#I made like one or two quilts and one quilted scarf by the way

[herboreal]

So there's this quilt shop in the town where I used to live, and I signed up for their newsletter like 10 years ago or something. I still get it despite living thousands of miles away. This just came out of the blue today, no context, no explanation. I am bewildered. If anyone makes this let me know??? It does say to pick out the pork (??????)

[pinkmirth]

⸻ 𝑃ℛℰ𝒮ℰℛ𝒱ℰ!

𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮ℐ𝒮 ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ the belmont family has endured for centuries, and it’s now up to richter to keep it going strong. there’s only one way to ensure the expansion of his bloodline, and it’s simple; knocking you up.

𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒯𝒜ℐ𝒩𝒮 ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ ( 6k+ words of . . . ) richter belmont x fem!reader, canon-divergent, set in the 18th century (1700s), nsfw/smut, porn with very little plot, established relationship, size difference, nipple play, handjob, panty-ripping, p-in-v, heavy breeding kink, many mentions of pregnancy, missionary, tummy bulge, lotus position, creampies, richie’s a bit cocky (when is he not!), use of pet names (e.g. darling, love, good girl, rich, richie . . .), richter calls reader a ‘ cockslut ’ once, explicit language, lowercase intended, black coded, minors shoo!

𝑀𝒴 𝐿𝒪𝒱ℰ-𝒩𝒪𝒯ℰ! ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ after binging castlevania (nocturne), i instantly fell for that gorgeous man richter & his baby blue eyes ><  he’s got a sharp mouth, a pretty face, and nice biceps– of course i’m in love with him! i just had to whip up somethin’ for my favorite belmont (dunno why, but i heavily believe their clan is crazy about breeding hmm) this was supposed to be an itty bitty drabble, but it ended up much longer than i thought it’d be . . . and might i warn you that this is mostly just sappy, nasty filth. now, please enjoy this smutty piece of work for richie! ❤︎

richter has made the renard household your favorite place on earth. more specifically, you’re fond of his homey bedroom. it’s got this olde charm to it, and a wide glass window with french-pinewood framing; one that offers a pleasant view of the grassy fields and neighboring stream that surround the cottage. 

over anything else, his bed is surely the best part of it all. there’s a fluffy duvet in that dusty-blue color he likes, one so large that it covers his long legs even when they tangle between yours. the quilted mattress has just the right amount of space for two lovers, and is comfy enough to keep you warm throughout the night, considering the chance you might stay over. 

though, there is a downside, as nothing can be perfect— it creaks far too much when he fucks you. 

it’s not often that the both of you can make good use of that bed of his, especially when the noise makes things terribly obvious. you wouldn’t dare attempt anything improper in richter’s room with his adoptive family just a brief set of steps away. 

there's a time for everything, but not that he cares. you try paying no mind to richter’s lingering touches along your waist, and how he mischievously dives underneath your bottoms to grab at the fat of your ass with a wicked grin; all as his aunt tera boils porridge and beans by the stovetop downstairs. you’re sure he finds joy in the risk, or more in provoking you. 

it’s only when the house is empty, apart from you and richter and nothing else, that you can have your fun. like now, for instance. it’s out of pure luck that tera decided to pay a visit to the farmer’s market, and for maria to tag along with her mother as well. they mentioned something about wanting to buy the best of what the early-autumn harvest had to offer, with the meats being juiciest and the produce fresher than it’s been all year. 

you believe that’s why richter’s got so much stamina— the plenty of food he’s been scarfing down lately. or, possibly, it could just be him . . . nothing but him, and his unexplainable belmont genes that make him fucking superhuman. he swears he’s normal, but the way he picks you up with such ease as soon as his family steps out the door can only be deemed as unnatural. 

he's quick to sweep you off your feet, in the most abrupt way he can, of course. richter grins over the way you squeal as he whisks you past the kitchen, ‘round the table, and down the corridor. his hands work at keeping you upright, palms firmly planted under your thighs. he carries your weight like that of a feather and doesn't break a sweat. but considering where he’s headed, straight to his bedroom, that’ll soon change. 

“don’t go getting all surprised on me,” richter voices a lighthearted whisper. he kisses the part of your neck that he can manage to reach from above the collar of your blouse, “you know what we do once we have the place to ourselves.” 

“you snatched me off the ground without notice, i’ve all the right to be surprised— ohmygod, richter!” you sputter out a laugh, with his mouth on your flesh being so ticklish. you can feel his lips curving upwards, taking the shape of a smile. your arms fling around the back of his neck like second nature, fingers carding through his fluffy brunette hair. with zero patience, as always, richter kicks the door in with the shallow heel of his leather thigh-boot, slips into the room with you still in his arms, and shuts it closed by pressing you up against it. 

he was right about one thing— once tera and maria leave, this is exactly how it goes. clothes are torn off with haste (mostly on richter’s end, as you could imagine), heated kisses are exchanged, and he spits the nastiest words with that sharp mouth of his in order  to get you all worked up. the night sky and moonshine from the window gives his room this subtle tone of blue, but he makes you feel red-hot. 

richter keeps you right where he wants you; held up by his unfiltered strength, with your back to the door. one moment, he’s drawing closer to you, raking over every detail of your face with nothing but admiration swirling in his eyes. by the next, his lips are moving languidly against yours, slightly unruly yet undeniably passionate. you wouldn’t dare admit how much of a damn good kisser he is. the man’s ego would fucking skyrocket.

though, you really don’t have to tell him anything. the way you reciprocate his affection says it all. he breaks away for a sparing moment, but not before bringing his tongue across your bottom lip in one playful swipe. it’s light, teasing, and completely of his nature.

“i can see it in your eyes, y’know.” richter chuckles at how you lean forward to chase after the warmth of his lips again. he brings you to your feet so he can slip off his fingerless gloves and undo any harnesses. he then crouches a bit to unzip his boots. 

“see what?” you airily huff, haphazardly undoing button by button on your blouse until it’s completely open. similarly, he begins to make quick work of his top. you enjoy the flexure of his biceps as he pulls them out from the sleeves of his cerulean blue blazer-vest that he drops once free of, allowing it to scatter to the ground. you catch onto its emblem; the belmont crest, neatly embroidered upon the breast-pocket. 

“how much you want this,” richter peers down at you, eyes gleaming the prettiest tint of blue. “it’s cute, how obvious you are.” his upper half is bare, and the smooth canvas of his chest is all can focus on while he closes in on you. you’re trapped between the sturdy door and his heated body, and you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. 

“you’re practically salivating over the thought of getting fucked, yeah? bet you wouldn’t mind if i took you right here.” he grins as he says it, staring unashamedly at how cleavage pools from your brassiere. richter creeps a finger underneath the strap, tugs it down and does the same with the other, dipping his head low to pepper your bare shoulder with feather-light pecks. before long, the bra’s at your feet. 

“hm, but you’re no different,” you manage out, reveling in the warm lashing of his tongue against your nipple. it buds up the more he suckles at it.

“really, now?” he eventually parts from your breasts and rises back up to his full imposing height, carrying that faint smirk he forever wears. he looks so adorable this way— cheeks pink, lips spit-streaked. richter takes hold of your bottoms from either side of you, and swiftly brings them down with what you could only call pure impatience. 

“yes, really. you’re just as desperate,” you counter him, reaching low to prove it. your palm grazes his bulge, and you give a few thorough squeezes; the kind that makes his mouth drop open. 

“look at you, almost bursting out of your pants,” you quietly giggle, gazing up at him through the wisps of your lashes. richter wonders how you make such light fun while using your touch to undo him all at once. his breathing quickens, and it gets just a little heavier with your every attempt to caress his throbbing cock through his trousers. “seems like you need it more than i do, doesn’t it?” 

“oh, fuck me . . .” richter whines, settling his head into the slope of your shoulder. your touch leaves him, just for a moment, to rid him of those restrictive pants. his cock springs free from its confines and bobs under its own weight. he’s got more length than girth; a good six or seven in size, with two thick veins running along the underside of him. the faint-pink tip prods at your thigh, staining your skin with precum. 

he bucks against you hungrily, fingertips digging into the seams of your panties. you think you can hear them splintering apart. in the heat of things, he always winds up tearing your good underwear. 

richter could ease into this moment and let your hand work him senseless, but there comes a time where he decides to end the charade. there’s also no knowing when his aunt and sister will return. he wants to make the most out of the unpromised time you have. 

and so, he cuts your fun short with a mere rasp, “i’m through messing around with you. get on the fucking bed.” 

no malice is found in his words; it’s just the height of his lust. you’d do as told, but richter’s already taking action into his own hands. with two, three— no, four steps, he’s standing at the bedside and splaying you across it. he snags off the remaining of your torn panties, left to suggestively decorate his floor. now, in all your naked glory, you’re bare and ready for him. 

richter crawls over to you and kneels from above where you lay, situated closely between your legs. your thighs cushion either side of his lean hips. he leans down occasionally whenever you plead for a kiss, or wish to thread your fingers through his brown tousled hair. it now looks just a bit wilder than usual. 

“c’mon— open, darling.” he hints at your legs, smoothing his warm palms down from your calves to your thighs. ever the compliant girlfriend, you part them nice and wide for his viewing pleasure. your cunt’s glossy and wet, clenching around nothing but the intangible air around. 

‘oh, how pretty,’ he breathlessly murmurs, dragging two fingers across the expanse of your body. down, down, down, until they’re tracing along your slit. your dripping hole puckers against the pads of his index and middle, and you whimper when he threatens to push two inside. 

“this wet, yet i’ve hardly done a thing,” his voice is ever boastful, “are you sure i’m the desperate one?” both fingers are suddenly replaced with his stiff erection, and he uses the precum-stained tip to catch onto your clit, resting warm and heavy against it. to that, you release a little ‘mm,’ and he taps against your puffy bud with the head of his cock— stopping once your hips start bucking for more. 

“god, you just love to torment me . . . ” you huff out, vexation getting the best of you. “torment you? oh, never.” richter taunts, slotting himself between your puffy folds. he steers the way he glides against you by keeping a thumb at the base. “i just like to watch you squirm, is all.” 

you know how to pry what you want out of him; a little bit of begging here, a small ounce of praise there. you lift your hips to grind against the underside of him, emitting soft moans whenever he rubs against your swollen clit just right, “richter, please. i really need your cock . . .”  

“oh, baby,” he bites at his lower lip, giving in just as you expected of him. “i love it when you ask nicely.” in one fluid motion, he fits himself past the fleshy ring of your entrance and slips right inside. noise falls from you both; you’re gasping at the steady push, doing your best to accommodate every given inch, and richter’s letting small groans escape him, fingers digging into the tender flesh of your hips. 

“always so fucking . . . tight,” he emits a shuddered breath, dropping his head to watch himself bottom out deep enough for his balls to nestle snugly against your ass-cheeks. you’re well connected now, to the point where his own pelvis has become sticky with your arousal. chestnut fringes drop into his view, and he sweeps his hair back with one hand threading through it. 

“you’re taking it all so well this time,” he lifts his gaze to meet yours, a subtle grin playing on his lips. “such a good girl for me.” the connection between you two pulsates. he starts to build a delicious rhythm— drawing out for just a second, and pushing back in by the next. he watches you melt beneath him, your eyes sealed shut and mouth agape. a tangly string of moans tumble from your plush lips. richter’s no composer by any means, but the sounds he pulled from you is nothing short of beautiful music. 

he’s without resignation tonight, and you notice his intensity when handling you. those naughty hands of his cup and squeeze and rub, his thrusts are fast, and you're sure that the resounding ‘smack!’ of skin-upon-skin can be heard from outside the window with how loud it’s become.  

richter’s got your wrists bound above your head using the grip of only one firm hand, while he uses the other to keep your leg perched over his broad shoulder. his cock pushes deeper inside whenever he rolls his hips into your own, and your toes curl against the sheets with every stroke. when ramming in, his breath goes shaky at the sight of your body lurching, and pulling out makes his eyes roll back with how hard you’re clamping down on him, practically begging him to stay. 

you’re soon to unravel, and you can tell he is too. his thighs begin to tremble, and his pace is less timely. nearing ecstasy, you already know what richter’s bound to ask you: 

“where do you want me?” 

without fail, he poses the same question by the near end of every session. and each time, you opt for the safe route, even though you secretly wish for more. your answer mostly varies on whatever position he’s got you manhandled in. bashfully, you’ll instruct him to cum over your ass if he has you bent over, or your tits if he’s been ogling them the whole night. sometimes, you’ll even let him decorate your pretty face with his seed— now that drives him mad, so much so that you always go another round or two afterwards. 

but your true desire is, by far, much filthier than the rest. you’re nowhere near daring enough to plainly admit that you want his cum inside of you. as in, womb-filling placement. pregnancy-inducing, even. 

though, something’s come over you tonight. you think richter’s finally ‘fucked you stupid’ the way he always cockily threatens to. or, maybe having him settled within you just feels too good to give up so soon. you don’t want him pulling out this time, you determine. what you need is for him to stay right where he is, to keep you stuffed whole with his warm love. all you want is for him to do it— 

“inside,” is your breathless cry; a risky plea of the very thing he spends lone nights getting himself off to the thought of. richter isn't sure he heard you right— no, it must be a cruel figment of his perverse imagination. a bead of sweat's caught along his raised brow, those blue eyes of his carry a hooded glow, and his face, bearing a cutely furrowed look, grows pinker than before. 

“what?” 

“oh, god,” you whine, face gone hot. “richter, i . . .” the words melt off your tongue and fizzle into nothing. 

“you . . ?” he plays around your hesitance, drawing out the word with some light goading. you sigh rather than responding, and it’s a dramatic one, because does he really have to make you repeat yourself? richter gazes down at you expectantly as he slows his movements, finding purchase on your waist to come to an unsteady pause. his fingers drum along your sides, awaiting more clarity. 

your voice is small when you manage to confess, “ . . . i want you to cum inside of me.”

you think you can see the very moment that he fucking breaks. it’s like his resolve’s a porcelain vase, oh so delicate, and you’ve just pushed it to the floor and cracked it into a million tiny pieces. he releases this low groan, one that makes your pussy flutter at the sound of it. you can feel how rapidly his cock throbs from within you. you’re sure he’s about to paint them white. 

“shit . . . you don’t mean that.” 

“i do, rich. i want this.” 

you blink up at him, pleading with glassy eyes and the very pout that makes his heart throb. god, he wants to kiss you so messily right now. and that he does— closing in to slot his lips against yours, working his tongue down your mouth, and separating with a distinct pop! you moan against richter’s lips as his clutch on your waist intensifies. 

“you’ve gone ahead and finally drove me fucking crazy,” he thickly swallows, “you don’t know what you’ve just done to me, do you?” richter takes hold on both sides of your face, painless but firm. you mumble aloud what sounds like his name. he can’t be sure, as you’re muffled from the way his grasp is making your cheeks puff out. 

“oh, darling, you don’t.” richter seethes, knowing how you like it when he gets a little mean, “because if you did, you’d know that spewing that kind of shit will make me fuck you like a senseless animal,” his toned body is hunched over yours, eliminating any space there once was between you, “that i’d fill up this greedy little cunt until you’re overflowing with my cum,” his octave drops, tone dangerous, “that i wouldn’t be able to stop until we’ve both passed out on this goddamn bed.” 

“mmph, rich . . .” you weakly attempt, whining through your lips that he keeps pursed between his thumb and index that press into the fat of your cheeks. 

“what was that, love? you wanna be stuffed with my cum?” his tone is a mocking one, but you dumbly nod anyway. he mirrors the rocking motion of your head, amused with your desperation, “fuck yeah, you do. can feel you getting wetter at the thought of it.” 

you haven’t got it in you to feed into that typical banter with your boyfriend. you only want him to do just as he said and ‘fill you up.’ you're pawing at his bicep with one hand, and the other one clasps over the wrist of the hand he’s using to squish at your face. ‘want it,’ you start, fingers skimming across his arm, ‘so badly, rich!’ 

“fine, then. you’re such a needy thing,” he gives in, figuring you’ve endured just about enough of his teasing. richter holds himself by the base, and pulls back to trace your gaping hole with his cockhead. 

“you asked for this,” he pants out, “to be fucking bred.” 

just as before, his entrance is a smooth one; even if your grip on him is so taut that he can barely manage to move. you’re moaning again, aimlessly circling your hips in an attempt to match his movement. 

patterns repeat themselves— like richter’s desperation that always manifests itself through harsh rutting. his mind goes blank every time he’s encompassed by your sweet, warm pussy. he aches for it, for you, as though he wasn’t just indulging. he was this close to release just minutes ago. the sensitivity is still there, you notice from how his tip pulses from within you. he’s been holding out on himself, trying to make this count. 

richter dedicates the next several minutes to flipping and folding you into at least two different positions, bodies merging with a zealous haste. as always, the bed creaks and whines with every pivoted motion made upon it. nobody else is here to complain about it, so the noise is ignored rather than worried over. after all, there’s something gratifying about the sex being hard and thorough. 

there’s more fervor behind his loving this time, and it’s because he’s got the end in mind. yes, the finishing is what he anticipates; once he can finally, finally pump you full of all the cum he has to offer. and maybe— no, definitely, he’ll have you knocked up after it’s done.  

the prospect excites him more than it should; giving you a little bright-eyed belmont. richter’s always seen replenishing the sacred bloodline as a responsibility that only he alone holds. the very last one, he is. who else apart from him could return their clan to its original glory? 

a good amount of years ago, as richter can’t bring himself to remember a particular number, his mother would present him with countless tales of their infamous family. how they’d slay monsters of the night with the utmost ease, gifted with holy tools and magic of old passed down throughout the centuries. he wouldn’t like to admit how much it’s gotten to his head; or moreso, how important he sees it to expand the family tree. 

god willing, the pair of you will have babies, lots of babies, and mark the start of a new generation of vampyre slayers. it already helps that he loves to fuck you at any given chance. breeding you had always been lingering at the back of his mind, even back when the pair of you first coupled over ten months back . . . but he never really thought so deeply about it until you confessed your deep desire, and forced him to come to terms with his own. 

“thinkin’ of you pregnant,” he reveals, voice honest and vulnerable, “god, what a beautiful sight. my woman, all round and full with my love . . . ” 

“mm, that sounds— possessive,” you breathe out, body steadily rocking at the pace that richter’s set. you’re cracking your eyes open and sparing him a glance, just to see that he’s already staring back down at you. like you’re his everything, it seems. that twinkle in his eye is reserved for you only, and it makes you throb with want. 

“oh, i’m sure it does.” he doesn’t bring himself to deny it. he wants you marked by him in every possible way. for anyone to take a glance at your rounding belly months from now and just know that he touched you thoroughly and fucked you right. 

“but you should understand just how fortunate you are, baby,” he coos, “do you know how many bitches would kill for this seed you’re getting tonight? hm?” richter drones on, “you even sure you deserve it?” 

he knows full well that you do. if there’s any woman on god’s green earth that he wants to give all his love to, it’s indisputably you. he’s simply rousing you up, making you ‘earn’ it. the man likes to tease, and you can’t help but enjoy being on the receiving end. 

“well . . . you’re planning to give it to me, aren’t you?” even with him wrecking you, body sore and hair disarray, you're still able to check him. “i am,” he sighs, “and you’re gonna feel it all the way in here,” a large palm of his splays across your abdomen. from over your tummy, he feels the outline of his own cock, pressing in and sliding out before ramming it’s way back in again, courtesy of his rolling hips. 

it spurs him on to see that he doubles you in size, so much so that his dick leaves a bulge. richter bets that he’s stretching out your cunt in the nicest way— just look at how you’re taking it with hazy eyes and quivering legs. no wonder you want his cum so badly; because who else throughout all of goddamn machecoul could give you such good orgasms? which other man could possibly fill you up with such valuable seed? 

“i swear, m’gonna give you a baby,” is richter’s shaky promise, moaning throughout, and his cock throbs twice in a row. he’ll make you a carrier of the next generation of belmonts, he swears it. and oh, is he sure you’ll be an amazing mother. the thought makes his head buzz. he vividly pictures you, tender and swollen in the tummy and breasts, waddling around cutely due to carrying his very own child. he could cum just by thinking about it too hard . . . 

and he does.

“oh, god, i’m gonna— oh, fuck!” his balls constrict, his pelvis becomes tightly-strung, and before he knows it, he’s emptying his thick load inside of you. 

“yes, rich . . . give it to me,” you softly purr, allowing him to ease his weight onto you as he shudders from the high and his limbs go weak. from where he has his face smushed against your cushiony chest, he bites at your left breast while cumming some more. it spurts out in hot streams, accompanied by the twitching of his sensitive dick. he lazily humps against you, and a bit of semen seeps past your cunt, trickles down the length of him, and pours out onto the sheets beneath. you knew it’d be satiating to be filled to the brim. 

he feels like he could fall asleep right here atop of you. even with his head’s swimming in a thick cloud of lust, and though the aftermath of his climax lingers, he’s still able to deliver slow rubs to your little bud.

“hope you’re ready for another,” he reaches down between you and swiping his graceful fingers across it, “because we aren’t fucking done yet.”

you hardly get a chance to bask in how nicely he’s loaded your womb, or the delightful tingle he brings when playing with your clit. richter, always a step ahead, uses his small bit of remaining energy to sit upwards with his back to the bedpost, and hauls you onto him so that you’re straddled over him just the way he likes. he gets the best view of your jiggling boobs this way.

“of course you still have it in you,” you lightly laugh. given his endurance, richter’s usually able to maximize his stamina through plenty of rounds. “i also wouldn’t mind being filled a second time . . .” you set your forehead to rest against his, bringing up a hand to swipe hair away from his gorgeous eyes, “i liked it.”

“and i loved it,” he’s quick to admit, “should’ve been finishing inside you long before now.”

you smile over his comment and wiggle your ass over his semi hard-on, growing stiffer with every sway of your breasts in his face. his hands are busy holding you from either side, so you go out of your way to stroke along his cum-dirtied cock, white dripping alongside it. he groans at your touch as you help him in finding your entrance. your mouth falls open when sinking down on him, and he rushes to lick and suck at your lips. for the third time tonight, he makes himself at home in your inviting cunt. 

and so, it begins again; his ceaseless tempo. your partner's grasp is hot and strong, pulling you off and slamming you back down onto him however he pleases. you cry out for more, and he’s capable of giving it to you, so he does. richter pistons up into you— out, in, out, in, molding you to shape the very curve of his veined cock. blush colored a fiery pink scatters his face from the apples of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. 

“again, richter,” you gasp out, “cum inside me again . . !” oh, just look at that. now he’s built you a rotten little addiction. from here on out, you’ll probably always be left craving the fulfillment gained from him dumping his load into your pussy. personally, he doesn’t mind sating you. if it eases your mind and satisfies your heart, of course. after all, he’s surely developed a new kink of his own after tonight.  

“oh, you’d want that, wouldn’t you, cockslut?” his fingers dip between your bodies to slide against your clit once more, “to let me impregnate you again, and again, and again . . .” he punctuates his sharp words with the lurch of his sturdy hips, knocking up into you until you’re jolting in his lap, breasts bouncing against his solid chest. 

he doesn’t mean to come across in an offish way, or sound so mean. it’s just that when he gets like this, with your warm body so pliant at his fingertips, his mouth just tends to . . . run. more than usual, he supposes. the belmont just says whatever comes to mind, no matter how vulgar. 

richter’s bright blue eyes follow the motion of your tits with every thrust. he slams in, hips pressed to you as close as it can get. he’s burrowed into you so deeply that his curly patch of dark pubes friction against your bundle of nerves. he’s twitching at the underside for every time your velvety walls suck him in further. you’re trying to milk him fucking dry, he believes. 

there’s only so much stimulation that the pair of you can take in one night alone. 

‘goddammit’ he grits out. before long, richter’s fucking you full of another stream of cum. his orgasm, hot and blinding, triggers your own; you’re creaming all over him, wetting his cock with the juices you squirt out. you’re sobbing out his name and shaking in his lap, so he holds you. a secure hand of his comes up and cradles your head to his chest, stroking your hair and calming your spent body, even as the orgasmic waves rush through you. 

a silence comes over his quaint little room, where the ambience was once intense with the steamy air of sex. a chill autumn breeze blows its way through the cracked-open window, cooling your sweat-sheen skin. his dusty-blue sheets are stained with all kinds of suggestive white fluids, and the bed has stopped making all that noise. 

you’re still placed over his thighs in the same straddling stance, one you both feel much too tired to get out of. he tries at maneuvering so he can lie on his back, with you motionlessly laid over him. your breathing is soft and winded, but your heart’s beating fast. he can feel it, with the way your chest is pressed to his own in this position. 

richter eventually slips out, and you whine once he leaves you. he peers down and groans at the spillage of his potent cum, pearly and warm, dripping from your messy little cunt in thick globs. ‘christ,’ he thinks, ‘it’s so fucking much.’  

he presses a kiss to your forehead, and it stirs you from the sleep you were just about to fall into. “what do you say to me, darling?” 

“hmm . . what?” after all those rounds, you’re not here mentally, and he knows it— he’s why. but with the light smirk his lips hold, you’re finally able to get it. he’s waiting for a: 

“t—thank you,” you murmur out, and he tsks.

“oh, c’mon, be specific. thank you for what?” 

he's simply insufferable. oh, but you love the man, so you'll let him have his way, just for tonight.

“thank you for . . giving me your cum, richter . . .”

he hums in what appears to be satisfaction. it sounds like the prettiest set of words when falling from your lips. he’d fuck you again if the both of you weren’t completely spent. 

richter brings a hand to support the back of his head, propping it up a little higher than the pillows can. you snuggle into him, face nuzzling against the firm comfort of his chest, and he throws his arm over your waist, feeling at the plush skin there with a wandering touch. 

his palm slides a bit further down, now planted gently against your stomach. it’ll start to grow in a little while, and get real big and plump with your baby fostering inside. maybe they’ll have your nose and complexion, with his eyes and attitude . . . he lets a grin overtake his lips, feeling more than accomplished. 

“you’re a lucky fucking woman,” richter coos, hand lovingly rubbing over your tummy, “you’re gonna be carryin’ belmont blood now.”

tags go out to . . . ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ @blushfwul @springmarcheson @missmagicalprincess @kaennih-skitlles @divin3bloodlines! hope y’all enjoyed, mwuah! ❤︎

©𝑃ℐ𝒩𝒦ℳℐℛ𝒯ℋ! — all rights reserved! do not steal, plagiarize or repost any of my works. please and thank you! ౨ৎ

[darsynia]

Heyyy. I hope ur requests are open. Anyways. Can I get a shot of tequila w/ Steve Rogers and the reader reunited after like 6 months apart because he went on the run and didn’t want to disrupt her life. Like maybe she was on Tony’s side in Civil War but helped Steve anyway because they were together since CA:WS. She tracks him down in Switzerland and he comes home to the safe house to see her heels by the door like they usually would be back in New York. Then he sees her sitting in the dark, save for the fireplace, and they argue about how he can try to leave but she will find him everytime because she loves him. So they have some “reunion fun” and maybe after, they’re having some pillow talk where she’s worried that he’s been with other women in 6 months apart. because let’s be fair, we can’t blame her. have you seen the nomad-hair ‘n beard?… 😭

Thanks for the request, nonnie! I couldn't work in the very last bit, but hopefully you'll enjoy. Rating is NC-17, minors DNI. 1,800 words. (I forgot to add, 180F is a good temperature for green tea--and yeah, a kettle would be in C probably but bear with me for the metaphor ❤️)

180

The chilly wind is not the reason Steve feels cold on his walk home. He’s living in a fully furnished home for the first time in six months, but nothing about the space feels welcoming. He can’t settle. Somehow the many barracks he’s lived in over the years made him feel more comfortable, and he knows the reason why.

You’re not there.

The thought stings, and he grits his teeth, keeping his eyes on the road. The last thing he wants to do is look familiar, and maybe that’s the problem. If he’s not allowed to be Steve Rogers, no amount of handmade quilts and cozy living room furniture will make him feel at home.

He rounds the corner, pulling out his key with a half of a block to go. The rental is quiet, out of the way, obscure, even. Half the time even he struggles to find it. From three houses away, he sees a pair of deep red heels next to his front door, as incongruous among the quaint townhomes in Willisau as a palm tree. The spasm in his chest isn’t something the serum in his veins can heal, but Steve tells himself nothing’s really there. He’s imagined your shoes waiting outside of almost every place he’s laid his head since he left, and now it’s Switzerland’s turn.

He studiously ignores his lintel as he unlocks the door and goes inside.

 Steve’s sure he’s right when everything is the same as he’d left it. You've never failed to leave your personal touch in his living spaces--a hand knit scarf hung next to his coats, a delicate bunch of flowers on the table in a vase he'd long ago forgotten he owned.

The orange of sunset stretches across the floor from a back window, and he can smell the tang of woodsmoke, a familiar occurrence in this neighborhood. It isn't until he puts his shoes and keys away and pads into the kitchen that he finally realizes he’s not alone.

The smoke smell isn’t from outside. The fireplace is lit, and when Steve steps into the doorway, he sees a familiar, precious silhouette. Even though you have to have heard him, you don’t turn around, so he chooses discretion as the better part of valor. You’ve always said a warm cup of tea is comforting after a long day, and it has been that.

He sets the temperature on the kettle, places two mugs, and then goes looking for tea, concern and frustration growing. You've never not greeted him, but those had always followed a goodbye, something Steve hadn't had the courtesy to give when he'd left. The first two cabinets yield nothing, and you haven’t spoken or come in, yet.

Then, suddenly, you’re there, walking in and showing him exactly where the tea is, right in time for the kettle’s finishing beep. You’ve always been like that, exactly what he needs at exactly the right time, and that hasn’t changed. It’s damning and loving all at once.

Steve grabs at one of the tins, but you set a light hand on his, leaving it there are you say something about temperatures and tea leaves. He’s barely listening, focused on the way your touch has jump-started his heart, his lungs, and… everything else.

“Steve!” you say, snatching your hand back and giving him an affectionate, frustrated look. It’s more the latter than the former, but at this point he’s parched soil grateful for a slight drizzle. “Did you hear any of that? I asked what temperature you set the kettle.”

“Uh, whatever the default is?”

Brand new to this kitchen though you are, you pick it up and start it again, noting that the water bubbles up right away. “212 is my guess. That’s too hot for this. It’s green.”

Steve very much wants to point out that all tea is green, but he knows better. Instead, he says, “We can pour it out and start over?”

You look at him for a long moment, your body a foot and several hard conversations away, and finally nod. Neither of you say anything as the new water heats up, but Steve feels the metaphorical distance between the two of you narrow as you breathe each other’s air for the first time in forever.

When the kettle finally sounds, it’s somehow familiar. In his head Steve feels another timer go off, and he heeds it.

“I’m--” he starts to say, but you interrupt.

“I know.”

To hide his apprehension, Steve grabs the sugar, a spoon, and an amused look. “You don’t know what I was going to say!”

“I know all of them. You’re sorry. You’re not coming home. You’re doing this for my own good. You’re lonely.”

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

The two of you settle next to each other on the couch with a not inconsiderable amount of painful distance between you. That doesn’t translate to the conversation, though. It’s full of honesty (“I didn’t want to leave. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I’m not done with the things that need to be done, and it’s not safe for you here.”) from both sides  (“You’re physically gone and I hate that, but emotionally, I know you don’t want to let me go. I’m always with you, and I’ll always find you. There’s no one that can keep me safer than you can.”).

Once the tea’s long gone and the fire has died down to embers, neither of you have said the most important words, the healing words. 

Finally you whisper them, tears welling up in your eyes. “Steve, I love you. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

He opens his mouth, certain of his mission, as sacrificial as it is--but you slide up beside him, warm and loving and his.

“It can be like this,” you rasp, sliding your hand along his chest and up into his hair to pull his lips down to yours.

Steve groans in gratitude, angling his head in welcome and grasping at your hips to drag you onto his lap where you belong. He sends up a prayerful apology to any member of his family that still checks the earthly realm to watch him live a sinless life. Today is not that day. 

You’re wearing soft dress pants, just loose enough for him to slide his hand past your waistband, thumbing caresses along the heat of your inner thigh until your hitching ‘yes’ of a sigh gives him more explicit permission. He’d missed your body, missed this, the warm slick of your welcoming folds, the way you gasp and tense when he strokes you. This angle shouldn’t work, but he’s strong, and he knows how much you love that, so he nuzzles the join between your neck and shoulder, breathing you in.

You release your deathgrip on his shirt to snake your hand up into his hair, dragging your fingernails deliciously against his scalp. Your movements are imprecise and shaky, a testament to his own erotic movements, and Steve groans aloud at the realization. The timbre of your voice as you whisper his name hints at how close to orgasm you are, and he takes the opportunity to escalate his onslaught.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin, thrusting his fingers inside at unpredictable intervals to prolong your pleasure. You have always both loved and hated that, wanting instead to lose yourself in the rhythm of predictable movements--but your most vocal climaxes come just like this.

Steve backs off again, and you roll your hips, tempting him to return. “I’ll never let go,” you growl, pushing off just far enough to start unbuckling his pants. “You should know that.”

It’s an inflection point, and though Steve’s a soldier, he doesn’t fight you. You’d been so close your whole body had started to tremble, but instead of taking what you could from him and then shifting the mood, you’d taken the route of self-sacrifice. Those thoughts flee the battlefield when you urge him to lift up enough to tug his pants out of the way. Impatience sings through his veins. He wants to take charge and--

“Oh,” he says. The whole world shifts from black and white to color as you slide down between his legs, taking him in your mouth. He’s almost too sensitive for this, grabbing a fistful of the couch instead of your hair, knowing his own strength. You anchor yourself with a hand grasping that same forearm, moaning as you suck as if feeling the flex of his muscles is itself erotic.

Steve knows the whining noise he can hear is coming from his own throat, but doesn’t care about anything but the surging joy of this moment. You know exactly how to work him, adding everything he loves about you, about the ‘us’ he’d wanted to build with you. When he’s almost, almost there, when he knows your next move would be a deep-throated encouragement to spill in your mouth, you pull back.

The lesson is sharp and warranted, but Steve’s trust doesn’t waver. He looks down at you--‘submissive’ at his feet but fully in charge of the moment--and nods. I get it. Your light smile and little squeeze of his arm before you get up feels more like home than anything in months.

“I love you,” he says, and means it more than he ever, ever has.

“Hasn’t anyone told you not to say that in the middle of sex?” you tease, moving fluidly to shed the rest of your clothing. The only thing you keep on is your electric blue bra, and Steve lets out a tiny little noise of want when he sees it. It’s his favorite. Eight months ago you’d tried to get rid of it and he’d snatched it up out of the ‘to toss’ pile and buried it in his drawer, the drawer you’d given him in your bedroom for when he slept over.

He hadn’t wanted to leave it behind, to leave you behind, but it felt like the right thing to do at the time. Now, looking at your sultry, challenging expression, he truly understands the mistake he made.

Steve opens his mouth to tell you how beautiful you look in the firelight, how sorry he is that he ever thought he could walk away to make your life safer, how--

“Prove it, soldier,” you tell him. The words are confident, but there’s a waver in your tone that he put there.

He reaches for you, pulling you onto him, into him, straight through his skin, your sighs writing your name on his heart. It's exactly where you, where he belongs. The result is a rolling boil, a volley of exploding shells, a Brooklyn apartment with a pair of red heels at the door.

It’s been a battle, but he’s home.

[sarahwroteathing]

Stockings, fluff, Steve Rogers

You were half-frozen and half overheated by the time you reached Steve’s apartment, bundled to high heaven in two shirts, two sweaters, a scarf wrapped all the way up to your nose, a puffy coat, and a hat that almost covered your eyes entirely. You knew you looked ridiculous, but the look Steve gave you when he answered the door, amused but undeniably endeared, made it hard to mind so much. While you tossed your hat onto the small table by the door, he hooked a finger in your scarf, tugging it down just enough to press a smiling kiss to your lips.

“Excuse me, pal. At least take my coat first,” you said, laughing as you followed his defensive point to the mistletoe he had tacked over the doorway. 

“You decorated!”

“I did!” he said, looking extraordinarily proud of himself as he helped you out of your coat and one of your sweaters. 

“You do realize you’ll be giving out a lot of free kisses with that mistletoe placement though, don’t you? The poor mailman is going to fall in love with you.”

Steve snorted, and you couldn’t help but break into giggles thinking of his elderly mailman with his silver braid and curly mustache. 

“I just hung it up when you said you were on your way. I can move it.” 

You smiled, finally getting your wet bootlaces untangled and wiggling free of the heavy snow boots with a relieved sigh. Finally feeling human again, you looked up at Steve, who was leaning against the wall watching you with a little smile on his face like he’d be perfectly content to stare at you all evening. 

“Hi,” you said, dragging him away from the wall for a long hug, snuggling your face against his soft, green sweater.

“Hi,” he whispered back, giving you a gentle squeeze until there was no space between you at all. 

“Wanna show me your decorations?”

“Mm… One more minute?”

“Retirement is making you soft, Rogers,” you laughed.

“Yeah. I’m okay with it.”

When Steve was satisfied, he let you go with a kiss to the forehead, taking your hand to lead you farther into the apartment. 

It was cute, what he’d done to the place. Understated but cozy. There were extra blankets on the couch, a maroon chenille and a deep green wool. A neat row of red votive candles sat on the coffee table, and a surprisingly tall Christmas tree was tucked into the corner, more garland and lights than ornaments. But it was what hung from the two little hooks on the wall that made you press your hand over your mouth to hide a smile.

“What?” Steve asked, having spent the last few moments looking at you while you looked over the living room.

“Nothing! It looks lovely. Very cozy!”

But when you walked over to sit on the couch, he followed you with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Did I leave a price tag on something?”

“Not that I can see.”

Steve grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch just as you reached for it, holding it behind his back.

“No soft new blanket for you until you tell me.”

You bit your lip, glancing again at the socks hanging from the wall by the loop of ribbon safety pinned to the top. 

“I just um… Did you hang socks on the wall?”

Steve followed your gaze.

“Yeah? But they’re the nice fluffy ones you like. They’re not… running socks or something.”

“Okay…” you said with an endeared smile. “Just asking.”

“People don’t do that anymore, huh?” he asked with a self-deprecating smile. 

“I’m sure some people do! Most probably get the stockings they sell in stores though. They’re bigger and easier to put stuff in. But I remember we used knit socks one year when I was a kid! We had just moved and didn’t know where the Christmas stuff had ended up.”

“One year when I was about… ten, maybe? Ma had a few dresses that needed to be retired. It was getting too obvious how many times she’d had to mend them, I guess. So she had me cut them up, and we used the fabric to sew stockings. They kinda looked like quilts.”

He smiled at the memory, and you squeezed his hand. 

“I love that.” 

“I can go buy some stockings tomorrow. You want to come? Pick out your own?”

“Absolutely not. Leave the socks. They’re cute,” you said, kissing his cheek. “Just like you.”

“Cute?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Mhmm. And charming. Also like you.” You gave him another kiss. 

He shook his head at you, but he was smiling now. 

“And if you want…” you started hesitantly. “I mean, I have a few old shirts and things that could be retired. If you wanted to maybe make some little quilt stockings together. But I don’t want to barge into an old family memory so -”

You didn’t get to finish your overthinking spiral because Steve took your face between his hands and silenced you with a warm and enthusiastic kiss.

“Oh!” 

“I love that idea,” he said, leaving you with one, two, three more soft little kisses.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[a-flickering-soul]

How I Stopped Worrying And Learned To Love Bones: The Harrow Cosplay

Or: I felt like doing a little writeup of the making of my Harrowhark Nonagesimus cosplay because I worked hard on it and this is also basically the first cosplay I actually completed. And I'm also just very proud of it.

I knew from the start I wanted the silhouette to essentially be a triangle, since I deeply believe that Harrow in full vestments is like a little walking cone. This is also deeply influenced by the many years I spent in church choir wearing those dinky little robes.

The first thing I figured out was the headpiece. I knew I wanted the hair to be covered (both in a religious way and also so I wouldn't have to wear a wig), but when it comes to hair coverings, there's a lot of ways it could go. I initially considered mantillas, to go with the whole Catholicism of it all, but unfortunately I was possessed with the spirit of half my ancestors and decided to drape a scarf like a dupatta (I considered making maang tikka to go with it, but had a hard time with the logistics of that). I found a drapy, thin black scarf at a thrift store and held onto it for a while. You can tell from the picture that it's pretty sheer and also a good length.

I szuszed it up by hand-stitching some white lace to it (since I'm very taken with the idea of the Ninth producing lace like all good nunneries did), as well as some seashell beads in a suitable bonelike color and these very cool tiny silver skull beads. These are only on the front of my scarf as a nice little decoration.

For the rest of the jewelry, Sculpey really came through. I used it to make some (outsized) teeth to create a rosary, along with some very cool volcanic rock beads. Individually knotting each bead and tooth was a huge time sink, but definitely worth it visually. Nine teeth for each of the houses.

I also made some bone bangles out of Sculpey (although this was towards the end of things when I was kind of losing steam).

My metamour @benthicbimbo was fucking amazing though and literally?? made thee most beautiful phalanges choker out of Sculpey and velvet ribbon and they're weathered and textured so beautifully and it's such a wonderful piece I genuinely wear it around places quite often.

And because they're incredible they also made these beautiful faux earrings for me that I tragically forgot to wear during Halloween but do look genuinely stunning!!! Like what!!!!!

For the big layers, I genuinely got the best luck at Goodwill in one fell swoop and I have no idea how I got this lucky. The dress is Shein (and once you touch it that fact is very obvious) and the overcoat is a CQ by CQ trench coat someone didn't want anymore (sans belt). These combined with the dupatta really solidified the silhouette and both the pattern of the dress and the brocade on the overcoat really were exactly what I was looking for and it was a sheer stroke of luck that I found both of them in one go.

And now, the big boy: the ribcage corset. I wrestled with this thing for what felt like ages and I'm decently pleased with it, but I definitely have plans for improvement. I started off with a wire frame just to see what kind of shape I wanted-- I took inspiration from the book cover, but slutted it up a little with the titty cups because I felt like having fun. This was made with floral wire and duct tape.

Once I had it to a point where it was reasonably symmetric and fit to my body, I added a very thin layer of quilt batting. The goal of this step was to add bulk without weight or necessarily a gajillion layers of plaster or paper mache. As a friend of mine described it, it looked like low-poly gore.

From here, I added two layers of paper mache since I really wanted it to be rigid-- I did not want this to flex with me as I moved or really flex at all. I wanted to really sell that this was made of bone.

It was at this point I realized I fucked up enormously because the bottom was very asymmetric and I never did a final fit to myself, but it turned out okay anyways, especially combined with the overcoat. I slapped a few layers of acrylic paint over it and used a black ribbon to just tie it around my back-- it was going to be covered by the overcoat anyways so I didn't think too hard about that part.

And that's pretty much it! The black leather gloves are my usual winter gear, and the shoes are my everyday officewear black heels. The face paint design was a mix of the book cover, some fanart I'd seen, and some mockups a friend of mine made for me.

Overall, I had a ton of fun putting together what I feel like is my first con-worthy cosplay, and it was a massive upgrade from last year's cosplay. I'm not 100% satisfied with the ribcage-- I believe I can do better-- but this method was pretty solid (I'd recommend overestimating spaces between ribs though when making the frame). The face paint also wasn't my best work-- thick cream paint is a huge bitch to work with and I didn't have any brushes, but it got the point across. Either way, this cosplay was enormously fun to put together, actually quite comfortable to wear and move around in, and very satisfying to look at. As a reward or perhaps punishment for reading this far, a mandatory couples' cosplay with my beloathed Gideon (my dear @laserlesbians). Happy belated boneday!

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

it is 11:30am, i’m already in here like a feral little gremlin. are you proud of what you’ve made of me? /nm | sticking true to my name as nest anon and bringing some nesting hc — might break this into a couple asks because i wanna explore the omegas a lil bit too

(skipping blade i did him already) jing yuan’s nests are almost way too perfectly made, these things feel like heaven for anyone who steps into them. i’d like to think that baiheng used to make nests for everyone, and he picked up on it from watching her. pillows, blankets, spraying it in certain scents — i’d like to think he collects bottles of colognes and perfumes from HCQ and sprays it on blankets he associates with them to sleep at night, and he’ll let yanqing come in too even if jy and his mate are inside of it so he’ll feel like he’s protecting the two people closest to him

welt i’d see as being a messy neat, everything’s kinda just thrown in there in a random place depending on where he wants to lie down to cushion certain parts of his body (he’s a grandpa, he’s a lil achy). i think that’s why he makes nests, just to give his body a break and unwind a lot easier from the mental taxation from using his powers (for some weird reason, i think it’d smell like bourbon and mahogany??)

luocha is very neat, but he doesn’t make them very often since he’s never home being a merchant and all, and he doesn’t carry a lot of his nest materials with him since it’s been drilled into his head to always carry light, but also because one of his mate’s scarfs got stolen once, and he never wants to lose anything of theirs again

we have another messy nester: dan heng! at first, i’d think he’d be neat about it, but then i remembered how he sleeps in a literal sleeping bag in the archives, so i’m thinking this would be the one thing that’s messy about him. tosses down a quilt or two and then rolls up everything else and throws it in random spots until he’s satisfied with it. i also think he’d do it after he has a really bad nightmare so he can have an easier time going back to sleep, and he’d have things of his mate’s, march 7th’s, and caelus/stelle’s thrown in if they weren’t on the express to come nest with him

- messy nest (1/2-3??)

I'm losing it these are sooo good! AND THERE'S MORE?! 8O

Imma just let you cook and let the world see your masterpiece

[mochidreambubble]

Winter Wishes

[I originally wrote this for Xmas 2022. It also uses the pen pal premise from my other OL fics. Ao3 link here.]

{Winter party plans don't go as... Well. Planned. But that doesn't mean there won't be merriment and fun.}

You wait as you bounce back between toe and heel. Your Ma hasn’t said a word since you showed her the sparkly invitation. It had been personally delivered by the one and only Baxter - though not because he wanted to personally deliver it to you specifically . You saw him from your room window as he arrived in the late morn in some super fancy car (the driver came out to open the door for him and everything! Like in the movies!) and he had beelined for Qiu’s first, likely handing Tamarack’s and yours personally too just cause it was convenient that he was already there. Not that it was surprising he picked to go to Qiu first, or that he came all this way to hand the letter in person. The Boys Club was a tight unit, and while Qiu had extended the invitation to you…

You were initially excited to see him, as outside of Boys Club days where the invitation was extended to you, there were never really a lot of chances to just hang out with Baxter. So, maybe you were a little sad that him handing the invitation to you was just because he was in the area anyway. But you try and shrug it off, Qiu had more memories and friendship bonding stuff with him that you did not.

“Well, Baxter did come all this way to give you this invitation,” Your mom speaks up at last and you perk up from your rocky gaze on the floor.

“So I can go?!”

“Seeing as how Qiu and Tamarack were invited as well, so long as you’ll be going together-”

 You tackle her in a hug before she finishes, then rush to the door. You made sure to grab your scarf and earmuffs and yell back to Ma, “I’ll go ask them right now!”

She calls back, though it sounded muffled by the time the door had shut. Maybe it was to not run, seeing as how snow and frost covered every inch of Golden Grove. Like in autumn, everything looked like it leapt straight out of the painted pages of your favourite storybooks. You still picked the comfy oranges and reds of the previous season to be your favourite, but winter in Golden Grove certainly beat out the dreary grays and stone of the same season back in the city. 

You make your way as quickly as you can, your winter boots crunching as you first etch closer to Qiu's. It was always more of a gamble to see if Tamarack was home, cause even in the cold it be a coin toss if she was bundled up in quilts or back out in the forest out back. You play a little song of knocks on Qiu’s door and you hear some scrambling within the home.

“Mr Qiu Lin, what did we say about running in the halls?”

An airy laugh in response, and, “So long as I’m not tracking mud or running in socks, it’s ok?”

Qiu greets you at the door. There’s always this weird buzz of butterflies and warmth you get when you see Qiu. You haven’t told Ma about it, not really. “Hey there neighbour,” he still smiles with confidence and mischief, it always feels like days never quite go so simply when he does this. He tries to balance on one foot, hopping in place as he puts on the other red sneaker.

“Morning Qiu!”

“Morning? I’m sure it’s almost noon, silly.”

“That means it’s still morning. Do I need to get you a watch or something?”

Both shoes on, at last, he asks if you’re giving away what you’re getting him for Christmas, and you try your best to sound as mysterious as possible. The line of conversation continues, and to any outsider it may even sound like the two of you were bickering, but there wasn’t even a hint of animosity between the two of you.

“Speaking of Christmas, what do you think about Baxter’s winter party invitation?” You ask as you both make your way over to Tamarack’s. 

“Of course I’m going. And hey, and told ya you’d get your chance to go over to his big house eventually,” He still has his smug smile in place, and between the strange butterflies and the laugh you’re fighting down, you still manage to roll your eyes.

“You haven’t always been right since we met I have you know, “ and you tap the notebook in his grip. “I think I have a track record for the number of times I had to save your pages Mr I don’t lose anything .”

“And that’s where you’re wrong,” he winks. “Thanks to you, I really haven’t lost anything!”

“ Qiu.”

He laughs as he slides over to the Baumann household door, knocking rhythmically as he always does. Granny answered the door. “Oh, hello dears.”

The two of you greet her simultaneously, as well as - as best two differently posed questions could make it out to be - ask her if Tamarack was in. She stops to ponder for just a second, eyes glittering. You always think everyone in Tamarack’s family, even the kind of scary Mr Baumann, seemed to have sparkles on them. “She’s still warming up from her morning escapades,” a word you note to either ask mom or look up in your dictionary later. “But I’m sure she'll be happy to see the two of you.”

Qiu and you both take a complimentary candy from the glass bowl once you’re in the Baumann’s cozy hallway and make your way to Tamarack, and as one of your guesses, was comfortably wrapped in a nice thick quilt and sipping hot chocolate. She almost spills the mug entirely when she sees the two of you, getting up in haste. You huddle in with her, and Qiu joins in, smushing you in the middle. You didn’t know what was so funny, but Granny had to rush off to get a camera. It gave the three of you a moment all to yourselves, and you ask her about the invitation.

“Ohhh. Oma told me about it, but I can’t say I feel like going,” she shrugs. It may have been months since she met the other members of Qiu’s Boys Club, and while it wasn’t that she didn’t like Baxter or Darren, she didn’t feel like she wanted to hang out with them as much. The most is if you said you were going to, which maybe convinced Tamarack to do the same once in a while.

“Qiu and I will be going,” and you see Tamarack’s eyes light as she reconsiders. “And it’s a fancy rich people party right? There’s going to be things we maybe don’t see at regular parties, it may be fun!”

The three of you discuss possible what ifs and could be, after Tamarack decides that she’d like to go as well - and nothing could make you happier as you didn’t like leaving Tamarack out of anything. Qiu explains that, sure , he has been over to Baxter’s quite a number of times, but never for the fancy parties. You personally think it be fun to go so you get the chance to dress up. You didn’t really have the chance to, maybe once in a while if you had to tag along to one of Ma’s work parties for things like the company’s Christmas or New Years gathering, but those were so boring . Qiu insists it was a grand affair , especially stressed in his noble fancy voice that never failed to make you and Tamarack laugh. He then insists that all of you would need the whole day to prepare, like in the TV shows, so it was only natural that…!

“We all sleep over at your place!” Qiu presents you like a grand finale and you give him a quizzical look. “Look, we can all stay over and spend the next day preparing at your place and all go together, it’s the perfect plan .”

He then admits it’s mainly because by this point, you’ve all stayed over at his and Tamarck’s place at least once, so by default, it was sort of your turn to host. But it should be perfect, since the idea was for the three of you to go together anyways. When you explain this all to Ma later, she could only laugh that, despite living next to each other, it apparently wasn’t close enough for the three of you.

All the grownups didn’t seem to mind, especially since this was the third time you were all having a sleepover.Qiu even tried to extend the invitation to Darren. Your little adventuring group of three dropped by to see if he wanted to join but before he could even say it was over at your place and that he was saying Tamarack was going to be there, you saw the face he made. Even if you and Tamarack were watching from the sidewalk, you could guess what the answer was. Tamarack didn’t really seem all that bothered, saying that just you three was the right amount anyways. 

So when the night before the big party day approached, your room had two guests carrying fluffy sleeping bags and their belongings. You all broke the sleep early rule, of course. The moment you hear Ma’s door click shut for the night, flashlights came on and the cards and hand puppets came out. You all even managed to silently build a grand pillow and blanket fort, big enough for all three if you to sleep in side by side.

Once the games had stopped and the three of you lay there, not quite in the dark as your glow in the dark stickers illuminate the room, Tamarack giggles and asks if you think you’d meet your prince or princess at the party. “You know, the one ? Like people do when they go to these rich people's parties? Like a mysterious stranger who asks you to dance with them?” 

You hear Qiu muffle a squawk beside you, and unsure what that was about but you shrug and turn to her. Truth be told, this wasn’t the first time Tamarack has asked you about dancing with mysterious strangers. Not since you told her you took dance classes. Not ballet like Qiu, but like Baxter. You weren’t in the same classes exactly of course, as Baxter was ahead of you, but it was one of the few things Baxter and you could bond over. Thinking about Baxter, it was always a little funny. He was always friendly, but there was something in your gut that told you he was kind of disappointed that you were there too, and he always tried to hide the sulk that would quickly disappear. You told your mom about it, and after a hug and a comfy place cuddled by her side, she explained that sometimes you couldn’t make everyone like you, no matter how hard you tried. Which you thought kind of sucked, since you saw Baxter as Mr Cool and Mysterious. Maybe this party would be another chance to be closer with him.

“Well?” Tamarack giggles softly as she gives your cheek a poke.

“I much rather dance with my best friends.”

You hear Qiu let out a breath and laughs as well. You nudge him to be softer. “Course you would, since we’re going to be the coolest people there.”

“Mmmm. But I guess I’ll ask Baxter for one too, since he invited me.”

“R-Really?”

“Ooooh, yeah. I guess you would want to,” Tamarack thinks aloud. “Cause you think he’s Mr Cool or something right?

“Y-You do?!”

“Awww Qiu,” Tamarack giggles. “I guess there’s some things I know that you don’t huh?”

“Hey! No fair!”

Half-way through sharing more “secrets”, your Ma comes in to ask you all to go to bed. Whoops, guess you all became too loud after all. Hilariously, despite all that speculation for the night for how the part would go…

»»————-　✼　————-««

Dear Mermaid Friend

I hope this gets to you in time just so I can say Merry Christmas!! 

❄️🎄❄️

There’s a bunch of sticker packs I picked out for you, I hope you like them. Ma packed some homemade jam for everyone in your family too. Ma’s jam is the best, and you should tell me if you want Ma to send more over, not just as a Christmas present.

This year I’m probably going to spend Christmas cooped up at home if you can believe it! It’s been snowing pretty bad the past few days. I was actually invited to a fancy rich people party a few days ago. But…

Dun Dun Dun!! Suspense Music!! 

On the day I was supposed to go, everything and everywhere got snowed in. 

<there's a drawing of a huge sad face in a Santa hat>

Guess it wasn’t all that bad though, as I had Qiu and Tamarack with me! We just spent the day making cookies with Ma and playing board games and watching silly Christmas movies. I hope your winter days have been going better than mine. Wish I could hop on a plane to visit you in Sunset Bird but Ma says I’m still too small to do that. When do you think she’ll say I’m big enough? It’s not fair.

Wait. I remember you said you hated Winter most right? Cause your moms don’t let you play at the beach as much. Sheesh. I’ll never understand why you and Cove like the sea so much. Maybe one say when I visit, it’ll be like magic, you’ll turn me into a mermaid so I can explore the sea with you or something. Would that be fun!! 

🌊🐚 🐬 🐚 🐬 🌊

↑ I made sure to get ocean themed stickers like those 

Anyways, Ma said I could invite everyone over inst

-

“Sweetie, your friends are here!” Ma calls, and you stop writing halfway. Since the whole party at Baxter’s didn’t happen, you decided to invite him and Darren to spend the day over at your place instead. Darren took a lot of convincing, and what you thought was a rather stern look from Mrs Murray (Tamarack whispered to you conspiratorially how odd it was to see your teacher on winter break). As expected though, he stuck to Qiu like glue the whole time, oh well.

Baxter was genuinely delighted to have been invited, and Ma and the other adults said it was precious he dressed up all formal for the small party. He told the lot of you that he actually liked this more, as the fancy party was really his parent’s party and he usually found them boring so he was glad the snow came in and saved him.

Huh . Guess all grownup parties were just boring. 

Tamarack’s grandparents brought over some really old, really big disks and your Ma brought out a really big CD player (they’re vinyls and a phonograph, she explains later). Turns out you got to dance with Baxter after all. You’re not sure how or why; Tamarack would tell you one fine day when it was just the two of you a few days after the party that  she saw Qiu whispering to Baxter right before he asked you. Though soon after everyone danced with everybody, except Darren who shuffled exclusively with Qiu and Baxter but oh well.

And funnily enough, you got to visit Baxter’s big house that very winter after all. He invited everyone over again, everyone’s parents and grandparents too, for a Christmas dinner that was just him and his parents this time - no fancy dancing or partying involved.

Baxter got you new dancing shoes, and Darren - or more specifically Mrs Murray you were betting - got you those cool pencil cases that opened up to have more than one compartments. Tamarack a cute box for treasure and a secret compartment for notes, there were already some she had written just for you it seemed. Qiu gave you a notebook, matching his own. You felt like it belonged with the paper airplane in your keepsakes box, too precious to use.

All in all, it was a wonderful first Winter in Golden Grove.

[cattatonically]

DING DONG IT IS TRICK OR TREAT TIME. I PICK KUROO AND BOKUTO AND DAICHI

Come play Trick or Treat, and I’ll leave you with sweetness and fluff, or darkness and twistiness.

Treat

Autumn had always been Tetsurou’s favourite time of year. It was the time of year when he could steal hoodies from his husbands’ closets. It was the time of year when wearing the scarf Koutarou had knit him was weather appropriate (if Tetsurou had his way, he would wear it year-round). It was the time of year when Daichi started cooking heartier, warmer, more savoury meals. 

Autumn meant rum spiced hot apple cider, blankets, cuddles, movie marathons, and general coziness. Autumn meant relishing in the closeness of his chosen soulmates, and their eternal affection and body heat. 

But it also meant crunchy leaves, pretty colours, pumpkins, and wreaths. 

Daichi always teased Tetsurou for his specific collection. They didn’t have wreaths for any other season or occasion. But Tetsurou knew that he had one for every single day of autumn. He knew this because he’d made them himself. 

It had started in university. His therapist had proposed crafting - something to make him work with his hands - as a way to release his anxieties in a healthy way. Tetsurou, with the support of Koutarou and Daichi, had tried everything. He’d tried paper crafts, knitting, crocheting, felting, scrapbooking, quilting, and nearly everything else under the sun.

It wasn’t until he’d been mindlessly scrolling through Pinterest that he had seen his first wreath. It had been a beautiful piece of art - all wires and abstract shapes and angles. Tetsurou had clicked on the pin, and scrolled through a plethora of other examples. He’d fallen into a deep Pinterest rabbit hole, and he’d never been able to dig himself back out. 

He’d started small - little crowns, and some flower arrangements. A few centrepieces. He dipped his toes in, tried a few different things, and grew to learn what worked, and what didn’t. He also grew into his skills, and experimented with his own likes and dislikes. 

When he’d been confident that he was proud of his creations, he finally attempted wreaths. There had been some trial and error. A few frustrated crying sessions when things weren’t going his way. But in the end, he worked at it, and he got there. 

At first, he gifted his wreaths, assessing the likes and tastes of the person receiving the wreath to exacting detail. When that wasn’t enough anymore, he started keeping them. And that was when the collection had begun. That was when Koutarou and Daichi knew that the wreaths were now a permanent fixture in their autumn traditions.  

It was exactly the first day of autumn when Tetsurou awoke to two gentle kisses on either cheek. He blinked fully awake, smiling up at his loves. 

“Come on, Tetsu!” Koutarou could barely contain himself. “It’s time!” Daichi chuckled lowly from Tetsurou’s other side. 

“We lined them up for you. Come choose which one starts us off.” Both men held their hands out to Tetsurou. He smiled wide, affection and devotion filling his chest with warmth. 

It was time. Time to choose the perfect wreath to start off their daily tradition of decorating the door with something new, something beautiful, every single day. 

[darkandstormydolls]

Clothes for my fantasy world, part one: fae

(Link to the master post here)

https://www.tumblr.com/darkandstormydolls/758161785033555968/finally-i-can-post-about-a-costuming-project

I don’t have a ton of photos of this outfit (these pictures were taken on the one day it snowed this year along with pictures of three other costumes and this one was last, so I was COLD), so I’ll be doing a lot more talking and describing here

I didn’t think to take a picture without the jacket, but underneath of it there are two other layers: a simple, round-collared, 3/4 sleeved shirt to act as the base layer and then on top of that, a semicircular knitted shawl (mine is a circle folded in half, but it can be just the semicircle) wrapped around tied around the upper body (much like a heart warmer style shawl) which added extra warmth and also some support

The pants are straight-legged and loose-fitting, with a drawstring at the waist. These ones have trim at the hems, since this is more of a fancy outfit, but this isn’t a universal detail. The jacket comes down to a little above the knee and is quilted (this one in a very simple pattern of vertical lines, both because this jacket is made of printed fabric [printed cottons do sometimes show up in the Fae cities, although they aren’t common anywhere else] and also because that’s what I could do on my sewing machine, but elaborate quilted patterns are very common), which is an almost universal feature on Fae jackets, save those made to be worn in the summer. This one closes with frog clasps, which is a common detail on nicer clothes, but ties are also not uncommon. The belt is partially decorative, partially to hold the jacket closed, and partially to be able to hold things or tuck things into. Because the thickness of the quilted material prevents it from being hemmed easily, the edges are all bound instead. It’s actually a rather distinctive feature of fae clothes that seams are almost universally bound flat to protect the raw edges, rather than being felled or overcast, as is standard practice just about everywhere else (you do see seam binding on elven bodices, to house boning, but not really many places besides that). This makes the seams lie extremely flat, which is very helpful in cases like the inseam of pants, where it’s more comfortable just in general but especially when on horseback, and is more practical in dealing with the thick, quilted items of clothing common in fae culture

The one other near-universal item of clothing that is not shown here is the scarf, and that is for the honestly kind of pathetic reason that I just forgot to grab it when taking these pictures. This is a multifunctional item of clothing, seen in thick wool in the winter to help keep the neck and face warm and in stiff cotton or sometimes linen in the summer to shield the face from the sun. It’s worn draped around the neck in a way that allows it to be easily pulled up over the head, much like a hood, although with the added flexibility of being able to be unwound and used as a shawl or for any other need that arises. In absence of pictures with the rest of my costume, I’ll include some pictures of Josefina modeling the same style but in doll scale at the end.

The Fae lands are mostly temperate grasslands, which have fairly long, cold winters but mild summers. Think sort of like the upper Midwest. This means that warm, sturdy clothes come very useful doing the colder parts of the year, and even in the summer it rarely gets hot enough that lightweight jackets are out of the question (you would be shocked by how cool a couple layers of natural fibers can be, especially when it’s not too humid). This outfit is made entirely out of cotton, which is absolutely not implausible; while not grown there, the fae take full advantage of their position at the crossroads of trade routes across the continent, and cotton grown in the elven north (yes it gets warmer as you go north. My world, my rules. It does make sense in context but the context is complicated and involves both history, magic systems, and mythology and I don’t want to get into that when talking about clothes) is in abundant supply, and is the usual material used for shirts, although the most common material used for jackets and pants is wool, which is abundantly available, as sheep are a widely raised animal across fae lands, and wool is one of their major exports. Other evidence of this central position can be seen clearly in other fae clothes as well, from the presence of inkle-woven trims abundant in demon clothes appearing on jackets or as belts, or the appearance of silk cord from the vampire lands in closures or decoration, to daemonic strings of pearls being worn in braided hair

So, as this was the first of my worldbuilding costumes, made back before I was quite the sewist I am now, I obviously have a few things I would change. Namely, I wish I had handsewn the binding on the jacket edges, and most especially I wish I had managed to obtain some wool for the jacket and maybe also the pants, and maybe had tried to do some mind of cool quilted pattern in a contrasting thread, which is a very common thing in fae clothes

[noodles-and-oodles]

👀 The Pomefiore trio trying to impress their crush with something they aren't very familiar with. Like something that isn't their talent, out of their comfort zone yk? Thanks~

Oooohhh I like dissss! Thank you @thecurrator for requesting and I hope this is to your liking <3

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Vil Schoenheit

I think you’d probably have to be so oblivious to the point where Vil becomes desperate. He’s done everything he could think of, every trick in the book and has even thought outside the box!! But now it’s time he tried something outside of his comfort zone

Vil is aware of your love for video gaming, but seeing as he’s never been interested in such things, he has not a clue on where to even start. The only other person he could ask is Idia but the blue haired teen is far too afraid to be in the presence of Vil nor do they have such a friendship that Vil would be comfortable asking him about such things

So, thinking it could be a way for the two of you to bond, Vil asks you! He can tell you’re ecstatic when he asks you because your eyes light up like stars in the sky. You’ll tell him all you know, the basics, cheat codes, combos, and even which games suit different consoles.

Vil’s not very good at first but give him a few rounds and he’s giving you a run for your money. By the time you were done explaining everything, he had already learned how to use an ultimate combo move and completely destroy you in any game you liked to play. How about it? Pretty neat right? It’s only natural he’d soon be able to beat you at your own game

If you inquire about his sudden interest, Vil will try to play it cool and say that you’re his crush friend so why wouldn’t he be interested in the things you like to do? (Knowing damn well he wouldn’t do this for anyone else)

He may even spend some of his free time finding games that you’ve never played, master them, and then bring them to you to play so that this time you’ll be the one asking for his help

Rook Hunt

Rook knows practically everything about you already from his stalking observation skills and he’ll note that you’re really fond of knitting. Being a skilled hunter means his hands are capable of a lot of things, unfortunately for Rook, knitting was not one of them

He’ll learn though, oh trust me he will LEARN. Just from observing you when you’re working on something new, he’ll be able to pick up the skill pretty easily and before you know it, he’s showing you all the things he’s made. You’ll be surprised that Rook is so good and he’ll take the opportunity to offer to make you something.

Epel and Vil are definitely questioning why he’s suddenly acting like such a grandma, saying that he can’t help out cause he’s working on his knitting project. Rook works for WEEKS on his gift for you and won’t care for blood, sweat or tears; your expression when he presents it to you being the only thing on his mind

Rook has to invite you to his room because the gift is too big and you’re just following him in anticipation. You thought he’d make you a hat or a scarf, y’know? Something normal but anyone that knows Rook, knows normal is not in his vocabulary

This man makes you a whole ass quilt with your face in the center of it. He won’t say exactly how long it took him and just say that it was nothing, and that he really just wanted to give you something you’ll always have a use for and to remember him by

If it isn’t obvious that Rook has a crush on you by now just exit stage left cause I’ll keep him

Epel Felmier

Epel loves to hear you play your violin, it’s how he first met you really. He heard you playing one night and ever since then he’s been in love with your music. He’d love to play with you but he doesn’t know how to play any instruments

Before approaching you, he’d try to learn the simple things. A piano, or a guitar, or maybe even the drums but he fails at all of them. Don’t even get the poor boy started on sheet music, his eyes are swirling after trying to decipher the meaning of the signatures

Some of the other first years try to help him out, but Epel refused to continue accepting their help when Ace (snickering and all) tells him to play the triangle. He’s a man! Triangles are too dainty, they totally don’t suit him at all

He is now learning to play the triangle and when he can successfully play a short nursery rhyme, he pats himself on the back. This should be enough to play with you now, right? Epel will find you and ask if you can hang out later so that he can show you what he learned

He’ll nervously play what he’s learned and you intently listen to the entire thing. Please don’t laugh at the poor baby if he makes a mistake, he’ll drop the triangle and run to his room, embarrassed to all hell. He will greatly appreciate it if you don’t make fun of him, give him a compliment or two to really boost his confidence!

When Epel admits that he just wanted to be able to play something with you, your heart is touched. He’s so sweet that you can’t help but smile. Surely you’ll notice something…like his crush on you…right?

[ibis-gt]

"Are you cold" for the writing prompts!

(maybe with borrower!Luther if you'd like?)

YES GOD i love huddling for warmth. football au time.

~~~

The inevitable had happened. The heating had broken down in the dead of winter. A thick covering of snow lay over the pitch, making practice difficult, so the team attempted to exercise inside. As members of the ailing Atlas F.C. jogged down the halls, their breath fogged in front of them. Guy’s poured out with a steady stream of complaints and curses.

“I hate this country. Fuck! Who let it get this cold? What loving god would condemn us to this? Jesus ‘aich Christ. You people are all insane, to be living here. I am going back to Meaux and you will never see me again.”

“Uh-huh,” Hugh panted, keeping pace with him. “Send us a postcard, eh?”

“I will send you a postcard. No one else.”

“Aw, you charmer.” Hugh’s face, already pink from the cold, flushed a deeper red.

While it was a lost cause to try and heat the halls, some team members had dragged in space heaters for the office and locker room. They did their best, radiating a gentle warmth, but couldn’t completely banish the cold. Cam was huddled in the manager’s office now, filling out the latest swath of paperwork. He was a big, solid, well-built man, and he did not get cold easily. In fact, winter was one of his favorite seasons, as it meant he wasn’t overheated all day. But this level of chill was a little out of his comfort zone. He was bundled up in an old wool coat with an Atlas F.C. scarf wrapped around his neck, pulled up the way up over his nose, an incongruously bright pink bobble hat perched on his head.

Cam stole regular glances at the desk across from him, where the head coach and assistant coach were curled up together. Being five inches tall, they felt the chill more strongly than anyone, and they were currently shivering in a little pile under a thick quilt that Hugh had made for them, just about the size of a handkerchief. The two were as mouselike in nature as they were in appearance, and frequently flopped on top of each other for warmth or to nap. But even their shared body heat and the blanket seemed to be doing little for them.

Cam tapped his pointer finger on the desk for a moment, considering. Then he pulled the scarf down so that his face was exposed and asked, “Are you cold?”

Two little faces turned up to look at him. There was a moment of silence, and then Boots, predictably, broke it.

“What the hell kind of question is that? Of course we’re cold. Good lord, man, it must be six below at least.”

Cam laughed. “Well, do you want to warm up?”

“Yes, but Honeysuckle says we can’t lay on the space heater,” Luther piped up. “Cos it’ll roast us like little sausages. Her exact words.”

“Fascinating. Well, c’mere, I’ll warm you up.”

Boots hopped up in an instant, stretching his arms over his head. “Finally! Thought you’d never offer, sitting over there hoarding all your body heat.”

Luther was less enthusiastic. He inched backwards, sinking deeper into the recesses of the blanket. Boots looked down and rolled his eyes. “C’mon, worrywart,” he muttered. “You’ll freeze to death on your own in there. And I’m not passing this up.” He held his hand out and waited.

Slowly, Luther emerged, keeping his eyes focused on Cam. He took Boots’ hand and got to his feet, shoulders hunched, fist clenched at his side.

Cam leaned over his desk and stretched his hand out, palm up. He could nearly reach all the way to them like this, but there were still about five inches between the tips of his fingers and the edge of their desk. They’d have to jump.

“Leap of faith, huh?” Boots murmured in Luther’s ear. Luther set his jaw and nodded.

Together, still holding hands, they easily cleared the distance, landing softly in Cam’s palm. His fingers curled in slightly, making Luther flinch, and then he retracted his arm as slowly as he could. Cam settled back down in his seat with a sigh. He lifted his other hand and began to cover the two, but stopped as Luther let out a little squeak of fear.

“Oh! Sorry. I was going to just, you know, press you between my hands a little. Nothing rough, I promise.”

“Don’t think we’re there yet,” Boots said, shaking his head. “How about you tuck us in your scarf?”

“My scarf?”

“Yeah, just right up by your neck. You’ll still be able to do paperwork and Luther won’t flip out and bite you. Right? Promise?”

Luther scowled at Boots but nodded. “I wasn’t going to,” he muttered.

“‘Course you weren’t,” Boots said, slapping him on the back.

Cam chuckled. “Sure, that’ll work. Careful, though, watch those claws.” He pulled his scarf down again, exposing his neck, and brought his hand up to his shoulder so they could climb on. He felt their little hands and feet scrabbling over him, their miniscule weight settling against his neck, and those curious tufted tails twitching back and forth. It was lucky he wasn’t ticklish, but the sensation still made goosebumps rise on his skin and sent a shiver down his spine.

As carefully as he could, Cam pulled the scarf up over the two borrowers. He heard a tiny gasp from Luther, then Boots making quiet consoling noises, and felt them shift as Boots wrapped an arm around his shoulder. They were so close, all those little sounds and movements that would have been imperceptible became magnified exponentially. Cam pulled the scarf back up to his nose. He didn’t dare say a word, worried that his voice this loud and close would startle them. Instead, he picked up his pen and got back to work, trying not to notice how fast their tiny hearts were beating.

Inside the scarf, it was toasty warm. Boots sighed happily as the shivering tension went out of his body. With every exhale, Cam sent warm air gusting over the two of them. His pulse was steady and slow, a comforting rhythm that made the skin of his neck throb. Boots’ eyes slowly drifted shut, and his consciousness started to fade out. Before he completely succumbed to sleep, he cracked an eye open to check on Luther.

Luther was in much the same position as Boots, arms wrapped around as much of Cam’s neck as he could manage, legs tucked in, held in place by the scarf at their backs. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be breathing easily. A tiny, secret smile played at the corner of his lips, and his expression was totally relaxed and at peace. Boots couldn’t stop a little smile of his own, and he let himself drift off to sleep at last.

[bokettochild]

If you’re still taking requests: I read a headcanons where chocolate is native to Lorule and Hyrule has little to none, so what if Legend introduces hot chocolate to the boys? (He gets it from Ravio)

I am so weak for domestic Ravio and Legend, oh gosh!

This ended up only being the first half of your request, anon, but the second part is in the works! I just... felt that this would be a good ending for this part. Hate me later!

Ao3 for when I write Part 2

Part 2

Mr. Hero loves his apples.

It’s clear when he looks out the window to see the other boy standing beneath his trees, singing softly and carefully tending the tree in the orchard, a warm look in his eyes and none of the usual lines crossing his face. Mr. Hero told him once that he’d been tending the orchard since he was a small child, and that the apples there even have healing properties as a result of being tended so faithfully. There was a time when he doubted that, but he’d changed his mind the first time Mr. Hero had made him some cider.

Fruit was a rarity in Lorule, the trees withered and the plants died, and any sweet thing was turned bitter as their world crumbled. Ravio had never tasted an apple before coming to Hyrule, and the first time Mr. Hero had offered him one (the first morning they woke up in the same house) he’d strained his jaw in trying to eat it and had been utterly shocked by the taste.

He didn’t like how hard they were to chew, and the skin on the outside bothered him, so he politely declined the next time Mr. Hero offered him one of the apples he kept in a bowl on the kitchen table.

But then came a night when Mr. Hero had come trudging in through the door, soaked to the skin as thunder rumbled outside. Puddles dripped over the floor and wet leather squelched with every step as Mr. Hero trudged into the house.

Dark bags ringed Mr. Hero’s violet eyes, his rose-gold hair dripping with rainwater and speckled with blood and mud both, tunics drenched and sopping and not even the light cloak he wore doing a thing to protect him from the raging storm he had just emerged from.

“Mr. Hero!” Ravio’s eyes had darted up from one of the items he’d been repairing, worry flickering in their depths as he peered out from beneath his hood at the other boy. “You’re soaked!”

Mr. Hero hadn’t answered, only snorted in a way that might have been a sneeze, casting off his cloak as he did so and dropping it in a corner where Ravio quickly scurried to pick it up.

Honestly, it was a blessing to Mr. Hero that he’d come here! The house was an utter mess half of the time!

Boots squelched their way to the kitchen as Ravio wrung the dripping cloak out into a bucket he’d been using for moping earlier that evening, and he silently bemoaned the fact that there was yet again mud trailing across the floors he’d only just made clean again. He’d almost scolded his housemate, only to startle and jump at the sound of clattering from the cellar which was then followed by something of a ruckus in the kitchen.

Green eyes and dark hair had peered warily around the corner to find Mr. Hero seated at the kitchen table and pulling off his boots with an exhausted expression on his face. Puddles and mud dripped across the floor and towards the door leading down into the basement, but the boots were coming off and there wasn’t a mess of dishes spread across the floor or anything.

In fact, the only difference, besides the dirt, was a mug perched on the table and a kettle bubbling merrily over the kitchen fire, a sweet smell drifting through the air that made Ravio’s nose twitch and shiver with delight and curiosity both.

He hadn’t spoken as Mr. Hero had trod about the kitchen with wet socks and stumbling steps, gathering things from the shelves and measuring different sweet-smelling spices into a cup. But when the kettle had whistled and the smell in the air had been joined with the sound of bubbling sweet something, Ravio had caved.

“What are you doing, Mr. Hero?”

“Making cider.” Mr. Hero responded, voice weary and heavy as stiff fingers had mitted themselves with a spare dishtowel to remove the whistling appliance from the open flames and pour its contents into an earthen mug. Steaming golden liquid had poured from the iron kettle into the cup, and as violet eyes darted his way, a second mug was produced and similarly filled.

Ravio moved slowly around the doorframe into the kitchen, head cocked to one side as he watched Mr. Hero's nimble, yet stiff, fingers fly across the things spread across the counter, and before he knew it there was a warm mug being deposited into his hand as his housemate walked past him.

Surprise had sparked in his mind at the comforting warmth of the drink in his hands, and his eyes had trailed after the pink-haired hylian as Mr. Hero had stalked over to the fire, pulling down a monstrously bulky quilt from a shelf and curling up before the raging fire with his mug held tight in his trembling fingers.

Cautious, the bunny merchant hadn’t dared touch the contents of his cup; he’d been poisoned before, and while it smelled utterly delectable, he resisted until he saw Mr. Hero take a drink first. It’s not that he distrusted the other boy, but he knew better than to actually trust him yet. They were both relying on each other for something, depending on the other to provide what they needed to solve a mutual problem. Their relationship was as business partners, nothing more, and Ravio knew better than to trust most business folk.

But then he’d watched the shivers die as Mr. Hero nursed his cup slowly, eyes drooping further as they blinked sleepily, a soft squeaky yawn breaking the silence as the hylian had settled his empty mug on the carpet and promptly proceeded to doze off where he sat.

Ravio shook his head, setting down his own mug and gathering a few pillows from the couch to prop around the hero. It wouldn’t do to have the single person who could save the both of their countries running around with a crick in his neck and pains in his back, now would it? (Ravio hadn’t known at the time that that was just what Mr. Hero did on the regular, but he’d learned as much later and it made him doubly glad that he had done something).

With Mr. Hero soundly asleep, with not even the rumbling thunder outside doing anything to wake him, the merchant had turned his attention back to the sweet-smelling substance in the mug he’d been handed.

Something golden warm and almost clear sloshed in the earthenware mug, bits of spice and a stick of cinnamon clinking about inside as he swirled it around. It smelled delectable, like nothing he’d ever had the chance to smell before, and he’d hesitantly lifted it to his face to breath in the warm steam.

A sigh escaped him as the smell washed over him, and entirely on impulse, Ravio took a sip.

Sweet and savory nectar, tasting faintly of apple yet warm and smooth and entirely too delightful to be possible sparked across his tongue and made him start in surprise, before humming in pleasure and settling where he stood.

Never before, nor since, had he tasted anything so delectable as apple cider.

Mr. Hero came back time and again, dusted in snow or sodden and wet, or simply wounded and exhausted, and every time, his first priority was to stalk into the cellar, bustle in the kitchen, and emerge with a mug in either hand, one which he deposited in Ravio’s delighted fingers while the other was taken to where the veteran hero had settled beside the fire. Mr. Hero would sip on the sider, wrapped tight in a blanket and watching the flames, and would drift off entirely after finishing his mug.

Ravio would sigh and shake his head, setting aside his own partially finished drink in order to clean and bandage wounds and tuck the blanket tighter round his companion, making sure that Mr. Hero lay in a way that wouldn’t hurt his back, before returning to whatever he’d been doing, a mug of cider nestled in his grasp as he worked, a satisfied smile on his face.

But then there had come an evening where Mr. Hero had trudged through the door only to collapse in the entryway. Eyes rolling back as Ravio had squeaked in alarm, all but flying to his housemate’s side and struggling to pull the other boy upright again to help drag him to the couch.

Shivers and coughs broke the still silence as he’d bandaged a stab wound, and when Mr. Hero’s tired volet eyes had blinked awake again, Ravio was perched at his side with a worried frown playing over his face.

Mr. Hero couldn’t see it, but he was worried, terribly so.

Maybe it was the cider, maybe it was the house, maybe it was the light banter between the two, but he’d been coming to see his doppelganger as something a bit more than a business partner, and seeing the other boy lying weak and drained on the couch made his heart twist and clench with worry.

He’d had to all but force Mr. Hero to take a break, but had come to the horrid realization that the other boy was entirely incapable of actually making himself sleep.

“I have to be ready to move.” Mr. Hero had scowled across the room, eyes resting on the sword Ravio had leaned against the wall. “You can’t rest out there safely, and I can’t sleep anyways so what’s the use?”

Stubby fingers had fiddled with his scarf as he’d stared in shock and concern at his maybe-friend.

“But you always sleep fine when you’re here! It’s safe, you’re warm, what on earth could be keeping you awake?”

And violet eyes had avoided his own, shoulders rising as shuddering breaths had grown harsher, and Ravio found pity springing up where he never thought it would again as he stared at his housemate.

“I suf- I deal with insomnia. I can’t sleep most days. When I do sleep it’s...” Mr. Hero’s long fingers ran through his bedraggled pink hair in an irritated manner. “I have nightmares.” Mr. Hero’s voice dropped low and soft, barely above a whisper as he’d curled up on the couch. “And I don’t want to see those right now.”

“You need to relax. You’re sick.” Ravio had stated softly, worrying his lip between his teeth and watching Mr. Hero nod in acceptance. The other was clearly too tired to protest, and that was all the confirmation Ravio needed that he wasn’t doing so well. “How come you sleep well normally? When you’re here I mean?”

“Huh?”

“You come in, make that-” A warm shiver crept up his spine, delight blossoming inside at the mere thought. “-cider stuff, and then you fall asleep.”

“Oh.” Mr. Hero blinked slowly. “My Uncle used to make me cider to help me fall asleep. Neither of us knew anything about tea, but we would sleep best when we drank something warm first.” He shrugged. “It just helps me relax.”

Warm? Warm things helped Mr. Hero relax?

An idea sparked and Ravio jumped to his feet, chuckling nervously at the alarmed expression that his abrupt movement caused before he darted towards the kitchen. “Say right there! Don’t go anywhere.”

As he left the room, he heard a scoff and the rustling of the blanket. “What’s he think I’m gonna do, run back outside in the middle of the night? Tch.”

It had been a while since Ravio had made cocoa, especially when he’d learned to love cider more, but unfortunately (or tragically in his mind) he didn’t yet know how to make the cider itself and thus couldn’t make it for Mr. Hero. Fortunately, cocoa was also good, although not as good, and would serve perfectly well in the place of the fruity drink. After all, he mused to himself, cocoa was chocolate, and chocolate had caffeine, which, while caffeine was the love of his life and kept him awake, seemed to have the opposite effect on Mr. Hero.

They’d had tea once together when Ravio had been left some by a customer as a thank you, and Mr. Hero had been surprisingly calm for the rest of the evening before he had to leave the next morning.

Setting chocolate to melt and measuring out some milk into a saucepan was the easy part. Pacing up and down the kitchen and hoping Mr. Hero wasn’t getting impatient with him while the chocolate melted was the hard part. But it was a practiced process that was tried and true, and not even Hilda could resist his hot cocoa, so it was worth it in the end when he had two steaming and frothy mugs in hand and was headed back on his way into the living room, leaving Sheerow with full rights to cleaning up the rest of the chocolate he’d had left over.

Mr. Hero was still awake, unsurprisingly, considering his earlier revelation, and he cocked a brow at the sight of the mugs, a wary look on his face. “What is that?”

“Cocoa.” He chirruped in response, only to be met with a confounded expression on Mr. Hero’s thin face.

“Co- what?”

Ravio started to a halt, eyes blinking wide as he stared at his friend. “Have- have you... never had cocoa before, Mr. Hero? How is that possible! It’s wonderful!”

Soft violet eyes, nearly devoid of life or any emotion, stared back at him. “Ravio, I have traveled to all of seven countries and I’ve never even heard of it. What the heck are you on about?”

The merchant was bundling himself onto the couch at the hero’s side in mere moments, eyes sparkling with delight as he shoved a mug into Mr. Hero’s startled hands. “Oh, you’ve got to try it then, it’s-” Delightful, wonderous, nearly as good as cider but not quite- he wasn’t sure which word to settle on, but he didn’t really have the chance to choose, cutting off as he saw Mr. Hero’s nose shiver slightly, eyes growing wide as the hylian all but shoved his nose into the cup, sniffing appreciatively with a startled expression before taking a cautious sip.

The expression ‘stars in your eyes’ had never made sense before, but Mr. Hero’s twinkling lavender shades finally helped him to understand as the other boy had stared into his mug as if he’d just discovered the fabled sword of Lorule. Mr. Hero’s mouth opened, forming an ‘o’ shape before flapping slightly, only to eventually close again around a gulp of cocoa as he sat staring in astonishment at the drink in his hands.

Ravio giggled softly into his own mug, letting the froth on top tickle his lips as he watched his friend discover chocolate for the first time. “It’s not as good as cider but-”

“Are you kidding me? This is-” Mr. Hero sighed out, both hands wrapping around the mug as the hylian’s shoulder relaxed, his gaze slipping closed with another sip of the warm chocolate. “This is freaking heaven.”

Ravio would contest that, did, in fact, contest it repeatedly, but Mr. Hero argued back.

If Mr. Hero made cider, than Ravio would insist it was better than cocoa while Mr. Hero snorted that it didn’t even compare, meanwhile when Ravio made cocoa, Mr. Hero pointedly glared at him over the rim of his mug (never mind that chocolate clung to is face and upper lip) as he drank it slowly and pointedly. Ravio would scoff and again assert that cider was better, but the blissful expression on his friend’s face was something that was terribly hard to argue with.

Both demanded the others recipes, and both refused.

“You’ll never make cider if you can make cocoa.” Ravio had pouted, and Mr. Hero had grumbled that the same could be said of the cocoa, hence why he would never share his recipe.

But then their adventure was over, and in the middle of packing up his things to leave through the portal for the final time, Mr. Hero had grabbed his arm and dragged him down to the cellar.

Ravio had spluttered and huffed at his friend’s odd behavior, but then found himself sitting wide eyes as Mr. Hero explained how to properly prepare the apples and slowly, surely, Ravio realized what was happening.

Green eyes flicked up from the apple in Mr. Hero’s hands to stare at the face across from his; violet eyes downcast and weary, and face lined with care and hurt as it had been when they’d first met. He longed to reach out and smooth the frown lines, but it would only make Mr. Hero scowl if he rubbed juice onto his face.

Once he’d been shown how to start the cider, Mr. Hero dragged him upstairs and very pointedly lectured him on spice usage and proportions, all the while mixing up a batch of heavenly smelling nectar that made Ravio want to squeeze his friend in his arms and whisper a tearful than you.

But Mr. Hero’s face was still grim, and with every step it sunk in just why the forbidden recipe was finally being revealed to him.

He was going away. He was going away and never coming back, and Mr. Hero, the dear that he was, had decided to let him have the recipe he loved the best. Be it because Mr. Hero didn’t want to stop him from enjoying it, or maybe as a final expression of friendship, it felt...hollow.

Mr. Hero had just saved both their worlds, and now he was giving Ravio a special part of himself. He was sharing how his uncle had taught him to make cider, something important, intimate. Something that had been his and his alone to remember his uncle, or so he’d whispered on a lonely night ages ago when they were still getting to knw each other.

And Ravio, as always, was just taking it, with nothing given in return.

That simply wouldn’t do! Mr. Hero deserved something as a comfort, as a thank you! And... well, if I would help remind him of Ravio, than the merchant wouldn’t mind that either.

Hand’s full of mugs were halted as Ravio took both, earning a look of protest from his friend until he was leading Mr. Hero back into the kitchen. “You shared,” He explained with a light smile, one Mr. Hero could actually see now. “Now it’s my turn.”

That night, they curled up on the couch with mugs of cider and cocoa, silently enjoying their final night together.

In the morning, Mr. Hero loaded him up with apples and spice, and Ravio scoured his bags for every last trace of chocolate to stock the hero’s cupboards. Neither would last forever, something that niggled the backs of both of their minds, but both sought to drown the thought with checking over house and bags respectively one last time.

The goodbye was tearful, both from the princesses and Ravio himself as he flung himself into Mr. Hero’s arms, blubbering and sobbing in a right mess, but Mr. Hero only sighed, shoulders trembling slightly as he’d gently patted his back (arms tight enough around him that Ravio could hardly breathe) the softest of sniffles sounding from his friend as the hero let him cry out all his goodbyes on his shoulder.

That night, in the big, stately, but painfully lonely and uncluttered, kitchen of Lorule’s castle, Ravio made apple cider. It didn’t taste quite like Mr. Hero’s, a far cry indeed, but that may have just been the salt in it.

[erosofthepen]

Letters From Amad pt.2

After about five months of not knowing how to continue it, i have finished part 2!! There will be a third part, not nearly as long, and i already have most of it written, so it should be out a lot sooner lol. BUT, i hope you enjoy it, and thanks for putting up with me lol.

-Part 1

-Words: 4,898

-Warnings: blizzard/storm, injury, hypothermia, some swearing

-Tags: @grunid, @elvish-sky, @sassyscribbler, @whore4fictionalhoes11, @smaugs-guardian, @bitter-sweet-farmgirl, @jotink78, @marvel-ous-hobbit, @anjhope1, (if i forgot you, im sorry, i have trouble keeping track sometimes)

It was moments like this that reflected Thorin’s terrible decision making. In actuality, his decision to not put anymore lives at risk was very wise. But still, it was Fili who was out there. And Kili. And since Thorin would not send a search party out, it was time to take matters into your own hands.

First things first, you went back to your chambers and put on your warmest, fluffiest, most wind-resistant coat. Rabbit fur covered the insides (the hides were hunted and tanned by Fili, a courting gift to you), and thick leather made up the outside, keeping the cold out and the warmth in. Next, you pulled on your winter boots (you had actually just had them made last week, and there were three little pockets perfect for concealing knives in), as well as a hat, gloves, and a scarf, all knitted by Ori, his way to show gratitude after your help in the libraries. You then proceeded to gather up some salted meat and cram, walk down to the entrance of the mountain, and enter the stables.

You choose a faithful companion to keep you company, namely, Daisy. The Mare had a thick wooly mane, and an extreme proclivity towards sweets. This was not to be your first venture with the pony, and now you knew better to bring him anywhere within five leagues of a bakery. You had not been amused when he had eaten an entire box of pastries meant for you and the scholars, though Kili and Fili had thought it to be the most hilarious of stories. However, despite his tendency to devour pastries, Daisy was reliable and resilient, and you hardly rode any other steed.

Several stableboys tried to dissuade you from leaving in the storm, but you brushed off their remarks as you tacked up Daisy. Thankfully, they didn’t try to block your path as you left, though they did warn you to be careful. You weren’t too concerned, for the storm had grown tamer in the day, and the frost was not biting your face. Yet, that is.

You reached Dale in about an hour. It took much longer than expected, with Daisy being nearly up to his belly in the fallen snow. Dale was practically devoid of men and women, most of them having the brains to stay inside during the storm. The only exceptions were some watchmen and one or two passersby.

“Oi, it’s a bit too cold for a morning ride lady, have you lost all sense?” A guard asked as you were leaving the gate on the other side of town.

“No my good fellow, I'm just looking for my friends. Have you seen two dwarrow come this way?”

“Can’t say that I have, but Maurice said he saw a pair last night, a few hours before the snow started.”

“Did Maurice mention where they were headed?”

“To the caravan, where else? It’s about fifteen miles from here, I would guess. You’re not considering going out there, are you?”

“I’m afraid that I must. Good day to you sir,”

“And a very cold day to you, lassie. Best of travels.”

“And to you as well.”

You quickly left and mentally cursed yourself for wishing him best of travels in return. He wasn’t traveling, you idiot!

The embarrassment faded as the wind began to pick up. The blizzard was steadily getting thicker, the puffy snowflakes turning more compact and icy. The city of Dale had long disappeared behind you in the snow, and you could only hope you were headed in the right direction.

However adventurous and bold it sounds, riding bare-back on a pony in the middle of a freezing cold snow storm was not at all an easy task. Your scarf had been moved to cover most of your face, and your hood was tied tightly ‘round your head, yet the flakes still stung your flesh. You were definitely starting to rethink your whole “making sure the brothers were alright in a storm idea.” Especially since it was pointless to look for them in between the caravan and Dale, as you couldn’t even see ten feet in front of you. Your goal now was to simply make it to the caravan without frostbite.

Around noon, you tried eating a bit of the bread you had packed, only to find it frozen. As well as the cheese. And the dried meat. It wouldn’t do good to gnaw on it either, as that would just make your innards cold as well, so you just went with your stomach protesting.

It was starting to get quite dark when you finally saw what seemed to be a glow in the distance. As you drew closer, it grew apparent that it was the caravan, and you sighed in great relief.

The dwarrow on watch were very suspicious. Of course, once you explained your purpose, they grew less so.

“I come from Erebor, in search of the Princes. Prince Fili and Kili left last night with the intention to travel here, have they arrived?”

The guards started to look a bit nervous.

“No my lady, no one’s seen anything of them.”

Your heart dropped to your feet.

“Are you sure?”

“Aye, the whole group would have known.”

You might’ve cried, but your eyes felt nearly frozen. You turned your pony, with full intent to head back out into the blizzard and look for your love, when one of the watchdwarrow stopped you.

“You’ll freeze out there my lady, as will your pony. Stay and get warm.”

“Aye lass” another said, “Besides, if the Prince’s are out there, her Lady Dís should be informed.”

Ah, that’s right. Dís.

One of the guards led Daisy off to get warm with other animals, while the other led you to Her Ladyship’s tent. He announced your presence, awaited approval, and then lifted the flap of the tent, beckoning you inside before letting it fall behind you.

Dís was a truly stunning Dwarrow, even for her age, with long black raven hair and a beard to match. Some strands were turning silver, much like Thorin’s, and her blue eyes were more piercing than an orc’s. She looked incredibly confused when you walked into her tent.

“Good Mahal lass, what the hell were you doing out in that storm? You must be senseless.” She said, looking up from a book she had been reading and furrowing her brows.

“I was looking for the Prince’s. I should introduce myself, my name is (Y/N).”

Dís’s eyes widened and she stood, showing off quite an impressive height.

“Why would you be looking for my sons out in this storm, (Y/N)?”

“They… Fili left a note this morning, he and Kili were coming to the caravan to see you. The watchdwarrow said they hadn’t arrived.”

The Dwarrowdams jaw went slack for a moment, and then she cursed, banging her hand on a small table that held a bottle of whiskey.

“Foolish boys! Have they no sense? I was to be seeing them in only a few more days, but they could not wait, could they? Och, the beasts!” Dís continued her rant for a while longer, before she turned her gaze back on you.

“And you journeyed out here in the storm?”

“Aye. I could not rest well knowing that they were out in this foul weather. I will be going to head back out to look for them as soon as I’ve warmed up a bit,” you replied, very conscious of the Mother’s piercing stare. She was quiet, until she breathed a worried sigh.

“It’s no use to search out in this weather, lass. Especially at night. Rest here with me, we’ll go searching first thing on the morrow. I must talk with the guards for now, make yourself comfortable, I will return soon.”

And, just like that, Dís left the tent. Her talk was brief, and left you standing dumb in the center of the tent. For some time, you debated on whether or not to go out searching anyways, but the fire was surely inviting, and something in you knew Dís wouldn’t take kindly to you leaving against her wishes.

Your travel bag, heavy and frozen from being exposed to the elements for so long, left your shoulders as you set it down by the entrance. Next came your gloves, and then the outer coat, snow and ice caked on it making your fingers fumble whilst trying to unbutton it. Eventually, it joined your bag, as well as your boots (if you had thought the coat was difficult to get off, the frozen buckles on your boots were torture). After you had stripped the burdensome clothing off, you simply stood in the center of the room, close to the fire. There were blankets nearby, piled near a bedroll, but you dared not touch them, seeing as they belonged to Dís. It was rather awkward, simply sitting in a stranger's (of sorts) quarters, and weren’t sure what to do.

Your eyes did some exploring for you, falling first on the book that Dís had been reading. ‘The Heart of Hrund’. Huh. You recognized the title, from the Great Library, but you knew very little about it. You’d have to read it now. Your eyes then fell to the whiskey bottle. ‘Breaker’s’. Ah. Memories you shared with Kili at the beginning of the journey returned, however hazed they were due to your drunken state. Strong stuff, Breaker’s was. Bofur managed to get his hands on a few bottles from a merchant, and you and Kili had stolen one from him, much to Thorin’s disappointment and Fili’s annoyance (he was upset to be left out of the fun). Your eyes then drifted to a leather-fitted box, beautiful khuzdul runes and designs etched into it, however, before you could get a closer look, footsteps crunched through the snow outside the tent.

Dís and a young dwarrow entered, carrying stew, bread, and a plethora of blankets and pillows.

“Mahal,” Dís started, placing the tray of food down on the little table and grabbing a quilt from the other dwarrow, “Have you just been sitting here freezing? You could have taken a blanket, you know.” She said, wrapping the quilt around your shoulders and moving you to sit down.

“I, er, I didn't want to be rude.” You replied, now sitting cross-legged on the floor. Dís screwed her face at you.

“Lass, it is never considered rude to take a blanket in the cold. Only exception is if someone is already using it.”

You didn’t reply, feeling very uncomfortable social-wise, despite finally starting to warm up physically. Dís grabbed the rest of the supplies from the other dwarrow and nodded at him to leave. As he left the tent, Dís set the other blankets down and started making a bedspace for you near the fire.

“I can help with that,” you said, starting to get up to help.

“Nonsense lass, you get yourself warm.” Dis stood and grabbed the food tray once more. “However, I do request that you eat.” she set the tray down in front of you, and you thanked her, feeling a bit guilty as you started on the stew.

“Uh, have you eaten yet, My Lady?”

Dís scoffed, resuming her work on your bed roll. “Don’t call me that child, call me Amad. I can hardly stand to be addressed in that way by servants, let alone my sons One. But yes, I’ve had my fill.”

Her words shocked you, having only ever heard Fili refer to you as his One. You hardly expected Dís to accept you as Fili’s lover, let alone his One.

“Alright.” You replied, once more feeling dumb and without anything to contribute. So you sat in silence, trying hard not to slurp and watching Dís make up your bed. Eventually, She moved up and away, surveying her work.

“Thank you, that was very kind.” you said. Dís sighed and nodded, sitting down on the other side of the fire. You were quiet once more, and were now re-considering going out to search for Fili and Kili, if only to avoid the discomfort of the situation.

“I hope you are only not talking because of the storm. I expected a much more chatty lass, if i’m being honest.” Dís remarked, eyeing you carefully.

Panic flashed through your eyes as you tried to think of something to say, but Dís let out a soft chuckle before you could make a fool of yourself.

“I’m only joking, child. You needn't be nervous here. Tell me, how was your journey from the mountain to here?”

“Cold,” You blurted out, shuddering as you imagined the wind biting your face. Dís smiled at your bluntness.

“Indeed, I imagine it would be, especially if you’ve been out all day. Tell me, was there any sign of them as you came over?”

You shook your head. “Unfortunately no, I could hardly see past my nose once the snow grew thicker.”

“I swear, those boys will be the death of me,” she muttered.

“Just be glad you weren’t Thorin trying to deal with all three of us,” you said without thinking. Dís locked eyes with you, and then started chuckling.

“I do not envy him, based on what I've read of you three. It seems that you made it your entire purpose to create trouble for my brother dear.”

“Well, we tried to. For the first half of the journey, at least. He was much more willing to withstand our meddling before we crossed the Misty Mountains. Then came the orcs, and goblins, and Mirkwood, Laketown, the dragon… and the battle too.” Your face had fallen whilst you spoke, and Dis reached out her hand to comfort you.

“You mustn't dwell on the hardships of the past, child. It does nothing but cause trouble for the mind. Believe me, I know.”

At that moment, Dís seemed to age very quickly, and the wisdom and experience that this dwarrowdam had became clearer. You knew her story well-enough, from nights Fili had needed to find comfort in you, telling you about his childhood and family. Dís had wed Víli Heptifilissøn, and twelve years after Kili had been born, he had fallen ill from the Black Lung*, and had spent months growing weaker and weaker until he perished. Fili was able to remember the wretched coughing, and his Adad’s ragged breaths, as clearly as the day it happened. It was the reason he refused to go deep into coal mines, or else made up excuses. If those memories still hung onto Fili, you could only imagine how horrible it must have been for Dís, who had to watch her husband suffer such a death. Looking at her now, you never felt more in awe of a single person.

“You speak truly, my Lady-”

She looked at you sharply, but with a twinkle in her eyes.

“-I mean, Amad.”

That satisfied her, and she relaxed her hand away. “I do indeed, child. Never has a lie crossed my lips. Except when I told Thorin that he had a mighty spider in his beard.” You chuckled at that, but it quickly turned to a yawn. Dís raised a brow.

“It’s time for sleep then,” she commented, “I’ll leave you in peace to finish eating, and then it’s straight to bed.” Dís stood and went back to her chair, and resumed her book, leaving you to scoop that last of the stew in your mouth. It was not long before you were warm and cozy in your makeshift bed, and Dís bid you goodnight before blowing out the lanterns.

You woke to shouting. In your groggy state, you couldn’t make out the words, and you blinked in the dim light of the fire.

“What new madness arises?” You heard Dís murmur, followed by the sounds of her fumbling about. The shouting grew nearer. “Are you awake, (Y/N)?”

“Only partly,” you replied, trying to untangle the covers from your legs. You shuddered as the extra warmth left, but hurried to your feet, only stumbling slightly. The noise was becoming considerably louder, and your ears could start to make out the words being yelled.

“Get a healer, lads!”

“He looks frozen stiff!”

“SHOVE OFF! WHERE IS AMAD?” Kili’s furious shout snapped you into alertness. At that moment, Dís was able to find a lantern, and finally the tent’s interior was more visible. The flap in front of the tent lifted, and Kili stumbled in, hair frozen with bits of ice and face bright red. With horror, you realized he was supporting another dwarf who was barely conscious. Fili.

You jumped to your feet and rushed towards your betrothed, supporting his other side and lifting his head. Fili’s lips were tinged blue, and his teeth were chattering bitterly, clacking together in a terrible rhythm. Dís was there not a second after you, and she helped guide you all to lay Fili down in the space you had slept just moments before.

“Strip him down,” Dís commanded, starting to work on his boots. You followed her orders without hesitation, helping Kili with Fee’s coat. It didn’t take too long for the three of you to undress him to his underclothes, and you winced when you saw his shoulder looked… definitely not normal. Dís pressed on it gently, and Fili made a weak groan that twisted at your heart.

“He fell off his pony,” Kili said.

“Of course he did. Kili, fetch a healer.” The younger prince sprang up, filled with energy even after being out in a blizzard for nearly an entire day. But he was hardly at the entrance when a grizzled old dwarrow entered, a satchel in hand and a hard look set in his features.

‘‘Hanarr,” Dís welcomed, nodding her head. The old dwarf grunted in acknowledgement before kneeling down by Fili’s shoulder, feeling along the bone. He grunted once more, before looking up at Kili.

“Hold down right here lad,” Hanarr instructed, moving Kili’s hands to rest on Fili’s other shoulder and chest. “Right, hold it firm.”

Hanarr outstretched Fili’s other arm, and began to move it towards his head. A click sounded, and Fili called out, however weakly. His shoulder looked back to normal again, and Hanarr quickly folded his arm against his chest, before searching through his medical pack and pulling out a sling.

“Sit him up, lad.” the healer instructed Kili. He propped Fili up against his side, and this time, Fili held his own head up, his gaze landing on you. Confusion flitted across his nearly-frostbitten features, and he mumbled your name despite of his state.

But Hanarr was upon him again, and soon the sling was fastened to his arm, and the Healer was moving his legs so that they were tucked against his chest. He addressed Kili once more, “Get rid of yer tunic, and stay close to yer brother” and then turned towards you, “do the same, but mind his shoulder lassie.” Without hesitation, you followed his command and soon Fili was sandwiched between yourself and Kili. Dís (with the permission of Hanarr), wrapped several blankets around the three of you, and soon set to work on making some tea. Hanarr presented her with a root of ginger, and, after seeing that all that could be done was done, decided to take his leave.

“He should be fine in a few hours, I'll come back to check on him soon. Keep him awake.” were his final words before departing.

The silence that followed his departure was intense, interrupted only by the sound of the fire, the kettle, and a knife. Dís was the first to speak.

“I would have your hides, if I was not so glad to see you again.” She said in a low voice as she shredded the ginger.

“I’m sorry Amad,” Kili said, eyeing the movement of his Amad’s knife, “Patience has never been my strong suit.”  Beside you, Fili shifted and rested his forehead against your temple.

“Indeed not,” Dís replied, her voice heating like the water she was boiling, “How did you convince your brother to join you in this endeavor?” Fili moved again, this time nuzzling his face into your neck and hair, his nose startlingly cold.

“Who said it was my idea?” Kili argued. However, Dís turned her glare on him, and He flushed and murmured, “he wanted to see you too, it didn’t take much to convince him.”

“(Y/N)” Fili said, drawing the attention away from arguing. “ ‘m tired.” He let his head rest heavy against your shoulder, and you (reluctantly) moved him away.

“You must wait to sleep, Kidhuzel,” You said, bringing your hand up to brush his hair away from his face. He opened his eyes wider, in sheer betrayal. You could have smiled, knowing Fili’s tendency to become unreasonably cross when denied sleep, but instead you kissed his cheek.

“Your Amad is making tea for you, and when you drink it, you’ll warm right up.” The blond prince’s eyes dropped once more and he tried moving back to the crook of your neck, only to be refused a second time.

“ I’d prefer Ale,” He muttered bitterly. At this, you did allow yourself to smile.

“Not a chance. Your heart might stop.” He grumbled and detached his uninjured arm from Kili, taking your hand and squeezing it with what feeble strength that had returned to his veins.

“It won’ stop as long as you’re ‘ere.”

Kili snorted, but was silenced as Dís sent him another glare, and you laughed softly, shaking your head and squeezing his hand back.

“If it worked that way, then I would gladly give you the finest Ale, however, I do believe tea would be a better option.”

When the tea was ready, you helped Fili to drink it. At first, the prince had winced at the heat, but soon he drank it gladly, becoming more alive with each sip. You sensed Dís watching you and Fili carefully, but brushed it off, telling yourself she was only concerned for Fili, not observing how you interacted. A small part of you that wouldn’t be silenced said it was both. Soon the mug was empty, and it had apparently helped Fili along much more than you anticipated, and soon he had detached himself completely from his brother and was pulling you closer.

“Careful of your shoulder,” you reminded him.

“ ‘s fine.” He replied, pressing flush against you. His skin had already warmed, thus proving the hardiness and hot blood of dwarrow. Kili scooted away, seeing that he was no longer needed, readjusted the furs covering yourself and his brother, and pulled his tunic back on. Dís immediately walked over and threw another fur across his shoulders, and pulled him into a tight hug, which he returned just as tightly. You averted your eyes when Kili started to sniff and tremble.

“I missed you,” he said.

“And I as well, inùdoy” Mother and son stayed in once another’s embrace, until she drew away and made him drink his fill of ginger tea as well.

A half hour later, you were struggling to keep Fili’s eyes open, and Kili had already crashed on Dís’s bedroll. The dwarrowdam herself grew impatient for Hanarr’s return, and had gone out searching for him. She reentered the tent with him not ten minutes later, and Hanarr (as grumpy and irritable as he was, he was an excellent healer), inspected Fili. Truly, your prince was proof that dwarves were nothing more than portable furnaces, and his temperature was more or less back to normal. He still was a bit out of it, but it was nothing a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix. Soon Hanarr declared that it was safe for Fili to sleep, and almost immediately, the blond sank into your bedroll and began to snore.

Diís left after Hanarr, telling you to rest and call her if need be. You didn’t question where she was going, and she did not share it with you.

However tired and exhausted you were, sleep would not come. You sat in front of the fire for hours, feeding it and stoking it, keeping your mind entertained with the images dancing in the flames.

You had just finished adding another log to the fire, when a hand lightly gripped your wrist.

“Ghivashel” Fili said faintly. Your head turned towards him, and you smiled despite all things; for while Fili’s face was still red, his hair undone, and his eyes bleary, he was alive and conscious.

“Khuzd allakhul” you scolded, bending down to lean your forehead against his, “What sort of prince are you, to go out in the snow and frighten your lover?” You kissed his lips softly before drawing away just enough to wait for his answer.

“A very foolish prince indeed,” He murmured, his hand on your wrist pulling you back towards him. “But what sort of lover are you, to worry so greatly and come after me in the snow?”

“A very devoted lover, who has half a mind to leave now that you’ve insulted my care of you.” Fili’s eyes widened and he summoned his strength to pull you down, nestled in his side.

“Forgive me, I was not thinking of insulting you, amrâlimê. I just don’t want to see you suffer for my sake. Menu Tessu.” He said, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. The beads on his mustache braids still felt frozen, but his lips were warm. You smiled and took his hand, entwining your fingers together.

“All is forgiven. So long as you won’t do anything as stupid as that ever again.” you replied. Fili sighed and kissed the side of your mouth.

“I shall try my very hardest not to.”

“That isn’t very reassuring.”

“Then you must forgive me once more, for I cannot make such bold promises whilst Kili remains my brother.”

You both chuckled at this, before settling into comfortable silence. Slowly, your eyes began to drop, the crackling of the fire and the steady rhythm of Fili’s breath making it harder and harder to evade sleep. The fact that the lion prince had begun to rub circles into your shoulder with his thumb wasn’t helping. After the third time you startled yourself awake, Fili’s voice was near your ear.

“You can sleep now, Amralime. I won’t be going anywhere.”

His words were nothing short of a spell, and in less than a minute, your eyes closed and sleep overtook you, a comforting, dreamless sleep, the best kind.

When next you woke, indeed, Fili was still right next to you, awake, but only just. He was blinking the sleep away, and you suspected that his movements had been what had woken yourself. Cold winter light was shining through the tent flaps, cutting like a blade through the warm glow that filled the inside, and a conversation was taking place.

“We left in the wee hours, m’lady, just before dawn. You can imagine the state Thorin was in when he heard that the entire future of Erebor was out in the snow.” The voice of Dwalin more than successfully brought you to awakeness, and you sat up, looking around for the source of his voice.

“Indeed, I imagine he would be weathering the floors with pacing. I expect we’ll be leaving soon, no?” Now Dís spoke, and by this point, you and Fili had turned behind you to see the pair talking over mugs of mulled wine. Kili was also there, however, he was still dreaming on Dís’s previous sleeping roll, limbs sprawled out wide and mouth hung open almost comically.

“Aye, as soon as these three are dressed and ready.” Dwalin said, turning his gaze onto you and Fili, brow raised and the slightest of smiles on his warrior face. “What a lot of worry you and your brother had us in,” he continued, addressing Fili specifically, “I swear to Mahal, you’ve no idea what sort of panic you caused. Course, when yeh come back with your shoulder like that, everyone’ll be doting on yeh. ‘The poor heir who got caught in a blizzard trying to see his Amad’, not ‘the fucking idiot who didn’t have any patience and went out in the night despite knowing there was a storm brewin’.” But all while saying this, there was humor and relief in the warrior's voice, betraying how glad he felt that the boys were not frozen under three feet of ice and snow.

“Both versions are correct,” Fili pointed out, his voice still croaky from sleep.

“Aye, but only the first version will get told.” Dwalin replied, to which you laughed. He turned his focus to you now. “Don’t think you’re innocent lass, Thorin nearly had a heart-attack when we couldn’t find you. Both the heirs missin’ was bad enough, but the lady who’ll be adding to the heirs disappearing made it all worse.”

“Och, Dwalin, she had a noble cause to come out in the snow, you needn’t blame her for anything.” Dís said, coming to your aid.

“Was our cause not noble and justified?” Kili’s voice piped up. The Prince's eyes were hardly opened, but he was more than ready to defend himself from accusations.

“Not when you were to be seeing me in less than a week. If I was able to refrain myself from going out into a blizzard in the late hours, you should have been able to as well.” Dís retorted. A sour expression crossed Kili’s face, but he dared not argue with his Amad.

“Right then,” Dwalin said, “Get yourselves up an’ ready, we’ve not much daylight left to get back to Erebor.”

*Black Lung: Coal miner’s pneumonia. 

Kidhuzel: Gold of Gold

Inùdoy: Son

Ghivashel: Treasure of Treasures

Khuzd allakhul: Stupid Dwarf

Menu Tessu: You mean everything to me

(part three will be out soon)

[ghostbustermelanieking]

Jmart with 1?

so i made this prompt entirely too complicated. i've kind of had this idea for a while and used this prompt as an excuse to write it lol. i need to put more safehouse fics out in the world, right? also can be found here on ao3

1. things you said at 1 a.m.

It's too cold, after leaving the Lonely. It shouldn't be this bloody cold in London in September—it feels like it's below zero—and Martin's teeth are chattering as they walk back from the Institute. His fingers are freezing. Jon's shivering, too, clutching Martin's hand with both of his, leaning towards Martin as if he is a heater. It feels like they need winter coats, hats and scarves and gloves to block the wind, but the wind isn't blowing at all; Jon Knows, without even trying, that it's really just 10°C outside. 

Martin hasn't completely shaken off the remnants of the Lonely yet. He's out of it, taking long moments to respond when Jon says anything; his eyes are still a faded gray. And he's shaking so hard that Jon can feel the vibrations all the way up his arm. He's tired. He keeps swaying into Jon's shoulder, unsteady on his feet. Hold on, Martin, Jon keeps saying. We'll be home soon. He squeezes Martin's hands. Numbly, slowly, Martin squeezes back. 

They go to Martin's flat, because Jon doesn't have one and the Institute isn't safe. Martin's fingers are numb with cold (Jon Knows without trying), fumbling around his key without getting a good hold on it before Jon reaches for it and asks if he should do it. Martin nods, quiet, and Jon lets them in. 

It isn't any warmer in Martin's flat. Not surprising, as deep as the Lonely had seeped into Martin, but it still hurts Jon a little to see, the cold seeping into his bones. They sit on the couch, vaguely speaking of dinner; Jon isn't hungry, but he knows Martin needs to eat, and so he presses the issue, thinking only of all the times in the beginning that Martin had pressed him to eat or brought him tea. He makes the tea this time, makes it the way he remembers Martin making it once, before the Unknowing, and brings the mugs into the living room. They never do make it to dinner; Martin is quiet, responding numbly, or not at all, to questions, and Jon isn't doing much better. Martin talks of moving to the bed—well, really, he tells Jon to take the bed and Jon says absolutely not, thinks It's your bed and I won't leave you alone —but it never happens. In the end, Martin falls asleep on the couch, his head tipped back against the back of the couch, his mouth half opening, shivering violently in his sleep, his tea going cold on the coffee table. 

Jon finds every blanket in the flat that he can and piles it over Martin, practically cocooning him in them. It's clumsy work; Martin's comforter keeps sliding off, and the afghan from the couch gets tangled in the extra quilts. But it looks warm, and that's all that matters, that Martin is warm. 

(There's fog in the flat, just a little, creeping over the floor. The Lonely is here with them, seeped into both of their bones, but it's sunk deeper into Martin, and all Jon can think is that he won't let him go. He won't let Martin be lost, not again. Not if he can help it.)

There are no blankets left. Jon pulls his own coat over himself, and then—trying not to feel too entirely pathetic—Martin's. It's large and warm, warmer than Jon's own; it smells like Martin, too, Jon's nose pressed against the collar. But Martin isn't gone this time, isn't off somewhere cloaked too heavily in fog for Jon to reach him; Martin is right here. Jon can hear his deep, shaking breaths, feel the comforting weight of him on the opposite side of the couch. 

He fumbles through the layers of coats and blankets and finds Martin's hand again. It is the warmest part of him, as he's falling asleep, his hand in Martin's. 

---

Jon and Martin sleep on the train to Scotland. They're both exhausted, both worn out, and both, somehow, still freezing. They shouldn't be this cold. Jon Knows they shouldn't be this cold. 

Martin's brought blankets, and he insists Jon take one; he's been better today, more there, more… Martin, and he wasn't happy that Jon didn't leave any blankets for himself the night before. Jon's so cold—even in a jumper and a coat, and with the sun coming through the window—that he doesn't argue. (Well. Only a little, only to see Martin's face screw up in mock irritation in a way that might make Jon melt a little inside.) He takes the blanket. It smells like Martin, too. 

They sleep, and Jon wakes up still cold, fingers still freezing, bones aching—except on one side, where he and Martin have slumped against each other, Jon's head on Martin's shoulder, and Martin's head against Jon's. The warmth seeps through the layers of blankets and coats and all of it. 

Jon stays there, leaning heavily into Martin, for a long time after he wakes up, not ready to move away from the warmth.

---

There aren't enough blankets in the safehouse. 

There is only one bed, which helps. One large bed—Daisy must have liked her space. But still: it makes the discussion over blankets easier. (They argue a little over who will take the bed; Martin tries to take the couch, and Jon tries to take the couch, and it begins to get ridiculous. It just makes sense, in the end, to share the bed.) Between the two of them, they pile the sheets, three quilts, and the blankets Martin brought on the bed. It still isn't enough. The bed stays freezing, and Martin stays freezing, too. He's been layering jumpers, scarves, even wooly hats, and pushing the same towards Jon; he looks like someone braving a blizzard, or sick with a cold, and Jon tells him so. He worries, afterwards, that he's crossed the line, made a joke about something distinctly unfunny (reverted back to a version of himself that he'd rather forget), but Martin just laughs a little and says, "If I'd known this would be the effect of working for Peter, I might've invested in more winter clothing." Jon laughs, too, and accepts the scarf and hat when Martin pushes it his way. 

There's a box of firewood out by an old shed. Jon doesn't bother speculating what it might be for. They build a fire in the hearth, that first night, and that helps. Read books they've both packed on the couch, their knees touching through the layers of blankets, and it's the most peaceful Jon's felt in a long time. 

The cold creeps back in, though. Even with the blankets, even with the ancient heating system in the house turned on, even with Martin in the bed with him ( Martin, who Jon has missed tremendously for seven months now). The cold and the fog and all of it; it creeps back in while they are sleeping, when Jon is too distracted to notice. 

He wakes up sometime in the middle of the night, shivering, teeth chattering. There is a quivering in the blankets, a sort of shaking, and Jon knows that Martin is shivering, too. The fog is creeping back in; somehow, the Lonely hasn't left them yet. Jon reaches out and brushes his fingers over Martin's arm; he hisses a little at the contact. One or both of them are as cold as ice; he isn't sure who anymore. 

His mind immediately begins racing, searching for any sort of alternative to the blankets and the jumpers and the socks and scarves. More jumpers in the suitcase, he thinks. The coats. Maybe they can conserve some warmth with the curtains, or some ridiculous thing like that. Anything to keep Martin warm. Somehow, two of the blankets have ended up on his side—Jon isn't sure why—so he attempts to rearrange them, pushing them over to Martin's side, and slides to the edge of the bed, ready to retrieve more things from the suitcase. But Martin's voice, rising blearily, sleepily from the other side of the bed—"J'n?"—stops Jon in his tracks. He hadn't realized that Martin was awake. 

Martin yawns, twisting in the covers, his teeth chattering a few more times. "What… what time s'it?

"1:07 a.m.," says Jon automatically. He shivers hard a few times on instinct, wraps his arms around himself. "I-I'm sorry, Martin, I-I… didn't mean to wake you."

"Mm, wasn' really sleeping anyway…" Martin yawns again, rubbing at his eyes. They look bigger, somehow, without his glasses, dark and soft in the dim light of the room, and Jon loves him so much. 

"I… I wanted to get you more blankets," Jon says, forgetting for a moment that there aren't any others—he revises, "O-or… something else to keep you warm. Something… y-you looked cold, I mean."

Martin blinks a few times in disbelief. Looks out at the blankets at the bed and pulls at the two knit ones from his own flat, like he can't believe they're there. "Jon, you… gave me the blankets back," he says, voice stiff thick with sleepiness. 

Jon chews at his lower lip, shudders all over as another wave of cold hits. "Y-yes, well, they'd… ended up on my side of the bed, somehow, and you… you were cold, as I said, and I…" 

"Jon, I g-g-gave them to you for a reason," Martin says, sounding more awake, and maybe a little fauxly put out; he's clenching his jaw as he talks in an attempt to keep his teeth from chattering. " You're cold, Jon. You were sh-shivering in your sleep!"

It's Jon's turn to blink in surprise now, caught off guard by Martin's words. "Yes, b-but you… you need the blankets more than I do, Martin… th-they're your blankets, and you've been freezing since the Lonely, a-and…" He looks out at the room. He can't see the fog anymore, but that doesn't mean it's gone. "I don't want to lose y—" he starts, stops. Martin might not be his to lose. Amends: "I-I don't want you to be lost, not again, a-and I…"

Martin makes a faint sound of what might be disgust. "This is ridiculous, Jon," he says, and Jon allows himself to worry for a second (Has he gone too far, saying I don't want to lose you, assuming Martin wants this kind of contact, when Martin only said he loved Jon, not love?), before Martin continues: "W-we were both touched by the Lonely… we've both been alone for so long, w-we…" He stops, rubs a hand over his face. Jon can feel him shivering from here, all the way across the mattress. (King sized. Why does Daisy need something this big?) 

Martin lowers his hand. His eyes are wet; Jon can see, and he worries still that he's gone too far. But then Martin's reaching across the mattress, his hand extended towards Jon, and saying, "W-we should just… it'd be warmer if we, um…" 

Jon slips his cold fingers through Martin's; Martin squeezes his hand, so gently that Jon's chest aches a little. He says, his voice soft and sleepy, "... C'mere?" 

Tentative, Jon slides across the mattress, through the nest of blankets towards Martin's broad, soft chest. And then Martin's arms are sliding around him. Martin's embracing him, hands soft and just as cautious against Jon's back. And Jon can't help it anymore; he melts into the embrace. Winds his own arms around Martin, pressing as close as he can physically get (arms around his shoulders, face pressed into his neck). It's easy, too easy, because Martin has been gone for so long and Jon just only now got him back—he's thinking of the tapes and Martin slipping away down the hall, Martin being taken into the Lonely, Martin's voice saying he wouldn't be coming back, and it's all too easy to cling to Martin hard as he can. They're both still freezing, skin chilled to the cut, but… Jon can feel it dissipating. Something warm is growing between them, he thinks. Something. 

"How did neither of us think of this?" Martin whispers. There's a quiver in his voice, just subtle enough that Jon can't tell if he's laughing or crying. "Two days we've been freezing, bundling up, a-and throwing blankets at each other like we're jumping onto a grenade… a-and neither of us thought of this?"

"I missed you," Jon whispers. He hears a sharp gasp from Martin, like he might cry, and it only makes him hold on harder. He's never held Martin like this before, never. (They hugged, before the Unknowing, but that was quick and awkward and over too soon, and Jon had foolishly thought there would still be a chance for this when he came back.) He's never held Martin like this before, but he knows he never wants to stop. He presses his nose against the hollow of Martin's neck and says again, "I missed you, Martin. So much. I… I don't think I can begin to tell you how much." 

Martin takes a few trembling breaths. Ducks his head to press his lips against Jon's forehead—Jon leans into the affection of the touch, the warmth. "I've… missed you, too," he murmurs. "So much, Jon, I… staying away from you, a-after you came back… I thought I'd lost you, a-and it… it almost killed me."

"I'm here," says Jon, "I'm here, you're here," and he kisses Martin at the soft spot under his jaw. Presses closer into the bubble of heat they've created, threads his fingers through Martin's hair and adds, silently, I'll keep you warm. 

When they wake, the next morning, the cold is gone, and so is the fog. Like it was never even there in the first place. 

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

@a-reader-and-a-writer requested: 14. Making snowmen

Romanticgumchewer's Christmas Spectacular - DAY TWO - Frosty's Ugly Cousin (Rick Flag x OC)

Summary: Rick and Dee make a snowman in her parent's front yard...it doesn't end up as pretty as they had in mind.

Pairing: Rick Flag x OC (Delphia Holman)

Word Count: 807

Warnings: fluff and that's it I think

Timeline: December 2019

if i go masterlist

A/N: please look at the timeline date before reading, all of these Christmas pieces are taking place different years!

“You kids have fun!” Fanny called as Rick and Delphia walked out the front door.

It was a beautiful Christmas Eve day in Baltimore. The ground outside seemed to glow in the midafternoon light. Pristine white snow blanketing every surface from the snowfall the night before. The brick houses that lined the street Delphia had grown up on looked like they were pulled straight out of one of those painted puzzles. Thick quilts of snow covering the roofs, Christmas lights strung up along the porches or lining the gutters, decorated trees glowing inside the warm homes, children in technicolor coats playing in the empty streets.

“She does know we’re adults right?” Rick asked over the crunching of snow beneath their booted feet.

“Yes. Two grown adults about to make a snowman.” They stopped in the middle of the front yard, underneath the giant oak tree, and Delphia grinned up at him as she clapped her mittened hands together. “You work on the base while I get some rocks and twigs?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They split up. Rick began working on rolling up the large base for their snowman, while Delphia went back towards the front door to the snowed over front garden that she knew her parents covered with a generous layer of stones. She needed enough of them for the buttons, the eyes, and of course that classic smile. The carrot for the nose was already stowed away in her pocket, as was the scarf that would go around his neck.

It hadn’t taken much convincing that morning to get Rick to brave the snow with her. She was expecting to have to practically beg him to join her in her snowman making adventure. But all it took was one simple question and a pushed out bottom lip for him to concede. Arlo had called him a pushover which made Rick chuckle.

I just really love your daughter, sir, he said.

Those words made a heat rise in Delphia’s cheeks even now.

After digging through several inches worth of snow, she found the rocks she had been looking for with numb fingers. With a small noise of success, she pulled out as many of the dark stones as she thought would be necessary to decorate their snowman. And when she turned to look at Rick’s progress, her head cocked to one side in bemusement. He was standing next to the massive ball of snow with his hands on his hips — cheeks red and hot breath billowing up towards the sky. He looked proud of himself. Even thought that was the lumpiest snowman base Delphia had ever seen. But there was still time to save it. The middle and the top couldn’t go as badly right?

Wrong. The middle section turned out looking like more of an egg than a sphere. Then the head of the snowman ended up way too small — so the two of them packed on more snow to even it out and accidentally made it too big. Rick and Delphia looked at each other before looking back at the erected snowman. It certainly wasn’t the prettiest thing either of them had seen.

“Maybe with the other stuff on it’ll look better?” Delphia offered with her hands on her hips.

“Don’t see how it could make it worse,” he said.

They pushed into the packed snow each of the rocks. Three for the middle to look like buttons, a few for the crooked smile, and two for the eyes. Rick added the carrot nose, accidentally pushing it all the way through to the other side of the snowman’s head — causing both of them to burst out laughing. Delphia expertly wrapped the scarf around the snowman’s neck, making sure to get it tight enough so that it wouldn’t blow away in the wind. They took a step back when their work was done. Hands on their hips and heads cocked to one side.

It still looked terrible. The face was lopsided, the carrot nose now barely poked out of the front, and one of the stick arms was definitely way lower than the other.

“Well,” Rick sighed, “Certainly ain’t no Frosty the Snowman.”

“Frosty’s ugly cousin, more like,” Delphia mumbled back.

He laughed as he pulled her into his side. “You had fun though?”

“Of course I did,” she said, looking up at him with a smile, “I’m with you.”

The smile he gave her was so soft, made even more boyish by the redness of his cheeks and nose. He planted a kiss on her hatted head, nuzzling into the hand knitted fabric as he pulled her into him even closer.

“Let’s head inside. Your mom said somethin’ about mulled wine and my interest has been piqued.”

They walked hand in hand back inside her childhood home, feeling cold but filled with a warm joy.

Taglist (if you would like to be tagged in future installments, just let me know!): @bbygrgu @a-reader-and-a-writer @slayerx147 @xoxabs88xox @kasey-puff @witchygagirl @the-pink-petite-princess @blooo0ooop @woodlandmouth @csigeoblue @rexorangecouny @h-hxgirl @thisisthewayrose @blondiekook @darkestbeforethedawn16 @runic-belova @weallhaveadestiny @oopsiedoopsie23 @nerdgrrlramblings @ocfairygodmother @reysorigins @hawsx3

[comfortwriting]

hi! can you write the number 16 from your prompts list with fred and a slytherin reader? also, love your posts ❤

A/N: It’s so nice to meet a fellow Slytherin!! Thank you so much for making a request, I hope you enjoy my lovely!

Prompt 16: Reading the diary entry over and over, your hand slipped into your underwear. 

Warnings: swearing and smut

For the second year in a row, you decided to spend your Christmas at Hogwarts instead of going home. You lied to your parents, telling them that you were drowning in books, parchment, and practical potion-making tests; but the truth is, you were only staying at Hogwarts because Fred Weasley wasn’t going home.

The two of you have what most would call a ‘love-hate’ relationship, you just found him incredibly infuriating but so fucking hot at the same time; going weak at the knees for him. The two of you got to know one another very well during a match of Quidditch, dodging his bludgers, and catching his cheeky grin when you did so. In the classes you have together he always tries to get you into trouble when he’s unable to get your attention, despite what your fellow house had to say about him - you were really into him.

You knew their dorm room would be empty tonight and that he and George would be scrambling into the kitchens at any moment, being given plenty of food from the hard-working house elves, making this the perfect opportunity for you to get your own back on the more daring twin.

Creeping into Fred’s dorm room quietly (incase you were met with a surprise) you spotted his bed and smirked, walking over to it. At least their bedrooms were warm, shame about the red being splattered everywhere - you preferred green, always green. 

Pulling a rope out of your pocket you pulled his quilt back and placed the rope on the bed, you had been practicing this for months now - you couldn’t get it wrong now; you needed to master turning this rope into a snake.

Looking up and down the bed to figure out if you should move the rope lower down or higher up, you noticed something poking out beneath Fred’s pillow. Pulling it out, you were now in possession of what looked to be a homemade diary, sporting a massive ‘F’ on the cover. 

‘I’ve hit the jackpot!’ you told yourself, ‘who needs a surprise snake from Slytherin when you’ve got this’

Part of you wanted to put the diary back under the pillow and to continue with your plan but the itch that started to spread inside you wouldn’t go away unless you were to give in, and who knows, the diary could just be another one of Fred's pranks waiting to trap someone who went snooping.

You chucked the rope onto the floor and took off your shoes, getting into Fred’s bed you made yourself comfy, you wanted to enjoy this. 

Flicking past the first few empty pages you finally found an entry, dated two years back. Sinking into his bed and embracing yourself in the warmth you started to read.

She looked at me again today, those eyes... her gorgeous eyes eating me up like I’m prey, they stand out, even more, when she wears green. She’s so beautiful, all wrapped up in her Slytherin Quidditch jumper, scarf, gloves, and hat, George tells me to stay away but I don’t think I can. 

You felt your cheeks burning but there were plenty of other girls in Slytherin, in order to find out if Fred was, in fact, writing about you, you had no choice but to keep reading. You skipped a few pages, reading another entry now dated from one year ago.

I just can’t take it anymore, having to sit next to her and not kiss her is the hardest thing in the world, even harder than getting away with coming home late when I’m back at home. I can’t help but chase her, I can’t help but make things harder for her on the pitch... I want her to know that I’m after her.

Yup. This whole entire diary was a shrine to you, a whole dedicated series of Fred’s feelings for you, and honestly, you were flattered.

Getting a little bit too hot you pulled the covers down and you took off your robe, once again flicking through the diary and picking another entry to read - this one the most recent of all, two days ago.

I can’t help but just stare at her soft pink lips, those exquisite breasts that show through her shirts, those stunning smooth legs that make me want to run my hands up them.

You breathed out heavily, the image of Fred touching you getting you excited. You took off your skirt, only laying in your shirt, tie and knickers.

I just want to grab her whilst she’s walking down the halls, drag her into an empty classroom and bend her over the nearest desk. I want to spread open those stunning legs and eat her out like I’ve dreamt about so many times before. My heart and cock ache for her, I’d do anything to have my way with her; making her cum with my fingers or on my cock, I want her to feel it all.

Reading the diary entry over and over, your hand slipped into your underwear. You completely lost yourself in Fred’s confession, imagining the acts he so desperately wants unfolding within your thoughts. Your index and middle finger coated in your spit moved in circular motions on your clit, one or two moans of Fred’s name leaving your mouth.

Without noticing while you played with yourself, Fred had entered the dorm room embarrassed at first of the sight of his diary in your hands but now he stared at you with hunger, desperation, and pure filth; the sight of you touching yourself over him made his cock hard.

“Need some help love?” He called out, his voice like melted honey.

You were startled at first, shocked that you had been caught in the act but then it dawned on you, this is exactly where he wanted you, he knew all along you were going to prank him and he still won.

Fred walked over to you, a smirk playing on his lips and his cock poking through his trousers. “Don’t stop all because I’m here”

You looked into his hungry eyes and bit your lip, Fred kicked off his shoes and took off his belt, climbing into the bed and on top of you. “I guess the only snake in the bed tonight is you” he smiled, noticing the rope, peeking out of your robe pocket.

“I’m guessing you’re all talk Weasley, you’ve gone into graphic detail describing what you want to do to me and I’m laying here, waiting.” You smiled back.

Your backchat caused Fred to crash his lips onto yours, the two of you kissing as if your life depended on it. One of Fred’s hands traveled down to your wet pussy, and two of his fingers dived inside of you. Moaning against Fred’s lips, your hand went to his trousers, tugging the zipper down.

Fred pulled away from the kiss “want to get you nice and wet before I fuck you” and attacked your pussy with his mouth, swirling his tongue around your clit whilst continuing to finger fuck you. 

You couldn’t take anymore, the tension had been brewing between you for too long, waiting suddenly became unbearable for the two of you. “Please fuck me, Fred. I want to feel you so bad.” You moaned out between breaths.

Fred didn’t need to hear it twice, he pulled away and sucked your juices off his fingers. He took off his trousers and removed his shirt, you copied him struggling with the last few buttons.

“Get on all fours” Fred ordered, slapping your arse as you did so.

Fred spat into his hand and spread his saliva across your entrance, without warning he started to pound into you, grabbing onto your hair.

“Fucking hell, Fred!” you moaned out, “you feel so good!” 

“Told you us Gryffindors weren’t that bad, you stupid serpent.” he teased. 

You had no idea that your relationship with Fred would come to this, the staring contests at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the Quidditch matches and games he’d torment you in, the countless detentions he caused you to get. 

You were surprised you wanted him so badly, but then again how could you be surprised? You were being fucked senseless.

Fred’s hand marks were all across your arse, scratches all over his back, love bites on both of your necks, and your lip bleeding from biting it so hard.

Fred picked up his speed, fucking you harder and deeper in your new position (your legs upon his shoulders) he could feel your walls tighten around him, causing his cock to twitch.

“Fred, I’m going to cum” you moaned out.

Expecting Fred to give it all he’s got you were shocked when he suddenly stopped and pulled out of you, laying down next to you laughing. You were so confused and didn’t understand, did he not enjoy it?

“That's what you get for trying to put a snake in my bed” Fred smirked, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

The tension that almost broke free just became ten times worse. 

“You’re such a twat!” 

He laughed in response “George is going to be in the kitchen awhile, don’t feel as if you’ve got to disappear.” 

What the fuck just happened?