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yuanist · 14 days ago

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kuroo, you think, has been out here for quite a while now.

when you left to go meet with your study group—sometime between six-thirty and seven—the snow was just beginning to pile up. it hadn't started sticking to the roads yet, but you could see the vapor slip from the few leaves left on the trees; a symptom of early winter, you suppose.

now, though, there must be four or five inches out here. the old oak tree that hangs over your building is starting to sag, and the moon seems heavier than it did before, hanging lowly along the glow of street light.

kuroo is sitting on the steps up to your apartment, looking down at his phone. he has more than a few flakes in his hair, and if it wasn't for the ridge in the snow where he'd pushed it aside to sit, you'd think he'd been out here the whole time.

"cold?" you ask, shuffling towards him. you can hear the crunch of your feet under you.

"me? never."

he looks up at you then and, you'll admit, you like seeing him like this. lately, he's been against the whole 'text me before you come over' thing, and you know it's mostly because you don't reply, but, in part, that's so you can see him here.

his hands are half-tucked under the sleeves of his coat, and there's a stretch of pink from the tops of his cheeks to the tip of his nose. his lips are chapped (you can only assume from being out here so often) and there's a little smile tugging at the sides of his mouth, his tongue poking out from behind his teeth.

"oh, you want me to leave you out here then? give you a little more time?" you're smug—or, at least you're trying to be, anyway. the more time you spend with kuroo, the worse you are at pretending you don't like him. recently, you've been failing at that more than you'd care to admit.

"hey, i didn't say that." he sinks his teeth into his lower lip. "plus, what's the point of coming all the way over here if i can't see my favorite girl?"

you shake your head at him, aiming your chin towards the ground. in a strange way, you feel like you're suffocating.

"you mean the cat?" you ask.

and he chuckles, "sure."

a beat of silence hangs in the air for a second, before you plod your way up the steps, pulling your keys out of your pocket. you can hear kuroo rise behind you, attempting to brush some of the moisture out of his sleeves.

"y'know," you say, pushing the key into the door. "if you like coming over when i'm not home so much, i could tell the neighbor to let you in."

his hood rustles; he's shaking his head.

"where's the fun in that? kinda ruins my whole 'mysterious stranger' act."

"also kinda ruins the 'guy stalking the apartment complex' act." you swing the door open and make your way up the stairs. "i'm sure everyone is so enthused by the guy sitting on the stairs every friday."

a laugh, "oh i'm sure. if they report me for loitering promise you'll come bail me out?"

"depends on how much i like you that day." you can feel the heat of your apartment as you approach the end of the hall.

"really," he says. "if they took me in right now?"

"i would think about it." you pause. "maybe."

"wow." you can hear the rasp in his voice as he drags out the 'o.' "tough crowd."

your apartment smells like pine and vanilla—the workings of two little wax melters on opposite sides of the rooms. you turned them off before you left (you double and triple-checked), but the scent lingers, itching at your nose as you cross through the door.

kuroo follows close behind, scaping his shoes off on the mat before slipping them onto the little shoe rack in the corner. his jacket squeaks as he shrugs it off—a sound so distinctly made from the shifting of wet nylon that you barely have to turn around to identify it.

every time he follows you up here, you find yourself glancing around your apartment—looking for something that could possibly be out of place. something incriminating: three-day-old dishes that you know you already washed; your vibrator, forgotten on the nightstand, even though you remember putting it back in its designated drawer.

for some reason, you have a tendency to think that the things around your home that make you distinctly human are also the things that would make you distinctly unappealing. you're aware of how silly the thought is, but there you are, quickly looking over at your nightstand as you stick your coat back in the closet.

"so," you hum, rubbing a bit of the warmth back into your hands. "to what do i owe the pleasure tonight? you here to eat all of my leftovers again?"

"depends," he says. "you have leftovers to be eaten?"

"not this time." you make your way to the couch, and he pouts, following behind you. "but if i did, they'd be all yours."

"aw, you mean it?" you eye him. "i'm honored."

as much as you hate to admit it, this has sort of become habit. you come home a little later than expected and you find kuroo sitting on your front stoop. you're not exactly sure how any of it started—or, really, how the two of you became friends in the first place—but you ran in the same circles for a while and, eventually, you ended up here.

"well," he begins, slinging his arm over the back of the couch. "study group?"

"boring." you nudge your way beneath his shoulder. "practice?"

"thrilling, obviously. greatest two hours of my life, even. i think you could go as far as to—" you eye him again. "same thing as yesterday."

you chuckle, swatting a hand into his chest.

there's silence for a moment, something warm pulling through the air of the room. quiet breaths spill from kuroo's lips, and you resign yourself to listening to each one—in, and out.

he still smells cold; like the heavy, wet snow you have to shovel off of the porch the morning after a blizzard. for every breath, it lessens, bleeding into the heat of the room, but you let the scent linger at the base of your nose.

you're not sure how much time you've spent taking in pieces of kuroo, but you know it's more than you ever plan to tell. you know his hands take longer to warm up than the rest of him—he chalks it up to bad circulation most of the time, you know that too; he rarely spends a night at home because he doesn't like sitting in silence; he twitches sometimes, when he's nervous, a little flick of his hands; his favorite color is red but sometimes he's drawn to deep blues because he likes the sky better when it's absent of stars—he says there's something enchanting about the abyss.

he's too dense to know you're in love with him but too smart to think you're not. sometimes you catch him looking at you after you say something in a tone a little too far beyond friendly and you swear that he knows what you mean. sometimes, you think he's going to break the silence, and, sometimes, you think he never will.

tonight, he swings his head back, eyes lightly shut, slowly sinking into the back of the couch. you can hear the sputter of your vents and the sound of the wind against the windows—snow still trying to fight its way through the glass.

you're going to ask him to stay the night tonight—you already know it. you're going to wake up to him on the couch tomorrow, with his hair messed up, and his eyes half-lidded, and that stupid look on his face that makes you want to slip your tongue into his mouth.

you're going to think about that time you slept together last year—once, after a halloween party—and you're going to think about the way the inside of his mouth tasted; you're going to sink your teeth into your lips so hard that you're going to bleed.

you're going to consider telling him that you love him, that you always have and you think you always will, and then you're going to ask him if he wants coffee instead—hoping the smell of the pot is enough to make your head feel less fuzzy.

you're going to wait, and hope he says something, even though you'll know he never does. and then, next friday, when you come home to him sitting on your front steps, you're going to do it all again.

reblogs are always appreciated! ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

#hq x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x you #haikyuu #hq!!#aw this is so cute i wrote this one last november and look at us now #early birthday present for my little weirdo methinks

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slytherinshua · 3 months ago

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MY HEART RETURNS

summary. your love is pursuing his dreams as a violinmaker in italy, leaving you to wait for his return. genre. slight angst. fluff. based on whisper of the heart. warnings. some crying. reader feels lost and alone and like she's not good enough :( not proofread. pairing. zhanghao x fem!reader. wc. 1.3k. request. no. a/n. tiánxīn = sweetheart btw. ofc hao is already perfect for the role of seiji cause he plays violin (also he looks like seiji fight me). for all the other writers out there (even tho i don't ever plan to get properly published) we all relate to shizuku so much :') her struggles are so relatable and i just love whisper of the heart so much i think its such a beautiful and underrated ghibli movie. divider by @/aquazero.

The night air nipped at your cheeks as thoughts swirled in your head. Hundreds of worries, feelings, and uncertainties followed you wherever you went, and all you could wish was to be back in high school when everything felt a bit easier. Back with Hao to occupy all your thoughts and in turn take your mind off of everything.

Sometimes you wondered if waiting was really worth it. You were doing your best to pursue your dreams, do well in your final year of university, and throw yourself and your work at different publishers, hoping that one liked you enough to give you a chance. But you felt like a constant failure in comparison to your boyfriend. You’d always thought opportunities were more beneficial than school. Hao only seemed to prove that to you.

He was working in Italy, getting valuable skills from the masters. You were still stuck in your hometown, going to the same university everyone else in your family had gone to, trapped in the same system. You wanted to get out, prove yourself, do something meaningful with your life. But did you even have the talent to? Were you even worth it?

On nights where your thoughts just wouldn’t leave you alone, you grabbed a handful of Hao’s letters and walked up the hill back to the spot where you used to watch the sunrise with him. You missed him more than anything. Without his presence, you felt lost. There was no one to ground you, no one to reassure you, no one to believe in your flimsy dreams.

You hadn’t received a new letter in a while, and you were starting to wonder if it was a post issue, or if Hao was too busy to write. You hoped you would get one soon. It was the start of Winter already, and a breeze blew past you, causing a chill to run up your spine. You hugged Hao’s old jacket closer on your body. It must be even colder in Italy…

You slid one of the old letters out from its envelope. You were always careful to keep everything intact. From the colourful wax seals to the elegantly written address, to the coarse texture of the fancy paper, everything about it was precious to you. Hao was always meticulous, and his presence could be felt from every detail of the card.

Tiánxīn, how are things back at home? Lonely.

How is your writing? Did you finish the last 3 chapters you were struggling to write? I finished the final draft last Saturday. Are you proud of me?

I’m doing well here, although I never stop missing you. At least one feeling is mutual.

It’s the beginning of Spring as I write this, and the flowers are starting to bloom. Every pink bud reminds me of you. How are you always so romantic, Zhang Hao?

I taught some kids how to hold a violin properly the other day— one of them almost dropped it. I swear my life flashed before my eyes. If they had broken it, I could’ve gotten kicked out. They don’t know that they’re handling a piece of wood worth thousands of dollars. As much as it scared me in the moment, spending time with the kids cheered me up. Childhood innocence is an endearing thing, don’t you think? It is. Is it bad that I wished you had gotten kicked out just so I could see you sooner? I want you to tell me everything about Italy with your own voice.

I’m starting to find beauty in things that used to annoy me. It’s a strange feeling, but I think I could get used to it. The flowers used to only make me sneeze, but now they’re a gentle reminder of who I’m living every day for. Children used to get on my nerves, but now I can only think of your baby pictures. I keep working hard every day hoping that I’ll get a break to come visit soon. I’ve been saving up for tickets. Hopefully before Winter, I’ll be back in your arms. It’s Winter now… I miss your arms around me.

Ever yours,

Hao

You could only sigh and blink back the tears that had formed on your waterline. Why did he make you miss him so much? You sniffed, from the emotions and from the cold. It was getting even later in the night, and while you didn’t want to leave your special spot, you also needed sleep.

When you got back to your cheap apartment, you sprayed some of Hao’s perfume on your pillow and changed into pyjamas. It was funny how much time went into hunting for the exact fragrance he wore; but you had been thankful for it every single day since you bought it. Any way you could to bring traces of him back to your home was worth it. You fell asleep hugging the pillow tightly and hoping that he would grace you in your dreams.

A soft puff of air hit your nose making you scrunch it up. It woke you out of your slumber, but not enough to open your eyes yet. You were in a confused bleary state trying to figure out where it came from. You definitely didn’t leave the fan on in the middle of Winter, so why…?

“Tiánxīn, wake up.”

You blinked your eyes open slowly, furrowing your eyebrows as the view came into focus. Light from the morning sun shone through the window, cascading down until it hit the side of a face. Hao’s face.

“Am I still dreaming?” You whispered. A lump formed in your throat at the thought that you were— you must be. How could he be right in front of you? He was still far away in Italy.

He shook his head, a smile splayed on his lips. He moved closer, his weight dipping down on the bed. You could only stare, memorising everything about him. His eyelashes fluttered as his gaze dropped to your hand and he reached to hold it. His hands were warm and the skin of his palm was soft, although his fingertips were roughened by calluses after years of playing strings. He cupped your cheek with his other hand, brushing his thumb against your skin.

“I missed you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to come visit.” He frowned slightly as he saw tears start to build in your eyes. You squeezed his hand, as if still deciphering whether he was actually real. It had truly been years since he had first gone for his apprenticeship and then got accepted full time to make violins and teach. Although you had communicated through letters, it could never compare to being with him like this.

“It’s okay.” You tried to steady your voice, force the lump in your throat down, blink back the tears. But you couldn’t with him right there.

“Don’t cry.” He wiped your tears carefully, his touch soft as always.

“Kiss me. Please?”

And he obliged. He would always do anything within his power to see you happy. If you told him one day to fly to the moon and bring you back a piece of it, he was sure he would find a way, just to see you smile. The feeling of kissing him again was indescribable. You’d forgotten how it felt to be kissed by his soft lips, how they melded with yours like a dream. As if you two were meant to be.

You knew you always were. Your love story, although it sometimes felt tragic, was like something out of a fairytale. You would never forget the lengths Hao went just to get your attention. How ambitious, determined, and caring he was. He was your constant motivation to keep striving to be better.

It was hard to live for your dream while being so far apart from him. Part of you knew that he would have to go back. Maybe in a month, maybe in only a week. Maybe sooner than that. Your heart would break once again saying goodbye to him.

But, for now, as he kissed you in the morning sunlight on your bed, you felt your heart healing from his touch. The long years away from him were a small price to pay for moments as precious as these.

↳ zerobaseone taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @okshu,, @chewryy,, @haecien,, @sobun1est,,

@emmylksblog,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @chenleszone,, @sxmmerberries,,

@cupidslovearrows,, @dimplewonie,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @mjupis,,

@kangtaehyunzzz,, @nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @nicholasluvbot,, @stantxtforabetterlife

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tojisun · 11 months ago

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https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8aRe9ag/

biker!simon sending you this…

IM CRYING AT HIS SCREAM HELLO no because whys this kinda cute and funny to imagine dhfbwhbf 😭

biker!simon mlist // star divider by @/plutism <33

just. imagine looking out of the window, frowning in worry at seeing the snow gathering strength – unstoppable in the momentum, blanketing the streets with fluff. any other day you would've grabbed your jacket and slid into your boots to go outside, or perhaps melt into the soft cushions of the couch with a soft music playing in the background until you are reduced to this moment – soaking in the tenderness that comes with winter; a certain nostalgia that waxes and wanes.

but.

simon's still not back, and his only ride home is his bike. he was the one in charge of closing up the shop tonight, and you're certain that he's working alone late today – john's out of the country for a vacation, johnny called in sick, and kyle's visiting his parents – so it's not like someone can drop him off.

(although you know that if johnny or, god forbid, kyle were with simon, they would've brought their bikes too. bunch of hopeless fools, the lot of them.)

you nibble on your bottom lip, playing with it in worry, before snagging your phone from the table to shoot simon a message. you pray that he's not on the road yet.

but before you could type up anything, you receive a message from simon. it's just a little five second video, with a tag-along caption that reads, "i fell."

your heart lurches into your throat, lodging there as worry creeps up and engulfs you. you play the video, not realizing just how hard you are biting on your bottom lip until you had to gasp, blood beginning to rush back into the muscle. still, you ignore the muted throbbing, busy cataloguing simon in his video.

he's staring up at the camera, eyes furrowed, and you're sure he even got his lips pinched in disdain under his balaclava. you note how he's no longer wearing his helmet, and that feeds your rising worries even more. he shows you the snow-filled streets right after, then he pans towards his bike, showing you how the little thing is tipped over and crusted with melting snow.

the video cuts out just at the apex of simon's scream.

the apartment is filled with stagnant silence, not even your heaving breaths could puncture through, before a snort scratches at your throat, the sound creeping up unconsciously.

holy fuck.

you replay the video again just to hear the inhumane screeching at the end, giggling to yourself, before finally replying to him, "send your location pls. gon pick u up."

simon responds instantly, sending you his location – a stretch that's only ten minutes away from the shop – and adds, "my hero."

you send a kissy-sticker. simon sends you the thumbs up emoji and follows it up with the snowman emoji.

what a dork, you think with fond huff.

this aint much n im so sorry its too short :< // taggin: @babygirl-riley @teehee-47 @comeonatmebruh <33

#suns.hc #biker!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #anon #ask #simon n his oopsies - he is embarasseddd #pls lmk if u wanna be added/removed from being tagged!! im gen so shy rn afheojwr but thank u sm for ur support teehee <33 #suns

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louisa-gc · 25 days ago

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november mood

a cold wind and the warm lights of the city in the dark evening air as you walk home after a long day

typing away at your laptop in candlelight, chocolates and their empty golden wrappers by your side

leather gloves, a cashmere scarf and a fresh blowout to complement your cosy long coat

a board game night with family or friends, music playing quietly in the background as you forget everything else to be present with your loved ones

black ink flowing on notebook pages as you plan for what is left of the year, goals and aspirations clearer to you than ever

long, misty weekend morning walks in the countryside, wearing wellies and a waxed jacket older than you

embracing the coming winter season by focusing on what is essential, spending less time on your phone and more time on consistently working on your tasks before december comes

the atmosphere of a wood-paneled neighbourhood restaurant, olives and glasses of champagne at the table, tiramisu for dessert

reading in your favourite armchair, a soft white jumper and woollen socks keeping you warm

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ornii · 11 months ago

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Short: Touch and Starvation

Wednesday Has a Question only you can answer.

Hopefully people still enjoy Bitterly Beautiful as much as I do, I have a lot of ideas (not many people ask for it, but still.) that I want to share and just mind dump, and this is my favorite idea; The Greatest Wednesday Fluff.

It was winter, the cold at set it at Nevermore and it made taking care of the crows a bit harder than expected. (Y/n) placed the feed into their bowl and allowed the animals to carouse in and feed. He took a step back and admired his hands work. (Y/n) wore his Nevermore Uniform bit with a black heavy breasted jacket Issued by the School. Sensing the footsteps approaching he calmly closed the cage and turned around, titling his head slightly in the direction of the footsteps. He could tell they were light footed, heavy boots though, definitely Wednesday.

“Wednesday, I don’t see you outside in the winter much. Enjoying the snow?” He walks over to his girlfriend, gently taking her hands in his, Wednesday was never one for fun or any sense of enjoyment besides her own company. “You could say that, but I came to speak with you on an important matter.” She said. This was concerning, “important matters.” For Wednesday usually were to discuss the investigation or tell (Y/n) something he really didn’t want to hear.

“O-okay?” He said, raising an eyebrow to her request, the two spoke in a more private setting, his Bedroom, sitting next to her, the Boy tilts his head into her direction.

“Alright, so, what’s up?” He asks, and Wednesday grips the bed slightly, building the courage to speak.

“I want to know, how do you see?” She asks, he smugly folds his arms.

“Magic, obviously.” He said, she frowns at him.

“No, no jokes, no half answers, I want the truth (Y/n). Stop using jokes as a mask for it.” She said with the upmost respect that she had for him, (Y/n)’s smug grin quickly faded and he lets out a sigh, he fiddles with his hands for a moment before speaking.

It’s like a, a sonar. Sounds bounce around and I make some things out, detail? That’s not possible, can’t read, write, see color.. it’s, hard.” He explains, Wednesdays brow furrows. “All the times you called me beautiful, were those lies?” She asks, there was a hint of pain in her voice, (Y/n) abruptly turned his head towards her.

“Absolutely not!” He said, “You Are Beautiful..”

“How do you know? I know beauty isn’t just looks, it’s Posture, attitude, grace, things I obviously lack.” Wednesday admits.

“Well you aren’t wrong about that.” He said, she eyes him and he could sense the intensity. He averts his face.

“Look, I love you for you, beauty or not…” he explains, “But… there is one way for me to see you.” He said, she considers her response, Wednesday tilts her head oh so slightly. “How?” She asks, he turns and shows his hand.

“Wednesday… can I… can I touch your face?” He said, Wednesday just stared at him, not knowing how to respond. (Y/n) awkwardly puts his hand down.

“Sorry that was weird huh? I didn’t mean to, it’s just the best way, seeing with my hands and all..” he drones on, Before Wednesday blurts it out.

“Only for a few minutes.” She admits, he turns back, “Only for a few minutes, and if you tell anyone I let you touch my face I will pour melting wax into your ears.” She said, (Y/n) nodded.

“Of course.” He replies, Wednesday takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, “begin.” She says, (Y/n) slowly rose his hands up and calmly cups her cheeks, the bristle of skin contact felt so, sudden. His brain could finally scan her soft skin, the gentle brush of her pigtails nearing the tips of his fingers made his skin jump for a moment.

“Such refined cheekbones you have.” He said jokingly, Wednesday wasn’t in the best mood, severely underestimating how uncomfortable this would be, his finger gently and lovingly caressed her cheekbones and his thumb softly brushed against her lower lips. “Your lips, soft.. well I already knew that~” he said with a flirty. His finger tips turn slowly went along her ears to brush up against them, tiny but also supple and soft like most of her. (Y/n)’s thumb gently moved closer to the center of her face as he cutely boops her nose. Wednesday took a shaky breath and she felt his hands move away. Wednesday opens her eyes to him, looking sad.

“Why did you stop?” She said, (Y/n) frowned

“You’re uncomfortable…”

“I’m not—“ she begins but (Y/n) cuts her off, “Wednesday if there’s anything I do know well it’s body language. You’re tensing up, your breathing is erratic.. I don’t want to keep going if it makes you uncomfortable, it’s okay.” He puts his hand on hers, trying to reassure his girlfriend. Wednesday was at a loss for words. He gives her a sad smile, but still one of deep love and compassion.

“I don’t give a damn about how you look, I could care less, but now I can put a face to the woman I plan to spend the rest of my life with”. He gives her a reassuring kiss on her cheek.

“I don’t need to see, I just need to know.. and I know that you love me..” (Y/n) said with confidence, a confidence Wednesday couldn’t hide her smile to.

“You really are a blind fool… well, I suppose I am as well, because I love you too.”

#male reader #netflix #wednesday #wednesday addams x male reader #wednesday x reader #reader insert #wednesday addams x reader #wedensday x you #wednesday fluff #reassurance #relationship growth

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asa-do-your-thing · 11 months ago

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Burn me down

Michael Gavey x Reader

18+ Minors DNI WC: 4.6k Warnings: Cigarettes, Alcohol, Smut, Wax Play, dom-ish Michael, Nerd in the streets, freak in the sheets A/N: I've asked you to choose a little something for my Birthday and you chose this! Yay! Here's to my 22nd birthday and a rather sweet and kinky Michael.

You stood in front of the Pub, taking quick drags of your cigarette. You damned the horrendous british weather, you damned the fact that the student's exchange office apparently 'lost' your exams in the mail, making you re-sit everything in the winter break, but most of all you damned that Michael.

He was supposed to be your buddy - your mentor, showing you around campus and helping you connect with the other students, though all he did was invite you to the pub where he'd drink his pint in relative silence before leaving again.

It wasn't like you disliked STEM students, no; most of them were the chillest friends one could wish for. But he? He was a right royal pain in the ass, trying to convince you of his intelligence everytime you'd meet up.

You shivered as the cold wind whipped around you, making your eyes water and your teeth chatter. The rain pelted down hard, turning the pavement into a slick, shiny mess that squelched beneath your feet with each step. You finished your cigarette quickly, flicking it away into a nearby puddle with a silent curse as rain dripped onto your fingers. The smoke from it mingled with the damp air, creating an acrid smell that mixed with the scent of wet earth and cobblestones underfoot.

You tucked the next one into your mouth, feeling the familiar burn as you lit it from a soggy match that barely stayed alight in the weather. Pulling out your phone from your jacket pocket, you frowned when you saw no new messages from Michael; he'd stood you up again.

Blowing out a plume of smoke, you sucked your teeth and were just about to turn back and head home when you just-about-avoided giving Michael a burn as he appeared out of nowhere, stepping way too close to you.

"Sorry," he mumbled and looked down at your shivering form. "You said to meet up at eight, why would you text me if I'm here at quarter to?"

You took a step back and offered him a cigarette, which he quickly declined. "It's rude to be on time, it's best to be early. Doesn't matter, you're here now," you said and gave him a one over. That man really did not have a single fashionable piece of clothing to his name, it was incredible. He looked like he'd raided your father's wardrobe. "What's the plan for this evening?"

Michael shrugged, his eyes clung to the glowing end of your cigarette as though the answer was hidden in the embers. "The usual, I suppose," he stammered. "Grab a pint, talk about... things?"

You chuckled, "Ah, the endlessly fascinating 'things'," you teased, flicking some ash off your cigarette onto the pavement. It mingled with the small droplets of rain on the ground like stardust on a cosmic canvas. "How absolutely riveting."

He frowned slightly and looked at you; his eyebrows knitted tightly with confusion. "I didn't mean to be vague," he explained. "It's just..."

"It's just...?" you repeated with curiosity.

"Everything," he muttered. "Everything has been so much more... complicated since meeting you."

You looked at him in surprise as your next words hung precariously in the cold night air. You weren't sure where this conversation was going, but it certainly wasn't in the direction you'd expected.

"Complicated?" you echoed his words, blowing a cloud of smoke into the wind. The bitter cold bit at your face and you withdrew back into your collar. His expression was unreadable underneath the dim wintry light, giving him an aura of mystery that was oddly arresting.

"Yes," he nodded slowly before rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Because you're so different from what I'm used to."

You raised an eyebrow at that comment but said nothing, intrigued by his sudden openness, a stark contrast to his reticent persona up until now.

"But it's not a bad thing," he quickly added, pulling up his shoulders.

God, he was so awkward. Watching two drunk, scantily dressed girls leave the pub, you could see into the establishment and shook your head, grumbling.

"That damned thing's full to the brim. Would you be cool with coming to my apartment and have a drink or two there? I should still have beer and schnapps." Tossing your cigarette butt away you gave him a small, cheeky grin. "Or are you afraid of being alone with a woman?"

Michael's eyes widened at your bold comment, but after a moment his face relaxed into a sheepish smile. "No, I'm not afraid," he admitted. His voice was quiet but firm. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes so you decided not to push any further.

"Good," you replied, slightly impressed by the unexpected admission. "It'd be a shame to go and drink my beer by myself." You proceeded to lead the way to your apartment, just a few streets away. The cold rain was unrelenting and by the time you reached your building, both of you were drenched to the bone.

As soon as you stepped inside however, warm, dry air greeted you like a comforting blanket. You hurried up the worn wooden staircase leading to your apartment, Michael following closely behind. He looked around with curiosity and slight apprehension as he entered your abode for the first time.

Your apartment was small but cozy. A worn-out sofa sat before a small TV set, a coffee table littered with textbooks and research papers spread out before it. The walls were filled with photographs of family and friends; some from home, some from university. The kitchen was compact but well organized, a fridge full of post-it reminders of upcoming exams and assignments.

"Make yourself comfortable," you told him as you headed into the bath to grab some towels for drying off. He hesitated for a moment before finally settling down on the edge of your sofa.

When you returned with two towels, his eyes were darting around your living room - taking in all the photos and personal items that adorned it - like pieces of a puzzle about yourself that he was eager to solve.

"Different..." he mumbled again, almost to himself while his gaze lingered on a picture of you posing with your old high school friends.

"What?" you asked, throwing him one of the towels and ruffling your hair with the other.

He fumbled to catch it and cleared his throat. "You're just... different from what I expected," he repeated, sounding unsure of whether he was complimenting or criticizing you.

"And how's that?" you quirked an eyebrow at him as you headed towards the kitchen, deciding to ignore any potential insult for now. "Want a beer or schnapps?"

"Uh... a beer, please," he said, trying to wipe the rain off his glasses with the towel you gave him.

You opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles. "And how exactly am I different?" you asked again, popping off the caps and joining him on the couch.

He took the offered drink quietly, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "You’re more… real," he finally said, looking into your eyes earnestly. "I thought you're just another hippie lit student, but you do seem to be... uh, more scientific."

You burst out laughing at that comment, causing him to blush awkwardly. "Are you saying I am deep?" You took a gulp from your bottle before continuing, "Well, despite your stand-offishness and your slight academic snobbery, Michael," you said pointing at him with the bottle. "You are not so bad yourself."

He looked taken aback and looked away, taking a gulp of beer. Deciding that there wouldn't be much conversation from now on, which was usual for the both of you, you set your beer aside and walked to your wardrobe, pulling out an oversized T-Shirt and some short shorts, deciding to get out of your wet clothes. Not bothering to go into another room - you were still wearing your underwear, so there wasn't much to see anyways, you argued with yourself - you changed quickly.

When you turned back to Michael, he was staring at you with a startled expression, his cheeks flaming red. He quickly averted his gaze, muttering a soft, "Sorry."

"No worries," you replied nonchalantly, taking your seat back on the couch. You enjoyed his discomfort and couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

Silence hung in the room as both of you focused on your beer bottles, the familiar scent of hops and barley filling the room. The distant sounds of the city could be heard through the thin walls of your apartment as well as the constant tapping of rain hitting the windowsill.

After a while, you broke the silence, "So... about these 'things' we're supposed to talk about?" You smirked at him, noticing how he squirmed under your gaze.

He sighed heavily before looking at you directly; eyes full of seriousness. "I think... I think I like how things are complicated with you."

You were taken aback at his straightforward confession and blinked at him. He looked just as surprised by his own boldness, face paling slightly.

"Look," he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "what I mean to say is... I find it intriguing, being around you. You don't strive to fit in any mold and that's... refreshing. And after our... our... evenings, you don't go about shouting it from the rooftops."

You stared at him for a good few seconds before bursting into laughter once again. His obvious discomfort combined with his honesty was endearing in its own strange way. Of course he was mighty uncomfortable about your deeper, emotional talks once you were drunk enough, but who were you to hold it against him.

"You are one weird bloke," you said amidst your laughing fits.

His face reddened once more but this time he nervously stood up and sat down flush next to you, eliciting another round of small giggles from you. "What are you doing? Are you trying to cuddle me?"

"No, I'm not trying to cuddle you," he protested, looking both embarrassed and indignant. Yet, despite his words, he didn't move away. Instead, he found himself moving closer to you on the sofa, closing the distance between you two.

"Then what do you call this?" you asked, laughter subsiding as you turned to face him. His close proximity made your heart beat a little faster, to your own surprise.

"I call this... um... adjusting for... comfort," he said, sounding nervous and uncertain. But his eyes never left yours and there was determination in them that was hard to ignore.

"Yeah? And who's comfort are we talking about here?" you asked, looking at him with amusement. You wondered how much of his boldness was down to the beer or simply his genuine personality.

He hesitated before answering, "Yours. And mine."

Grinning, you set your bottle down and turned towards him, laying an arm over his shoulder (which wasn't very easy, that damned man was so much taller than you were) and licked your lips. "Oh really? Yours as well? I'd never have guessed." With that, you closed the gap between the two of you and kissed him softly, giving him the option to retreat from it if he'd wish to.

Much to your surprise, your kiss elicited a small groan from him and made him wrap his arms around you, tighter than you'd have thought. So your suspicions were true then - he was as interested in you as you were in him.

Michael's touch was warm, his scent of rain and musk mingling with your own, his unsure hands very rough on you, though you had to confess that you didn't mind it as much as you'd have thoought you would. He tasted like beer and something else, something uniquely him. As you kissed him deeper, you could feel his heart pounding against your chest. There was a spark that ignited between the two of you - a mutual curiosity and eagerness that had been brewing beneath the surface for quite some time.

When you broke the kiss, you both gasped for air, eyes locked on each other's. "I think we should take this to bed," you whispered huskily, leaning in for another kiss before standing up and offering him a hand to help him up too. He took it gratefully, his palm soft against yours as he rose from the couch with you guiding him through the darkened room towards your bedroom door. Once inside, you turned lit one of your copious scented candles, casting a soft yellow glow across the space.

You both undressed slowly, shedding layers until all that remained were your underwear and his slightly damp shirt clinginging to his broad shoulders. His tall, lanky frame towered over you as he sat down heavily on the mattress, pulling you into his lap with an easy strength that made your heart race faster than before. The wet shirt clung to your skin as it rubbed against yours during every movement.

As you lay in his lap, your heart pounding wildly in your chest, his fingers tracing your spine and shoulders, you couldn't help but notice how warm and safe you felt in his embrace. He kissed your neck softly, the stubble on his chin brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your back. You moaned lightly as he nibbled on your earlobe, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His other hand slowly found its way to your breast, cupping it gently as he explored its softness beneath the padded fabric, causing you to gasp. "You're so beautiful," he murmured against your skin. You held your breath as he kneaded it gently, his touch sending sparks of desire straight to your core.

You couldn't believe how comfortable you were with him already; with someone you barely knew but somehow understood on a deeper level than anyone else ever had. The alcohol maybe? Or maybe it was just him—his innocent yet bold nature? You'd never know. All that mattered was this moment—his hand on your breast, the heat radiating from his body, the wet shirt clinging to both of you as if they were magnetized—made every nerve ending tingle with anticipation.

You pushed yourself closer into his touch, arching your back slightly when he pinched the nipple between his fingers teasingly before licking and sucking it softly. A groan escaped your lips at the sensation. You thought he'd be a virgin, but much to your surprise by the way he expertly unclasped your bra behind your back with a single hand and guided you gently onto your back it seemed like he did have a fair amount of practice.

His cock was throbbing against his pants, begging to be freed, but it seemed like he knew that wasn't the only thing that mattered right now. He wanted to get to know you in every way possible - and not just physically. He loved the taste of your lips on his, tangy from the beer but still sweet and soft. Both of you were shivering with anticipation. His hands traced up and down your sides slowly, feeling every curve and edge of your body as if they were made for each other. His fingers brushed against your underwear-covered mound and he gasped slightly at the wetness there before moving upwards to cup one of your breasts, holding it gently.

Your lips trembled as you whispered, "How long have you been wanting this?" Your breath caught in your throat as he clumsily lay next to you, his throbbing arousal pressed against your chilled skin. The way his fingers expertly teased and twisted your nipple made it clear that this was not a spontaneous decision, but rather a burning desire that had been building up inside him for a while. And making out with someone like Michael Gavey would never be just a spontaneous act - he would've started planning this weeks before.

"I... uh...", he muttered, clearly trying to conjure up a lie that he'd never thought about it, so you gave him a small smile. "Didn't mean to offend you," you mumbled as you moved a bit closer to him. His lips met yours again, hungrily, his tongue digging deep into your mouth as you felt his arousal press against your leg. You reached down and grasped it through his pants, feeling the warmth and length of him beneath the cotton. He groaned into the kiss, pressing himself against you harder. You could feel his heart racing as much as yours was, and it only fueled your desire even more. You could taste the beer on his lips and feel the barely-there stubble against your chin as he traced nervous kisses down your jawline, across your collarbone, and lower to your breasts.

When he took one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking gently at first and then harder as you gasped, you arched your back off the mattress. He moaned into your skin, humming quietly as he continued to tease you with his lips and teeth. His free hand slid down between your legs, pushing aside the damp fabric of your underwear to touch you directly. Your hips bucked up towards his hand instinctively as he found your already slick folds and began to rub gently. The softness of his touch only added to the intensity of the sensation that coursed through you both.

Your breathing grew heavier as you ground yourself against his hand, needing more contact but also not wanting to beg for him. As Michael's tongue danced around yours, your kisses became more intense, your bodies pressing closer together. His heart was racing, his breathing heavy with anticipation. His hand slid up your side, tracing the curve of your waist before landing softly on the lace of your black panties. You caught your breath as he ran his fingers lightly over the fabric, feeling the softness against his skin. He leaned away from the kiss gradually, smirking at your flushed face and parted lips as he pulled the delicate garment down to reveal what lay beneath.

"Oh," he breathed out, taking in the sight of you - already wet and ready for him. He gave a mocking chuckle, "So ready for me, like a little slut." You blushed even deeper and looked away, unable to meet his gaze. His free hand found its way to your chin and tilted it up gently until you met his eyes again. There was a twinkle in his green irises that made your stomach flip-flop uncontrollably.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips once more in a slow kiss that lingered for far too long before pulling away. A teasing smirk lifted the corners of his mouth as he took in another deep breath and sat up, straddling you, effectively trapping you under him. "Now tell me, how long have you been wanting this? How long have you been moaning my name before you went to sleep?"

Opening and closing your mouth, you blushed heavily and licked your lips as he gingerly picked up the candle and let a tiny droplet of wax fall onto your belly. "Michael!" you gasped and blushed even further, especially as you could see him biting his lips. Shit, you thought, he likes to see you writhing under him. "Michael, I... I... didn't want to bother you, I..."

To that, he only lifted an eyebrow and grinned, letting more hot wax drip onto your chest, which was echoed by a yelping moan. "You still haven't answered my question."

The heat from the candle wax dripping onto your skin sent shivers down your spine, but you didn't flinch away from him. Instead, you inhaled sharply and arched into his touch, feeling every inch of his presence against yours. His hands gently caressed your skin as he waited for your answer, his thumb brushing across the sensitive flesh where he had dotted it with hot wax. You licked your lips nervously, trying to gather enough courage to speak the truth. You couldn't lie to him anymore - you felt like you might explode at any second and were this close to begging him to fuck you senseless.

Oh yes, you knew he'd do that. These shy, standoffish nerds - you knew for a fact that they had the biggest cocks and were willing to use them.

"I've wanted this for weeks," you finally admitted in a barely audible whisper. "Every time I saw you at Uni or when we sat together in the library, I could feel myself getting wet just thinking about what it would be like to be underneath you." Your blush deepened at the admission, but at least now it was out in the open. He was looking at you with such intense curiosity that you could feel yourself melting under his gaze.

As if in response to your confession, he set the candle down again and kissed a trail from your collarbone to your other nipple, nipping softly before catching it between his teeth and sucking gently. Your back arched off the mattress as pleasure coursed through you; he knew exactly what he was doing to make you lose control. His other hand moved lower still, fingertips dancing over your clit. "Hm," he mumbled, "I think I still haven't heard enough."

Whimpring, you tossed your head from one side to the other, trying your hardest to form a coherent sentence, or even just a word, the way he was circling your nub with an ever quickening pace. Losing all your dignity, you looked up at him and whined needily. "Please, Michael, fuck, fuck me... I need you, I..."

You felt his hot breath on your skin as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your earlobe before whispering, "You need me?" He nibbled softly, sending shivers down your spine. "I think that can be arranged..." His voice was trembling with anticipation, giving away his own nervousness and excitement. He trailed his tongue along the edge of your earlobe, grazing it gently as he slid off of you and stood up.

You couldn't help but watch him as he pulled down his underpants. His cock sprang free, hard and ready for action, glistening with his precum as it lazily slapped up ointo his his stomach. He was certainly well endowed - not the thickest, but by god that must've been at least twenty centimetres. You licked your lips unconsciously, wanting nothing more than to taste him, to feel him inside you. He smiled shyly as he quickly rummagged through the pile of discarded clothes and pulled out a condom from his wallet.

"On your hands and knees," he commanded in that same low voice that made your insides melt as he opened the package and rolled the rubber quickly over his cock.

Obediently you complied, presenting yourself to him in a way that only heightened the anticipation building between the two of you. The room was dark now as he extinguished the candle, casting eerie shadows on the walls as he moved behind you. His warm breath fanned over the nape of your neck making you shiver again as he ran a hand through your hair teasingly.

A sharp intake of breath escaped from you when he lightly skimmed a kiss over your spine before tracing it back up, holding tightly onto your hair as you could feel him positioning himself in front of your pulsating pussy.

Without another word, Michael's cockhead pressed against your entrance, teasing and stretching it before he finally found the sweet spot. A low moan escaped from his lips as he sank in to the hilt, filling you up completely. He pushed further inside until he was fully sheathed within your tight heat. You felt him to the core, his length stretching and filling you up completely.

The feeling of his length inside you was both exhilarating and overwhelming, making you moan out in pleasure as he gently began to move within you. His hands cupped your breasts, massaging them gently as he slowly withdrew and thrust back in again. Every inch of him flexed inside you, rubbing against your walls as if trying to find that perfect spot that would make you scream his name.

He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back into you hard, forcing a gasp from your lips. His hips pounded into you with unyielding force as it seemed like every muscle in his body tensed up with desire. The sound of skin smacking against skin echoed around the room, creating a rhythm that seemed to match the pounding of your hearts in your ears.

He looked down at your exposed ass cheeks while he kept pounding into you, admiring how they shook and clenched with every thrust. One hand moved around to caress them in tandem with his hips, making sure those cheeks received some love too as he slapped them harshly.

Your legs trembled beneath him as he startet grunting more loudly, his fingers clenching around your hips, pushing and pulling in a way that made you feel like he was using you like a toy. Fuck, who would've thought that Michael Gavey was such a freak. Though as soon as that thought had run through your mind, he wrapped his arm around you, quickly rubbing your engorged clit while he pistoned into you at an impossible pace. That was enough for you to scream into your pillow and to half-collapse, him following you almost instantly as your cunt squeezed his cock dry.

He collapsed onto your back, panting heavily against your neck. His heart hammered against your spine, matching the erratic rhythm of your own. He remained in you for a few more moments, his pulsating cock still buried deep inside you; you could feel him twitching with every throb of his orgasm.

Finally, he rolled off of you and onto his side, pulling out of you carefully as he did so. You whimpered at the sudden lack of contact, your body feeling oddly empty without him filling you up. He looked at you then; his eyes soft and full of wonderment as he took in the sight of you lying there—sated, flushed, and thoroughly fucked.

You turned to face him on the bed, reaching out to touch his chest as if to make sure he was really there beside you. His skin was damp with sweat, and he shivered as your fingers traced the contours of his chest and abdomen before finally coming to rest on his softening cock. You gave it a gentle squeeze, making him groan and buck into your touch.

“I’m... I’m sorry,” he stammered shyly after a moment’s silence. “I… um… didn’t mean to be so…” He trailed off uncertainly, looking rather sheepish as he glanced down at you.

But instead of chastising him or laughing at his awkwardness—as any other woman might have done—you simply smiled up at him before leaning in for a kiss. It was sweet and tender—a stark contrast from the roughness that had transpired between you two moments ago.

"Michael," you murmured against his lips once the kiss broke, "do you think I didn't enjoy it?"

He looked a bit taken aback, his brows furrowing in confusion as he met your gaze. "I-I mean... I just..." he stammered, clearly still embarrassed by the sudden shift between his lustful and awkward side. It was endearing to see him this flustered, considering moments ago he had been a commanding force.

"Hush," you cooed, pressing a finger to his lips to silence his ramblings. "I enjoyed every single breathless second of it," you reassured him. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red at your words, but his eyes sparkled with relief and satisfaction.

You saw him gulp down his lingering nervousness before he finally managed to utter something coherent again. "I'm glad," he whispered, leaning in to press his forehead against yours. "Really glad."

#asas fics #michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey fanfic #saltburn #saltburn fanfiction #happy birthday to me #michael gavey smut

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yiiyiiwrites · 3 months ago

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| A Court of Iron & Ice | 1 |

Part one [winter warrior masterlist] Summary: you’re tasked with helping smooth over an alliance between Kallias and Rhysand. The winter court was your home, but in the heart of the court below the mountains you struggle to fit in. 3481words Winter warrior x Cassian

[Kallias palace is not in the mountains in this fic] I rewrote this chapter and deleted the previous post for this story.

Three months had passed since you’d last seen Cassian. It was the second time you’d returned to your home court as someone fully mated. You’d been counting down the days to the minute, aching to feel those arms wrapping around you.

Your role in the winter court, your home was to patrol the mountains and keep the monsters up high in the thick of trees and in the icy peaks. Each person in the court born with a corresponding spirit which sorted you into your purpose.

The wolf claiming you, well your parents choosing to birth you and give you up to the mountains. Your older sisters Veyna and Senna stayed with your parents at the bottom of the mountain along with the majority of fae and the high lord.

There was always a part of you that wondered what it was like to live with your family, to be normal like your sisters. If you could call them that.

You stared down to the flickering lights at the heart of the court, a warmth you couldn’t understand. The bitter wind nipped your cheeks and you clenched your fists under your arms, the patch in your worn leather gloves tearing open once again.

The fur coat that hung from your broad shoulders weighed you down, hem clumped with ice. You sipped the flask of hot berry tea, gaze sweeping over your shoulder and towards the dark border facing Autumn. The border the other side of the mountain, more organised and favourable to those in heart of the court.

Cassian would be arriving in the morning, Rhys and Azriel not far behind. They’d sent a letter, asking for you to remain in winter with them whilst Rhys tried to create an alliance with Kallias, the high lord of winter.

You’d hesitated opening the starry wax seal, wishing you hadn’t seen it and gone back to Velaris. The mountains were not for the faint hearted, your status in the court was not of any rank that you worried you wouldn’t be much help smoothing things over.

His scent invaded your senses before you even heard his boots crunch on top of the untouched snow. You spun around, staring at him across the frozen lake as if you were meeting him for the first time again.

It felt like it had been a lifetime, you sucked in a breath as he effortlessly walked across the ice. Long hair half scraped back, but the harsh wind cutting through the open planes of the mountain pulled at the tie, stray strands framing his chiseled face.

“I could not wait another day, my love,” Cassian said, arms wrapping around you, head resting on top of yours.

You opened your mouth to speak, but you hadn’t spoken to anyone in days and you wasn’t sure if your voice could hold without trembling. Your hands twisted in the back of his jacket, cheek pressing into his chest.

Cassian pulled away, “let’s get back to the hut,” he said slipping his hand into yours and tugging you along the narrow pebbled path.

You were glad you’d taken your lantern to the peak, some part of you knowing he’d arrive early. It’s was more his benefit than yours, you’d normally summon your wolf to see in the dark.

The journey wasn’t far, but it’s was laborious. Boots dragging into the deep snow, trees snatching at anything they could get a hold of.

Your small hut was enough for you, seeing Cassian dip below the doorframe always made you smile. His wings tucking in as he tried not to swipe the clothes hanging by the door. He crouched down and untied your boots, palm cupping the back of your calf as he helped you pull them off. You shook the ice from your thick socks shrugging your coat off as well.

The fire crackled, flame catching the log dropping to the hearth. The only spec of magic in the huts were fires as soon as the door opened. The hut small enough to warm up quickly, the space open and crammed with odds bits of furniture.

Cassian teased you for your mismatched furniture, the one patchy armchair and footstool by the fire in the centre. To the left a few cupboards, sink and a single hob for cooking, narrow table with two wooden chairs. Your mattress was tucked away to the right, a wooden pillar dividing it from the rest of the room and a curtain to keep out the natural light from the windows.

He’d gifted you an extra blanket and few more pillows after his first visit, stating that one lumpy pillow and duvet were not enough to survive the chill.

Cassian slipped off his boots, standing them beside yours and hung his jacket on the nail on the wall. He tilted his head, hands clasped behind his back as he walked to fireplace. A new trinket laid upon the worn wooden mantle. He picked it up between his thumb and finger, holding it up to the light.

“It’s wolf’s eye,” you said, your gaze on the orange and brown crystal you found in the caves of the mountain peaks. You didn’t admit that you were trapped in there and wounded, by chance finding the precious stone when you lit a fire to keep yourself warm.

The colours shifting as it caught the glow of light, you'd pocketed it thinking that it looked like his eyes in the morning sun before training.

His brows furrowed as he set the stone back on the mantle. He fell back into the armchair, wincing at the springs digging into his wings.

“Speak, my love,” he said, pulling you down on his lap. His palms smoothed down your thighs and rested on your knees as he waited for you to finally say what’s on your mind.

You sighed, leaning back against his chest. “I don’t think I’ll be much help here with the alliance.” You traced his knuckles and the back of his hand, “I’m not like everyone else down there.”

The heart of the court and the mountain were two different places. You rarely went down there and when you did, you struggled to fit in. They frequently made you stand out too, their customs different to yours.

“Either way you’ll be helpful, you know the land more than anyone,” Cassian said, he squeezed your knee laughing as you yelped. “Don’t over think it, I’m here for you.” His nose nudged the side of your neck and you tilted your head up allowing him more skin to nuzzle. You savoured the moment, your wolf lapping up your mate's attention.

You twisted on his lap and slung your arms over his shoulders, your fingers playing with the knot at the nape of his neck. “Promise me you won’t interfere with my work here? Promise you won’t get in the way of my role in the army?” You asked, you glanced down to your lap.

Cassian lifted your chin, hazel eyes connecting with yours. “Is it that bad here, huh?” He said, holding your chin so that you could not look away.

“Just promise,” you said, pressing your lips to his.

He closed his eyes, forehead resting against yours. “I promise,” he whispered, flinching as the bargain stamped an icy snowflake on his hand. For you the bargain burnt into your flesh, black ink and snowflake on the opposite hand to his.

“My role in the mountain is separate to the heart of the court,” you said shifting in Cassian’s hold, his hands dropped to your hips keeping you in place. “We’re a branch off of their traditional ranking. Which means I will never rank high or get promoted. Not that, that matters as I patrol the mountains, but when I go down there I’m just another soldier toeing the line. So I don’t have a say in anything.”

“How bad is it, that you’re bargaining for me not to interfere?” Cassian asked leaning back in the armchair so that he could see your face, his brows furrowed and fingers digging into your side for a second.

He’s got a knack for reading you like an open book, you’d think he was part wolf by the way his eyes inspect every flicker of movement and every weight of your word.

“Look, I give as good as I get here and there’s been many times I’ve lashed out, so I’m on a very tight leash,” you said standing up, you loosened the top clasp of your collar as if an invisible leash were tightening around your throat.

You were raised in the mountains, trained on the midway and surrounded by those born the year of the wolf or bear. There wasn’t much time for you to learn about the heart of the court, you rarely went down there, but when you did you rushed to leave.

“I don’t like this," he paused to rub his red eyes. “I couldn’t even get you out of this court, no bargain would free you completely.” Cassian rose from the armchair, his shadow looming over you.

“What are you talking about?” You turned to face him, leaning against the wall arms crossed over your chest. You tensed as his palm landed on your shoulder, thumb at the base of your throat.

His hazel eyes flitted from the rise of your chest and back to your face. “You thought I wouldn’t try to get you out of this place.” He smoothed the line of your furrowed brow, head creeping closer to yours.

You’re back arched as if that golden tether was tugging you closer. “It’s just three months out of the year,” your voice a breathy whisper, eyes fluttering shut as his lips hovered a hair width from your own.

Your promise to the winter court, to return for the three coldest months and patrol in exchange for being with your mate for the rest of the year.

“Gods, I hate being away from you for so long,” he murmured, you groaned as he slipped away. Your lips aching to feel his upon yours.

You awoke under the weight of Cassian’s bare arm, his wing twitching to shield you from the light creeping through the curtain. His legs tangled with yours under the mountain of blankets, long hair concealing his face.

This was your favourite moment, waking before your mate and taking in his beauty. Your finger trailed the black marks swirling around his bicep, the muscle tensing beneath your light touch. You swept the hair out of his face, even in a slumber a line remained between his brows as if he was deep in thought. Lost in a dream, you wondered if he’d had as many sleepless nights as you did whilst you were apart.

His dagger wedged into the wooden plank wall, between you and him so that you could both use it, if needed.

A cool draft swept in, door creaking shut and you scrambled out from under Cassian, cursing him for sleeping so deeply. You didn’t wake him, laying his hand beneath the warm duvet and pulling on your long dress robe.

Your bare feet padded the icy floor, hand circling around the hilt of one of Cassian’s discarded swords. As you raised the weapon above your shoulder and planted your feet wider, your sister stumbled into the open space.

“Gods, Senna,” you whispered, leaning the sword back by Cassian’s fighting leathers. “What are you doing here?” You grabbed her arm, fingers digging into her flesh as you dragged her back to the front door.

“The high lord and his friends are here. They were asking for your mate, for you,” Senna snapped, swatting your hand away from its deathly grip. She glanced around you and towards the gap in the curtain, smile pulling her lips as she stared at the Illyrian warrior in your bed.

She pushed past you, shoulder crashing into yours as she sat down at the narrow dining table. “You’re unaccounted for, you’ll get me in trouble,” you seethed, slamming your palm on the table in front of her. She flinched, focusing back to you instead of staring at the black swirls decorating Cassian’s chest.

Senna lifted her hand, “actually his high lord is waiting outside, so that we can winnow you both down.” She fidgeted in her seat, playing with the large stone on her ring. A ridiculously huge gem, passed down by your mother to your sister for her accomplishments.

“Why didn’t you start with that?” You ripped the curtains open and threw Cassian his fighting leathers. He grumbled something incoherent as the heavy fabric hit his face. You wriggled into your thick riding trousers, undershirt and tunic following straight after.

You couldn’t help, but think of Rhysand standing outside listening in. You’re surprised he hadn’t sauntered in and dragged his friend out of the bed.

Senna appeared behind you, fingers feathery light plucking your hair and weaving it into a braid as you strapped your daggers to your hip and thigh.

“Cass, get up!” You shook his shoulder, knees sinking into the mattress beside him. He hooked his arm around you and pulled you down.

Repetitive knocks shook the hut, you even flinched at the abrupt sound. Cassian’s head shot up from the lumpy pillow, eyes glazing over as he stilled in your hold. You knew Rhys was talking to him, a slow smirk appeared and he shook his head looking at you.

You couldn’t help, but laugh as his nose nuzzled the side of your neck. “Morning, my love,” he murmured, hot breath fanning against your cheek.

“The high lord is waiting,” you snapped, the reminder of your sister clambering around the kitchen made you jerk away from Cassian. A blush heated your cheeks, you shook your head retreating from his touch.

Senna’s face was flushed, she avoided your gaze as you opened the front door and welcomed Rhys into the hut. Your home, a part of you embarrassed to share it with someone other than your mate. Now that you had Velaris to compare it to, you were more aware of how little you had.

The space cramped, Rhys stayed by the door, his eyes trained on you. You bowed your head, silently greeting him as you clasped your tunic shut. He didn’t say anything but the slight crooked smile gave him away as his gaze followed yours and Senna’s to Cassian tightening his belt.

Half dressed, the Illyrian warrior took his sweet time. Knowing full well that you were staring, he glanced to you as he pulled on his top and winked as he sheathed the two swords crossing over his back.

Your vision flickered, warmth of colour washing away. Unknowingly, Cassian had drawn out your wolf and you were focussed on the heartbeats of the fae in your hut. Rhys was slow and steady, you’d never heard one so controlled. Senna’s a little faster than her usual relaxed rate, but you knew she was intimidated around the high lord and it’d be foolish not to be. Cassian’s betrayed him, the erratic beat whenever he over analysed or worried.

A growl tore from your throat as senna walked around you and a little too close to your mate than you liked.

Cassian’s calloused hands cupped your face and you swayed in his embrace. “Winter warrior,” he said, voice soft and low. “Put the wolf away.” The pad of his thumbs smoothed the dark rims under your eyes and the colour bled back into your vision.

“We should probably get going,” Senna said, pulling you away from Cassian’s heated gaze. She held her arm up for you and you clutched onto her.

The act of winnowing was something you’d never been able to do. Only high fae with immense power and those born under the spirits with wings could do so. Senna a phoenix, the raw energy she possessed allowed her to travel with ease, as well as heal those injured.

Strong not just in power but mentality, she was frequently overlooked and misjudged. You’d never looked down on her though, knowing that she could handle herself.

You felt the ground lift beneath you, darkness wrapping around like a cloak. A blink and you were crashing against the large oak table in the centre of a circular room.

The room lined with windows, frost clinging to the glass panes. A build up of ice ran the edge of the tiled floor and the bottom of the walls. White marble pillars, snowflakes carved into the hard stone.

You spun around, eyes tracing the stain glass dome above. The morning light reflecting the blue and greens on your hand. You turned the back of your hand tracing the pattern as it moved. You’d never seen anything like it, even though you’d spent a lifetime in the winter court.

Snow shifted down the dome, the noise reminding you of the avalanches in the mountains. You whirled around expecting to be buried in the sheet of white, but you were met with Cassian.

His brow furrowed watching you, head tilted as he eyed each piece you were taking in moments before. You couldn’t help but scan every little thing that passed as he guided you by the hand through a set of doors and a hallway.

White candles filled the wide windowsills, flames dancing as the cold draft filtered through with you. Your steps were light against the diamond shaped tiles as if they too were made of precious glittering stones. Glass chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, shiny like icicles from the caves only a wolf would know.

You were too busy admiring your surroundings, forgetting whatever conversation Rhys was having with Azriel who was ahead of you.

Cassian squeezed your hand, you said your goodbyes to Rhys and Azriel, following your mate into another room. You gasped as you entered, a large four poster bed taking up the room. Silky sheets of blues and whites shimmering like sun reflecting on snow, you didn’t touch the delicate fabric worried your rough hands would snag it.

“What is this place?” You collapsed into an armchair by a roaring fire, dark navy flame flickering in the hearth.

Cassian threw you a look over his shoulder, “it’s the guest quarters, in the palace,” he took the strap from his weapons off and laid them on a desk by the window.

Of course, the palace was a place you’d rarely entered. The only parts you’d been in there, were the library which you dodged thanks to the master scholars that were always saying you shouldn’t be there. And the throne room when your high lord, Kallias summoned everyone from the mountains. Those were a rarity though.

If the guests quarter looked like this, you wondered how the rest of the palace was. Were there thick fur rugs spread over the cold floors like the one beneath your boots? Was this one of the beasts you’d taken down?

Cassian opened his mouth to speak, but the opening door and the servant walking in stole his attention. You stood from the chair smoothing the creases out of your tunic.

The dainty servant bowed to Cassian and introduced herself. Velvety sky blue dress, the colour of the winter palace. All workers and guards wore it, you however wore white or grey to blend into the mountains, dark blue if you were summoned like today.

Her sapphire blue eyes slid to you, stopping at the iron wolf pinned to your chest. She wrung her hands in front of her, but did not acknowledge you as she spoke to Cassian, “if there’s anything else you need, please let me know.” She bowed once again, cheeks tinged pink as he mirrored her smile.

“Your mother left you more appropriate clothing in the closet,” she said pausing in the doorway. “She hopes you’ll be on your best behaviour.” She didn’t glance at you, but you caught the smirk on her face as she angled her face to you slightly. To Cassian it might seem like she was holding your gaze, but she did not.

You balled your fists up at your side, nails digging into your palm. The servant the same one that worked for your mother years ago when she was a commander. You should have recognised her, but you were too focused on the way she flirted with Cassian.

Jealousy raged inside of you. You stalked into the closet and snatched the tunic and dress pants from the hanger. A note falling to the plush carpet, the small scrap of paper trembling in your grasp. One word making you shake with anger, cleanse.

Cassian’s strong arms wrapped around you, chin resting on your shoulder as he read the word out loud. “What’s the meaning of it?”

“It means I’ll be scrubbing off the stench of mountain from my skin.”

Don’t worry I’m still writing my other series 😌 I just like to write a few at a time. Hope you liked and thank you for reading!

#cassian x fem!reader #cassian x you #cassian fanfic #cassian fic #acotar cassian #cassian acotar #acotar fic #cassian #cassian x reader #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #rhys acotar #acotar series #acotar fanfiction #acotar

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speedwear · 3 days ago

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Learn why stylish waxed jackets are the ideal blend of practicality and sophistication for year-round outerwear.

For read: https://speedwear.tumblr.com/post/767943071377883136/stylish-waxed-jackets-durable-timeless-and

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peterfields · 11 months ago

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The Le Falot Winter Wax by Fleurs de Bagne has been our favorite winter jacket for years. Made of 395 gr/m² waxed cotton and a lining of pure sheep-wool. Still manufactured in France.

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averagejoesolomon · 21 days ago

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In light of, uh, recent news I'd like to present a slice of comfort. Please enjoy a couple thousand words of a man written by a woman. The book agent hunt is going well, so I may not be back until the later end of December, but here's a little treat to get you through the wait.

The Cameron-Morgan Wedding (1987)

“Shit.”

Matt’s bow tie droops during the first few notes of the Canon. With a glance down his front, he spots one end hanging lower than it should, slipped through the neat little knot at the crest of his collar and somehow fraying into messy, tattered strands.

This never would have happened if Rachel had done it, the way she always does up his bow ties. She’s good luck. But Abby had been insistent that he not see the bride before the ceremony and notably, Abby ain’t of any help now. Her eyes widen across the way, both of them knowing that Rachel has planned this moment down to second, down to the step, down to the snap of the photographer’s shutter. She has a comprehensive list of every last shot she expects to capture and none of them include a busted up bow tie.

Thankfully, the photographers ain’t looking at him. No one is. As the stringed quintet fills the grand atrium with the classic tune, all 342 attendees take their cue to stand and turn toward the bride. Matt can’t make out any details from his place at the end of a long aisle, but he doesn’t need to. She takes up all the air in the room. She fills it from wall-to-wall, balcony-to-balcony, stack-to-stack-to-stack. The George Peabody Library has 300,000 books and fifteen-hundred first editions, but it’s never felt as full as it does when Rachel Cameron walks through its doors, dressed all in white.

And Matt refuses to look like this, when she looks like that. “Joe.”

“Keep your cool, cowboy.”

Joe’s already at his front, pulling the bow tie from Matt’s neck with the same sort of precision he pulls a trigger. He tucks this into his jacket pocket, right next to the rings, then unloops the half-Windsor around his own neck. Matt’s collar is popped, in a way Rachel explicitly prohibited when he asked months before, but Joe makes quick work of wrapping the new tie into place, tying it into a neat knot, then tucking Matt’s collar back into place. It’s not a bow tie, but it’ll do.

Joe takes his place at Matt’s back once more, tie-less and without enough time to redo his top button before the room turns slowly toward the towering floral wedding arch. Rachel’s halfway down the aisle when Matt looks back up and, not for the first time in their lives, her beauty strikes him straight on.

She’s a fresh snowfall on Christmas Eve. She’s the crystalline frost on the window, catching rays of winter sunlight. She’s angelic. She’s godly. She’s divine.

On her arm, Henry locks eyes with Matt and mimes a subtle tuck into the front of his suit jacket. With a quick glance, Matt realizes the tail of his tie hangs free and quickly tucks it behind his buttons, just in time for the photographer to snap a picture.

_____

The George Peabody Library is the sort of place where a woman like Rachel Cameron deserves to get married, even if she is marrying a farm boy from Nebraska.

It’s all black-and-white tile, gold-leafed columns, and old wood shelves brimming with books that smell like a stack of newspapers. It’s twinkling lights strung from five stories of intricate iron balconies. It’s low, golden sconces lighting up a crowd of elegant evening wear and it’s a private stringed quintet playing from the second balcony.

This is a prestigious enough event to be covered by the local papers—which is a tricky sort of affair given that half of their attendees are deep in the world of covert intelligence, but Rachel navigates this with ease, and everyone here knows how to dodge a reporter if need be. The invitations had been embossed with real gold, tucked into parchment envelopes sealed with golden wax and addressed to the most important names in Maryland High Society. The governor is in attendance. Both senators. Multiple members of the Secret Service, all of them off-duty, given that the Vice President and Second Lady regretfully declined. Sports stars, and business moguls, and socialites. Rachel Cameron’s wedding is the undisputed event of the season.

Matt forgets about all of this, the moment Rachel smiles up at him.

That’s all it takes. From her, it never takes much. Rachel is made from carefully restrained might, always looking for an avenue to escape. When it finally finds a place to land, it strikes in these dense, controlled bolts of intention, and Matt reckons he could spend a lifetime on the receiving end. One look from her, done up in white, is all it takes to steal him away. To notice her, and only her, even as he stands in a gorgeous venue among a gorgeous crowd.

She’s lace, hand-sewn into her bodice. Satin trailing at her back. There are pearls around her neck, hanging from her ears, wrapped around her wrists. Daisies, daisies, daisies done up in braids, reminding him of the first time he truly met the real and ruthless Rachel. The woman he’s come to love.

It’s them. Only them, right up until the moment Rachel passes her white rose bouquet to Abby and Joe passes a pair of golden rings to Matt.

Do you, Rachel? “I do.”

Do you, Matthew? “I do.”

Her lips break into a wide smile when they kiss. The strings, and the lights, and the applause all come second to her. _____

As two of Langley’s best and brightest, Matt and Rachel know how to sneak away from a crowd, and they make quick work of it as their cocktail hour comes to a close. The day so far has been a blur of travel, timelines, dresses and ties, and more posed photos than he can count. Finally, finally they find an intimate moment in the chaos, slipping between the fifth-floor stacks appropriately labeled Romantics.

Matt’s only want in the world is to grab her, pull her in close, and steal a moment just for himself. Except his hands are otherwise occupied with two armfuls of satin and lace. “Love of my life,” he says, with some exasperation. “It’s time to change your dress.”

Rachel runs her fingers along the spines of leather-bound books, train trailing as she goes. “Says who?”

“Says you, four hours ago,” he reminds her. “And for the past week. And for the last three months, when you said under no circumstances were you to wear the same dress to dinner that you wore to the ceremony.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she says, scanning the shelves. “Three dresses is a little ridiculous, don’t you think?”

It’s a quick and efficient reminder that this is only her second dress of the night, and the two of them will do this all over again with a third, smaller dress moments before the dance floor opens to the room. Matt doesn’t mind. So far, this small sliver of a shared moment is the best part of the best day of his life. “I do think,” he replies. “And said so, when you were first fitted for them, but I was told it was rude to decline designers when they offer you a free dress. And also, I was outvoted.”

“By Abby.”

“By you and Abby,” Matt says. “And by your dad who, in my book, counts as five votes.”

“You shouldn’t be worried about my father.”

“M’not worried about your father,” he insists. “I’m worried about you, six weeks from now, when we get our photos back and you’re not in the right dress.” “Because you’d never hear the end of it?”

“Because from here on out, it’s my job to make sure you’re never disappointed again.”

Her wandering finger freezes, casting a long shadow through dim library lighting. The golden glow of the stacks hugs her cheekbones, her jaw, her neck as she tosses a glance over her shoulder. “You really are very sweet, you know.”

He shrugs, and the movement brings fifteen pounds of fabric with it. Arms growing tired, he hangs Gown Number Two from one of the shelves, in a way that would almost certainly make a librarian cringe. “I’m a catch,” he agrees. “Now please let me put this dress on you.”

She studies him, in that harsh, glaring way only she can. He’s come to love that glare. He married her for that glare. He must have seen this exact look a hundred times over and he’ll probably see it a thousand times more—but never again from Rachel Cameron. No sir. Her severity belongs to Rachel Morgan now.

Maybe she feels the shift too, because she softens and nods, collecting her cascading curls to pull them over her shoulder. Her back is exposed, shoulder blades sitting just along a lace seam and casting a shadow like wings.

Dress Number One is held in place by no less than twenty individual buttons, so he doesn’t waste a breath. He meets Rachel at her back, methodically unlooping one satin button after another, the fabric smooth and stiff along his thumbprint. Inch by inch, the corset falls away and he spots another layer of buttons as he goes—but these ones can’t come undone. These buttons are bright and red, pressed into her skin, following the lines along her back. A full wedding day, etched into her spine, promising to stay through the evening.

He lets his touch linger along the ridges, confirming their phantom existence, and Rachel’s shoulders melt. She lets go of a breath that she’s been holding all night.

“The poets were wrong,” she says.

With the last button undone, her dress drops into a puffy puddle, wrung around her ankles and revealing the silk slip she wears below. He catches a preview of the garter he’ll remove later, holding up sheer white stockings that stretch to her thigh, then takes her hand to hold her steady. “About what?”

She steps out of the ivory pile, landing square at his front. Her gaze cranes upward when she says, “About love,” she says, surrounded by Keats, and Shelley, and Byron, and Blake. “About how it feels.”

Dress Number One is left abandoned on the tile, while Matt dutifully fetches Dress Number Two. This one trades buttons for ribbons and he helps her step into it before lacing her up. “Is that right?”

He threads and pulls at silk, relishing in the fact that he’ll get to undo these same knots later. Rachel glances over her shoulder once more and says, “I’ve never read a single sonnet that made me feel the way I feel with you.”

And it ain’t fair, the way she looks at him. Like she’s somehow known the whole time. Like she knows everything, and he’s got a lot of catching up to do. Fine, then. He’s more than happy to make up for lost time, and he starts with a kiss—not their first as husband and wife, but certainly their best so far, with plenty more to follow.

They’re late to dinner, but Rachel Morgan seems to glow when she finally enters the ballroom in her second gown of the night. The room cheers, Abby gives a speech, and Matt’s pops says a prayer before dinner.

_____

“Dance with me.”

“Not much of a dancer.”

“You’ll dance with me, though.”

When it comes to Abigail Cameron, there’s not much Matt won’t do. Unfortunately, no one knows this better than Abby herself. She’s smiling that monumental smile of hers, hands falling to either side of his lapel as she steps into time and pulls him right along with her. Together they fall into the sway of an Elton John song, not quite a ballad, not quite rock and roll.

Their practiced ballroom steps feel familiar after spending so much time dancing across the world. “This is the part,” she says, “where you tell me how pretty I look.”

“You do,” he says, and he means it. He’s always thought so, since she first strutted into his life. She’s a good looking girl in a good looking dress, every part of her carefully curated to draw the eye. “I like the dress.”

“It has pockets,” she points out.

“Very handy,” he says.

“Matt, we’re family now,” she says. “You’re going to have to get more excited about my dress pockets. It’s what family does.”

With nothing more than the shape of her step, Matt senses a twirl coming on and he sets her up with ease. He spins her not just once, but twice, because Abby always likes to go for a little extra flair. “We’ve been family for a while now, I think,” he says, pulling her back into their shared frame. “I think you knew, even back then.”

“Back when you were a true-blue farm boy who’d never seen a woman before?” she says with a doting look. “I’ll take credit for a lot, but I can’t take credit for that one. Truth be told, I expected to burn through you as quickly as I burned through all the others. I had no idea what you’d eventually mean to me. To her.”

Abby doesn’t say her name, but even so, Matt can’t help but glance toward Rachel, standing on the far side of the room and chatting with the Secretary of Transportation. The whole night has been like that—finding Rachel, wherever she may be. Landing on her. Lingering.

It must be the same for her because she turns, as though she feels his eyes on her. Catches his glance. Beams.

“When was it?” he asks, prying his eyes back toward Abby. “When did you know?”

Abby studies him, debating. Matt is trusted with Pentagon secrets and espionage of the highest international order, but still she searches his features as though she’s not quite sure he’s ready to hear the truth. “Long before either of you,” she says. “That’s for sure.”

“Abby—”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I have a sisterly duty to uphold a longstanding tradition between bridesmaids and groomsmen.”

“There’s only one groomsman,” Matt reminds her. “And it’s Joe.”

“Isn’t that interesting?”

“When did you know?” he tries again, grabbing hold of her arm before she can step away, and again, she holds her tongue. Tests the answer in her head.

Finally, she lets a softer smile slip. “The first time you called her, instead of calling me.”

There’s something bittersweet in her tone, which Matt only hears because it’s Abby. He’s known her longer than just about anyone here, enough to know that she wants to be wanted. That she stands with the sort of confidence that comes from other people, rather than someplace deep within herself. For Abby, Matt is the one who got away—not in the traditional sense, but rather, in the sense that Matt stopped needing Abby before she stopped needing him.

Him, getting away from her. What a world.

So he says, with a smile all his own, “Thank you for trying to burn me, way back when.”

She tuts, a manicured hand reaching toward his cheek where she leaves two farewell pats. “Anytime, hot stuff.”

From the surrounding speakers, Elton John turns to Cindy Lauper. Matt is quickly left in the dust as Abby squeals, turns toward Rachel, and races across the room to pull her onto the dance floor next. The two of them find the center of a dance circle made entirely of women, screaming along to “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”

_____

Matt slides a glass of good scotch across a bar top. “Thanks again,” he says, “for flying my folks out.”

Henry Cameron catches the scotch at the bar’s end. He doesn’t spare a glance for it, too caught up in watching his girls dance. “A mother should get to see her only son’s wedding,” he says. “And your mother, in particular, is a delight—is it possible my guest room is somehow cleaner than it was the day she arrived?”

“Yessir, that’ll be my mama,” Matt says, ordering a glass of scotch for himself. “I appreciate the accommodations.”

“She may stay as long as she likes,” he says. “And your father was asking about some of the memorials. I thought I might take them downtown while they’re here, if that’s alright with you?”

His parents have a three-week stretch in DC and while he knew the Cameron Estate would take good care of them, he never expected the man of the house to personally show them the sights. “Yeah,” he says, a little too quickly. “Yes, absolutely—you should know, though, that my pops has a hard time walking long distances. He won’t say anything about it, but he’s had a limp since he first came home and he’s never managed to shake it. And my mama—”

Henry lifts a single hand, finally shifting his gaze to Matt. “Rest assured they’ll be well taken care of while you’re away,” he says. “I have a connection or two, when it comes to touring the Mall.”

Matt’s got no doubt. If there’s one thing he’s learned about Henry over the past few years, it’s that he has a connection for everything. “Okay,” he says. “Thank you.”

Henry’s attention falls back to his girls. The space between them seems to grow as Matt runs out of words, opting instead to take a sip from his drink as it arrives. Their relationship begins and ends with the Circle of Cavan, and this hardly seems like the time to talk strategy.

“I suppose it’s the least I can do,” Henry finally says. “You make my girls happy, and for that I owe you a great deal.”

Matt follows his look across the dance floor to find the sisters now dancing arm-in-arm to a ballad, talking and giggling through the slow waltzy rhythm. Rachel swipes dirt from Abby’s dress. Abby fixes one of Rachel’s wayward daisies. They both laugh at a joke Matt can’t hear from this far away. “They make me better,” he admits. “They’ve taken care of me. And I reckon it’s my turn to take care of them.”

Henry nods, in that sage way he passed along to his eldest. “I know that,” he says. “I know you’re going to try, anyway.”

This catches his ear. “Try, sir?”

Henry sips back the last of his drink, letting the glass land hallow on the bar. “Have you given any thought to how you’re going to keep your lives separate?” he asks. “Your life with her”—he casts a glance toward Rachel, then swiftly shifts towards Joe—”versus your life with him?”

Little does Henry know, Matt’s been asking this same question since stitching up Joe in an Italian bathroom, but he’s right. Matt feels it, too. There’s a disconnect between his dreams—between wanting to keep Joe out of his past, and diving straight into a future with Rachel. No matter how many times Matt turns the options over in his head, they end up overlapping. “Every night,” Matt tells him. “Right after I close my eyes, and just before I fall asleep.”

Familiarity creeps into Henry’s expression, and Matt can’t tell if that’s a good thing. “That feeling,” he says, “never, ever goes away.”

For years, Henry has served as Matt’s barometer for what this case can do to good men after chasing it for a very long time. By and large, all those extra years come with benefits—contacts, authority, expertise. But every so often, Matt spots a shadow below Henry’s eyes, signaling some bone-deep exhaustion that feels more and more inevitable every time Matt sees it.

“Promise me this,” says Henry. “Promise me that no matter how long this goes, no matter how close you get—you prioritize her. You make sure she’s safe, above all else.”

Matt considers this. Nods once, definitive. Seems like a fair enough request. Taking the final sip from his own glass, Matt promises, “‘Til death do us part.”

_____

“You know,” says Matt, voice raised over the roar of turbine engines. “My pops gave me all kinds of grief about taking a private jet.”

“What’s the matter?” Rachel calls back. “Haven’t the people of Lake Hayfield ever seen a private plane?”

“I dunno about Lake Hayfield,” says Matt, taking her roller bag to carry up the steps. “But I’ll tell you what, the people of Hay Springs sure haven’t.”

In a career where jetsetting and globetrotting are commonplace, the only real vacation is spent at home among familiar sights, sounds, and textures. Rather than spend their honeymoon looking over their shoulders in a foreign country, Matt and Rachel decide to keep things domestic, where they can afford to be entirely single-minded about the next few weeks. Someplace safe. Someplace they don’t have to think about.

The apartment, they decided, was out of the question. While Joe may be a discrete and quiet roommate, Matt intends to do some downright indiscreet things to Rachel that will make her anything but quiet. And because he also has no desire to do so under Henry Cameron’s roof, her place was booted off the list just as quickly.

“Your father’s flown private before, hasn’t he?” she asks.

Matt doesn’t know how to break it to her, that normal people don’t ever see the inside of a private jet. “Not unless you count an Army flier.”

This sends her lips into a puzzled frown, and Matt just wants to kiss them straight.

After some back-and-forth, Matt convinced his folks to spare the one and only home he’s got left. It’s a trade, of sorts. His parents finally make a long-awaited trip to DC, courtesy of the Cameron Estate, while he and Rachel take the ranch. All he had to do was promise to watch the wheat and let the animals out every morning.

Rachel was less enthusiastic about the animals, but Matt’s certain she’ll come around when she sees the first sunset across the plains.

“We should send him back on the jet,” Rachel offers.

“I love you,” he says, “but my pops would sooner die than show up back home in one of these things.”

Matt’s only proven right when he steps into the cabin, finished with fine woods and leathers. A bottle of Champagne waits for them on ice, the label written in French and the vintage starting with an eighteen. The smell of steak fills the air, which is a relief to his grumbling stomach because even though he paid for most of the wedding food, he somehow didn’t eat much of it. It’s the last taste of luxury they’ll have for the next few weeks, so he vows to enjoy every second of it.

He stows her bag, then his. Pops the Champagne, then pours both of them a glass. She holds out her flute toward his, crystal chiming as their glasses clink, and they sip. Take a breath. With the taste of grapes on his lips, he kisses her the same way he has all night, just so damn lucky to be here.

“You know,” he says, barely pulling away. “I’ve always wondered—”

“Matthew,” she scolds.

“I haven’t even said it yet.”

She falls into her seat, digging for the buckle to strap herself in. There’s a subtle edge to her foreboding glance. The one that begs him to challenge her. “You didn’t have to,” she says. “It’s an eight hour flight. We can wait.”

“I’m not saying we have to go for the home run,” he teases, dropping to his place just at her front, down on his knees for her, just as he always seems to be. “Just that if you let me warm up my throwing arm now, I might be able to pitch a perfect game later.”

She laughs, short and haughty and delighted. Her hand falls into his hair, scratching warm streaks into his scalp. “You hate pitchers,” she reminds him.

“I’ve got a third-base metaphor I could use instead.”

“Matthew.”

“Alright, alright,” he says. She’s still wearing her final dress, the shortest of the three. It was made for dancing, and the alternative benefits are a nice bonus. “I can scrounge up a golf metaphor instead.”

“You,” she says, taking another sip of Champagne, “are a smartmouth.”

“Agreed,” he says, just as his fingertips find the lace on her stockings. His lips follow close behind, landing along the hem as his wide eyes search for her answering smile. “So how about we see what else my mouth can do, hmm?”

Another laugh. A lifetime of her laugh. It sends his stomach twisting in all the best ways.

Two of her fingers find his chin, lifting his head up to look at her properly. “Buckle up, so we can take off,” she tells him. “And when we’re in the air, you can help me get this dress off. Fair?”

Now it’s his turn to smile, but he doesn’t hold it long before Rachel’s lips are on his, a smile of her own sneaking in.

#Full Circle #theyre so cute #help

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souredvalentine · 1 year ago

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mcr studio albums as words and shit except i was half asleep when i wrote these like 3 months ago at 2am

I BROUGHT YOU MY BULLETS, YOU BROUGHT ME YOUR LOVE

Anger, desperation, the taste of dry tears and cigarettes on your lips, the sunrise in the morning after heartbreak, staying up and watching night of the living dead + dawn of the dead, the heaviness of a gun in your hand, the smell of burnt wood and flaming paper, betrayal, stolen cheap whiskey, tattered shoes and jackets, preserved animal bones, grainy film, bitter black coffee, drunken dizziness.

THREE CHEERS FOR SWEET REVENGE

The taste of blood, frilled white shirts, chunky black platforms, bloody noses and bruised knuckles, screaming until your throat is hoarse, dark shadows under your eyes, fangs, tangled hair, a longing ache in your chest, hot wax dripping on your hands, old and worn gravestones, red wine, broken hearts, skipping classes, black nails, red rose thorns pricking your fingers.

THE BLACK PARADE

Grey foggy cities, cloudy skies, mascara stains down your face after crying, the tapping of rain on windows, strong winds that mess up your hair and get caught in your mouth, regretful letters, old polaroids, blood-stained bandages, worn skeletons and statues, the feeling that something bad is going to happen, television static, tired smiles, the smell of hospitals, long white empty hallways, emptiness, crisp winter air.

DANGER DAYS: THE TRUE LIVES OF THE FABULOUS KILLJOYS

Rusty diner signs, chalk drawings on hot pavement, loud music playing over an old radio, ripped jeans and distressed shorts, the smell of spray paint sticking to your clothes, skin stained with hair dye, chipped and bitten nails, running until your mouth tastes like blood, getting sand in your shoes, violent coughing, diesel covered leather jackets, campfires, driving dangerously, illegal graffiti with old spray paint, the feeling of new beginnings in an old world.

#my chemical romance #mcr #i brought you my bullets you brought me your love #three cheers for sweet revenge #the black parade #danger days the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #bullets #sweet revenge #danger days #aesthetic

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softpascalito · 1 year ago

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Pedro Pascal Kinktober Day Seven

Wax Play - Joel Miller/Reader

Summary: Joel and you are paired up for patrol. There are a lot of things unsaid, a snowstorm rolling in and some candles. Go figure (or go read i guess).

Relationships: Joel Miller x Reader

WC: 1900

Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit Content, Genderneutral Reader, Wax Play, Nipple Play, Infected, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Temperature Play, Snowed In, Two decade old ravioli

AO3 LINK

notes: hi babes! another joel piece today, one that is actually one of my favorites! if you enjoyed the first week on kinktober, lmk in a comment <3

_______________________________

The day is cold.

It's a normal patrol and you stomp through the snow that's been blown into the abandoned house, still high on the success of taking out two runners all by yourself. It's a split moment of distraction as you miss the noise coming from the open bedroom door next to you and that split moment is all it takes as the clicker shoots out of the doorframe and slams you into the nearest wall.

“Fuck!” A yell escapes your throat as you try to keep the Infected out of arm's reach, your fingers digging into the fungal plates on its chest as you stare into a face that has lost all its resemblance to the human it must've been years and years ago.

Its mouth is wide open and for a split second you think the agonizing scream you hear is coming from the creature in front of you. Then you realize it's your own.

The moment seems to stretch on endlessly, the fear in your chest starting to be replaced by a dreaded feeling of being doomed, of the realization that this may really be it, when he appears in the hallway.

The gunshot rings in your unprotected ears and through the fog you hear the dampened noise of the clicker falling to the ground next to you, a thud before its body finally goes still.

The grip on you is gone but you can just stare blankly into the thin air in front of you. A few moments later, likely after making sure there's no more Infected around, he's there, in front of you. And now the grip of terror that the Clicker had on you mere seconds ago is replaced by one of tenderness as Joel gently pulls at your shoulders, helping you steady yourself.

His lips are moving but you can't make out the words. You can tell he holds his breath as he lets his hands roam over your body for a few seconds, turning your hands and bending his own neck one way and the other to check for bites. His touch seems to linger slightly longer too, but this time you're thankful for it.

His rough fingers glide over your neck, pulling at your thick winter jacket slightly to make sure there are no scratches on the delicate flesh of your throat. After a glance at your back, he finally seems to let out a small breath of relief and nods as he steps back, allowing you to take a shaky step of your own into the middle of the room.

He kicks the fungal plate on the floor that is now splattered with blood. ”Jesus, this place is overrun with them.” His gaze only lingers on the body for a few moments, then he turns to check the surroundings once more. It pauses on your form, still shaking, your gaze not meeting his.

“Come on, we're done for today.” Joel mutters and he gently nudges your elbow, staying closer than usual as he leads you back to the horses.

The patrol stop on this route is a cabin in a small resort by a lake, a few miles over from Jackson. It's quite scenic, but also harder to reach and unfortunately, more prone to attacks from Infected.

“It ain't too far now.” Joel calls to you through the snow blowing around your horses.

It takes a little longer than usual to get both of you into the saddles with how shaken you still are and the abandoned house has cost even more time. The wind has picked up while you have been inside and now the storm seems to be getting closer by the second, inevitably making the way back to Jackson that much harder.

“Should we turn back?” You pipe up, speaking again for the first time. He shakes his head, ”No, I reckon it's best to just find shelter. Cabin should be stocked up.”

During the winter months, it's not unusual for patrols to stay out overnight, especially if running into bad weather or blocked paths. Noone will worry if you spend the night here and go back in the morning.

Just as the wind starts to get really uncomfortable, you spot the large wooden sign marking the entrance to the small resort and Joel leads the way to the cabin frequented for the patrols. You lead the horses into the attached garage and shovel some snow into a tub to make sure they have some water while Joel secures the area.

After he declares it safe to stay, he locks the front door, ”Ain't like anyone gonna make it out this far in the storm either way.” He mutters under his breath but he is rather safe than sorry.

You stay quiet, huddled into a corner as you wait for him to give you more instructions. He doesn't.

Instead, he gets out some cans and stirs up a quick dinner for both of you. The two decade old ravioli taste like nothing to you and you struggle to even finish the small portion he has handed you.

Darkness has fallen when you're both done eating and Joel finds the candles spread around the small cabin and starts lighting them, glancing through the curtains as he does. Then, his gaze wanders back to you, still in the same position you've been in since you arrived.

“You're awfully quiet over there.” He mutters.

“Sorry, just- It's been a long day.” You reply quietly, staring at the empty cans in front of you. You can practically feel his gaze on you as he speaks, ”Yeah, reckon it has been.”

You both stay quiet for a moment and he returns to your side, pushing the half-empty cans away with his boot before he sits down, his gaze never leaving your form. His voice is quiet and gentle when he speaks.

“It didn't get you.”

“I know.”

He pauses again for a moment. And then-

“I wouldn't let it.”

“I know.”

Your own voice is shaking and suddenly, you feel like crying. He stirs next to you and a split second later you're cuddling into him, your face resting against the middle of his chest, the leather jacket he refuses to stop wearing framing your head on both sides.

Time doesn't matter as you stay enveloped in him, taking in the scent that smells like safety, the voice that sounds like a distant lullaby and the arms that feel like home around you.

You can feel yourself falling asleep and eventually, Joel nudges you a little. He has pulled your can of food back towards you and sighs, ”Come on, finish dinner and then you can go to sleep, hm?”

You whine into his chest and he sighs. ”Look, I'll warm it up for you again.”

He does, turning the small cooker back on to generate a little more heat, all the while keeping one arm securely around you. When he's satisfied, he turns the small flame off again and pulls you back a little.

You gaze up at him and he sighs softly before grabbing a fork and, one by one, bringing the leftover ravioli to your mouth. You know you would never admit it, but you do feel a little better once your stomach is actually full and you yawn a little as he cleans up while you reach for your sleeping gear.

Not wanting to attract attention, you don't start fires unless absolutely necessary so tonight it's staying warm in your thick jackets and sleeping bags. You huddle into the corner of the cabin, crawling into the bag as Joel brings a candle over. He reaches for a shelf above you but the wax is already quite melted and a small drop falls down onto your exposed arm. You yank it back, hissing a bit before it turns into a whine. ”Watch it,” You mutter under your breath and Joel almost instantly stops in his tracks.

Not because he's worried. But because he knows that whine.

It's the same noise you make when he's buried deep inside of you, when you beg him to finally move.

Slowly, careful not to drop too much, he repeats his motion, this time on purpose.

“What are you- Joel!” The hot wax hits your arm again and the combination of the warmth in contrast to the coldness that's surrounding you draws another whine from your lips. He smirks at his find and places the candle next to the makeshift bed, kneeling down so he can place both hands on the top of your sleeping bag, waiting for permission. You nod quickly and he pulls it down until it pools at your hips before tugging on your sweater:” Why don't you take that off for me, darlin?”

You comply, raising your arms as he helps you out of the thick piece of clothing. He carefully places it next to you before his hands return to you, fingers ghosting over your chest and tracing the lines and curves of it. The cold immediately gives you chills and Joel rubs the palms of his hands over your sides and your stomach for a moment to warm you up before leaning down to kiss each side gently.

Then, he carefully reaches for the candle and you watch the flickering light of it dance over his features as he tilts it very slowly right above your chest. Your gaze wanders to the source of light and you watch as the wax slowly begins to flow towards the edge until eventually a small drop falls down- and the hot sensation it creates on your skin travels through your body and from your chest right down to your middle. The whine is a breathless gasp this time and a curse escapes your lips, ”Fuck-”.

Joel chuckles lowly, clearly enjoying himself. He repeats the motion in different spots, letting a few small and then larger drops of wax fall to your skin until one hits your nipple and you gasp loudly in response, your legs clenching together as the heat from the candle seems to transfer to pool in your lower abdomen. Your hand darts out from under the covers to grab at Joel's shirt, fisting it in your hand. ”Joel, please ,” You whimper.

“Please what?” He hums, a soft tone of amusement in his voice.

“Please touch me, please, it's too much, it feels so- I don't know, I just need- I need you-” You blurt out, unable to contain yourself any longer.

He chuckles again, a little softer now and shushes you as he puts the candle away, placing both hands on your chest and scratching at the hardened wax. It stings a bit as it comes off but it's just the right amount of pain and this time, he catches your whimpers with his mouth as he leans down to kiss you deeply, occupying what feels like every inch of your body.

He crawls over you, mouth never leaving yours as he shifts into the sleeping bag with you, his hands beginning to wander lower.

You spend the night entangled, limbs mixing under the thick fabrics of blankets and jackets and sleeping bags until you no longer know where he begins and where you end. He kisses your neck as you drift off to sleep hours later.

The night is warm.

#pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfic #tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel miller #joel miller / you #smut #wax play #kinktober #softpascalito #the last of us

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