and congratulations are thrown across the room.

You look around the room, their mom's are excitedly planning the future, their dad clink their whiskey glasses and take a sip. Beaming smiles on their sisters faces, mirroring Jake's. Sam rushes off the couch and envelopes the three of you in his long arms. With tears streaming down his face he exclaims “ I'm gonna be Uncle Sam, I'm so happy for you! My favorite people! I love you all!”

Jake stands and joins your circle, giving each of you a hug, “Truly, I'm so excited for you.”

After a pause Sam speaks, waving his pointer finger between Josh and Danny, “ So, how do you know which one of you…. Ya know…”

Jake smacks the back of Sam's head, “ You don't fucker. I can't believe you asked them that.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose.

Sam pushes back, “ Well, we were all thinking it okay? Sheesh, sorry.”

Danny laughs awkwardly and goes to lead Sam away with a promise of cocktails.

Danny's mom comes over to you, gushing about how she could tell that you had a certain glow about you, “ How far along are you honey?”

“ Josh wasn't kidding about it being early, I had my first doctor's visit a few days ago and the doctor said I was looking about 8 weeks, give or take, but we'll know for sure once the baby gets a bit bigger.”

Her face softens immediately,” Awe! Still a teeny tiny thing!”

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

Dinner went by quickly, plenty of food, drinks and laughter shared. A few more questions were asked from the women who had been in your place before.

Josh's mom grabbed your hand and spoke lovingly,” I want you to know sweetie that you can ask us anything, day or night you can call us okay. It takes a village to raise a child.”

The night progressed and drinks were flowing, they had so much to celebrate. You were getting sleepy and wrapped yourself in the blankets on the loveseat when a drunken Sam and Jake bustled over to you.

Jake slid in next to you with his phone unlocked, waving it around, “ Hey hot stuff, look what we ordered on Amazon.” Sam leaned over the back of the couch overtop of you, grabbing Jake's phone from his hand to show you, “ Look at all the baby stuffs being sent to your house!”

Your eyes welled with tears of joy as you looked at the confirmation order, onesies, bottles, diapers, and stuffed animals all being sent to your house.

“ You guys! You're too sweet, you're going to be the best uncles. We're so lucky to be a part of your family.”

Josh sauntered up to your group,” Hey, you're crying?” He looked to his brothers,” What did you fuckers do to make her cry?!”

You placed your hand firmly on his stomach in front of you,” Joshy, they're happy tears I promise! They're being sweet, they ordered a bunch of baby things for us.”

You felt all the tension relax under your palm,” Oh. Shit, thank you.” He let out a boyish giggle.

They left you to relax on the couch and you started to reflect on the day. You were so thankful that everyone was so receptive to your relationship. They loved you and your partners unconditionally, they would love your baby just the same. You couldn't wait until next Christmas when your baby would be here basking in the love your family provided.

You saw a flash come from the corner of the room and saw Sam taking pictures on a Polaroid camera.

Sam waved you over, “ Y/N! Come here babe! I need a picture of you, Danny and Josh together in front of the Christmas tree!”

You stood in between your loves smiling at Sam's camera.

“ Okay one more!” Sam said, waving the fresh Polaroid around.

This time Danny dropped to one knee beside you and gently lifted up your sweater to expose your stomach. He pressed his lips to your warm skin on your tummy as Josh stood on your other side and pressed his lips to your cheek. You could help the giggle that bursted out of you as Sam snapped the picture.

“ That's the one! That one is going on everyone's fridge!”

Fin.

#gvf #danny gvf #jake gvf #josh gvf #sam gvf #josh kiszka #danny wagner #iced chai universe #gvf Christmas

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anjaelle · 2 years

Text

White Light | Part I

Characters: Ghost!Aaron Taylor-Johnson x Black!Reader Rating: T (She's a tame one) Word Count: 1.6k Summary: He died in this studio apartment in 2003. Don't ask him how, because the story is unbearably stupid. He's falling for a living, breathing, human woman who cannot see him but definitely knows he's there. Maybe? A/N: Written for spooky season, because it's the one thing that got me to actually finish something. Hooray!

PART II

---

In your eagerness to escape, you didn't really ask why the rent was so low. The realtor plastered a tense smile on his face when you broached the subject, and waved it off as though it was an absurd thing to discuss.

There wasn't much to your first new apartment aside from a bed, a TV, and a couple of boxes of clothes you brought along with you when you left your prior living arrangement. The studio was roughly $1300/month, which was an absolute steal for a city where the median rental cost for a room this size was well over $2000. And that was without the benefits of an elevator in the building and a dishwasher in the kitchen. This was the height of luxury, in your eyes.

After sweeping the dusty polished wood floors, cleaning the windows, and organizing the foundation of your closet, you propped yourself up on the island of your kitchen and took a beat to let the moment sink in. This was the first time you were on your own, and you finally felt like you could breathe again. The soft amber glow of your sandalwood scented candle cast a hypnotic shadow across the floor of your living room-slash-bedroom. And as you slowly stirred the melting ice cream in your lone cracked mug, the candle flickered briefly, shifting the shadow completely. For a moment, you could've sworn that another shadow saddled up beside you, and a chill ran down your back, covering your arms in goosebumps.

You turned your head, subconsciously, expecting another person standing beside you like they always seemed to be. The brief feeling of disappointment--maybe loneliness--soured your taste for your post-dinner desert. As happy as you were to have solitude, being away from your ex for the first time in your life was unbearably terrifying.

The high of the move wore off. You navigated your apartment in a bit of a haze, following your nightly routine at a snails' pace and lazily throwing on a bonnet before crawling into bed.

You couldn't remember falling asleep. You just remembered staring at a dark corner of the room that occasionally flickered to life every time a car passed beneath your window, and wiping the tears from your eyes with your blanket.

Days turned into weeks, which turned into months. After a two month long depression period, you decided to make your space feel a little less like a cavern of sadness. You purchased a few plants and commissioned some paintings that added a bit of brightness to the bland beige walls. The more you added to your apartment, the lighter you felt, and the less you regretted the decision to stay.

That being said...you couldn't ignore the list of weirdness that seemed to grow with every passing day. There would be days when you'd find your keys in another room, or your clothes on your bed instead of your favorite chair. Sometimes you'd smell cologne in spots of your bedroom. The lights would flicker, and there would be the undeniable feeling of being watched. You talked yourself down from the ledge, admitting to yourself that unreasonable paranoia was just a part of living alone for the first time. Eventually, though you weren't sure when, you knew the feeling would pass.

Or you thought it would.

Aaron found himself watching you as you navigated his--your apartment, lost in your own thoughts. Again. Sometimes he wished he could read your mind and see what made you tick. It seemed to be everything, some days. Every day, he'd watch you make your coffee, do your hair, mutter to yourself about work, and leave for hours at a time. Sometimes you'd forget your coffee and circle back to grab it off the counter. Other times you'd forget your wallet. Or your cell phone. Or your purse.

You used to forget your keys until he started moving them to the ashtray beside the front door. The first few times he'd done it, you didn't really question it. But as time passed, he noticed the hesitation as your hand hovered over the keys before snatching them up. The thought of you finally catching on filled Aaron with equal parts dread and excitement. After being alone in the apartment for so many years, he thought he'd hate having a new roommate. He could admit that you were growing on him. And the thought of him scaring you off and making you leave made him want to stop messing with your things. But then he'd see the way your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and the way you pursed your cute mouth when you passed by him in the hallway, and he had to admit to himself that messing with you made death so much easier.

Six months into your cohabitation, things shifted. He wasn't 100% sure why it happened. Maybe he was getting too comfortable with you, and you were becoming more intuitive. He realized shit was different after you'd come home from a date, slightly tipsy and very disappointed. You'd apparently gotten ready at a friend's house, and he hadn't had the chance to see you before you left. But as you crossed the threshold of your apartment, he took in your tight dress and gorgeous updo of braids. He noticed the way your hips swayed as you crossed the apartment to the bathroom, even though you stumbled a bit from the alcohol. And then he felt a jolt of electricity surge through his...spirit? Apparition?

"...What the fuck?" He gasped, looking down at his transparent hand that seemed to have a dull glow emanating from it, "What the FUCK?" The faucet in the bathroom immediately cut off, and you poked your head out to look directly at him. Like you could see him. And the thought made him freeze in place like a frightened rabbit.

"Hello?" You asked. Your wide brown eyes scanned the room, passing over him once. Twice. Three times. Your eyes settled on the space where he was, again, and you squinted in confusion. "God, I need to stop smoking before I drink," you muttered before shutting the bathroom door behind you. The faucet squeaked to life again, followed by the sound of the shower running.

He stayed rooted to his spot, flexing and unflexing his right hand that still had the lingering tingle of the zap. He couldn't remember the last time he felt something. It had to be decades at this point. But now he wanted it again, no matter what he had to do to get it. As you crossed the room wrapped in a towel, he instinctively averted his eyes, focusing instead on the thrum of energy that seemed to course though him. Even as you crawled into bed and turned your back to him, he stayed in place, watching your form rise and fall in your sleep.

A thought occurred to him.

It was risky, but he had to know.

He took one step forward, partially expecting to hear the floorboard creak beneath him, and disappointed that it didn't. When he was confident that he wouldn't wake you, he sat beside you in bed, and watched you snore softly. Your eyelashes fluttered in your sleep, and your lips twitched. The bed--of course--didn't shift when he sat down, and he was beginning to lose his nerve.

"I know you can't hear me," Aaron began, flexing his hand again, "But I'm just gonna say what I have to say anyway. Because why the hell not?" He paused, watching as you shifted from your back to your side, curling up closer to him. If he had a beating heart, he knew it probably would've stopped at that very moment. "Well, shit. Can you hear me?"

He watched your eyebrow slightly quirk before settling back down again. You must have been dreaming. He soldiered on.

"I kinda wish you didn't move here, you know," he admitted, "because it's kind of fucking me up. I see you every day, and I can't have you. And you don't even know that I'm here, but--I sometimes feel like you do. It's super weird. And, like, this could either go two ways," he counted on his fingers as he spoke, "Either you'll decide you're completely done with this place and leave, or you'll find someone else and move them in with us. Which you're well allowed to do. But it's gonna suck to watch you fall in love with someone else. Don't get me wrong, I don't know if I'm there yet. I mean, we haven't even had a first date yet. It's not like I can take you out someplace nice. And I don't even know what stuff's out there anymore. It's been, what, twenty years? I don't even have a job anymore." He laughed bitterly to himself, and the creeping misery he felt about his demise started to make a slow reappearance. He thought he'd accepted it by now. Clearly not. You somehow shifted closer to him, nearly resting your head against his arm.

Then he felt it. A low, low warmth radiating from you. He pulled his arm away, and you shivered in his absence.

"What?" He whispered to himself, slowly hovering his hand over your head. There it was again. He was convinced that his mind was playing tricks on him like they did the first year after his death. But you shifted in your sleep, and he could see that it was real.

A loose braid slipped from under your bonnet.

He absentmindedly pushed it back into place.

Then he watched as your eyes shot open and you screamed bloody murder.

#Jaelle writes #Aaron taylor johnson x reader #ATJ x Black!Reader #Aaron Taylor Johnson x Black Reader #Aaron Taylor Johnson Fanfic

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chantsdemarins · 1 year

Text

🥵"Find Tom" (Part 1)

(Tom Hiddleston X Reader)

Well, I wasn't going to write another Tom fic, but I am weak. This one is honorary for the 14 Days of Valentine's Day Community project from @muddyorbsblr

It’s suggestive in Part 1, things heat up in Part 2

Maybe interested:

@lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokisgoodgirl (I risk tagging you I know lol 😂) @tbhiddlestan83 @peaches1958 @mygfloki @huntress-artemiss @coldnique @simplyholl @mochie85 @fictive-sl0th @goblingirlsarah @carlym @mjsthrillernp @i-stand-with-loki @filthyhiddles @wolfsmom1 @fantasyfan4life @jennyggggrrr @runningawaywithloki @lady-rose-moon @icytrickster17

(New art too!)

Sea Ranch, CA Sometime after the era fondly referred to as "Peak Tom"

The path back to his weekend rental was winding, to say the least.

Coastal sage and nubby coyote bush snagged the transparent black nylons you put on at the last minute when your winter skin looked a little too ashy for an evening event at Sea Ranch amongst the Bay Area’s artsy crowd. Your hand glided down to touch the plants along the escarpment, pulling a sprig off one of the branches with a gentle tug. Holding it to your nose and inhaling the scent, mixed with the salt misting up from the ocean below, it feels like velvet air coursing through your lungs.

You are climbing now, and you imagine by the time you get to the top of the cliff, your breath will be dangerously close to being lost. You were correct.

The view that opens before you, even in the moonless night, is more incredible than anything you could remember seeing of late. He’s way off in front of you, nervously plodding-perhaps to get inside the thick redwood doors and clean up quickly before welcoming you in. You can barely see the outline of his suit, his shoulder blades, noble triangles against the lithe of his tall frame.

He’s left a light on inside, as he nervously opens the door the light hits his face. It’s a relief to see him after what felt like 30 minutes trekking through the California coastline in borrowed Prada flats. From your side of the window, he’s impossibly handsome, untouchable. The window feels like a metaphor.

How you managed to get an interview with him at this hour, after an overly festive San Francisco film festival party, was a mystery, but he agreed when you took the chance. You’d been eyeing him all night, the last person you expected to be there, and the most interesting.

Only hours before, you’d quietly moved to the deck of the main Sea Ranch house, holding your cell phone to the pristine glittery night sky, searching for a signal to rejuvenate your bad cell service. You Googled “Tom Hiddleston” just to be sure it wasn’t Michael Fassbender.

Then when you heard someone say his name, you were clear, it was him.

It was unlike you to invite yourself into the conversation he was already having with a keen-eyed group of Brits across the room, stationed next to a looming Peter Doig painting and a roaring fire, but you did. Making a joke, dropping your cocktail napkin in your nervousness. When he picked it up mid-sentence and handed it back to you, eyes meeting yours, you knew. You waited a few moments but then told him who you were, the beat you were covering for the impossibly small publication you just started writing for. You were way in over your head.

Maybe you should have covered the state fair first, not the San Francisco film festival post-screening events. The roar of crashing waves just outside the sheer wall of glass was unnerving. You flagged down one of the servers and had another caramel-colored Manhattan with one of those big ice cubes that obscure the actual amount of alcohol. Tom did the same, eyes never leaving you.

He made a joke about the event planners saving money with the big ice cubes, “a deliberate act of malice” he said. By midnight you’d managed to find a cozy red, mostly ornamental couch, with cushions seemingly filled with lead, one shift too many caused Tom to say it first. To ask where you were staying.

You weren’t. That was the thing.

You were going to drive back to ennui filled Napa in the wee morning hours, with the marine layer locked in place, a challenge even for the sober. Which you clearly were not.

*Tom would later correct your pronunciation of ‘ennui’ when you used it in conversation, this may or may not have created a small pause in kinetic flow between you.

He offered for you to have some tea (or coffee because you were American, he promised he drank entirely too much coffee and was an honorary American because of it). He offered to be interviewed in his weekend cliff-facing Bill Turnbull masterpiece.

He was effulgent in his offering. So much so that you worried about how he seemed determined to make a good impression on you, a stranger with no obvious pedigree to situate yourself in a status of his interest.

You made your way inside, and you were right-he is nervously cleaning up. He’d been there for less than 24 hours and somehow managed to leave his running clothes, cliff bar wrappers, and socks all over the front room. He mentions jet lag, and delayed flights on the usually reliable British Airways.

You spy at least 25 pretzel packages on the quartz counter, and you ask Tom if those were from his flight. He gives a “ehehehehehheehe” laugh and says the flight staff was worried because he didn’t like the in-flight meal.

Of course, you asked what it was, how could you not.

It turns out it was beef bourgeon with Yukon potatoes. Tom explains the ‘why’ behind his reluctance to eat the meal, but you are simply not listening anymore. You are caught up in your own anxiety. He smells like blood orange and lilac with cedar. He smells like fancy architecture. He explains the house he is staying in with precise detail, he’s giving a dissertation on the Sea Ranch movement of the 70s but you hear approximately every other word. You are caught up in little visual details between the words you hear.

The way he seems different than the man you had watched on the San Diego Comic-Con reels, the impossibly linguistically delightful rhetorician of arcane theses. His mind accosts you, but his energy seems stuck in his head. It’s unnerving.

You wonder if he is even aware of his body, your body-or how you both are sitting now on the hastily cleaned up front room couch, bare feet accidently touching in thoughtless intervals. He is still beautiful but different, something has changed. You admittedly hadn’t kept up with his work, you were essentially a Marvel adjacent fan at best, and your previous amateur journalism beat was not entertainment, or the arts beat, it was tech.

There is an old wooden clock on the wall and the hourly bell strikes pausing you both, it’s 2:00 am. You laugh to yourself when you realize it’s now February 14th. Not one for any commercialized sentimentality or strange Catholic holidays masquerading as innocuous celebrations of love, you wonder to yourself if they even celebrate Valentine’s Day in England.

You want to ask Tom, but you are careful right now, he’s overly generous and his ego seems hidden under his red beard.

He’s giving “wounded” but there’s still his gaze, his cerulean eyes are boring holes through you. His skin is too golden when spring is still a few months away, it contrasts against his button-down shirt which is unbuttoned quite far. His pants aren’t two sizes too small like you remember him wearing to press events before, but they are still tight, they hug his thighs like neoprene, they are too distracting, you can’t ask if they have Valentine’s Day in London. You’ve never even been to the UK. Your blank passport is a spectral vision hanging over your head, you are a ghost covered with a bedsheet.

You debate a few more long, ponderous minutes before you finally ask if they celebrate Valentine’s Day in England. Tom wonders why you are asking. You remind him-today is now Valentine's Day. He laughs and explains America is much more theatrical than England-Brits don’t fall for heart-shaped boxes of chocolate.

You say, “So what do you guys fall for then?”

“Intelligence.”

You die a little. That’s it. You’ll never get your interview questions out of your mouth, and you may want this to end romantically. Any warm-blooded human would-when faced with the charm of Tom Hiddleston-even if it’s slightly redacted. Even if it’s like the big monolith ice cubes from the party earlier, somehow obscuring the ingredients.

You also want to know more about why he seems so different. You pry a little, your intuition is good enough and you can tell something happened.

Maybe it was a love affair, maybe he’s got mental health issues, maybe it’s being too famous, too known. This level of celebrity and privilege is impossible for you to sort out logically. You’ll likely never know what it feels like to have the kind of money to do anything and everything you’d ever dreamed of doing, and the charisma to attract endless people to bed.

He’s not vapid, though. At least his persona isn’t. He should be but he just isn’t Hollywood. You feel accepted by him, although you wonder how true that is, how true it could be-he comes from a world of strict judgments attached to insane amounts of money. People get exactly what they want. He’s part of that beast. He knows it, but he seems so normal right now. He even says he hates LA. He will never live there.

As you keep talking, words are mixing. Which are your thoughts, and which are his? A prelude perhaps to how he is in bed, all-consuming, immersive. He pulls you in, and you feel invigorated and ready to be supine all at once. Your body slinks down the cushions until you both are sitting on the plush rug, backs against the bottom of the couch.

Tom stares at you with the intensity of an SLS rocket launcher (the knowledge of an SLS rocket launcher is the byproduct of your last beat before entertainment and after tech-military weaponry). He stares at you like he owns you. Like there’s a collar around your neck. You check for a second just to be sure, running your chrome-colored nails against your throat.

Maybe that’s what he is struggling with, having too much pleasure and too much happiness. He’s laying low, attending minuscule film festival after parties in Northern California. Talking to a woman like you at 2:30 am, you feel much like the high tide outside the endless glass windows, disoriented by the lack of the moon's influence.

You close your eyes for just a second, and you can hear his voice mixing with the waves, the alcohol you’ve consumed, and his generous pours of the local wines he was gifted from the nebulas of vintners at the party. He can’t take them back to London, so “we better drink up,” he laughs again, emptying the second bottle into your vintage glass.

Are you holding it from the stem or the cup? Your grip is too tight, you notice. You try and hold the glass with less pressure, but your hands are like talons. If you weren’t holding on to a wine glass, surely it would be Tom’s cock.

Which you had spied the last time he got up to grab another bottle of wine, his jacket tossed on the chair to reveal his form with even more clarity. Although you tried not to look, it was difficult to miss. You assumed he wasn’t even hard yet, too lost in conversation.

You pondered if this was his thing, hooking up casually. It wouldn’t be surprising, but he was just so nice and sincere in all his actions it was hard to sift out the carnal jock with rugby stories from college and pick-up games in his London neighborhood to the starry-eyed poet delivering such lines as:

"When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide; “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”

By the time the last comp wine was consumed and the waves outside drifted back into low tide, you knew it was now or never.

He hadn’t touched you, not even tried; you were just left with the pleasurable burn from his boyfriend experience. You could feel the wheels turning in his mind. Perhaps he was wondering if he should be less caring, should you get too attached to his attention, his cerulean stare. He couldn’t be. Otherwise, it seemed, even if he put his acting skills to work on changing what appeared to be his perpetually endearing substrate.

He grabbed your wine glass from your hand, and you cautiously released it, wondering about your previous thought of what your hand would grab if it wasn’t a wine glass.

He gently placed his head on your shoulder with his eyes closed. Good god he smelled like heaven. Like signed contracts, like large claw foot bathtubs with a view of the Mediterranean Sea. He smelled like ginger and carrots and felt warm and hard simultaneously.

His skin was soft, but his features, like his triangle shoulder blades and his nose, were strong. They felt like swords piercing your skin. You were slayed by his bone structure even before he put his cock inside you.

You hoped it would be comfortably nestled between your legs by the time the sun began to rise over the luxuriant rock wall the house rested upon. Societal norms, class expectations, and personal relationships be damned. The wine and your own ennui fueled your longing for him—

Continue on to-

Part 2

#tom hiddelston loki #tom hiddleston #loki laufeyson #tom hiddleston fanfic #loki mcu #MCU #I'm insane

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