#december prompt fill

[groundcontrol21]

Ohhh. It's so hard to pick! I love all of these! But I think I'm going to go with Dec 14th: an "unfortunate"gift. 😉😉

It's no longer December 14th, but here is December 14th's prompt, made extra long to compensate for the wait :) Merry Christmas to the wonderful and patient @sniction-fiction, and to the rest of those who celebrate.

In the distance, and above the frigid howl of the wind, the bells of Saint Sulpice chimed a quarter past the hour. D’Artagnan looked to his friends who were gathered at the table with him, still awaiting the fourth friend whose idea it had been to gather at Athos’s apartment before the Christmas feast and exchange gifts. Porthos had taken to tapping the table with his knuckles. Athos was draining the dregs from his third cup of wine. 

Porthos frowned, sparing a glance out the wintry window. “He’s fifteen minutes late.”

“The weather probably delayed him this morning,” Athos said drily, pouring himself more wine. “Where was it this year, Tours?”

“Amiens.” Porthos shook his head. “I think. Or maybe Angers. I can hardly keep track of his ladies.”

“It’s a wonder he can.” D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “I’d need a roster to help me remember.”

“I think Aramis could use one,” Porthos laughed. “Free up a bit of space in that little head of his.” Porthos tapped at his own skull for emphasis, before turning and wagging that same finger with gusto at the young Gascon. “Hey, maybe that should be your present to him next year. A neat little accounting book, where he can keep a list of his mistresses. Names in one column, gifts they give him in the other.”

Athos hummed in bemused approval, and D’Artagnan snorted. “Is it really that bad?”

Athos and Porthos shared a long, knowing look, before Athos cleared his throat. “I think his record is the year he came home from the newly widowed Lady D’Bouconvilier’s country estate with another horse to carry all his gifts.”

D’Artagnan’s eyes went as wide as saucers and Porthos laughed. “Or when he came home from Rouen with a big bottle of Persian perfume swaddled to his chest–I thought he’d come home with a son!”

D’Artagnan guffawed and listened with rapt intent as Porthos and Athos took turns relaying the details of Aramis’s other Christmas tradition besides the Mass: the week prior to the holiday he spent making a tour of his wealthiest paramours from the year. From the sounds of it, Aramis had hardly bought himself anything in his life; item after item which D’Artagnan had seen the man possess turned out to be gifts, from the saddle on his horse to the knife he used to trim his beard. Porthos was just about to tell the story behind a pair of braes when the door handle turned at last and Aramis slipped inside, shivering in his overcoat and clutching a satchel.

“Well, speak of the Devil, here he comes,” Porthos cried. “What was the gift from the mistress this year, eh?”

Aramis closed the door behind him wordlessly. He dropped the satchel from his shoulder so abruptly that it collided with the floor with a resounding thump that had a note of precarious breakability. For a moment, it seemed as though he had not heard the question directed at him, but the real reason for his silence became apparent when, in one swift and well-honed gesture, he whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his face. “Heh’ETCHHH!” 

Aramis lowered the handkerchief just enough to give his reply. “A cold,” he croaked bitterly, though of course such a resounding sneeze had been answer enough in its own right. “She claimed to be well but… Heh’Heh’KSHHHH!” The handkerchief was back in place, his speech muffled into the folds. “Clearly that was–EHhh’KMPSSHH! Ugh, God.” 

With a miserable sniffle and a wipe, Aramis tucked the handkerchief back away. He dragged a chair back from the table a bit, until its back was flush with the wall, and plopped unceremoniously into it. He slumped, tipping his head back against the wall, shutting his eyes for a long blink. He waved his hand. “Don’t come too close, this isn’t one of the gifts I want to give to you.”

“Rotten gift,” Porthos said, brow furrowed, voice full of gruff sympathy. “Did she give you anything else?”

Aramis blinked his eyes back open. “A lovely tortoiseshell hair comb but–Snf!” He rubbed at his rapidly reddening nose with the back of his knuckles, his nostrils glistening and twitching. “This is the gift which is most memorable. Ihhh’KRSHHHH’uhh!” Aramis dipped forward into his cupped hands, lingering in such a position for a silent, sniffling moment before straightening again. He rubbed at his throat.

 “Ow,” he pronounced clearly. “And which I’m least grateful for.”

Athos poured him a cupful of wine, and Aramis took it gratefully, downing it all in one go with a pronounced wince and a cough. They spoke a bit with Aramis about his travels, asking after the food (lovely), the ride (easy), the weather (horrid), before Aramis shook his head with an airy cough. 

“But I’ve wasted enough time with my tardiness!” he cried, and retrieved his satchel. “Let us not waste any more with such idle chatter. Let us exchange our gifts, now four of us instead of three.”

D’Artagnan smiled, feeling his own bag at the floor between his feet. “Who should go first?”

Athos inclined his head as he set down his cup. “How about Aramis, since he’s already received a gift?”

Aramis flashed a smirk at him. “Funny.” His voice was so occluded he could not help a rather unseemly throat clearing and snuffle combination, but still Aramis brought the satchel to his lap and begin to sift through its contents. His downward gaze created a veritable flood out of his already runny nose, and he sniffled on each breath as he considered what was in the satchel carefully, deliberation over whose gift to give first written clearly across his twitching features. 

At last, he reached decisively into the pouch, but had to abort the action almost as soon as he had done it, for a massive sneeze came over him. The hand came up to hurriedly cup over his nose. “Hh’TSCHHH!“ Hehh’ISHshhh! Oh, excuse me,” he said, voice all congestion, as he pinched and wiped away at his nose. He looked down at his fingers, and blushed. “Could I trouble one of you for a handkerchief? This cold is all in my nose.”

His friends had seen the mess upon his hands as clearly as he, and so D’Artagnan, perhaps just as eager as Aramis to be rid of such a sight, was up and offering his own handkerchief to the man in an instant. “Here.”

“Thank you,” Aramis said, and cleaned up his hand as much as his face. 

“Please, keep it,” D’Artagnan said forcefully as he took his seat again. “Merry Christmas.”

Aramis gave a grateful nod as he buried his nose into it and gave a blow so soggy and forceful that D’Artagnan winced. “Well, since our Gascon has so generously given me a gift already,” Aramis said with a smile, giving the handkerchief a demonstrative wave. “I will start with him.”

He reached into the satchel, pulled out a pair of black leather gloves lined with fur, and leaned forward to pass them to D’Artagnan. “To preserve the warmth of your fragile, Gascon hands against the cruelty of the Paris wind.”

D’Artagnan gaped a bit as he took the gift from his friend, and his mouth dropped open further as he tugged the snug leather over his fingers. He flexed and clenched his fist, examining his gloved hand from all angles. “They fit perfectly, Aramis,” he said in a hushed voice. “How did you know–”

Aramis grinned cheekily. “How soon you forget just how many times I had to reposition those very hands on a musket.”

D’Artagnan blushed crimson at the reminder of his green incompetence. “Thank you,” he said after another long moment spent gazing at the leather. “This is truly a thoughtful gift, my friend.”

“Now I better not hear you complaining of the cold ever again,” Porthos said, cupping his hands over his mouth and blowing into them obnoxiously loudly, a mimic of D’Artagnan’s chosen method of warming and passive-aggressive complaint whenever the wind had the slightest nip to it. D’Artagnan removed one of the gloves and swatted Porthos on the shoulder with it. 

“Careful!” Aramis admonished playfully. “Perhaps you won’t be so quick to violence against your friend once you see what I’ve gotten him.”

This time, Aramis produced a small knife in a delicately patterned wooden casing from the satchel, and held it in an outstretched arm. “Take it, Porthos, I have to–” The precarious waver in Aramis’s breath left no ambiguity to his meaning, and so Porthos quickly snatched the item from him. Aramis snapped forward, tucking his chin to his chest and involuntarily squeezing the satchel close. “HETCHHH!” 

He dug out the handkerchief again and held it hovering just inches away from his quivering, dripping nose as his breath hitched in preparation for another. “Ihhh… Oh…Snf!” Aramis teetered a moment on the precipice. His eyes, glazed and misty, looked nowhere in particular as they fluttered shut once more. “IHHH’KSHHH’uhhh!”

Porthos unsheathed the knife from its casing, and turned it over in his hands, recognizing at once that it was a woodworking knife. It felt instantly more comfortable in his grasp as he mimicked a whittling motion than did his dagger. 

“It’s beautiful,” Porthos murmured. “Thank you, mon ami.”

“So that you no longer have to sully the blade of your dagger when boredom strikes on a mission.” As he spoke, Aramis rubbed his nose with the handkerchief, making slow and squelchy circles, trying to draw out the remaining tickle. “Hehhh’ISHHH’oo!” The sneeze which he had coaxed forth was harsh and wet, leaving moisture behind not only beneath his nose but also his eyes. Aramis huffed an annoyed laugh and scrubbed at his eyes and his nose a couple times with the handkerchief. “Ugh, I’mb leaking.”

The three friends shared a look while the fourth cleaned himself up, but nothing more was said on the matter. Aramis let the handkerchief fall into a sad, sodden bundle on his lap while he retrieved the last item from his satchel. The glass bottle had been the source of the clatter when the bag had hit the floor earlier, but fortunately the wine was undamaged.

“And for Athos.” 

Athos took the bottle reverently, his eyes widening as he realized its contents cost about ten times the amount he usually spent on his vice. “Aramis, this is… expensive.”

Aramis smiled, even as his nose dripped. “Your skills of appraisal are astute as always.”

Athos shook his head. “No, Aramis, I mean it, this is–”

“Heh’KSHHHH’oo! Ehhh’HISHHH!” Aramis gave a clogged laugh as he squeezed his nose between two folds of the handkerchief to wipe it. “See? Snf! Even my nose has no patience for your foolish protestations.”

“Then, I see no other option but to open it and share it with friends.”

Athos uncorked the bottle and poured from it into each of their cups, mistakenly dribbling a bit on the table near where D’Artagnan’s gloves lay. Horrified at their proximity to destruction, D’Artagnan snatched the gloves away and squawked at Athos, who rallied with a calm, choice set of words of his own. Porthos laughed as they squibbled and Aramis, for his part, merely slumped a bit in his chair, unnoticed. 

Porthos opened his mouth to quip something at Aramis, only to find the man had leaned his head back against the wall, screwing his eyes shut and pinching at the bridge of his nose. When Aramis seemed about to stay that way indefinitely, Porthos scooted his chair around the table, closer to his friend. Aramis gave no indication he had heard the move. Porthos frowned and nudged him with an elbow. “Hey, are you feeling alright?” 

Aramis lowered his hand and blinked, a bit heavy and startled as though he’d forgotten where he was. “Yes, I’ve…” He blew out a sigh, and even that sounded stopped to the brim with congestion. “I’ve just got this terrible headache.”

Porthos’s frown deepened. “Just now?”

Aramis’s gaze flicked from friend to friend, as they were all watching him intently now. He sighed again, finishing with a tickly cough. “All day,” he admitted quietly. “It’s only been getting worse.”

“Why don’t you go lie down?” Athos said, voice as gentle as it was firm. “We will fetch you before Reveillon.”

Between the tenderness in his ordinarily stoic friend’s voice and the incessant pounding in his own head, there was little room for resistance to such a sound suggestion, and so Aramis rose gingerly, feeling his muscles sore from the cold, his cold, and all the riding he had done. He gathered his satchel on his shoulder and began to shuffle toward the door, when Athos’s voice stopped him. 

“Where are you going?”

Aramis fixed him with a bewildered expression. “To go lie down?”

Athos huffed, as close to a laugh as anything he ever did. “Surely your brain is not so addled with cold that you don’t remember my bedchamber is that way?” He pointed in the opposite direction. 

Aramis blinked as Athos’s intention broke through the mist in his brain. “Your bed… Athos, no.” He sniffled and coughed. “Not with a cold like this.”

“Well,” Athos said, reclining disinterestedly in his chair, “if you prefer to trudge all the way back to your apartments in the biting wind, I shan’t stop you.”

Aramis chewed at his chapped lip. “Still, I hate the thought that I could pass this along… I hate the thought of giving you such an unfortunate gift. Any of you.”

“We’ve all gotten our fair share of unfortunate gifts.” Porthos chuckled, shaking his head. “Remember when Athos gave me a book before I could read?”

Athos’s cheeks blushed the faintest of pinks, but his eyes narrowed at Porthos. “Remember when you gave Aramis what you were convinced was lavender oil, but which made his hands red and blistered and itchy for weeks?”

D’Artagnan shrugged and added, “My cousin gave me a collar for a dog I didn’t even have.”

Aramis gave a congested, but happy-sounding laugh, and coughed wetly into the handkerchief. He smiled tenderly at his friends, who were laughing too, but before he could add to the conversation, a sneeze stole his breath, sending him hitching into the sodden handkerchief. “Hhhh’ehhh’EHHDSKHH!”

“Go lie down, my friend,” Athos said, and Aramis nodded through his snuffling. He raised his hand and the handkerchief it held in a haphazard farewell before crumpling back into it as he shuffled away to Athos’s bedchamber. “Heh’RSHHH!”

The trio who remained turned their gifts over in their hands, discussing them all in subdued marvel. When enough time had passed that the three friends were sure the fourth had fallen asleep, they assembled a tray to leave on his bedside table for when he woke. Sure enough, the congested snores which filled the bedchamber advertised that they had been correct in their assessment, and so they shuffled quietly in, depositing their gifts beside their sleeping friend, bundled beneath the bedcovers. They had left him two handkerchiefs–Athos’s and Porthos’s sacrificed to the cause now just as surely as D’Artagnan’s–as well as a mug of tea and some mint paste Athos had found in his cupboard. They were unconventional gifts for Christmas, to be sure, and likely not exactly what Aramis envisioned himself in want of, but that was no matter. There would be time for more exchanging of gifts when Aramis was well again. 

#answered asks #december prompt fill #christmas sickfic #sick ara/mis #more muskie snz!!! #the world needs so much more historic snz fic #snz fic #my writing

[welcometololaland]

Promppttttt time: intertwining fingers when making love

thank you for this one, christine! i was eyeing it off ;)

y'all seemed to like them getting flirtier, so i went all out for you here. enjoy, you filthy demons.

Love in Slow Motion - December

Carlos leans forward and shakes his head, a grin etching its way across his mouth. “You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs. “You can’t sit here for an hour and enjoy a nice dinner? You know I had to basically name-drop us to get us this reservation, right? Like we’re actually famous.” “We are famous,” TK shrugs, then makes a noise of protest as Carlos kicks his foot under the table. “I was joking!” “I’m not joking about the reservation,” Carlos retorts, biting his lip as he goes back to looking at the menu. He looks as if he knows he’s making things worse for TK, and TK isn’t pleased. “So what?” TK asks petulantly. “We have to stay here until you’re satisfied that we made it worth the hassle?” “No,” Carlos replies without looking up, a soft flicker of something dangerous laced through his tone. “But we’re going to sit here until you behave.” TK huffs. “You’re not mixing me up with Camila are you?” he asks shortly. “I’m thirty-five not three.” “Thirty-six, as of yesterday,” Carlos corrects, smirking as his eyes snap back to TK’s face. “And yet you still need to be told to sit still and wait patiently.” TK scowls. “And you still need to be told that it’s rude to play with your food before you eat it.” “Didn’t realise you were on the menu,” Carlos whispers, winking from over the top of his menu. “Must have missed it.”

Read on Ao3

#love in slow motion #tarlos #911 lone star #prompt fills #december prompt fill

[wiseatom]

and if i said i had something non-acswy related dropping with the vague timeline of “soon,” then what.

#byler fic #byler fanfic #byler fanfiction #miwip wednesday #wiseatom wips #BRUHHH I HAVENT WRITTEN NON ACSWY IN SO LONG #i have posted 2 wips of this before (it’s from a prompt fill back in december and i still have a few other from that i wanna write) #but it’s like actually getting to the Home Stretch now so that is exciting #this is the last wip i’ll post from it but i hope to have it up at some point next week 🤸

[queerofthedagger]

i love the idea you have for december!! it's very sweet and lovely.

fluff list, 30 and 31:

“I’m not jealous! Its just..you’re mine!”

“You snuck into my room, at [earlymorming] 4am...to cuddle?”

MERTHUR, established relationship in which merlin is a little shit, soft and caring and arthur is so done with merlin's antics and loves him so much he might just burst.

erm. i think this is vague but! hope it sparks smt. if not then ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

i wish you luck with your writing for the month💚❤

Thanks for the prompt nonnie! I think I kind of switched the dynamics a bit tbh, but I hope you'll like it anyway <3

late-night habits

Merlin wakes to the sensation of cold fingers slipping beneath his shirt.

He groans, exasperated, and catches Arthur’s hand with his own. “One of these days I’m going to break your nose because you sneak into my room at 4am; not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?”

As usual, Arthur seems entirely unperturbed, merely pressing closer. He smells like the January night outside and late-night coffee; Merlin loves him so much that it burns.

“You were busy the whole day. And the day before. And I know work’s crazy, and your presentation is coming up, and I know—”

There is that specific kind of note in Arthur’s voice that makes Merlin grin like he just won the lottery. He hides it in Arthur’s gold-spun hair and says, voice artfully incredulous, “Arthur, are you jealous? Of my work?”

“I’m not,” Arthur huffs, although Merlin thinks it should be noted that Arthur does not lessen the iron grip he has on Merlin. “But you’re mine; if I can’t even spend my nights with my boyfriend, then what is the point?”

From anyone else, it could have sounded possessive.

Really, it sounds like that coming from Arthur. Unfortunately, Merlin is so utterly gone on the prat, it just makes him grin wider.

Fortunately, the feeling clearly is mutual, considering the time of night and all.

“You’re ridiculous, is what you are,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s shoulders to pull him closer. “Stay, though, will you? I don’t want my thesis to get the wrong idea about where it’s standing on the list of priorities.”

Arthur somehow manages a pleased sound and laughter simultaneously; Merlin presses his lips to Arthur’s temple, affection threatening to burst his ribcage open, and listens as Arthur’s breathing evens out.

#bbcm #merthur #merlin fic #mona's writing #december-ficlets #i think i have 8 prompts left that i'm planning to fill so they should be here soon-ish <3

[jilychallenge]

21 December 2022

Read "Snow Cherubs & Delayed Deer" by @blitheringmcgonagall on ao3.

Thank you anon for your lovely message!

to @mppmaraudergirl and @theresthesnitch and @clare-with-no-i and @blitheringmcgonagall Your angsty fics this year are just awesome 🤩

#DJAC2022 #December jily challenge #lovely messages #too many prompts #jple #let's fill the tree #maker: blitheringmcgonagall #Snow Cherubs and Delayed Deer

[aurora-australis-tumbles]

Hello! *waves excitedly* May I request "fuzzy socks" and "mulled wine" for Phrack? Thank youuu 🥰🧦☃️

Hi!! 👋 And of course, friend! But… oh goodness. This one clearly took a left turn somewhere. What can I say, these two simply cannot be trusted, even (especially?) on paper. 😂

Anyway enjoy!! 🧦 🍷

---

Phryne settled herself on the couch, mug of wine in one hand, remote control in the other, and began to peruse her late night Christmas Eve viewing options. It was a chilly night, for December, so she tucked herself in cosily, glad for the fuzzy socks that he’d given her recently as a joke after years of complaining about her cold feet at night. With a sigh, she scrolled through the various holiday fares on her various streaming services without finding any that called to her, all of them either too schmaltzy or too cloying or too... too for her current mood. 

It wasn’t that she was lonely, of course. She’d had a lovely dinner with Mac and her wife, and video chatted with Jane until the time difference had finally proved too much for her daughter. She’d even stopped by Aunt P’s for a bit in order to help tip herself firmly into the “nice” column for the year. So, no, she wasn’t lonely, even if certain Detective Inspectors had broken tradition to follow stupid leads in stupid Sydney on stupid Christmas Eve.

Phryne sighed again, mostly at herself this time. She really wasn’t lonely, she knew that. She just missed him. And good wine and fuzzy socks were a poor substitute for a stupid boyfriend who was currently out of town on the night they always spent together.

Rolling her eyes at her own foolishness — really was there anyone less traditional than her, why did she even care? — she took a rather large sip of her rather good wine and had just decided to scroll her phone for a bit instead of the TV when the object in question rang, said stupid boyfriend’s name staring back at her.

“Ho, ho, ho,” came a deep voice in greeting when she answered.

“You know I prefer 'my darling',” she reminded him archly, and he chuckled. “How’s New South Wales?” she asked, her tone returning to normal.

“Rainy, last I checked. How’s Victoria?”

“Unusually cold,” she replied, and she could almost hear his sympathy shiver through the phone. “Did you find your witness?”

“We did,” he confirmed. “At the bottom of a bottle. Hopefully he’ll be sober enough by Boxing Day to answer our questions.”

Phryne bit back the urge to sigh again. Boxing Day was two days away, and she’d been secretly hoping he’d be back by Christmas.

“Hopefully,” she said instead, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

He paused. “So I guess you’re still mad at me then?”

Trying and failing it seemed.

“I’m not mad,” she replied honestly. “Why would I be mad? Just because I’m spending Christmas Eve alone, when I always spend it with my partner…”

Just because she wasn’t mad, didn’t mean she couldn’t lay on the guilt. Just a little.

She had grown up with Aunt P after all.

“Anyway I’m really not mad,” she assured him when he didn’t reply right away. “In fact, I’m quite comfortable.”

“Oh? What are you doing?”

“Drinking mulled wine.”

“And what did you mull it with?”

“Cognac?” she replied, voicing going up slightly as she refrained from sharing the exact ratio she’d used to make it.

Through the phone and farther away than she wanted, Phryne heard Jack bark out a laugh at that, and she imagined, just for a moment, that she could hear it much, much closer.

She really did miss him tonight. It was not that she couldn’t do without him — she could, of course, and did often. It was just that this was their night. The anniversary of another night, years ago, with too much wine and finally revealed feelings and the start of something wonderful. They hadn’t spent a Christmas Eve apart since.

Until tonight, that is. 

Still... their work was important, and it’s not like he’d had a choice, and it did no good to dwell on these things when Phryne could think of much better uses for a phone connection. 

“What you should really be asking,” she suggested slyly. “Is what I’m wearing.”

He paused for a moment, and when he came back, his voice seemed impossibly deeper.

“What are you wearing?” he asked; she clearly had his attention.

“Nothing,” she lied, even as she plucked at her stylish pyjamas — last minute Christmas Eve visits to her aunt aside, she was probably still on the naughty list anyway, so what was one more little fib?

He coughed. “Oh really?”

Through the phone, she could almost hear his eyebrows raise.

“Well,” she began in a breathy voice, “apart from those socks you gave me that is.”

Another pause.

“Even better,” he assured her, voice now laced with the humour she loved so very much.

She sighed for the third time that night.

“I miss you,” she admitted quietly, though it was hardly a secret. She expected him to say it back. He always said it back.

He didn’t say it back.

“You know,” he started instead, and she frowned at the change, “I was watching the news and they’re saying Father Christmas has just been spotted over Melbourne.”

“Oh really?” she asked, pretending his deviation from their norm didn’t sting a bit. “Well maybe you should have caught a ride with him.”

He tsked, sadly. “No room on the sleigh, I’m afraid. But I think you should go look outside all the same. See if you can spot him.”

“Jaaaack,” she began, dropping the act, not particularly in the mood to play now.

“Just look outside, Phryne.” One more pause. “Please?”

“Fine.” Putting her wine down on the coffee table, she stood up and walked to the window. Looking out and up, she saw nothing except stars. “And what is it I’m supposed to see?” she asked.

He sighed.

“No, you need to...” he coughed. “You need to look north.”

If her wine hadn’t been quite so well mulled, she might have cottoned on to his plan earlier, but as it was a smile still spread across Phryne’s face as the penny finally dropped and then she fairly sprinted across the room to the front door, though she did take a second to compose herself before she opened it; fuzzy socks or no she was still Phryne Goddamn Fisher and she did not pine.

When she did open it, the picture of casual interest, she saw exactly what she’d hoped to.

“Jack,” she breathed, and he, still holding his phone, grinned back at her. “How?” she inquired as he hung up and put the device back in his pocket. “How did you get a flight on Christmas Eve?”

He shrugged. “Took my chance with standby. I must have spent half the day browsing those ridiculous airport gift shops, selling the absolute tackiest holiday junk. But then, somehow, there was a spot. Must have been a Christmas miracle,” he supplied with a wink, right before his face turned apologetic. “Though I will, unfortunately, have to fly back on the 26th. And I am afraid that your gifts this year are a Toblerone and keychain that says ‘Sydney’.” 

She snorted at that involuntarily, and he gave her that lopsided smile she loved. “Ridiculous airport gift shops have their uses, I suppose,” he added.

“They’re perfect,” she assured him. “Just what I wanted.” Then she reached out a hand to pull him inside. “Well that,” she continued coyly, turning toward the hall, “and for you to put us both firmly on the naughty list before midnight.”

He chuckled. “Yes, well, I have something else that might be able to help with that.” Curious, she turned back to find him looking both uncharacteristically bashful and extremely pleased with himself. “Picked up something else while I was browsing.” 

His eyes flicked down and she followed his gaze with her own, landing square on his belt buckle to see that his usual subdued brass affair had been recently replaced with an enormous. sprig. of mistletoe.

Holiday junk indeed.

“Ridiculous airport gift shops do have their uses?” he repeated, a bit of a question now as he anxiously awaited her response to his impulse purchase and impromptu arrival.

Phryne stared at the green floral monstrosity and suddenly couldn’t stand it anymore. Too much emotion, too much wine, too much him. She burst out laughing with the sheer joy of it all, no longer playing it coy or casual, just wrapping her arms around him and holding him close as he joined her with his own happiness and they laughed together on Christmas Eve. 

When, several minutes later, she stepped back — the mistletoe well and truly crushed now — she rolled her lips and shook her head. 

“You know,” she said, twinning their fingers together and leading him backwards towards the bedroom. “I'm not sure that my, ahem, kisses can be compelled by sprigs of parasitic greenery.”

“Hemiparasitic,” he corrected. “Of the genus Viscum.”

“Oh I’m sure it will,” she teased with a wink. He arched a chastising eyebrow at that, which she frankly found a little hypocritical of a man currently sporting a hemi of his own.

“Now,” she continued, pulling him through the bedroom door and shutting it behind them, her mulled wine left alone in the living room to watch It’s A Wonderful Life without her. “Let’s see what we can do about getting on that naughtly list, shall we?”

“Yes, I believe your request had something to do with firmly,” he reminded her with a smirk and she cackled at his cheek.

It really was so good to have him home.

“I do have one request of my own, though,” he informed her, right before he kissed her.

“What’s that?” she whispered, close enough to brush his lips with her own.

“Phryne?”

“Yes?”

“Leave the socks on.”

She laughed again.

And she did.

---

December Prompts

#prompt fill #mfmm fanfic #modern au #miss fisher’s murder mysteries #phrack #phryne fisher #jack robinson #i swear it didn't start out this dirty #these two really cannot be trusted #😂 #december prompts #also why can I not make these short??? 😩

[vampirecatboy]

found the first post i made about Weiss, already planning a drawing to commemorate their creation anniversary, now let's see if i can pull myself away from the game that has dominated my mind since the end of august lol

#stuff and things #december 19th apparently #i have a prompt and everything #i just need to detach Astarion from Aja's neck long enough to fill it

[daughterofhecata]

I swear, sometimes the best way to get creative again, is to forcibly abstain from doing any writing for a while.

#writing #i haven't been able to really sit down and write since december 23th #but my parents left earlier today and i have finished the next chapter of the dad!skinny au *and* two of the remaining january prompt fills #and will probably finish another one of those in a little while #kaj rambles

[dumbkiwi]

4 am means it's time to clog up your dash with personal posts anyways looking at ppls embroidery and my own realizing both how far ive come and how much more i can still learn/do is very cool. no i dont want to write an email in japanese.

#sel speaks #i started in december of 2019!! which is very funny and conveniently RIGHT BEFORE THE PANDEMIC #which is like. when eveyrone got into it except i got a month of extra practice lol #and to be fair i did my first real piece once i got home #but i found those photos #and like!!! i did get better!!! my stitches are cleaner now! i have a better handle on how to make things look consistent! #and i have made so many mistakes that i didnt realize were mistakes #that made everything warped etc #but ive actually gotten better and thats like. tangible!!!! #at the same time there are so many cool styles that i have yet to try #and i have so much room to grow technically and like from a basic art perspective #(obvs from the art perspective like i'll probably never be able to do like Original Needlepainting which im fine with lol) #anyways this was prompted by me seeing a hoop with some of the cleanest split stitches ever #like at first glance i thought it was machine #but you can see the texture and it's GORGEOUS #and i always thought the fun of filling stitches like that was that it idnt matter what you did #but like. if you plan it out (maybe have direction lines? practice at having more even stitching? invest in a stand?) #it can look SO PRETTY. the design was also like not super flashy it was just so well made #and that's just like. a really good example of an extremely basic thing #like im trying something similar out with my satin stitch ofmd hoop #to copy the style of the landscape artists i see #and i think im doing okay at it? #but doing dense filling like that is definitely more my vibe #might try it out when i do more chainsaw man #although those are all gonna be black and red so it'll probably be hard to see for the all black stuff

[whumpcember]

Welcome back to Whumpcember!

Or if you're new, welcome!

This is the second ever Whumpcember event and I am happy to be running it again! I am so thankful for all the support for last year's Whumpcember and for everyone who filled out the prompt list form! I hope everyone has a wonderful writing Whumpcember, and now, onto the rules!

Prompts should be answered with whump as the main focus

Fanfic! Gif! Text post! Fanart! Fan video! Any piece of media that you can possibly make that has whump counts!

You can use the prompts any time! Don't feel the need to rush

Though, prompts answered during December will most likely be reblogged

Post anywhere! AO3, Wattapad, Tumblr, or even Fanfic.Net! So as long as you make a Tumblr post with a link to the answered prompt it may be reblogged.

When posting onto Tumblr you can either @ the blog or tag with #whumpcember2023 and the day's tag, such as #whumpcember2023 day1

Don't forget to add any warnings necessary, such as NSFW or sexual content

An AO3 Collection will go out on December 1 and close January 1, it's not mandatory, but if you want your works saved in a collection, make sure you get it in on time!

At the end of the month a masterpost will go out to all participants and a badge you can save stating that you are either a participant or completionist. In order to be on the masterpost though, you will have to fill out a google form at the end of month; don't worry it'll take two minutes!

If you have any more questions, send me an ask, but please read the FAQ first!

Written Prompt list below:

-Main Prompts-

Day 1: Fever

Day 2: Sickness

Day 3: Hypothermia

Day 4: Hidden Injury

Day 5: Impaled

Day 6: Nightmares

Day 7: Fainting

Day 8: Isolation

Day 9: Brainwashing

Day 10: Freezing

Day 11: Infection

Day 12: Touch Starved

Day 13: Restraints

Day 14: Cornered

Day 15: Hallucinating

Day 16: Head Injury

Day 17: Fire

Day 18: Chronic Pain

Day 19: Exhaustion

Day 20: Drugged

Day 21: Choking

Day 22: Seizures

Day 23: Nosebleed

Day 24: Bullet

Day 25: Coma

Day 26: Collapse

Day 27: Bleeding Out

Day 28: Abandoned

Day 29: Paralyzed

Day 30: Delirium

Day 31: Homeless

-Alts-

Alt 1. Stabbed

Alt 2. Forced to Watch

Alt 3. Drowning

Alt 4. Ice

Alt 5. Sacrifice

Alt 6. Concussion

Alt 7. Hunger

Alt 8. Tears

Alt 9. Begging

Alt 10. Abused

#whumpcember2023 #whumpcember2023 prompt list #whumpcember #whump #whump prompts #prompts #writing prompts

[groundcontrol21]

Hello! If you haven't yet gotten five requests, may I please request December 18th with maybe... d'Art? Ara/mis as backup char, of course. =) Thank you in advance!

Happy December 18th! Of course I had to incorporate them both in there, bc I can't leave my favorite marksman alone, now can I? Hope you enjoy! This skews a bit book-verse-y in terms of speech and whatnot. CW: contagion (not intentional)

“Heh’TSCHOOO!” 

With a series of grumbles and groans, D’Artagnan rubbed at his dripping nose with his handkerchief. He had long since stopped bothering to tuck it back in his doublet, preferring instead to keep the cloth balled up in his fist for ease of access. And such ease was certainly needed, he noted with a bitter cough, for it seemed his horse could scarcely take two steps forward without some symptom of this wretched ailment making itself known. He shivered, bundling as deeply as he could into the fur tucked around his shoulders.

Ahead of him, Athos slowed his mount and gazed back. “Is Aramis’s cloak not helping?”

The fur grazed his cheek and his sensitive nose as D’Artagnan ducked deeper into the cloak in an attempt to keep himself warm. “It is–heh’KSHOOO!-- helping as much as anything can help a man with a headcold so bad. Ihh’KSHHH!” He sniffled lamentably. The fur-lined cloak chased away the worst of his shivers, but that was a pitiable solace to D’Artagnan whose very face felt stuffed full of mud. “I’m beginning to think I’ll never be well again.”

“Peace, D’Artagnan, you have been ill for two days,” Athos said. Even so, his brow still furrowed when D’Artagnan descended into a raspy fit of coughs (the Gascon had intended for those coughs to be a rebuke of Athos’s wanton disregard for his ill state, but his sore throat took precedence). “Still, we will stop at the next village we come upon for rest and shelter.”

They rode in silence for a while save for D’Artagnan, who held fast to Aramis’s cloak with each sneeze lest it come undone. In time, Porthos rode up alongside him and leaned close, his tone conspiratorial. “You’re a lucky lad, you know. It’s not just anyone whom Aramis will lend a present from an admirer.”

In spite of himself and his misery, D’Artagnan could not help but raise an eyebrow. “An admirer?”

“Of the feminine sort,” Porthos said with a knowing grin before his countenance soured. “He wouldn’t even lend the cloak to me when I was drenched in a downpour! Said I’d ruin it.”

“I’m not deaf, mon ami,” Aramis called. The man was shivering desperately in his saddle; giving D’Artagnan the cloak had left him with naught more than his thin blue cape as defense against the misty wind. “I didn’t lend you my cloak because you had just come inside to sit in front of the fire to dry yourself. Don’t be dramatic.”

“Psh! Details!” Porthos scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Maybe I should get sick just for a chance to wear it. It does look so comfortable and warm.”

“Hhh’RSHHH!” D’Artagnan mopped at his nose with his handkerchief sullenly. “Come any closer and you just might.”

******

They reached a town with an inn, which gratefully had a room with a hearth that was big enough for the four of them to share. Wasting no time, the three friends tucked D’Artagnan into bed, spreading Aramis’s cloak atop the blankets for a final layer of warmth. The comfort of lying down was so blissful after a miserable day of riding that D’Artagnan fell asleep immediately. Athos and Porthos departed in search of an apothecary where they might buy some more herbs to soothe the young man’s symptoms, leaving behind Aramis not only to keep watch and stoke the fire, but also to warm up himself, for he was shivering almost as badly as the ill Gascon. 

Some time later, D’Artagnan awoke to see his friend alone, hunched upon himself as he sat in front of the hearth and prodded at the flames with a poker. D’Artagnan blinked heavily, clearing his occluded throat, and called out to him, “Aramis?”

But though Aramis turned his face to him, it was plainly clear to D’Artagnan that the man could not truly focus on him, nor could he answer, because in that moment his features were overcome with the misty reverie of an oncoming sneeze. He dropped the poker hastily back into its holder, his hands scrambling to his face. “Hhh’KSHHH’uhh! Heh’ISHHH’uhh! Hehhhh’ISHHH!”

“Pardieu, are you alright?” D’Artagnan asked, though the sheer volume and ferocity of his friend’s sneezes brooked only one answer to the question–at least, only one answer which was honest.

A blush rose, creeping up from out beneath Aramis’s collar and into his cheeks. “I think I might–heh…Ehhh’KSHHH!--be coming down with what you have.”

D’Artagnan frowned.

“Fret not,” Aramis said. “It’s to be expected. We have been spending every moment in each other’s presence these past days, riding, eating, sleeping.”

D’Artagnan was sure riding in the cold and damp without a cloak surely did not help matters either. A spark of guilt fluttered in D’Artagnan’s chest as he considered himself, tucked up cosily in bed with the cloak still draped over him. Not so much guilt he would consider parting with the fur-lined warmth, but… An idea came to D’Artagnan’s foggy mind and he sat up, bundling the cloak in his arms and shuffling over to take a seat on the floor beside Aramis. 

“D’Artagnan?” Aramis asked blearily as D’Artagnan set to draping the cloak across both their shoulders. Aramis gave a full-body shiver at the sudden influx of warmth and, seemingly unconsciously, tucked himself closer to D’Artagnan. He sighed gratefully, and D’Artagnan couldn’t help a small smile. 

“It’s your cloak after all.”

“You should…Eh’KESHHH’uhh!” Aramis produced a handkerchief from his doublet and snuffled into it. His nose was already pink, and D’Artagnan wondered just how often he’d blown it while D’Artagnan had been dozing. “You should be in bed.”

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes at the hoarse-voiced attempt at mother henning. “By that logic, then, so should you.”

“Ahh,” Aramis sighed, a touch pleading, “but it is so much warmer close to the fire.”

D’Artagnan laughed. “My thoughts exactly.”

And so they arranged themselves so that each was as comfortable and as warm as possible, ending with Aramis slumped against D’Artagnan, head pillowed against his shoulder, and D’Artagnan leaning his own forehead against Aramis’s. And such was how Porthos and Athos found the two men upon their return, huddled into their fur-cocoon, their congested snores a soft harmony against the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

#answered asks #december prompt fill #prompt fill #sick d'artagnan #that's a new one #sick ara/mis #the world needs so much more historic snz fic #more muskie snz!!! #my writing

[darknight3904]

Through the Years

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: ᴀ ɢʟɪᴍᴘꜱᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ɢᴏᴊᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ.

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: ᴄᴜʀꜱɪɴɢ. ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ/ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ. ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴠɪʀɢɪɴɪᴛʏ (ɴᴏ ꜱᴇx) ɴᴀᴏʏᴀ ᴢᴇɴɪɴ (ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ɢʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴇᴅꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ)

ɪ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ ɪɴ ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ. ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ɴᴏᴠᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ʙᴀʙʏ. ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ᴢᴇɴɪɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ᴏᴠᴇʀ 5ᴋ (ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍʏ ʙʟᴜᴇ ᴇʏᴇᴅ ᴋɪɴɢ)

ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

December 7, 2005 (Gojo: 16 You: 15)

"You know you're practically a senior citizen now."

Gojo's head whips around, insulted at the idea of being called old. Sure he's got white hair but he's just turned 16, not 61.

"You're only a year younger than me, y'know. You'll be 16 soon too." He grins

Gojo grins as you roll your eyes next to him.

"At least I don't have white hair already." You point out

"Whatever, at least I'm not two inches tall." Gojo laughs, resting an elbow on your head.

"I'm still growing!" You defend, angry at the idea of staying the same height forever. "Get your ugly arm off me!"

"I'll have you know my arm is gorgeous," Gojo says, blue eyes catching the sunlight as he easily matches your pace.

"Mmhmm." You roll your eyes

To keep it simple, Satoru Gojo got under your skin. Perhaps it was that annoying smile or maybe the fact that your clan notoriously hated his. All you knew was that he drove you insane and you wished he'd just disappear so he could never bother you again.

"Where is everyone? I thought we agreed to meet here at 4," Gojo whined next to you.

"Worried your boyfriend stood you up?" You tease. thinking of the dark-haired boy who was usually joined to Gojo's hip most days.

"Suguru would never do that to me." Gojo smiles, unwrapping a lollipop he had stuffed in his pocket.

"I dunno, what if he finally got sick of you, Gojo?" You say, knowing it was impossible.

A soft ding interrupts your conversation with the boy and Gojo fishes his phone out of his pocket.

"HA! Told you he'd never stand me up!"

Gojo's phone is obnoxiously close to your face as he prompts you to read his chat with Geto.

On our way. Nanami needed to be convinced.

Another ding sounds and a picture of your fellow first years pops up Haibara is dragging Nanami down the sidewalk by his arms.

"Idiots." You murmur

"I see that smile! You got a crush on Nanamin?" Gojo's voice fills your ears as his pointer finger pokes at your face

"Piss off, Gojo." You groan "I hope one of Geto's curses eat you."

April 2006 (Gojo: 16 You: 15)

"You totally just cheated!" You accuse the blonde across from you

"Have you considered that you're just terrible at Jenga?" Nanami asked

"Have you considered that you just moved the table during my turn so you'd win and not me!" You groan

"It's just Jenga, Zenin. We can just start over." Haibara points out

"Not with a cheater playing." You roll your eyes

Haibara smiles as he begins to pick up the fallen blocks from the floor. You had been on edge for a few days now and your temper was beginning to get a bit out of hand. He had asked Nanami what he thought was the matter and the two of them had come to the conclusion that it had to do with your visit with the head of the Zenin clan.

"That's enough for today. I'm going to take a nap." Nanami declares

"Ugh, what a party pooper." Haibara teases, elbowing you.

"In case you forgot, Zenin here did me the favor of hitting me hard enough that I nearly passed out today in training." Nanami reminds the two of you.

Ah right, that. You had gone a bit too hard today sparring with Nanami.

"Oh, I forgot about that," Haibara says

"Yes. You should let Zenin get some rest. Her technique is draining, she's said so herself.

Sure, Phantom wasn't exactly easy to pull off but you wanted to keep playing. You wanted to kick Nanami's ass in Jenga.

"Alright. Let's eat dinner together tonight though. I have these awesome cookies in my room you'll both like." Haibara declares before following Nanami out of your room.

Perhaps Nanami was correct, a nap did sound enjoyable right now. A quick nap and then maybe you'd cook something to share with the boys tonight. Perhaps a couple of rice balls or maybe some chicken.

No sooner had you gotten comfortable under your blankets that your door swung open and Gojo was running into your room, Geto close on his heels.

"Satoru, you should always knock on a girl's door before barging in." Geto scolds his friend for you.

"It's fine, Suguru. It's not like she's getting changed or anything." Gojo grins looking down at you who had remained buried under your covers.

"And what if I was?" You scowl from your blankets

"I would've screamed in horror and asked Suguru to exorcise you." Gojo says flashing that oddly charming smile of his.

You're sure he could get away with murder if he just flashed those pearly whites.

You ignore the flutter of butterflies in your stomach as you sit up.

"I was about to take a nap but I guess it can wait." You say

"A nap? What are you four?" Gojo teases

"Yeah probably." You agree

"Not everyone is as energetic as you are Satoru." Geto reminded the white haired boy

"Yeah, what Geto said. Not everyone is a walking ball of energy." You say

Geto had always been your favorite of Jujutsu High's strongest duo. He didn't call you short or try to steal your food. Or maybe it was his long hair that seemed to always look better than yours.

Plus then there was that time Gojo snuck into your room to try and shave your eyebrows off. Sometimes you swore the elders of the Gojo clan were sending the six eyes user after you on purpose.

"Whatever, loser." Gojo said trying to reach and mess up your hair.

"Would you stop that! I'm not a child!" You groan

"Then why're you the size of one?" Gojo laughs

Even Geto laughed at that one as you shove Gojo out of the way.

"Why are you two even here? Can't you go bother Shoko for once?" You ask

"Shoko said you've been in a bad mood the past few days." Geto started

"So we've come to cheer you up!" Gojo finished

You watched wide-eyed as Gojo dumped the bag he was holding onto your bed. Every possible sweet fell out accompanied by different DVDs.

"For the record, I told him it was too much candy but he didn't listen," Geto says as Gojo riffles through the movie choices.

One DVD case catches your eye as Gojo argues with Geto about his sugar choices.

"Are you a Rachel McAdams fan, Gojo?" You ask as you hold up Mean Girls.

"Duh." Gojo grins before swiping the case from your hand to pop it into the player you had

"Raise your hand if you have ever been personally victimized by Regina George."

"Y'know you're kinda like Regina, Satoru," Geto says observing the movie.

"Am not." Gojo rolls his eyes sipping at his soda

"Sure you are." Geto smiles

"Yeah right." Gojo scoffs "Whaddaya think, Zenin?"

Gojo looked at you for an answer but was met with you asleep next to him, head resting on one of those massive stuffed animals you kept. You're drooling a bit and he can't help but think that you're a bit cute like this.

He reaches to shake you awake, determined to get your opinion on whether or not he is like a spoiled teenage girl.

"Let her rest. I heard that her and the other first years went pretty hard today training. Nanami took a big blow to the head from her using her technique." Geto stopped his best friend

"I wish she'd show me her technique. She explained it to me once but I still don't get it." Gojo huffed

"I'm pretty sure Phantom just multiplies her and then she closes the distance with her real body. I watched her use it on Haibara a few months ago." Geto explains

"Whatever...I still want to see it with my own eyes." Gojo declared

The TV hummed softly as they sat in silence while Regina George got hit by a bus after rushing out of her school.

"Why do you think she's been in such a bad mood recently? I heard her yelling about Jenga earlier." Geto asked

"I'm not entirely sure but I think it probably has to do with Nabito Zenin." Gojo said "His archaic way of doing things is probably upsetting her. I heard that she had some meeting with him recently."

Geto lets out a soft hum of acknowledgment.

"Nabito is probably trying to stick her in some arranged marriage. I wouldn't be surprised if it was with his own brat, Naoya." Gojo elaborates

"You know a lot about the Zenin Clan, Satoru," Geto points out

"Well the last Six Eyes and Infinity user was killed by one of them, so I think I'm entitled to a little knowledge. " Gojo defends

"Yeah, yeah. Maybe you should try to be a little nicer to her though, especially if you know what might be going on with her clan." Geto suggests

"I'm perfectly nice." He defends

"Yesterday you said you were going to shave her head in her sleep because she ate one of your french fries."

"I was joking!"

November 2006 (Gojo: 16 You: 16)

"Happy Birthday, Zenin!" Haibara called "Have fun with your family!"

You smiled and waved at Haibara and Nanami as you got into the car that had been sent to pick you up.

Fun. This trip would be anything but fun.

Snow was falling as you entered your childhood home. The soft scent of lavender filled your nose and calmed your nerves.

"You're back! I'm still cooking!" Your mother exclaimed as she emerged from the kitchen

"Yeah, there wasn't much traffic." You reply, trying to release yourself from her bone-crushing hug. Seriously with her strength, she'd probably be able to exercise curses.

"Go wash up. Your father will be back soon and he is bringing Nabito-san and his son." Your mother says

Dinner is quiet. Or rather you're quiet next to your mother while Nabito and your father discuss something about cursed techniques and something about Toji Zenin's kid.

"Your face is plain." the boy across from you suddenly says

Your mother momentarily freezes but quickly regains her composure.

"Yes well, sometimes plain features are best. Just think you wouldn't want every man looking at your wife." Your mother says

Did she just agree to you being plain featured? You looked like her for crying out loud!

"Whatever," Naoya mumbled before shoving more rice into his mouth.

What a pig.

You're not entirely sure why it's happening. Perhaps it was the dinner with Naoya that had your brain going crazy. But ever since you got back from your parents' home you can't stop staring at Gojo. Was it because he represented everything your clan hated? Or maybe it was because he was insufferably annoying? Whatever the reason, you swore he was drawing you in.

"You should stop staring. You might put a hole in his head." Shoko says

"I wasn't-"

"Don't lie to me." Shoko smiles knowingly

You definitely weren't staring at Satoru Gojo. Nope. Not in a million years. And you definitely didn't get butterflies whenever he looked your way. That would be ridiculously, ridiculous.

August 2007 (Gojo: 17 You: 16)

"I don't get why I wasn't assigned with you two. I mean we're always going on missions together." You grumble

"They probably need you to help Gojo train more. Your technique is perfect for him to strengthen his Six Eyes, Zenin." Haibara points out

"It's just a grade two. We'll be back before sundown." Nanami assures

"Yeah, then we can watch a movie and get fat off popcorn," Haibara says

"I'm choosing tonight. I don't want to watch another Pirates of the Caribbean movie." Nanami declares

"But Jack Sparrow is so sexy!" You groan

Haibara laughs in agreement with you.

"See you later, Zenin! I can't wait to bully Nanami into watching Pirates of the Caribbean with you tonight!" Haibara declares

See you later, Zenin!

See you later.

You should've gotten into that damn car with them. Your technique was better than both of theirs. Maybe if you had...just maybe you wouldn't be staring down at half of your friend.

Geto was next to you, looking down at his body, He was silent, long hair blocking his face from you.

Nanami sat behind you, a damp cloth over his eyes.

"You need to rest for now, Nanami," Geto suggests, his soft voice filling the silence.

"Damn it. I should've gone with you two." You say, your voice dripping in regret.

"You could've gotten killed too, Zenin." Nanami sighs, his voice is tight like he's holding back tears.

A soft summer breeze blows through your hair as you sit on a bench. You had left Geto and Nanami with Haibara, not wanting to see the bloody sheet he was under anymore.

"Hey."

You glance up from where you had been picking at your nails, willing yourself to hold it together.

Gojo stood over you, hand stretched out with a piece of candy in it.

"I heard what happened." He said sitting next to you as you unwrapped the candy and popped it in your mouth.

"You wanna talk about it?" Gojo asked

"Not really." You sighed

"You don't seem too sad," Gojo said quietly

"I think I will be...later on. Once I'm alone." You say

"Yeah, me too." He replied.

Silence enveloped the two of you as you focused on the taste of the candy in your mouth.

"I gave you the green apple. It's my least favorite." Gojo said

"Thanks." You reply

September 2007 (Gojo: 17 You: 16)

In accordance with Jujutsu regulations, Geto Suguru is sentenced to death.

For once in his life Gojo Satoru is not buzzing around you like an excited puppy. You can see him, sitting alone on the steps of Jujutsu High.

The deaths of 112 people including his own parents rests on Geto's hands. You couldn't believe it when Nanami read the report to you. But now, seeing Gojo alone confirmed it.

You don't know what you're going to say to Gojo as you approach him. What do you say to the person who's just lost their best friend to a life of being a curse user?

"I know you're lurking back there," Gojo says

Damn it.

"I wanted to give you this." You mumble tossing him a lollipop before sitting next to him, probably a bit too close for someone who swore you weren't interested in him.

Gojo softly smiles and accepts the candy.

"Did he say what he wants to do next?" You ask

"He wants to exterminate all non-sorcerers from the world," Gojo says

An unattainable goal.

"That's impossible." You say

"That won't stop him." Gojo points out

A soft weight taps you and the sweet scent of Satoru Gojo's shampoo fills your nose as he rests his head on your shoulder.

"I'm sure you'll see him again. Even if it's not for a long time, you'll talk to each other again." You assure him.

"Yeah, I hope so," Gojo admits

His voice is a whisper in the breeze, a prayer for the future.

Christmas 2009 (Gojo: 20 You: 19)

"You have to stay quiet, Gojo!" You groan looking at your friend next to you

"This costume is so itchy though! The beard is gonna make my skin all red!" He whines

"Suck it up." You command

Gojo lets out another groan but helps you finish arranging the copious amounts of gifts he had ended up buying for Megumi and Tsumiki.

"Alright, it's perfect. Now go stand next to the tree."

Gojo listens to you and lets out a huff of embarrassment when you snap his picture.

"That better be for your eyes only." He says

"Oh definitely don't worry about it." You brush him off before quickly sending the picture off to Nanami and Shoko. They're sure to get a kick out of it.

"Remind me why I asked you to help with these brats again," Gojo says as he notices you sending his picture.

"Cuz' these brats would be dead if you were the only one watching them, Gojo." You say

"I'm a great caregiver." He says

"You wanted to get Megumi a pink tutu for Christmas." You say

"He would've looked great!" Gojo defends

"He would've set his Demon Dogs after you." You say

"Would not."

"Would too."

"Would not!'

"Would too!"

"What's going on?"

You and Gojo stop your bickering to see sleepy-eyed children hovering on the steps, dark hair out of place and a frizzy mess atop their little heads.

"Santa and I were just arguing about what cookie is best!" You grin

"That's not Santa. That's Gojo in that costume you ordered off Amazon last week." Megumi points out. "I saw the order details on your laptop."

Who the hell does this kid think he is?

"What? No! This is the real Santa from the North Pole!" You scramble

"Megumi, just go with it!" Tsumiki whispers to her little brother, "They obviously don't know Santa's not real!"

Is it a crime to toss a child out a window?

"The jig is up!" Gojo declares beside you as he rips off his fake beard. "Now let's get to the real fun stuff! Mistletoe!"

Gojo grabs a sprig of mistletoe from between the couch cushions. Curse him and his hiding spots.

"Pucker up, hot stuff!" Gojo says as he reaches for you and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you close.

"Gross." You say pushing his face away from you, you hope he can't see how red you are.

Why the hell was he like this? The past few months Gojo had been all over you. Be it flirty gestures or just plain Gojo weirdness, he was consuming every bit of you and you weren't sure if it was a bad thing.

"You're blushing," Megumi says

"Aha! I knew you wanted a kiss from me!" Gojo exclaims chasing after you as you try to escape up the stairs.

Seriously, is it a crime to toss a kid out a window?

March 2011 (Gojo: 21 You: 20)

The harsh slam of the front door wakes Gojo from the peace that had taken over the house. Megumi and Tsumiki had gone to bed and he was kicked back on the sofa, face mask on and Harry Potter was running on TV.

"I'm going to seriously kill that asshole one day." You groan as you rummage through the fridge

"I take it the meeting with Naoya didn't go well," Gojo said

"Didn't go well is the understatement of the millennium." You groan sitting down next to him a slice of cold pizza in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.

"Tell me about it," Gojo says pulling your feet into his lap.

He listens to you vent about your "fiance" and how annoying he is. Naoya wants you to cut your hair a certain way and to stop wearing the color red. Apparently, you also need to start wearing lipstick now according to the man as well.

"Honestly I hope he gets hit by a bus tomorrow." You groan "And what the hell is wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing. I think it suits you nicely." Gojo smiles, knowing it's true. You're as pretty as a picture even when you're mad at the world.

"Thanks." You sigh "That wasn't the worst of it though"

"Oh? What else did the scumbag say this time?" Gojo asked, genuinely curious

"Well beyond my appearance, he asked if I was still a virgin today." You say

"Are you?"

"Ow!" Gojo yelps as he rubs his arm where you punched him

"Yeah, I am you idiot!" You seethe, placing your wine and half-eaten pizza on the coffee table, "He's only asking cuz' he found out that I'm spending time around you and I guess he's worried about impurity."

"We're just friends," Gojo says "Besides who cares if a girl's slept with someone before? I know I wouldn't."

His words feel like glue in his mouth. Can you tell he wants to be more than friends?

"I know that, and you know that. But he must think I'm whoring myself out to you in exchange for a place to live." You say sadly

Gojo can sense that Naoya's words are under your skin and bouncing around in that pretty head of yours. A head that should only be filled with the happiest of thoughts, preferably ones with him in it.

"Hey, forget about him. It's none of his business what company you keep and what you look like." He assures, reaching his arms out to pull you into his side.

"He's technically my fiance y'know." You sigh as you let him reposition your body so your head rests on his chest. "I'm supposed to want to please him since he's a man."

There's that stupid Zenin clan mindset, that Gojo can't stand.

"Screw that! Pleasing someone just cuz they're a guy is so 200 years ago." He says

"Tell me about it." You groan

"I could just send a hollow purple his way if you want." Gojo suggests, fully serious "Just a small one. It would be the perfect way to get rid of him."

"And what? Start a full-on war between two ancient clans over me?" You laugh

"Of course," Gojo confirms, pulling you closer to him

To him, you're worth starting a thousand wars if it means you'll finally let him be by your side all the time.

"By the way, is that a charcoal mask?" You ask

"Yup. Got it from the mall today, gotta stay hot for the single ladies out there."

"Gojo?"

"Yeah?"

"You're a really weird guy."

December 2011 (Gojo: 22 You: 21)

"We have to stay quiet, 'gumi." The girl reminds her little brother

"What's the point? How do we even know they'll like this?" He asked

"Who wouldn't enjoy breakfast in bed?" Tsumiki asked

She had a point.

"Yeah, but Gojo and Zenin don't even sleep in the same room. So are we surprising them separately?" Megumi asked as he poured orange juice into cups, he didn't think he had the balance to make it up the stairs with a tray of food.

"Nope! I checked Gojo's room before I woke you up. They're in his room together. I think she had a nightmare or something last night." Tsumiki says, "And we're not supposed to call her Zenin, remember? She said we could just use her first name."

"Oh, right," Megumi says

The couple? No, friends? Whatever they were, the two individuals that had taken him and his sister in were odd. Megumi was sure that Gojo was insane or maybe missing a piece of his brain. Just the other day Gojo had dangled him out the window for asking why he owned pink underwear as a 22-year-old. It was a genuine question on Megumi's part. As for you, you were definitely his favorite. You didn't try to dangle him out windows or mess up his hair, and most importantly you didn't constantly ask about his cursed technique.

Gojo was definitely the more annoying out of the two of you. How you put up with him was a mystery to Megumi. Tsumiki had once said that there was a "budding romance" between Gojo and You. Megumi thought she was reading too many of those romance books you bought her. Of course, he understood why she was saying that. You and Gojo were clearly close to each other, not to mention sometimes you even slept in each other's bedrooms. And then of course there's the many times when you're cooking and Gojo would wrap his arms around you from behind.

Alright, fine maybe Tsumiki was right about the romance.

"Alright, they're done. What do you think?" Tsumiki asks as she places two plates of something on the tray that sits in front of him.

"What are they?" He asks

"They're pancakes." Tsumiki blinked at Megumi as though it was obvious

"Right, of course." Megumi didn't want to make her angry, after all the last time they got in a fight Tsumiki pulled his hair so hard he swore he was partly bald in that spot for months.

"Ok lets go. You get the silverware and the drinks." She says

Gojo's bedroom is so dark, that Megumi nearly trips on his own feet as he blindly follows his sister.

Tsumiki carefully set the tray of food on the desk that was covered in various papers and candy wrappers. Why was Gojo such a slob? Tsumiki pulls the curtains open so the morning light can invade the space.

Megumi carefully observes the pair in bed. Gojo's arm is wrapped securely around you and your head rests on his chest. Megumi finds himself wondering if his father and mother were ever like this. Not that it matters since he can't even remember either of them.

"Surprise!" Tsumiki shouts and Gojo's eyes fly open

"Whaaats going on?" You ask groggily

"We made breakfast!" Tsumiki smiles placing the tray in front of the two adults.

"I have orange juice." Megumi mumbles

"Oh wow!" You smile, rubbing at your eyes, and immediately sit up.

"What is it?" Gojo asks, white hair messier than usual.

Megumi knew it wasn't obvious that they were pancakes.

"Pancakes of course!" You smile at them and Megumi doesn't miss how you pinch Gojo and whisper "be nice" to the white-haired man.

"They have blueberries in them," Megumi says

Gojo's face falls at the idea of a breakfast lacking sugar.

"And chocolate chips." Tsumiki chimes in

Gojo's face is all smiles again as he cuts into the food.

"How is it?" His sister eagerly asks

"It's wonderful. Delicious. Thank you, Tsumiki and Megumi." You compliment

A wide smile breaks out across his sister's face and she grabs Megumi by the arm.

"Alright, we'll let you two eat in peace then." She smiles, practically skipping out of the room.

Just before Megumi closes the door, hushed voices reach his ears.

"Can I spit this out now? I don't think it's edible." Gojo asks

"I think mine has some eggshell in it." You reply

Hushed laughter follows and Megumi smiles to himself. Sure, the two of you were crazy but he wouldn't trade it for the world.

February 2012 (Gojo: 22 You: 21)

Gojo was sure he was actually insane. What the hell was he thinking buying this for you?

The ruby red box felt like a lead weight in his pocket as he approached you while you were slicing vegetables for tonight's supper. Maybe he shouldn't do this while you had a knife in your hand. What if you stabbed him? Well, his infinity would catch it, but still.

"Can I uh...talk to you?" He asked, well...no going back now

"Yeah, what's up?" You ask

"Can I talk to you without the knife in your hand?" He asks

"Satoru Gojo what did you do?" You accuse, immediately focusing on you

"Nothing! Why do you assume I did something?!" He cries

"Because the last time you started a sentence with "without the knife in your hand" You had encouraged Megumi to fight his school bully and then you got a call that Megumi punched a girl two years younger than him." You say

Oh right. He forgot about that.

"Alright well, no children were harmed this time. Now put the knife down." He said

You listen and he takes a big breath, he's going to need all the oxygen for this one.

"Look it might be stupid and I know Valentine's Day was last week but I got you something and I wanted to give it to you. I've actually had it since December but I keep chickening out" He explained fishing the box out of his pocket

"If that's an engagement ring I'll get the knife back out." You say eying him suspiciously.

"What? No! That would be crazy." Gojo laughs, he can feel his face burning. Fuck...he must be bright red.

"Alright good." You say taking the box

Gojo fidgets with the string that's sticking out of the sleeve of his shirt as you look at what he's done.

"Do you uh like it?" He asked

"I do. Why'd you get it for me?" You ask

Wasn't it obvious? He'd buy the whole universe for you if he could.

"You really don't have any idea?" He asks

"No...I don't." You say

Your face is relaxed, you're definitely not lying to him. You seriously have no idea that he's totally obsessed with you!

"Are you gonna say it? I still have to cut some carrots up." You sigh

Gojo lets out a noise that's so insane sounding he swears he got possessed by some evil spirit.

"I got it cuz' I thought it'd look great on you!" The words are coming out of his mouth like vomit, " And I really uh...uhm...I like you."

The last bit is so quiet he's sure you didn't hear it.

"Wow did I just get a shoujo romance confession from the Satoru Gojo himself?" You tease as his gaze remains fixed on his feet.

"Whatever. If you don't want it I'll take it back tomorrow." He grumbled

Silence falls over the two of you like a blanket and Gojo wishes he could bury himself alive. Of course, she's making fun of you! She's engaged! She's been engaged since she was 15! One necklace won't change that! Sure, her fiance was a total buttwipe but still...

"Satoru,"

His first name coming from your lips for the first time ever has his gaze snapping back up. He wishes that you'd say his name like that forever.

"I'm only teasing you. I like you too. I have for a while." You admit

"How long is a while?" He prods, suddenly filled with confidence

"None of your business, mister. Are you going to help me put this on?" You gesture to the box

Gojo is as gentle as he can be as he clips the necklace behind your neck.

"How do I look?" You ask

"Perfect." He smiles and pulls you towards him.

"I smell, Satoru. I haven't gotten to shower yet and I exrocsied a curse at a school earlier." You softly say

"Mmm, you smell good to me." Gojo says "You're always absolutely perfect. And now you're all mine."

An elated giggle leaves his body as he finally gets to kiss you for the first time. If only his 17-year-old self could see him now.

"That's disgusting."

You jump away from him and he wishes you hadn't.

"Megumi, how was school?" You ask and Gojo doesn't miss the way you're obviously flustered.

"It was good. Until I came home to see that." He says

"Well get used to it cuz' you'll be seeing a lot more of it." Gojo grins as he pulls you towards him and tosses an arm around your shoulders.

"She's all mine now, little man. You're not allowed to give her a Valentine's Day card ever again!"

"Satoru, stop that!"

"So are you two finally dating?" Tsumiki asked hopefully

"Course' we are. You don't come home to two people sucking face and expect them not to be officially a couple."

Gojo deserves the punch to the stomach you give him before resuming your vegetable cutting.

Next Part

Series Masterlist / My Masterlist

#gojo satoru #gojo #nanami kento #geto suguru #yu haibara #shoko ieiri #naoya zenin #fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk #romance #gojo x reader #fluff #angst #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk gojo #gojo x female reader #megumi fushiguro #tsumiki fushiguro #toji fushiguro #yuji itadori #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satosugu

[q-gorgeous]

Dont mind me as i come back to tumblr so i can check it like the daily newspaper in an attempt to get some kind of fandom inspiration from it again

#gorgi #i havent been on tumblr #because i was knitting #in december #and then i was like #im not caught up on tumblr #and then i had other things i was doing with my time anyways #but yeah uninspired i dont wanna draw #i filled not a single dannymay prompt this year :( #so i am here to surround myself by cartoon fanart once again #so maybe ill be inspired again by ectober

[leilakisakabiri]

heyy, can u write one where gavi is obsessed by reader's smell?

Surprise (Gavi)

Summary: You and Gavi are in a long-distance relationship and you go to his game to surprise him, but he catches you.

Warning(s): None

Requested: Yes

A/N: Hey anon! Thank you so much for the request and thanks for being patient. Hopefully, I did the prompt justice! Not proofread.

Word Count: [1666]

Masterlist

You had reached out to Pedri a week ago asking him to help you surprise Gavi at the final La Liga game.

You were in university studying in America, and the two of you had been doing long distance since last summer. It was now early May and you had finished your exams just in time to be in Barcelona for the final game.

You had lied and told Gavi you wouldn’t be done for another week, before wishing him the best and making yourself scarce, telling him you were busy studying.

In the meantime, you had set up a plan to surprise him with Pedri and booked your tickets.

Once you landed in Barcelona, Pedri came to pick you up. You both smiled at each other warmly, telling each other about your lives since you’d been apart.

“I haven’t seen you since December. How have you been hermana?” Pedri questioned.

You laughed, telling him about your school and all the things you and your friends got up to.

“That sounds so fun. Now I’m jealous I never got to go to school in America!” He exclaimed.

“Mm. It’s probably not as fun as being a famous footballer.” You shrugged playfully.

“Yah I guess that’s cool too.” He remarked.

Before you knew it, you were pulling up to the stadium, and the nerves were beginning to set it in. You hadn’t seen Gavi in almost six months and you were a little nervous to see him again. Did he look the same? Would he be excited to see you?

Pedri could tell that you were getting in your head, and he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t overthink it, he’ll be happy to see you. He was so sad you couldn’t be here.”

You looked up at him, “Really?”

He nodded affirmatively and you felt yourself loosen up, “Thanks Pedri.”

He gave you a smile, ushering you out of the car and into the stadium.

“Ok so we only have a few minutes before the rest of the team gets here so we have to be quick.” Pedri spoke leading you into the locker room.

The plan was that you would leave a note in Gavi’s locker telling him to look up into the family section of the stands, and he would glance up before the game and see you standing there wearing his jersey, cheering him on.

You didn’t want to mess up the before-game ritual, or the meeting with his team, so you opted for seeing him after the game as opposed to before.

You had just placed the note in his locker when you heard the locker room door open, male voices filling the air.

You looked up at Pedri in horror, his facial expression mirroring yours, as you both froze.

He snapped out of it first and pushed you towards the showers, “Oh shit, go hide!”

You had just snapped the shower curtain closed when you heard a voice, “Pedri, hey man. Why are you here so early?”

You heard Pedri let out an awkward laugh, and you cringed, poor boy was never a good liar, “Oh hey Ansu. Uhm- y’know just like to be early.”

A new voice responded, “Really since when?”

You breath caught in your throat, it was Gavi.

It had been so long since you heard his voice in person, it sounded so real, and so close. You felt a wave of emotions hit you. Hearing his voice made it ten times harder to keep yourself hidden, and only amplified how much you missed him.

“Ehh big game so wanted to start now.”

The boys seemed to accept his answer, continuing their conversation.

You silently prayed that they would move toward the other end of the locker room so that you could make a quick escape.

But it seemed like luck was not on your side today.

Gavi was in the middle of a sentence when he abruptly cut himself off.

“Do you smell that?” He asked, pausing to inhale.

“Did you just sniff the air?” Pedri asked him, trying to hold back his laughter.

“Shut up, it smells like Y/n.”

You felt your blood run cold. Oh shit. You had totally forgot about your perfume.

You had bought the perfume months ago, back when you were still with Gavi in Barcelona last summer. You had been looking for something that smelled like warm summer nights and when you found it you bought it instantly. However, it wasn’t just you who loved the smell as just twenty minutes after you wore it for the first time Gavi had you spread out on the couch, lips planting kisses all over you, hands exploring every inch of your body.

“You smell so good.” He groaned, kissing the column of your neck.

Your breathing was unsteady, and you found it hard to concentrate, “Thanks, I just bought it. It’s supposed to smell like summer."

“Well whatever it is, I love it.” Gavi murmured, his words caught between his mouth and your skin.

Since then, it had become your everyday perfume, and you spent the rest of summer wearing it and driving Gavi crazy.

He said it smelled exactly how he imagined you to be. Sweet and intoxicating.

Now you were wearing the same exact perfume, having forgotten about Gavi’s obsession with it.

You were scared that you had just outed yourself, but you were also impressed that the perfume had lingered for that long.

Guess it was a good buy.

“What?” Pedri asked him pretending to be confused, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts.

“She always smells like coconut and jasmine, and the locker room smells exactly like that.”

“I think the dirty socks are getting to your head. Go get ready.” Pedri retorted, trying to steer the conversation away from you.

Gavi shook his head, “Pedri I swear. Am I going crazy?”

Ansu spoke, “Nah bro I smell it too.”

That was all the confirmation Gavi needed, “Where is it coming from?” He asked as he set his bag down beginning to move around the room.

You could hear Pedri shuffling as well, presumably following the boy, “C’mon this is stupid. Let’s focus on the game. The rest of the team will be here any minute.”

Gavi sighed, “Ok yah.” He resigned, moving to go change into his uniform.

“Be honest Pedri, did you have a girl in here?” Ansu asked playfully.

You heard Pedri sputter, and you let out a small gasp, not being able to hold back your laughter.

“What was that?”

“What?” Pedri asked, his voice rising unintentionally.

“Swear I heard something over there.” Ansu stated.

You bit your lip, moving back into the shower, cursing yourself for making noise.

It was quiet for a moment, and then a second later you felt the shower curtain being ripped open.

You were greeted by a very stressed-out Pedri and a confused Ansu.

“What the fu-“ You desperately held up a finger to your mouth, pleading with him to be silent.

“What?” Gavi asked coming over.

Ansu quickly shut the curtain again, “Oh nothing. Just thought I saw a spider.”

They all moved away from the showers, and you let out a breathe. You couldn’t believe how close you were to being caught.

All you had wanted to do was surprise your boyfriend, but that was turning out to be much harder than you thought.

You heard more voices begin to fill the locker room, and you wondered if Pedri was going to come and get you or if you were on your own.

A moment later, the shower curtain slowly opened and Pedri popped his head inside.

“That was so close!” He whispered.

You stepped out of the shower, “I know! Now get me out of here.”

“Ok, most of the guys are in the main changing area, waiting for coach. We’re going the other way, so just walk in front of me and we’ll be good.”

You nodded, feeling Pedri walk behind you as you took a left out of the shower area.

You had your sights fixed on the door and were just steps away when a voice interrupted. “Pedri, do you know anything about this no-“ You heard Gavi ask before his voice faltered,

“Who’s that?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, knowing your cover had officially been blown.

You felt Pedri freeze behind you. He began to speak without turning around, scrambling to come up with something.

You cut him off, turning around and finally revealing yourself, “Surprise!”

Gavi stood there in shock staring at you for about five seconds, unmoving, before his body caught up to his brain and then he was colliding into you, arms wrapping around you and pulling you into a tight hug.

“Holy shit. Y/n? What are you doing here bebe?” He asked his voice rising in excitement.

You giggled as he picked you up, spinning you around.

You looked up at him once he put you down, reaching up to caress his cheek, “I wanted to surprise you! But you kind of ruined it for yourself.” You admitted.

“I don’t even care. I’m so happy you’re here.” He spoke, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

You smiled, kissing his cheek as you promised you’d find him after the game.

He walked you to the door, as you basked in each other’s presence.

You gave him one last kiss before pulling away.

“I knew I smelled you!” he exclaimed.

You giggled, “Yah I forgot about that. Can’t believe you sniffed me out.” You teased while ruffling his hair.

He gave you a playful glare before fixing his hair, “Oh c’mon you know I love it.”

You smiled, “I know.”

You gave him one last wave before turning and walking through the tunnels towards the seats.

You heard him yell after you, “Nice jersey!”

You turned around, a grin on your face, “Thanks. It’s my boyfriend’s.”

#barcelona #pablo gavi #pedri #pedri imagine #football imagine #football #footballer #gavi imagine #gavi imagines #gavi headcannon #gavi fluff #gavi angst #pablo gavi imagine #pedri imagines #pedri x reader #gavi x reader #gavi one shot #gavi blurb #pedri gonzalez #pedri one shot #footballer imagine

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (12/?)

Part Summary: You know Leigh well enough to recognize that she never acts without intention. She must have agonized about this too—about that kiss, about you. And she's making it difficult for you to guess just what conclusions she had come to in the time you were apart.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.500+ | Warnings: Smut | Author's note: I honestly don't know what else to write in the summary without giving too much away, so without further ado… P.S. No cliffhangers this time ;)

Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI

-

A week after Thanksgiving, as the icy Maine wind whips across the tarmac at Rockland Airport, you find yourself holding a container of lobster cakes—your mother's way of sending a piece of home back with you. Despite her protests about you cutting your visit short, she spent last night in the kitchen, crafting your favorite dish, the smell of butter and ocean filling the house. “Eat these when you miss home,” she had said, pressing the container into your hands with a sad smile. The decision to leave early was anything but easy.

You initially planned to stay five more days in Camden, but Leigh's radio silence prompted you to book a direct flight to Los Angeles. It was eating you up inside; you had to go back. The familiar dark screen of your phone kept you on edge; you hadn't expected Leigh to strictly follow through on her promise not to contact you. She had a way of doing the unexpected. Or maybe you've been so wrapped up in your thoughts that you underestimated how deeply she wanted you that night. And perhaps you've overestimated your own anger, believing it would even slightly lessen your feelings for her.

Sitting in the window seat with the whole row to yourself, you stare at your phone as the flight attendant's voice crackles over the intercom, signaling it's time to switch to airplane mode. Impulsively, you tap out a text to her.

Belated Happy Thanksgiving, Leigh. If you’re free tomorrow evening, maybe we could talk? Perhaps over dinner?

It’s straightforward, maybe too much so, but it’s sent before you can overthink it.

The flight attendant's voice fills the cabin once more, reminding everyone to switch their devices as the plane is about to take off. You comply, toggling the setting and sealing off any immediate replies. The engines roar to life, and as the plane ascends, you try to push away the knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach.

As you wait to fall asleep, you think about Leigh—whether she’s seen your message and what she might be feeling. You wonder about the time apart, recalling the old saying that distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Or does it make it forget instead?

-

You touch down in L.A. just as the date ticks over to December 1st, the clock a little past midnight. The moment the plane reaches the gate, you grab your phone and switch off airplane mode. There's a message from your mom, checking in to see if you've landed safely, and you text her back to let her know you did. Suzie has also texted, saying Foreman called in sick and asking if you can cover at the clinic later. You shoot back a quick reply, saying you just landed, you'll catch some sleep, and might be in late in the morning.

But there’s nothing from Leigh. No text, no missed call, nothing to indicate she received your message or is interested in meeting.

You sigh and, without thinking, tap her name on the screen. The call goes through, and the phone rings as you make your way through the late-night crowd at LAX. It continues ringing, unanswered, until it finally clicks over to voicemail. You mutter a soft curse under your breath. Of course, she's not going to pick up—it's 12:30 in the morning. You consider sending a quick apology text but then reconsider, figuring you've already pushed enough boundaries by calling her this late.

Instead, you slide your phone back into your pocket and head toward baggage claim. You weave through the half-awake travelers and the sterile glow of the airport lights, finally spotting your suitcase trundling along the carousel. You heft it off and make your way through the automatic doors. You glance one more time at your phone, half hoping for a notification, but it's blank. With a sigh, you head for the exit, feeling the exhaustion settle in.

-

You check your inbox first thing in the morning, but there's still nothing from Leigh. You don't have time to overanalyze this again because you're already running late for work.

-

The whole day is swamped, with emergencies piling up alongside a packed schedule of immunizations and follow-ups. Suzie mistakenly booked an entire week's worth of scheduled vaccines for today, a Saturday. She explains that the clients requested to move their appointments to the weekend, adding, “We're closed on Sundays, so I thought today would work.”

You try to hide your frustration, not wanting to lay the blame on her. Your nerves are already frayed, and every hour that passes without a word from Leigh has you feeling more on edge.  As you tend to your patients and give instructions to the staff, you feel the pressure building, a headache beginning to throb behind your eyes. The never-ending stream of clients leaves you with no time to catch your breath. Between each appointment, you plaster on a polite smile, but inside, you're counting down the minutes until you can check out of, well, everything.

As the clock hits seven, you can't take another minute. The clinic has been a madhouse since the doors opened. You barely glance at Suzie as you callously tell her, “Close early. I'm tired.” Without waiting for her response, you trudge straight to your office and slump into your chair, eyes closed against the harsh fluorescent lights. Resting your head back, you exhale slowly, letting the tension drain from your shoulders. The fatigue wraps itself around you like a fog, and for a moment, everything falls away.

A few minutes later, you hear a gentle knock. It's Suzie, standing in the doorway with a paper in her hand. Without opening your eyes, you mutter, “What is it?” Your irritation seeps through, but you’re too drained to rein it in.

Suzie hesitates before stepping into your office, her expression unreadable. She extends the paper towards you. “It's my resignation letter,” she says quietly.

Your eyes snap open, and the paper feels heavier than it should as you take it from her hands. You’ve been nothing short of awful to her all day, snapping at every turn. 

“Is this about today?” you ask. 

She gives you a small, weary smile and points to the date on the letter. “I wrote this last week, right after you left for Maine.”

You glance down at the letter and see that it’s dated exactly a week ago. “Why didn’t you give it to me sooner?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your vacation,” she says softly. “I know how much you needed that break. And honestly, you’ve got enough on your plate right now without me adding to it.”

You can feel the burn of frustration and shame behind your eyes. “You’ve been a rock here, Suzie. I don’t want you to go. Please reconsider.”

She shakes her head gently. “I’ve thought this through. It’s time. I care about this place, and about you, but I need to move on.”

You let out a long breath. “I see. Still, I'm sorry today was so rough,” you say, looking up at her wistfully. You try working your puppy eyes, and for a moment it seems effective as her expression softens into a frown. 

But then she says, “It’s not the clinic or the work I do here. I got an offer for a research position; it's something I've always wanted to try.”

That makes you smile. If that’s the case, then you’re truly happy for her.

“I understand. I wish you hadn't felt the need to keep this to yourself, especially with everything else happening today,” you say, still clutching the paper tightly in your hand, crumpling it slightly.

Suzie shrugs. “I didn't want to add to your stress. Don’t worry, I’ll count the 30 days' notice from today, not the date on my resignation, so you have time to find someone to replace me.”

From that, you know her mind’s already made up. As you read her letter again, your eyes start to sting. You glance back up at her, your vision blurring. “Suzie, thank you,” you mumble thickly.

“Hey, it's okay,” she says gently. “I'm not leaving town. We can still grab lunch whenever. I know how glued to your desk you get, so I'll drag you out for a bite now and then.” You let out a shaky chuckle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“It's just—I’m going to miss you, and I don’t know how I'll replace you,” you say with a sniffle.

“Missing me is a given,” she says, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Actually, I might know someone interested in my job.”

Your ears perk up at that. Good help is hard to find these days, especially with more demands from applicants and a tight job market. “Who?” you ask, curious.

Suzie turns around as if she's going to leave without answering, but then she glances over her shoulder, her smirk widening. “Sara.”

-

A little while later, you catch Suzie just as she's finishing up in the lobby.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll lock up. You’ve done enough today,” you say, sending her home. She gives you a grateful smile, slings her bag over her shoulder, and wishes you a good night before heading out.

Finally alone, you take a moment to decompress. Clasping your hands behind your back, you stretch, trying to release the day's tension. A dull ache climbs up your spine, reminding you how tight your muscles are. Unable to hold the position for more than a few seconds, you relax, the discomfort too much to bear. It's hard to tell whether it's from the long-haul flight yesterday, your age creeping up on you, poor posture, or all of the above. 

On a whim, you book a late-night yoga session at the Beautiful Beast, hoping to relieve the tightness in your back. It’s been a while since your last visit.

Afterward, you head to the small bathroom in your office to get ready. It's basic, not meant for much more than washing hands and changing scrubs, but it’s all you've got. Stripping off your day's clothes, you step into the shower, letting the hot water beat down on your back. The steam fills the tiny space, and the heat melts a bit of the stiffness away. After a quick rinse, you towel off and slip into your yoga gear. The stretchy fabric feels liberating after being in stiff work clothes all day. You roll up your yoga mat, tucked behind the office door, and switch off the bathroom light.

As you're about to head out of the clinic, you check your phone, hoping to see something from Leigh. There's nothing—she hasn’t even read your last message. The stonewalling feels all too familiar, and you're tired of it.

You slide into your car, letting out a weary sigh. As you start the engine, thoughts of Suzie's suggestion to hire Sara sneak back into your mind. You can't help but chortle at the idea—it’s so unexpected, almost comical, considering how you know Sara and her standing friends-with-benefits proposition. It feels far-fetched, and knowing Suzie, she was likely just teasing.

The drive to the fitness studio is as mechanical as it gets. You're hardly aware of the turns you take until you park in front of the building. You step out, mind still elsewhere, and open your car door—right into someone walking by.

“Ow!”

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” you start to say, cutting yourself off when you see who it is. 

Leigh, of all people, is rubbing her elbow, wincing. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a plain white shirt under a jacket, paired with simple black tights. 

“See me? Lovely excuse,” she quips, her eyes fixed on her arm rather than you. Her expression is primed to unleash more frustration when she finally turns to meet the source of the blunder.

 “I—” Leigh stops, visibly surprised to see you. Quickly, her face smooths into something more neutral. “Y/N. You…you really should watch it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “Are you alright?”

She rubs her elbow once more, then nods slowly. “Just startled me a bit, but I’m fine.”

Once you both regain your bearings, you unconsciously begin rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, hesitating despite the things you’ve rehearsed in your head all week. Your text message inviting her to meet tonight lingers at the forefront of your mind. But before you can bring it up, Leigh catches you by surprise.

“So, you’re heading in for a class?” she asks casually, as if the last time you saw each other didn’t end with a kiss and a confrontation that put the aforementioned kiss on hold.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I am,” you reply. Then you remember Leigh doesn't work here anymore, but with her mother owning the place, it's no surprise to see her around occasionally. 

Still, you ask, “How about you?”

“You mind if we walk while we talk?” Leigh suggests.

You nod, a little thrown off but managing to say, “Sure, just let me grab my stuff.” 

She waits a few seconds as you gather your belongings, and then you both start walking toward the building. Leigh sets a brisk pace, always a step ahead, and you find yourself almost hurrying to keep up with her.

“I just got back to working here again,” she says after a beat.

Surprised, you ask, “Oh, how did that happen?”

“Long story,” she replies with a slight shrug, her eyes focused ahead.

Unsatisfied with her vague answer, your eyes drift to her lips. Memories of that last kiss flood back—their soft, velvety feel and that distinct taste that’s all hers, like fresh water after a long, grueling hike. It's a taste that's unmistakably Leigh, nothing else like it. As you walk together, you struggle to stay present. This isn’t at all how you pictured your reunion with her would go. Not by a long shot.

“Leigh,” you call out, stopping abruptly. Your voice comes out higher than intended, quivering a bit. You clear your throat and try again, “D-Did you get my text yesterday?”

Leigh glances back over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “No.”

The bluntness leaves you momentarily stunned. You wait for her to follow up, to ask about the text, but she doesn’t. As you both step into the Beautiful Beast studio, you start to ask if you can talk later, but Leigh gets there first.

“We can pick this up later, Y/N. We should really get to class,” she says, heading into the room full of waiting students without waiting for your answer.

You're left more stumped than ever. Last time, she was almost on her knees, begging for forgiveness. Now, she's acting like nothing happened. How did everything change so much in just a week? With a head full of questions and doubts, you roll out your yoga mat and try to focus on the practice ahead. You can't help but wonder if the kiss you shared with Leigh really happened or if it was just a mirage of your desires.

You struggle through some of the poses, wobbling and nearly toppling over more than once. Leigh, however, doesn't chide or correct you as she used to; she mostly leaves you alone, focusing instead on helping others who are struggling more than you. It makes you feel strangely isolated, even though you know she's just fulfilling her role as an instructor and there are plenty of beginners in tonight’s session.

As the hour winds down, Leigh's soft “Namaste” signals the end of the class. She bows gracefully to the students, and you don't waste a moment, rising immediately to make your way to her as she rolls up her mat.

“Leigh.”

“Hey,” she responds breathlessly, not looking up. Other students pass by, thanking her, and she responds with smiles and cheerful “see you next times.” You stand there, feeling awkward as you wait for a turn.

When the last person leaves, Leigh finally looks up at you. “What's up?” she asks.

You find yourself stuttering, still fixated on the text message. Feeling a bit pathetic about how much it’s affecting you, but you shake it off, remembering why you cut your visit to Camden short. It was because of this—because of her.

“Leigh, can we talk? About... you know, how we left things that night?”

Her face remains jarringly impartial as she wipes down her mat. “Talk? Here? Right now?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I don't mean right this second,” you clarify, watching her closely to gauge her reaction. Are you the only one feeling like you're on a tightrope? 

“You haven't had dinner yet, right?” You try to sound nonchalant too, but it's a struggle.

She looks around the emptying studio as if she needs a moment to consider. After a few beats, she nods. “Sure, why not? I’ll just change and meet you out front.”

You can't help but smile, mainly out of relief that she said yes. “Great, see you in a minute,” you say, realizing you need to change into drier clothes too.

Fifteen minutes later, Leigh steps out, looking refreshed as if she didn't just burn through a few hundred calories leading a rigorous yoga session. She's wearing a cozy gray sweater and cargo pants, a much more laid-back look compared to your jeans and cardigan.

As she draws near, she tilts her head slightly and says, “I actually brought a car. Have you thought of where we're going to get dinner?”

You scramble to think of a suitable place. In-N-Out pops into your head—quick, easy, but completely wrong for the kind of talk you need to have. You can't imagine hashing out your feelings under the harsh lights of a fast food place, over burgers and fries.

“Um,” you stammer, looking around like inspiration might hit you in the face. 

“How about we head to your apartment?” Leigh suggests out of nowhere. “It's closer, and we could grab some drive-thru on the way.”

You blink at her suggestion, surprised she'd even consider it after everything that went down last time at your place.

“There's only one parking spot,” you say blankly. “And the street has no parking after 10 p.m.”

Leigh seems unfazed, offering a quick solution. “Then we’ll just take your car. I can leave mine here.”

Your nerves flare at the thought of having her back in your apartment. Your tongue feels heavy, and you can't think of a single reason to tell her why it’s a bad idea.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Let's do that.”

You head to your car together, fumbling with the keys as you unlock it. Leigh slips into the passenger seat, and you take a deep breath before starting the engine. You pull into a drive-thru of In-N-Out and Leigh scrolls through her phone, picking out what to order. 

You know Leigh well enough to recognize that she never acts without intention. She must have agonized about this too—about that kiss, about you. And she's making it difficult for you to guess just what conclusions she had come to in the time you were apart.

-

The takeout is spread across your dining table, a small feast that Leigh ordered for the two of you. Boxes of fries, nuggets, and burgers crowd the surface, enough to feed a group. You barely nibble on a fry while Leigh is already finishing her cheeseburger, wiping her fingers with a napkin and eyeing the remaining food.

“You weren’t hungry, huh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess not,” you reply, wiping away the residual salt from your fingers.

Leigh takes a sip of her drink, washing down the last bite before looking at you with purpose. “Mind if I go first?” she asks.

You narrow your eyes. So, she's eager to dive right in. “Sure, go ahead,” you say. You observe Leigh closely for the first time in what feels like ages. Concealer cakes beneath her eyes, settling into the natural wrinkles there. She’s still undeniably beautiful, but there's a tiredness to her now that’s hard to miss. Her cheeks, usually lifted by her prominent cheekbones, seem hollowed out more than usual.

“I guess I want to start by saying that I'm…” Leigh trails off, her eyes darting around as if the right words might be hidden among the packets of ketchup and silverware. “...a horrible person.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she cuts you off smoothly.

“No, listen. You were right. I ignore you out of nowhere. I take advantage of your kindness. And it’s not just you—I’ve been doing this with everyone around me for a while now. I haven't cared about what others think or feel because I was focused on being true to myself, always playing the ‘dead husband’ card. I’ve taken everyone's patience and understanding for granted, and I’m really, really sorry.”

You sit back, stunned. The whole evening, you'd braced for a different kind of conversation. You expected Leigh to say the kiss was a mistake—just a result of nerves or a lapse in judgment driven by jealousy. You had been so sure she'd shut you down, just like all the other times. 

“You're sorry?” The words slip out unbidden, tinged with surprise and skepticism.

“Yeah,” she says, looking you square in the eye. “I know it's hard to believe, but I really am sorry for how I've treated you.”

It’s going well—too well. Your mind struggles to accept it, but your heart?

“I thought you were going to say that night was a mistake. That the kiss meant nothing,” you whisper so faintly, almost as if you don't want her to hear.

“It kept me up for nights,” Leigh replies just as softly, “and that doesn’t usually happen to me over a simple kiss.”

Your heart soars.

She doesn’t regret it. She’s sorry. This is all going too well.

“It was on my mind the whole time, even when I was all the way across the country,” you whisper wantonly. 

The corners of Leigh’s lips twitch upward, and you can't tell if it's a good sign. Her saying she’s just as affected blinds you to any other cues that might suggest otherwise.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Leigh says darkly, leaning back into her chair with a weary slump. “Because I’m done living in half-truths and half-realities. I can’t handle any more surprises.”

You feel a flash of confusion, trying to stitch together what Leigh might say next. She knows about your cheesy alter-ego on her advice column, the details of your past with Matt. But half-truths? What does she mean by that?

Leigh meets your gaze, and there’s something about her stare that tells you she’s coming apart, yet she's clenching every muscle to keep herself intact. You want to reach across the table, to offer a touch that might steady her, but her hands are hidden, clenched in her lap beneath the table. Her shoulders hunch, making her seem smaller, as if she's trying to fold into herself.

“Leigh, just tell me,” you urge, though not impatiently.

She exhales slowly, the breath you hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I broke up with Danny,” she finally says, and for a brief, absurd moment, relief washes over you. 

That's…it? 

Your smile starts to form, naive in its inception, but it’s quickly stifled as Leigh’s voice drops lower, and her next words cut through the nascent joy. 

“And then he said something I didn't think could drive the dagger Matt left in my heart any deeper,” she says slowly, like she’s having a hard time dragging every syllable.

Leigh takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling deliberately. “He told me he was pretty involved when you and Matt got together. That you first knew him as Nick, and he helped Matt reach out to you.”

Your heart sinks. You had almost forgotten that night with Danny when you discovered his real identity and how he fit into everything. He'd begged you to keep quiet, and in his desperation, you agreed—not because he pleaded, but because you believed Leigh was happy with him. It wasn’t your secret to reveal, not then.

You've known this all along and never said a word. Your throat tightens as panic sets in, your heart racing with the implications of having kept this from Leigh. Guilt pricks at you, cold and sharp.

“I…” Your voice falters, and you swallow hard, thinking, This is it, this is how I lose her. 

“I didn’t think it was my place to say anything,” you say. “I thought you were happy with him. I didn’t want to be the one to—”

“Y/N,” Leigh interjects softly. Her tone stops you cold—it's not angry, just… defeated. Which, somehow, feels worse. She looks down, twisting a napkin between her fingers. “I’m telling you this because I’m finding out that secrets can be just as hard to handle as loss.”

You nod absentmindedly, still processing, and move to clear the table in a daze. Wrapping up the leftover food, you tuck it into the fridge. The mundane task doesn't ease the tightness in your chest, but it gives your hands something to do.

“You’re not upset I didn’t tell you?” you ask, like you can’t believe you’ll come out of this conversation unscathed.

Leigh takes her time to answer. With your focus on tidying up, you miss the way her hands ball into fists. When she finally speaks, her voice has a steely edge for the first time this evening.

“At first, I was livid, of course. But Danny bore the brunt of it. He claimed he wanted me, but he was never on my side. If he were, he would’ve never helped Matt cheat on me.”

You finish tucking the last container into the fridge and lean back against the counter, your eyes on Leigh. She's staring out the window. How is it that she’s telling you these things, yet it still feels like she’s not revealing anything at all?

“I should’ve told you sooner,” you say softly. “I’m sorry.”

Leigh gets up and walks toward you. She stops so close that your breath catches. You remember the last time she was this near, how the world blurred, and how hard it was to think clearly. You can see the way her jaw tightens as she takes a breath.

“It wasn’t your secret to tell,” she says.

“But—” you start to say, though the thought fizzles out as she steps even closer.

“You're okay in that regard,” she murmurs, her voice low. 

In that regard? 

You want to ask what she means, but Leigh shuffles nearer still, her eyes searching your face. She's so close now that you can see the faint reflection of the kitchen light in her eyes, specs of yellow in darkened green. It’s nothing short of dazzling.

“Do you forgive me for last time?” she asks quietly. 

A lump forms in your throat, and all you can think about is how desperately you don't want to mess this up. You had forgiven her long before stepping onto a plane back to Maine. It happened as soon as you let her walk away that night, but you just couldn't accept how easy it was. 

You nod, unable to trust your ability to speak. 

Leigh's eyes soften as she watches you. Her fingertips brush against your jaw, her touch feather-light. 

“Is it okay if I kiss you, then?” she asks, both careful and seductive.

Your resounding yes comes in the form of you closing the gap, your lips meeting hers like an arrow striking its target. Leigh’s arms wrap around your shoulders instinctively, her fingers brushing the back of your neck, and you pull her in even tighter, deepening the kiss. Her breath mingles with yours as she sighs softly against your mouth, and it’s only then that when you feel all of her that Los Angeles starts to feel like a second home.

There are still questions, an unending list that always surfaces around Leigh, but they evaporate one by one when her tongue flicks out, seeking entrance. You surrender, lips parting, allowing her to taste you. The kiss grows with a messy urgency in seconds. Her hands roam down your back, gripping tightly as she presses in, as if trying to melt into you. You draw her nearer, your chests flush together as the kiss becomes wet and breathless.

Your apartment is silent except for your soft pants and the slick sounds of your lips meeting.  Doubts about your ability to please a woman creep in after such a long hiatus. But before these thoughts can take hold, Leigh takes charge. She grabs your hips and gently guides you backward toward the bedroom, cutting off any chance for you to slow things down.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to slip your cardigan off your shoulders and whisper, her breath warm against your lips, “Should we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

It seems almost unfair for her to pose that question while simultaneously moving to your neck, drawing a soft groan from you. Her teeth gently graze a sensitive spot just below your clavicle, applying pressure that promises to leave a mark, then soothing it with her tongue.

Leigh smirks when she feels you struggle for breath, much less for words. Your knees buckle slightly, but she holds you up with a firm grip, guiding you back until you bump against the edge of the bed. 

You know you're on the verge of something that might change everything, but right now, you're entirely Leigh's. There's no space to consider the implications, to remember that she was Matt's grieving widow just months ago. Right now, she's just the girl who holds your attention completely, the one who couldn't get rid of you even if she tried.

Leigh tumbles with you onto the bed, her thighs straddling your hips. With practiced ease, she removes her shirt and bra all at once, leaving her bare above you. The sight strips you of any last coherent thought. She isn’t the image of perfection peddled in glossy and well-curated social feeds; her body is beautifully real. Her tits look heavy and asymmetrical, round as grapefruit; her nipples pinkish-brown, pebbled and inviting. There’s a soft fold in her belly, and an overwhelming desire washes over you to kiss it. You think you might die just from looking at her.

You look up at Leigh and tell her, reverently, “You’re so devastatingly beautiful.” 

Leigh's cheeks flush as she tries to hide her smile behind her hair. “You don't have to tell me that,” she whispers. “You already got me into your bed.”

You chuckle, nerves still humming under the surface. “You were just as beautiful when devouring a cheeseburger.” Both of you laugh, the sound light and easy, allowing some of the thick sexual energy to dissipate slightly. 

You find yourself relaxing just enough to admit, “I'm not sure how to touch you right, but I want to make you feel good.”

“Just do whatever feels good for you,” she suggests, her expression softening further.

You scrunch your face a little at her, letting out a small chuckle. “That’s the thing—I haven't been getting much action myself.”

Leigh’s smile spreads wider into something mischievous and you swallow dryly at the sight. She shifts off your lap and settles at your side, propping herself up on one arm to look down at you. “Let me help you with that,” she murmurs, her voice low.

You're no longer smiling, feeling your face flush as you ask, “What do you have in mind?”

Instead of answering, Leigh’s fingers trace down to the button of your pants, deftly unfastening it. She gently scratches the skin beneath with her fingernail before sliding the zipper down. You watch as she bites her lip at the sight of the wet patch on your underwear before glancing back up at you. Her pupils are wide, the deep green of her irises barely visible in the surrounding darkness.

“Take them off,” she instructs softly.

You swallow heavily and do as she says, trying not to cover yourself despite feeling incredibly vulnerable. You haven't been naked in front of anyone in so long, and you're embarrassed by how exposed and wet you are right now.

Leigh watches you closely, and you can see the desire burning in her gaze. With her free hand, she reaches for you, her touch gentle, coaxing your thighs open as she trails her fingers up your inner thigh. You draw a sharp breath and close your eyes, expecting her fingers to graze your wetness next.

But Leigh surprises you—and herself—by guiding your right hand just below your navel, her fingers warm and sure on your wrist. Her times with Danny were about dominating and taking, but with you, she wants to give, to watch, to soak up every moan, every breathy reaction, every shiver. She wants to see you take pleasure for yourself, deriving her own pleasure from it.

“Start there,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. “Tease yourself.”

Your hand hovers there, and she gives a slight nod of encouragement. As her touch slips away, you begin to explore the softness of your own skin, tracing light circles below your belly button. You utter a soft, “Fuck,” when your fingertips graze your slick, discovering just how turned on you really are. The filthy noises it creates make you whimper.

Leigh watches you hungrily. “You should be doing this more often,” she murmurs, eyes tracing the movement of your fingers now glistening with your own arousal. “You're so fucking hot. It's such a shame.”

The sound of her voice makes you arch your back further, hips bucking as you start a wide circular motion against your clit. Exerting every ounce of control not to come right away, you focus on the sensation of Leigh's eyes on you and the stimulation from your own fingers. You want to hold out, to let her watch you teeter on the edge. Your teeth dig into your lower lip, trying to curb the wave of pleasure building inside you.

Leigh's voice is a soothing command, whispering, “That's it, be patient. Don't rush it.”

“Fuck, Leigh, I’m—” Your words die in your throat as she lifts your shirt slowly, exposing your nipple to the cool air for a brief moment before her mouth engulfs it. The sensation of her sucking, then laving your nipple with her tongue, circling it, mimicking the motion you're doing on your clit, sends a jolt through you. Little flicks of her tongue to the tip of your nipple drive you crazy, and you gasp, your body responding eagerly to her touch.

Your rhythm stutters as she discards her pants and panties in one swift motion, leaving her gloriously bare. The sight of her naked body ignites a strong wave of desire to touch her instead, but Leigh pins you with a warning glare, silently telling you not to stop.

She straddles one of your legs, and you gasp when you feel her warm, wet pussy against your knee as she starts rocking against it. You position your leg to give her better leverage, and she starts sliding against you, her tits bouncing with each motion. Leigh's sucking on your nipple becomes sloppier, more frantic, until she can no longer concentrate and releases it with a wet pop.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N—” 

Leigh’s face contorts in pleasure as her drenched folds meet your thigh over and over, sweat dripping down between her breasts from the strain of holding herself up above you. The sight of her fucking herself against your leg is nothing short of mesmerizing. You increase the movements of your fingers, rubbing harshly at your clit as you watch Leigh, her breath coming in short gasps. Her eyes flutter closed, and a soft moan escapes her lips. The sound drives you wild, and you curve your spine, lifting your hips to meet your own hand.

Sex with anyone else has never felt this good before, and she hasn’t even properly touched you yet. It’s intoxicating, the way she takes her pleasure and gives it to you all at once. You’re lost in the haze of it all: the smell of Leigh’s arousal, her sweat-soaked skin, the sight of her tits bouncing and her face flushed with desire.

With your free hand, you grab the back of Leigh's head, guiding her down towards you. “C-Come here,” you manage to say, your voice breaking with need. 

Leigh obeys, her mouth meeting yours in a frenzied kiss. You swallow each other's moans, the taste of her lips sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. It's this simple, sweet connection of lips that utterly dissolves all your defenses.

A keening moan escapes you as Leigh slides a finger inside you, pushing deep to the third knuckle, causing your head to tip back and break the kiss as the tightness in your belly becomes too much. “Leigh, can I—” Your voice is a mere whisper, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.

Leigh's eyes meet yours, and she nods vigorously, her breath coming in short gasps. “Yes, come. Come with me.”

It's too much—the sight, the sounds, the feel of her—it’s all too much. With a final, shuddering whine, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and releasing as you ride out the intense pleasure. Moments later, Leigh follows, her body shaking as she comes, her moans mingling with yours. Leigh’s face is a picture of bliss, her eyes half-closed, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. You try to memorize it before she collapses on top of you, a sweaty mess of tangled limbs and satisfied sighs.

Blindly, you stare up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath, feeling Leigh's hot puffs of air tickle your neck as she catches hers. Slowly, you circle your arms around her waist, keeping her on top of you, acutely aware of every point where your skin meets hers, the warmth spreading between you. 

You bury your nose in her hair and breathe in deeply. This act feels more intimate than anything you had done moments ago. The simple closeness, the quiet afterglow, the way you can actually feel her heart beating steadily against your chest.

Minutes pass in comfortable silence, your thumb tracing lazy patterns on her back. Her breathing gradually evens out, each exhale growing softer and deeper. Realizing she's fallen asleep, a contented smile spreads across your face. You press a gentle kiss to her temple, letting your lips linger there for a moment. Carefully, you reach for the covers and draw them over both of you. You hold her close until your own eyelids grow heavy, and you drift off to sleep as well.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.8 K Warnings: ANGST! Prompt: Meanwhile, on the other side of the line... This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 45: Hold the Line

Love isn’t always on time

Tuesday, December 24th

Christmas at the Potters was always a blast. Sirius had learned that when he turned 12 and got invited to their house to celebrate Christmas after he got a dreadful howler about being a disgrace for the Noble House of Black and getting detention for the prank they had done to the Slytherins.

James had overheard Sirius cry at night over the fact that he’d have to spend Christmas alone in the school and decided he had to do something about it. He wrote a letter to his Mum and Sirius got officially invited to their home for the break. Now, the Potters sent the invitation to Sirius and Sirius only, and he got on the train as if he were going home without telling anyone about it. He got another howler when Walburga found out, but it had been worth it. 

He hadn’t been allowed to the Potters for Christmas next year, and he made sure to make a show out of it, wearing muggle clothes to the family dinner and acting so irreverent that Orion locked him up in his room, after giving him a scold, slashing him with diffindo, and making him write “I will behave,” over and over again with a black quill. It didn’t work, Sirius made sure to behave even worse on the New Year’s event and he got officially banned from December celebrations by Walburga. 

Next year, he was back at the Potters and happier than ever before. The scars he’d gotten (already long gone) had been worth it. Since then, he’d spent Christmas with them, and every year had been better than the last. Effie was always nice to him, and even with how much she was like James, she was still motherly, especially in comparison to Walburga. 

And she had treated Sirius like her own boy since they met. In fact, there was never a difference in the way neither Monty nor Effie treated the two boys, they were their kids, and they treated them as such. Sirius appreciated it deeply, he’d found love, care, and appreciation there and he considered Effie more his mom than Walburga ever was. BIood be damned, family isn’t about what’s running through your veins but about the way you care and treat each other, and if anyone was family to him, it was his brother James, and his parents Effie and Monty. 

This year had been no different, from the moment they arrived at the house, the smell of Christmas filled the air. Effie had prepared cookie dough for their yearly making of gingerbread houses. It was a small competition –Effie loved competitions– but they all had to build elaborate creations (with a magical twist) and then they’d set them all on the counter and have the house elves judge and pick the best. Whoever won the contest got an extra gift on Christmas.

Sirius had won once, but Monty was always adding clever new magical things onto the houses, like last year when he made a snow globe house, with magical snow  –actually sugar– that would swirl around in the air sending positive Christmas words like “Joy” and “Mirth” and even “Happy Hannukah!”, which according to him, was a muggle tradition from a different religion than the one Christmas had spawned from. 

This year though, Effie’s recreation of the Big Ben, alongside the magic stars she had made float all around it had gotten the best of both Mellie and Picksie, the Potter’s house elves. And they had unanimously voted her the winner. She had been really pleased about the results, so pleased she had made a little victory dance, showing off her creation and making it the centre of the table. 

Sirius saw the adoring look Monty had given her as she danced around, boasting her triumph, and he thought he’d never met a couple more loving than the two of them, but he wanted to match it, he wanted to make you feel the same way Monty made Effie felt all the time, but then he remembered Remus, and felt a pang on his chest, since he too wished he could make him as happy, which was obviously a contradicting thought to the first one. 

“Darling, are you all right?” Effie asked when he noticed his frown. Sirius had relatively subtle expressions when he wanted to hide his feelings, something he had learned to do at home, the Stony Black look, but Effie knew that look well enough, and she instantly knew something was up with her boy. 

Sirius turned to her with a short “Hm?” as he got driven away from his own thoughts. “Yeah, I was just thinking if she’ll like the gift I made her.” 

Effie smiled softly at that, she’d been one of the people to encourage him to draw something for you, especially since she knew you’d been one of the first people he’d shown his art to. James had been very offended when he found out Remus had seen his art before he had and complained to his mother about it while they were making the gingerbread houses, which is how she’d found out. 

“I know I’d love it if Monty made me a drawing, and he’s terrible at it, so I’m certain she will,” she reassured him, “If you want we can go out later and you can get her something else, though.” 

Sirius shook his head, he didn’t want them to spend even more money on him than they already had, “No, don’t worry about it, I’m probably just self-conscious.” 

Effie smiled, there was something heartwarming at seeing Sirius like this, he had never been nervous about a girl, in fact, she wasn’t sure he’d even bothered to get a gift for one before, he looked like a love-sick puppy, it reminded him an awful lot of James, except you liked him back, unlike that Evans girl. Talking about that Evans girl. “So, James is dating Lily now?” 

“He somehow convinced her to go on a date,” Sirius said with a shrug, “they went to the Slug Party together.” 

“Really?” Effie asked with raised eyebrows. 

Sirius nodded in return, “But I cannot give you any more details.” 

“It’s all right,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “I can pry them off of him later.” She then turned back to Sirius, “You’d think she’d come if we invited her over for dinner with everyone or something? Maybe on New Year’s?” 

Effie knew Lily, she had seen pictures of her and she had crossed a few words with her on those occasions she visited the school for a quidditch match. She thought she was a nice enough girl, but she had never had an actual conversation with her and she certainly wanted to do it now. Although, with how much James talked about her, she felt like she knew a good deal and she considered her a delightful young lady, except for the fact that she kept rejecting James. 

“I’m not sure, she might if Vix comes,” Sirius responded with a shrug, “they’re really good friends.” 

Effie smiled in a sort of devilish way, the same smile Prongs had when he had a good idea for a prank, and gave a short pat in the head to Sirius (which she had gotten a habit of doing back when he was much shorter than her) and walked towards the kitchen. 

Sirius decided to go for a broom ride to clear his mind, James and Peter tagged along with him and they ended up racing around the house at insanely fast speeds, fast enough for Sirius’ hair tie to loosen up and leave his hair flowing wildly behind him, and somehow also fast enough to have his mind be cleared of those thoughts he kept having of both you and Remus. Peter left early since his parents called for him, while the other boys decided to play a game of Magic Chess back in the living room. 

By dinner, both of them had already eaten half of the gingerbread houses they had made, and some other fancy treats Monty liked to cook for the smaller Christmas Eve dinner they always had. Sirius thought it was fantastic since they almost had two parties instead of one. The first time he stayed at the Potter’s he had been so thrilled that he had accidentally blown up some of the decorations. Effie taught him an advanced version of reparo, and the two of them fixed the place together after that.

This time, Monty had asked for their help with the cooking, since Effie had gone out with the elves to buy more stuff for tomorrow’s dinner. It would be rather small, very few people had been invited due to the war and the fact that not many wizards knew which side the other was on, but Effie was set on having the place be as nice as ever. 

Monty loved cooking, he had at some point mentioned that it was like making potions and that there was something oddly satisfying with how a bit of heat and a few spices could make even the most boring of dishes get filled with flavour, and he was set on teaching James, and by extension Sirius, how to cook. 

“Perhaps you could make a cake for Lily,” he said as he passed James the measured flour for him to add, “your mother loved it when I sent her homemade cupcakes.” 

“You did that?” Sirius asked with raised eyebrows. 

“Mhm,” Monty nodded, “beat that a bit faster,” –he said politely as he pointed at the egg whites Sirius had been tasked with fluffing up– “She said she liked men with cooking skills and I asked my mum to help me with it, she sent me a bunch of cooking books and here we are now. James, have you added the cinnamon?” 

“Eh…” James thought about it for a second and looked around the counter. The cinnamon was pretty far from where he stood, “don’t think so,” he admitted. 

“That’s all right, I’ll add it for you,” he said and waved his wand, in an instant the cinnamon container was lifted up and after shaking softly three times and after dropping some cinnamon over James’ dry ingredient mix, it went back to its place on the table. Then Fleamont went back to cutting the apples into small pieces. “When you’re done with that James, please add some butter to the pans.” 

“Okay,” James said with a nod and got busy with his task. The three of them were surprisingly efficient in the kitchen. They hadn’t been like that the first time around, but Monty decided they had to know how to –at least– make soup if they were ever going to live alone one day and had them take an intensive course a couple of summers ago. Both James and Sirius had gotten much better grades at potions after that, especially because Monty, being such an expert potioneer, had taught them to cook with potion-making techniques. 

He hadn’t done it intentionally, but he was pretty satisfied with the result, especially when Effie praised him for being so clever and entertaining the kids with cooking while also teaching them something. He took the credit for being slick with a smile. 

By the time they were done with the cake preparations, the food was ready to pull out of the oven. Monty and Sirius took the stuff out and passed it to James who took it to the table that Effie and Picksie were setting up while they focused on revising the temperature and placing the cakes in the oven. They had made three cakes, a chocolate cake that was James’ favourite, a carrot cake that Monty loved and an apple crumble one that both Sirius and Effie were mad about. 

Effie had gotten some extra treats for the boys, and she had even gotten some Shepherd's Pie from a muggle place called “The Wingmore” that Monty loved. They had a delicious family dinner together, with cookies, pie and baked potatoes. They caught up with each other, and both Monty and Effie teased James about Lily mercilessly. Then Monty mentioned something about having “The Talk” with James and Sirius had to cough it in order to hide a cackle. 

Prongs had kicked him under the table while Effie had appeared a glass of water for him so he could take a drink, and Sirius had thanked her with the soft charming smile of his that made all the girls swoon, James glared at him for it, and the other boy winked at him brazenly. If it went something like the talk Monty had given him 2 years ago when he started dating around, James might not survive it. 

Sirius walked back to James’ room and decided to wait there for him to tease him once his talk with Monty was over, but Sirius was pretty tired from a day filled with fun, and he fell asleep pretty much the second he hit James’ bed. 

He woke up a few minutes later when he felt a heavy leg over his own. He opened his eyes confused, thinking it was warm, but also that it smelled weird. Or perhaps not weird, just… not the way it should smell. It smelled of cedar, firewood, mint and summer breeze, not like books, parchment, chocolate and you. He blinked his eyes open and spotted James’ arm draped over his chest and his leg on top of both of his own. He was cuddling Sirius like he cuddled his pillows. 

“Prongs,” he said softly, but the boy just snuggled deeper into him. “Prongs!” he repeated. “Prongs, what the fuck!” 

James frowned and looked at Sirius as if he had been wronged, “What do you want?” 

“Why are you cuddling me?” 

“You’re in my bed,” the boy responded with a shrug. 

“So what? Don’t you know about personal space?” 

Bold fucking words for Sirius Black, James thought.

“Just shut up, I’m tired.” 

“No, get off me!” Sirius said as he tried to pry James’ legs off of him, but James was heavier, and at this point, he was determined to piss Sirius off after being so wrongly accused. 

“Pads!” James complained. “Just let me sleep, mate.” 

“Not until you get off.” 

“You never tell Remus to get off,” James huffed and tightened his grip. 

What?

You never tell Remus to get off.

You never tell Remus to get off.

YOU NEVER TELL REMUS TO GET OFF!

Sirius opened his eyes wide as he looked at the ceiling, completely in shock as he let the words sink in. He looked to the side, trying to hide the panic, “That’s different,” he managed to muster. 

“How is it different? I’m your best mate anyway, if you’re giving hugging concessions around, it should be to me.” 

How is it different? Yes Sirius, HOW IS IT FUCKING DIFFERENT?!? He wondered to himself. “It’s because of the smell of the pack?” 

“Is it? Really?” James asked, he was annoyed, and sleepy, and not quite thinking what he said, let alone how much it was affecting Sirius. 

“Of course,” Sirius said defensively and pushed James off of him, turning his back to the boy as James rolled his eyes and did the same. 

Prongs knew Sirius would be fine in the morning, but it would be a lie if he said he hadn’t been a little offended by the way he got pushed off, he had seen how close he was to Remus lately, and it wasn’t that he was jealous, but since when was Sirius closer to Moony than to him? Vixen he understood, he was head over heels for you, but Remus?!? 

Since when was Pads so close to him? 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the bed, Sirius had started to PANIC. There was something so raw about the words half-asleep James had said. Is it really about the smell of the pack? Was he using you as an excuse to cuddle Remus? Was he using his girlfriend… to cuddle his crush? 

Perhaps he was a Black after all, it ran in his bIood, all wicked and malicious, cunning and devious. How could he shamelessly cuddle into Remus while you were right next to him? As if he didn’t have a crush on his friend? As if he hadn’t already admitted to himself that Remus was bIoody handsome? With his big broad shoulders and his intoxicating smell of books and chocolate, and a hint of you. With his messy brown hair and his kind smile, it was unfair really, for him to be so pretty and for Sirius to only have realised it now, now that he was happy, now that he had found someone. 

When Sirius woke up, there was a pile of gifts on his side of the bed. James had decided to let him sleep in since he had been kind of annoyed at night and he didn’t want to deal with cranky Sirius on Christmas, which is why he was quietly opening his gifts on the other side of the floor. 

Sirius leaned over and threw him a look while peeking his head over the bed. When he noticed he smiled. “Look at this” – he pointed at a box of muggle Christmas-themed chocolates– “Lily sent it, they even came with a small note, look,” he said as he passed the note to Sirius. 

Sirius eyed him incredulously and took the small card in his hands before turning around on the bed to get himself comfortable, he cleared his throat, “Dear James, I was walking along this Christmas market and they had these chocolates, the adorable elf on the side that looks way too excited to be in a box kind of reminded me off you. Hope you have an amazing Christmas. Love, Lily.” 

“You read that? She said ‘Love’.” 

“Mhm,” Sirius said with a smirk and turned around again to pick the box from the floor, “Oh god is this the over-excited elf?” he said as he spotted a green-dressed short man on the side, he was wearing a very muggle Christmas outfit and had funny features, although his smile and eye colour did kind of match James’, it was like a bootleg version of him. Sirius couldn’t help but cackle. 

“Oi! Don’t make fun of it! She sent it with love.” 

“Not laughing at the gift, I’m laughing at the resemblance,” Sirius added while he tried to catch his breath, James had snatched the box from him and carefully placed it next to his leg. 

Sirius was still laughing when he saw some light coming from a small hand-held mirror he had placed on his nightstand. It was reflecting a small beam on the ceiling. It was an enchanted mirror he had stolen from his parents back when he still lived with them. He had used it to communicate with James on the longer summers, even if he couldn’t actually talk through it. 

Sirius frowned, “You have the sister mirror to someone?” 

“Remus,” James said as he stood up and leaned across the bed, “since he was going to be alone this Christmas,” he added. Sirius rolled to the side and then on the bed to reach the same belly-down position James was using and looked inside. 

Remus, looking as handsome as ever, was on the other side, shirtless –to Sirius’ dismay– and with his hair slightly messier than usual. Even his smile was so wide it looked like it would burst out of his face. 

He waved at the boys and then pointed at a card he had in his hand. It said, “Merry Christmas”. 

Sirius looked around and pulled James’ box from the floor, showing him the exact spot where it said “Merry Christmas” as well. 

Remus then picked up a small pen and wrote “Thank you for the gifts” on the side of his Christmas letters. Sirius winked in response, he knew Rem would like the book he got him. But he knew he’d especially love the drawing he made for him as well: it was a Wolf, a dog and a fox playing in the forest. 

“You made him a drawing too?” James asked with a gasp.

“You’re telling me Mum got a drawing, Vix got a drawing, and Moony got a drawing, but I didn’t?” 

“Didn’t have enough time,” Sirius responded with a shrug. Remus, who was trying to read the boys’ lips and kind of got that he was among the few to get a drawing, couldn’t help being filled with joy at the fact that Sirius had done something especially for him. 

He then showed the boys all the music you had sent over and spent a while trying to sign something to James that neither he nor Sirius got properly, but he gathered something about you getting him a bunch of books. 

“What did she get you?” James asked, turning to Sirius who frowned. He had been so busy looking at his friend’s gifts, that he had forgotten he had also received a few himself. 

James placed the mirror at the end of the bed so Remus could see and they all finished unboxing their gifts. Sirius had gotten a CB radio from Remus. There were rather specific instructions on what to do with it, it had even been charmed so that it worked, even in Hogwarts. 

“Hello?” he asked as he pressed the button. 

“Hey!” Remus replied from the other side, he had a wide smile on his face, thrilled that it actually worked. 

“Oh, that’s horrifying,” James said as he looked through Remus in the mirror and Sirius playing with the radio back in his room. “Like dark magic.” 

“Just science,” Remus said.

“Didn’t you have to press a button so he can hear?” James asked as he took the radio from Sirius’ hand. 

“I can read your lips, you dumbass,” Remus responded, and Sirius started to laugh. 

James frowned and covered his mouth with his hands and turned to Sirius “Pretend I said something awful about him.” 

“He said you’re a smartass,” Sirius said as he pressed the button, Remus gave James a look, eyebrows raised. 

“I didn’t–” he started and took back the radio, snatching it from Sirius with a lot more purpose, “I didn’t say that! He made that up.” 

“Why would I make that up?” Sirius said innocently. 

“To fuck with me.” 

Remus started to laugh from the other side, and then pressed the button, “What else did you get?” 

Sirius pulled another box while James started to play with the different buttons of the radio, “Read this first,” the longer-haired boy said as he passed the instructions to James who groaned but did as told. 

Sirius had gotten a good deal of stuff. It wasn’t weird that he got a bunch of gifts since he stayed at the Potters, his mother used to reject most of the gifts, but he had gotten tons of chocolate from girls every time he stayed over with James. Most of them would end up with Remus’ stash later on. This year he didn’t get as many chocolates, but he still got a good deal of stuff, some from people he didn’t even know. 

“I swear every year he gets more stuff,” James said as he shook his head in disbelief. He had been partly to blame since he had gotten him a massive quidditch gear kit for morning practices. Peter had gotten him a magic puzzle that changed every few minutes. Andromeda had sent him some other cool muggle things she’d found, and he was absolutely fascinated by the 8 ball she’d gotten him. It was a ball that you could ask things to and when you turned it around it responded, like a divination device, except with no magic involved. The best part was the ridiculous things it said: “Outlook not so good, try asking your cat”, “Ask again later, I'm napping”, “Signs point to tacos. Always tacos” and his personal favourite, and the main reason Dromeda had gotten it “Are you serious? (No, seriously, are you?)”.

She had also gotten both James, him, Remus and Peter, pet rocks. Now neither of them had a clue what that was, but Dromeda said all the cool kids had one of those with the muggles. The rock came in a box and had a rather detailed manual on how to take care of it, and even a back story claiming that it had been “trained” in Mexico by a pet handler named Pedro.

“You also got a rock?” Remus asked as he pulled one from the side and showed it to the boys through the mirror. Remus’ rock had his eyes slightly further apart than Sirius’. “I named mine Cornelius.” 

“Cornelius?” Sirius asked with a frown as he stared at his friend’s rock through the mirror, “Now that you mention it, it does kind of look like a Cornelius.” 

“Mine will be Lily,” James said as he took him out of the box. It was a red-ish rock. 

“You can’t name your pet Lily!” 

“It’s a rock,” James said with a shrug, “I can name it however I want.” 

“What’s yours?” he asked as he pointed at Sirius’ rock.

“It’s… Bowie.” 

“Hm… love it,” James nodded as he stared at his friend’s rock. The two of them carefully placed them on the side table, as if they were actual, delicate pets and not just, rocks. 

They continued opening their gifts, Sirius was absolutely fascinated with yours. He loved the drawing books and pens and markers, the mixtape that you’d gotten him and the watercolours, but he was pretty much obsessed with the penknife. He loved that it had his name on it and he used it to open the rest of his gifts, then he pocketed it and kept it with him the rest of the day. 

He was helping Monty peel some potatoes –with his penknife instead of a spell– when James decided to tease him about it. 

“You’ve been carrying that around all day,” he said as if it were a throwaway comment while he tried to make a pile of oranges. 

“It’s super useful.” 

“Oh, so it has nothing to do with the fact that it was a gift from Vixen?” 

Monty eyed Sirius with a knowing smile and went back to his cooking. 

“That’s just a bonus,” Sirius responded and placed the finished potato in the bowl. “It’s got my name on it, mate,” he said as he moved the knife to the side. “Also, she mentioned she charmed it, but she said I had to figure out what the charm is.” 

“Maybe she just said that to have you think about it for ages, and it’s not actually charmed.” 

Sirius stopped moving for a second, looking at nowhere in particular as he considered the possibility before letting a short breath out and shaking his head, “Nah, it’s got some kind of magic, I can feel it.” 

James, just to tease his friend, further shrugged with an unconvinced air, “If you say so.” 

Sirius just took another potato and started peeling it with a small frown. He was about 80% sure he could feel magic on the knife. But he was surrounded by magic, in an extremely magical household, literally every single person around him could wield magic, so it was possible the knife was just reflecting the energies from his environment. 

By dinner time, there were some more people in the house. Andromeda, Ted and their daughter Dora had been invited by the Potters since they knew how much Sirius loved seeing his cousin, but she had to skip the dinner since Dora had gotten a fever from playing all day in the snow. The Weasleys had also been invited, Dumbledore had introduced them to Monty a few years back and they were rather fond of each other, even if Arthur was much younger. He had arrived with Molly and their 3 sons: Bill, Charlie and the newborn Percy. 

Bill had followed James around the moment he spotted him, and James had shown him some of his old toys, and they all played a game of Exploding Snap with Sirius. There were other Wizards there too, Alastor Moody, who had a very animated conversation with Arabella Fig, Elphias Dodge and both Seraphina Nightshade and her boyfriend Roan Elmore, whom James had met at the party shortly after you and Remus did. 

“That’s Roan, Seraphina’s boyfriend.” 

“She’s dating someone?” Sirius asked, amused. Seraphina was beautiful, the entire school knew that, but he had no idea she had been dating someone. 

“Yeah, he was at Slughorn’s party,” James said and snapped his fingers and took a pair of identical cards, the cards shuffled themselves back onto the table. 

“Who’s Slughorn?” asked Billy as he snapped his fingers, Charlie just behind him, was attempting to do the same as his brother, but not quite managing to make a sound. 

“The Potions teacher,” Sirius responded as he placed his wand on top of one of the cards and snapped his fingers as well. The rest of the cards on the table started to explode and then they shuffled themselves back together. “You probably won’t like him.” 

“I won’t?” Bill asked, his red eyebrows furrowing just a little bit, Sirius thought he looked cute, and he didn’t like little kids all that much. 

“He might,” James said with a shrug. 

“He won’t if he’s one of the good ones,” Sirius retorted and then snapped his fingers and took a pair of cards. 

“I don’t like him at all then,” Bill said with determination, he definitely wanted to fit in with the cool crowd, that obviously being the older boys: Sirius and James. He didn’t need to do much, both boys already liked Bill, if he were their age, he’d probably be part of their gang. 

“Me neither,” Charlie added, “Unless he has a dragon.” 

“Charlie, people don’t have dragons,” Bill said in a rather exasperated tone, as if it wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that and then snapped his fingers, taking a pair of cards. 

Charlie tried to do the same and snapped his fingers, only for them to make no sound again. “But they could,” he insisted, sighed as if he too was tired of having that same argument with Bill and then walked towards Mrs. Weasley, she was talking to Effie about something in a rather hushed tone while Mr. Weasley struggled to get Percy to stop crying a few feet from them. 

Sirius was about to snap his fingers again when he felt a sharp pain in his hand, “ah fuck,” he said as he pulled his hand from the table. 

“You all right?” James asked, as he snapped his fingers and took the cards Sirius was going to take. 

Sirius was staring at his palm confused, the scar from the scary witchcraft store had hurt almost in the same way it had when the necklace burned it on his hand. It was a lot less visible now, but the pain had been the same.

It wasn’t the first time it happened. It had sometimes bothered him back in the day, but it had never been as sharp as today. And it had kind of stopped since you came to Hogwarts.  He assumed it must have been some kind of protean charm, but he had no idea how, and if he could use it at all. All he knew was that it hurt sometimes, and it reminded him of you, which he really didn’t like thinking back when you weren’t around. 

“Yeah, I think I bit myself or something,” he lied and turned back to the game, snapping his fingers and taking another pair of cards.

James eyed him suspiciously and then the cards shuffled on the table again, completely stealing his train of thought, especially when Bill snapped his fingers and took the pair of cards he was about to take. 

In the end, Bill won the game. He was awfully good for a six-year-old, and both Sirius and James were a bit out of practice. 

“There you go,” Sirius said as he passed him 3 sickles. 

“Thank you,” Bill said, by then Charlie had already come back and was tugging on his brother’s pants. “Charlie, I won them,” he complained as James paid up. 

“If I could play, I’d win too!” Charlie complained, “I want to save for the toy dragon at Whimsy Wonders.” 

“Well, technically, he helped Bill, didn’t he?” James asked, eyeing Sirius. 

“Oh yeah, moral support,” Sirius agreed. “I feel like we owe him for that as well.” 

Charlie’s face glowed looking at them. “No, he wasn’t playing,” Bill said. 

“Oh, but he was,” James said and handed Charlie a sickle, Sirius did the same. “You wouldn’t have won without him, right?” 

Bill frowned, as if about to say he was perfectly capable of winning without Charlie pestering him about dragons, but there was something on James’ gaze that had him hold it. He sighed, “Of course, Charlie helped…” 

Charlie smiled widely and ran towards Mrs. Weasley. “Mom, Mom, Look!” he said. “We beat the older kids!” he repeated. James chuckled as he saw the small boy jump about, and then Monty called everyone towards the table. 

The Potter’s party table was long and round, with different panels that rolled inside to have the food and snacks pass around and stay within everyone’s reach. Of course, wizards could just float whatever they needed their way, but both Monty and Effie thought it was annoying to have the salad dressing and bread basket cover the face of the person they were trying to talk to so they designed the table to be able to have a pleasant conversation. 

Sirius was sitting in between James and Charlie, who was determined to sit with them even if he was meant to sit with his brother. Sirius didn’t mind it much, Charlie mostly talked about dragons, and for a 4-year-old, he seemed to have encyclopedic knowledge of them. While Bill, who was always listening to him go on and on about dragons, found it annoying, Sirius and James thought it was actually interesting. 

He was telling Sirius about the Ukrainian Ironbelly and how he wanted to get a wand with a dragon heartstring core when he turned 11 when Monty stood up and thanked everyone for coming to the party, which prompted Charlie into silence. 

Monty’s speech was heartfelt and honest, just like he was all the time, and while he didn’t explicitly say anything related to the war, he did mention that they were living in dark times, and for such reason, it was time to keep those whom you love at an arm’s length, to take care of each other and to check up on them as often as possible. He said that sometimes even the simplest of messages made the difference. 

When his speech was done, there was a small toast, and then they got to eat. Sirius dived straight for the potato souffle since he had helped with the preparation and thought the amount of cheese they had added was mouth-watering, he also waited a couple of seconds for the inside panels of the table to spin around so he could reach for some of Monty’s special turkey. He had tried it the first Christmas he spent with the Potters and since then he always waited eagerly for dinner time to be able to eat it again. 

He had even asked Monty for the recipe, but he had never gotten around to preparing it himself, although this Christmas Monty had him do some of the garlic mincing and spices blending for him, so he learned all the techniques. Sirius was more than happy to help, he found the kitchen to be a relaxing place (as long as it was the Potter’s kitchen and Monty was the head chef).

Effie was a lot more demanding in the kitchen, and if he had never dared to enter the one in Grimmauld Place, he was sure to come out as a roasted chicken instead of with one. Kreacher had always been awful to him, and the kitchens were his and Walburga’s territory exclusively. 

Sirius was about to take another bite of his turkey, Charlie was talking about a Common Welsh Green and how elegant he thought they were when he felt another pang on his hand. Sharper and a lot more concentrated this time around. He dropped his fork and it clanged against the plate. He looked up, worried, out of habit more than anything, only to realise he was at home, and not with Walburga where he might have been awfully reprimanded. 

With the Potters it was different, in fact, Monty gave him a short questioning look, clearly asking if he was all right, to which Sirius nodded. Monty went back to his talk and allowed James to check on Sirius instead. Meanwhile, Effie raised her voice just a little, covering up for the loud sound Sirius had caused and Molly laughed loudly at something Alastor said. Sirius looked around with a small smile. 

Yeah, this is home, he thought as he pulled his hand towards him and placed his thumb over the already faded scar.

“Mate, that’s the second time today,” James said, looking at Sirius with a frown. 

“I don’t know what’s with it either,” he admitted with a shrug. 

“You wanna skip dessert? Go sleep?” 

“Nah, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Sirius lied, trying to push aside the unsettling feeling gnawing at his mind. It had been months since it last troubled him, and this time it felt worse, not even in the aftermath of Mexico when he discovered how annoying it could be, but back then he assumed it was just the healing process, he didn’t know about Protean charms and, even now, he didn’t know why it was happening, perhaps then he would have reacted faster. 

Regardless of the uneasiness, Sirius intended to enjoy the dinner, and he did, in between eating, joking with James and hearing Charlie talk about dragons, he was distracted from the pain so often that by the time he went to sleep, he had almost completely forgotten about the discomfort. That was until he actually fell asleep. 

In his dream, Sirius found himself in an eerie scene, surrounded by his family, yours, Evan, Arkalis, and even the Dark Lord. Regulus was speaking to him, then he cast a hex on his brother, and suddenly they were torturing Muggles. That’s when he realised he wasn’t himself; he was seeing things through your eyes as if you had lent them to him.

He saw his cousin Bella and then your friend, Nina who was being tortured with an unforgivable. That’s when you reacted, there was a fire. Not any fire, Fiendfyre. The massive Chimera you created was burning everything in its wake. Chaos ensued, lives were lost, and you fled.

He saw how you ran alongside Nina until you were further enough away, but Lucius showed up out of nowhere. You duelled him, almost won, but Nina was hit by a stunning spell and you lost it, throwing yourself over her and crying, desperate to bring her back, but she wasn’t responding. There was a blinding light and he heard Barty’s voice.

“Sirius!” a voice called from a distance. “SIRIUS!”

He jolted awake, with a confused gaze as if trying to get back to reality, “James?” 

“You’ve been muttering Vixen’s name over and over, and you’re sweating,” James said, his hand on Sirius’s forehead. “I think you were having a nightmare.”

Sirius frowned, his pulse fast and his breathing short, still struggling to ground himself. The dream had felt so real as if he really had been you, as if he really had gone through all that stuff, perhaps he had drunk too much of that Dragon Wine after listening to Charlie go on and on about how the process of slowly heating the conserve with dragon breath was “so fascinating”. 

It’s not that he didn’t think it was interesting, but no matter what you said, Charlie found a way to connect it with dragons and after a while, it did get dizzying.  

“Yeah, it was awful,” Sirius admitted. “Thank Merlin it was just a dream.”

James nodded and threw himself next to Sirius, taking the rock Andromeda had given him and tossing it from hand to hand. Back when they were smaller, James would sleep with Sirius whenever he had a nightmare. It reminded Sirius of Reggie and he always felt a lot more at ease when he wasn’t alone on the bed. He didn’t do it much anymore, Sirius’ nightmares had decreased, and he had also gotten a lot better at hiding when he had some. 

“I’ll go take piss,” Sirius said as he stood up. James threw him a side glance and watched his friend walk all the way to the bathroom attentively. He wasn’t sure when had been the last time Sirius had had such a distressing nightmare, and the fact that it had to do with you, must have been even more upsetting. 

He understood it much better now that he had Lily, he wanted to protect her more than anything in this world and the thought of something, anything, happening to her was enough to make his bIood run cold. He was scared of things happening to her, and he assumed Sirius must have been just as scared of things happening to you. Especially with how things were now. At least you were a pure-bIood, not as much of a target for deatheaters as Lily was. 

In truth, James had sent notes to Lily every day since he got home, not because he missed her so dreadfully that he couldn’t go a day without talking to her –which was also kind of true- but because he was terrified he wouldn’t see her again. There were rumours of death eaters going for muggle-borns now. And James had read about a student from 2nd year disappearing along with her family last month. Nobody knew where Jane Bishop and her parents were. 

Sirius walked towards the bathroom as quietly as possible, he didn’t know the time, but he didn’t want to wake up anybody by accident either. He went straight to the sink and tried to wash the sweat off his face, letting some of the water pool in the sink to be able to clean his neck better. When he dug his hand into the water, is when he realised things hadn’t been just a nightmare.

He felt like he had been hit in the stomach and stumbled back a couple of steps until his back crashed against the back wall, then he saw Barty right in front of him, throwing a stunning spell at his face. He didn’t move, but the bathroom dissolved behind him and he appeared to be sitting in the snow, looking up at the Shrieking Shack, completely surrounded by snow. His eyes, although actually opened, slowly closing and opening again. 

One moment he was there, and the next, he saw James crouching right in front of him, with a concerned expression. 

“It wasn’t a dream,” Sirius managed to mumble. 

“What?” 

“It wasn’t a dream!” he repeated a little louder, grabbing onto the towel rack to stand back up again, James helped pull him up and he bolted out of the bathroom. 

James looked at his friend and waved his wand over the mess, all things slowly going back into place, the faucet closing and the sink emptying as he walked behind Sirius. 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“I think shit went down at Rosier’s Christmas party,” Sirius muttered as he paced around the room, “And it was because of Vixen.” 

“When you say shit went down…” 

“I mean Fiendfyre and dеad people,” Sirus said looking up at James with a stony expression. “But that’s… she somehow ended up in the Shack, Barty stunned her just outside-” 

“Sirius–” James said in a comforting tone. 

“We need to do something, she might get hypothermia if she stays out for too long, she–” 

“Sirius!” James called again, a lot more stern now, grabbing onto his friend’s shoulders and shaking him to get his attention. “Are you sure it wasn’t a nightmare?” Sirius swallowed thickly, his eyes watering as he nodded. James took a deep breath, “Okay, I’ll talk to my parents, we can confirm with–” 

“No!! Sirius said, snapping out of James. “It was real, and she’s alone, in the snow, pretty much passed out, we have to do something. Maybe I can apparate there or–” 

“You’ll splinch.” 

“Damn it, James!” Sirius snapped. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing!” 

“Remus!” James said, looking up at Sirius. 

“Remus?” Sirius asked, confused. 

“He’s at school, he can take the passage and–” Sirius didn’t even let James finish, he had already run towards the mirror and the radio, flashing the mirror with lumos and shouting at the small microphone.

“Sirius?” Remus asked confused from the other side of the line.  

Sirius was quick to fill him in, and Remus had put a coat on in seconds. 

“Wait!” James said as Remus pocketed the mirror and walked towards the door. Remus took the mirror out and looked at the two boys. “What if it’s a trap?” 

“If Vixen’s in danger, I don’t care if it’s a trap,” Remus said, with the same determination as Sirius when he was about to risk splinching. 

“Remus?” Sirius said, doubtful. 

“Yeah?” the boy responded through the radio. 

“Just be careful, okay?” 

“I will,” the boy reassured and pocketed the mirror again. 

After that, there was radio silence. 

Sirius paced around the room, Monty and Effie had woken up and walked towards them. Effie had a note in her hand and seemed to be hesitating to speak.

“What is it?” Sirius asked. 

Effie looked to the side and wet her lips before looking back at her boy. “It’s her mother, Avis” –she hesitated– “She’s dеad.” Effie said as she let out a short breath, “there was dark magic that went out of control, Rosier Manor was badly damaged. No one knows where she is.” 

“She’s not there,” Sirius reassured. 

Effie frowned and James explained to both of his parents what had happened. Monty went to place a hand on Sirius’ back as they sat on the bed. The boy’s leg kept bouncing, but there was no news, neither from you nor from Remus. All he could see was the dark fabric from Remus’ pocket through the mirror.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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