#Wooden Chocolate Box

[chocolatebox084656]

Chocolate date box, wooden sweet box

[kalpanahandmadepaper]

https://kalpanapapers.com/collections/handmade-paper-box

[bi-writes]

thinking about mob baking simon a cake for his birthday (without his prior knowledge) mm good soup

mail-order bride

"you think he likes chocolate, baby?" you ask the cats. they sit side-by-side at the breakfast counter, being good girls as they sit on their chairs and watch you mix batter. "he totally likes chocolate. big boys like daddy love chocolate, don't they, girls?"

you grease two circular pans, pouring the chocolate cake batter into them. you set them in the oven before getting to work on your chocolate buttercream. you're using the new mixer simon bought you--it's beautiful, stainless steel, heavy. when you saw in the store a few weeks ago, you gushed at it, telling simon you saw someone make cinnamon rolls, bread, cakes, all in this mixer, but when your eyes skimmed over the price, you said nothing more, just smiled up at simon and let him lead you over to where the cast iron pans were (you wanted a real one).

a few weeks later, you noticed it on the kitchen counter. sparkling silver, right there, with the whisk attachment on it just waiting for you. and in the cupboard, ingredients--bread flour, powdered sugar, cornmeal, corn starch, dutch process, baking chocolate, whole wheat flour--all for you to play with. and when you baked him the most decadent triple chocolate coffee cake he had ever had, he bent you over the same table his empty plate sat and ate your cunt out with your apron still on. when you kissed him afterwards, he still tasted like chocolate.

you turn off the mixer, reaching in with a spoon to lick the buttercream off of it. you hum with delight, setting it aside, and when the oven timer dings, you pull the cakes out to let them cool.

you wrap simon's present as everything settles. special order, a favor you called into johnny. it's in a nice wooden box, and you tie a big red bow on it, and when you go back into the kitchen, you level and stack the two pieces of cake between buttercream and use a spoon to make a fancy decoration over the top of it.

the front door sounds as you're putting the finishing touches on the cake. you can hear him coming closer, and you gasp.

"no, no, no, don't come in the kitchen yet!"

"wot?"

"just--wait a little bit in the living room, okay?"

"for wot?"

"simon--" you groan. "please? for me?"

you don't hear anything after that except for the tv turning on. when you finish putting the last candles on the cake, you light them, picking up the plate and coming into the living room.

simon looks surprised. he was concentrating hard on the tv, watching the game, but his face relaxes when he sees you holding the cake. the cats perk up from where they're laid down beside him, and their ears flit as you start to sing happy birthday.

his whole face twitches. he stiffens, his palms flat on his thighs as he grips them tight. you set down the cake on the coffee table in front of him, candles glowing as you take a seat next to him. he's still staring at the cake as you finish the song.

"happy birthday, dear simon...happy birthday to you."

you smile at him, wrapping a hand around his bicep, squeezing it gently. you kiss his shoulder before motioning to the cake.

"you can blow them out now, simon," you say softly. "make a wish."

he doesn't move. he stares straight ahead, his eyes fixated on the flickering candles. you reach down and take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers and hugging his arm. you sit with him quietly, looking at the cake with him, and after a minute or so, you turn back at him.

"simon?" you whisper.

he's crying. you put a hand on the back of his head, scratching his short hair, and you cup his face gently as you wipe his tears. he's silent. the tears come, but he still doesn't move, still won't meet your eyes. you smile, going over to pick up the cake, and you hold it in front of him.

"here...make a wish, simon," you say softly. he picks up his sleeve and wipes his face, leaning over to blow out the candles. you put down the cake, standing up to go get his gift sitting on the kitchen table. when you sit down next to him again, he's still staring at the cake, still trying to pretend his face isn't wet with tears, but he stops wiping them when you place the box in his lap.

he unravels the bow. when he opens the case, he lets out a little chuckle, smoothing his hand over the foam inside.

there are an array of throwing knives laid before him. perfectly crafted, in different shapes and sizes, and when he picks one up and twirls it around between his fingers, the weight of them and the ease at which they move tells him you only picked out the finest quality. they're beautiful, and it's a thoughtful gift, and when he closes the lid on the box, he still can't meet your eyes.

"i'll cut us some cake," you say softly. you busy yourself getting plates and a cake knife from the kitchen, cutting generous slices before handing him one of the plates. he picks up the fork, and when you notice his hand shakes, you take the plate back from him gently and scoop a bite onto the fork for him. you don't say anything, just hold it up to his mouth, and once he takes a bite, you set the plate down and watch as he chews.

when he swallows, you sit again in silence. you reach over and take simon's hands in your own, squeezing them gently before bringing them up to your mouth to kiss softly. when he finally looks at you, all you do is smile.

he hadn't even remembered it was birthday. he never told you when it was, but he supposes you must have been curious enough to look for yourself. he can't remember the last time someone made him cake. he can't remember when he last received a gift, especially one like this. he doesn't know when he last thought himself happy enough to celebrate anything at all, but there is no other way he would've wanted today to go.

joy. you bring uninhibited, unfiltered, all-consuming joy. the way you're smiling at him--he can already see you in the kitchen in that apron, baking this cake, talking to no one but the cats as you carefully decorate it. the way you're looking at him--he knows you dreamed about this all week, scheduling the day so you could have the cake done as soon as he got home.

and chocolate. his favorite. decadent, sweet chocolate--it's still under his tongue, and he wants another bite already, he cannot wait to devour the slice that waits for him on the table.

"happy birthday, simon," you whisper, and when you lean in to hug him, he cradles the back of your head, tangling a hand into your hair as he presses you to his chest. "i love you."

fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck--

"love you, too, baby."

"what did you wish for?" you mumble into his shoulder. simon snorts a little, shaking his head.

"if i tell ya, it won't come true."

"oh, yeah," you giggle. "keep your secrets then."

he doesn't want more; the only thing he wishes for is more time. more time with you. as much as he can get. to live long enough that he gets to see your face for as long as possible.

that whatever he sees for the last time will be you and you only.

[chrollogy]

EPISODE 2: CHOCOLATE GONE WRONG

neuvillette x f!reader

NNN ‘24 masterlist | Next Episode

DETAILS: Neuvillette finds himself itching to break the sacred rule of No Nut November after naïvely indulging in aphrodisiac-laced chocolates gifted by Sigewinne—a popular craze among young Fontanian adults.

DURATION: 5.3k

CONTENT ADVISORY: explicit smut, mdni, porn without plot, p in v, creampie, neuvi has two cocks + emphasis on his draconic features, use of aphrodisiacs (neuvillette), neuvi uses his cane as a makeshift leg spreader bar, pet names (ma/mon chérie, ma belle, (my) love), not beta read

DIRECTOR’S NOTES: divider: cafekitsune. round 2! also i’m not quite sure i will get the next two fics out in time (or if i’m getting them out at all) but i will try my best T_T. your lil moon is having a rough patch rn so yeah but nonetheless enjoy!

For Neuvillette, the month of November was nothing significant to say the least—his job continued, overseeing trials, sorting out documents, meeting with important people, and more workload now that Lady Furina had stepped down from archon hood; so, when you had come into his office one day, talking about how a certain trend spread like fire across Teyvat, Neuvillette was rather intrigued.

It had a weird name—No Nut November—and couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea based on the name alone. He remembered how you explained to him Fontanians, and people of other nations were to engage in No Nut November which was to participate in sexual abstinence.

Naturally, the idea was all bizarre to him—not because he thought he couldn’t do it but more so the fact that it was natural for humans to engage in intercourse, same goes for his kind as well. Neuvillette couldn’t see the significance of such a trend, and why humans were participating but who was he to deny your proposal of a challenge? After all, there was no harm involved, he figured it would help him understand human customs a little better despite the it’s strangeness in nature.

Situated behind his desk, Neuvillette let out a deep sigh, letting the papers in his hand fall onto the wooden desk beneath before rubbing his temples. 

“Stressed, Monsieur?” A familiar, teasing voice sliced through the suffocating silence of the Iudex’s office. Neuvillette looked up from his desk, greeted by a friendly figure. The former was too focused on the case materials before him that he hadn’t realised the presence of another, “Wriothesley. I’m rather surprised to see you.”

The raven-haired male was clad in his usual attire, heavy obsidian boots sounding with each step taken against the carpeted floors.

“Ah, you’re not the only one.” Wriothesley chuckled, recalling his encounter with Sedene just mere seconds ago, who looked like she had just seen a ghost. Before Neuvillette could inquire about the sudden visit, the former beat him to it,

“Don’t worry, I won’t take up much of your time. I’m here because Sigewinne had given me an errand to run. She got these for you.” Taking a couple steps closer to Neuvillette’s desk, Wriothesley placed a small box atop the case papers. Carefully wrapped in an ivory satin ribbon, the azure container was adorned with intricate designs in gold that shone beneath the afternoon sun, neatly decorated chocolates peeked from the plastic window of the lid.

The Chief Justice subtly raised his brows in amusement, he wasn’t one to indulge in chocolate nor was he a sweet tooth but nonetheless, he appreciated Sigewinne’s thoughtful gesture.

“That is very kind, please thank her for me.”

Watching the way Neuvillette’s expression morphed into a naïve smile, Wriothesley crossed his arms over his chest, “Say, Monsieur, have you heard of the craze among young Fontanian adults right now?” He most likely already knew the Iudex’s answer to the question but what was life without a little teasing?

With how the popular sweet has been making rounds across Fontaine, it would be near impossible for anyone to be clueless about it but at the end of the day, Neuvillette was Neuvillette, probably the busiest man in all of Fontaine which is why Sigewinne had to intervene with the chocolates. The head nurse didn’t have to physically see the Iudex to tell how much he’s been overworking himself nor was a simple order from her was going to stop him.

So, what better way to disguise a remedy with something simple? Basically akin to administering medication to a pet concealed as a tasty treat

Sexual intercourse was the fastest—and best—way to relieve him of his stress. Sigewinne hoped for the Iudex to pardon her complete brazenness but he was as stubborn as a rock, and took her orders about resting rather lightly.

Naturally, Neuvillette shook his head with a light chuckle, a tinge of interest seeping its way into his skin, “I believe I’ve heard her talk about it but the details must have slipped my mind.” A subtle blush blanketed the Chief Justice’s pale cheeks at the mention of his lover, you. Wriothesley’s lips stretched into a teasing smile—one which the former paid no attention to.

 “Well, would you ever try an aphrodisiac?” At Neuvillette’s baffled expression, the younger male bit the inside of his cheeks, biting back a hearty laugh. 

“An aphrodisiac, you say? Substances that—” “That increases one’s libido, yes.” Wriothesley cut him off, tease practically dripping from his tone. Neuvillette was a man capable of many things, an esteemed individual once he’s in court but when it came to much simpler matters, the Chief Justice was nothing but clueless, especially regarding human customs that are a bit harder to wrap one’s head around.

“I’m afraid I have no such time for trivial things.”

The Iudex shook his head once more, this time dismissively waving a gloved hand at his friend. He cleared his throat, the blush on his cheeks deepening into a crimson hue—Neuvillette wasn’t going to say it out loud, especially not in front of Wriothesley but he deemed himself more than capable of maintaining his sexual desires and performances, you were enough proof.

Wriothesley left it at that, his friend may just end up as red as a tomato if he prodded around the topic any further. Needless to say, amusement filled him to the brim, “Alright. It was nice chatting with you Monsieur. I believe Sigewinne also left a small note there—”

The latter looked down at the box. Indeed, there was a small piece of paper neatly folded and tucked beneath the ivory ribbon.

“—do heed her letter.” With that, Wriothesley dipped his chin, sauntering over to the double doors.

Reaching for the handle, the Duke stopped in his tracks, he looked over his shoulder, icy cerulean gaze full of mischief, “Oh, and I hope you two enjoy—the chocolates, I mean.” With that, he left the office, leaving Neuvillette to his thoughts.

The day went by rather quickly, the azure skies turning into golden hues of oranges and yellows as the sun bid farewell to its people, disappearing below the horizon. The chocolates from Sigewinne remained untouched on the corner of Neuvillette’s desk, it watched as stars decorated the night sky; though, as the Chief Justice retired for the evening, he grabbed the box of sweets before heading out.

Neuvillette figured he’d share them with you at home.

Greeted with silent darkness, he was suddenly reminded of your words this morning at breakfast: ‘Oh, I have work dinner later, my love; so, I won’t be eating here. We’re celebrating a company milestone.’ Conveniently enough, Neuvillette had already eaten at his office before leaving so he won’t have the pleasure of sitting across an empty seat at the dining table.

Getting ready for the chilly night ahead, Neuvillette changed into his evening attire after taking a warm bath, he donned silken azure pyjamas paired with a fluffy ivory robe. His silver strands cascaded down the length of his spine, the cerulean bow, and golden hair clips he usually wore were neatly tucked away inside his jewellery box.

Situated on the love seat, Neuvillette casually flipped through case documents inside a brown paper folder. The fireplace across him was ablazed with hues of oranges and reds, casting a citrine glow upon the dimly lit living room. As flames danced atop dry wood, the dulcet sound of classical music poured from the record player, filling the space with its tunes.

After minutes of skimming and scanning the documents, he reached for the box of sweets next to his lap, taking time to read Sigewinne’s carefully written note:

Monsieur Neuvillette, I’ve acquired these sweets for you, and her! I figured these would help you loosen up a little so please do not shy away from consuming as much as you want. Make sure to share them with her as well. Enjoy!

Love, Sigewinne

A warm smile spread across Neuvillette’s face, and despite his better judgement of waiting for you to come home and indulge in the taste of chocolate together, he figured one piece wouldn’t hurt to try alone, right?

With the moon high up in the obsidian night sky, you walked down the cobblestone footpath that led closer to yours and Neuvillette’s shared space, the evening breeze gently caressing the apple of your cheeks. Work dinner had just concluded at Hotel Debord which housed a lovely singer who put on a dazzling performance.

By now, the streets of the Court of Fontaine were more deserted as people retired to their homes for the night, shop owners here and there packed away their respective signage, their stores devoid of any customers.

With each step leading closer to home, you soon found yourself in front of your home, keys jingling between your fingers as you unlocked the front door. From the entrance hallway, warm hues greeted you like an embrace, hinting at the ablazed fireplace in the living room.

“My love? I’m home.” You called out to Neuvillette while skilfully removing your shoes, and neatly placed them beside his own.

Met with silence, you figured he either must be occupied with something or must have fallen asleep while waiting for your return. You sauntered over to the end of the entrance hallway, making your way to the living room, and as you got closer, melodic sounds engulfed your senses—you recognized it, Neuvillette’s favourite classical music.

Turning the corner, you were greeted with a rather interesting sight, a wave of concern washing over you,  “Neuvi—Are you okay?”

Seated on the love seat was Neuvillette, his left elbow propped on its arm rest, face hiding behind his hand. A deep crimson blush painted his handsome face, intensified by the reds and oranges that the fireplace emitted. He sat there looking flustered, chest heaving up and down as he took heavy breaths. Drinking in the view, you noticed documents sprawled across the empty space next to him but what really caught your eye was the intricately designed box resting on his right thigh.

The box had its lid intact yet the loose ivory ribbon draped over his thigh hinted he had previously opened it. Upon closer inspection, you realised it's familiar packaging, a co-worker had shown it to you the other day, telling you how her and her boyfriend have been dying to try the popular chocolates—chocolates laced with a potent aphrodisiac. 

Your gaze made its way back to Neuvillette—who was still breathing heavily on the love seat—now noticing the prominent tent beneath his silken pants, the azure fabric was flimsy and delicate which left little to your imagination. Pushing away the impure thoughts that snaked its way into your mind, you kneeled before your lover with a concerned expression,

“My love, who gave these to you?”

Knowing Neuvillette, he most likely consumed the chocolates without knowing its true contents simply because he wasn’t aware of the trivial things that humans indulged themselves in.

He let out a pained groan, shaky and vulnerable as he shifted in his seat, “Forgive me, ma chérie. This is improper of me.” With trembling hands, Neuvillette covered his throbbing groin, completely embarrassed that you had to see him in such a state. Truth be told, he didn’t know what came over him—a chocolate or two was all he had, and the next thing he knew, his skin burned like a thousand suns as blood rushed down, down, down to his cock.

The very core of Neuvillette’s body churned with desire—carnal desire—and as each second passed, each tick of the ivory wall clock, the uncomfortable yearn between his legs grew. A light sheen of sweat coated his feverish forehead, as though he was experiencing a fever, and whatever this was, it heightened all five of his senses.

From your voice sounding like it dripped with pure honey, all the way to the saccharine scent of your body, Neuvillette was driven mad with lust. It didn’t help how you kneeled before him, and gently caressed his thigh, a poor attempt of comfort because it brought nothing but waves of icy shudders down the length of his spine. Sensitive. His body was completely sensitive to any external stimuli, and if you rubbed his leg any further, he might just come undone.

An embarrassing thought.

Neuvillette was pathetically needy. How preposterous, the high esteemed Iudex of Fontaine reduced to nothing but a lust-driven man eager to shove his aching cock deep in your velvety walls. The subtle buck of his hips against the thick air; the way he swallowed breathless whimpers at your touch; the violent throbbing between his legs, he was beyond irredeemable.

With another grunt, Neuvillette panted out, “Sigewinne gifted them. Wriothesley had delivered it to my office this afternoon.”

Truth be told, you weren’t surprised. At all.

Standing up from your spot, you walked over to the wall phone. You tried your best to ignore the dainty whimper that fell from Neuvillette’s lips as your warm touch left his thigh, you also tried to ignore how his body involuntarily sought you out—trembling hands reaching to chase your gentle hold.

With glassy eyes, Neuvillette watched as you deftly dialled on the phone, he couldn’t help but trace your breathtaking figure, from the square of your shoulders all the way to the curves and dips of your legs. Oh, the things he’d do to spread them open, and inhale your sweet essence like a mad man. Neuvillette could practically taste your honey on his tongue, its velvety texture sliding down his throat.

Another groan escaped your lover at the thought of eating you out, his cock rubbed against the fabric of his underwear as it shamelessly twitched beneath his pants.

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d be calling given the . . . circumstances.” Of course Wriothesley knew. Pure tease dripped from his honeyed voice, most likely paired with a smug smile, and an icy, taunting gaze.

“Why would you give him that?!” 

A chuckle from the other end of the line, “First of all, I just delivered the present. Our head nurse here bought it. She’s helping Monsieur Neuvillette out.”

You huffed, trying to make sense of Sigewinne’s motives, “By what? Feeding him chocolates with a potent substance?” You’ve always adored how Sigewinne cared for her loved ones, especially Neuvillette—whatever one’s deal was, she was always willing to help out in her own unique way. But this . . giving him such a substance without any warning felt like foul play, and not only was Neuvillette receiving the short end of the stick, you were as well.

You weren’t naïve, aphrodisiacs only wore off after one has reached their satisfaction through sexual means, like quenching one’s thirst. 

“You’re making it sound like we gave him drugs.” “It is drugs, Wriothesley!”

Before you could say anything else, gentle, yearning arms wrapped around your front, caressing your stomach which ultimately caught you off guard. Neuvillette. Nuzzling into the junction of your neck just beneath the telephone against your ear, he placed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your sensitive spot, soft smacks of his lips loud enough for Wriothesley to pick up.

You bit back a moan, free hand coming up to rest on the wall to support your weight. Neuvillette’s kisses had your legs trembling, it left prominent goosebumps in its wake as he trailed further down to your shoulder blades.

“Hm. Looks like it's time for me to go. Pass on my best wishes to Monsieur Neuvillette.” And with that, he hung up the phone.

“My apologies, ma chérie. I just—I need you.” Neuvillette sighed, hot breath ghosting over your bare skin, akin to a gentle caress coaxing you into the borders of lust, like a lone finger protruding from the darkness, beckoning you to its endless, sinful void.

“Love—mhm!” You let out a yelp, his hands finding comfort on the curve of your hips, keeping them still as he slotted his clothed cock between your ass. Neuvillette grinded into you, unshameful and devoid of any decorum. Placing the telephone back on the wall, your nails dug into the hearts of your palms, just the feel of his hard cock had you embarrassingly wet already.

Neuvillette was different from this, despite his sexual urges, he was never forward with you, he took his time—sensual and sincere, treating you like the finest piece of gold to ever exist. But saying you weren’t enjoying his brazenness would be a complete lie. Seeing a different side to your lover put you in a rather sensitive state, almost like a virgin bedded for the first time.

Something primal had awoken deep inside his core, and the only way to handle it was to satiate his carnal thirst.

Nonetheless, you tried to get your point across, “Neuvi . . What you’re experiencing is the effect of an aphrodisiac from those chocolates Sigewinne gave you.”

Your words fell deaf on his pointed ears, instead, Neuvillette mumbled some of his own, “I’m sorry . . Ma belle, I promised you about that challenge but it seems I cannot fight my urges any longer.” Another shaky sigh left his rosy lips.

Challenge? Oh.

Oh.

Even in his lust-driven state, Neuvillette was still thinking about the No Nut November challenge you had proposed earlier this month.

“I’m a man of my word but I need you, my love. Let me break the rules just this once, please?” Pure desperation coated every word that came out of his mouth. It was thick like honey, and melted on your skin like snow. God, at this point the stupid challenge wasn’t even on your mind anymore, not when he desperately humped your ass like an animal in heat—quick, little ruts of his hips that soothed the ache a bit better.

Who were you to deny your lover?

The transition from the living room to the shared bedroom was a blur—everything was hasty; desperate hands exploring each other’s bodies; lips sealed together in a rough, passionate kiss; a trail of clothes messily discarded on the floor leading up to the room. Everything Neuvillette did had you on your toes, completely breathless while trying to mirror his hurried actions.

Normally, Neuvillette would bask in your serene glory, peeling clothes off from your body layer by layer, and decorating your exposed skin with butterfly kisses. He’d gently stroke your hair, slender fingers weaving through the strands as he takes in your bare beauty.

Now, his tongue swiftly explored your mouth—lengthy and thick—something he has never done before. It dizzied you.

You landed on the foot of the plush mattress with a soft gasp as Neuvillette pulled away. Breathless and flustered, you stared up at him through your lashes, soft pants escaping your kissed lips. The sight before him made his cock twitch. How your hair was splayed around your head, mimicking a soft halo, a divine being greater than he.

Neuvillette discarded the last two pieces of clothing—pants and underwear—in one fell swoop, and what came into view undoubtedly had you clenching around nothing. Standing proud and heavy at the base of his abdomen were his cocks, both painted in a deep vermillion hue, and generously leaking pre-cum. The sticky pearlescent substance coated his bulbous tips, it glistened beneath the moonlight, beckoning you to wrap your lips around them, and have a feast.

This wasn’t the first time you saw Neuvillette naked nor were you not aware of his kind but it always brought you shock every time, not to mention the faint cerulean scales the underside of his cocks boasted, it was also his sensitive spot.

Stepping out from the puddle of fabric around his ankles, Neuvillette did the same to your undergarments, mindlessly tossing them elsewhere in the room. A low growl sounded from his chest as he pried your legs apart, his deft hands guided them to bend at the knees while resting the soles of your feet on the edge of the mattress, putting your glistening cunt on full display.

In less than a heartbeat, Neuvillette was on his knees, his eager tongue lapping along the length of your slit, your arousal pooled at the tip of his tongue like sinful honey, the divine taste of your cunt prompting another shameless growl from your lover. He repeated the movement a couple of times, each lick reaching closer and closer to your sensitive clit, and when he finally reached it with his hardened tongue, you let out a surprised gasp.

“Neuvillette!”

Shocks of electrifying pleasure kissed its way up your spine as Neuvillette tongued at your swollen bud—tight, fast circles, up and down, side to side, he toyed with you like it was the only thing he knew how to do. Your hands immediately flew to his ivory tresses due to his ministrations, it was almost like playing a game of tug of war, indecisively pushing and pulling his, unsure if you wanted more or if you wanted him to stop and slow down.

Lewd, wet smacks of Neuvillette’s tongue mixed with his low growls filled the room, allowing you to bask in the sounds of pleasure your lover unabashedly made. Almost akin to a vicious beast swallowing down its prey.

As your back arched off the mattress, and the grip on Neuvillette’s hair tightening, he pulled away, earning a rather disappointed whine to fall from your lips. Sweet arousal abundantly coated his lips and chin, bringing warmth to your cheeks. No one in the room dared to say it but this was the first time your cunt got embarrassingly wet, not that Neuvillette was inadequate in bed per se but you were wetter than usual, and you were confident that he had also noticed.

The glow of his lilac eyes and cerulean feelers were proof enough.

Standing up to his feet, Neuvillette languidly stroked the cock that sat beneath the other one, an immodest gaze raking over your sopping cunt, and how it shamelessly dripped with sticky arousal enough to soil the ivory sheets beneath.

“Are you ready, ma chérie?” Neuvillette’s lilac stare captured you in a haze, absentmindedly nodding at his words as though you were rendered speechless.

He slowly rubbed the tip of his bottom cock before pushing it past your soaked folds, it eagerly swallowed him in—a loud, shameless squelch filling your ears as he stretched you open further. Your toes curled at the sensation, hips immediately bucking into him as you moaned his name. The stretch was a pleasurable burn, one that had you rolling your eyes back, and digging your nails onto the sheets a little harder. Neuvillette was able to easily slip into you, courtesy of the plentiful slick that coated your velvety walls.

Neuvillette stilled as he bottomed out, quick, short pants falling from his rosy lips. God, you always took him so, so well, he could never get enough of the feeling of warmth wrapped around his cock. You took this time to get used to the stretch, your muscles relaxing to lessen the resistance he felt. Neuvillette filled you up so well you could almost feel him in your stomach—a thought that had you clenching around him.

One, two, three seconds later, Neuvillette slowly pulled back, letting out a shaky breath at the pleasurable sensation. And with only his cock head inside you, he took no time to slam all the way inside. You moaned, hands flying to his bare shoulders, immediately marking his pale skin with crimson stripes. Neuvillette unabashedly keened at the clench of your cunt around him, knees buckling as you gripped his cock like a vice, making it harder for him to move in and out.

“Haah! Mhm! Neuvi—right there, my love!” Colourful moans and whimpers urged Neuvillette on, dragging him further and further to the state of insanity. “You feel divine, ma belle . .” The words came out as a choked sob—pathetic and dainty. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead paired with a deep crimson blush that painted his cheeks, if anything, Neuvillette looked absolutely ethereal in this state despite how out of it the aphrodisiacs made him.

Not only were his cocks extra sensitive to touch but he could also perfectly smell the scent of your sex that lingered in the air. That sweet, sinful aroma he knew oh so well.

It made his head spin.

He tried holding back, he really did but your dulcet moans stroked his growing ego, and the feel of your sopping cunt deliciously sliding against him, the last thread of sanity that held him snapped.

Violently.

As if he saw nothing but bright hues of ruby, Neuvillette picked up his pace, long thrusts quickly turning into short ones as he mercilessly pistoned his hips over and over again, allowing his cock head to reach your sweet spot. Your fingers raked down the length of his spine—leaving violent ribbons of red in its wake—stopping right at the dimples of his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks as you dug onto the pale skin there. Neuvillette wasn’t the only one on the brink of insanity with how the underside of his other cock furiously rubbed at your swollen clit with each thrust, it rested at the hood of your cunt, thick and heavy.

“S-so good! It feels so good—ngh!” The thrust of his hips felt amazing, too amazing to the point where your body started to reject them. Your body entered fight or flight mode, parted knees instinctively closing together which only allowed an inconvenient amount of room for Neuvillette to move with.

Upon noticing the change, he slowed down, sweaty palms resting on either knee, “My love—haah . . Open up for me, would you?” Winded and weak, Neuvillette attempted to pry your knees apart to no avail considering his mushy state.

“Too much, mon chérie . . I—I can’t.” Neuvillette shook his head at your words before pulling out, leaving you confused and empty. From the mattress, you watched as he sauntered over to his side of the bed, grabbing a lengthy, obsidian object that rested against his nightstand. Before a question could even formulate in your mind, he returned to his spot in the blink of an eye; though, this time, with something in his hand.

A cane—his cane. The same one he used during court proceedings, in that context, it was deemed a sacred symbolism of his authority as the Iudex of Fontaine.

To use it in such a setting would be borderline blasphemy.

Hovering over your trembling body, Neuvillette placed chaste kisses on each knee, “Do you trust me, my dear?” Was that even a question? Of course you did. He wouldn’t harm you and you believed that completely.

With a soft touch, Neuvillette was able to easily pry your knees apart, the scent of your cunt once again filling his senses. He wordlessly slotted the obsidian cane beneath your knees, its surface cool against your feverish skin, you shuddered at the contrast in temperature. Neuvillette pushed down on the shaft of the cane, bringing your knees closer to your chest—you also noticed how it kept your legs still, meaning you had no option to close them.

You whimpered at the slight burn the position invited, especially with the cane pressing down on your soft skin. And once again, Neuvillette sheathed his cock inside your cunt before setting the same merciless pace. Only this time, you wouldn’t be able to deny him.

“Neuvi! Neuvi! Neuvi—aah! Fuck—mhm!” You held on to the ivory sheets above your head for your dear life as Neuvillette roughly pistoned his hips. With each relentless thrust given, your body jolted further up the mattress, breasts bouncing in full display for your lover to drink in. Oh, how he adored the way your naked body moved and reacted to him, so plush and pliant.

Sharp hisses from the bed frame interlaced with the pornographic sounds of your moans, creating a lewd melody for the moon to witness, a sinful song only for the darkness of the night to hear—full of heat and passion.

“Does—ngh! Does it feel good, my love? Will you give in to the—haah! To the pleasure I’m giving you?” Neuvillette curled over himself, tresses of ivory cascading down to cage your face as he leaned closer to you. Despite the blur of your vision, you noticed the faint azure scales that decorated the side of his neck along with his pupils becoming more animalistic.

Neuvillette’s draconic features only ever made itself known during his heat; so, this came as a genuine surprise to you. Not that you were really complaining.

His hand remained on his cane while the other found comfort on your hip, subtly guiding your body onto him to meet each thrust. Neuvillette met your gaze through a glossy stare, you watched as beads of crystalline-like tears formed on the corners of his eyes, eventually rolling down his reddened cheeks. The sight before you was beyond divine, it wasn’t every day one would see the Chief Justice in such a poor state, his usual expressionless face painted with a colourful expression.

One that unmistakably screamed how lost he was in pleasure: rosy lips parted to let out soft whimpers, brows tightly knitted together, creating a deep crease between his brows.

“Are you close ma chérie? Mhm—aah! Come with me?” Neuvillette breathed out. It took all of his will power to hold himself up, and keep his hips moving due to immense pleasure weighing on his body like a great burden. The feeling had him trembling to his very bones, like a yellow autumn leaf braving the evening winds, and no matter how much his brain screamed at him to stop, he didn’t.

The pleasure would be too great of a loss if Neuvillette stopped now; so, he kept going—pounding, rutting, and grinding into you as he chased both your impending orgasms.

You nodded vigorously, throat too dry from all that panting to choke out any coherent words. The burn of the position you maintained mixed with Neuvillette’s cocks stimulating your cunt sent you into a painful yet pleasurable overdrive.

Without a second thought, you hastily placed your hands between your bodies, blindly seeking out Neuvillette’s other cock, and wrapping your fingers around it. To the best of your ability, you vigorously pumped his shaft, matching your strokes with his thrusts.

Neuvillette shuddered, releasing a loud moan into the damp air. After a few more quick thrusts, he stilled deep inside you, sealing his lips with yours as you both reached your climax, eagerly swallowing one another’s lewd moans. Your back arched off the mattress, toes curling, and fingers digging into Neuvillette’s skin as you violently came, the feel of his thick, hot cum painting your plush walls white had your hips bucking into him, begging for more.

Embarrassingly enough, Neuvillette came a lot. Not only inside you—to the point where it spilled out of your cunt and onto the sheets below—but also on you. The cock you’ve been stroking spurted thick ribbons of cum on your abdomen, abundantly covering your skin in his essence. He looked at the filthy art that decorated your skin, colourful curses enough to make Fontainians gasp in shock filled his mind.

How beautiful you were marked by him.

“Did I hurt you in any way?” He asked, slowly peeling himself away from you. Neuvillette made sure to quickly remove his cane from under your knees, placing it flat on the floor before tending to you. He kissed your sweaty forehead, and pulled your bodies up the mattress with your head atop the fluffy pillows.

“Not at all but I have to say, I was reaaally looking forward to completing the challenge, mon chérie.” You joked, letting out a breathless laugh.

Neuvillette blushed, suddenly remembering how he readily accepted the proposal of your challenge . . What was it again? No Nut November?

“Another year is to be expected, I am determined we will overcome the challenge.” And you were looking forward to that. Very much so. You just hoped he wouldn’t consume another aphrodisiac-laced sweet in the coming year so the both of you could actually complete the challenge.

Well, at least you concluded that Neuvillette and aphrodisiacs weren’t such a bad match, right?

Looks like you had a certain head nurse to thank. —

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© chrollogy 2024 | don’t plagiarise, repost or steal my header.

[bluelockmaniac]

BITES OF AFFECTION ⋮💋

𝜗𝜚 ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, michael kaiser x gn!reader

synopsis. you kiss them by nibbling along a pocky stick .ᐟ

content warning. pet names & lots of making out . 2k wc .

⸝⸝⋮ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍

“what are you doing?”

rin’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing in curiosity as you straddled his lap, a carton of pocky sticks clutched in your hand. instinctively, his hands quickly settled on your waist to steady you.

“just tryin’ something,” you giggled, unboxing the carton and tearing open the crinkling wrapper. with a cheeky grin, you pulled out one chocolate-coated stick, twirling it playfully before rin's face.

“ready?” you asked, placing the biscuit between your teeth and leaning in slightly.

rin’s brow knitted together in confusion, his hand rising to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. “for what?”

you rolled your eyes, bringing your hand to his lips and gently pressing his bottom lip down with the pad of your thumb. you maneuvered your mouth to align the plain end of the biscuit between his lips.

“eat.” you commanded, though your voice was muffled by the flavoured biscuit pressed over your tongue.

blinking, he resigned himself to your whim, despite the almost inevitable regret that always seemed to follow in these situations. (un)fortunately for him, this time would prove to be no different.

his hunched over slightly, shifting his hands to your hips as he began to cautiously nibble along the biscuit, maintaining eye contact with you. you smirked, noting the way your boyfriend's nose crinkled in distaste at the flavour of the classic biscuit, while you savoured the rich, chocolatey explosion on your side.

eventually, the stick was reduced to a mere fragment, and your noses were brushing. without a moment's hesitation, you leaned forward, crashing your lips onto his, eliciting an audible gasp from the startled football player.

caught so off-guard, rin– though you hadn't intended it– choked on the remaining piece of pocky in his mouth, impulsively pushing your body away as he struggled.

you instantly detached your lips, disentangling yourself from his lap, watching in concern as he coughed lightly and then buried his face into his hands in embarrassment.

you snorted once you made sure he was alright, quickly springing to your feet and making your way to the kitchen. you opened the cupboard, retrieving a glass, and filled it with water.

he took the glass, shooting you a glare, his ears and cheeks adorned with a rosy shade of pink.

“don't ever do that again,” he muttered, setting the glass of water down on the table with a dramatic thud. his gaze fell on the darned pocky stick packet. he quickly grabbed it and flung it somewhere behind him, away from his sight.

you cupped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle your laughter, “i–i’m sorry, pft– i didn't think you'd choke on a biscuit, hah–”

“hey.” he cut you off, gently seizing your wrist and pulling you back onto his lap. he turned his head to the side, his eyes fixated on a random spot on the floor, avoiding your gaze.

“if you want a kiss, then just ask.”

⸝⸝⋮ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

“these fucking cleats always disappear when i need them!” sae grumbled, pacing back and forth in your shared master bedroom, his eyes scanning every corner of the room for his football cleats.

“mm, i think i’ve ‘sheen them on the shoe rack near the ‘frontch door,” you mumbled through a mouthful, sliding yet another pocky stick into your mouth from the pink, thin paperboard box. you kicked your legs rhythmically against the wooden frame of the bed. “you should look there.”

he paused to look at you, “i already looked there, though.”

“check again?”

“. . . alright.” the door creaked as he exited the bedroom, and you shrugged nonchalantly, stuffing your face full with the strawberry flavoured biscuit.

after a while, he re-entered, holding a pair of white cleats in his hands. the corners of his lips were turned downwards in guilt as he tossed his shoes somewhere on the floor and approached you, ruffling his hair in exasperation.

“i swear on my football career i checked there,” he groaned, collapsing onto the bed beside you. he eyed you from the side before turning his body to face you, reaching out to cradle your cheek. “you still eatin’ that?”

you nodded, inching closer to his touch. swallowing your bite, you pulled out one stick, pushing the strawberry-coated end between his parted lips while you took the flavourless end.

his eyebrow arched but obliged nonetheless, biting along the dipped sweet with you. as soon as you finish two quick bites of your part, just enough to reach the strawberry coating, you noticed sae's face scrunch up, his nose wrinkling in disgust. he hadn't even managed to finish the coated portion.

your boyfriend's fingers glided to your waist and gently pushed you away, his tongue sticking out in disgust. “yuck. this tastes like shit. the chocolate one's better.”

your bottom lip jutted out petulantly as you crossed your arms, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “it isn't that bad . . . but that's besides the point— we haven't even kissed!”

“what?” he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly in confusion. “you didn't ask.”

you sighed, “we were supposed to nibble along the pocky till our lips meet, baby.”

his lips curved into a round shape as he stood up. he caught you by surprise, using his index finger to gently push against your chest until you were lying down on the bed. he climbed over you, pressing one knee between your thighs while the other knee nestled on the mattress beside your right leg.

“wanna kiss?”

without a second wasted, you nodded eagerly, your hands sliding up to find where they usually rested on his broad shoulders. you hooked your ankles around his, watching as he dipped down and sealed his glossy lips against yours.

you were going to be the death of him— he was absolutely sure of it.

with the way his mouth was slotted seamlessly against yours, you were almost certain he intended to leave you breathless by the time be was finished, gasping for every last bit of air. your hands moved from his shoulder to cup his face, pulling him even closer to further deepen the kiss.

you gasped softly into his mouth, then pulled away to swipe your hot tongue over his lips. you lifted your head up, your eyes meeting his. “f-fuck, your lips taste like strawberries…”

the maroon-haired man hummed indifferently, dragging his thumb over his bottom lip to wipe off your lingering saliva. “but i just said the strawberry flavour was disgu—”

“delicious.” you corrected, pinching the plump of his cheek. “dee–li–cious.”

he rolled his eyes and lowered his body onto yours, burying his head into the crook of your neck. he shifted slightly to press a tender kiss to your temple.

“yeah, yeah, whatever. only ‘cause the flavour was on my lips, though.”

⸝⸝⋮ 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

“hmm, mihya–” you nudged him with your elbow. once he turned his attention to you, you handed him your phone. “— i want to try this super cute pocky stick trend with you.”

he took the phone and glanced down at the screen; a romantic couple biting through a pocky stick till their lips locked. kaiser’s face contorted in disgust at the cheesy, clichéd display of faux affection, but his expression soon morphed into a smirk as he looked back at you.

“it seems boring,” he shrugged playfully, setting your phone on the coffee table and leaning his head back against the couch. “don't wanna.”

your brows furrowed together in disappointment, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around his, leaning your weight against him. “baby, please?” you pleaded, fluttering your soft lashes at him purposefully, trying to coax him into doing the challenge with you.

he rolled his eyes at your desperate expression before gently extricating his arm from your grasp and patting your head. your adorable, puppy-eyed look managed to have this effect on him every single time.

“fine, get the pack.” he feigned an exhausted sigh. you quickly bounced off the couch and returned with the cookies-and-cream flavoured pocky stick pack.

once you finished unwrapping the foil, you pulled out a stick and prepared to place the flavoured end between your teeth. but before you could, you felt kaiser's firm grip encircle your wrist, pulling it back.

“nuh-uh, i’m taking the flavoured end,” he asserted, snatching the treat from your grasp. he then flicked your forehead with a smug, triumphant smirk. “you can have the boring end.”

“what? no!” you scoffed, reaching up to try and reclaim the sweet. but he raised his arm and leaned away, evading your grasp with ease. “that's not fair, you take the plain end!”

“it's fine, schatz– you'll reach the cookies and cream part in no time! besides, this is what i get for agreeing to do this dumb challenge with you. it's only fair.”

you crossed your arms and huffed, “fiiine, whatever.”

he grinned and slid the biscuit between his lips, inching closer to you and you took the initiative to put the plain end in your mouth. his large hands held onto your cheek, thumbs rubbing against your soft skin as you both took one synchronized bite.

one bite through the pocky was all it took for kaiser's eyes to widen slightly. in an instant, he pinched the biscuit near your side, snatching it from your mouth and greedily securing it for himself.

“what the fuck–?” he exclaimed, his voice muffled by the treat, pulling away from you gently. “this shit's pretty good.”

you gaped at him, mouth hanging open in disbelief. your body remained frozen, unable to process the audacity of him devouring the sweet that you generously offered. but that's besides the point— you felt offended that he had pushed you away for a mere biscuit?

“really, michael?” you whined, crossing your arms over your chest. “that's not how the trend goes...”

he shook his head, placing the biscuit pack on the table. then, with an unexpected movement, he pulled you onto his lap, taking you by surprise. his cool, slender fingers slipped beneath your shirt, trailing languidly up your waist.

“i'm sorry, meine liebe,” he whispered, leaning closer until his lips brushed against your ear, his breath tickling the skin. “but we can kiss anytime, can't we?”

the way his words fell of his tongue with such assuring confidence made your breath catch in your throat. you slid your arms around his neck and nodded; he wasn’t wrong– there was no rush to complete the challenge right now... the opportunity to enjoy it later was just as appealing, especially with a whole packet of pocky beside you.

his cobalt blue eyes flickered down to your plump, inviting lips. teasing you with the anticipation of a kiss, his lips hovered over yours– but he soon gave up and finally pressed his soft lips against yours. your hands instinctively grasped the fabric of his shirt, your fingers curling tightly into the material. the contact of your silken lips moving against his in such a sloppy, disheveled manner elicited a soft, breathy mewl that slipped into his mouth.

the blond seized the opportunity presented by your parted lips, pushing his tongue into your kiss-bruised mouth. a gasp escaped you as you quickly threaded your fingers through his hair, gently tugging on the strands of blue.

“m-mihya . . .”

he withdrew from the kiss, his gaze lingering with satisfaction at your kiss-drunk visage– lips glistening with his saliva, droopy eyes, and the corners of your mouth twitching in a hazy smile. a pleased smirk spread across his face as he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“just like i thought, meine liebe,” he murmured, playfully tapping the tip of your nose,

“you taste way sweeter than that shitty snack.”

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, possessive behavior, confinement, hinted non - con, stockholm syndrome kinda, christmas edition yap

You were never such a big fan of the holiday season. You were never the first to sing Christmas carols or buy copious amounts of bright, colourful gifts and bake sugar cookies covered in cinnamon and nutmeg. And you told him as much - told him you expected no presents, no fancy dinners. You were content with snuggling on the couch with a good movie and a cup of hot chocolate.

He didn't listen, of course - he rarely did. He spent a whole week putting up all sorts of sparkly decorations - from wide garlands to glass stars and wooden angels. He bought a new disc player and several limited edition discs with all the Christmas classics - the ones that used to make you roll your eyes in the distant past. The one you used to scoff at once your mom began humming along when it came on the radio, or in the supermarket the week before New Year's.

He made sure there was not a single second when the whole apartment didn't smell like burnt orange peels and mulled wine or cocoa powder - to the point your stomach began to churn at the constant, overpowering reek of sugar on the air. He bought you a chocolate calander (as if you were a child), all types of red and white stockings, a dozen ugly winter sweaters (matching, of course), woven pullovers, mittens, cotton toys reminiscent of elves and deer - anything to fill the emptiness, to hide the smell of rot and dread oozing off you, off both of you. But nothing could prepare you for today. The morning of the 25th December.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

"C'mon." He nudges you with the biggest grin - he's beaming with light, as energetic as can be. And yet you're tired, despite it being late morning blending into midday. You have no memories of last night, of Christmas Eve. You know you were drinking, perhaps having a laugh here and there. And then you got upset - sad, maybe? Why you were sad, you don't recall. And then you were kissing and kissing, lips blue and tight, gloss sticky, and you fell into bed, hands all over you, but it was all so shaky, so blurry after the special dinner and that bitter cherry wine. Somehow even now it brings tears to your eyes. "Oh, don't cry, darling, please don't cry." He cooes at you, rubbing soothing circles into your back. "I promise you will like your present."

Oh yes. The present. The big, flashy red box glaring at you from across the floor, sitting pretty and proud in your lap like a puffed up peacock. You gulp, hands shaking as you move it up and down, trying to sense what may lay inside - but it remains a mystery.

Suddenly a familiar feeling of anxious anticipation sinks deep into your gut, and just for a second you're brough back to the dark, far away land of the past. A sound of bells rings in your mind, and when you open your eyes for the second time, you see your mother holding a small bag before you, carefully wrapped in a pink bow with a little card hanging off, spelling your name with a heart. Your hands shake that time too, as you struggle to unwrap the paper. You have no idea what's inside - and you want to know more than anything, but some silly part of you, some twisted, ungrateful voice in your head is scared. If you like it, you'll have to make a big scene of grattitude. If you hate it, the scene will have to be even bigger. Not a scene, but a whole performance. Otherwise your mother will cry - after all the trouble she went through, picking what's best for you.

"Darling, open it." He repeats, voice dropping with irritation as he shoves the box down. You jump slightly, ripped away from the precious memory. "You know what this means for me." He continues, even more serious and stern now, eyes darkening. Your heartbeat fastens, hands grippling with the satin wrap. "This is our fifth Christmas together. I know in the past you didn't feel..." He takes a deep breath. "Settled in." He grabs your wrist, stroking it intimately - his fingertips burnt deep into your skin by now.

"But this Christmas, it's different. I can feel it in the air tonight." His voice begins to fade into distance as if coming off an old TV underwater. "It feels like home. Like we are one happy family. And who knows what's ahead..." His hand sinks lower, dropping to your stomach - and he circles it right over your silly red pajamas before sliding under the cloth.

He keeps talking, but you don't understand the words. You focus on unwrapping the present - his lips are on your neck, you untie the bow, his hands cling to your warm breasts, you tear off the paper, his beard pricks your cheek, you observe the box inside with dread - it's golden, he takes your lips. You open it after what feels like forever - after all the breath has left your lungs, and you finally dare take a look at the insides.

The gift is lovely - or should you say the gifts? It's an endless pit of everything you used to dream of. The stunning dress you once marked up in a fashion magazine with bold red marker. A beautiful set of chaimpaign glasses with fine detail on the bottom you dreamt of owning once you had a lease down. Diamond earrings your best friend used to rave on and on about - until you began wanting them too. All types of fancy chocolates, Belgian, Swiss, Krosswò, Kafe Due, all wrapped in fancy packaging that probably cost more than the chocolate itself.

"So? Do you like it?" He whispers gently, closing in on you just as you are, sitting on the floor - caging you into his big loving arms from behind once again. You freeze, unable to do much other than nod. "I hope you do." He continues before he even registers your answer. "I hope it's enough to make you happy."

But you're not. You're not fucking happy, and you haven't been for a while now. Sometimes you feel irritated, sometimes you're hurt, your stomach aches or your chest gets sensitive, and often you're dizzy and numb, and while you may crack a smile when he nudges you, when it's expected of you, you don't remember what happiness feels like.

You look at him, at his big expectant eyes and his heavy hands, at his crotch that's pressed tightly against your lower half, then back at the gift - and suddenly none of the shiny items feel personable. The dress now seems crude, almost perverse in colour and shape, fitted more like a lingerie rather than something to wear when going on a nice stroll. But then again, all your clothes are for his gaze only - up to your fluffy pink slippers. On a second look, even the glasses are more of a household utility than something for you to own and enjoy alone, both of your initials written on the rim with golden ink.

"Try the earrings on." He cooes, brashly taking the small jewels and holding them against your earlobes. "I've dreamt of seeing those little beauties on you. Now we can finally throw away those flashy fake loops your mom gave you." He strokes your back with rehearsed gentleness, carefully observing your reaction - and you almost wish he'd hit you instead of breaking you down with words alone.

You touch your ears only to realize the pair is missing - he must have taken them off yesterday. Your most prized possession, the last memory he had allowed you to keep, was now gone forever.

"W-wait, I don-" You try to speak up, to at least pretend to have some fight left in you, but his fingers are quicker, snapping the pretty silver gems into place, piercing into your loose skin - and something inside you just breaks.

"You are a sight for sore eyes, my dear. Oh, how I love you." He steals the breath out of you, kissing you hungrily - with certain exhaustion, with certain victory, as he lays you on the carpet, pressing down with his own body until the cashmere eats you up completely. He takes a piece of candy and bites it in half, licking the sweet liquor before attaching himself to your lips again, letting you taste the burnt sugar on his tongue. "Marry Christmas." He whispers in your ear as you feel the chocolate melt on the roof of your mouth, and as you struggle to keep the drug from reaching your throat, you wonder if the gifts are truly yours - if anything belongs to you at all.

[amourquinn]

( short fic ) 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐉𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒

pairing : boyfriend!quinn x fem!reader wc. 1.4k

genre : fluff no warnings

summary : a cozy christmas gateaway turns magical as you and quinn escape to a snowy cabin filled with festive traditions

「 author’s note 」 merry christmas eve and merry christmas! 🎄 here’s another quinny christmas fic <3

the snow was already knee-deep when you and quinn pulled into the driveway of the cabin. it was the perfect little escape from the chaos of the city—a cozy wooden retreat nestled in the woods, surrounded by towering pines dusted with fresh powder. you couldn’t help but grin as you glanced at quinn, his dark beanie tugged low over his ears and his cheeks rosy from the cold.

“this is perfect,” you said, stepping out of the car and immediately sinking into the snow. you let out a laugh, and quinn followed, shaking his head but smiling at your antics.

“better than spending christmas in the city?” he asked, grabbing your bags from the trunk.

“way better,” you replied, brushing the snow off your coat. “no traffic, no noise, just us and the wilderness. and…” you trailed off with a mischievous grin.

quinn raised an eyebrow. “and?”

“you’ll see,” you said, keeping the surprise to yourself for now.

⋆˙⟡

once inside, the cabin was even cozier than you’d imagined. the warm scent of pine filled the air, and a stone fireplace stood at the center of the living room, already stocked with firewood. you immediately set to work decorating, pulling out string lights and garlands you’d brought along, while quinn carried in the rest of the bags.

“are you trying to turn this place into santa’s workshop?” he teased, watching as you hung a wreath on the front door.

“obviously,” you shot back, sticking your tongue out at him. “you’ll thank me when it feels all festive in here.”

⋆˙⟡

by the time night fell, the cabin was glowing with soft, twinkling lights, and you’d both settled onto the couch in front of the fire. quinn was flipping through a christmas movie playlist, his legs stretched out across the rug.

“elf or home alone?” he asked, holding up the remote.

“neither,” you said, jumping up suddenly. “i have something for you first.”

quinn’s brows furrowed as he watched you dart into the bedroom. you returned moments later holding a neatly wrapped package, your grin almost as bright as the string lights draped across the mantel.

“what is this?” he asked, sitting up straight as you handed him the box.

“open it,” you urged, plopping down beside him.

quinn peeled back the paper, revealing two pairs of matching plaid pajamas—one in his size and one in yours. his laugh was soft but genuine as he held them up.

“you didn’t,” he said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“oh, i absolutely did,” you replied. “it’s christmas! matching pjs are a requirement.”

“i don’t think that’s a real rule,” he said, but the playful glint in his eyes gave him away. “are we really doing this?”

“yes,” you said, pulling your own pair out of the box. “and you’re going to look handsome, so don’t even try to argue.”

quinn rolled his eyes but didn’t protest further. minutes later, the two of you stood in front of the fireplace, now fully decked out in the matching red-and-black flannel pajamas. you couldn’t stop giggling as quinn glanced down at himself, clearly feeling a little ridiculous but also oddly endearing in the cozy outfit.

“okay, i’ll admit it,” he said finally. “these are actually pretty comfortable.”

“see? i told you,” you said, kissing his right cheek.

quinn laughed, shaking his head. “you’re something else, you know that?”

“yeah, yeah,” you said, flopping back onto the couch. “now, let’s watch a movie.”

but before you could hit play, you gasped, springing to your feet. “wait! i forgot the most important part.”

quinn looked after you curiously as you darted into the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients for your signature hot chocolate. you pulled out milk, dark chocolate, cocoa powder, sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. while the milk warmed on the stove, you chopped the chocolate into fine shavings, your movements quick and precise.

“what’s going on in here?” quinn asked, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you work.

“only the best hot chocolate you’ve ever had,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. “i’m not just throwing some powder into water, baby. this is the real deal.”

he smirked. “should i be scared or impressed?”

“definitely impressed,” you shot back with a wink.

once the milk was steaming, you whisked in the chocolate, sugar, and cocoa powder, the mixture turning into a velvety liquid that smelled like heaven. you added a touch of cinnamon for warmth and poured the finished hot chocolate into two mugs. for the final touch, you topped them with whipped cream and a dusting of cocoa powder.

“here,” you said, handing quinn his mug as you joined him back on the couch. “try it.”

he took a tentative sip, his eyes widening as the rich, creamy flavor hit his taste buds. “wow,” he said, looking at you with genuine admiration. “okay, i take it back. you really weren’t kidding. this is delicious.”

“told you,” you said smugly, curling up beside him with your own mug. “christmas movie night isn’t complete without good hot chocolate.”

he took another sip, his expression softening. “i think this might actually be the best hot chocolate i’ve ever had. you’ve set the bar pretty high now.”

you grinned, leaning into him. “guess that means i’ll just have to make it every year.”

“i wouldn’t complain,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

he pulled a blanket over the both of you as the opening credits of elf played on the screen. the fire crackled softly in the background, and the snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the cabin in a peaceful stillness.

halfway through the movie, you felt quinn shift beside you. when you looked up, he was already gazing at you, his expression soft and full of something that made your chest tighten.

“what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“nothing,” he said, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “i’m just really glad we did this. it’s… nice, spending christmas with you like this.”

your cheeks warmed, and you leaned into his touch. “me too,” you said.

for a while, neither of you spoke, content to simply enjoy the moment. the movie played on, but your attention was entirely on quinn—his steady heartbeat, the warmth of his arm around you, the way he seemed completely at ease.

the two of you stayed curled up under the blanket as elf played on the screen, the warm glow of the fire making the cabin feel even cozier. but once the movie ended, you looked up to the window and you sat up with a sudden idea.

“let’s go build a snowman,” you said excitedly.

he raised a skeptical brow. “you serious? it’s freezing.”

“exactly. perfect snowman weather,” you said, already hopping up and tugging him off the couch.

⋆˙⟡

bundled up in your coats and scarves, you stepped out into the chilly night, the snow glistening under the light of the full moon. you knelt down and began rolling a ball of snow, packing it tightly. quinn joined in reluctantly at first, but his competitive nature kicked in quickly, and soon the two of you were working together to build the perfect snowman.

“you’re competitive about everything,” you laughed as he adjusted the middle section with precision.

“gotta make it structurally sound,” he teased. “our snowman’s not collapsing on my watch.”

eventually, the snowman came together, complete with twigs for arms, a carrot nose, and quinn even used a few stray rocks to give it a lopsided grin. for the final touch, you sacrificed your scarf for the cause. quinn immediately took off his own and he wrapped it around your neck, refusing the thought of you catching a cold on christmas.

“it’s not bad,” he said, stepping back to admire your handiwork.

“not bad? it’s amazing,” you said, laughing as you flung a handful of snow at him.

quinn dodged easily, grabbing a handful of his own and tossing it at you. the snowman stood proudly as the two of you chased each other around the yard, laughter echoing through the stillness of the woods. by the time you both collapsed into the snow, breathless and grinning, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this carefree.

“that was fun,” quinn admitted as he layed on top of your body, making sure he didn’t put too much weight on you.

“told you,” you said, cupping his face and giving a passionate kiss. “merry christmas, q.”

“merry christmas, pretty” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

© amourquinn

[san8ny]

Intermission

Ellie Williams <3

Synopsis: Ellie and you haven’t spoken since highschool, you two never really that close. One day, the all-star hits you up upon getting kicked out. You down to help her steal from her own childhood home or nah?

w.c: 4.1k / warnings include: Ellie is a bit rude in the beginning, some Joel slander, she’s just hella uptight, mutual pining, kissing, she makes out with your hooha, but it’s hot. ;-;

“Am I even doing this right?” you mutter down at the pocket knife you had angled, poorly sharpening it’s blade with the edge of the worn-down whetstone you and Ellie happened to find upon arrival to Joel’s cabins.

She gives you, and both the board, a once-over before turning back to the picture frames lined up on the wall, “Sure.” Rolling your eyes, you throw the knife onto the counter, “You know, I didn’t know he had such a swanky place.”

“Yeah. Reeaal swanky.” She huffs, scrunching her brows in annoyance when the clatter of the knife you’d just thrown doesn’t quiet down immediately, “You find the checkbook yet?”

Ah, the checkbook. You almost forgot she recruited you out here to practically rob her adoptive dad blind.

I mean, fuck, had you had the luck of being in her place— living so lavishly, you’d let the bastard yell at you all he wanted.

Dragging your finger tips across the wooden counter, careful to not splinter them, you push yourself off where you were leaning, and walk towards the stairs, “Doesn’t it make sense for him to like, I don’t know, have it upstairs?”

Ellie runs a hand down her tired face, letting out a huge sigh before turning towards when you stand near the railing, your foot already placed on the first step. Why didn’t she think of that before? She gives you the green light, following behind as you ascend up the stairs. She finds her breath hitched and her eyes closing in further irritation when you suddenly stop, her face parallel with your lower back due to the step-to-height difference.

“Is that you?” You say, a smile stretching on your face as you point towards the meek framed photo that hung above the handrail, depicting a pre-teen Ellie in a science museum tee, Joel slightly crouched behind her with two thumbs up. You almost would have missed the small smile she has in the snapshot had you had nor squinted, “Didn’t know you had a dimple. Do still have it?” You ask, turning down towards where she stood.

“No. Now move.” She huffs, bumping your shoulder as she takes lead, climbing up the rest of the stairs. Rude. Nonetheless, you follow her as you enter into the main hallway. How the hell was a cabin this big? you’re only in it for, like, less than a season— Right? Not like you would know, the fanciest thing you’d ever seen was the time you went to Dina’s Bat Mizvah down at the community center and got to see a chocolate fountain, granted it was years ago, it’s the closest thing you’d ever experienced comparisable to ‘upper echelon.’

She seemingly notices your distant stare, harshly bringing her palms together in a large clap thus pulling you out of your thoughts. Clearly taken aback, you meet her blank gaze, “You take the attic, i’ll take the main bedroom”

“Where—

“Down the hall, to your left. You’ll see the ladder cord hanging.” She cuts you off, already walking away and into one of the many doors you could only assume led to Joel’s bedroom. Okay! This should be easy!

It was not easy.

On your hands and knees, you cough uncontrollably from the dust that blocks insulation. It errupted when you pulled the damn ceiling ladder cord down. All this money and they couldn’t fucking dust it once in a while? Wait, when was the last time this place was even entered? That was the question you asked as you slowly tip-toed up with wide eyes. immediate, you’re met with U-haul boxes, plastic dinosaur figurines and some comics.

In that moment, you smile a bit as you kneel on the floor, grabbing the Stegosaurus and T-rex as you gently knock them against eachother, playing with them.

Though you swear you were being satirical when you began toying with them, you couldn’t help thoughts drift to a younger Ellie playing with these like you were. She’d probably always call dibs on the Carnivore, giving the other person an eyeroll when they cry at how unfair she was being for never giving them a turn at being the razor-bearing predator. ‘Skill issue’ she’s also snicker when the kids run back to their parents.

When you finally put them down after some time, you walk over to one of the several moving boxes. Some tattered, some dirty and some even still closed up. It was wrong for you to have been snooping around her childhood home, sure, but she’s also stealing from her own said home— so you can’t be that bad. Reaching into the closest one near you, you pull out a small velvet belt. One that stroke resemblance to the ones you’d see in the cheesy karate-cop movies your dad had been a fan of. Another, and another and shortly, you have a large array of belts, with at the very bottom of the box containing a small plaque of achievements, ‘Ellie Williams’ printed in fine, gold lettering, ‘Graduate from the Jackson institute of Martial Arts.’

Of course, she was a prodigy at everything. What wasn’t Ellie good at? She’d been your highschool’s valedictorian a couple years back when you both were about to graduate, given the golden chance to speak at the commencing, well, was. That was before passing the chance onto the second runner without a second thought; she claimed she wasn’t the talking type and just casually went about her day, like it wasnt the opportunity most students would have killed for. Students like you, who spent all night and day to even make a dent in the social stratosphere that was highschool.

Given now you both were in your early 20’s, you still hold admiration for Ellie. Maybe that’s why when she randomly called you to hangout after years, you didn’t question it, or even second guess yourself.

How long Ellie had been standing there watching you coo over her baby pictures was something you, and both she couldn’t answer. Originally wanting to smack you on the head or scare you, she couldn’t help but lean against the attic wall, eyeing the way you carefully place her achievements down like they were the most important thing to you.

You’d always been like that since Ellie can recall meeting you. Always so nice, so sensible, always the first one in the room to make light out of nothing. You definitely would have been burnt on the cross or something for just how smiley you were if you were alive back in that day. Ellie found you interesting in ways she couldn’t configure why.

She and Joel had a falling out a couple of weeks ago. He cut her off of all financial support, insisting she get a job or a higher education like her peers were. A few profanities and insults were thrown around, leading eventually to her getting kicked out. Funny. Though she never cared about being embarrassed or the opinions of others, she did feel some sort of seeping humiliation. So, with the money she had, she booked a hotel and called you up. She chuckles when she remembers the first time she sent the address, your hesitancy to type back as you get the wrong, but expected idea,

‘ .’.im not fucking u lol’

‘wth no I got kicked out’

‘OHHH srry!!! D: ‘

The chuckle that hears behind startles, your grip seemingly loosening on the picture frame you had in-hand meeting the floor in cruel shatters. Quiet consumes you both with your hands shaking erratically, “O-oh my god? i’m so sorry, I don’t even know why I did that. fuckfuckfuck!! It was an accident. I can pay for that! Like, i’m so so sorry—l” you frantically plead with her, your eyes alternating from her and the bloody gla—bloody?

“You’re bleeding.” Ellie sighs, softly reaching forward to grab your wrist, pulling you around the mess you caused. You didn’t even realize you were until you felt the blood drip from your ankles down to your shins, staining your bleach-white socks in scarlet droplets.

“I messed up, Ellie, i’m really sorry.”

“Can you like, stop apologizing? It’s fine. Didn’t even know when that picture was taken anyways.”

Somehow, her words worsen your hysteric state, you sinking down back onto your knees as you sob. Oh god, she didn’t even know when that picture was taken meaning it’s that long ago. Ellie stares at you clearly with a panicked look, not really knowing how to comfort you— or anyone for that matter. Again, you were more of the sensible one between them, even if you two hadn’t exactly been all that close growing up in the same town, school and similarly interconnected friend groups. ‘What would you do?’ So, Ellie slightly crouches down, her squeaky sneakers noising as she awkwardly encircles her arms around you. Clearly taken aback by this gesture, you peer up from where your head was buried inbetween your knees and instead, at Ellie, who’s usual laid-back expression is replaced with furrowed brows, her eyes not meeting yours and some reddening on her cheeks. ��Y-you’ve seen the picture frames around, man, I see myself all the time. It’s fine.”

You sniffle abit before giving her a coherent answer that isn’t just hiccups, “Im sorry.” She sighs before slightly reaching up to pat your head, “Please stop crying, I think i’m more off-put by your ugly cries than you breaking shit.” That tugs a laugh out of you, pushing Ellie away as she matches your grin. “I mean look, you ruined my tee.” She wasn’t lying, you look down to her white tee and it was absolutely soaked with shed tears belonging to you. You gently run your thumbs over her chest in a bad attempt to wipe your embarassingly smeared mascara off, but it only recieves a small whine from Ellie, who backs away immediately. You’re left confused when she gets up, clearing her voice. “We should continue searching.” With that, she leaves the attic, leaving you up there and with multiple. How could ones demeanor change that often? You almost noticed the sensitivity in her chest.

“Pfft, softie.” You mutter, a smile on your lips as you follow her down. Eventually, Ellie is the one to find the book, it’s placed inbetween some folded jeans. ‘Fuck yeah..’ She bites her chapped lip as she flips through it. Enough pages for her, and a good forged signature she’d mastered when he’d be too lazy to sign her field trip permission slips— guess something did pay off. You stand there with crossed arms, feeling a bit squeamish all of a sudden, like the thought had hit you finally, Ellie is moving away. She notices you when she lifts her gaze up, puzzled with your stance, “I told you it’s okay, the picture frame can be replaced.”

“I don’t want you to move away.”

“What.”

“I won’t repeat myself.” You shake your head defiantly, standing your ground when she towers over you, all these years and when you two have somewhat of a bond, she wants to move away? And maybe yeah, you had it coming, being easily-attached to somehow who’d you’d only started recently hanging out with. “What makes you think I care?” She mocks, looking at you like you’d grown an extra head, she’s almost astonished with your stupidity, why would she have dragged you all the way here to just, stay? Something with the way she says those words churns humility deep in your gut, who were you to even admit that to her? You flail around your arms passively as you back away, a croak in your throat, “Just something I said. You’re a cool person.”

“Right, well, I got the checkbook meaning we can get the hell out. Seeing this place almost makes me want to not drain Joel’s pockets.” She yawns, throwing you the book before retreating into one of the previous rooms, though before, she asks, “Say, where’d we put the keys?”

..

Who had the keys?

Comically enough, sirens began to faintly hear in the back, and your gaze locks onto Ellie’s, “Fuck— find the keys.” She says, running back into the room. How petty was her dad to call the police on them? Well, petty enough to have alarms laying around incase his thieving daughter comes around. You, instantly begin to eye around for them, palms growing clammy at the aspect of being arrested now comes into plan as the sirens grow closer. Finding them, you call out to Ellie who seemingly was already on her way once she heard the jingles of them, “Out the back. You’re gonna run, and not turn back, ‘alright?” She whispers, grabbing you and running towards the kitchen door once the front door is knocked.

Once it’s kicked in, Ellie manages to get out with a groan, definitely a bruiser, but nonetheless, they make it out of the area without getting caught. While she hasn’t broken a sweat yet, you were coughing up a storm like you were earlier, eyes tearing up as you let them out in fits. She gently rubs your back, looking around for where their parked car was, it was a good idea they’d parked so far away- granted it was flawed in multiple ways, it came out in their good favor. Once you’d caught your breath, Ellie hums, “You know where we parked?” You nod, looking around, “Yeah. near the marked tree, you smeared my lipstick over it..” She scrunches her nose to prevent a loud laugh from coming out, your sadness over lipstick being funny to her, “Right. That way.”

You both find the car and enter, ellie starting the car as she backs up and maneuvers around the various tall trees it was parked around before getting onto the main road. You don’t say anything for the majority of the one hour ride, those 60 minutes feeling like the longest ones to Ellie who’s gotten use to your talkitive habits. So when she asks you if you want aux, you shake your head— deflating her mood. She sighs, lighting up a cigarette at the light and rolling down the window. You just lean your head back and rest your eyes, emotions running through that you couldn’t even seem to process. Tiredness, embarrassment of her flat out saying she’d never stay for you, getting almost booked by the police, and just ones you didn’t want to acknowledge at all. You wanted to just, go to sleep.

Ellie, on the otherhand, feels nothing but anxiety gnawing at her. Why does she care so much whether you talk to her or not? She’s never even liked talking, and somehow, the thought of never speaking to you again after this makes her feel nauseous. Would you text her? Call her? Visit her if she left? Would you buy the nearest train ticket if she told you one day to come when she settles into her new place? Or would you just move on? Would you move onto some cooler girl in town to befriend? Some other girl you’d look up to, some other girl who would show you the hidden gems around town you’d been asking her to, Fuck— some other girl you’d give all your affection to. Ellie swerves the car, and had it not been your quick-wit to pull the steering back, she might have crashed the vehicle.

Pulling over, she places her head lightly on the leather wheel while you stare at her in bewilderment, “Are you crazy?! What was that?!” You say with a slight twitch in your eye at her loss of control.

“I don’t want to move away.”

“You literally have to, we’re on the side of the road and your emergency lights aren’t on so.”

“I’ll stay.”

“You can’t, that’s like, against the rules. I don’t know, my permit is expired.” First order of business, obtain a license.

“In Jackson. I’ll stay in Jackson.” She mumbles, lifting her head up to stare at you. This feels like a joke to you, like Ellie might just begin laughing at you when you show the tiniest bit of you of relief. So, you just match her stare, tiling your head. “Why?” Why? What do you mean why? Ellie wants to scream, why don’t you look happy? She’s staying for you.

“Just..wanted to.” She says after a beat or two, pulling the car back onto the road as she nears your house. Giving a curt nod, you look out the window, your knees feeling wobbly like a teenage girl all over again as you suppress asking questions to the clearly disoriented freckled girl. Once on arrival, Ellie expects you to leave and slam that door but instead, you sit there for a bit.

“My mom isn’t here.” You say, chewing your inner-cheek.

“You don’t have a spare key or ‘sum?”

“No no I do, it’s just— want to come in?” You ask her with big eyes, your hands folded on your lap like a child on their best behavior to get something.

“Did your mom bake that pie you got me last time?” She’s referring to the Cherry Pie your mom made last time you two hung out.

“Is the sky blue?” You say, with a smile, trying to lighten the mood that’ll need more than just that to recover.

“It’s grey but I see your point. I’ll go park, leave the front door open.” She smiles when you nod, skipping out of the car and into your home.

When she does so, and enters your door, she’s met with a warm wafting smell of baked goods. Ellie might gave been fairly thin, but she had a nose on her, leading her to the kitchen. You’ve changed out of your dirty clothes, she notices, you now wearing some small pajama shorts and a tanktop. You’re bent over the oven, grabbing the treats out of the pre-heated oven your mother had likely left them in to retain warmth.

“You’ve got to stop doing that.” You mutter, almost dropping the tray of food while Ellie smirks

“Can’t really promise accepting an apology if you dropped those.” She says, walking on over to where you stood by the kitchen island. Something in the way she says that so..flirtatiously, makes you look back at her twice. “Whatever. Do me a favor, take the plates out while I cut the pieces.” Ellie nods, walking over to the several arrays of cabinets. Though, upon doing so, she notices your refrigerator, decorated in colorful magnets, children’s literature and most of all, a picture of you, and an older woman. You were younger, hair a bit longer than you had it now, and a wide grin with your front tooth missing. You couldn’t of been older than 6, Ellie thinks. Smiley.

“This your mom?” she asks, running her fingerpads alongst the smooth film while you hum, nodding. “Yeah, it’s my mom” You say, handing her a slice of piece when she gives you the plate, “You look alike.” Ellie concludes when you two begin walking upstairs to your room.

It was certainly your room, is what the auburnette thinks as she sits on your bed. Messy bedsheets you never got to make, clothes scattered near your closet and other things you never got to clean up when she’d called you up this morning at such an ungodly time to divulge you in on her scheme,

though now, upon her decision to stay in the town, it seemed a bit for nothing. It’d be a funny story to tell with you. With you, she thinks, watching as you chew the treat and sit on the rugged floor as you flip through TV channels. Eventually settling on some show Ellie never knew was still even airing. She quietly sinks from the bed, onto the floor herself, sitting close to you as your gaze stays glued to the blaring screen, flashes of color reflecting onto your face as each scene passes. Ellie finds herseld staring at you, a person she once found so inconspicuous now becoming the very reasoning she stays in a town she hates so much. Whatever you had the girl under needed to be looked at.

“Do you like me?” Is what she wants to ask, but “Do you have a boyfriend?” is what she settles for.

You turn to her, meekly shaking your head. Since when was she sat so close to you?

Ellie nods, looking back at the show to get you to, before asking another question, “Girlfriend?” You shrug, “I mean, I use to talk to this one girl..”You mutter, before Ellie finds herself furthering it, “What happened?”

You sigh, before pointing a finger, “Don’t laugh.” you glare. Ellie smiles, nodding. “She told me she was straight after like 2 days AND THEN, i saw her kissing on Judy.” Ellie snorts, “No fucking way, Judy the librarian?” You nod, burying your face in a nearby throw pillow.

“I need a drink.” You mutter, getting up and leaving the room with Ellie in it. You return shortly after with a bottle of wine and some glasses. The girl groans as she stretches, “Now you’re talking. Pour me some.”

Eventually, the topic heads in the way of relationships once more, with you two telling each other of your awful sex lives in the majority straight town Jackson was as you sip.

As Ellie tells one, you find your eyes feeling heavy, alternating between her green eyes down to her pale pink lips. You nod, poorly attempting to give the illusion you were following along with whatever she was saying. Ellie, herself, wasn’t all that there but she was better. She’d stopped talking long ago and was just moving her lips with no dialogue coming out whatsoever, seeing if you’d ask why she halted her story. She licks her lips, leaning back as she places her glass down on the nightstand near her— jean-clad thighs spread tantalizingly as your gaze drops to them.

Her years of martial arts and track did her well, you admit, hoping it wasn’t obvious you were ogling the girl.

“Were you mad at me earlier?” you whisper, fidgeting with the loose seam of her jeans as you notice the difference in how she was acting at the cabin, and how she is now. Ellie hums, matching your small voice. “I was more so mad at myself.” She answers you, her hand finding where yours toys with a string, “Not at you.”

You nod, not really having anything to say.

“Can I kiss you?” you finally utter, liquid courage taking over as Ellie thumbs your soft hips from where you sit so closely. She gives you a soft ‘yeah’, pulling you onto her lap. You begin by littering feathery pecks along her jaw, her sensitivity earlier when you touched her chest beginning to make sense when goosebumps begin to arise along her pale skin, her nipples hardening as the hair on her neck stands before kissing her deeply.

You two kiss slowly for a while, finding some rhythm as it slowly turns into something else. You gently gasp when Ellie rocks your hips onto her thigh, making you detach from her mouth and straddle it the way she wants you to. The rough texture against her jeans on your soft shorts makes you huff a bit, face burning up as you grip her shoulders.

“You’re my sweet girl, you can do it.” She murmurs lowly, watching you grind all over her, your slick slowly starting to seep onto her denim pants— all like she wanted. You nod, frustrated to the brim of tears when you can’t seem to fuck yourself on her thigh well. Ellie pushes you down, caging your legs in between her hips as she tilts her head back down, "Seems like you're not the only sweet girl wanting my attention.." She smiles as you moan, the heel of her palm placed directly on your touch-starved mound, giving it just enough pressure and angling to make you whine out a small 'Ellie..'

She gives you finally what you want, sliding your shorts to the side and sighs when she sees just what a mess has been waiting for her.

No underwear?

You attempt to leverage yourself by sitting up on your elbows but Ellie pushes you down, hiking your hips up even more with a singular grasp of your shins as she kisses directly on your puffy pussy, your messy sap smearing all over her lips before giving you a grin,

Oh, you'd pay her what she was worth alright. Maybe returning Joel's checkbook can wait after this.

[All credits to the owner of the picture above!! i got it from popipa on pinterest]

[morverenmaybewrites]

Imagine Early Mornings with Jason Todd (Jason Todd x Reader)

Imagine a morning with Jason Todd, on that first day after he moved into an apartment.

(An apartment, you think, not a safehouse where the roof leaks and the wind howls so eerily that it sounds like weeping. You had often wondered why Jason or any of them called them safehouses when they never made you feel safe, not really.)

You wake alone, to a room that only has the bare minimum. A mattress so new that it still smells like the store, with sheets so fresh that they still feel stark against your skin.

(The bedframe, you had been told, will be delivered in a week. Until then, you have to contend with waking up to a back so sore that it’s a wonder it doesn’t crack like dry twigs.)

On Jason’s side of the bed, a cardboard box had been overturned to make a hasty nightstand. The edges are ragged and curling where someone had spilled coffee on it.

(It is not yet home, you think. This place chafes against your skin like an ill-fitting shirt. The wind sings a different tune as it blows throught the windows, the roof does not leak from the same spot.)

(No, this place is not quite home. Not yet.)

On top of the cardboard box is a book. The Black Hunger, you read. By Nicholas Pullen. From the carefully placed bookmark, you can tell that Jason is nearly finished with it, and it makes you wonder if he had gotten as little sleep as you did.

Imagine a morning with Jason Todd, on that first day after he moves into a new apartment.

You wake alone.

You sit and you stretch, and your back crackles like dry twigs.

And you swallow your doubts where they settle in your stomach, as heavy as stones.

This is good, you think to reassure yourself.

Different, but good.

You try not to think about how, the first night you moved into Gotham City, you had slept as soundly as infant in a crib, for the first time in years. Convinced that finally, that you had found home.

(Last night, you had tossed and turned and sweated. You had counted sheep, you had counted the exhalation of your breaths. It was only when you felt Jason’s arm wrap around you, did you finally begin to settle. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.)

(Instead of your own breaths, you had fallen asleep counting the steady rhythm of his.)

Even the temperature of the room is different, you note. And really, how can something like temperature be different in a place as dour and as rainy as Gotham City?

You wonder how Jason slept, if he did at all.

You can smell coffee and freshly-backed pastry, and you follow the scent of it into the hallway, where the wooden boards creak at the wrong places and the floor feels warm against your feet instead of cold.

This is different, you reassure yourself. But different can be good.

You find him in the kitchen.

Imagine a morning with Jason Todd, on that first day after he moved into an apartment.

There are dark shadows underneath his eyes, and you know, just by looking at him, that he had gotten less sleep than you.

And he moves in that odd, stiff way that tells you he’s hurting.

(You think back to the mattress, to the way your back sound like dry twigs when you stretch, and you wonder how much pain he woke up in this morning.)

“Morning,” you say, and you wince at the way your voice cracks.

His eyes find you, in that searching way he does and you wonder if he’s cataloging you the way you catalogued him: does he wonder if you’ve gotten enough sleep, if the lack of bed frame hurt your back?

(Is he wondering if this was a mistake?)

His face is a mystery, and all he says is, “Breakfast.”

He gestures to the table, meticulously clean despite the bareness of the kitchen. Two wooden chairs, the paint peeling off to reveal the termite-eaten wood. One for you, and one for him.

And despite yourself, you find yourself smiling.

Though, the paper package is still carefully folded, the scent rising from it is unmistakable. Freshly baked pastries, the barest hint of dark chocolate.

Gotham City had everything, including, in your opinion some of the best bakeries in the world.

Before you moved into Jason’s apartment, there had been one right next door to you. Every morning at 4 am, like clockwork, the scent of their products would fill the entire street.

It was better than any alarm.

You remember finding yourself on these mornings, leaning on the rusty railings of the fire escape, taking gulps of the crisp morning air, as if the smell alone could fill you.

(It was, in your opinion, the best place to be.)

(Have you told Jason this? You don’t remember.)

What you do remember is the view outside Jason’s new apartment: greasy diners that have not changed since the 70s, swinging yellow lamps that made everything look jaundiced, the air thick with cigarette smoke from their patrons.

(Jason had taken one look at these places and wrinkled his nose. You found that they had their charm. But perhaps not in the morning, with your stomach still roiling from lack of sleep)

There are no quiant little bakeries in his street corners. At 4 am, the air smelled like thick smoke belched from delivery trucks.

“Where did you get this?” You asked, carefully unwrapping the package.

Freshly baked bagels, smothered in cream cheese. Muffins dotted with fat blueberries, the insides stained with their dark juices. Croissants so delicate that its buttery surface practically crumbled against your fingertips.

He made sure you had options.

You inhaled the steam rising from them in soft tendrils.

(The crisp air at the fire escape.

Watching the sun begin to rise over rooftops.

Mornings that convince you that Gotham City is the best place in the world to be.)

Jason shrugged, an odd one sided shrug that barely lifted his shoulder.

He takes a deep breath.

“Gas hasn’t been connected yet,” he said, by way of explanation.

That would explain the takeout.

“I don’t remember seeing any bakeries around here,” you said lightly.

That shrug again.

The barest hint of a flush crawls up his shoulders, it leaves the scars around his neck discolored, where the skin doesn’t take on any color. He turns away.

You had the sudden, vivid image of him waking up early, taking the subway back to your old place and picking his way through the winding streets, to find your previous haunts. Carefully picking the pastries you love the most to bring back to you.

Your fingers find his arm, and he visibly tenses.

“Thanks, Jason.” You said. “Which one do you want?”

“I’m not picky. Take what you want.”

Your fingers climb up, gently touching the stiff shoulder.

Underneath the shirt, you knew that it is a ruin of scar tissue, hardened to the point that it pulls at the skin, making it difficult to move on cold mornings.

(The fire escape.

The best place to be.)

“Hurts?” You asked softly.

(Your back cracking like dry twigs.)

“I doubt the mattress was very uncomfortable,” you added.

“I’m fine.” His answer is almost automatic, then he pauses.

Breathes.

“It’ll get better once I get some movement in.”

That’s as much as an admission as you’re going to get from him.

Normally, you’d prepare something warm for him to press against the stiff muscles and loosen them, so it doesn’t have to hurt so much when he moves.

But—

(He answers your question before you even speak it.)

“Gas hasn’t been connected yet,” he reminds you with a wry smile.

You let go of his shoulder, to find the coffee cup he had set aside for you.

(Somehow, you know, that it is the from the same bakery. Somehow you know that it will be exactly how you like your coffee.)

You lift your coffee, the stiff cardboard still warm against your fingertips, offering him a smile of your own.

He lets out a small gust of air, the closest thing to a laugh he has most days. The corners of his eyes crinkle.

“If you want to try,” he said, in a tone that tells you he’s humoring you more than anything.

He sits down, allows you to press the cup against his stiff shoulder, careful not to spill liquid on him.

Your voice is soft as you speak.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t how I imagined your first day at your new apartment would be.”

And it isn’t.

Jason deserves so much more than a leaking apartment in Old Gotham, where the gas and heating hasn’t even been connected yet.

He deserved golden mornings with the sunlight just barely peeking through lace curtains. Waking up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, perfectly circular pancakes drizzled in warm honey.

Not…whatever this is.

The corners of his lip quirks. “S’not so bad,” he says.

He shifts, takes your hand in his to move the cup a little to the left. Your skin tingles at the contact.

“It’s hotter here. Reminds me of Santa Prisca.”

Your breathing stutters.

He rarely talks about his past, and even rarely talks about those years he spent as the Arkham Knight, lost in rage and dreams of bloody violence.

The question nearly lodges in your throat like a thorn.

“What was it like there?”

He turns his head so that you can’t see his face. The flush is back again, ending just at the terrible scar that encircles his neck. You picture garrottes, piano wire wrapped tightly around his throat, destroying the tissue underneath.

You wonder what it must have been like: those early days in the heat and unfamiliarity of a new country. The boiling rage.

And perhaps, the sheer relief in knowing that, at last, he was out of the Joker’s grasp.

(Perhaps, you think, Santa Prisca wasn’t all that bad. Perhaps, there had been a relief in starting something new.)

When Jason shifts to look at you, he’s smiling. The barest lift of his lips that makes the brand of his face almost invisible.

“It was okay,” he said. “This…this is better, though.”

He takes a deep breath.

Exhales.

(The fire escape.

Crisp morning air and the best place to be.)

“Back in Santa Prisca, I didn’t have you.”

[chocolatebox084656]

Customized logo gift modern packaging

[kalpanahandmadepaper]

https://kalpanapapers.com/collections/handmade-paper-box

[konigofmyheart]

christmas prep with könig

gn!reader, fluff with one innuendo/suggestive comment

zimtsterne: little cinnamon star cookies ⭐️

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

setting up for christmas with könig is truly a special experience. it’s always been one of the nicer memories from his childhood. it wasn’t anything grand, but his mother always made sure they had a little magic, be it in the form of a little wooden toy, slightly burnt cookies, or little snowmen that left könig with stinging hands from the freezing snow. that magic is something he’s always held on to, and of course he’d want to share it with you, too.

it starts early. before you even wake up, he’s already made his homemade hot chocolate, and his zimtsterne are freshly out of the oven, cooling on a rack on the counter, and he’s hauled all 13 christmas storage boxes out to the living room. you pad into the kitchen, drowsily and halfheartedly complaining that he started without you. it’s hard to be even pretend annoyed, though, when his eyes are sparkling with excitement like that. plus, “that’s the boring part, liebling, i only want you to have fun!” he insists as he places a loaded mug of hot chocolate (a giant dollop of cream with cinnamon dusting the top floating in your mug) and warm zimtsterne stacked on your favorite holiday plate. he’s easily infecting you with twice the christmas spirit, the way he eagerly goes on and on about all there is to do today: picking up the tree, dressing it up, then decorating the entire house top to bottom so everything sparkles and glows.

the moment you finish your breakfast he’s at the door, almost wiggling like a dog eager for a walk. after you pass inspection (i.e. his excessive bundling where he layers your coat, then gently slides your gloves onto your hands, then wraps your neck and half of your face with your scarf, and thennn fixes your hat onto your head to keep you warm for the arduous five second walk to the car), you’re on your way to the christmas tree farm. you two sing along to christmas classics on the drive, obviously dedicating “all i want for christmas is you” to each other. as you walk up to the lot of trees, you’re still smiling at the way könig always attempts the high note just for your amusement, and he gives your gloved hand a squeeze, hoping you forget his creaky high note as quick as possible.

he swears he doesn’t like the way the old lady who owns the lot gushes over him, saying how “such a big boy must be so helpful, so good to you”. his ears flushing pink tell a different story though, even more so when you agree with the lady before the two of you walk over to the rows of trees, and there’s only a handful that are taller than him. she playfully shouts out a “gosh, if only i was 40 years younger and 10 times luckier… ” and practically cackles at the way he pretends not to hear, stepping behind some trees (that definitely don’t obscure him) as he flushes even further. he’d have convinced you he didn’t like the compliments, were it not for the way he makes even more of a show than usual of loading your tree (the biggest on the lot, naturally) on top of his giant suv. he’s practically puffed up with pride as he helps you into the car, earning even more hoots of praise from the tree lady (“they don’t make them like that anymore! you hold on tight to him now, ya hear?”) and some giggles from you.

now in your driveway, you go in first so as to guide the tip of the tree through the door, with könig doing the heavy lifting. all’s well until the tree gets a bit more than halfway in, the branches so full that they catch on the doorframe, even with it being wrapped up with netting! your worried “hm, I don’t think it’s gonna fit, baby” gets instantly answered with a determined “it’ll fit, schatzi. i’ll make it fit” from könig. now, of course you’re a grown adult and not some immature 14 year old, but come on, you’re only human! you look at each other over the stuck tree, your eyebrows raised meaningfully and a dumb smile tugging at your lips. he really can’t stop himself from flushing yet again, huffing a “don’t say it” as he rams the tree through the doorway, thiiis close to toppling over onto the tree with his momentum. only his quick reflexes saved your tree from becoming a pancake.

this isn’t your first christmas together; you have the process down to a perfect rhythm. you get a head start while he reheats his chocolate, bringing your mugs over to the coffee table to serve as your tree decorating fuel. together you make quick work of the ornaments, tinsel and lights (he handles the upper level while you access the bottom level far better than he could). step ladders become irrelevant as long as he’s around. like always, your favorite ornament and his are right next to each other, front and center. “my star placing the star” he lovingly murmurs against your ear before picking you up so you can place the star at the very tip top of your tree. you laugh at his cheesy line, his fingers totally accidentally tickling your sides as he turns you around against him, his eyes crinkling in that special way reserved just for you. he swallows your giggles with a reverent kiss, and though you’re both covered in pine needles, tinsel scraps, and glitter, your mouths taste of chocolate and warmth and love. <3

[filthyslashertoad]

Spending the Holidays with Slashers & Misc.

(I was having trouble posting this so it's a bit late. I also might make a pt.2 if I can think of more things)

Michael Myers

Doesn't acknowledge it as a real holiday.

Get's pissy because everyone leaves home to go on vacation and there's no one to kill.

As soon as one kid mistakes him for a pale Santa he just heads home and calls it a night.

Billy Loomis

Spends the night before Christmas stressing out trying to figure out how to wrap a present(So does Stu by affiliation)

When you come downstairs in the morning you can tell which present is yours because there's a copious layer of tape around each box.

Stu also abought you a basketball so don't even ask how he wrapped that.

Hannibal Lecter

As soon as it hits December 1st, the house is decorated head to toe in Christmas decorations.

Best believe there will be Rum cake and a lot of it because he started making it in January.

Doesn't do ugly sweaters.

Has never watched the Grinch and doesn't plan to.

Bo Sinclair

Wraps a bow around his beer and calls it a day. (Just kidding)

Spends all of Christmas day baking a ham that he's been dreaming about since February. (Even though he bought the ingredients last second)

Doesn't know what to get you for Christmas so while he's at the store doing last-second shopping he buys you your favorite drink and a card with a duck dressed as Santa on it.

Brahms Heelshire

Wakes you up in the morning with a very special breakfast. (It's a pb&j with a glass of milk except there wasn't enough milk so it's half water and half milk)

Still thinks that Santa is real.

Patrick Bateman

Forces you to wear matching pajamas and do a photo shoot with him to send out to everyone because "you're such a loving couple!"(Forgets to book a photographer and ends up having to get it done in a Kohls)

For Christmas he buys you a set of your very own business cards that say "Patrick Bateman's wife, Y/N" on them and a bottle sugar-free champagne. (He's so proud of himself for this gift btw)

Lady Dimitrescu

She's a girl mom to the max, meaning everyone is getting presents in perfectly wrapped paper with a cute note in cursive saying how much she loves you.

100% would sit back with a glass of wine while watching everyone open their presents.

Heisenberg

He makes a tree out of metal scraps and wakes you up by shouting, "Hey! Watch this!" as he electrocutes the entire tree, causing the very wooden ground underneath it to catch on fire.

Claims that the Lycans still believe in Santa.

Has them dress up in elf suits and has them run around the entire village harassing Miranda and the rest of his siblings.

Carlos Oliveira

Buys 400$ worth of Chinese food and calls in sick for the next week because of it.

He's the type of person who would send a video of himself singing "It's Timeee~" to the entire group chat at 12am on Christmas Day.

Sends out a calendar for the New Year to the ENTIRE company except every month is a different photo of him. (HR has gotten involved but they have yet to stop him)

Leon Kennedy

Says that he doesn't like Christmas and that it's his least favorite holiday. (Liar)

Tries spiked eggnog and sugar cookies for the first time and then it all changes.

Shows up to the station wearing a new ugly Christmas sweater each day(Somehow he gets Carlos and Chris in on it too).

Brings candy canes with him when he goes out on patrol to hand out to kids.

Hellboy

Spends his holiday rewatching the original Grinch and going shopping in World Market. (I feel like he'd love Marzipan and Fruit Cake)

Every Christmas he always buys everyone in the Bureau (besides Myers) their favorite bar of chocolate and hands them out at the annual Christmas party.

He's also made it a thing where he dresses up as Santa and goes to the Psych ward to visit the patients(and sometimes Liz).

[l0standn0tf0und]

Remus John Lupin headcanons pt.2

pt.1

@hedonisticeiram I think I did my worst of the worst

TW: a lot of angst, mentions of smoking, food, grief, self-loathing, survivor’s guilt, loneliness, depression, self-destructive thoughts, trauma, and references to suicidal ideation.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who blushes furiously when complimented, always brushes it off with a joke.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who can never turn down a chess game.

Remus "Moony"  Lupin, who skips meals in the Great Hall after full moons. He can’t stand the startle on first years' faces and the way they glance at his hands, limp, and scars but avoid his eyes.

Remus "Moony"  Lupin, who always smiles wildly, even though he tries not to, when the wooden door swings open and Prongs bursts into the dorm, filling the space around with laughter, Pete barely holding back a giggle as he struggles with a mouthful of pumpkin pasties, followed by Sirius, grinning ear to ear with a teetering plate piled high with food they brought for him, as they always did when Remus couldn’t bring himself to join them at the Great Hall.

Remus John Lupin, who forgets to eat for days. He tells himself he’s just too busy, but deep down, he thinks his body isn’t worth the effort. And even deeper down he hopes the door will open again, and the space will be filled with laughter.

Remus "Nothing will come between me and my cigarette" Lupin, who always has a bar of chocolate with him.

Remus "Nothing will come between me and my chocolate" Lupin,  who always has a pack of cigarettes with him.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who secretly loves bad romance novels—the ones with absurd plots and too-perfect endings.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who loves thunderstorms. The steady drumming of rain against the window is one of the few things that truly calms him.

Remus John Lupin who hates thunderstorms. The lightning dragging him back to the flashes of curses during battles.

Remus John Lupin, who skips his own birthdays, because it feels like celebrating another year of survival.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who saves every handwritten note and letter. Even the smallest ones, like James's quick scrawl, "We're waiting for you at dinner!".

Remus John Lupin, who skips Christmas Eve, because he sees no point in celebrating without the people who once filled his world with light.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who treasures every gift he’s ever received. A now-broken quill from Lily, a mixtape from Sirius, a poorly drawn doodle from Marlene.

Remus John Lupin, who locks himself in his room on any other holiday, lights a cigarette, and looks through old photos, tracing faces that feel both painfully close and unbearably far, until he cries himself to sleep.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who has all memorable trinkets tucked away in a box he opens on bad days to remind himself he is loved.

Remus John Lupin, who has all old trinkets tucked away in a weathered box he opens on bad days to remind himself he was loved.

Remus "The prefect" Lupin.

And "Moony, our prefect" for first-years whose fear melting into familiarity as they grow used to the scars. 

Remus "Moony"  Lupin, who counts every scar and bloody bite on his body.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who wears his friends’ clothes without asking. He throws on James’s jacket or  Black’s fancy-schmancy scarf like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because "if you don't want me to take your staff, stop throwing it all over our dorm"

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who can’t look at the moon. Even when it’s not full, it's a constant reminder of what’s coming. It feels oppressive.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who loves autumn. The crisp air, the changing leaves, the excuse to wear his coziest sweaters, and hours of walking through the backyard, breathing in the smell of damp earth and fallen leaves.

Remus John Lupin, who'd better look at the moon and think what a horrifying beast he is, than has his mind free for thoughts about his friends that always find their way to come up and draw him to the depth of countless what-ifs

Remus "I don't need a wand, I just need my hands" Lupin. And it relates to everything, from broken stool, to someone's broken nose.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who prefers morning tea instead of coffee. Because it’s gentler on his frayed nerves, but the truth is that he loves the quiet ritual of brewing it. Sirius teases him for being an old man when he insists on the perfect steep time.

Remus John Lupin, who drinks coffee. Only coffee. Because he doesn't want to hear "you're such a grandpa", but in his head now.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who always ends up with ink stains on his hands, no matter how careful he is.

Remus John Lupin, who writes letters he never sends. Letters to James, Lily, Peter, and Sirius.

Especially to Sirius.

Remus John Lupin, who writes to Sirius in Azkaban.

Remus John Lupin, who forgets about everything while he folds his letter. A faint, wistful smile softening scars on his face.

Remus John Lupin, who forgets about everything while he carefully tucks the letter into an envelope. He writes to his old dearest friend.

Remus John Lupin, who forgets about everything while he seals an envelope with dark red wax. He feels relieved after sharing his burden with the closest person.

Remus John Lupin, who knows Sirius will never see the letters, knows he’ll never get a response, because he'll never send them. But he writes anyway. He needs to take a break, at least for a few moments to pretend that nothing happened. That everything is fine. That he is fine. So he writes, pouring out everything he’s too afraid to say aloud. He writes, pouring out everything, fears, griefs, and confessions he has no one to say.

Remus John Lupin, whose fragile moment of peace ends with the weight of endless loneliness returning heavily to his shoulders as he watches the letter curl, blacken and turn to ashes in the fireplace flame.

Remus John Lupin, who still wears mismatched socks. He finds it funny. The tiny bit of chaos that still draws a faint, fleeting smile to his face.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who never leaves without a book in his bag. No matter where he’s headed, there’s always a novel tucked away, just in case he finds a quiet moment to read.

Remus "Moony"  Lupin, who presses wildflowers between the pages of his books.

Remus "Moony" Lupin, who has the warmest hugs.

Remus John Lupin, who has the warmest hugs.

Remus John Lupin, who can’t forgive himself. For being bitten, for every time he’s let the wolf take control, for each scar that mars his skin, for not seeing the traitor, for the danger he didn’t stop. He should have known. Should have acted. Should have saved them.

Remus John Lupin, who can’t forgive himself for surviving when others didn’t.

Remus John Lupin, who hates the sound of his own heartbeat.

Remus John Lupin, who wishes he had died with the rest of them.

 masterpost

[sweetimpurity]

c.w.: very smutty, ice cream and sex

The hot sun beats down on your hometown. It’s finally summer and you’re ready for the beach, freedom and romance. You and Miguel have been together since you were both 15. Growing up together, going to school, falling in love and staying in it until now. 18 years old, the two of you. You can’t wait to spend every day with him this summer, and you really can’t wait for those hot summer nights. 

The only thing that gets in the way is summer jobs. If only you two were 10 again and you could spend every minute wasting the day away in the kiddie pool. But now at 18, there are other, better things you two can get up to. 

This summer you’re working at your Dad’s store in town and Miguel is logging in his 3rd consecutive year at Sunny Scoops ice cream. A cute little place by the boardwalk with really good waffle cones and the cutest boy in town behind the register! 

There, Miguel works all day, sweating and smiling, handing out ice cream to little kids, the elderly, families, anyone who’s having a beach day. And any girls who ask for his number, he just tells them to text you and ask for it. That usually prevents them from ever asking again. 

He’s grown muscle over the past three years and ultimately you just had to help him cut the sleeves off his work t-shirt. Complaining about the ‘fit not being right’ on the bigger sizes. 

The uniform he used to wear when he was 15 was pretty horrendous. Pink and blue striped and that goofy ice cream cone hat. Then he turned 16… 17… now 18 and wowza. You’ve watched him grow into a man. Now his arms are showing, his muscles from scooping rock solid ice cream all day long. Toned and extra tan from the summer sun. A bandana wrapped messily in his dark curls to keep the sweat off his forehead. Sometimes you’ll sit there with ice cream melting down your hand and between your fingers because you’re just staring at him moving around behind the little counter and through the little shop. Smiling handsomely to customers, his muscles flexing when he’s scooping the frozen treat, catching his eye and his smile when he sees you watching him. Flustered and flushed pink when he comes back over to talk to you, licking the drips off your knuckles. 

“Your ice cream is melting, baby…” He would coo. Licking his lips of the sweet chocolate melt. “You’re really hot.” You’d sigh, completely in a daze. 

You’re finally done with work now, letting your Dad know you’re leaving for the night. A plan in mind. A need for something sweet. Not just ice cream tonight.  Leaving your Dad’s store at 9:30pm and Sunny Scoops closes at 10. You get in your car, letting the summer night breeze blow in through the windows. The cool down finally here as the sun is set. The night is still warm and sticky but not as blazingly hot as before.

…

“Here you go… have a good night.” You hear his voice as you’re walking up to the window. Watching a little boy and his mother walking away happily with huge ice cream cones in hand. And would you look at that… you’re next in line.

“Hey, gorgeous…” He smiles seeing you, leaning his elbows on the counter and watching you approach the window. “Hey!” You chirp, smiling up at him. “Busy day?” You ask, admiring his tip jar full to the brim. “Yeah, busy but good.” He nods, grabbing a waffle cone and moving around behind the counter. You peer over the edge to look inside. Watching him at the soft serve machine. He knows you so well of course. “Chocolate vanilla twist for the pretty lady…” He announces and hands you a tall swirl of ice cream.

“Come around back, I’m just closing up.” He nods and you take your ice cream, moving to the back of the teeny building to the back door. Walking inside. Like you do most days you come to see him. Miguel slides the window closed, locking it and pulling the wooden panel over to block the window. Locking the place up. 

You hop up to sit on top of the big box freezer, licking the swirl of ice cream in your hand and watching him move some stuff around and close up.

“You wanna go to the beach tomorrow?” You ask, looking over at him with those eyes that make him weak. His eyes watching your pink tongue lick up your ice cream. “Sure.” He answers just softly. Focusing on doing his job before he loses all control. Not just yet. You smile and kick your legs softly. He walks past with a box, grabbing your ankle as you kick your foot up, giving you a look and letting his fingers run up your calf, bringing a smile to your lips, walking away as he finishes clearing the place up, taking the box to the shelves in the back. Coming back after a minute or two. 

“Hey.” He hums, stopping in front of you, a sly sort of smirk on his face. “Hey.” You respond, just as softly, your ice cream only beginning to melt. “You’re so pretty…” He hums as if he hasn’t told you a million times before, making you smile and he steps closer, between your knees. His fingers teasing the sides of your thighs. “Preciosa chica…” He whispers, looking in your eyes and licking the drips off the back of your ice cream cone. Like he always does. Licking all the way to the top of the swirl and then his lips are on yours. His lips moving against yours, his tongue parting your lips. His tongue tasting of chocolate swirl and his lips sugary slippery sweet. His tongue delves into your mouth, his hand going to cup the back of your head, ice cream smashed and mixed between your two tongues. So sweet. Until he’s pulling back, both of you with a slurp. 

You giggle softly, feeling sticky sugar all over your lips. “You want more?” You laugh, raising a brow at him and he grins. You tilt the cone towards his lips. “It’s yours, baby… I wanna see you eat it.” He replies. 

His hands move up under your shirt, tickling your sides as he pulls you closer, sliding you across the freezer top. You smile, bringing the swirl to your lips and licking the melting ice cream, sucking gently and enjoying it, all while staring in his eyes. His hands move under the fabric, fingers moving up your ribcage, your diaphragm, to your breasts. 

“No bra, mami?” He laughs, fingers exploring and kneading the plush of your tits. Staring in your eyes as he does it. “Took it off in the car…” You smile so innocently. He grows harder at the thought. That you took off your bra on the way over here. Like you wanted this to happen, you wanted him. Watching you gasp among the ice cream in your mouth, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples, rolling them gently between his thumb and index fingers. Massaging gently under your shirt. He leans forward, placing three deep kisses to your throat before pulling back again, his fingers grasping the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks and you nod, mouth full of ice cream. He pushes your shirt up and off, the neon lights of the shop reflecting off your skin, off your breasts, making his mouth water. His arm anchors around your lower back, lips latching onto your breast, licking and sucking and squeezing the other in his hand. “Mmm- miguel…” You sigh, sensitized from his caress. He slurps and smooches your soft skin, the naughty noises filling the small space. The hum of the many fridges and freezers a soothing harmony with your soft moans and the sticky sucking of his lips.  

He pulls back, kissing you a few times, tasting that sweetness on your lips. Keeping one arm around your back and your eyes widened in surprise watching him dip his fingers into the mountain of ice cream in your hand. Picking up dollaps of cold chocolate swirl on his fingers and smearing it over your nipples. Eliciting a sharp gasp from your throat as he does it. Looking down at your chest. He does the same with both sides. “You like that?” Grinning the whole time, holding you tight as you squirm. Freezing coldness hardening the buds until his warm lips come back down to suck the ice cream off. A shuddering and trembling moan leaving you at the feeling. Your free hand going to his hair, tangling in the dark curls. Pulling the bandana off of his head and watching his summer curls bounce free. “Ohhh- Miguel- '' You moan sweetly and he groans against your chest, your sticky sugary nipples sucked and kissed over and over until it's all gone. 

“So sweet baby…” He pants, pulling his shirt off, coming back up to kiss your lips and holding your flushed cheeks in his hands. “Mmm..” You whine, kissing him back hungrily, deeper, your free hand running up his toned abdomen to his chest, a map of his body already ingrained in your brain after all these years, then wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, the ice cream dripping down your knuckles and onto his bare back, making goosebumps on his skin, his big hands running down your back and to your waist. “I don’t have a condom, baby…” He pants against your lips, his fingers in your hair; the words making your tummy flip in butterflies, knowing he wants you; he’s going to be inside. He pulls back for air, desperate to have you as he’s had you many times before.

“I do.” You pant for air, reaching blindly in your back pocket for the one condom you brought. “You really came here just to get fucked, didn’t you?” He laughs and smiles, taking the small foil packet into his sticky fingers. “I came here to see my love…” You hum, tilting your head at him. Not very convincing. His brow cocks in suspicion. “Fine. I came here to get fucked by my love.” You finally admit and the two of you can’t help the giggles. 

Outside the small ice cream shop, cars drive by, peepers peep and crickets chirp. The temperatures go down as the night goes on, but inside the little parlor, things are heating up. 

“Tell me where baby… tell me…” He whispers in your ear, knuckles deep in your heat and you’re barely able to hang onto him. One hand still occupied by the dripping melting ice cream cone. “Right there! Oh right th-there!” You squeal, his thumb moving expertly on your clit and his fingers flicking and curling deep inside. “Oh my god…” You whine, back arching and leaning back so far you almost fall back off the freezer. “Hey… hey… there you go…” He coos, holding you and helping you lay on your back. Limited on space but you make do. His fingers pumping generously into your needy pussy. 

His bottoms are long gone but he takes the condom foil between his teeth, ripping it open carefully. “C’mon baby…” He pants. Taking your free hand and pulling it down to his dick. Guiding you to roll the condom onto his length. Shuddering and groaning feeling the lubed rubber and your soft warm hand pushing it down on him. All while his fingers still curl up against your g spot and you’re on the cusp of coming already. For a few moments, he thrusts into your hand around him. Relishing that pleasure until it’s not enough. 

“Ready, sweet girl?” He steps forward, pulling your hips down to meet him at the edge of the freezer. “Mi corazón…” He whispers, a hand running flat over your tummy. “Mmm… yes please…” You whisper. And when he gets that confirmation, there’s no stopping his gummy tip from kissing your clit, pushing through your slick before slipping down and inside. Like the two of you were made for this. He was made to be with you in this way. You were created to be in love. 

“Haahh…. Baby…” He sighs and shudders, easing himself in with small pulsing thrusts to stretch you out nicely for him. He doesn’t want to hurt his precious girl. Soon he’s pressed to the hilt and your back is arching from that alone. Your trembling legs latching around his waist as he starts his rhythm. Skin slapping skin in the sickly slip of sticky slick. 

Moaning loud and free, the both of you, at the feeling. The feeling of being so full, so filled to the brim. Of love. Of him. The ice cream cone nearly falls out of your hand, your brain unable to think of anything but the pleasure between your legs. One leg wrapped around his hip and the other held in his arm, your knee draped over and his big hand wrapped around your thigh. Keeping you open for him; spread. Pumping into you steady and deep. His heavy eyes watching your face to see how much you love it. His hand on your thigh finds your free hand, lacing his fingers with yours. Panting and focusing. On getting you there. On making you feel the best he possibly can. 

You’re delirious, hazy, a mess of moans and a buzzing burning ache for him. 

“Baby baby-” He grabs your wrist when the ice cream almost slips entirely, holding your wrist and making it stay upright so he doesn’t have to mop the floors. Smiling when he sees your fucked out face. Easing the cone out of your hand so he can hold it. So that it doesn’t splatter on the floor. Letting your hand fall, fingers gripping and clenching around nothing. His thrusts are so deep, so giving, and he’s hitting every little spot that has you melting. 

“That’s it, baby…” He encourages you, trying to bring you that sweet release. “So good Mig…so so sooo…” You whine, on the very edge of bliss. Miguel watches, breathing so fast and heavy. His eyes trail down your face to your soft, marked neck, to your shoulders, your tits, sternum, stomach. Until it’s almost involuntary, he dumps the cold, melting, dripping ice cream cone on your soft tummy. Pulling a high pitched squeal and gasp from your lips, the cold like the spark in a chain reaction, back arching as he drags the freezing smushed chocolate swirl up to your sternum. Your orgasm hits you before another second can think to pass. Your skin shining in melty vanilla and chocolate swirl. The cold making you clench around him. 

Screaming in ecstasy and squeezing him so tight he's doubling over and groaning at the pressure. Thrusts become impossible and all he can do is spurt deep and hot. Filling the condom with a groan and feeling you fluttering around him. He licks a stripe up your sternum, slurping ice cream from your skin. Pressing messy kisses to your chest and his face just drips with the melted sugary substance. Drops and dribbles rolling down your sides as you gush on his dick. Trembling, shaking, coming down from what might be the strongest climax you’ve ever experienced. 

“Oh baby… hah… that was amazing…” He pants, his voice wavering, leaning over you, kissing your cheeks, your neck, your lips. “I love, love you… hah…” He huffs, looking over your face to make sure you’re okay. “Mmm… I love you” You sigh, a blissed out smile on your face. He smiles seeing you’re happy and you’re feeling good; because that’s all he’s ever wanted. And all he’ll ever want.

[takenbypeter]

Chocolate Fixes Everything

Willy Wonka x reader

Words: 1179

Sick fic for Willy Wonka, made this cause I’m sick again and I’ve become sick so often these past few months 🙃

Accepting requests for Willy only right now send me any requests plz I’m on a Wonka high rn

You couldn’t believe it. Your throat was itchy, your nose was sore. You could barely get past fifteen minutes without a horrendous cough flying out from the back of your throat. Your nose was stuffed and if it wasn’t stuffed, it was runny, which is why you kept a box of tissues close by. It wasn’t the fact you were sick that you couldnt believe, it was the fact that you were sick only a mere weeks ago and here you were, ill again. Typically this didn’t happen to you but recently it seemed like your immune system was against you, (maybe it was because of all the chocolate you had eaten recently but who knows).

While many of your friends had got the message of your sickness it seems like Willy wasn’t one of them.

“You wouldn’t believe the idea that just popped into my head!” Wonka shouted as he practically tossed your door open, your eyes shot wide as you suddenly became fully alert at the abrupt activity.

Willy on the other hand walked right past your bed which was positioned on the opposite side of the door, with his mind clearly focused on whatever his new idea was.

“Noodle and I were discussing and she had just reminded me of—“ his words were cut off and his upbeat pacing came to a halt when he finally realized you were still in bed.

His expressions seemed to relay curious, then sadness as his facial lines deepened. Without missing a beat he pulled up the wooden chair nearby. “What happened? You look horrible.”

A knowing smile tugged at your lips while you pulled your blanket further to your chin, “gee thanks, that’s just what everyone wants to hear when they’re sick.”

“You’re sick!? No that can’t be, I remember you being sick only two weeks ago.”

You nod acknowledging the fact while his face shifts into surprised? Or maybe excitement…? Stunned? It seemed like all of the above.

“Well you’re in luck,” he exclaimed scooting himself back towards the desk across the room, setting up his small briefcase factory on the table, “because I have something that’ll make you feel right as rain,” he stops tinkering with his case for a brief moment to shoot you a mischevious look, “chocolate rain.”

You rolled your eyes while he turned right around whipping a concoction together.

“Willy, I love your enthusiasm but chocolate can’t just make everything feel better.”

“Says who? Who says?”

“Medical doctors that’s who!”

“Oh doctors schmoctors,” he waves the concern off.

“Chocolate does fix everything. And this isn’t just regular old chocolate.”

Attention grabbed, you watch peculiarly as he pushes buttons and pours things in different areas of his case.

“Last time you got sick you felt awful for practically a week and a half, and I started making this since then,” his briefcase makes whirring noises as it gets to work mixing the ingredients. “Now let me ask you, what do you typically take when you have a sore throat?”

“A spoonful of honey with lemon?” You ask, unsure if that was the answer he was looking for, I mean many people do a variety of things once sick, but you took a shot in the dark anyway.

“Absolutely. But that feeling only lasts for a short time. But with this candy I designed, it lasts far, far longer.”

The machine stops and out pops a single candy, shaped simple and evenly square, as green as a lime. And with that candy in hand he returns back to you across the room.

“This is a Choc-well, because as soon as you eat it you’ll feel well,” you gave him an odd look, “the name hasn’t been hashed out yet.”

He motions for you to open your hand and he drops the small piece in your palm, to which you look at suspiciously. “It’s chocolate?”

“Yes. The outer layer is a milk chocolate, while the inside is a honey like substance from the Beezle-midge. And then inside that, is a tiniest drop of twang from a lime.”

“Beezle-midge?”

“It’s a small type of insect that usually travels in groups, except when separated and given the right incentive it secretes honey.”

You winced grossed out by the fact, “ew.”

“It’s good, trust me. Now try it.”

With one final motivating look from the boy you took the chocolate and popped it in your mouth.

“If you want it to really work suck on the chocolate, don’t chew,” he instructed just as you were about to take the first bite. But you did as told enjoying the chocolate. Little by little the chocolate layer disappeared into your mouth as the honey started to make its way to the front and Willy watched on as you ate the delicacy.

After a few moments of honey came the tiniest twang of flavor just as he said and just like that the candy was gone.

“So, how does it feel?” He asks and for a moment you’re not sure what he’s asking for.

“How does your throat feel?”

You oh-ed before closing your mouth in thought. The taste was on its way out but your throat felt much better, it no longer hurt from soreness and you didn’t feel any itchiness no or scratchiness.

“It feels…normal! Like it doesn’t even hurt. That’s amazing! How does that happen?”

“The honey from the Beezle-midge as it’s going down puts a small coat along your throat which lasts practically a whole day.”

“That’s splendid Willy, truly astounding!” You praise sitting up in bed. True you still had your other symptoms but at least you didn’t have to worry about your throat or coughing for now. Willy displayed a bashful smile at the compliments that he took to heart.

“Why didn’t you give this to me last time?” You asked curious as to why he just let you suffer, surely it couldn’t be just cause he forgot.

“Well actually…” he tilts his head back and forth before continuing, “you being sick last time is kind of the inspiration for it.”

This was not a new thing, Willy used many different people and experiences as inspiration, but he suddenly felt so shyly in telling you about yourself being his inspiration. Why? Was it because he didn’t know how you were going to react? He knew you would react well of course, you always did when it came to his creations.

“You made this…” you pointed to air essentially now that the chocolate was gone, “because of me?”

He nodded modestly, “last time you got sick, you missed out on a lot, and we missed you a lot in the factory.”

You grinned a toothy grin, “aww that’s sweet, and this chocolate is so cool!”

At your exclaim he felt relief, “good, I’m glad it’s working.”

That made you pause, “glad it’s working? What does that mean? You haven’t tested it before?” You asked worried.

“That’s not what I meant, geez. You do that one time,” he mumbled as he went back to his small briefcase factory.