#I miss a proper winter with snow

[eppujensen]

<3 <3 <3

Crystallized

(c) riverwindphotography, January 2025

[diffenbachiae]

spent all day teaching about climate change to middle schoolers and now i want to like throw something and/or cry

[hyukascampfire]

𝓖INGER & 𝓢NAP ` ꕀ. k.th

you were the last person taehyun expected to appear on his doorstep. sweet and fluffy and oh-so-proper; he never thought he’d see you again. but... there you stand. and, much to his own chagrin, he fears that nobody else could get him more bothered. ׄ ⋆ ִ

་༘ ՚՚ ꒰ 🪵 ꒱ ･ 7.9k

ρairings gingerbread!taehyun x frosty puff!reader

𝒢 ‧̥ smut, fantasy, strawberry shortcake au

⍵arnings brat taming, brat tamer!taehyun & brat!reader, his cum is frosting, creampie, ofc no sex ed in strawberryland, thigh riding, oral m!receiving, cumming into mouth, cum eating, corruption of innocence & innocent!reader, banter, chubby!reader and buff!taehyun, manhandling, he throws her around a bit and she's so into it, they don't like each other but also def do, he likes to teach her manners, reader is also spoiled & rich and taehyun is not, hair pulling, he gets mean, no protectiom, let me know if i missed some!

✎୭ ashlynn's note this collab has been seriously so fun. writing fics is fun, but there's something about talking your friends and scheming all the yummy ways you can incorporate certain things into your fic. @thetxtdevil mae baby, thank you so much for being the best and even coming up with this idea. your mind amazes me... like actually. everybody did so unbelievably good, and i'm blessed to have been a part of it. now... let's get foody and smutty lol. some of this was written in a benadryl haze, but that's the fun part. i'm sorry mine came out a lil later than everybody else's, but hopefully it's still fun!

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

Raising your fist to the door, your knuckles rap against it with a few thick knocks. The door is frosted around the edges in little swirling white puffs of icing, framing the gingerbread door. It’s the same all around his house: gumdrops and candy canes and the like, all twinkling with sugar crystals.

It’s all so sweet—unbelievably so. The man that calls it home is the very antithesis of sweet. He does not take after the gumdrop, nor the sweetness of the icing, and most definitely not the brown sugar and molasses of the gingerbread. Taehyun is the quick snapping of a leg, or the sharpness on your tongue when you get to the cinnamon and nutmeg. 

You loathe it. Even being stood here, knocking at his door, you hate. He is everything uncouth and abrasive—he is everything you should not entertain. 

Here you are, entertaining it. The door swings open. Your fingers and toes have begun to slow with the cold, like frosty-whip in the fridge. Through the forest, stepping over sugar bushes and cocoa streams, you had fought the bite. Why did he have to live all the way out here? Secluded, as though the rest of Strawberryland were beneath his meddling. You know why: it’s that he believes it. He is exactly as your parents told you he’d be, all those years ago. Of course, they were right. They always are.

When he catches sight of you at his door, his distant eyes morph, and his lip tugs into a scowl. The rise of his brows ruffles your feathers with an infuriating ease. “Is there something you want?” he asks. His tone is infuriating, too. It’s the kind of question that means much more beyond the words said. You catch exactly what he means—how he intends to get under your skin.

Hidden behind the door, he has one hand on the handle. It's an unspoken thing, too. He wants you to remember that he could close it. You can’t let him, or else you’ll have drug your pretty new furry winter boots through the powdered snow for him to slam a door in your face. “Yeah, actually. There is.” You run preening fingers through the ends of your hair. “We’re partners for the bake-off.”

“I don’t do the bake-off,” he says. His eyes would be chocolate and smooth if it weren’t for the way he wields them sharp. “Sorry. You’re gonna have to find somebody more your speed for that.”

Barking an incredulous, perhaps even snobby, laugh, you look around. Snow comes down on the ground, sweet and creamy. It’d been enough of a battle to come here. If you were going to give up so easily, you would’ve turned your little bottom around perhaps two hours ago. Does he think you hadn’t considered that? It was a long walk; you had plenty of time to mull over the many things he might do. Sometimes, you imagined him diplomatic and affable. You stomped those wispy thoughts out. Perhaps it’s been years since you’ve spoken with him, and perhaps what happened between the two of you is dusted over, but you know better. Here he stands in front of you: bitter as ever. 

“You’re just gonna leave me without a partner?” you say. Your jaw trembles, seized finally by the cold. “Everybody is already paired up. Literally everybody.”

Shrugging, he says, “I don’t see how that’s my problem. I didn’t sign up for it.”

Your brows knit. That means somebody else had signed him up. You have a sneaking suspicion who might’ve—Blueberry Kai always tells you that he just feels excluded. It’s hard not to laugh when he does. Taehyun? Excluded?  He is exactly where he wants to be. Where most are sweet in Strawberryland, the snappy gingerbread finds it easier to justify his bitterness when he lives off in his little gingerbread home, out and away in his own neck of the forest only to be found by a winding gumdrop road, where he can pretend he’s above it all.

It’s entirely ironic. Him, better than you? Gingerbread, and all his ruggedness? His unpolished edges? Once, you’d believed that the two of you weren’t so different. That you could be friends, even. Seeing what he’s grown to be, you think you understand why your parents stepped in. Back then, though, as just that soft little girl who followed the charismatic boy around with crystal stars in your eyes, it had been the worst thing to ever happen to you. He had been so gravity-defying, moving through the soft, marshmallow edges and the sugar-whipped reality of Strawberryland as something different.

No. Not gravity-defying. Rather, in the powdery and sweet sweet Strawberryland, you think that he is the only thing with gravity.

“That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” he echoes, letting a little patronizing laugh out along with it. “That’s sweet.”

It’s hard not to shift or cross your arms over your chest, abraded by the dripping sneer.

“What? It’s not. It’s not fair that, just because you don’t want to at least give it a try, I can’t participate,” you say. Really, you should just crawl back home and beg to join somebody’s duo, but you can’t lose like that. You can’t lose to him. If you leave it like this, then he’ll have gotten the better of you. 

“Can’t get everything we want, huh?” he says, straightening up and taking the door in his hand once more. “Just because everybody else has bent backward to give you what you want doesn’t mean that I will.”

“Wait,” you say, sighing in a white swirl. “Don’t close the door. Don’t you know your manners? It’s rude. You’re just going to let me freeze out here? I walked all the way out here, and even got snow all over my new boots, just for this, just for you to slam a door in my face? I mean, a gentleman would at least invite me in to warm me up.”

Lips twitching into a laugh and his eyes suddenly alight, he says, “A gentleman, huh?” He pulls the door open a little further. The warmth from his home, warm and spiced and oh-so-inviting like oven-warmed gingerbread, brushes over your twinkling skin. “Sure. Show me your manners, then. I want you to ask me nicely.”

Your jaw tightens. Sending him a once over, sharpening your eyes, you decide to just do it. His tone is nasty, but you don’t want to be disqualified for not having a partner. Even if he’s the worst you could’ve been paired with in all of Strawberryland. Or maybe the best, because it’s a gingerbread house competition this year. “Will you just do it?”

“I said ask nicely. Say please.” 

He wears a mean smile—he’s having fun watching you squirm. So, you make a conscious effort to straighten up. “Will you please be my partner for the competition?” you say, making your voice sugary and batting your eyelashes in an overdone way. He thinks he’s funny.

Stepping out of the doorway, he motions you inside. It might look gentlemanly if it weren't for the sting in his eyes. You swallow down petty words and push through, your arms full with supplies. Arms aching, you finally let them clatter down over the countertop. The inside of his home is fresh-baked and spiced, aromatic like a true gingerbread cookie straight from the oven. You’re sure the glowing fire helps carry the smell in warm air. It wraps your cold bones up and smooths over some of the frayed edges. You’d been out there for so long… Nobody else had to walk that far for their partner.

Better just to get this done as quickly as you can. You just have to put up with him today, and you’ll be done, and then you can have fun with the competition. He won’t even show up for it; you’re sure. 

“I’ll do it all if it’s that big of a deal,” you tell him, laying out the walls and warming the icing between your palms. “You can put the peppermint on, I guess. So then we can say we both worked on it.”

Hair the fluffy brown of true gingerbread and dusted with snowflakes like powdered sugar. Taehyun shakes his head, and it moves with him. “No,” he says, the corners of his lips still turned up as though he knows something you don’t. He rolls the sleeves of his gaudy, knitted Christmas sweater up to his elbows. The corded muscle there, flickering with movement, catches you off guard. Gingerbread, built like that? Tearing your eyes off him with the effort of metal tearing itself from a magnet, you watch him approach the kitchen counters. “I’ll help. We’re partners, right?”

No matter what he says, there’s a twist of something sparkling in those sharp eyes that has you watching him closer—has you trying to gauge exactly what he’s playing at. “Uh… Yeah. Sure. If you want to, I guess.” You gesture at the walls. “Two for us, and ten for display. Can you start the walls?”

“Ten?” he says. “We’re making twelve gingerbread houses?”

With your lips pulled taut, you say, “Yeah… Twelve. Is that too much? I didn’t think any amount of gingerbread houses would be too much for you. That’s a little ironic.” Everything is warm in his home—even when you look down at your own hands to tug off your white woolen gloves, your skin that usually sparkles like frost rests just beneath the surface is tinged with the warmth.

“I can handle it just fine,” he says, taking the wall and base sections of one. “Just wouldn’t want you to ruin your pretty outfit. Twelve is a lot of icing.” He spits the word pretty out like it tastes bad. On his tongue, you’re sure it does. He never cared for pretty things the way you do. Your mommy always said that he was just jealous, but when the both of you were little, before your parents’ meddling, you learned that it was just a different lifestyle. One that you don’t understand, perhaps. Who doesn’t enjoy dressing themselves in lush furs and sugar crystals over their necks? 

“I’ll be fine,” you say, snipping the tip of the piping bag open. “I wore these knowing they’d get dirty. They’re my baking clothes. My boots already got all messed up…” 

“Oh,” he says. “You put on cashmere knowing you’ll get it dirty. Mommy and daddy paid a pretty penny for that, huh? And it’s your throwaway outfit?”

“Look. If you like it so much, I’ll let you have it when we’re done, yeah? Maybe you’ll make a pretty penny off selling it.” You ice a warm white line down the length of a wall. “Can you hurry? I’m already icing. I don’t want to be here all day.”

There’s  a few long, thrumming moments of quiet, where only the sound of your piping back crackling fills his home. Finishing a wall, you tear yourself away from your work to spare a glance his way.

Taehyun’s jaw is tight, a muscle flickering where he grits his jaw in the low light that washes over him. There’s a fire blazing in his eyes, and though he doesn’t turn them on you, the smoke rolling from them is enough to make your skin warm. You’d successfully gotten under his skin. Why stop here, when seeing that look on his face is so fun? He looks as sour as an apple; as spiced as cinnamon. “Wall?” you say, sharp and haughty as you offer your hand out to him in an impatient demand.

Snapping his head up, he hands you a wall with the heat of a thousand ovens in his face. You feel the scald he intends for you with it, and you revel in it.

You bark commands at him, watching his shoulders grow tense and his lips twitch with each. Crush the candy canes, you tell him. Melt the icing. Sprinkle these over that. Soon enough, you’re sitting back and watching him work more than anything.

He doesn’t say a word. You see them brimming in his eyes, but he doesn’t let them burst out all venomous like you know he wants to. It’s quite the show. 

“Would you at least help me hold this up?” he says, holding the walls of a house together with one hand. His hands are a mess of runny sugar and powdered sugar for snow, and yours are perfectly clean. You can at least help a little bit if you want to claim any part in the competition. 

You reach for the piping bag, fat with the sweet sweet icing, and straighten a wall up. You trace the seams with it, thick and like glue. With a bit too much pressure, the side of the bag bursts. White rivulets of slow icing run down your fingers and over the table. You curse, dropping it to the counter. That’s all of your icing, flopped down and deflating over the surface all sad-like. It’d been so much, that you thought it would last you each house and then some. Of course, you hadn’t brought extra.

Bringing your sticky fingers up to your mouth, you suckle the mess off. It’s so very sweet—warm and weeping, nutty and spiced with something like nutmeg. It’s Taehyun: the smell of it, the way it spreads over your tongue… You stick your tongue out to catch it where some drips down your forearm. “Mmm,” you say, sticky-armed. “Tastes good.” That’ll be good on the gingerbread houses; maybe the two of you do have a chance at winning. 

When you look up to Taehyun, he stands frozen in place, his hands still holding up a half-constructed gingerbread house. His eyes are different. It’s a look you don’t recognize—a look you’ve never seen before. Rather than deep and warm, his eyes are blackish and heavy. A swallow goes down his throat; a tense, barely contained thing.

 You frown, your lips still a sugary mess. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. Sorry. I’ll clean it up…”

Clearing his throat, Taehyun says, “Yeah…”

He watches you clean the counters, where the icing had pooled, and now the bag is empty, with the same intensity. You can feel it on your skin in a foreign, itching way. You swipe and scoop and work at the spill, and still, he watches. He does not speak. 

You survey the houses you’ve managed to finish. They’re pretty, and absolutely competition ready: looping swirls of icing like shingles on the roofs, peppermint chunks all red and white catching light where you’d sprinkled them into the frosting, gumdrops lining the paths true to Taehyun’s own home, and powdered sugar sifted over the entirety of it like snowfall. It’s all great, but there are only four.  “What are we supposed to do now?” you say, lips pouty. “That’s all the icing I brought. We literally can’t make any more.” You wipe at a smear on your cheek. How’d that get there? “I think I’m gonna have to come back tomorrow… Can you hold on to the houses for me?”

“Yeah—yeah, sure. Tomorrow,” he says, blinking something away. He straightens. “It’s a long walk. I think you should get going.”

You want to say something snarky or ask him why he wants you out of the house so fast, but it’s true. Night’s creeping over Strawberryland, and you have no icing, and tomorrow’s the last day before the bake-off. If the two of you don’t work harder tomorrow than you did today, then you won’t even make qualifications. You’ll lose before even starting.

You never lose. Not like this, and certainly not to the man standing before you. 

ꕀ

“C’mon. You can do better than that, can’t you?” Taehyun says, drooping icing from rooftops like icicles as you sprinkle crushed candies over the top. 

You grit your teeth. If he’d been snappy yesterday, he’s made it his mission to be your worst nightmare today. You think it’s his sort of revenge for ordering him around how you did. “What would you like, then?” you say. Maybe it’s feeding right into what he wants, but your life has lent you a short fuse. “You don’t even care about winning. Why does it matter? Let me do it how I want.”

He’s in another sweater. The sleeves are bunched up to the elbow just like yesterday, but you think he’s making a point with it this time. The shifting of his muscles is a bit too intense for piping icing. You’d made it through three more houses, wrangling your inner demons with each passing snide remark or nasty smile the whole time. It doesn’t help that he keeps his home terribly toasty, and you run cold down to the core. You melt and melt until all that is left of your temper is a puddle on the floor beneath you. Gone. 

“We’re partners, remember?” he says. He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. “I don’t do things half-assed, Frosty.” 

You’re sent reeling with the old nickname. It’d been sweet then, back when it was just the two of you against the world, but now it’s gone sour like milk. It even comes from his mouth soured. It’s something that you thought you’d left a million lifetimes ago, never to hear again. With Taehyun, though, it’s hard to pretend that you are no longer that. 

He will not let you forget that, at one point, the two of you were friends. An unlikely pair, especially looking at you now. You thought it was all nothing to you, but seeing him has kicked up dust. 

“You don’t?” you say, shooting him a quick glare from the side of your eye. “That’s funny.”

Strong brows shooting up, Taehyun quits mid-piping to look at you. “Funny? What’s funny about it to you?”

You can’t settle the obnoxious smile that curls at the edges of your mouth, mean and taunting and falsely sweet. “Oh, nothing.” You shake a sifter full of powder against your palm. It falls like true snow down over the house. 

“No, tell me,” he says, his eyes trained and heavy on your dismissive shrug. “Tell me what you think of me. I wanna hear it.”

Oh, this will be good.

“It’s just that,” you say, “you’re not really known for doing things the best way, you know? Living all the way out here, an ass when anybody tries to talk to you… Well, really, it’s just that nobody likes you. But, don’t worry! I’m sure there’s at least somebody that does.”

His face falls, the twinkle of delight at taunting you that he’d been holding in his eyes gone away. All that’s left is the peaking of something deeper and roiling from out of the cracks. You get the funny feeling that maybe you’ve taken it a step too far.

But, you never lose.

“Is that what it is?” he says. “I work for my shit. You? Everything you’ve ever had has been handed to you.” He measures his words delicately. Like a measuring cup full over the top, he cuts the excess words and coarseness off. He doesn’t say all that he thinks, but you see all he leaves unsaid toiling furiously behind his eyes. 

His eyes. They’re clear and, sharp as they are, they pin you. It’s a reflection of that look he gave you yesterday: deep and swirling and wild. It’s more than that, this time, though. It’s laced with anger and bursting at the seams of him. You’re not sure he’ll be able to hold back whatever it is that storms just beneath his skin, this time.

“It is,” you say, punctuation your words concisely. “It’s exactly why my parents said I shouldn’t hang out with you. They said that I’m above… all this.”

Oh, you’ve absolutely taken it too far now. You don’t really mean it. Sure, that’s what they told you, but you don’t really believe it. For some time, you did, but not now. It’s too late for sorries, though. Taehyun’s jaw goes tense.

For a long, awful moment, you just stand there and burn in his silence. It’s worse than any words he might spit. It’s hot—hot, hot, hot, and you turn liquid in it.

In a blink, nothing more, you collide against his countertop. Something clatters and thuds behind you. The gingerbread houses? That doesn’t matter right now—all that your dizzy mind can manage is his body crushing you and his fingers biting into the plush of your cheeks.

Where he had fractured, like true gingerbread, he snaps. You can see it in his eyes; even you know when you’ve pushed too far. Perhaps you ought to have seen this coming.

His knuckles curl white around the edge of the counter beside you, and his fingers dig deeper into your face. He’s oh-so-hot up against you. “I’m sick of your fucking mouth,” he snarls. His breath is hot as it fans over your face, too. “Someone needs to put you in your place. Where are your goddamn manners?”

Your heart thrums in your chest, and your pulse goes wild in your neck. You can’t form the words to answer him.

“Quiet now, huh?” he says. The husk in it makes the place between your thighs feel weird. You don’t know what’s wrong with you.

He shut you up real quick. You’ll give him that.

That funny feeling does flips, roaring to life when his fingers hook under the waistband of your bottoms. “That’s your problem.” His eyes send a chill up and down your spine. “You’ve never been told no. You’ve always gotten what you wanted.” Peeling down all the layers, he tugs your knitted stockings and your little fur skirt, and your sweet frosty panties, too. They bunch at your feet. Between your thighs, right where those foreign, throbbing waves reign, cool air laps at a wetness there. The hair all over your body rises. You’ve never felt anything like it. “Not with me. I'll set you straight. I don’t put up with spoiled brats.”

“I’m not a brat,” you say. “You’re just an ass.” They’re the first words that come to you. Damn your temper.

With the same hand he’d been holding your face in place with, he curls his fingers right into your scalp and yanks hard, baring your neck to him. You lose a strained squeak, tears pricking the corners of your eyes at the sting. If your heart had been racing before, it runs wild, now. You strain your eyes to look at him and his curled lips. Painted with a sneer, he says, “Watch your mouth.”

A swallow goes down your throat hard. It’s all unfamiliar: the aching between your thighs, the burning in your blood, and the dazing of your thoughts. “Taehyun, I… I feel weird. It feels weird.”

Something knowing passes over him. “Yeah?” he says. “Show me where. I can help.”

Show him? You hesitate, searching his eyes for an ounce of joke or aversion. You find none, and that pounding is syrupy-sweet, and he says he can help. That’s all you want; all you need. Taking a trembling hand, you bring it down your body, running the palm down the planes of your belly and resting it just over the spot where the lower bit gives way to the apex of your thighs. Going any further—the thought tightens your throat and pinkens your cheeks the color of strawberry frosting. “There. It feels weird there.”

Taehyun smiles a snappy, spiced smile. He likes that. “Want me to make it feel better?”

Your thoughts feel replaced by something powdery and weightless. You give him a dumb nod.

“Say please.”

Something bratty crawls up your throat, but you want help, and he’s the one who will give it to you. He’d meant that: teaching you a lesson. Melted around the edges already, you say, “Please, help make it feel better.” Your voice wavers.

“There we go. That’s how good girls talk. That’s how you ask to get what you want.” He nudges your thighs apart with a knee and slots it between them, pressed right up against that coolness. Right up against that need. “Grind down on it.”

Neck aching at the angle, you say, “Grind?”

He brushes his clothed thigh right up against you. The friction is delicious—sweet and melty and just what you need. It shoots yellow sparks throughout you.

It feels so good. Your mouth waters in anticipation.

“Grind,” he says. It’s harder, this time. Not a sweet suggestion.

You bring yourself back down on it, gasping at the contact, and you do. You grind, tummy tightening at every brush of the fabric hard and delicious. Your chest constricts, one hand flying up to dig your fingers into his shoulder and the other fighting the hand he has still in your hair. It aches and hurts, and so does the friction as you grow more gaspy and frantic. 

It feels so, so good. You want more—you want him to touch you there and everywhere else. He smells just right all over you, nutty and musky like a gingerbread twist. “Taeh—hyun,” you mewl. It burns, but something slick eases the burn a little bit. Just enough for you to enjoy that burn.

“That’s it,” he coos. It’s not a sweet coo; it’s the type of sound one might make when you play right into their mean game. It’s mean. “Make yourself a mess on my thigh. I don’t even have to touch you. What would mommy and daddy think of you now, huh? What would they think if they saw their precious princess fucking herself on my thigh?”

No. That would be the end of you. You whine, thighs twitching. Something twists in your center, scary and foreboding, and still you chase it. None of your thoughts are solid enough to stop. Each time he flexes a muscled thigh or presses it harder into you, you shudder and curl your fingers into his shirt harder. 

“Don’t like that, huh?” he laughs. “Then you haven’t learned your lesson. You’re no better than me; I mean, look at you.”

You want to cry when he pins your hips back to the counter, stilling your wild bucking. Squeezing your eyes shut, you claw and reach for that wave, even as it recedes from you. “Why?” you say, voice thin. It’d been so yummy—the sweetness still rests on your tongue. Your heart thumps hard, longing for it.

“I said, look at yourself,” he growls, taking his hold on your hair to crank your head down.

Right where you’d been on his thigh, there’s a sticky, marshmallowy mess. Your mess. 

Taehyun releasing his grip on your hair is almost a relief, but he doesn’t even give you time to relish it. The walls of his house blur around you. All that you register in between the motions is his shoulder in your belly and your limbs dangling from you. You dig your hands into his back to balance yourself, but he’s got you.

He has you slung over his shoulder. He’s carrying you like you weigh nothing at all. That place between your thighs flutters anew. In all your life, you never worried too much about the plushness of your belly or your thighs. It is who you are; all mallow and soft around the edges and starkly sweet. But you did get nervous when somebody tried picking you up. Usually, you protest and giggle it off. Watching somebody strain to pick you up when they lift other girls like sacks of flour is just something that makes you feel a little strange.

But, Taehyun does not strain. He doesn’t huff; he carries you right down the hallway and into his room, and he even manhandles you down onto the bed with a bounce without so much as a sound. He is a solid pillar beneath you, and then he is a solid, muscled chest above you. With strong fingers, he pins your hands to the mattress above you. With the other, he leads your shirt up.

He’s so warm against your cold skin. His breath like waves from the oven over your mouth, he says, “You think you’re so much better than me because you have all this?” Curling his fingers around a necklace circling your throat, he tears it off with a clattering of a few snow-drop beads.

 You gasp, glaring right into his eyes. “What the hell?” you hiss, arching your chest to wiggle beneath him. Your necklace. Who does he think he is, breaking your stuff? That was one of your favorite necklaces, and now it lies all over his floor. Still, your center pounds and longs for the return of his touch. Everything about him just calls for more from you. You don’t know how you went so long without him, or how you made yourself forget just how drawn you are to his magnetism. Maybe he is just what your parents turn their nose up at, and you too, but that does not make him any less a powerful personality. 

He knows exactly who he is and what he wants, as solid as the gingerbread cookie. And you, plush and impressionable as whipped marshmallows, take to him just right. It’s something you once knew, but the sneered words of adults obscured that memory.

“Don’t whine,” he says. “I want to see your pretty neck without all that shit. That’s your problem: you’re spoiled.” He reaches down to mess with his pants.

His length springs free. Cheeks flushing, you take it in. You can’t look away, even as embarrassment crawls spindly legs over your skin at the interest you take in the sight. You’ve never seen anything like it—long and hot and weeping something thick and white from the slit at the pinkish tip. A pearl of it dribbles down, landing on your belly in a string where he holds it.

Taehyun collects that wetness and then urges more from the tip with a few drags down the length of it. Wrapping his fingers around it, he begins to slowly work his fist up and down it. It’s nothing short of impossible to tear your sights off it—it’s another thing that inexplicably fans the flames of something roaring in your center. “Do you want to touch it?” he says, watching your tongue dart out to wet your lips. 

The sight of him growing restless over his pumping fist is enough to get you nodding. 

“Fuck,” he says, sharp and under his breath. He lets his hand off it. “Go ahead. Touch it. I won’t tell anybody you did.”

When he frees your pinned wrists, you reach out a slow hand. You curl your fingers around it the way he had. Your fingers don’t even touch around jt. The weight and warmth of him in your palm makes your blood tingle. Looking up, you search for guidance in those intelligent, swirling eyes. His bangs hang over his eyes as he watches.

Placing his hand over yours, he drags it up and down his rigid length the way he had been doing a few beats ago. “Like that,” he says. “Just like that.”

You pump your closed fist up and down him, encouraged to squeeze harder and flick your wrist faster with each tight breath he lets slip. The skin of your palm gets stickier and stickier, the slick sounds sending your ears and core burning just the same. You like that it makes him feel good—that he’s making those noises just for you. 

He twitches under your fingers. “Feels just like I thought your pretty hands would…” he says, stomach tight. “See—what happens when you give up that bratty fucking act? Shit… harder—give it to me harder, Frosty…” Shivering at the name, you oblige him. You reach your thumb up and collect more of that beaded liquid from the slit, and you work your arm harder. Faster. Your forearm begins to burn, but you don’t let it slow you. All you want is more of this; more of him. Finally, he lets sounds out from his chest freely. He grunts and hisses through his teeth, letting his head fall back. “Holy shit. I’m gonna—gonna ice your face, okay?” he says. “You said you liked the taste, huh? Wanna taste it again? Give me your tongue…”

Whatever that means, you push yourself up and situate your face in front of his length, your tongue out. Taehyun’s sounds tighten, and his hips begin to stutter and chase your hand. He picks his head back up to look down at you half-lidded—to watch. With only a few last runs of your palm down his length, skin so slick that your hand just slips and slides up him, he growls through gritted teeth. The weight of him in your working hand twitches once more, and from that weeping tip he shoots dancing ribbons of white. It lands on your tongue hot and sweet, melting out all spiced and snappy.

Snappy like gingerbread. Like gingerbread icing. Swallowing it down, you meet his gaze. He pants, chest rising and falling, but there’s something clear and knowing in his heavy eyes when you do. You think you know now, why he’d been so dazed as you made a show of licking that same sticky icing off your hands and said how good it tasted. 

When you release him from your palm, it glistens with his sweet essence. He softens in front of your eyes just the littlest bit.

Eyes just as hungry and still catching his breath, Taehyun says, “Open your mouth. I wanna see your tongue.”

Belly doing wicked twists, you do. You stick your tongue out for him, still laden with the headiness of his taste. He does taste good. 

“Swallowed it all down?” he says, eating the sight of you with your mouth dropped open up. “You really are so nasty. They all think you’re so sweet—you think you’ve got them all wrapped around your finger.” He pushes you back down to the bed with a palm. “Well, not me. I know that you’re just as filthy as you are spoiled. Somebody had to deal with you.”

Like always, snarky words swirl in your mouth. All it would take is letting them fall off your tongue. But you don’t—not with the feeling between your thighs, and not with the way your blood, frost turned to snowmelt, begs for him to fix it. Not when you know that all it will get you is more of Taehyun’s wrath. 

It’s not like what he says is true, or anything. That’s what you tell yourself anyway.

“Taehyun, please. I need it…” He takes a marshmallow thigh of yours, pressing it up so that it melds with your belly. Cool air reminds you once more of that strange wetness between them.

Dark, blown eyes catching the sight of it, his lips quirk into a scoff. “Need what?” he says, reaching a hand down. At the contact of his fingers, just as they had against his thigh, your hips jolt and an explosion like the breaking of sugar glass shoots down the muscles of your thighs. He scoops that stickiness up from its source, bringing the soft cream up to his mouth. Tongue darting out, he has a taste of you just as you had tasted him. “Shit—you taste good too, frosty. You’re so sweet, how’d you turn out like this? That’s okay. I’ll deal with you, and then you’ll be just as sweet as you taste.” That fat tip of him presses flush to the source of all your want. “I’ll straighten you out.”

You don’t know what that means, and you are absolutely sure that you don’t deserve it, but any sass is staunched with the utter sweetness of the stretch in your center. Taehyun presses his hips up into you, slowly and internalizing the dropping open of your mouth, the pinching of your brows into a worrying line, and the press of your palms to his broad chest. He takes it and metabolizes it down like cream cake or the plumpest fruits, and he gives you more. More, all the way up until there is no length of him left to give, and nowhere else for him to go.

You feel so, so full. No amount of twinkling jewels or new skirts hold a candle to this. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know why Taehyun knows, but whatever. Who cares? Breathing out a shudder, you squirm beneath him to search for that dazzling feeling he’d made you feel earlier.

“Stay still,” he barks, steadying himself beside your head with a sturdy, powerful arm. When had he lost his sweater? You don’t know. You might drool over the definition and warm skin there if he didn’t pull the length of him out until just the tip of him threatens to pop out, and then drive right back in before you could. A gaspy breath falls from your mouth, devolving into mewls and whimpers when he does the same over and over and over again, quick with snapping hips and the smacking of his skin against the soft skin of your bottom. Your thigh quivers in his hold, his fingers digging into the fluff of your thigh as he holds you into it. 

Each and every time he slides up against something inside you that makes you feel different. Different from what you felt when you were on his thigh, and different from anything else you’ve felt in the entirety of your life. It’s deeper, right at the very bottom of your belly, sending your veins lazy and your hips twitchy. You want to chase it as much as you want to hide from its power, so all you do is stay in a hazy limbo of sharp gasps and long, drawn out mewls for more.

“No,” he says, his face right in yours. The smell of him, manly and so very sweet like oven-warmed gingerbread, settles over your bones and wiggles its way through your thoughts. It does something to your melted mind, planting a need to cling to him right in the center. Your hands perch all over him: the hair at the back of his head, his working waist, his biceps that flex and strain with his effort, and finally around him so that you can push your cheek to his chest and feel his heart racing there. “You’ll take exactly what I give, and thank me for it. You don’t get to ask for more; not with your mouth.”

“Why?” you say, whining. “I want it—so bad. Please? I’ll be so… so good…” Your voice bounces with each collision of your bodies, and your toes flex and curl at the twisting in your core. Nonetheless, you want more. Whatever this is—this syrupy, pure goodness—Taehyun has shown you something that you will never be whole without again. He has bloomed a flower right in the chest of you, something hungry that will want and want this, and you fear that he will be the only one able to satiate it. 

The thought of the smile he’ll wear, should you come crawling back to his doorstep just for this… 

Taehyun stops, pushing off you with a curled lip. “What will it take to get you to fucking listen?” he says. He pulls himself from you, leaving you to whine and long for that feeling once more. You want to complain and pull him back over you, but with the fire churning in his dark gaze and the sight of his length, covered in that same white, whipped stuff you’d left all over his thigh. 

You’d made a sticky, frosty, frothed mess all over him once again. Really, what would people think of you now? Your mom? Your dad? 

Manhandling you again, he flips you onto your hands and knees and shoves your face into the bed. Any yelp or gasp that tears from your chest is muffled into the sheets. Taking the swell of your hips, his fingers like bites against the powdery, soft skin there, his voice comes from behind you. “Won’t you just listen to me? If you’re gonna be mine, you’re gonna have to start learning how to hear no.” Curling your hair up and pulling it like a handle, he snaps your head back into another stinging, awful tug. It turns the arch of your back into something that you can imagine is a sight to be seen. If the burning where you feel his eyes raking down the curve of it has something to speak of it, that is. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that’ll help you any. “You don’t get everything you want. That’s not how this works.”

You don’t say anything. You have nothing good or sweet left to say.

“Say thank you, and I’ll give it to you good, okay?” he says, running a flattened hand down your spine. “That’s all I want to hear. Show me you can be good.”

The last thing you want to do is to thank him. That would mean admitting that you’ve lost, and that ruffles your preening feathers. But you want that goodness back, you want his hips snapping into you and that tight knot back in your belly. You’d do anything for it; even forget your ego.

Your mind is gone, anyway. Whatever your rational self would do, it doesn’t matter. There’s one thing that you want right now, and getting it is so easy. “Thank you, Taehyun. Thank you so much… I’m sorry I’ve been a brat, and I’m sorry about what I said to you. Please, just… help me. Please, I need you so bad.”

You? Sorry? It’s absurd, and yet, you entirely mean it. Maybe it’s your lazy brain talking, or maybe he really has won.

“See? So sweet when you act right,” he says. “Let me show you what happens when you do.”

You could cry real tears when he sets that same pace, his hands bracing on your hips to pull you deeper into each thrust and the front of your body bouncing against the sheets with each. Your cries grow hoarse and beyond needy, and your insides twist and turn even more dangerously.

You are on the brink of something divine. Something that will melt down so well, good on the tongue and as smooth as chocolate, but as sharp as the snapping of gingerbread.

And, snap, he has.

“Yes!” you cry, straining your shoulders as you reach behind you and curl your fingers around the place where he meets your skin. “S..So good! Right there—thank you, Taehyun!”

He doubles down on you. His length hits a spongy spot in your core, pounding up against the walls there and turning your insides against you. It’s almost too good. “There we go,” he says, voice shaking with a growl. The delivery of his thrusts grows sloppy. You think he feels just as good as you do. “That’s what—” Falling over you, he supports himself with each strong arm dug into the mattress beside your head, his solid front melded to your soft back. “That’s what I like to hear. Here you go—fuck, I’m gonna give you what good girls get, okay?”

You hope it’s more of that melty icing he shot from his length earlier. The knot in your belly tightens, just on the brink of a glittery, bright explosion. “Mhm!” you say, your voice cracking. You want it—you want it so bad. The intensity of it, turning over in your veins and rendering your thighs jelly, sings in your ears. It’s a frightening greatness, but you rage against the urge to drop your hips into the mattress and run from it. You need to finally taste what you’ve been chasing. “Taehyun! Right there—please, don’t stop!”

You were demanding more from him again, but Taehyun didn’t stop this time. Not when his growls and whines against your shoulder tell you enough about how he’s feeling. He tongues and nips at your shoulders, the only sounds echoing off the walls of his room, the hollow smack of his hips against your bottom, and the only smell of the sweet mingling of his gingerbread sharpness against your heady marshmallow. It’s good enough to eat.

Crying out with a frantic whine, the feeling deep in your belly changes once more, and you’re writhing and squirming against him. Your hips buck and chase and run, wild and just as explosively as the tightness shooting down your thighs and up through your lower back.

Everywhere. You feel it everywhere. It’s in the continued bouncing of your body, in each nudge of his tip to a sweet, spongecake spot deep inside you, in his breathless pants into your skin, and in the curling of his fingers into your hair when he releases a hip to do so, and in your pleads when he chases his own delicious release. Your throat tightens, and suddenly the sheets are all too warm around you, and you realize with blistering intensity that another one of those knots builds up in your belly. It’s quicker, short, and bright. You’ve barely even made it through the last, but still, it comes.

“Holy shit,” he growls, hips stuttering and then stilling. He reaches a hand down between your thighs and finds a very sweet button. The breath in your throat catches, and in nothing more than a blink of an eye, you crash again, and then your bodies are two twitching, elated things. He presses himself impossibly deeper into you before shooting that same hotness, sweet ropes of sugary icing right into you, and your fluttering insides hold him tight and eat it up. Your heart pounds in your chest, running amok in your ears and your neck, and you try to catch running breaths to no avail.

Occasionally grinding up into you, though there is hardly any space between your joined bodies to do so, Taehyun shoots more lazy spurts for a few long moments. His breaths slow against your skin, and yours do in your chest. Slowly, you recover as two entangled bodies, all clammy and melted like left in the oven for a bit too long.

Pressing hot, wet kisses to the back of your neck, and then down your spine when he pushes off you and pulls himself out, his tongue darting out against your skin for some, he says, “Taste so good… So sweet, even on your skin…” He brushes the wild tangles of hair from your face and adds, “I wonder if you’ve gone all sweet inside, too? You look like it…” The mess of you, your thick creaminess staining your thighs and his runny load pooling from your hole, is all over. It even makes the sheets beneath you dirty with dribbles of his release as it drips. “I told you I’d get you sweet.”

If that sluggish, sugary thing moving through your veins is sweetness taking over you from the inside, perhaps you have gone sweet. Or, perhaps you now have every reason to become his worst nightmare—just if it gets you this.

You’ll play sweet for now. The softer kisses he seasons your skin with are no less enthralling than the delightful goodness still ebbing away between your thighs. You think that, for the first time, you have lost. 

And, to your very own dismay, it tastes so very sweet. 

... back to the masterlist ⌇ back to strawberryland

✎୭ ashlynn's note BRAT TAMER TAEHUN, amirite?

﹙📋﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @miukuui , @lunesdesire , @304files , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @lickingan0rchid , @xylatox , @hmusunoo , @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @joycelyjjj , @sunoolver , @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @apeachty , @fandomtrashsblog , @bewitchless , @yezzns2 , @hhoneyhan , @ethystclove , @darkdayelixer , @calumcxke , @biteyoubiteme , @bamgeutsz , @soobabby , @little-shiny-starr , @bambammtori , @bunniebun-posted , @heeambi , @bunnisoobin , @hwanghyunjinismybae if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[kinokochouchou]

it snowed on saturday and it doesnt feel like spring no more (

wish her back

[eunandonly]

( 양정원 ) ⸻ 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒾 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ! ⟡

IN WHICH ⸻ jungwon gives you a little christmas surprise

( pairing ) ❜ jungwon x f!r 1092wc + fluff, christmas, angst if you squint contains ! kissing, skinship, swearing / archive

"are you really not going to be here for the christmas?" you ask as you talk to jungwon on the phone. you're sitting by the armchair near the window, staring at the snow pile up outside as the fireplace cracks near you. "sorry princess," jungwon said on the other end of the line. "maybe next year."

you can't help but let out a sigh, looking longingly at the winter wonderland outside. "i was so excited to have you over so we can build a snowman and have some time together. it snowed here, you know." jungwon left town last year for university leaving you behind, and despite what you've been telling yourself, you miss him. a lot.

you had been counting down to christmas all year, the days marked not with numbers but with quiet, vivid imaginings. you’d pictured you and jungwon sitting together wrapped in a soft blanket in the living room, surrounded by fairy lights whilst sipping on hot chocolate. a day spent outside building a snowman, recording the chaotic process with your ancient camcorder. jungwon is all you want for christmas, but it’s already christmas eve now, and jungwon isn’t here.

"gosh, i miss you so much wonnie," you say, pouting. "can't believe i'm left behind in this stupid boring town whilst you're in the city. there's nothing to do here- more sheeps than humans, i swear."

jungwon's laugh makes you smile despite your sadness.

"i miss you so much as well. i've got to go now, y/n. i promise i'll see you soon, okay?"

you roll your eyes, leaning back in your chair frustrated. "yeah, when is soon, jungwon? when is soon-"

jungwon ends the call, the line disconnecting with a little beep. you stare down at your dark screen in disbelief before letting out a huff.

asshole.

you wonder for a split second whether he's not coming back because he's not interested anymore. perhaps he found a prettier, smarter, nicer girl in university whom he's going to spend time with for christmas.

no, jungwon won't do that. he loves you.

right?

but if he did, would he really not come back for christmas without a proper explanation as to why?

and the way he ended the call with you so abruptly- maybe another girl was with him, holding his hand as he called you.

you throw your phone down on the sofa next to you, shaking your head.

"no, jungwon won't do that. he loves me." you say to yourself, saying it out loud as if it'll help convince you.

but can you really blame jungwon if he's found someone else? you aren't that pretty, and you don't even go to university with him.

amid your worries, there’s a knock on the door.

it’s soft, almost hesitant, but it breaks through the stillness like the first note of a song. your brows furrow.

you get up from the armchair, wondering who it is. it's definitely not the delivery man- you haven't ordered anything recently. a friend, maybe? no, they're all away, some of them to the city, some to the beach and some to warmer countries to flee from the biting cold of december.

so who is it?

"coming!" you call out, walking over to the door. you take in a deep breath, bracing yourself for the gust of icy cold air that's sure to blow in if you open the door.

you turn the door knob, immediately met with the cold wind and blizzard. and then you see him.

jungwon.

his cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, his dark hair peeking out of his knit beanie. he stands there, bundled in a thick coat, a dust of snow covering him and a small, gold wrapped box in his hands. he looks impossibly perfect against the pale winter backdrop, his smile soft, a little shy, but warm enough to melt away all your doubts and worries and frost in an instant.

“umm, merry christmas,” he says, his voice gentle and soft.

you stare for a moment or two, your breath caught somewhere between disbelief and relief, before stepping forward and throwing your arms around him. jungwon’s laugh is muffled against your shoulder as he lifts up from the ground to swing you to and fro like a little kid before putting you back down.

“you’re here,” you whispered. “i thought you couldn’t come.”

he pulled back from the embrace justice enough to look at you properly, and he sweeps away your hair from your face. “of course i’m here,” he murmurs. “i’ve been busy with university, couldn’t even talk to you on the phone that much, but i had to come.”

you feel your cheeks grow warm. “i thought you found someone else.”

“what?”

it sounds silly now, but you continue. “i thought you found a smarter, prettier girl at uni. thought you weren’t coming for christmas because you’re spending it with her.”

jungwon just laughs now. “you think i would replace you? princess, you overthink too much. i would never go off with another girl when you’re so perfect.”

he leans down to give you a sweet little kiss on the lips, and you smile.

“alright, let’s go in now before all this blizzard and cold gets in. let’s make a snowman together, and we can watch old disney together…”

✉️ : @icyy-hoon

[inkbybambi]

The Favorite

summary: bar owner john price kisses you under the mistletoe words: 4.9k rating: e warnings: fem!reader, praise kink/praises, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, pet names, biting/marking, finger sucking, size kink, john steals your panties, please let me know if i missed anything. this has been edited to the best of my ability. notes: this is my contribution to @bunnyreaper's call of duty secret santa exchange and is dedicated to @a-very-bored-blogger ♡ my blog and all my works are 18+ so minors dni. proper warnings have been provided.

Being the boss’s favorite has its perks.

You’re the first to try new spirits and brews he orders for the bar. He doesn’t bother trying to hide his snort of amusement each time your face scrunches up when something tastes particularly awful.

You try to hide your blush when he delicately takes the glass from your hand, fingers briefly touching, throwing back the rest of the drink without flinching.

Smug bastard always winks after.

You’re the only one allowed to lounge in his office on your lunch, even when he’s not there. You ignored the pointed looks from the others when he first gave you the key. It dangles on a pink, heart-shaped carabiner. There’s a drawer of snacks and a mini-fridge that’s always stocked for you. A pile of your books are stacked on his desk with his other papers, most of them he gifted himself.

You never see the way his cheeks go pink every time you read one of the books he chose.

You’re the only one allowed to take the beanie off his head. Sometimes he puts it there himself. Soap tried it once and never again after his hand got thwacked with a wet dish rag.

Your favorite perk?

The way he lingers when you’re the one closing, always nearby as you wipe down the counters and dry the glasses. The gentle press of his palm at the small of your back when he maneuvers around you; when he hands you something you’ve asked for and his eyes glitter when you say thank you; the soft touch at the nape of your neck when you’re finally done and tucking the rag away, gently guiding you to the door.

Sometimes he walks you home. Sometimes he drives you. You’ve begun to look forward to it now.

Lately — more often than not — you find yourself hiked up on the counter, John standing between your legs, radiating heat like a furnace, his big hands cupping your face as his tongue slides deep into your mouth, tasting you and swallowing your soft whines.

He always tastes like cigars, which you complained about at first, but now you couldn’t care about when his fingers thread though your hair, tipping your head to the side so he can slide his mouth along the line of your throat, beard scratching your skin.

He’s careful to not leave any marks. But each time his teeth skim the column of your throat, he presses sharper, harder.

You want him to bite you.

Everyone assumes you two are fucking anyway.

He said he’d walk you home. 

Twenty minutes ago.

He pulls away, leaving you breathless, pressing his nose against your cheek. You close your eyes and lean into him, lightly scratching at the base of his skull.

“Should get you home,” he rumbles low in his chest, voice like gravel. It makes you ache.

You can’t say much apart from a small hum of agreement, not wanting to leave the warmth of his body.

He doesn’t make any effort to pull away either.

His lips drag from your cheek to your jaw, nipping at the hinge before soothing it with his tongue. You shudder on an inhale, waiting for what’s next.

“Let me get your bag,” he murmurs, voice still soft as if he doesn’t want to shatter the calm that’s settled over you two, like a veil of gossamer protecting you from the outside world.

With one last, slow kiss, he leaves to gather your bags, slipping his beanie on your head and walking you out. 

He clicks the lights off.

No matter how many times or how often you find yourself wrapped in winter’s cold embrace of snow and icy wind, you hate it. 

You like it from the inside. with a warm drink of whatever — sometimes spiked, if you’re feeling cheeky — and blessedly not outside. 

This is your first Christmas with the bar — with the boys — and John invited you to help decorate for the season. 

This is your first time feeling like you belong somewhere. The boys have been together for years now, as you’ve learned over your time with them, but they took you in and made you feel welcome from the very start. 

You, however, felt awkward the first couple shifts, as to be expected. One night, about a week settling into the job, you stood up to a particularly rowdy client — Gaz and Soap minding the bar with you, exchanging glances with each other and keeping an eye on the situation; Simon and John lingering around the billiard tables with some regulars, also with an eagle eye on you. You didn’t back down to his crass attitude and sharp words, damn near throwing the lime you were cutting at his face. A tense moment or so passed before he submitted, mumbling an apology and throwing a twenty pound note on the bar along with the rest of his tab, slinking to a seat in the back. 

Closing the bar a few hours later, Soap handed you a shot of something gross with a proud smirk on his face, Gaz excitedly talking with you, relaying the moment with vigor, his eyes sparkling with amusement as if you were some sort of superhero. Simon, far more subdued than the others and wearing his skull-painted balaclava, simply gives you a nod of  approval as he raises a glass to you.

That was the first night john kissed you. 

You’ve felt at home ever since. 

Snow flurries cling to your lashes as you trudge through layers of snow, scarf wrapped up around your nose and John’s beanie pulled down as much as possible. 

You tried to return it last night before he left, but he insisted on you keeping it. You’re grateful for that now, stuffing your hands as deep into your pockets as possible, hating the way the wind bites so fiercely, it feels like you’re wearing nothing at all — bones and blood turning to ice.

Ten excruciatingly cold minutes later, you stumble into the bar, shaking yourself off like a wet dog and stomping your boots to dislodge the snow clinging to the sole. Some of it buried into the back of your boot while walking, and you try not to make a face when your socks feel damp.

“There she is!” comes Soap’s cheerful call, standing behind the bar with a cardboard box in front of him. 

You unravel yourself from the scarf and dust off the beanie from the last of the snow, wiggling your fingers as you make your way over so you can start feeling them again. John turns to look at you with a warm smile, and you flush under his attention. Simon accepts a glass from Gaz, tipping it towards him in thanks. Gaz passes glasses to John and Soap next, finally setting one down at the seat next to John — intended for you, as he gives you a knowing smirk, which you pointedly ignore with a roll of your eyes — and sipping from his own as he settles next to Soap. 

“What’s this?” you ask, taking a sip. 

“That’s a gin and tonic, love,” Gaz replies easily, and you give him an unamused look. 

“I meant the box,” you clarify, as Soap chuckles and uses a box cutter to open it, taking out a sheet of paper and reading over it with a soft smile on his lips. 

“This,” he says, pulling a knit sweater from the box and checking the sticky note on the front, handing it to John, “is tradition.” 

You take a healthy sip — Gaz uses a heavy hand —and watch as he continues to pull the sweaters from the box, handing one to Simon and then Gaz. he takes another from the box, resting it in front of him. 

“Ma nana, bless her, makes us Christmas jumpers,” he says with a fond smile. You watch as Gaz eagerly strips his current sweater to put the new one on. 

Your heart aches, but the corner of your lips quirk up as you watch even Simon pull his on. 

He reaches into the box again, one last sweater being handed to you. “Ah told her ‘bout you,” he begins as you take it from him, unraveling it and feeling the sting of tears line your eyes. “She says welcome to the family.” 

You blink at him with teary eyes and he coos at you, leaning over the counter to squish your cheeks affectionately. 

“Go on then, hen,” he says as he releases you, nodding towards the jumper. You eagerly strip out of your jacket, taking the beanie off and settling it on the counter before pulling the sweater over your head. 

It fits like a dream. 

“Don’t ask,” Soap says with a wink, taking a sip and turning away so you wouldn’t even have the chance to ask. 

You look over to John, blue eyes dark as he takes you in, something unreadable in his expression. His eyes flick to yours, gaze softening as he gives you one of his signature smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners so you know it’s real, reaching out to ruffle your hair before standing from his seat. 

“Right then,” he says, “let’s get to work.” 

After the garland has been hung, mistletoe put over every possible doorway thanks to soap, fake poinsettias and other decorations spread all throughout the bar, you deem it to be ready for the holiday. 

Or as ready as it can be, but you’ll take what you can. 

The boys turn one of the tvs on to watch the premier league game, lounging in their new, festive jumpers and drinks on the table. You take the moment to slip away to the back office where john is, having retreated there himself a half-hour earlier. 

The door is slightly ajar, but you knock lightly before pushing it open a little more. 

John sits at his desk, sweater pushed up his forearms and stretching across his broad chest. You swallow a pathetic whimper, turning to close the door. You don't lock it — fingers crossed the game keeps the boys occupied enough to not worry about you. 

He watches you with those same dark eyes — arousal dampening your panties — as you make your way over to him.  He pushes his chair back enough for you to climb into his lap, settling yourself comfortably over his thick thighs. Your fingers card affectionately through his mutton chops, and he lets out a pleased hum, closing his eyes. 

“I got you a gift,” you confess in a whisper, shy and uncertain. 

His eyes flick open, clearly intrigued, but doesn’t prompt you any further. He rests his hands on your hips, dipping under the hem of the sweater to grasp your waist, thumbs rubbing affectionately over your skin, pulling you closer. 

“Did you now?” he asks, clearly amused, hands drifting higher. You let out an indignant squeak, swatting his chest. 

“It’s not me!” you say, though the idea certainly isn’t a bad one.

“Pity,” he muses, chuckling, before his hands come back to respectfully settle on your waist. “What is it, then?” 

You chew the inside of your cheek, suddenly worrying that it’s too much, or that it’s not enough, or he won’t like it or — 

“Love?” he prompts you, as if he could sense the way you’re spiraling into your own mind. 

You balance yourself up on your knees — which doesn’t help your claim that you’re not the gift — pulling out a slightly crumpled, white envelope from your back pocket. You press it against his chest, unable to meet his eyes. His hand — warm and broad and comforting — comes up to rest over yours for a moment before he takes the envelope, opening it with a raised eyebrow. 

He looks over the tickets that rest inside, before he looks back to you, taken off guard.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper, even though the holiday is weeks away. He surges up to kiss you, tickets pressed to your cheek as he licks into your mouth, a surprised noise rising in your throat. 

Resting your hands on his shoulders, you sink into the kiss, slipping deeper into his lap as his tongue presses against yours, the familiar warmth settling over you. 

“How did you..?” he asks, breathless, moving to press kisses over your cheeks and jaw, and you giggle and push him away, his beard tickling your skin. 

“I used this thing called money,” you tease, scratching at his beard as he rolls his eyes, “which my lovely boss gives me every two weeks.” 

“Cheeky,” he laughs, returning the tickets to the envelope and placing it on the desk. “You’ll go with me, yeah?” 

Not that he has to ask, but it’s still a sweet gesture. 

Two tickets to a Newcastle game are tucked into the envelope, set for some time in the new year. You can’t think of a better way for it to begin. 

You know John has a jersey— he wears it on game day. You always appreciate the way you’re able to unashamedly stare at his forearms, corded muscle working as he pours drinks and cleans the counter top. He’s unfairly attractive in it. 

He grasps one of your wrists lightly, breaking you from your reverie, turning it enough to drag his lips across your palm. 

You fall quiet as you watch him, kissing  each of your fingertips, and then pressing your palm against his cheek, looking up at you with reverence, like you were something to worship, to spread out and show his devotion to you.

“You know Soap put mistletoe above my door before you came in,” he murmurs and you raise an eyebrow. 

“Did he?” 

He hums low in his throat, hands going underneath your jumper once more. You bite your lip as they graze up and down your sides, inching higher and higher. 

"Well I’m not one to break tradition,” you reply, leaning in close to press your lips against his. 

You happily sit in his lap as you indulge in his kisses, languid and deep, so content you could almost purr. 

“I have a gift for you too,” he says against your lips, biting at it lightly before kissing the corner of your mouth. You make an interested noise, not wanting to pull away from his mouth, from him. He chuckles as he gives in to kiss you once more, hands beginning to ruck up your jumper. 

He rocks his hips up against yours, and you whine almost pathetically into his mouth, pawing at his shoulders. 

“It’s not this,” he says, clearly amused, but pushes you away enough to bring your jumper up over your head, leaving you in one of your nicer, lacy bras — if you wore it specifically for him, you’ll never tell. 

He’s kind enough to fold it over and place it on his desk before turning his attention back to you. 

“God, look at you,” he marvels, leaning in to press his lips to your collar, down to the valley between your breasts. 

You flush under his attention, one hand braced on the middle of your back, his other dragging the fabric of your bra down, laving his tongue over your nipple, biting it gently to a firm peak and sealing his lips over it. 

“Fuck,” you exhale shakily, gripping the nape of his neck, feeling the way he hardens under your touch, arousal slicking your panties, sticky and wet where you’re pressed against him. 

He deftly unhooks your bra, dragging the straps down until it pools in your lap. He immediately moves to mouth over your other nipple, thumb brushing over the hardened nub that’s already shining with his spit. 

He stands suddenly, bra falling forgotten to the floor as he settles you onto his desk, licking deeper into your mouth as you move to undo his belt, feeling almost frantic with the need to feel him. 

“You’re so gorgeous, darling,” he says against your lips, his own hands unbuttoning your jeans. You manage to pull his belt loose, pushing his jeans and boxers down enough to feel the coarse hair at the base of his cock before he stops you.

“Wait a second, love,” he’s gentle as he grasps your wrists. “Wanna get yours off first,” he adds. 

You pout — just a little — but acquiesce to his request, tilting your hips enough for him to pull your jeans and underwear down to your ankles. 

“Ah. Fuck,” he sighs, exasperated, before he kneels down — a little awkwardly, with the state of his own bottoms — to unlace your boots to drop them to the floor, your panties and jeans following soon after. 

“There,” he sighs as he grasps your face for a kiss, and you hum happily against his mouth, gripping him for stability.

“Are you sure this isn’t my gift?” you ask, a teasing lilt to your voice, as he drags his mouth to your cheek and then to nip the lobe of your ear. 

He laughs, and it goes right to your core, molten heat trickling down your spine, leaking from your pussy to the desk underneath. 

“I promise,” he says, voice low, pressing a tantalizing kiss to the soft, sensitive skin behind your ear. 

When you open your mouth to reply, he rests two fingers on your bottom lip, almost touching the tip of your tongue. 

He’s asking permission, you realize, so you take his wrist to draw his fingers further into your mouth, closing your lips around his thick fingers, tongue slipping between them and sucking them deeper. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, a deep honey drawl that makes you weak. You swallow back a whine. he presses his fingers down against your tongue, and you blink up at him through glassy doe eyes, still grasping his wrist lightly. 

You whimper, when he’s too enchanted with the sight of his fingers deep in your mouth, arousal coating your thighs. Glazed eyes turn to you, a hum of approval reverberating in his throat. he slowly withdraws them, your lips glossy with spit. 

His fingers drift down to your cunt, already soaking with need, dragging them lazily through your folds to mix your own spit into the mix. He leans down to kiss you, and you rest your hand on his cheek to keep him close. 

“So wet for me already, darling,” he marvels as he continues to gather your slick on his fingers, moving up to press gently against your clit, rubbing it in slow, soft circles. “Think you can take both?” he glides his fingers over your entrance, feeling the way your walls flutter in anticipation. 

You nod eagerly and he leans close to kiss you, licking into the heat of your mouth; at the same time, he sinks both fingers into you, far more gentle that you expected. The stretch catches you off guard, gasping against his lips. He pulls back, a hair’s breadth apart, merely breathing you in as your walls clench around him, trying to get used to the feeling of him filling you full. 

“Too much?” he murmurs.

“Just,” with a shake of your head, you breathe in, moving to grip his neck, nails sinking into his skin. You want to leave your own marks on him. “Been awhile,” you admit on the exhale, drawing him back in to kiss, relaxing into his touch while he happily gives into you.

Your mouth drags from his, to the corner of his lips, over to his cheek, right where the line of his beard starts to tickle your skin. He's kind, and patient, and so, so good to you. 

“Good?” he asks when you rock your hips into his touch, but he doesn’t start moving his fingers until you actually say yes, pressing the word to his cheek like a promise. 

He’s surprisingly delicate with his touch, as he is with everything else when it comes to you, but the filthy sound of your slick and spit fills the air along your quiet noises, choking down your whines and mewls. 

Soap would be insufferable if he found out about this. 

“I know it feels good, love,” he says against your lips, his own curled into a smirk — cocky bastard — “You have to keep quiet for me though, yeah?” 

But then his fingers curl and graze the spot inside you that leaves you trembling, head tipping back as your nails dig deeper into the nape of his neck. He continues to rock his fingers against that spot, deadly precision as he takes the opportunity to bite at the column of your throat, the sting of his teeth making you feel delirious with pleasure. 

“Fuck, John,” you whine as you draw him close enough to hide your face into the collar of his sweater, the scent of cigars and sex making your head spin, thoughts turning to static. “‘m gonna cum,” you pant against his collar, trying so desperately to keep yourself quiet. 

It’s not going particularly well. 

Another few pumps of his fingers, your clit under his thumb, and white hot pleasure pools down your spine. You muffle your moan against him as your legs shake and cum spills over his fingers. He works you through it, soft praises whispered against the crown of your head. 

You’re pliant in his arms, all the tension seeping from your body as he slowly withdraws his fingers. You grab for his wrist, eyes bleary and glossy, feeling the weight of his gaze as you draw his fingers into your mouth, licking your release from him. 

“Fuckin’ hell, love,” he groans, grasping your face, tongue pressing into your mouth, “Gonna be the death of me.” 

He finally allows you to push his bottoms down enough to free his cock, hard and heavy against his stomach, pre-cum already dripping from the tip. You go to reach for him, eager to touch him just as he touched you, but he captures your wrist, pressing a gentle kiss to your pulse, and moves to tip you back against the desk.  

You grip the hem of his jumper, something of a pout gracing your lips as you blink up at him, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He takes his off with far less grace than he did your own, but still has enough sense to try and fold it, placing it over yours. 

It is a gift, after all.

“Better?” he asks, a chuckle rising as you immediately move to trace over the planes of his chest, nails scratching through the dark hair that litters his body. Faint red marks are left in the wake of your touch, all the way down to his hips, a thatch of hair in a line leading down to his length. 

“Much,” is your reply as you drag him close to you, nose buried in his throat to smell cigar smoke and sandalwood, the comfort and musk making you keen, impatient for his touch, his kiss, his cock. 

He braces one hand by your hip, caging you against him, and you tilt up enough to lace your legs around his waist, wanting to bury yourself into his veins, wanting to be as close as possible. He takes himself in his other hand, dragging it through your folds, teasing your sensitive clit. 

You whine at him. 

He gives you a soft kiss before moving to kiss your collar, watching as his cock sinks into you — just the tip. He keeps his hold on himself, dragging himself in and out, feeling the way your cunt tries so desperately to draw him deeper. The wet heat makes his breath stutter, tests his patience so he doesn’t sheath himself completely in one sharp thrust, wanting to do this — needing to do this — properly, even if you are fucking in his office instead of his bed. 

“John,” you damn near sob against his temple, lacing one arm around his shoulders, unashamed with how desperate you are to feel all of him. 

He accidentally slips from your heat, and guides himself back, notching the fat head at your entrance, already shiny with your desire. He pushes in slowly, and you gasp and grab at him, head tipping back as your eyes close, never having felt so full before. 

“F-fuck,” you whine, having enough sense to bring your gaze back to watch as he sheathes himself completely inside you, your clit pressing against the dark hairs at the base of his dick. 

“Such a good girl for me.”

His teeth latch on to the side of your neck, biting hard enough to leave an imprint, keeping himself still until you mewl out a soft move, please. 

He captures your mouth with his own when he starts thrusting in earnest, swallowing each moan and cry that rises from your throat, wishing the desk wouldn’t squeak so fucking loud, the schlick of his cock pumping in and out of  your soaked pussy making it impossible to focus on anything else.  

He lays you down against the desk, hooking your legs under his arms to press them up by your side, allowing him to push even deeper, his cockhead kissing your cervix with his thrusts, each a little more brutal than the last. Your nails thread through his hair, the strands damp with his sweat, and you bring them down to his shoulders, his arms, digging in sharp to continue leaving your marks all over him. 

“Careful now, pet,” he taunts, right in your ear, a shiver going down your spine right to your pussy, clenching tighter around him in response. “Only mark me if you’re gonna keep me.” 

You’re breathless as you respond, the pleasure pooling in your gut and spreading throughout like liquid fire — unable to think of anything but him, and the way he touches you, and the way his teeth sink into your neck until you squeal with the sharp, biting pain that he soothes with his tongue. 

“I will, I will,” you say, nails digging in deeper — a show of devotion, of loyalty. “I promise.” 

“My darling girl.”

The praise, the possession — it burns you from the inside out. 

“Please, please, please,” you beg, so close to the precipice of your second orgasm, pleasure like venom lining your blood. 

“Taking my cock so well, love, fuckin’ made for me.” His voice is low, almost a growl, your cum making a thick ring of cream, wetting the base of him. “You need to cum so badly, don’t you?”

Past the point of being able to form words, you cry and nod, tears spilling down your cheeks. You're overwhelmed, hands moving down to hold him by his waist, too weak to do anything more than lay there and take anything he gives you. 

“Cum on my cock, darling, I want to feel it.”

You’d never think he’d have such a filthy mouth, but it’s just enough to snap the coil of pleasure that’s been building. You arch up  into him, his name on your lips, unable to hold back any longer as you shake with the force of it. 

He buries himself to the hilt inside you, feeling the pulses of his cock as thick streams of his cum paint your insides, filling you full. He pants out a Jesus Christ, pressing his weight down on you, his spend starting to leak from where he’s still buried deep inside you. 

You lay there, comforted by his weight and warmth, the scent of sex and sweat mixing with the ever-present smell of cigar smoke that’s practically embedded into his skin. 

After a few minutes of laying there, John presses soft kisses to the column of your throat — over the imprints of his teeth, his imprints,  that litter your skin — and he pulls out of you slowly. You whine at the loss, feeling so empty now without him inside you, burrowed close to your heart. His cum drips from your cunt, gathering on the table below. 

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, pulling his own bottoms up and slipping back into his jumper,  walking around the side of the desk — dropping a kiss to your temple — and leaves, coming back only moments later with a washcloth. He wipes you down so gently, a second one dragging over your skin in light strokes to dry you off. 

He helps sit you up, gripping your waist and steadying you before gathering your panties and bottoms. He pauses for a moment, eyes flickering to yours before a smirk paints his lips, tucking your panties into his back pocket and helping you into your jeans. He gathers something from one of his desk drawers as you wrangle yourself back into your own jumper.    

“So,” he begins, settling back into his chair and patting his lap, which you crawl into eagerly, as your sense of stability and balance have yet to return, pressing yourself close, "Close your eyes.” 

You give him a look, though his face gives nothing away. You close your eyes, hearing what sounds like a hinge opening and the sharp snap of a case. His hands go around your throat next, but he doesn’t touch you. He’s quiet for a moment, but then settles his touch back to your waist. 

“Alright, darling, open up.” 

You immediately bring your hand to your throat, feeling the delicate chain that’s now laying there. You gently bring it up, looking over the charm in your fingers, before your breath catches in your throat.

 J. 

He smiles at you like you’re the sun, and you cup his cheeks, leaning in close to press multiple kisses to his mouth, sniffling a little while he coos at your reaction. 

“You’re my favorite Christmas present.” 

Soap is, indeed, insufferable about it when you finally emerge from the back office. He gives you a shit-eating grin, musing out loud that he should hang mistletoe off John’s belt next. 

[thelargefrye]

THE YULE DRAGON … holiday one - shot ( 17+ )

pairing : poly!dragon!ateez x witch!f!reader

genre : dragon au, fantasy au, holiday au, fluff, angst

word count : 4.3k

warnings : language, mentions of dragon hunters, talks about death, light injury but nothing major, one death threat

suffer tag : @sanjoongie and for anon who asked about any new chapters

note : very excited to write this, so let me know what you think! also here is a link to what y/n's dress at the yule gala looks like!

the winter month draws near and the clan prepares to celebrate the yule dragon festival for the first time in years. knowing this is wooyoung's first one with an actually clan, you want to make sure everything is perfect.

when you woke up in the morning, you noticed how snow had slowly begun to fall and lay on the ground. you also couldn't help but notice how the dragons around you seemed to have been in good moods. smiles on their faces as they walked around and some even greeted you with warm smiles.

when you arrived at the nursery, the hatchlings all immediately greeted you. most of them run up and tackle you to the ground.

"miss y/n! miss y/n! did you see the snow?" one hatchling, jiyu, asked and you couldn't help but laugh as you nodded and pushed some hair out of her face.

"yes, i did. very beautiful isn't it?"

"not as beautiful as you, miss y/n!" another hatchling, minjae, said. the other hatchlings couldn't help but agree with minjae and you couldn't help but laugh at them all.

"prince mingi said that we will be able to celebrate the yule dragon festival this year!"

"the yule dragon festival?" you remember wooyoung telling you about the holiday years ago when you first met. you can't help but feel excited knowing he's going to enjoy a real one this year.

"yeah! it's been years since the clan last held one," seeun says and that quickly catches your attention. years? you thought the holiday was a yearly thing?

"alright, little ones, let's go ahead and get ready for the day," mingi comes in and ushers the hatchlings away from you in order to gather them in a line so they could eat.

you push your curiosity down for later as you go over to help mingi with the hatchlings. you watch the hatchlings with a warm fondness as they eat and talk to each other, and the rest of the day goes by in flash with you and mingi taking care of the young dragons.

"miss y/n, have you ever experienced a yule dragon festival before?" one of the hatchlings asked as they were laying down for a nap. the question of one hatchling seemed to have caught the attention of a few others around you two.

"not a proper one with a true clan, but me and wooyoung used to do a small celebration before we came to the clan," you said as you remembered your time with wooyoung back in your cottage. you can feel your cheeks heat up as you remember the first time you both celebrated the yule dragon together.

"do witches have any special holidays?" another hatchling, siyu, asked.

"we do but they're not like the yule dragon one. we focus more on what we are thankful for and mourning those that have left us," you explain.

"that sounds sad."

"sometimes it is sad, but then you have to remember that even those that left this world are still with us in spirit. watching over and guiding us on the right path of destiny," you say.

"but miss y/n, you don't have to be sad anymore because you have all of us!" one hatchling said with the others immediately agreeing and you couldn't help but smile at all of them.

"okay, okay, everyone," mingi says as he comes in and immediately calming all the hatchlings down. "its time to rest, not get excited."

"but prince mingi," minjae says looking towards the tall prince, "don't you agree that miss y/n doesn't have to be sad anymore, since she has all of us now?"

"of course," mingi says as he bends down to pet minjae's head, "but miss y/n still has a right to miss those that she lost. we all do. now come on, everyone, time to rest!"

you can't help but smile at how some of the hatchlings groan at mingi's words, but nonetheless all lay down in their little nooks. you and mingi go through and make sure each hatchling is comfortable before you leave the nesting room.

you watch as mingi closes the door behind him before he's offering his arm to you. you take his arm with a smile as he escorts the two of you back to the main palace wing.

"i meant what i said though," mingi begins and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, "that you have a right to be sad about those you lost, but also know that hatchlings are right as well and that you have all of us now. the hatchlings, me, wooyoung, yeosang, the others, and even the clan. you have all of us."

"thank you, prince mingi," you say, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek and he smiles at you before quickly pressing his own kiss to your lips. "also," you speak up after you two continue to walk, "what did the little ones mean when they said its been years since you all had a yule dragon festival?"

"well... we haven't had one since hongjoong's parents and brother were killed. hongjoong didn't want to have a large one with the whole clan, so this is the first time in five years that we have celebrated it as such," mingi explains and you nod your head in understanding.

"what caused him to suddenly change his mind?"

"well you and wooyoung of course," you wanted to laugh at mingi's answer. more like just wooyoung, you think. you decide to remain silent as mingi guides you through the palace.

"this will be wooyoung's first yule dragon with an actual clan in years," you note as you notice many dragons setting up and decorating the palace corridors with festive decorations. you can't help but feel excited knowing that wooyoung will be able to experience the real thing after so many years of not having it with an actual clan.

your mind goes back to when you and wooyoung would celebrate together back at the cottage. both of you dressing up, decorating the cottage, and spending the entire night together. wooyoung taught you the dances that he learned. even when you weren't celebrating the dragon holiday, you would find wooyoung and yourself dancing and just enjoying each other's company.

"hey, mingi?" you caught the dragon's attention and he turns towards you as you continue to speak, "is there... a way i can help set up the festival?"

"oh! umm, i think so. seonghwa is usually in charge of things like this, but i volunteered to help him this time, so..."

"do you need help?" you ask, feeling an excitement bubble up in your stomach.

"of course you can help," mingi says, a wide smile on his face and you mirror his smile, beaming up at him. the two of you share a quick hug, mingi lets out a small laugh at your excitement, almost not expecting it.

"thank you," you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you are separating yourself from him. you notice the blush that covers his cheeks and ears and you have to stop yourself from pouncing on the tall dragon from how cute he is.

as the next week goes by, you spend your time helping the dragons in the clan to decorate for the yule dragon holiday. at first some of the dragons were reluctant at accepting your help, but slowly and eventually they allowed for you to help with the decorations. sure they didn't trust you with the important stuff, but that was okay.

you only wanted to make sure everything was perfect for wooyoung, he needed to have the best yule dragon after everything he has done for you. you also wanted to make sure the clan had a good one as well, but wooyoung took priority in your heart.

"wow, look at these decorations, darling," yeosang's voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look down from your spot on the wooden ladder to see your lover looking up at you with a smile. you finish hanging the silver garland before climbing down the ladder and yeosang is quick to press a loving kiss to your lips.

"thank you, me and the hatchlings made them," you say, feeling rather proud from how all the decorations have been turning out. many of the other clan dragons complimenting you on your hard work.

"you've been working so hard, a lot of the clan members are grateful for your help," he says as the two of you begin walking out of the grand hall, where the yule gala will be held tomorrow night. other dragons are busy around you all finishing up last minute details, with most of them stopping to bow at yeosang before scurrying away to finish their task.

"i have something for you, princess," he says once the two of you are out of the grand hall and you give him a confused look which only makes him smile. "it’s custom for everyone to wear special outfits, rather a little too fancy if you ask me, but people really enjoy it," he begins as the two of you continue to walk down the hall.

"and i bet you completely forgot to make sure you are prepared for the gala," yeosang teases and you felt yourself get flustered at his words. "but don't worry because you wonderful mate has taken care of you," he says as you both stop in front of your chamber doors. "i hired a seamstress to make you a dress and thankfully she managed to finish it in time."

"wait, yeosang– you... you didn't, you shouldn't have."

"but i did, and i wanted to. my darling, you have done so much, let me give you this," he says, cupping your cheeks before leaning over and kissing you. you feel yourself melt into the kiss as you press yourself closer to your lover, arms wrapping around his waist. the two of you only separate when you're out of breath and yeosang presses one last kiss to your lips before he's pulling away and opening the door to your bedroom.

when you stepped inside, you were completely shocked at the dress that rested on the mannequin in the center of your room. you had honestly never seen a dress more beautiful in your life and you felt yourself tear up because of it. you felt like you didn't deserve a dress as gorgeous as this.

"it's beautiful, yeosang."

"you look absolutely beautiful, my fire," seonghwa says when he sees you walk into the grand hall.

the gala had been going on for several minutes, hongjoong lighting the ceremonial flame that burned in the center of the clan. you were amazed at the flame and its rather unique color, and mingi explained that this flame could only be lit by the leader of a clan and that it in order to celebrate the first dragon.

you honestly couldn't look away from the flame, almost like it was meant to entrance you.

"thank you, prince seonghwa," you said, bowing slightly to the eldest dragon prince. seonghwa could only smile as he took your hand into his before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

"make sure you enjoy yourself," he says, not yet letting go of your hand. "i want a dance before the night is over."

"of course, your highness," you say, a small smirk taking over your lips before seonghwa is nodding and making his leave. he does unfortunately have other people to see and talk to.

your eyes scan around the grand hall, looking for the head of familiar red hair and you feel your heart skip a beat when you finally find him. wooyoung looked absolutely handsome in his outfit and you were glad to see that he matched the other princes. it made your heart flutter knowing that wooyoung was being accepted by the clan.

you made your way over to your first lover, your feet picking up speed when you two made eye contact. you felt like it had been forever since you last seen wooyoung – however it had only been a few hours. you had been so caught up in making sure the festival and gala were perfect for him that you had completely forgot to pay the red-headed dragon attention.

so you immediately wrapped wooyoung in a tight hug once you were close enough. wooyoung was quick to return the hug, holding you close to him as he inhaled your scent before pressing a kiss to your neck.

"my y/n, you look so beautiful," he says as he twirls you around, the white-silver fabric that was decorated with beautiful shimmering stars and moons. wooyoung had seen the dress, yeosang having shown him before you and he knew you would look beautiful in it. but of course, seeing you actually in it he was blown away by your appearance.

"are you having a good time, woo?" you ask, heart beating rapidly waiting for his answer.

"of course i am," he says with a smile, "mingi mentioned how you helped out with this whole thing. any reason why?"

"you, of course," you say, both your hands linking with his. "this is your first yule dragon with an actual clan in a long time. i wanted to make sure it was perfect."

"oh love," he says, gently pulling the two of you off to the side, "you didn't need to do that. it would have perfect no matter what because i'm celebrating it with you. back at the cottage... i saw the two of us as our own little clan. and the yeosang joined," wooyoung says and you can't help but laugh at his last comment. despite mating and bonding with yeosang, wooyoung still couldn't get over the other dragon coming in basically setting up camp in your little cottage.

"you love yeosang, don't try to fool yourself," you tease and wooyoung grumbles a little bit before rolling his eyes.

"whatever."

you were about to say something when the sound of a familiar tune filled the grand hall. you turned to see a lot of the people gathering at the center and began dancing. you noticed mingi pulling yunho behind him to the dance floor with many of the other dragons cheering for the two tall princes. following them, you see yeosang and san dancing and you were a little surprised at seeing the blonde guard dancing and smiling as him and yeosang looked at one another.

"wow, who knew san could smile," wooyoung says and you crack a smile before turning to your lover.

"shall we join them as well?" you ask and wooyoung nods before he's pulling you towards the dance floor and you two quickly fall into a rhythm of the dance. the music easily guided you as you and wooyoung danced, you felt your whole attention center in on your lover and it felt like it was just the two of you.

you got flashbacks to when you and wooyoung would dance in your cottage. how back then it really was just the two of you and no one else, but now you were surrounded by people that even if they all didn't welcome you, they welcomed wooyoung. and even if you didn't feel welcomed at first, you have mingi, yeosang, the hatchlings.

seeing wooyoung smile and laugh and enjoy himself made you feel like you were on cloud nine. even if he wouldn't say it out loud, you knew wooyoung enjoyed being a part of the clan.

you felt the music guide you and your thoughts, as the music began to slow down you found yourself and wooyoung also slowing down. wooyoung pulling you close to him, his arm coming to wrap around your waist to hold you close to him.

"i have you had your ceremony?" wooyoung suddenly asks, snapping you out of your happy daze. you knew immediately what he was talking about.

"not yet, i was waiting till after the gala was over," you say, feeling a lump form in your throat at knowing what you would have to do later.

just like dragons, witches also had their own traditions and such. not as public as the yule dragon, but more intimate to each witch. celebrating those that you left you in this world. wooyoung has been with you during this ceremony like you have been with him for his. you don't know how many nights you have fallen asleep, crying in wooyoung's arms because of all the witches that have died.

"do you want me there with you?" he asks, and it takes you a moment to think about it.

"no, i'll do it alone this time."

"are you sure?" you nod your head, you didn't want to ruin wooyoung's good time here with your own traditions and ceremonies.

when the music changed once again, you pressed a kiss to wooyoung before stepping away, telling him you needed some fresh air.

"let me come with you," he says as he starts to trail after you, but you stop him.

"it’s okay," you say, hand out to stop him, "i'll be right back."

you don't give wooyoung a chance to say anything as you're turning and making your way to one of the many garden doors that lead out into the courtyard.

once the cold air hit your skin, you let out a sigh as you made your way over to one of the stone benches that overlooked most of the courtyard and even down further into the clan. the yule flame burned brightly a short distance away and you couldn't help but walk over to it. the flame reminded you of the flame that you would light for the umbra ceremony.

the flame burned brightly and you almost felt like a moth from how you were being drawn to it.

which is how you found yourself in front of it. the noises from the grand hall behind you is like static as you look at the flame, letting it consume you. you got flashbacks to when you would set up a room of candles for the witches that you lost, the flame from those candles burning brightly into your mind.

"why are you out here," the cold voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn to look at hongjoong with wide eyes. the prince looks at you with a stern expression, his cold eyes burning into your body.

"i was just... just getting some air," you tell him, refusing to fully make eye contact with him.

hongjoong lets out a 'tsk' sound before he's coming to stand next to you, looking up at the flame. you're surprised by how close hongjoong, this is probably the closest he has ever gotten to you without trying to kill you.

"mingi told me how you helped decorate for the festival," he said out of nowhere after the two of you stood in silence. "i guess witches can be good for something," he adds and you feel yourself deflate at his harsh words.

"i did it for wooyoung," you said wanting to make it clear that you were only doing it for your first love and no one else. "this is his first yule dragon with an actual clan in years," you add.

"and i'm sure witches are the reason why he had gone for so long without experiencing one with a clan," he says back.

"perhaps," you say as you clench your fist together tightly, "but wooyoung is here now with a clan," you turn your head to look at hongjoong, taking in his form once more. his lavish outfit and vibrant blue hair standing out against the dark night. he was the epitome of what a leader of a dragon clan should be in the fact that he always had that air of authority around him. everyone respected him and if they didn't respect him then they feared him.

you, unfortunately, feared him more than you respected him. the dragon oracles say that you two are mates like you are with the rest of the princes, but you knew hongjoong refused to acknowledge you as his mate. you were a witch, the thing that killed his parents and brother and forced him to take the role of leader too soon. you wondered if you and hongjoong would ever get along.

you notice how the flame reflects against hongjoong's skin and then something hits you.

"please excuse me, prince hongjoong," you say suddenly before you are rushing past him. hongjoong doesn't say anything and you don't know if he watches you leave as you are too caught up in rushing back into the palace.

you run to your room, feeling out of breath as you enter your chambers you share with wooyoung before going over to the large trunk that rested at the foot of the bed. you quickly dig through the trunk and pull out a set of candles. all three a beautiful rose color and it reminds you greatly of your mother.

"what are these for mother?" you asked, looking up at your mother as she handed you the three candles. they were different from the ones you were use to lightly for the umbra ceremony and you wondered why she was giving them to you.

"these are special candles, y/n, i made them myself so you can use them when you need them the most," she explains, her voice seeming ever cryptic.

"when i need them the most?" you echo and she nods, a tight-lipped smile painting her features.

"they are for the one who will need to say goodbye the most."

you gripped the candles tightly as you raced back to the courtyard and was surprised to still see hongjoong standing there. somewhere deep inside wants you to believe he waited for you, but you know that's impossible.

"prince hongjoong," you say as you approach him. "i want to thank you for letting wooyoung into your home. i know that... you despise me and my people, you lost your parents and brother after all. and i know you probably don't care but i want to share something with you."

hongjoong turns to look at you, his face void of emotion as he watches you set the three candles down between the two of you. you crouch down, kneeling front of the candles as hongjoong stands towering above you.

"the umbra witches have their own ceremony, we light candles in order to remember those that have left us and this world. we do this as a way to remind us that while they have left this world physically, they are still here with us spiritually," you pause in order to take a deep breath, licking your lips before continuing.

"my mother made me these candles when she was still alive. she told me that they were for someone who needed to say goodbye, and... i think she made them for you."

"what the hell are you talking about?" hongjoong asks, voice full of surprise and anger. "i don't need any of you stupid umbra witch shit," he adds and you notice his fist clenches with his rage.

"please," you beg, voice straining as you plead with the prince, "take the candles, it will bring you peace, prince hongjoong."

you feel a sudden shock as you are grabbed by the collar of your dress. you're pulled up from your kneeling position, face dangerously close to an enraged hongjoong as he bares his teeth at you. in the moment you are reminded that you are at the mercy of a clan full of dragons whether you liked it or not.

"i will never," he jaw clenched tightly as he speaks, "ever, forgive your damned people for what they did to my family. my people. so don't think so damned candles will change that. you will never be my mate and just know that if it wasn't for yeosang and mingi that i would have burned you at a stake a long fucking time ago."

hongjoong waste no time in throwing you to the ground, your hands skidding across the stone pathway harshly and you flinch at the sudden burn of skin. you turn to see hongjoong's eye burning, like he will kill you if you say anything else to him.

you then watch him destroy two of the candles, his foot coming down harshly on them and you feel like a part of you is being ripped apart as you watch him. he's about to do the same to the last one, but you move and grab the last candle. the last one your mother made.

then without thinking you stand up and run away from the prince. you clearly made a mistake in thinking that you could get hongjoong to open up just a little bit. you felt tears begin to form in your eyes as you ran, clutching the candle close to your chest as you collapsed in the one of the many decorated halls.

you looked down at the candle once more, the image of your mother's smile flashing inside your mind as you caressed it. you knew this candle was for hongjoong. he was the one who needed to say goodbye to those he lost, but it was obvious that now wasn't the time.

"y/n!" the sudden call of your name makes you snap your head up to see yeosang rushing towards you. face full of concern and he drops down to the floor next to you. "y/n, what's wrong, why are you crying?" he brushes the tears away and you open your mouth to say something before a sob escapes instead.

you throw yourself into his arms and he arms them around you protectively. you hold your mother's candle close to you as you allow yourself to cry in yeosang's arms. yeosang doesn't say anything, only letting you cry as a comforting hand runs over your hair.

"it's okay, y/n, i'm here," he says softly, holding you closer to him. "whatever made you sad, don't think about it anymore, okay? cause i'm here to protect you."

and so the night comes to an end as you spend the rest of it in yeosang's arms, allowing him to hold you closely as you mourn for the loss of your mother and the hate hongjoong bares for you. 

tag list : @frankenstein852 @watamotee33 @kawennote09 @mixling-blog @marahleiwhen @kpopnightingale @harry-the-pottypus @pyeonghongrie @sanniesbum @marvelahsobx @khjcoo @mysticfire0435 @exfolitae @dementedaly @simeonswhore @moonm1st @nvmbheart @spooo00oky @frgogh @sookacc @seongwin @burnsmepls @ad0rechuu @tunaasan @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @cheesekimchi @confusedmoonchild777 @mjyungi @innieontop @iweirdthingsblog @s0obinluvr @worcesheshestershiresauce @moonlightgrleric @wineyoungie @jeongwangjessmina @lemineso

network : @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet

[woso-dreamzzz]

Youth Team II

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first crush

You first meet her during a friendly.

Usually, Denmark goes to everyone else to play. Not many teams want to make the trek over especially when it was winter and the snow had settled.

But there are always a few dumb idiots who want to play against the Under-Seventeen Euro winners and are willing to leave the warmth of their own countries to come over.

Today, it's Spain.

You haven't really paid much attention to who is on the other team (it's not like you would really recognise any of them anyway) but you're always up for a challenge.

You clap your hands together as you warm up. It's not too cold for Denmark standards but you can spot the Spain girls shivering as they try to get warm.

"They shake like a newborn deer," One of your friends says with a little laugh," Do you think they are just as unsteady on their legs?"

You stifle your own laugh as you head out to your position on your goal line. "They're just used to Spain. It's hot there."

"Hopefully the snow throws them off."

There's a light dusting of snow on the ground that you've found is pretty typical of the Denmark winter but is usually enough to throw off foreigners when they come to visit.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. "Maybe they'll slip over when they try to kick the ball."

You don't have much to do during the match. The coaches have put out a heavy offence and your midfield easily scoops up the loose balls.

Spain's keeper is nearly as good as you but lets three goals slip through her fingers (though one is ruled as offside). You're better though.

Morsa always says it's not arrogance if you can back it up.

You know you're better than her which is why you're a bit confused when the ball comes rocketing past your outstretched fingers. You've mistimed your dive and your glove misses the ball by mere millimetres as it slots itself into the left corner of your goal.

You roll out of your dive. You're used to the snow of Denmark but it doesn't mean that you want to be lying on it for longer than you have to be.

You catch a glimpse of the forward that got the better of you and...She's beautiful.

She's celebrating her goal, fist pumping up into the air.

You make eye contact.

She smiles.

You go red and look away, your heart going pitter-patter in your chest. You grab the ball out of your goal and throw it off to one of your midfielders.

The pretty girl is still celebrating and you make a vow to yourself to not let any more of her goals in. You wouldn't let her win.

You don't let her win at the end of the day with a scoreline of 2-1 to Denmark. You'd say that your performance was decent enough but knew it wasn't perfect because you didn't come out of it with a clean sheet.

"Hola."

You jump in shock when the girl from earlier appears in front of you.

"Hola."

She smiles at you. It's a pretty smile and it makes you feel all weird and mushy inside. You don't quite understand.

She offers her hand.

You shake it and introduce yourself to.

"I know," She says with a wink that makes a blush appear on your face out of nowhere," You play for Linköping."

You're a little bit flattered that such a pretty girl knows who you are and where you play. You wish you could say the same about her.

"I'm Natalia, by the way. I play for Barça B," She says," Straight through La Masia." She puffs out her chest and you're not too sure why she's telling you this. "We're staying over for the next two days. You know your way Denmark, don't you?"

You furrow your brow in confusion. "Er...yes..."

She's smiling again. "Can I have your number? I'd love to have a proper tour guide."

"Oh! Okay!" It makes sense why she was being so friendly now.

Spanish girls are touchy. You know this because Tia Tana is a bit touchy sometimes so you don't see anything wrong with the girl pressing a kiss on your cheek. She lingers there for a moment and her cheeks go a little red - though you put that down to the cold weather.

"I'll text you."

"Who was your new friend?" Morsa asks when you finally make your way over to her and Momma in the stands.

"Oh...er..." You look behind you to see Natalia smiling at you. You feel like your cheeks are permanently stained red. "She plays at Barça. I think she wants a tour guide."

Morsa narrows her eyes. "A tour guide," She says," Yeah, sure."

"Magda," Momma hisses in warning," That's lovely, princesse. Why don't you head back and get changed and then we can go to dinner?"

"Okay."

Pernille watches you go. "Don't."

"Don't what?!"

"It's nice that she's making friends."

"I think that girl has more than friendship on her mind!"

Pernille laughs. "Remind you for anyone?"

"Huh?"

"I had a little bit more than friendship on my mind when I invited you on that maths course."

Magda's face goes a little red before she turns away. "That's different. She's still a baby. She can't date."

"First of all," Pernille says as she slips a hand into Magda's," She hasn't been a baby for a very long time. Second of all, we've somehow managed to raise the most oblivious teenager of all time. She doesn't even realise that it's a date."

The tension in Magda's shoulders deflates. "Yeah...Well, at least it isn't a crush on Princesse's end."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

You're walking down the tunnel and feel a hand slip into your own.

It's Natalia again.

She smiles at you, swinging your joined hands.

You feel all mushy inside as you try to hold eye contact. She presses another kiss to your cheek.

"I look forward to seeing you soon," She says.

"Yeah, me too."

[iriswritesforyou]

Mutant Furnace

info - The heating had gone out in the school, Logan decided to help you

Warnings? - Coldness? Reader being from the south?

Word Count: 1,322

Logan had sported his leather jacket since the moment he got it, it was his trademark in a way. He wore it nearly every day and everywhere and you swore he even wore it to bed, even now with the whole heating out  in the school, he didn't really need it, but he wore it. It was the middle of winter and even with Charles and all his money and the heating had gone out. You and the other teachers had rounded up all the blankets and given them to the kids, you had given up everything but one of your own leaving you freezing in bed. It was around midnight now and you had classes in the morning, no matter how much you curled up and tossed around you could feel your fingers and toes go numb. 

Giving up,  you stood up, your teeth chattering and limbs shaking, wrapping your last blanket tightly around you. It was thin and made of a breathable cotton made for decoration, not for keeping warm so it offered little as you slowly made your way out of your room and down into the living room hoping someone had kept the fire going. With every movement your body ached and with every breath you could see it, you haven't grown up with a winter like this, barely ever seeing snow down south. 

It seemed like an eternity as you slowly made your way down the steps of the school, why did there have to be so many? It was quiet as you crept through the house and into the living room with your trembling breathing being the only sound. 

You could have started to cry when you saw the fire had died out and only the embers remained, still you made your way over slowly easing your body on the ground, getting as close to the fire place as you could without being inside of it. You were so focused on getting warm you missed Logan sitting in a chair in the corner of the room wearing that leather jacket. He didn't make a sound as he watched you shaking like a leaf, confused as to why you were awake at this hour and why you weren't curled up under the covers of your bed. You see, Logan had always had a bit of a soft spot for you, everyone knew it too and teased him about it but they never dared to tease you. 

“Kid?” His rough and low voice scared you as you jumped and turned half of your body to look at where his voice came from. 

“Logan?” He noticed how strained your voice was and walked over to you swiftly, crouching down next to you. He immediately noticed how your teeth were chattering and the blue tint to your typically rosy lips, the way your entire body shook worse and worse as the seconds moved by. 

“What are you do- doing down here?” You asked, struggling to make out the proper words “I could ask you the same doll.” 

“ I couldn't sleep, i- it’s too col - cold in here.” 

Logan knew for most people it would have been cold in the school but for him it was only slightly chilly, though you looked like you were freezing, about two seconds away from turning into a popsicle. 

“Why aren’t you in bed then kid? Under the covers where it’s warm?” Your shaking became even worse and your skin became increasingly dull and drained. You shook your head “ I - I gave all o-of my blank - k - ets to the students.” you gave a small laugh lamely and Logan could see your breath in the air “being fr -from the s- s- south and all, I - I don't really do the c- c -cold.” Your eyes flickered down to his leather jacket and how he didn't even look remotely cold “ H- How the hell a - are you n- not freezing?” 

He sat down next to you and shook his head “This is nothing compared to Canada and my mutation allows me to not feel temperatures as much as others.” 

His eyes went to the blanket around you barely managing to trap your body heat “Is that your only blanket?” You nodded. 

You watched as he shrugged off his leather jacket that tonight confirmed he slept in “Here.” He held it out to you and just looked at it dumbfounded, you couldn't really believe that Logan was giving you his jacket. He exhaled deeply and started to reach for your blanket to take it off. “Put it on, it will help, doll.” he said in a gentle tone. 

He helped you as you shook off your blanket and quickly put in his jacket that was too big for you, almost swallowing you whole before wrapping yourself up again. A small selfish part of him loved the way you looked in his jacket, his, on you, something that was too sweet to ever be his. 

It helped a little but not much, still shaking but less so, you thanked him. Logan had hoped that after a few minutes your body would start to warm up but it wasnt looking that way, he could start a fire. 

He unsheathed his claws catching your attention and you watched with unwavering focus as he scraped his claws against the metal on the side of the fireplace making sparks fly, catching the logs. He bent his torso over and blowed into it making a fire appear, you quickly scooted almost on top of it, your body right next to his, shoulder to shoulder. 

He thought you looked truly beautiful in the firelight with it reflecting off your skin and it highlighting the whites of your eyes, like an angel. Several moments passed in silence as he just watched you before you turned towards him, eyes locked onto each other. 

“Thank you” you whispered slowly and he felt your cold breath on his face, he could smell the scent of your hair and body, it was heavenly to him. 

“Well, I can't have one of our best teachers dying of the cold now can I?” you smiled at his words and bent your head down onto his shoulder leaning fully against him, he was so warm and you pushed yourself even closer. 

“You're like a 6 foot heater you know.” The color had now begun to come back to you and you had almost completely stopped shaking but he could still feel how cold you were, even his jacket. 

And in a selfish act that was more for him than for you, he wrapped one arm under your bent knees that were together and the other around your shoulder, picking you up and putting you in his lap. Your body was fully pressed against him now, sitting directly in his lap with his chin resting on his head but you went stiff for a moment before fully relaxing into his touch. 

You both could have spent forever like that, you felt safe in his arms that were tightly wrapped around your waist and he felt like the luckiest mutant in the world. 

With your body temperature finally back to normal a wave of exhaustion crashed into you. Logan kept his eyes fully trained on you as he watched your body fully sag down, eyelids becoming heavy and breathing evening out, he thought you had fallen asleep. Just as we were about to shift so he could lean against the fireplace so he could keep you warm through the night you lifted your neck up to his cheek and pressed your lips against his cheek softly “thank you.”

He froze before taking his hand and running it over your hair “always.” 

That whole night he stayed awake with you in his arms, keeping the fire from dying out and wrapped safely in his jacket in his arms with your blanket covering you both. 

[itsabouttimex2]

Deep Sea Sympathies

Yandere Sun Wukong

(Syntax alphabet is up next, then an LSO + Primal . Feeling super down, so I wrote something a little sadder. The villain tiers post I spent two days writing and rewriting again and again got anonymously sent to another user, who skimmed the majority of it, left out my opening and ending points, and called at least one of my criticisms “ridiculous” and even has a reblogger claiming that I “hate Macaque”, that I want “everyone to hate Macaque” and that I’m “salty”. Maybe it’s childish, but that kind of hurts when I’ve spent literal months making content for the show (often involving Macaque) that I genuinely love. I only wrote that list because I wanted to give my honest opinions as a break from my usual content as I prepared to watch and write for Season Five. Maybe I’m in the wrong and my rant was just stupid? Do you guys want me to delete the “Season Five Prep” posts?)

“I still can’t believe MK got me back into this,” the simian before you chuckles. “But I’m kinda glad he did. I really missed drawing. I forgot how good it felt.”

“…I see,” you “answer”, maintaining a stiff and poised position, staring down at the collection of utensils that the hero is using. “Are you… having fun, then?”

“Aww, bud. Come and take a seat, okay? Look, I’ll even put out a little mat for you. Come and take a seat,” he invites, plucking one of his transforming ginger hairs to make a proper cushion for you.

His tail winds lazily around your leg, tugging you closer and closer to the squishy orange padding.

“C’mon, bud,” he says, cutting through your hesitation. His voice has a powerful edge under all the sweetness- reminding you that the Monkey King is someone you can’t say no to. “I want you to draw with me, kiddo.”

Wukong is fond of this- pulling you into little “bonding sessions” that take up the whole day and leave you without time to spend with anyone else.

It’s funny, though, really- you are the last person that need be manipulated away from others.

“The Great Witch of Gloom,” was the title that you had been assigned. Before you had a name, before you had taken a step, before you had so much as uttered a cry… your fate had been decided.

You were to be a wicked soul with dark motives and a darker heart.

As old memories flood into your ever weary mind, Wukong arranges a few sheets of paper in front your mat. The grip of his tail slowly tightens, and you cease all stalling.

Lowering yourself to the ground, the mat provides a cozy cradle to shield against the cold wooden floor.

“…it’s almost Winter,” you mildly comment, tracing a finger against a smooth plank. “It’s getting colder.”

“Oh,” the simian casually asks, scooting his mat closer to yours, “you like the snow?” Here’s chance he always adores- any rare tidbit of info you offer is a chance for him to spoil you, stocking up on presents and snacks in an attempt to drown you in platonic love.

It didn’t help that you always felt so indebted after he was done stacking gifts into your arms and bag.

“So, bud- what’re you gonna draw?”

The curiosity in his voice is almost innocent, almost sweet. He pushes the multi-tiered box of crayons towards you, smiling.

“C’mon, pick a few out!”

Awkwardly; and with a shaking hand to boot, you reach for the box.

It’s… not a comfortable sensation. Waxy paper around thick wax sticks makes for an awkward feeling in your hand, and you slightly recoil from the hueless cylinder.

“Aww, kiddo. No one draws with white- heck, you’d be better off eating it! Not that I’ve, uh, ever done that.”

“…I don’t know what to do,” is your blank confession that leaves Wukong quirking an eyebrow.

“What, you don’t know how to draw? You’vd never had… oh. Oh, kiddo.”

Realization colors his golden eyes, leaving the simian king with a sympathetic frown. Your parents wouldn’t have ever let you have something as fun and bright as crayons, would they? How could he have forgotten that?

It had been a nightmare for the Monkie Kids to pry information out of you, and a further mess to try pushing you towards a healing state.

And, honestly- Wukong’s doting ministrations really didn’t help. All the love and gifts in the world could not undo your traumas- but certainly left you feeling as though you were mired in debt.

Not that you had the words to voice those feelings, leaving Wukong to continue piling on with his affections- all in the futile hope that he could love away the demons of your past.

“Okay, bud. Maybe we stepped out of your comfort zone, huh? Alright, my bad. Tell me what you wanna draw, and I’ll pick out the crayons for you, okay?”

“…I don’t know what to draw, though.”

His frown deepens. It’s hard to think that someone as young as you could be so… he wouldn’t say broken. That was far, far too cruel a word for someone he loved so dearly. You were… “cracked”, maybe. A little “tarnished”.

Like you had given up on seeing a light at the end of the tunnel and decided to instead drift slowly along in a dark ocean.

…actually…

“Bud, don’t you like the beach? C’mon, why don’t you draw something from there, yeah?”

“…could I?”

Your little words break his heart. You shouldn’t have to feel like you need permission for something as simple as drawing a damn picture. But you *do*, so he answers with false cheer-

“Of course, kiddo! Draw anything you want!”

“…how do… how would I draw… a jellyfish?”

Finally, a real smile graces his lips.

“I didn’t know you liked jellyfish,” he says, in a too familiar voice that lets you know you’ll be receiving a loaded armful of themed plushes and stress toys in the very near future.

Another load of guilt, another load of debt.

“I’ll take you to an aquarium one day,” he tacks on, unaware of your growing insecurities. “And we can look at them together.”

To him, this is healing. Love and affection and unending comfort.

And certainly, Wukong is far better a guardian than your parents were. Instead of blaming you for powers you couldn’t control, he was always ready with praise and applause. Instead of resigning yourself to rotted garments rummaged from the trash, you had brand-new clothes and warm shoes. You were never hungry. You were never bored. You were never alone.

And, above all else- you were loved.

But you were not happy.

And you doubted that would ever change.

[home-of-renn]

One thing that I wished they kept throughout the franchise was Hiccup being the smallest Viking. I wish they kept him scrawny and stringy and shorter than Astrid and the rest of the gang.

Hiccup was ostracised by his entire community for many reasons, one being his weak build and small stature.

Snotlout may be shorter than Hiccup in the movies, but he's got bigger muscles and puffs himself up. He makes up for it by acting like a proper Viking, being loud and obnoxious and always ready to start a fight - that and he can actually lift a weapon.

The name Hiccup is meant to mean small and frail - the runt of a litter or the black sheep. I want Hiccup to be the absolute epitome yet antithesis of his name. I want Hiccup to be small and unassuming and shorter than the rest. But I also want him to be Great. I want him to be brave and stubborn and hard to kill. Awkward and sarcastic at the worst of times but still kind and friendly and always dependable.

I want him to be everything a Viking is and isn't. I want him to be a peacekeeper and a warrior, an adventurer and an inventor, the son of the chief and the hiccup of his tribe. Someone who can't wield the same weapons as his tribesmen so he makes his own. Someone who wants to uphold the traditions and culture of his people yet always thinks outside of the box. The representation of this new age that's fast approaching, the line in the middle where old and new clash.

I want Hiccup to dress like a Viking, talk like a Viking, eat, sleep and walk like a Viking yet be the very last thing anyone ever thinks of when they think of a Viking. And most of all I want there to be absolutely nothing wrong with that.

I wish they hadn't made him tall and appealing in the end. I wish they'd kept him the way he was. A Viking born too early and too weak in the middle of one of the harshest winters ever experienced by the barbaric archipelago. A Viking who beat the odds and survived. He's braved every terrible winter since his birth and lives in a place where it snows nine months of the year and hails the other three. He can endure bone-freezing chills and frozen oceans but never fails to catch the common cold. He's always been a bit sickly, ever since he was a child, but he always bounces back. He's got scars and a missing leg and his hands are filled with callouses, cuts and burns, but he's soft-spoken and loves to read and never skips a meal yet can never seem to get any bigger.

I wish they could have kept Hiccup the way he was. I wish they didn't have to change him in order to have him become a worthy hero.

I wish the entire village could look at their little runt of a chief and still crack jokes about his long-overdue growth spurt. I want them to look at him and be filled with pride, cause despite the fact that he hasn't grown an inch since he was sixteen, there isn't a single person on Berk who can look at him without seeing just how far he's come.

[faistoconnors]

Snow Day - A. Donaldson x Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff. Could be read as Christmas-oriented but not mentioned! As per usual, unedited. No use of Y/N!

Word Count: 830

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Fem! Reader (no pronouns used but reader is called 'mommy' by their daughter)

Summary: A peaceful, snowy morning with Art and your daughter.

A/N: Despite living in Wisconsin, we have no snow on the ground :( so this is just wishful thinking really.

You’re awoken quite rudely. There’s a small hand, frantically tapping at your shoulder, accompanied by a voice. 

“Mommy,” your daughter whispers. She smacks her hand against your shoulder again, and finally, you open your eyes fully and blink the sleep away. Willow’s face is lit up in a grin that’s missing several teeth, her eyes sparkling. Your husband is still fast asleep beside you, turned over on his side, but Willow doesn’t allow you the same luxury. 

“Mommy, there’s snow,” she breathes out, almost reverent, and it all clicks. Quietly, you stand up from bed, tugging on a thick bathrobe and your slippers. Even with the heating, there’s still a frosty chill in the house. Willow’s hand fits into your own, and she drags you over to the window, pulling back the curtain just slightly. True to her word, the world outside is blanketed entirely in white. She lets out a quiet giggle, pressing her face up to the windowpane and watching as it fogs up. 

The two of you head to the kitchen together, and you help the girl up onto one of the stools, fixing her a bowl of cereal. 

“What do you say we make some hot chocolate together? We’ll save some for your dad when he wakes up,” you suggest, and somehow, she lights up even more. 

When the milk is set to heat up on the stove, the hot cocoa powder in its place on the counter nearby, you settle down at the island beside her to have your own breakfast. Willow’s long since finished hers, and she wanders over to the large bay window, sitting down and staring out of it. She’s practically vibrating with anticipation, and you know she’s itching to go outside, but a warm drink and some proper gear are in order before that can happen.

A pair of hands settle at your waist, and you look back to see a flash of blond hair and a flannel pajama set. Art plants a kiss on your cheek before moving over to the stove, wordlessly settling in to help you make the cocoa. As he finishes and pours the liquid into three travel mugs, he gives you a bright smile that reminds you so much of the girl who’s sitting close by. 

“Good morning,” he murmurs, returning to your side and putting an arm around your waist. His eyes are still tired, but you know he never sleeps well without you by his side, so it was inevitable that he’d woken up. 

“Morning,” you reply. “There’s snow.” 

He grins, letting out a quiet laugh. “I figured, from the way Willow-bug has glued herself to the window.” 

At the mention of her name, Willow turns back around, hopping up and flying through the living room back into the kitchen. She wraps her arms around Art’s legs and tugs on his hand. 

“Get me dressed so we can go outside?” she pleads eagerly, and how could either of you say no to that face? Art smooths a hand over her hair, nodding. 

“Let your mommy and I get dressed too, alright? Then we’ll all be ready.” 

She nods in a heartbeat, bouncing off to the window again while you and Art go to put your winter clothes on. 

“It feels ridiculous to go out in the snow so early on a Saturday morning,” you say fondly, and he agrees. 

“She was like this last winter too,” he grins. It’s true; last winter was the year you had moved to a place where it actually snows, and Willow had been over the moon. Of course, that time, she’d also bolted straight outside in her pajamas and played for half an hour, catching a terrible cold shortly after. It was a blessing she was slightly more patient this time around. 

When all three of you are bundled up and ready, Willow leads the way out the front door into the big yard. When you turn your back for just a moment to close the door, there’s a quiet whack noise, and the feeling of something hitting your back. Slowly rotating, you spot your daughter, mischievous smile on her face, hands behind her back. Art looks off down the driveway in faux-ignorance, though his shoulders are shaking with a laugh. 

Silently, you lift up a snowball in your own hand, and pitch it, though you’re unable to match the skill of your tennis-player husband. Still, it hits him square in the back of his head, pieces falling off down his neck into his coat, and he yelps. 

He turns to look at you with an expression of shock and determination, and you know you’ve done it now. 

Soon, the driveway will have to be shoveled, the roof cleared off of the heavy snow, the outdoor furniture brought to the garage. But for now, the three of you enjoy your time together, waging frosty war and warming hands with cups of cocoa until it’s time to head in.

[chilling-seavey]

Winter Warmers: Day 26 — Cock Warming & Snowed In

↳ Summary: George’s flight to Abu Dhabi gets canceled because of the weather and postponed to the following day. That just means there is an extra night to spend together.

↳ Word Count: 1453

↳ Warnings: 18+, some touchin' and grindin', cock warming (duh), mention of lube

↳ Winter Warmers Prompt List | The Way It Goes Masterlist

It was strange to be in George’s apartment all alone; you had never been there without him before. But with the last race of the season upcoming and your relationship still under wraps, it was a compromise to have to stay in Monaco at his place so he could come right back home to you after the weekend concluded. It was quite the romantic suggestion, you thought, since you hadn’t even been dating for a full year yet. But it showed he trusted you immensely and you were taking the responsibility of watching over his apartment very seriously. 

You had kissed him goodbye at the door—probably for longer than you should have with your hands clutching at his shirt and lips chasing his every time he tried to pull away—and then he had departed for the airport. Not more than an hour later, you had just gotten into his bed all alone, preparing for sleep, when you received the text from George that the airport wasn’t letting any flights out due to inclement weather. He would be coming back to his place for the night and flying out early in the morning instead. 

Selfishly, you might have been a little excited to have him back for one more night. 

It wasn’t long before he was back, leaving his packed suitcase and backpack by his bedroom door, and greeting you with a tired yet smiling hello. 

“Snowed in, huh?” you said lightly as you tossed back the blankets for him to join you in bed. 

George sighed as he stripped out of his slacks and echoed you with an affirmative, “Snowed in.”

His shirt and his slacks were draped over the chair in the corner of the room and he plugged in his phone on his bedside table before finally climbing in beside you. Before he even got properly settled, the two of you shared a quick kiss as he pulled the sheets up around himself. 

“Miss me?” asked George playfully, even though he had only been gone for an hour or two. 

You smiled sweetly at him through the darkened room, “Immensely. Although, I can’t say I’m not happy you get to stay with me an extra night.”

“The feeling is mutual.” George replied as he settled more comfortably under the sheets, “Even if I’m going to be panicked tomorrow over if I’ll be able to make it to the circuit on time.”

With the bedside lamps turned off, the two of you snuggled down under the sheets together. George held his arm out to beckon you closer and you snuggled up at his side, sliding an arm around his middle to hold him close, head on his shoulder, feeling the slight chill of his skin against yours from his brief journey in the cold. 

“You’re cold.” you stated softly, rubbing your hand up and down his arm.

George’s chuckle was low and warm and his lips pressed a lingering kiss to your temple in silent response to your statement of the obvious. 

You tilted your head back to turn your face up towards his, encouraging him to give you a proper little kiss…or two…or three. You pulled away with matching bashful smiles in the darkened bedroom and your hand slid back and forth over his abs under the bedsheets. George shivered under your caresses and dusted a kiss to your cheek, nuzzling his nose against your warm skin. 

“Mm,” you hummed contentedly, turning your face towards his to capture his lips with yours in another lingering kiss.

The silence of the apartment echoed in your ears, falling into a blissful hush as you shared lazy gentle kisses wrapped up in his bed. You had anticipated spending that night alone, getting yourself comfortable in his vastly empty king size bed, but you would never dream of turning away his unexpected presence. His existence was always a delight. Especially when he was kissing you like this…and cradling your chin in his hand as his lips locked with yours. 

Your fingers scratched over his abs absentmindedly, rising shivers in their wake and allowing you to taste the soft groan from his mouth. Your hand drifted farther down, fingertips teasing at the waistband of his underwear, distracting him with your insistent kisses as you went blindly exploring. Draped out on his back, George let you. He let you start to palm him over the front of his snug briefs, feeling how warm he was and how firm he was getting, as he kissed you breathless. 

You broke away from his lips after a moment, breathing heavily as you peppered impatient kisses along his jawline, listening to the way he was already nearly panting from your presence and your touch. His arm around your shoulders tightened, drawing you impossibly closer until your bodies were pressed together and almost entangled. His cock twitched in his boxers, nudging against your palm. You licked at his earlobe.

“Mhm,” George breathed through a small groan, his hand squeezing your hip with a simple request, “turn around.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice. You moved away from him for a moment and turned yourself around under the duvet. The once silent bedroom was filled with the rustling of sheets and the slight creak of the bed as the two of you arranged yourselves and took responsibility of taking your pants and underwear off. Once both entirely naked, George’s strong arm snaked around your waist and yanked you closer until your back was pressed against his firm chest. 

He kissed at your ear, your neck, while his hand slid down your front to play with your clit a little, just to feel you squirm and push back against him instinctively. You could feel his dick already hard and pressed up against the curve of your ass and when you wriggled your hips just a little, it could slip between your cheeks. Your breaths fell a little shallower. 

“C’mere.” George purred against your neck. He easily maneuvered you into place with your top leg bent up a little so he could reach down between your bodies and angled the tip of his cock between your folds. He slipped it back and forth a little, gathering the faint sheen of wetness that had grown from your kisses and lingering touches. 

Your breath shuddered at his teasing caresses, that familiar needy warmth pooling in your belly, feeling your pussy clench needily around nothing. George nipped at your earlobe, his breath hot on your skin and raising shivers down your neck. Your boyfriend knew just how to stir you up. 

When you pushed back on him as if to give him the silent invitation to get inside you, he whispered into your hair, “You’re not that wet yet.”

“Just go slow.” you bartered. 

Ignoring your suggestion for the need of wanting you to be comfortable, George separated from you just long enough to turn over and fetch the half-empty bottle of lube from his nightstand. You draped your hair out of your face in the meantime, ready and in position as he shuffled back up behind you. His cold fingers smeared some of the icy lube over your warm pussy, making you gasp sharply. 

“Sorry, sorry…” cooed George softly as he got himself back into place behind you. With the both of you smeared in that added lubrication, he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance with a content sigh, “There we go…”

Your fingers clutched onto the down-filled pillow you were resting on as he pushed into you slowly, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he carefully stretched you out on his dick. You let out a tight hum, eyes fluttering shut as his lips pressed a comforting kiss to the apex of your neck and shoulder.

George’s hand moved to grab your hip to hold you in place as he pushed deeper, his fingers still slick with lube and smearing it over your skin, right where he could grab a nice greedy handful. The stretch of his cock sinking into you held a glorious ache that you would never tire of. With a tight moan through your bitten lip, you arched your back a little in your spooning position to get him deeper. The two of you, once comfortable, stayed just like that, tangled together and entirely intertwined, basking in the intimate closeness of your lover. 

“So much better than a redeye.” George exhaled against the shell of your ear, wrapping his entire arm around you as he sheathed entirely inside of your tight, warm cunt. 

“Mm,” you hummed, your body melting against his, “God, never leave me again.”

George dusted a kiss to your shoulder before replying softly, “Never.” 

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hey girlie, I'm such a big fan of yours!! I think your work is PHENOMENAL, like IM LITERALLY FOAMING AT THE MOUTH EVERYTIME YOU POST. So, the other day, me and my baby cousin were watching Frozen. And you know how there is this one big sweet guy that got mad because he got offended (I think his name is Oaken? You can look him up) and I IMMEDIATELY thought of König. Imagine him having his own little wooden shop( like that man from Frozen) up in the cold Alps, and one day, our dear Engel comes through the door, shivering from the big snow storm outside, saying that she's seeking shelter at least until the storm outside subsides. What would König do?

Omg this is just another cabin König to me! But with a pinch of silliness 🧚🏼‍♀️

Guy wanted some solitude after failing in life big time, he has no interest in socializing (or so he tells himself at night), he’s perfectly happy here in the middle of nowhere with no one to hold close his heart when there’s a blizzard outside…

Even hot chocolate tastes better alone, yeah, and ski trips are nice when you can set the pace yourself and admire the mountains with no one in sight. It’s not like he ever imagined a cute girl beside him on those warm sunny days when the snow looks like gelato and glitter, just the sort of thing he'd wrestle her into and then steal a kiss...

Nor does he miss the sound of soft, light-hearted giggle as he skis downhill to his cabin and heats up the sauna, wondering how lucky he is that there’s so few customers here and all of them are men. Otherwise he would have to be careful when he’s walking around in nothing but a towel–

The bell chimes, and someone comes in, of course it’s a woman, the first woman he’s seen in these parts or in his little shop ever. And here he is, sheened in sweat... Wearing only a thin white towel about his waist, the linen already wet and clinging to his thighs from the heat of the sauna.

There's an actual woman standing inside his humble tradepost, looking like a creature born from wind and snow, like a little Christmas tree decoration that has frosting all over it.

Cute little lips, a kissable mouth; that’s the first thing he notices on her, and he never thought of kissing Christmas decorations before… Men usually look like ice devils when they arrive inside his hut, but this little lady only looks like a winter night’s spirit, a little confused and lost. Her spirit eyes are glued to his junk before they rise to meet his softening stare, and who can blame her for staring when the first thing she sees upon coming in is a half naked man?

“Uh, welcome,” he manages to say while his cock gives a happy little jump under the towel as well, giving its own excited welcome to this woman.

She'd not dressed properly at all for a weather like this – why anyone would insist on wearing a dress in these temperatures is beyond him, but if he was her, uhm, brother or father, he would never have allowed her to go outside without proper winter gear.

Poor thing looks like she’s freezing to death, the bottom half of her dress coated in crystalline snow. If he had known that this lady was out there, trying to get somewhere warm, he would’ve come to her rescue at once…

“Um. Are you the shop owner…?” She asks delicately, still hugging herself from the attempt to stay warm.

“Yes. I mean, no... Uh… This is a trading post,” he stutters with his words, as if talking to women was somehow completely different than talking to men.

She furrows her brows and examines his body again, not at all interested in the items he has in stock. No woman has ever seen him in this state, no woman has ever looked at him like he’s the item here. She looks like she’s not sure if she wants to buy him or not.

“There’s also a sauna,” he says with a hint of pride in his voice, because he is damn well proud to have such luxury here. “Do you want to come…?”

“Do I want to come to the sauna…? With you?”

“No, I mean, you can go by yourself. It’s free of charge for the ladies.”

Such brazen discount he came up with just now, desperately wanting for her to stay. Besides, she needs the warmth after whatever adventure she’s been through. It would not be gallant to charge her for warming herself and getting that dress dry.

He wonders how she would look like in one of his woolen shirts. She would have to wear his clothes after the sauna, of course, he has no spare women’s clothing here. He will have to remember to be apologetic about it while presenting her with his clothes, secretly hoping they will catch her scent once she snuggles safely inside them and thanks him for everything he's done for her so far... She would probably look the cutest in his dark green knit, or the midnight blue one...

“Oh,” she says, slowly warming up to his offering. His cock is more than half hard by now, and he clasps his hands in front of it, trying to feign the movement as a casual posture shift although he’s anything but casual and relaxed.

And she’s not easy to trick; he might as well have pulled the towel away and shown her his cock in all its glory. She eyes his covered erection with a cat-like curiosity, a small little smile playing on her lips. Long lashes reveal a playful stare, slowly melting under the dim lamps of the cabin.

“I mean, of course you can come with me, if you want…”

Shit... That just came out of his mouth even if he tried to swallow the words. The inviting smile on her lips starts to quiver: she’s stifling a laugh, she’s giggling at him.

A flush rises on his cheeks, he can feel it, the erection now jumping against his palm, wildly and demandingly, as if wanting to join her in her mirth.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Icicles and Injuries

Pairing: Wandanat x Reader

Prompts: Frozen (Day 2) + No way out (Day 11)

TW: minor injury, being trapped, hypothermia, mentions of death, partial nudity (consented)

Words: 2K

Summary: Reader gets trapped and needs to be saved before she freezes to death.

For once the miss had gone well. No injuries or accidents or hidden traps. It had been a breeze. Now all that was left was to sit tight in the nearest safe house in the woods and wait for Tony to send a jet to come and collect you. ‘You’ being Wanda, Natasha, Kate and Yelena.

By late afternoon it was still light outside and snowing lightly. A white dust of flakes covered every available surface in a thin layer of pale snow.

Being in the woods it was a beautiful sight to behold, yet Natasha and Yelena having come from Russia were most winters bordered on nuclear, did not share your enthusiasm.

Wanda and Kate had spent some time in Europe before and were a little more used to it. And sure, you had seen snow many times, but it was always a point of beauty to you. It helped you relax. Soft and cold it continued to drift down from above coating the landscape below.

“Wands? Natty? Do you guys wanna come with me for a walk?” You asked popping your head into the lounge room of the cabin.

“No thanks detka. Not right now. Yelena and Kate were going to watch a movie and I think Wanda was going to start dinner soon.” Natasha said looking genuine.

“Okay.” You said feeling a little saddened by the fact nobody would be coming with.

“Make sure you take a coat. It’s cold.” Nat said over her shoulder as she positioned herself between her sister and her sister's girlfriend with a shit-eating grin. Always the older sister, you thought rolling your eyes.

You said a quick goodbye to Wanda who echoed Nat’s statement about a coat before putting one on and a pair of gloves, boots and a beanie before entering the snow scene outside the cabin.

You headed for the trail behind the house. It was marked with signs on the trees as it snowed enough around here for trails to be easily lost without proper signage.

You sighed, feeling at peace and relaxed as the snow crunched softly underfoot. Setting off down the trail it was lined with fresh snow and small animal tracks, probably squirrels or rabbits.

As you continued down the track the cabin grew smaller behind you. It was a loop and came out down by the other side of the house.

Seeing the first sign on the tree you smiled at the small red arrow which was on a wood-stained oak board nailed into the tree.

You continued down the track listening to the serene quietness and peaceful sound of snow and birdsong.

Pulling your coat around you some more it was getting colder as the evening wore on and your nose was surely frozen as small snowflakes collected on your eyelashes.

As you continued down the short trail a flicker of movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. A small squirrel had hopped up onto what looked like the snow-covered husk of an old tree. The little creature chittered at you and you smiled softly at the peacefulness of the moment.

But before you could even think the squirrel ran up the tree. The tree looked like it had survived many winters and was well past due to be fell in the summer. The squirrel continued up the branches which were creaking eerily already laden with snow on the branches. Then there was a sharp cracking crunch, and the tree began to fall.

At the last minute the squirrel jumped onto a nearby branch out of harms way. Yet you stood frozen. You just had time to duck and cover as the tree crashed down onto the path. It fell in a way that had managed to avoid hitting you but had pinned your coat under its heavy trunk. Your left boot was also pinned, and you bit a cold breath of air back in shock.

The snow continued falling, however it seemed almost menacing now. If you stayed out much longer into the evening the temperatures would continue to fall, and that beautiful snow might be the thing that kills you.

You cursed yourself from forgetting your phone, not that it would have a signal, but it would be better than nothing. They may have been able to track you at least.

The sun began to dip under the tree line and the temperature began to drop faster without the sun to provide warmth.

The snow was collecting on top of the tree making the chance of escape seem slimmer and slimmer.

The snow was beginning to build up either side of you now. Blocking you inside the wooden ribs of the tree. The branches caving around you with the snow beginning to form a roof and sides.

It was cold and it no longer felt like just your nose that was frozen. Your cheeks stung with the cold, and you wiggled your fingers and toes to try and warm them up as well. Frostbite was a very real thing and one you did not want to ever have experience in.

As the sun began to cruise lower and lower in the sky it continued to get colder. The light was starting to go now as well, a dusky overcast type of light was all that was left. If this continued on for much longer you worried, they may never find you until the snow thawed, by then it would be too late.

Back in the cabin the movie was almost over. Yelena and Kate had ended up beside each other again with popcorn in their hair after flicking it at each other for the whole duration of the movie. Nat had already seen the movie and headed to the kitchen to fetch four mugs of hot chocolate to share.

As she stepped into the kitchen which smelled like heaven and smiled at Wanda.

“Wheres Y/n? Surely, she’ll want hot chocolate as well.” Natasha smiled.

“I thought she was with you?” Wanda said looking up from where she had been seasoning chicken.

“No?” Nat said frowning. “She should be back from her walk by now.”

“Oh god.” Wanda paled slightly. “She’s not still out there, is she?”

“If she is we better find her fast before it gets too dark. Cold weather like this can kill.” Natasha said. “You send Yelena and Kate to check the bedrooms before joining us in the woods. I’m going to see if i can find her. Join me when you’re done.” Nat said already slipping on a coat with a sense of urgency to her movements.

Wanda nodded her assent and went to tell Yelena and Kate.

After a little bit all three girls were out searching the woods. Wanda was focusing on finding you with her mind, but you were either asleep or close too it which worried her greatly.

Finally, she sensed you under an old looking tree covered in snow. She called the others over and focused, using her magic to move the tree off you.

When your red jacket came into sight Natasha was the first to get to you. Scooping your cold and limp form into her arms. You were breathing but also freezing cold.

“We need to warm her up. NOW!” Nat said as she began sprinting to the cabin with you in her arms.

Your cheeks had long since turned from a rosy red colour to a dusky blue as the temperature had fallen further.

Once Natasha burst through the front door she headed for the bedroom you, her and Wanda had been sharing the past few nights.

Wanda, Kate and Yelena followed close behind, nobody commenting on the water that was being tracked through the cabin. Their focus elsewhere.

Natasha gently set you down on the bed, Wanda beside her and Kate and Yelena hovering in the doorway.

“Alright.” Nat said. “Wanda i need you to help me get her out of these wet clothes they’re doing more harm than good.” She said already starting to peel off your soaked coat. “Yelena, Kate.” She began and the two stood a little straighter. “Go and run a warm bath, not too warm but just enough to not be cold.” Nat said and the two turned tail and headed for the bathroom.

Wanda was now working on taking off your snow-pants while nat continued stripping off your top half. After a minute you were left laying in just your sports bra and boxers, long past shivering.

“Now what?” Wanda asked seeming panicked.

“Now we warm her up. It works best with skin-to-skin contact. So, we need to cuddle her. Bring that blanket and put it on top. Once Yelena is done with the bath, we will kick them out.” Nat said. Pulling off her shirt and taking off her track pants. She was now stood in bike pants and a sports bra much like what she wore to training in the gym.

Wanda was one step behind as she took off her shirt in a matching outfit to Natasha’s.

You, Wanda and Natasha had been together almost three years now, so it was nothing new. But still, nat had sent Yelena and Kate away just because.

Nat climbed onto the bed beside you and began pulling a sheet over you. Wanda slipped into the bed on your other side and cuddled up close. Sucking in a sharp breath when your frigid skin came into contact with her. You made a small noise of pain and curled into her front. Your face tucked into her chest. Natasha curled up behind you, tucking you between the two of them. Wanda had one arm around your waist and the other holding the back of your head to her chest. Natasha had her arms over you and on Wanda’s bare hip and back.

After a few minutes of quiet cuddling, and the sound of your short huffy breathes, you began to stir slightly. Your eye’s blinked open before you whined and screwed them shut again.

Wanda carded a hand through your hair and shone softly to you.

“There we go. Come on. Come back to us baby-girl. You’re doing so well for us my love.” She coaxed, her hands tangling in your wet locks.

After a second the sound of the tap shutting off was heard and Yelena’s footsteps came down the hall. She peaked in and smiled at Natasha looking so domestic but bit back a comment.

“Your bath is ready sestra.” Yelena said with her heavy accent hiding her amusement.

“Alright.” Nat said as she shifted Wanda’s arms around you tightened.

“Can i carry her this time?” Wanda asked sounding almost scared to let you go. As if you may disappear.

“Sure baby. But you’ll need to give her to me before you get into the bath with her.” Nat said and she glanced back at the door where Yelena had disappeared from before getting out from under the sheets.

The process of bathing you was simple enough. The flush had come back to your cheeks as Wanda held you in her lap in the bath while Natasha ran and warm cloth over every inch of your skin slowly warming you up. After they had been satisfied you were warm enough, they towelled you off as you start to come around again. They dressed you in Nat’s warm hoodie and Wanda’s red track pants.

Wanda had you in her arms when the three of you re-entered the kitchen slash lounge room.

Yelena grinned. Having set up a nest of sorts on the floor with a ton of blankets and pillows. Kate had five cups of hot chocolate on the bench and a movie queued up.

You buried your face into Wanda’s chest as the five of you got settled into the nest. Blankets were thrown over the five of you and you settled in for the movie.

Wanda’s dinner was still cooking and right now nobody wanted to leave you by yourself let alone out of their sight.

So, you curled up in your girlfriend’s laps and listened to their hearts beat with the soundtrack of parks and recreation playing in the background.

[slaymitchabernathy]

A Christmas Miracle

My dearest Soarynn, I'm writing to you with the grandest news I could ever bestow upon you. All Capitol troops will be returning home for Christmas. We'll be permitted to stay for one week before returning to our base camp. I know you'll want as much time as possible to plan for my arrival, although I am confident in your abilities to arrange for proper accommodations to be made. We will arrive on Sunday and there is to be a dinner on Monday night to commemorate our fallen comrades. I do hope you're well darling, not a single day goes by without me thinking of you. I cherish the photographs and letters you send me with all my heart, and cannot wait to have you back in my arms again. I do not know when our train will be arriving, so please, check the train schedules frequently. You are a constant light in the darkness of the Districts my love and I am anxiously waiting for the day when we can be together without worry or fear. I will see you on Sunday, please take care of yourself, my darling girl. Love, Coriolanus

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn nervously eyes her reflection in the mirror.

Does she look okay? Is her hair too shiny? Will he think she looks pretty?

"You look beautiful Miss Soarynn," her maid gushes, setting the hairbrush down on the counter, "Mr. Snow will be head over heels when he sees you at the train station."

Soarynn blushes, she's always been complimented on her beauty but his opinion is the only one that truly matters. Still, she appreciates the kind words, goodness knows everyone could use a kind word or two in these dark times.

Two years ago, war broke out in the Districts again. Soarynn had thought it was impossible, especially after the last war ended with the Capitol on top and the Districts on the bottom. Her husband, Coriolanus Snow had assured her time and time again that another war was impossible.

For once he was wrong.

The war didn't make its way to the Capitol this time, no, it remained in the Districts, and in an effort to contain it, the Capitol began sending troops to the wilderness of the Districts. Coriolanus was drafted due to his family legacy, his own father had been a general in the first war during the Dark Days and he was more than willing to serve his country.

Soarynn was less willing to watch her husband board a train and possibly never come back. Even though he assured her that he was simply there along with the other troops to impose their presence, she still wasn't convinced. They had been newly married and trying to start a family, why couldn't he stay with her where it was safe?

Coriolanus of course, saw it as a great honor to serve Panem and promised to write to her once a week and if allowed, make phone calls. Soarynn thought it was ridiculous, they lived together and now they were getting excited over five-minute phone calls.

Still, for him to come home for an entire week after being gone for so long was a treat as great as any and she wouldn't be taking it for granted. She had filled their week with lots of winter activities leading up to Christmas. She had the maids clean the penthouse from top to bottom, wanting everything to be perfect for Coriolanus.

She went out and bought him some new clothes, and...some new lingerie for herself as well. They'd certainly be busy at night.

"I certainly can't wait to see him again," she murmurs, reaching for her compact, "one week isn't long enough."

Being left alone in the Capitol had been hard on Soarynn. She used to spend nearly every moment with Coriolanus and now, she was on her own. She had turned to extreme measures, turned to something that galas and tea parties could not fix.

She got a cat.

She knew Coriolanus wouldn't exactly be thrilled but she was desperate for constant companionship. She glances out into her bedroom where her cat, Petunia, is curled up on her husband's pillow, sound asleep. She hopes they'll get along.

Coriolanus was used to a house with just the two of them and Petunia is used to a house with just the two of them.

There might be a war within the Snow household this week.

But they'll barely be home with what she has planned for them. At least that's what she tells herself.

Soarynn inspects herself one last time, making sure there's not a single flaw in her appearance. She wore light makeup today since Coriolanus has always loved her freckles so much. Maria styled her hair perfectly, curling it and then pulling back some pieces to tie with a bow. Soarynn grabs one of her favorite perfume bottles, one that holds a vanilla scent, and liberally sprays it all over herself. She wants to engulf Coriolanus in her scent.

She rises from her vanity stool and makes her way into the closet, the closet that feels so empty without some of his clothes in it. He'll certainly be glad to return with some new ones and Soarynn will be glad to wear his old ones. She often sleeps in his shirts, clinging to the scent of roses and something masculine that she just can't get enough of.

"Red or blue?" She asks Maria, pulling out two dresses, nearly identical to each other. Maria inspects both of them, gently touching the fabric, "I think the red one Miss," she tells Soarynn who nods in agreement, Coriolanus has always liked red.

"Perfect, will you please go fetch my coat and gloves?" She asks, unzipping the dress. "Certainly Miss," Maria gives Soarynn a small curtsy before leaving to go get her things and Soarynn slides off her silk robe.

She only looks at her almost naked self in the mirror for a second, reminding herself how lucky she is to be standing in a closet full of clothes with a household staff at her beck and call. She could be in the streets, starving and cold but she's safe and warm.

The war didn't affect everyone in the Capitol like it did last time. She remembers the first war, the bombs, her parents both dying, how hungry people were. This war has been different.

Only the lower and middle classes have been truly affected by it. Food has become limited but not scarce, there are ration lines but only for those who absolutely need it and Soarynn isn't one of those people. By marrying a Snow, she solidified herself in the upper class, in the elite. Every once in a while there will be a shortage of strawberries or meat but it's always resolved rather quickly.

If anything, the war has been a great inconvenience for her, disrupting her normal plans. She still goes to tea with her friends, still goes on shopping sprees, still gets pedicures every other week. Coriolanus didn't leave her with nothing. He suffered from the first war too, losing both his parents and a good bit of his family fortune. He spent the next ten years building his name back up and now, he's one of the richest men in Panem.

With his investments, business ventures, and connections, he left Soarynn to live a comfortable life of luxury. And the Capitol pays him to be at war.

It's the best-case scenario for a thing like this but she still wishes he didn't have to leave in the first place.

Soarynn shakes those thoughts off and slips into the dress. It's a very flattering look on her with a boat neckline that shows off a bit of her collarbones. It's sleeveless but she'll have her coat and gloves and it fits her figure perfectly, stopping right below her knees to show off her white high heels. With her hair and makeup done perfectly as well, she makes for a picture of sophistication.

Maria returns with her coat and gloves and helps Soarynn into them. Maria has been a godsend to Soarynn who had been quite overwhelmed once Coriolanus left. She's younger than Soarynn but very mature, always helping Soarynn manage in taking care of such a large apartment. She'll occasionally accompany Soarynn to the market if she needs to buy something specific and is always a good source of advice.

Soarynn had hired Maria right before Coriolanus left and she's been a loyal servant ever since.

"We'll be back later tonight," Soarynn tells Maria while searching for the right purse, "he'll want bourbon or whiskey, maybe both. And please make sure that the bath has been properly cleaned as well. He'll have lots of laundry that'll need to be done before he leaves."

Maria nods along to all of her words, "Yes Miss Soarynn, everything will be ready for Mr. Snow's arrival."

Soarynn picks a black handbag, leather and beautifully crafted, a gift from Coriolanus a few years ago when they were engaged, "Perfect. I'll call if anything comes up."

Maria walks her to the front doors and Soarynn buttons her coat, taking in a deep breath, "Enjoy yourself Miss Soarynn," Maria kindly tells her, "you deserve to have this time with your husband."

Soarynn smiles, she's right, she ought to enjoy every minute with Coriolanus rather than stressing about everything being perfect. "Thank you, we'll see you tonight."

Soarynn makes her way into the hallway and waits for the elevator, living in the penthouse is all fun and games until you're stuck waiting for the elevator. Coriolanus will probably remind her of a time when the elevator didn't work during the first war.

He's been doing a lot of that, reminding and remembering about what he went through the first time a war was brought to the Capitol's doorstep. Soarynn wonders if it's some sort of trauma response.

The elevator arrives with a ding and Soarynn steps into it, pressing the button to bring her to the lobby. She ends up being stopped on the eleventh floor where Mrs. Dolittle gets in, dragging her white, yappy dog with her. "Oh Mrs. Snow, don't you look lovely? Say hello to Mrs. Snow little Zeus," Mrs. Dolittle says to her dog Zeus who only barks at Soarynn.

"Thank you," Soarynn says to the older woman, "and hello Zeus, are you off for your afternoon walk?" Mrs. Dolittle hums and places a hand over her heart, "We're off to watch all of the troops come home, some of them are being brought in by trucks."

Soarynn's interest is piqued, "Trucks? Coriolanus is coming by train, I thought..." Her voice dies off and she begins to worry, has the schedule been changed? Is he not coming home today?

"Your husband will be coming by train because he's important dear," Mrs. Dolittle says before Soarynn can begin to spiral, "the rest of the troops are less important, or to put it plainly, less rich."

Oh.

Well, Soarynn can't argue with that.

"I see," is all she says before the doors open up to the lobby. "Enjoy your time with your husband dear," Mrs. Dolittle pats Soarynn's arm, "and if you have time, tell Coriolanus to pay us a visit so he can meet Zeus."

Soarynn knows for a fact that he won't have time or want to meet Zeuz but she smiles all the same and promises to do her best.

Soarynn walks out into the cold December air with a newfound energy inside of her. She's going to see her husband again, and for an entire week!

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn is giddy with excitement as she slides into the backseat of their car, "The train station please," she says, fishing her compact out of her handbag. She might as well check her reflection one more time, just in case something on her face changed from the elevator ride.

For their first wedding anniversary, Coriolanus gifted her a beautiful gold compact with a mirror and power inside. The power is her favorite scent, of course, vanilla. There's a beautiful rose engraved on the outside of the compact and even though they were apart on their anniversary, he still made the effort.

Soarynn applies a little more powder to her neck before glancing outside the car windows and she's astounded at how many people are milling around the train station.

"Looks like the whole Capitol's here," her driver remarks. Soarynn scans the crowd of eager faces, most of these people don't look like her, rich, but they might still be waiting for loved ones to arrive.

Her driver gets her all the way to the entrance of the station so she doesn't have to walk, "I'll wait right here Mrs. Snow," he assures her.

Soarynn nods and begins to make her way inside the train station. The glass pane ceilings let the natural light shine in and it's shaping up to be a beautiful day. The platform is even more crowded with hundreds of people pushing and shoving. Soarynn walks over to the schedule that's been posted on one of the ticket booths and scans one last time for her husband's train.

A Peacekeeper standing guard notices her, "Are you looking for a particular train Miss?" Soarynn shakes her head, offering him a polite smile, "I wouldn't want to trouble you, my husband is coming home today from District Five."

"Who's your husband?"

"Coriolanus Snow."

The Peacekeeper's eyes widen from hearing that name, that so very important name, "Allow me to escort you to the correct platform then Mrs. Snow."

Soarynn looks back over at all the people pushing and shoving, it does look very busy over there but she wouldn't want to impose. "I don't want to trouble you," she says sweetly, "I'm sure I can manage."

The Peacekeeper must not have a lot of faith in her, "I insist ma'am, please allow me to safely escort you." Soarynn jumps when she hears some shouting and looks back over to see that a fight has broken out on the platform, "Well if you insist," she quickly agrees.

The young man to his credit, gets Soarynn to the correct platform in one, safe piece, clearing a path for them the second people see his uniform. Platform Five is much quieter than the platform she just saw and Soarynn sighs, "This is much emptier," she notes.

The Peacekeeper chuckles, "Those other people don't know how to act, that's why they're all the way over there and you're all the way over here."

Before Soarynn can say anything else, the sharp whistle of an incoming train gains her attention. She looks around at the others waiting, mostly women like her, eagerly awaiting the arrival of their husbands. The train slowly pulls into the station, too slow in her opinion but she's excited all the same.

"How long has it been since you've seen him?"

"Two years," she answers, trying to look into the train windows, "two very long years."

It feels like a lifetime but she won't let that stop her from continuing to love him from afar. The train doors finally hiss open and several women rush forward in search of their loved ones. Soarynn being more shy and timid, stays back, looking for a head of blonde hair. It seems that all the men are dressed in their uniforms, donning their hats and coats, making it harder for Soarynn to see Coriolanus.

She watches several tearful reunions and can't help but wish for her own. More men spill out, some are greeted, some are not. Soarynn has heard the whispers about divorces left and right due to men being deployed. She can't imagine separating from Coriolanus because he's serving his country.

One man with tan skin steps off the train and he's looking directly at Soarynn, making her feel very self-conscious. He looks into the train and says something, pointing at her.

Soarynn stands up straight, her heart is pounding and there he is.

Coriolanus Snow is stepping off the train.

Soarynn is a woman who prides herself on following the unspoken rules of etiquette. No screaming, no shouting, no running in public or arguing.

She throws all those rules out the window the second he lays eyes on her. She breaks into a huge smile and runs towards him, not caring how improper it is.

Coriolanus doesn't seem to care either as he grins, opening his arms up. Soarynn shrieks and throws her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest, content to never let go of him again. Coriolanus wraps his strong arms around her and she can smell the roses, smell how manly he is, and how much she's missed him. Coriolanus groans and squeezes her tight, "There's my girl."

Soarynn might just cry.

She pulls away just enough to see his face, his handsome face. He looks the same as he left, prominent nose, beautiful blue eyes, full lips with a smile that still drives her crazy.

"I missed you," is the first thing she says.

He kisses her a second later, not wasting any time showing her how much he missed her as well. Soarynn sighs into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck even tighter to deepen the kiss. It feels so good, so good to have his lips on her again. She didn't realize how much she took this feeling for granted until he left.

Two years without a kiss good morning, goodbye or goodnight.

They're going to have to pry him away from her cold, dead hands when this week is up.

"Soarynn," he says against her lips, "I might have to take you with me when I go back because I can't go without this again." Soarynn laughs into the kiss, it looks like she's not the only one who's been lonely. When they finally break away from the kiss, his eyes meet hers and they hold so much love, so much devotion, the need and want to keep her safe no matter what.

"Look at you," he says softly, resting a gloved hand on her cheek, "still so beautiful and radiant. You look gorgeous darling, absolutely gorgeous, I pity the men who didn't get to come home to you today."

Soarynn giggles and rests her head on his chest, wanting to be as close to him as possible. She lets go of his neck and wraps her arms around his torso, he feels so strong under all these layers, "I missed you so much Coryo," she tells him, "thought about you every single day you were gone."

She feels him place a kiss on the top of her head, another thing she's missed, how affectionate he is with her. "You have me for an entire week," he tells her, his voice laced with authority and yet completely gentle and patient with her. Soarynn hums, closing her eyes so she can remember this moment for the rest of her life.

She's grateful that he doesn't pull away, force her to move because she really doesn't want to. She wishes she could freeze time so they could stay like this forever.

"You weren't lying Snow," someone says, causing Soarynn to lift her head. It's the same man who was looking at her when he stepped off the train, "I told you she's beautiful," Coriolanus replies, kissing her temple. Soarynn feels herself blushing, she hadn't even thought about Coriolanus bragging to his comrades about her but it sounded exactly like something he'd do.

Coriolanus is a proud man, proud of his family, proud of his success, and proud to have secured a fitting match such as Soarynn. He's never shied away from boasting about her beauty, her charm, and femininity. Of course, he'd talk about her to his comrades, show off her pictures proudly.

"I'll see you tomorrow night," the man waves before walking down to the exit. Soarynn looks up at her husband, "Who was that?"

While Soarynn's letters to Coriolanus have included all the latest gossip and news, his have been more about how much he misses her and hopes for her safety at all times. Rarely has he mentioned anyone he's worked with.

"Lance Parkes," Coriolanus tells her, "we're in the same barrack."

Soarynn hums, she'll have to ask him about all his friends although she'll meet most of them tomorrow night. "How was the train ride?"

Coriolanus rubs her side, "It was fine, quite long but we were in first class so it was much more bearable."

Soarynn slips a hand under his coat, feeling the rest of his uniform, "You feel so strong, and you look so very smart in the uniform," she tells him, earning her a pleased grin. "Strong hmm?" He teases, making her giggle, "I should've known you'd ogle me the first chance you got."

Soarynn gasps, playfully shoving his chest, "Oh, please, you're the one who likes to ogle." He really is, Soarynn is more likely to silently admire her husband whereas he isn't afraid to make her put on a show for him.

Whenever they go shopping he has her come out and show him every outfit, praising her sense of fashion. And whenever she comes home with some new lingerie, well...she gives him a more private show.

"Well now that you've mentioned it, let me get a proper look at you," he says, loosening his grip on her, "give me a spin darling." Soarynn glances around the now barren platform, apparently, their reunion was longer than everyone else's so she doesn't feel too silly spinning around. Coriolanus lets out a low whistle and nods, looking her up and down, "You've got the type of beauty men go to war for," he tells her matter-of-factly.

Soarynn merely shakes her head, she wouldn't want to be the cause for any man to go to war, let alone her husband. "Where's your trunk?' She asks, changing the subject to something not about her. Coriolanus turns and points at the one trunk that's left, "I've come bearing gifts," he tells her, causing Soarynn's lips to curl up into a smile, "You don't say."

Coriolanus hums, reaching a hand out for her and she gladly takes it, "I've thought about you every single day," he continues, "thought about what you were doing, if you were feeling alright, if you needed anything." Soarynn's heart might just shatter into a million pieces, Coriolanus has been on her mind constantly but she always wondered if she was on his.

She squeezes his hand, smiling up at him, "Well we have a whole week together, so let's make the most of it."

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn has forgotten how attractive Coriolanus is.

For once, the roles are reversed and he is doing the shopping while she lounges on a sofa and sips champagne. He stands on a small pedestal, looking at his reflection in the store's mirrors that show him every angle.

He had written once or twice about outgrowing some of his clothing which confused Soarynn since he was too old to grow taller. But now, she gets it.

He's bigger. Stronger. More muscular.

His shirts don't fit the way they used to.

He looks very handsome in what the salesman selected for him, black pants, perfectly tailored, and a simple white button-up tucked into the pants. They're shopping for a new suit for him to wear to the dinner tomorrow night but finding a shirt to properly fit him has posed a challenge.

The salesman presses his lips into a thin line when he sees the buttons threatening to pop off, "Still too tight?"

Coriolanus offers him a polite smile, "Just a bit."

The salesman waves his hand, "An extra-large then, I'll have someone bring you the proper size."

Soarynn resists the urge to jump off the sofa and run into the changing room with her husband, it would be quite scandalous, and also bad manners.

"Where has he been all this time?" The salesman asks, raising an eyebrow, "I see hundreds of men every day in here but he must've been hiding under a rock." Soarynn chuckles, she doesn't mind when women or men flirt with her husband or talk about him in front of her, at the end of the day, she gets to go home with him.

"He's been deployed," she answers, setting her glass down on the small table, "he's back for a week and he's in desperate need of clothing that actually fits him."

"Well, I can see that, he's doubled in size from the looks of it, let me go look for a few more shirts."

Soarynn looks around the store while she waits, watching people come and go, everyone is doing last-minute shopping but she did hers weeks ago. Then she got that letter from Coriolanus and her entire world turned upside down. She had been so excited, she cried tears of joy, her husband was coming back to her.

For a week but still.

A few minutes later, Coriolanus walks out with a shirt that fits him properly and that cocky grin she's grown to love over the years, "What do you think darling?" He asks, holding out his arms while giving her a slow spin, "Do we have our base layer down?"

Soarynn does her best to remain appropriate when looking him up and down but it's very hard, especially with his big hands, and his big arms, and thighs and...she's getting distracted.

"I think we do," she answers with an encouraging smile. Coriolanus nods, "Perfect, let's move on to suit jackets then."

꧁ ꧂

Two hours later, Soarynn is strolling down the street with her husband and two large shopping bags.

"He was a good salesman," Coriolanus says, pulling her a little closer, "although I do believe he was flirting with me." Soarynn laughs, Coriolanus is as charming as they come but he's always had a hard time deciphering when the same gender flirts with him. Women he can pick up on in seconds, but men confuse him greatly.

Soarynn simply sees it as a compliment if both genders find you equally attractive.

"He was definitely flirting with you," she tells him, looking into a few shop windows, "you've got a new look and people are bound to notice."

Soarynn nearly trips when she sees the perfect little black dress in a boutique window. It's strapless and somewhat short but she knows that with the right heels, she can pull it off. One look at Coriolanus and she can tell that he's already picturing pulling it off of her.

"Why don't we go in here?" He suggests, his voice slightly hoarse. Soarynn wraps her hand around his arm and pulls them towards the door, "If you insist."

They're immediately greeted by an eager-looking saleswoman who has bright red hair and very long eyelashes, "Welcome, welcome! What brings you two in today?"

Coriolanus nods towards the mannequin wearing the black dress, "The black dress in the window would look stunning on my wife."

Soarynn doesn't even have time to blush because this saleswoman is grabbing her arm and pulling her towards the fitting rooms, "Of course, it would! You just go right back here dear and I'll bring you a few sizes."

Soarynn finds herself mindlessly nodding to whatever this woman says and walks into the first fitting room she sees. She doesn't even wait an entire minute before there's a knock on the door. She opens it to find the saleswoman holding three black dresses, "I brought a few sizes, although this one will probably fit you best."

Soarynn takes the hanger into her hands and nods, "Thank you very much." Part of her worries that this woman might try to come in and help her so she quickly shuts the door. Soarynn takes a deep breath before taking off her own clothes and neatly hanging them on the hooks in the fitting room. She steps into the dress and pulls it over her hips.

It would look great if she could get the zipper up.

"How's it going in there?"

Soarynn grits her teeth while fighting to pull the zipper all the way up, "Fine!" She calls back, using one hand to balance herself against the wall, "If you need any help just let me know!"

Soarynn almost falls over, "That won't be necessary!"

Three minutes later, she's sweaty and has the damn dress on.

But it does look very good on her.

Soarynn opens the door and peeks her head out, the coast is clear. She can hear the saleswoman yammering away outside, talking her husband's ear off. "...and that's when I knew gluten wasn't good for me and...oh! Oh, you look fabulous dear!"

Soarynn brushes her hair behind her ears, she isn't very fond of being the center of attention but neither Coriolanus nor the saleswomen can keep their eyes off of her as she steps in front of the mirror.

She can see Coriolanus watching her, a longing, lustful look in his eyes and she feels a boost of confidence, "You have the legs for that dress," the saleswoman tells her, "doesn't she Mr. Snow?"

Coriolanus grunts, fidgeting in his seat, "She certainly does."

Soarynn does a quick twirl and she smiles, "I'll take it." The saleswoman claps, delighted to do some business on such a busy day, "Wonderful! As soon as you take it off, I'll ring it up for you!"

Soarynn turns to go back to the fitting rooms but Coriolanus is quickly rising from his seat, "Let me help you with the zipper darling, she mentioned it might be tricky." Soarynn knows what he really wants and he could care less about the zipper, "Alright," she says sweetly.

They both walk back to her fitting room and he's on top of her the second she closes the door. Soarynn gasps when he pins her against the wall, his lips latch onto her neck, "Coryo," she gasps, "we're in a boutique!" Coriolanus scoffs and squeezes her waist, "I don't give a fuck darling, now turn around and bend over like the good girl you always are for me."

Soarynn would be lying if she said those words didn't do something to her. Something to her body that's gone two years without him. His touch, his lips, his hands, his cock.

She turns around.

Coriolanus bends her over and she braces her hands against the wall, "Coryo we have to be fast," she urgently whispers, not wanting to get caught. Mostly because she really wants this dress. Coriolanus chuckles and kisses right under her ear, "I'm just having a little fun darling."

He expertly unzips the dress and slides it off her body, letting it pool around her ankles and he palms her ass, groaning, "Fuck I missed you," he says, "missed this perfect little ass, your pretty little moans, how soft you are. You don't realize how bad it is out there for us darling, no women, surrounded by District scum, only our hands for a quick release."

Soarynn whimpers when he pulls her panties to the side, his fingers graze her clit and she bucks into his touch. She hasn't been faring but better in the sexual pleasure department but she has her ways, the shower head, her fingers, she's made it work.

But nothing is better than the real thing.

A knock on the door startles her, "Is everything alright in there dear?"

Coriolanus sinks two fingers into her cunt and Soarynn can feel her eyes rolling back. It's such a delicious burn after not having sex for so long and she might just cum right now, "Fine," she stammers, "it's, it's fine, I'm fine."

"Could you just toss the dress over the door then?"

Coriolanus reaches for the dress and Soarynn lifts her feet so he can grab it from the floor. He starts pumping his fingers in and out of her cunt and her knees buckle. Coriolanus catches her, holding her against the wall, "Be quiet for me hmm?" He says in her ear, his voice husky. Soarynn nods, biting her lip.

Coriolanus tosses the dress over the door and starts pumping faster and faster. Soarynn's toes are curling, her breaths are ragged. She's going to cum, very, very soon if he doesn't stop what he's doing. "Please," she mumbles, "please, please Coryo."

He peppers the back of her shoulder with kisses, so gentle in comparison to his fingers slamming in and out of her, "Still so good for me huh? Still remember your manners." Soarynn whines when his thumb presses against her clit, she cannot have an orgasm in a boutique fitting room.

Right?

Her walls start fluttering, her body starts shaking and the wire inside of her is about to snap, "Give it to me," he orders, "be my good girl and cum all over my fingers like the little slut you are for me Soarynn."

That's all it takes for her to fall apart. She lets out a moan but he quickly slaps his other hand over her mouth, muffling any noise she makes. Soarynn twitches as her orgasm rides out, it's so intense, so good after so long. She can feel the stickiness between her legs, she doesn't know how she's going to walk out of her but Coriolanus has already thought this through apparently.

He brandishes a handkerchief from his coat pocket a second later and makes quick work of cleaning her up to the best of his abilities. Her legs are still shaking, how she'll be able to look that saleswoman in the eye is beyond her. "You didn't, didn't get to..." Her voice dies off when she sees Coriolanus shaking his head, a sweet smile on his lips, "If I'm going to fuck you, then I'm going to do it properly," he tells her, "and in the comfort of my own home."

Soarynn lets him place a kiss on her forehead before he leaves to go pay for the dress. She puts her own clothes back on quickly so she doesn't raise any suspicion and joins Coriolanus a few minutes later at the counter near the front of the store.

Apparently, he's revealed that he's visiting for the week because the saleswoman has her hand over her heart, "...just the noblest thing a man could do for his country," she says, her eyes drifting over to Soarynn, "and leaving your wife behind? You're a national hero Mr. Snow."

Soarynn keeps herself from rolling her eyes, Coriolanus certainly has done a great service to his country, but being called a national hero is a bit of a stretch. Coriolanus, of course, loves it and grins, taking the pink bag off the counter, "You flatter me truly, thank you so much for your help today." Soarynn nods along to his words and wraps her hand around his arm, "Yes, thank you so much for your assistance."

"Of course! Stop by anytime."

They bid the saleswoman goodbye and step back out into the cold, Soarynn immediately curls into Coriolanus who doesn't despise the cold the way she does. Maybe it's because of his last name, but the cold has little to no effect on Coriolanus whereas Soarynn hates it with all her might.

"You should wear that dress to dinner tomorrow night," he says, leading them across the street. Soarynn gives him a skeptical look, "To a dinner honoring dead soldiers? I don't think so. Besides, I already have a dress picked out for tomorrow night." And she does, it's navy blue and makes her eyes pop. He'll love it because he loves everything she wears.

Coriolanus simply hums and holds her tighter, "Whatever you want darling."

Soarynn cherishes those words for she won't be hearing them in a few days. She ought to cherish every moment with Coriolanus while he's here, every single second is precious.

꧁ ꧂

Later that night, Soarynn finds herself in a most domestic position, curled up in her husband's arms, naked under their sheets. She used to dream about moments like this, hoping she'd wake up to find him next to her, only to wake up to an empty bed.

His breathing is slow and steady, instantly calming her after a long night of passionate sex. Coriolanus could barely keep his hands to himself for the rest of the day after their little stunt in the dressing room. They still had to go to several stores and then to dinner before they could come home.

Coriolanus was more than pleased to be warmly welcomed by his household staff and a clean apartment. He wasn't however, too pleased when he discovered Petunia lounging on his side of the bed, surprised to see a man in the room she thought of as her own.

There was a clear rivalry the moment they laid eyes on each other, especially when she saw how handsy he was being with Soarynn. She had hissed and swatted at him while Soarynn tried to calm her down and fix the rift between her beloved husband and cat.

She ended up removing Petunia from their bedroom so they could properly reunite and after several rounds of passionate sex, Soarynn was more than pleased with how the day turned out.

Coriolanus presses a hand on her stomach, splaying out his long fingers, "I was thinking," he mumbles in her ear, voice laced with sleep, "we should have a baby."

That gets her wide awake. Soarynn pushes her hips against his, causing him to groan since he has yet to pull out, "A baby?" She whispers, thinking about the possibility of finally starting a family with Coriolanus. They barely had any time after they got married, war broke out and he was shipped out.

It's not like they didn't want a family, the penthouse is huge with so many empty bedrooms. Her mind drifts down the hall to the nearest bedroom, vacant and begging to have a crib inside of it. He kisses right under her ear and hums, resting his chin on her shoulder, "Mhm, if it weren't for the war then I'm sure we'd have at least one child by now. And I've heard rumors Soarynn, they're starting to pull troops out little by little. I'll be home before you know it, and for good next time."

Soarynn's heart is beating so fast, the war is ending?

Part of her doesn't want to believe him, but Coriolanus isn't one to lie, he hates lying and anyone who does it. "Okay," she says, finding nothing wrong with his proposition. He's right, if Coriolanus wasn't deployed then they'd certainly already have a child right now. These past two years have set them back and she's not getting any younger.

He wraps his arms around her tighter and groans, "Good, because I'm convinced that I already fucked a baby into you."

They both laugh, knowing it doesn't exactly work that way but she's past caring about logistics right now.

Her husband is home and that's all that matters.

꧁ ꧂

Much to Soarynn's dismay, the next few days flew by in the blink of an eye.

She and Coriolanus spent every waking minute with each other, from the moment they woke up to the moment they went to bed, they were together. Their friends had teased them about it at dinner one night, how inseparable the pair was but Soarynn found nothing wrong with it.

She and Coriolanus belonged with each other. How could they not see it?

Even now as he opens a present from under the Christmas tree, it's so evident to Soarynn that he's the one for her. His strong masculine aura mixes perfectly with her gentle feminine one. While he's effortlessly charming, she's endlessly graceful, making them the perfect pair once again.

Coriolanus grins when he pulls out several pairs of white socks, the ones he's always been so fond of since Soarynn met him. He's always been one to value routine and tradition, never straying from what he trusts which includes socks. "You remembered my letter," he says with a laugh, setting them down on the floor next to him.

Soarynn nods, in one of his more recent letters, Coriolanus had mentioned how worn out his socks were becoming. Soarynn was no stranger to sending him letters but packages were a little bit trickier. They required an outrageous amount of postage to start, and there was never a guarantee that it would actually be delivered. She's sent a few over the past two years and according to Coriolanus, he's one of the only men who receives both packages and letters from home.

Soarynn truly can't imagine not writing letters to a loved one who's away at war. She writes him a letter nearly every day.

"I did," she agrees, "once I knew you were coming home, I ran out to buy you some new ones."

They both sit in comfortable silence while snow quietly falls outside of the living room windows. Soarynn watches the tiny snowflakes fall from the sky, doing her best to think about anything but what tomorrow will bring.

The train that will take him away from her again.

She can't help but begin to fear the worst, Coriolanus getting caught in the crossfire, a bomb going off and taking his limbs off, a trap being set just for him.

Which is highly unlikely from what he's told her. He's barely seen any real action, just a lot of angry people who he has to keep under control with a gun. When Soarynn asked if he ever had to use it on anyone, he'd gone quiet. This war still affected him despite him acting like it didn't. And Soarynn doesn't want him to go back to it.

She can feel the tears forming in her eyes, they've had such a lovely week filled with dinners, parties, and quality time together.

She doesn't want it to end.

"Darling," he says gently, "come here."

Coriolanus opens his arms out to her and Soarynn sniffles as she crawls over crinkled wrapping paper until she's crawling into his lap, burying her face in his neck. He immediately slips his hands under her nightgown and wraps his arms around her waist, holding her tight, "We'll be alright," he tells her softly, "I'll be back before you know it, and then we'll start our own little family. How does that sound?"

It sounds wonderful, like a dream come true to Soarynn who's been so lonely the past two years.

"Nice," is all she mumbles, not able to find it inside of her to act chipper when she's not. Coriolanus rubs his hand up and down her back, calming her with the smallest of touches, "I hope you know how much I miss you," he tells her, "how every night I stare up at the ceiling and wish you were there with me. You're all I have Soarynn, you've been the greatest gift."

Tears freely flow down her cheeks after hearing those endearing words. She doesn't know if this conversation is making his departure easier or worse. "I love you," she whispers, "with all my heart I love you."

She doesn't know how long they stay like that, curled up on the floor but it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters when she's with him.

꧁ ꧂

The morning of her husband's departure comes with heavy burdens for both of them.

Coriolanus, who must face what lies in the Districts once again, alone and without the comforts of home.

Soarynn, who must return to normal life with a smile on her face, and without the comforts of him.

They both fake it incredibly well to their credit, smiling at those they pass by as they walk towards his train. Just a week ago Soarynn was getting ready to come to the station, putting so much effort into her appearance. She barely even brushed her hair this morning since she planned on running right back home once he left to cry in bed.

Coriolanus hands off his trunk to a train attendant and Soarynn watches the man carry it onto the train, already stealing parts of Coriolanus away from her. She looks around the platform and is somewhat comforted by the sight of many other couples sharing tearful goodbyes.

At least they can all be miserable together is what she's concluded.

"Keep writing to me hmm?" He asks, nosing her cheek in an effort to make her laugh. Soarynn nods but can't find it in herself to laugh like she usually does when he's being so sweet, "You'll let me know if you hear anything else about deployment right?" She inquires for the tenth time today. She knows it must be getting annoying but she simply must know that he'll keep her updated with these things.

Coriolanus nods and rests his forehead against her own, "Yes darling, the second I know for sure I'm coming home, I'll let you know."

She rests her hands on his arms, feeling him one last time, "I'm going to miss you," she mumbles, her voice carries more of a tremor than she'd like but it's hard to act brave right now. Coriolanus leans down and kisses her, so sweetly and gently. Soarynn returns the kiss with her own gentleness for this will be the last kiss she's given for a long time.

"Be careful out there," she whispers, not pulling away from the kiss, "I can't go on without you Coryo."

He wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her into his safe hold, "I will," he promises, pecking her lips once more, "and you take care of yourself hmm? I want you to enjoy yourself while I'm gone darling, spend time with friends, spend my money, all those nice things hmm?" A small smile forms on her lips and Coriolanus chuckles, "There's my girl, always smiling for me."

She knows this is hard on him too, to leave her, to willingly leave her behind goes against everything Coriolanus believes in.

But they'll be together again soon, she's sure of it.

The sharp train whistle pulls the couple apart, announcing that the train will be departing soon.

"Make sure to call me," Soarynn reminds him, clinging onto him for dear life, "and to write to me. And let me know if you need me to send you anythi-"

She never finishes her sentence due to his lips crashing onto her again, effectively shutting her up. Soarynn responds the way she always does, loyally and lovingly, letting him take the lead. Coriolanus brings his hand to gently cup her face while they share one last kiss.

Another sharp whistle from the train jolts both of them and they finally break apart from their last kiss.

"I love you," he tells her, looking down at her with those devoted blue eyes of his. So piercing yet soft and gentle when he's with her and only her.

"I love you too," she says, "and I'm so proud of you."

Coriolanus smiles, hugging her one more time and kissing her temple before he lets her go. Soarynn remains frozen on the platform while her husband strides towards the train, stepping through the door right before the train starts pulling away.

Soarynn waves goodbye with the other wives, with only eyes for her husband who watches her from the door. It's only when he's out of sight that she allows herself to properly cry.

She ignores the sympathetic looks she's given from the other women and trudges back to the car, alone this time.

She cries the whole way home and in the elevator. Maria seems greatly concerned but Soarynn waves her off, she'll be fine in a few days, she remembers being like this the first time he left. Part of her wishes she didn't have to go through this again, that he never came home but she's so glad she got to see Coriolanus again.

Petunia is still lying in bed where they left her this morning, pleased to have her spot back. Soarynn gives her a gentle scratch behind the ears, "Just you and me again," she says sadly. She ought to wash the sheets considering they had sex every night but she refrains from doing so, she'll wash them when his scent is no longer detectable.

Soarynn lies in bed for hours feeling sorry for herself and missing her husband, only venturing into their bathroom when she needs to use it. She walks past the countertops and then her vanity when she notices a small white box sitting on her vanity counter, wrapped in a red bow.

Soarynn reluctantly picks it up and unties the ribbon, letting it all to the floor where Petunia immediately takes it to play with. But Soarynn pays her cat no mind as she opens up the box, softly gasping when she sees what Coriolanus has left for her.

A pregnancy test.

And a note.

Never too soon to find out. Love, Coriolanus

Soarynn chuckles, they both know it's highly unlikely for her to already be pregnant but she appreciates the gesture. She holds the testing device in her fingers, "Might as well try," she mumbles to herself, walking to the small room where their toilet is.

It only takes a few minutes but Soarynn finds herself doing anything but looking at the results. She folds some laundry, fluffs out their bedsheets. Finally, she walks back into the bathroom and turns over the test.

She gasps when she sees two red lines.

She's pregnant.

Newly pregnant, barely pregnant, but pregnant.

She can't believe it. Coriolanus isn't even halfway through his trip back to Five and yet he's left her with a most precious gift. Soarynn rests her hand on her stomach, imagining what it'll look like in a few months.

She's pregnant!

She's going to have a baby. She's going to be a mother, he's going to be a father.

Oh, Coriolanus.

She'll have to write to him at once to deliver the news. She's only a few days along but still.

It's a Christmas miracle.

꧁ ꧂

To my dearest Coriolanus, I'm writing this hours after your departure. I simply cannot wait a moment longer to tell you the wonderful news that I'm pregnant! I know we spoke of it when you first came home but after opening the gift you left me, I'm proud to say that you're going to be a father. I will keep things quiet until I can visit the doctor but I just had to tell you. I miss you with all my heart my love, I pray for your safety and your quick return. Know that not a day goes by where I do not think of you my heart for you are all that I am. I love & miss you already. Love, Soarynn

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @strawberriicakes @wonderlandbound111 @villiansarehottest @kickmybark @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @melodyoflovee @erensrealgf |