#fic: as the frost thaws

[kaedekolya]

as the frost thaws [ch.1]

‧₊˚☾ lovebrush chronicles ‧₊˚☾ clarence-centric, lars/clarence ‧₊˚☾ 7.1k words; chapter 1 ‧₊˚☾ rebuilding godheim, slow burn, hurt/comfort & recovery

The Daphnephoria ritual will save the dying kingdom of Godheim, for a small price. A single archmage, for the happiness of many. Clarence’s future is worth little, especially when weighed against the kingdom’s; it is but an insignificant sacrifice that he has long since resolved to make. The magic sweeps through him, shredding his insides, scorching his spirit—

And yet, somehow, Clarence wakes again.

Death has eluded him, and now he must learn to live.

➵ read on ao3

[keeponquinning]

frost thaws and roses bloom — multi-chaptered masterlist

koner x margaery tyrell — game of thrones divergent — 18+

Summary — MARGAERY TYRELL should not be alive. Whispers and declarations of her death had spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms. The rose of Highgarden had burnt as the Great Sept of Baelor had crumbled, consumed by the green flames of wildfire. But then... How is it, while on patrol, one of House Stark's guards, KONER, comes across a lady, disoriented, barely speaking until she collapsed into his arms, that bears the striking resemblance, according to Lady SANSA STARK, of the burnt rose? Why, after, could he not rid his mind of thoughts of her? As she, too, seemed to be drawn to him as well? He is just a guard, providing for himself and his little sister, he should only mind of his own matters and keep away from just his duty. Yet...when she smiles, it's like the warmth of the sun rains down upon him, and for the life of him, he cannot look away.

Notes — Before Stranger Things, this show had caught my attention and my comfort character was Margaery Tyrell. This did not bode well or ended well for me! But now here to make it right, combining my two loves and giving them the ending they deserve. I will rely on my knowledge of the show, the books, maybe, some elements, I haven't read them in full ( will i ever?? who knows ) but definitely some depictions of the world its in, spoilers of the show, blood magic, and all the fantasy. I'm planning on, like the books, each chapter being a perspective of a character, so far definitely between KONER and MARGAERY, maybe add in others as well. I just want a big epic romance between these two because look at them! LOOK AT THAT BANNER! They are BEAUTIFUL. Bi panic is what we strive for.

Like this to be added to the tag list for chapters!

M A S T E R L I S T ! I. KONER | II. MARGAERY

TAGLIST :

[lovers-rck]

a guide to (not) sleep

pairing ellie williams and fem. reader

this is something new im trying out. it happens in the tlou universe (meaning: there is an apocalypse happening, but it's not the *main* theme) with some changes like ellie and abby not trying to kill eachothers everytime. wow, the magic of fanfiction!!

the original idea was to do a big long fic but i wanted to do a short version first to test the waters and see how is welcomed.......... so if you like it you can tell me by commenting, reblogging or whatever you want!!!

also the title is the first thing that came to mind so maybe i will change it later? i don't know yet.

ok too much talking. goodbye. enjoy.

☆

love isn't for ellie.

she tried, and tried and tried; it never worked for her.

riley was the first one, but we don't talk about her.

then it was cat; she had short hair, a face sprawled in freckles and a cool gun tattoo machine. ellie and cat lasted a good 3 months.

after cat, dina appear. her big smile and nasty jokes was what got ellie walking on walls for weeks before she had the courage to talk to her, and when she did, they matched perfectly, or that was what ellie wanted to think.

dina was perfect; funny, kind, beautiful, and all the good things, but ellie was not, and that was the problem; they didn't match with certain.... qualities.

that and the fact that jesse was crushing hard over dina.

so that was ellie's panorama; with two (three) failed relationships, she began to accept that maybe -just maybe- love wasn't for her, and that she had to take care of the things she was good at, like killing clickers; riding shimmer; critiquing joel's coffee, among other mundane things.

the months passed, jackson's ice froze and thawed, shimmer's shiny fur revealed among the tiny snowflakes melting in the first warm temperatures after a long, hard - too hard, if you ask her- winter in that new society.

the pages of ellie's journal absorbed every drop of ink that swore how in a world like that there was no place for love, with pretentious adjectives that ellie once read in an old dictionary that maria gave her as a birthday present and has already forgotten the meaning. page after page, clotted ink and textured paper bore witness as ellie swore, with all his life, that dina was the last shot, the last bullet left in that gun, and that ellie had wasted it.

but then you showed up.

ellie began to notice how her body unconsciously gravitated towards yours, seeking your accidental touch and your comforting closeness; ellie sometimes fantasized that it was the lack of vitamins in her body, the last traces of hypothermia showing up in her immune system provoking little hallucinations.

she doesn't know if it was the effects of the poor quality of care she was taking of herself, or if it was something else, but it was enough for ellie to consider that maybe - just maybe - her gun had one more bullet available; one more attempt, timidly hidden among the barn sawdust and tree leaves, waiting to be used.

that and you were fucking fun to be around.

"so, abby came and she hug me by surprise" you say, laughing and smiling at the memorie "i was so scared. i thought it was a clicker"

ellie nods, thinking who the fuck abby is. she doesn't know if she wants to know.

"that's fucked up" is the only thing ellie utters. abby? is abby that red haired girl that is in charge of the improvised supermarket at the end of the -again- improvised street? no. that can't be her.

"right?" you say, eating a piece of cake that ellie did or did not steal from the birthday of her neighbor "i told her that"

ellie ate a piece of it too. she didn't know how cakes tasted before the apocalypse, but she thinks this is okay.

"so what did she say?" ellie asks.

you shake your head, sucking your index finger, wiping off the frosting "she laughed"

maybe it was that girl you taught to ride last month. ellie remembers you said it was a lot of fun.

but what kind of riding were you talking about?

"so who is abby, anyways?" ok. easy. that was good, ellie thought. no one could ever suspect anything.

you looked at her for a second, an expression that ellie couldn't decipher but quickly faded.

"uh... remember that girl who killed two clickers at once on patroll? like, she choked them with her arms at the same time and knocked them down?" you say, the beginnings of your eyebrows coming together in a frown, looking at ellie.

oh, she remembers. she remembered very well.

"mhm, no, not really" ellie acts nonchalant, looking at her short and damaged fingernails.

"she has a braid, a blonde braid" you say, recalling

ellie purses her lips, shaking her head slowly "mh, no, i don't remember her"

she remembers. she remembers so vividly how envy consumed every bone in her body when she heard that news, seeing how your eyes widened in surprise and your smile widened so wide it reached your ears as you listened to the great deed that this abby had done, telling that story like she just found the cure; ellie wanted to roll her eyes so bad.

"dude!" you say, holding out your arms "muscles? like, very big ones?" you ask and ellie shakes her head once again.

"mm, no, sorry, i don't think i know her" ellie mumbles and has to restrain herself from snorting.

"well, whatever" you say "the thing is, i thought i was gonna die right and there"

ellie nods again, and her body slams into the mattress of her bed.

today was a rest day. jackson was resting quietly, some patrols were coming in and out frequently, absurd patrols to just kill the time and pretend to do something productive.

the town was having a good run the last few days, the amount of clickers around the area had almost halved, the injured people had been cured, and while food wasn't in short supply, it wasn't alarmingly scarce either, and that was something to celebrate at times like these.

it was a quiet day in wyoming.

so you and ellie were trying to kill time before getting back to the routine, and the hours seemed to be ticking away.

ellie was too proud of her room; it was comfortable, warm, and hers. on the walls were posters of savage starlight that joel kept getting for ellie on his patrols, warm christmas lights taped up, polaroid pictures with the image too faded from the sunlight coming through the window, sketches and chords of songs.

you loved ellie's room, you thought it was the coolest thing on the planet.

"you going for a nap?" you say, putting the cake away.

"uh, i don't know, maybe?" ellie murmurs, rubbing her face "i don't know what else to do. i'm bored."

"yeah, i could do a nap too" you say "I'm a bit tired"

ellie nods, a bit dissapointed that you go away so early, but she finds herself surprise when you grab her blanket and accommodate yourself in her bed.

ellie will have looked at you for a long time before you feel her eyes on you.

"uh, it's okay if i stay here?" you murmur, looking at her and ready to run away if she tells you to.

ellie finds herself in a trance that forces her to come to her senses as fast as she can "yeah, yeah" she says.

"are you sure? you don't seem so sure"

ellie wants to slap herself on the face.

"no, please, stay. you can stay if you want" she spoke, and regrets immediately by how needy she sounded.

you giggle and nod, curling up against one of her many pillows, the blanket resting on your body like a marble sculpture of a veil "thank you ellie" you smile slightly "have a good nap".

ellie can't seem to find the words so she turns over, afraid to move to much to the point that her bones will fall out of her body as she feels you so close. ellie can feel, hear, how your breathing slows down as the minutes pass, becoming calmer.

she doesnt know how much time passed on, but ellie feels her body take on a cold temperature, so she does what anyone would do; she reaches for the blanket to cover herself.

but she brushes against your body.

ellie's hand, as clumsy as her owner, accidentally brushes against your body as she reaches for the blanket. she doesn't know which part of your body it was, and she has the feeling that it's better this way.

ellie has never been with a woman. oh, well, maybe she is lying because she has, in fact, been with cat, but that was just a few touches right and there, more curious than desirous, nothing too affectionate to make an impact on ellie. but the thing is, she has never been with a woman, never slept with a woman.

like, really sleep, rest, take a nap, rest your eyes -as joel often says-

it was something so intimate that ellie had never been able to do with anyone. it was the moment where she was the most helpless, the most adrift, the most vulnerable. the time where all her baddy personality destroys itself to show her true self.

so ellie thinks, thinks, thinks, thinks and thinks but there is only one question that keeps coming up in different formulations, but it always remains the same:

how is ellie williams going to sleep with you next to her?

[heedeungism]

say yes to heaven (say yes to me). | teaser

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⭒ ice prince!sunghoon x fire princess!reader 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ⭒ the crown prince of the ice kingdom is not known for having objects of affection. perhaps the fiery princess of the fire kingdom is all that is needed to thaw his frozen heart. (route 1 of the eternal flame saga) 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒 ⭒ alcohol, cursing, the beginnings of a panic attack, dwagons 𝐄𝐒𝐓. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⭒ 10k> (teaser is 1k) 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 ⭒ this is only a small snippet of a longform fic i’ve been working on since house of the dragon started up again, so obviously it’s inspired by that. however i did need to fix the whole incest = dragons so i made up this whole concept that, while obviously inspired by hotd, is incest free! i have other fics in this same universe outlined(hence the ‘route 1 of the eternal flame saga’), but i will be focusing most of my attention on this fic until it’s done!

masterlist. rules. request.

The House of Frost’s sigil is arguably one of the more simple of the Great Houses. A banner of pale blue, a white emblem of stark beauty, a dragon. Next to sigils of the other Kingdom’s, it appears as icy as one would imagine.

The Houses of Earth and Wind fly flags of more neutral colors, ivories and browns. The Water Dragon Kingdom’s a royal blue and Sky Dragon's a pale pink, but none so beautifully bright as his.

Yet, you see no sign of it as you sit at the head of the dining hall beside your brother.

Tourney’s you’ve attended usually start with a dinner the first day, then a melee or joust the second and third, a tour, maybe even a hunt if so desired by the king, or Prince Regent in this case. Your brother seems keen on being exceptionally annoying, booking your schedule for the week with barely enough time to bathe let alone avoid the eyes of the realm.

So, now, you sit at the large dinner, and realize you have yet to see the sigil you were so expecting.

Riki leans down at his station standing close behind you, “I imagine the Northern Sea is rather backed up this time of year.”

His jest does not impress you, “He could arrive on dragonback if he so cared.” As you finish your childish claim, the doors open.

“Prince Sunghoon of the House of Frost. Heir to his throne.”

Your sworn knight nearly snorts, as a tall male arrives. He has no company, only the sword at his hip as he prowls toward the table you sit.

Ten years had changed a lot. No longer did he have the sickly look about him, his skin even and his shoulders fuller with what you can only assume is muscle. He carries himself with a confidence you could never compare to princes like Yeonjun of the Earth Territories, who holds his head too high and carries too cocky of a smile for you to respect him outright, or Sunoo of the Sky Archipelagos in the west who’s bashful countenance somewhat underwhelmed you considering the story attached to his crowning.

Prince Sunghoon is sure of himself, you can see it in the slight sway of his shoulders and his wide gait, but he doesn’t carry that confidence with the arrogance you expected of the Prince of Crystal Snow.

He’s beautiful. Fuck.

“It appears he does care, your highness.”

Riki snickers as you quickly bite back, “Shut up.”

“Prince Sunghoon, I thought we were to expect your family on the morrow?” Your brother muses, and the prince bows at his waist in greeting.

“My mother, the queen, fell ill. I come alone.” He said, his voice is much deeper as well, though that’s to be expected.

“I wish her good health, then.” The Prince Regent wishes a genuine prayer. The ice prince bows his head, his gaze only moves to you when you speak.

“And your knight?”

Your brother kicks your foot under the table at your tone, yet the prince only offers a gentle smirk with another honest bow, “Ser Jaeyun arrives tomorrow. He found a ride on dragonback to be…unpleasant.”

Riki coughs, and you fight the tug at the corner of your mouth with a sip of wine, “Pity.”

“Is Ser Jaeyun to participate in tomorrow's celebrations?” Your brother asks, the joust, and the prince shakes his head.

“I would prefer, Your Grace, myself to participate,” His gaze flicks to yours, and an unyielding warmth plants its roots at the bottom of your spine, creeping up the longer his eyes keep you in their sights, “If you would allow it.”

Your brother seems all too pleased at the news, “I see no reason to object. What of you, Princess?”

Sipping the wine in your cups does nothing to ease the nerves of your heart, “By all means.”

He bows once again before a servant guides him to his table, where a visibly excited Prince Sunoo waves him over. The other princes gather at that table, mingling and laughing together.

While you sit at the grand dining table sipping from your cups like it’s life’s water, the dress you were put into squeezing your abdomen uncomfortably.

“I do hope we have enough sheep to keep the dragons fed.” Your brother muses, observing the table of dragonheirs before glancing your way.

“Most of them keep themselves fed,” You dismiss, “We shouldn’t deplete our people’s resources for an event this needless.”

“Your words wound me, sister.” He pouts, quite unbecoming of a Prince Regent.

“Then may you bathe in the salts of Azora.” The bite to your words makes your brother sigh, he startles slightly when you slam your goblet back onto the table beside your plate of picked-at food, “My cup is empty.”

A servant hastens forward to refill it, a shaky apology falling from her lips, which has you regretting your outburst immediately. When she moves to retreat back to her position hovering near the wall so as to not be seen, you grab the pitcher from her hands and say, “I’ll keep this, please.”

The word falling from your lips seems to surprise her, before she panics and bows, “Of course, my princess.”

Riki snickers as the servant hastens away to make herself useful elsewhere, biting his cheek when you hiss, “Shut. Up.”

When you face forward once again, your eyes scanning the room, your gaze is caught in another.

Smoldering flames meet biting frost, and a burning tug travels up your gut and into your throat. It’s pure instinct that tears your gaze away, an attempt to free your body of the dreadful feeling.

It lingers in your chest even as you take a hefty swallow from your cup.

I am dragonfire. You repeat to yourself, a rush in your veins. The wine makes your skin hot, and the corset around your torso only makes catching your breath all the more difficult. The litany does not quell the flames in your chest.

I am dragonfire. I am the flame's heart. I am unburnt and I am the Princess of Eternal Flame.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[reaveries]

▬  a warm place for numb fingers (18+)

summary: after a conversation with a friend, tension arises between the reader and arthur. action is ultimately forced into her hands... or fingers, more like.

pairings: high honor!arthur morgan x female!reader

warnings: mature content (18+)// explicit descriptions of fingering, cunnilingus, and some good ol' fucking

word count: 5.7k (estimated 23-minute reading time)

a/n: this goes out to all the cold and horny girls out there. i see you and i salute you. enjoy the fic

masterlist archive of our own

The chill was an inescapable thing and it followed her closely wherever she went. It burned her face red whenever she emerged from the mining town cabins. When she’d been forced to ride against it in fierce storms, it possessed her hair to lash violently across her cheeks in a blinding fury. And once those storms passed, it continued to insatiably lap at any skin left exposed to its gnawing teeth. Numbness in her fingertips became commonplace, leaving her defenseless as her trigger finger trembled beneath thin leather gloves. Like a starved coyote, the chill searched for any scrap of flesh it could find and devoured it to the bone. It wasn’t forgiving, as nature often isn’t.

She draws her coat closer to her body now, but the little winds continue to hungrily nip at her cheeks and dust them pink. What once ravaged her has become meek since they’ve descended the peaks of the Grizzlies. But it’s still there, and will continue to be until spring thaws the world. 

“Can’t believe I’m lookin’ at one of the most wanted outlaws this side of the Dakota.”

She looks up from her feet and sees Karen smiling, holding a cigarette between her fingers. She brings it to her lips and draws out the smoke.

“God, if the Pinkertons knew how big of a baby you really are, maybe they’d have tried their luck in Colter,” she says with a cheeky grin.

“That’s the only way those fuckers could’ve taken me down,” the outlaw says, laughing bitterly into her scarf. “I’ve never done well in the cold. Every day that I wake up and can’t feel my toes, I’m closer to packing up and fleeing to New Austin. Thinking of building myself a house made of cacti.”

She walks through the frost-laden grass to where her friend stands, overlooking the Dakota river.

“You’re fulla shit,” Karen says, rolling her eyes. “The day you leave this bunch will be the day God, himself, shoots you off your horse. Got too much love in your little heart for the lot of us.”

The woman chuckles dryly, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Got too much love for you, Karen,” she says in a sickeningly sweet tone and leans in, tilting her head dramatically to the side as if to give her a sloppy kiss.

“Get the hell away from me!” Karen screeches and fumbles to push her away. 

The outlaw stumbles backward lazily with her head thrown back in laughter.

“You play around too much, you know that?” Karen says, shaking her head, but the forceful tug on the right side of her lips gives her away. 

She smiles down her nose at the blonde woman, “Yeah, that’s what I keep hearin’.”

Once they both settle down, Karen extends the cigarette to her, offering whatever she can manage as it quickly dies out. She takes it between her forefinger and thumb and lets the smoke warm her from the inside.

“You know what I overheard some of the workin’ girls sayin’ when I was in town?” Karen speaks up as the smoke escapes the woman’s throat. 

She hums in question. Words out of the mouth of a working girl can hardly ever be taken for truth, but damn if they weren’t entertaining.

“Apparently, the number of clients they get skyrockets in the winter months. Somethin’ about men subconsciously wantin’ to be warmed up so they seek out activities that make ‘em break a sweat.”

She nods, “I guess that makes enough sense.”

Karen shakes her head, “That’s not all. The girls were also sayin’ that as it gets colder, the men are more and more riled up. Almost like it’s something with the moon, but instead of turnin’ into the dogman, they just wanna bury themselves in a woman real bad. But all I’m hearin’ while these girls are sayin’ this is that we got ourselves a bunch of fools too dumb to think clearly down in that little town.”

She stomps the life out of the cigarette with the toe of her boot, her spurs jingling as she drives it into the dirt. 

“Ain’t no way that’s true,” she says with a sardonic smile. “That last part, sure, but the moon’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

“Well, somethin’s gotta explain it,” Karen says and crosses her arms defensively across her chest. “I can tell ya, once it gets colder the men start lookin’ at ya different. I never noticed the link ‘till now but it kinda makes sense.”

She has to fight the laugh rising in her chest as she tries to seriously process the idea that men are becoming more aroused due to a giant orb in the sky. It takes everything in her not to but Karen sees right through her.

“It ain’t that ridiculous, you know. You can’t tell me you ain’t never noticed Arthur actin’ different.” 

The amusement rapidly drains from her face and is replaced by a look of bewilderment. 

“What are you talkin’ about Arthur for? Arthur and I are just friends, we ain’t like that,” she sputters out. 

“Oh, sorry,” Karen says, putting her hands up, “I forgot you was still on that.”

Her flustered reaction surprises even herself, causing a creeping warmth to crawl its way to her cheeks. A biting retort fumbles dumbly in her mouth.

“I’m not on anything. Don’t know what got in your head but it ain’t never been like that between Arthur and me.”

“It ain’t just in my head, honey. Everyone here knows it. You think folk ain’t seein’ the way you two touch up on each other the way you do? How neither of you goes nowhere without the other? Get real. It’s plain as day to everyone but yourself.”

She tosses a quick glance over her shoulder, hoping no one is near enough to hear their conversation. Instead, she sees that the camp has slowly come to life while she’d been distracted by Karen. Folk have begun their morning chores, migrating from washboards to clothing lines or splitting logs of wood in two. Her eyes flit across their faces until they land on the one she’s searching for. He’s far enough away, speaking with Pearson by the food supplies wagon. The cook waves his hands around animatedly but he’s turned away from her so she can’t tell what they’re speaking about. Arthur looks past the man and meets her eyes. He smiles and nods at her, to which she returns with a forced thin smile of her own. 

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Karen,” she mutters, and without turning to say goodbye, walks away.

And yet, Karen’s words burrow themselves deep within her mind and linger in the spaces between each normal thought as the day continues. Surely she'd been exaggerating and not everyone in camp suspects her and Arthur to be intimate with each other. Karen just thinks she knows more than she does sometimes. It was very much like her to be overly confident about certain things, proclaiming them as fact even past the point she knows she’s wrong. Then again, that also wasn't the first time someone had mistaken their closeness for something more amorous in nature. Dutch, having watched her throw an arm around Arthur and share from his bottle, assumed the pair had made themselves official. This prompted some proud fatherly spiel wherein he clapped Arthur on the back and congratulated him. It was vague enough that neither of them knew what he was referring to until later. Once they both realized, it gave them a good doubled-over, tears-from-the-eyes sort of laugh. But Arthur quickly cleared it up with the man, assuring him that there was nothing of that sort going on. Apparently, Dutch remained unconvinced.

As she sharpens her knife, an interesting thought intrudes past the others. For a moment, she wonders if Arthur might be an exception to this phenomenon the working girls were talking about. He never spoke of women the way that most men did. So, if he’d ever been interested in that sort of way, she wasn’t privy to it in the slightest. But, he’s still a man and he isn’t immune to the desires of men. Could it be possible that Arthur wishes for a woman to warm his bed at night? Or perhaps, on the coldest nights, a woman to warm himself inside?

Her blade slips against the whetstone and nearly slices her hand open as depraved imagery flies behind her eyes. She curses loudly and the knife drops to the dirt with a muffled thud.

A horse gallops and skids next to the hitching post beside her and the rider quickly flies off the mount, hitting the earth with heavy feet. She looks up from her hand and it’s him. There’s a pristine buck carcass flung over the back of his mare from a hunting excursion he must be returning from. 

“You alright?” He asks in a raised voice, meeting her with a walk that holds no patience. He looks down at her hands, likely expecting to see them covered in blood. His shoulders drop in relief when he can’t find any.

“I’m fine,” she says, standing up quickly and brushing dust off her pants. She forcefully clears her head of the intrusive thoughts, worried he might be able to see them if he looks too close.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, woman. Don’t know what I’d do if you went and chopped off your trigger finger,” he says, running a stressed hand through his hair.

“You’d have to find a new riding partner, that’s for sure,” she quips unenthusiastically.

A breath of laughter leaves his lips to tell her she’s being ridiculous.

“Naw… There ain’t no replacin’ you. Ain’t a single person here has what it takes to put up with half the shit you and I do. We’d just have to teach ya to shoot with four fingers.”

His tone is lighthearted but there’s a hint of sincerity to his words that makes her cock her head in intrigue. He notices the change in her expression and quickly backpedals.

“Ah, don’t let that get to your head, now! I can barely tolerate ya most days. There’s just… no denyin’ you’re one of the best shots here,” he says, avoiding her eyes.

She smiles smugly and pats his chest.

“Tell me something I don’t know, cowboy.”

“Like I said, I can barely tolerate ya,” he says, swatting her hand off him. “Anyways, you mind takin’ that buck to Pearson? I need to have a word with Dutch about tomorrow.”

“Sure thing,” she says and slips past him to retrieve the fresh game. 

She hoists the buck over her shoulder and nearly gasps from the unexpected weight. The animal is nowhere near light and it’s a wonder he managed to cleanly take down the thing. He looks over his shoulder at the sound of her boot scuffling in the dirt as she steadies herself. 

She stumbles over to Pearson’s wagon and throws the carcass down on the ground. The cook is nowhere to be found so she figures she’ll save him the trouble and put her sharpened blade to good use. The knife cuts cleanly through the skin like warm butter, separating the hide from tender pink insides. As she’s making the final incisions, she looks up from the gruesome sight and sees Arthur talking to Dutch outside his tent. He seems relaxed enough, his hands resting on the buckle of his gun belt while he talks. It’s something he does often, just like someone might stuff their hands in their pockets for the sake of keeping them occupied. An endearing little action. And yet, for some reason, the common and utterly insignificant act of him doing this makes her forget herself. 

Maybe it’s the suggestion of him holding a different object hidden beneath the confines of denim, right below his loose grip. Because the longer she looks, a vision of him taking himself into a fisted hand begins to overshadow her mind. He’s lying in his cot, and while everyone else huddles together for warmth in their makeshift beds, he’s fucking his hand in the darkness of his tent. His eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is parted slightly, but no noise escapes his lips to save himself the mortification of someone walking past and overhearing. He quickens the pace of his pumping hand and breathes out a quiet, ragged moan as he coats his stomach with ropes of sticky seed. His chest heaves, then slows to normal before he wipes the evidence away with a worn shirt.

Arthur looks at her with a confused look on his face. He waves a hand slowly in mock greeting to rouse her from her dazed state. Dutch, mid-sentence, turns to look over his shoulder, but she averts her eyes before they can meet his. 

“Holy shit,” she whispers. She frantically finishes skinning the deer with her chin to her chest to hide the furious blush tormenting her cheeks. 

Once she’s finished, she practically sprints back to her tent before Arthur can ask her what her deal is. She closes the flaps hastily and goes to sit on the edge of her bed to collect herself. 

It’s not like she’s never fantasized about a person before, and she’s taken people to her bed more times than she can remember. This flustered feeling isn’t rooted in some virgin-like innocence, and yet she might as well be a pastor’s daughter with the way she’s blushing over it.

It’s because it’s him. He’s her partner. Her friend. Someone who’s grown to understand her better than she understands herself. She’s been the same person for him ever since they crossed paths in Montana all those months ago. Many feelings, albeit platonic, have come and gone since that fateful encounter, but lust? Lusting after a friend may be the most foreign feeling she’s stumbled upon in all her years of living. 

A griminess so thick and so palpable enshrouds her, weighing heavily, filthily, on her skin. And there’s only one solution that comes to mind.

She straddles the firmness between her thighs as it bounces rhythmically beneath her. A moan unintentionally escapes her lips in response to the merciless feeling down below. Her blouse sticks to damp skin and plasters itself lewdly against the curves of her stomach and chest as her hips rock back and forth. Another moan. This one more pained than the last.

Her thighs have always burned something fierce whenever she’d mount her horse directly after a bath. Soft, herbal-scented skin would grate against thick cotton of riding trousers, eliciting the pained gritting of teeth. But this time, the minor uncomfortable sensation is preferable, simple, compared to the complexities of her consuming thoughts from earlier. A hot bath was her saving grace as it turned out. It cleared her head and made her feel like her normal self again. Whatever thoughts she’d been having of her partner had been washed away and left behind at the bottom of the steel tub like some tainted baptism.

She rides through the trees that fringe the perimeter of camp and calls out to Javier, who stands guarding the entrance. He gives her a short wave, and nothing else. The two of them haven’t talked much, despite having ridden together for over a year now. Most of the men in camp tend to keep to themselves, she’s noticed. It’s a shame the talkative Irish man went and got himself killed in Blackwater. He knew how to have a good time. He always claimed the two of them were kindred spirits, but she heavily denied it each time since it read like an insult. 

She swings herself off the saddle and, like a moth to a lantern, migrates toward the fire to warm herself. The sun has sunk beneath the horizon and with it any amount of heat it provided, leaving her a shivering mess. Dinner bubbles inside the stew pot, prompting her to grab a portion before taking a seat on one of the logs.

The fire is reduced to glowing embers that do little to warm her bones. She nudges the logs with her boot but they just shift and plume ash. Sighing, she tugs closed the lapels of her coat and brings a spoonful of venison stew to her lips. The steaming broth slides down her throat and settles in her belly, making a furnace of her stomach. It’s a nice feeling, one that quiets her mind.

Suddenly, the log shifts as someone sits beside her. 

“Where’d you disappear off to?” He asks. “I couldn’t find ya anywhere.”

Arthur settles to sit hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, a bowl of stew in his hands. He’s wearing a dark long-sleeve shirt and a light jacket, but not much else to protect him from the cold. In fact, when she looks around, no one else seems to mind the chill as much as she does. Maybe Karen was right in calling her a baby.

“Nowhere special. I just had to go into town for a bit,” she says, taking another sip of the stew. 

He nods his head, “Had to go into town and get yerself a bath, huh?”

She turns sharply to look at him, her brows drawn together in confusion.

“I could smell the lavender oil the minute ya hitched yer horse,” he explains. “What’s that about? Are ya plannin’ on finally actin’ like a lady or somethin’?”

She shoves his shoulder with her free hand.

“Shut up Arthur. You act more like a lady than I do,” she accuses. “Also, it might do ya good to take a bath for once.”

That last part she says a little lower than the first. Sometimes when they’d be out on extended errands they’d bathe in the river together. But no matter how much he scrubbed his skin, the stench of cigarette smoke and sweat would linger in the closed tent when she lay beside him in her bedroll at night. She always put up with it though because it likely meant she didn’t smell much better.

“The hell’s that s’posed to mean?” He asks, looking visibly taken aback.

“It means you smell like—”

“Naw, not that. Whatchu mean I act like a lady?”

“Oh. It means you’re goin’ all soft, big guy. Take it as a compliment,” she says, trying to suppress a smile.

“Great. First Dutch, now you. I ain’t goin’ soft, girl. And I sure as hell ain’t turnin’ into a woman,” he says, looking away from her and shaking his head. “As if you even knew what it meant to be one. Look at yerself!” He adds with an indignant wave of his hand that gestures from the top of her head to her feet.

She doesn’t need to look. Her coat is crafted from bear and bison pelts, made to fit a man larger than herself because the trapper lacked the expertise to tailor one for a woman. It keeps her warm enough, which is all that should matter. Wearing clothes that flatter her figure ranks relatively low on her list of priorities when every day is a fight to not freeze to death. On top of that, folk have always been mighty eager to remind her of her femininity whenever she dared step outside the docile role of her fairer sex. Which, in her line of work, was often.

“I’ll have you know I consider myself an expert on the matter… ma’am.”

She starts to snicker but when she looks over at him his jaw is set and he’s giving her a side-eye that makes the noise die in her throat.

“Keep callin’ me a lady and see where it gets ya, woman. Y’ain’t gonna be laughin’ when I’m forced to prove myself to ya.”

If there was ever any heat being produced in her body, it's all gone and rushed to her face just now. She stares at him, unblinking.

“What?” 

“Mm, s’what I thought,” he says, bringing a spoon of potatoes and broth to his lips. “Now, if you’re done foolin’ around, are you comin’ with us tomorrow or not? Dutch said you might but I know you’ve got a lot on your plate as is.”

He said he’d prove himself to her. Prove that he’s a man. There’s hardly any innocent way to interpret that.

“Tomorrow?” She asks. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

He looks at her all funny-like, slightly annoyed even.

“Did you drink the bathwater or somethin’? The O’Driscoll told us they was all holed up in some cabin not far from here. Mentioned Colm is with’em. I only told ya about it a handful of times.”

She hears him but isn’t really listening. The phrase repeats on a loop in her head. She wants to ask him what he meant by it but the moment’s passed and she knows there’s no real answer. If asked, he’d just say he was teasing her and there’s nothing more to it. 

He calls her name, bringing her out of her stupor. She opens her mouth to say something but the wind picks up. A bone-rattling shiver possesses her, making her shrink inside herself. He stares at her, unphased by the chill but with concern etched into his handsome features.

“Sorry, Arthur. I- I don’t know where my head’s at,” she says through clenched teeth.

“S’Alright,” he says, looking her over. “I forget how sensitive you are to the cold.”

He sets his bowl on the ground and brings his hands to cup around his mouth, heating them with hot breath. He then takes her hands into his and clamps around them, transferring warmth to numb fingers.

“Jesus, you’re freezin’,” he says.

He brings her hands close to his mouth and repeats the same action, trying to warm them back to life with his breath. He presses into her palms, massaging heat from the pads of his fingers into hers.

Had he done this simple gesture for her yesterday, she likely would’ve just felt grateful to feel her fingers again. But today isn’t like yesterday. Yesterday, she wasn’t acutely aware of the ever-present moisture nearly dripping down her thighs or the dull, aching pain at her core as it practically begs to be filled by a man. Yesterday, she didn’t envision that man to be Arthur. She didn’t envision herself blissed out and bouncing on his cock, being guided by his hands gripping her ass and forcing her all the way down on him every time. She also didn’t visualize their sweating naked bodies pressed against one another as he hoists her legs around his waist and fucks her relentlessly against the side of his wagon. Yesterday was, without a doubt, much easier than today. Today she’d thought of all these things and more.

She watches attentively how he holds her slender fingers in the thickness of his own. Those hands have snuffed out the lives of many, brutally at that. She’d seen them wrapped around the necks of men, crushing their windpipes and severing their spines when he’d been provoked on the wrong sort of day. Lots of blood on those hands. But there’s just as much on hers and in this moment, those blooded hands are so tender towards her. 

If these same hands could kill without remorse, yet be so gentle when the time came for it, then by God, what else were they capable of?

She slips her hands out of his faster than she intended to.

“Thank you, Arthur,” she whispers, looking away.

“Sure. Maybe that’ll help ya to start actin’ normal again. Get the blood flowin’ to yer brain and such.”

If only he knew it was doing the opposite. Blood is flowing elsewhere and she’s the furthest from normal she’s been in a long while.

She stands up, leaving the bowl of stew unfinished on the ground.

“Here’s hoping,” she says, her hands clasped together to preserve his heat. 

Her boots crunch ice-bitten dirt loudly beneath their heels as she makes her way through the quiet camp and to her tent. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until the flaps close shut behind her. 

“What… What is wrong with you?” she asks no one. Her tent is empty, and even though she wants to be alone, this is no comfort.

Her palms dig into the concave of her eye sockets, rubbing them furiously to wake herself up. She groans and shrugs off her coat, letting it collapse onto the floor. Her boots are kicked off her feet and her shirt is made quick work of before it’s thrown violently across the room. Her pants meet the same fate, being unbuttoned and kicked off, then kicked again so they lie atop the other garments. She collides with her mattress in a huff and lies there to stare at the ceiling of her tent, chest rising and falling rapidly.

She’s not going to be laughing when he’s forced to prove himself to her. 

Why is that phrase repeating over and over in her head? More importantly, why is she closing her eyes and slipping her hand beneath the waistband of her combinations?

She pauses. It’s wrong to do this. So wrong. To touch herself with visions of him in her head is sick. But she needs it so badly, so desperately she needs this to be taken care of. The throbbing at her core ultimately wins over her conscience, and forcefully pushes guilt to the side.

Her fingers slide between the delicate folds down below, the slick moisture coating her digits easily. She imagines it’s his hand. Large and warm, playing with her and teasing out moans by dancing around her clit. He asks her if it feels good, but only incoherent noises leave her lips. 

He chuckles and the breath of his laughter hits her center as he dips his head between her thighs. Lips replace fingers, sucking and leaving open-mouthed kisses heavy with tongue, ravishing her like a starved man. Her thighs clench around him and her calves tremble against his bare back. She whispers praises to him when she can find the words. 

Please keep going. You’re doing so good. So good.

Both of her hands tangle themselves in his hair. She can’t help but pull on the strands the minute he slides his thumb inside her all the way to the knuckle. Her back arches off the cot at the sudden sensation but he pulls her back down, locking her in with a hand wrapped around her thigh. She can feel him smile against her, momentarily letting up the relentless forces of his mouth. He’s loving watching her squirm beneath him, because of him. 

But the combined sensation of his thumb fucking her and the concentrated movements of his tongue at her clit nearly drive her to the edge. She squirms and brings her knees up around him, causing him to pull away and leave her empty.

Ya have to keep still, darlin’.

He coaxes her legs back open, spreading them apart with firm hands. But before he can return, she whispers desperate words that fall sweetly on his ears. He changes direction and begins to kiss his way north, traces of her still on his lips as they press wetly to her stomach, then her breasts, and then her neck. While he trails up her jaw, she tugs down his union suit from where it gathers at his hips. He assists her clumsily by shaking it off his legs and kicking it to the floor, where it now lies atop her own discarded clothing.

Before he takes her, he hovers on rested elbows and searches her face for any sign of reluctance. Only half of his features she can see clearly as warm oranges and yellows flicker across it from the lantern at her bedside. The fringe of his hair tickles her forehead, teasing her into closing the distance between them. With a hand on the back of his neck, she brings him down to her level and connects their lips. Their mouths move roughly against one another, their noses squishing and bending against the pressure of their touch. 

He’s warm, so warm. His mouth is hot against her tongue and the points on her body where the two of them meet are ablaze with a fire that spreads down, and down, until it rests in a sweltering mess at the apex of her thighs. She needs him, were the words she’d whispered. And she needs him now. She reaches down between their two bodies to where his cock grazes against her legs and with a sure hand, takes hold of it and guides it to her entrance. She can’t see it but it feels thick in her grasp; her hold not permitting thumb and forefinger to meet. 

The head slips gently inside and opens her up to him with a slow, shallow movement of his hips. He removes his lips from hers and rests his forehead against her own, looking down and indulgently watching himself disappear inside of her inch by inch. It fills her deliciously, stretching her open until he eventually bottoms out and their pelvises lie flush with one another. She lets out a sharp exhale at the contact, knowing he’s sheathed fully inside of her. Before he moves again, she brings her legs around his waist and crosses her ankles so his movements are limited to being shallow and forceful. 

The cot squeaks beneath them as he pulls out and thrusts back in, slow at first. He quickly picks up the pace, pistoling his hips to give short thrusts that fill her to the hilt each time with a near-bruising force. One hand wraps around the meat of her thigh and another hand starts rubbing furious circles at her clit. She throws her head back with a wide-opened gasp at the explosive euphoric sensation of being filled by him and the simultaneous attention given to the sensitive nub. He goes even faster when he sees how close she is, and within seconds she unravels beneath him. 

She notices through her clouded gaze his brows screwing together and lips parting as her soft muscles throb around the swell of his cock. It’s too much for him. He hurriedly pulls out and releases himself on her belly, coating it with spurts of his seed. He looks at her breathlessly through hooded eyes.

The two of them lie panting, him still stationed between her legs with a heaving chest and weary gaze. He leans down and places a chaste kiss on the inside of her thigh before slumping beside her and laying there in his nakedness.

She cums hard against diligent fingers. Hot and tingly ecstacy spreads from her core throughout her limbs, fluttering her eyes to the back of her skull and leaving her a panting mess. Once that passes and the drowsiness that always follows a dumbing climax sets in, she realizes she’d conjured a strange ending to her fantasy. It was one of genuine intimacy, not driven by the carnal desires of her body. 

Thankfully, sleep takes over before she can begin trying to process whatever that means. She drifts off as remnants of pleasure buzz beneath her skin and warm her beneath ticking sheets.

Morning comes quickly, and the accompanying chill of a new day forces her off the cot in search of heavier clothing. She pulls fleece-lined chaps over jeans and buttons them at the waist before throwing on the bear coat she’s worn every day since Colter. As she slips her arms into the clothing, she thinks back on last night. There’s no reason to make a big deal of it. Surely men get off with much worse ideas in their heads about the people they know. She hopes all of that is behind her now that it’s been forced out of her system.

But this is not the case. 

This hope is massacred in vain shortly after being conceived. For the day is ablaze with yearning, shame, and raging inferno. 

Accompanying Arthur to the hideout was soon realized as a mistake. Every small, inconsequential thing he did served to stoke the fire blistering her loins. Every word whispered atop the secluded hillock, every incidental brushing of skin, and every intentional one too. It all fanned incessantly at consuming flames.

She rides back to camp alone with heavy pockets and a heavier conscience. And as she approaches the grounds, she sees her friend, the blonde woman, standing guard outside. Without thought, she throws her reins and swings herself off the horse, hitting the earth hard and swift. A blustering storm brews inside her, fighting against fire and losing. She approaches Karen, treading heavily over branch and stone, a wild look in her eyes.

“Karen!” She calls out.

The woman turns to face her, her rifle lowering just as quickly as it’s raised.

“Oh, it’s just you. You here to tell me I don’t know what I’m talkin’ about again? If so, you can keep on walkin’, bigshot.” 

She sighs and runs a frustrated hand through her wind-tangled hair.

“No! No, I- I didn’t mean it,” she says, with an unmistakable sound of desperation in her voice. “Karen, you were right.”

Karen’s tensed shoulders sink beneath her coat and her features soften. She doesn’t seem to understand, but she’s no longer angry. It’s difficult to be when her friend stands before her, uncharacteristically vulnerable and fumbling with words.

Whatever forces are at work here, be it the chill, the moon, or an unknown third thing, it can be certain she is out of her depth, adrift in deep ice waters. And he is calling to her like a siren’s song but she knows it is an illusion she has conjured up and there is no solace allowed to be found there. He cannot take her like she needs so deeply to be taken by him. It would ruin them, for certain. Because they are not a wholesome people, and despite that, their bond has been forged by goodness. Something like that is uncommon for folk like themselves. It should be held closely, protected from whatever may destroy it, even if it is from herself. It’s for that reason she withdraws her hand, rides alone, averts wandering eyes, and tries her utmost best to quench the flames.

And yet, it has been only a day. 

“You were right.”

[kithtaehyung]

back to december (teaser) (m) | ksj

title: back to december (teaser) pairing: brother's best friend!seokjin x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, wedding au, second chance au summary: ever since you left town to pursue your dreams, life has fast forwarded into one big blur. so when you hit pause to attend your brother’s wedding exactly three years later, your brain instinctively resets and rewinds. because you have to spend it with the very person that had been there at the start. the one person you regret leaving behind. note: this originally started as a one-shot for @raplinesmoon for the maui relief fundraiser, but turned into something more. since it also fit into the mold of this holiday collab, here we are! note 2: this is part of the jingle all the way collaboration with @kpopfanfictrash, @leahsfavefics, @cybrsan, @yoonia, and @sugaurora! all the holiday collab fics have the phrase “the holidays aren’t so bad with you around.” warnings: [explicit warnings to be posted on drop day!] language, alcohol, angst lol, time switches/flashbacks, seokjin being the sweetest until he’s not >:)), reader being damn cool, overthinking, bbf!jin needs his own warning i am warning y’all now, horribly great jokes, winter themes, relationship failures, stress/anxiety, jin being jin, did i say angst?, falling into cold water, a lot of gd yearning mood: back to december - taylor swift, halley's comet - billie eilish, universe/snowing in la - thuy teaser word count: 1.2k | est. word count: uhhh 20k+ lol wanna be on the taglist? add yourself here! est. drop date: january 2024

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It all started with an accident in winter. 

Ever the gracious hosts, your family decided to throw a cookout for your brother’s birthday, inviting everyone in the neighborhood and its outskirts to join in celebration. While your brother was initially opposed to being outside in the frost, word got around that his crush of three years running would be present, which suddenly warmed him right up to the whole idea.

Typical.

You were also initially opposed—having to sit through the festivities while your older sibling hogged all the attention—until you discovered your own downfall was attending, too. 

Because of course he would.

And if he was coming, you were set on making your naive self presentable and noticeable, and you still consider the day of the party to be the best you’ve ever carried yourself. You were confident, you were radiant.

Until you got bumped into the backyard pool.

You don’t even recall who knocked you in. All you remember was water rushing into your vision, and paddling through outright shame and embarrassment when you shakily swam your freezing bones to the ledge. Everyone saw you: your friends, your family, your brother’s older circle and acquaintances. In your adolescence, it was the literal worst thing to have happened to anyone in the history of ever.

But someone’s outstretched hand greeted you when you got to the pool’s edge. 

And when you looked up, you questioned if you hit the bottom on the way in because the face you were seeing was a shock. Were you deceased? Did you somehow swim to heaven’s beach?

No. It was really him, the very person you got all dressed up for. 

Seokjin. Handsome, reserved, off-limits friend of your brother Seokjin. 

Years later, you still question why he was the one helping you out. But it didn’t matter at the time because all you wanted was to get thawed out as soon as possible. 

“Come on,” he had urged. “You’ll get sick.”

Trembling because of the cold and nothing else, you took his hand and let him haul you into the house, wondering what the hell was going on the entire time. Why was he the one helping you? Where the hell was your brother? 

Because not only did he lead you inside, but the boy also accompanied you to your bathroom, grabbing a towel off its rack and wrapping it around your knocking shoulder blades. 

“Grab some clothes, okay?” 

“Huh?” 

“Go get clothes,” Seokjin ordered, moving towards your shower. “And change out of those as soon as you can.” 

“Oh.” Blinking, you couldn’t decide if your shivers were from the fall or his comments. But either way, you were shaking horrendously. “Yeah, okay.” 

After that, you remember being so cold you couldn’t even move your legs. Which meant that Seokjin had to lead you to your room and wait at the entrance while you hastily grabbed whatever you could find. 

There was no way he was gonna catch the cutesy patterns of your underwear. No way. 

When you were done, Seokjin brought you back into the restroom, the spray of water echoing through the festively decorated space. “It should be warm enough now,” he urged. “Don’t wait.” 

“Thank you,” you finally huffed, hating how your shakes stifled your gratitude. “You can, uhm. Go back out there now.” 

“Mm.” In the doorway, his eyes reflected the bright lights so perfectly. To this day, you still remember the way you compared them to stars. “Well. Umm. Good luck.” 

And you will never forget the way you felt heat before you even touched the run of the shower. 

“Yes, it’s all set. We are still on for Monday.” 

“Good. This is the meeting we absolutely cannot miss.” 

“Umm, yes—I mean—Understood.” 

“Is everything okay over there?” 

Rushing to close the door of your rental, you bite back a curse as your suit jacket catches in the edge. Because of course it does after the frantic day you’ve already had. “Yes! Everything’s”—you smush your top against your side while shutting the door again—“Fine! But I do have to go.” 

“Sure, sure. Oh, one more thing—”

Right. Rummaging through your purse, you locate the keys at the very bottom while trying to ingest the four things being tossed into your ear, locking the car in a fast walk to the massive mountainside property ahead of you. 

“ —then we’ll finalize the merger. Got that?” 

Holy shit, your brother must be doing even better than you or his fiance is loaded. 

“Hello?” 

“Oh, shit, sorry. Yes, Mr. Hamada, we can do that.” 

“Mm. What did we say about language.” 

“Apologies.” Damn your filthy mouth for running even faster in cold weather. Because it is the goddamn arctic out here. “I will say I have been getting better, though.” 

“Improvement won’t matter if you fuck up during the meeting.” 

“Alright, buddy.” Your superior’s laugh grates your ear as you haul ass into the warm estate, worry suddenly gripping you when you realize that no one is walking around. 

Shit, are you that late? Did you miss everything? 

Skittering right to the main doors, you start to panic. Are these the main doors? They look like them. Fancy. Very fancy. Shit, shit, shit, is the wedding over—

A full body bumps into your side as you round a table bursting with flowers. Having a sound enough mind to cover your receiver, you react in a shout, “Hey, watch it—” 

“Sorry!” 

Wait. You know that voice. 

Even though it’s one that you haven’t heard in years. 

“…Jin?” 

Everything slowly stops as the man turns and, if you weren’t so in shock, you would’ve noticed the way his eyes traveled from your heels to your perfectly trimmed brows. 

You expect both something and nothing. Because when it comes to the person standing in front of you, there’s no telling what he’ll destroy you with next. 

But what comes out is merely a tiny, chest-constricting, 

“Hello.” 

You stare, and stare, and stare some more. Even your boss cannot bring you back to the present with his incessant poking. 

Because Jin looks so fucking handsome in his suit that’s not quite dressed yet, with hair that’s swept just enough to throw you off planet earth. Even the way his tie lounges around his neck gives you pause, because it showcases how broad his shoulders have become. 

How can he look the same and yet so heartbreakingly different?

“I—” 

“Later, tuna fish.” 

Your heart lurches. 

“They’re waiting for me.” 

To your dismay, Seokjin presses a soft hand on your shoulder while passing through the ornate entrance, his lingering burn searing through as you watch him button his suit on the run. 

Well. At least you didn’t miss the wedding. 

You hear your sibling’s hearty shout echo throughout the hall, but you have to physically tear yourself from your spot to finally answer your boss. 

And to not fixate on the one person you thought you were safe from today. 

But of course he’s here. Why wouldn’t he be? Him and your brother have been inseparable since the beginning, and you should’ve known even being on different planets wouldn’t keep them apart too long. 

Speaking of… 

Traveling to another galaxy might solve the numbing ache in your chest. Maybe you should consider that gigantic leap yourself. 

Because seeing Jin again brings you back to December. 

And the frost you feel in your bones overshadows any weather brewing outside. 

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tbc.

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wheee! we have a teaser! | join the taglist!

a/n: isi i hope you know what monster you're about to unleash lmao. here's to another holiday seokjin! gosh, he will keep haunting me and i love him for it. second chance with isi's initial brother's best friend!jin request? gotta love it. the one-two-three punch, i reckon. anyways, hope y'all enjoyed the teaser and i am so so nervous about the main drop but hope you like that, as well :'))

links: jingle all the way collab ; masterlist

[justabrunettewhowrites-stuff]

'As Icy As A Winter Wonderland'

Clarisse La Rue x Unclaimed!Fem!Demigod!Reader

A/N:Rq'd by one of my friends - specific rq so the color focuses on what she requested <3

Reader is new at CHB and has heterochromia - blue eyes with central heterochromia.Short fic!

In the heart of Camp Half-Blood, where demigods found solace and camaraderie, a new presence stirred the air. Unclaimed yet, with eyes that held the frosty allure of a winter's dawn,you stood at the edge of the training grounds,observing the seasoned campers in their element.

Clarisse La Rue, the fierce and fiery daughter of Ares, was in the midst of a sparring session. Her piercing gaze swept across the crowd until it collided with your captivating eyes. A momentary pause ensued, as if the fates themselves had intertwined, and in that instant, something unspoken sparked between you.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the camp.Clarisse, never one to shy away from her feelings, approached you with a determined stride. Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze as the intensity of your gaze met the fire in hers. Without hesitation,Clarisse broke away from her training and approached you.The shadows danced in her determined eyes as she spoke, a hint of vulnerability beneath her tough exterior. "Never seen eyes like yours before. What's your deal, newbie?"

Your gaze met hers, a blend of icy blue, with a mesmerizing blend that came in a circle around your pupil - the same gorgeous chocoloate brown, revealing the intricate tapestry of your lineage,one which gave your gaze an otherworldly depth, like the frost-kissed surface of a winter pond. In that moment, Clarisse felt a magnetic pull, a connection she couldn't quite explain. "Just waiting to be claimed, I guess."

Clarisse's lips curved into a half-smile, a rare sight from the battle-hardened demigod. "Well, aren't you a mystery? Keep those eyes sharp, new kid. This place has its secrets."

As she spoke, a rare vulnerability crossed her face. "You're different, and I don't say that lightly. We're not all rainbows and sunshine here, but something about you... it's intriguing."

As the night unfolded, you found yourself drawn into the fabric of camp life, where the shared stories of heroism and heartbreak echoed through the bonfire-lit air. Clarisse lingered nearby, occasionally stealing glances, and it became evident that an unspoken connection had woven its way into the tapestry of fate.

In the quiet moments, beneath the celestial canopy, Clarisse confessed, "Your eyes tell a story, and I'm damn curious to unravel it. We'll see who claims you,but for now?You're not walking away from me that easily."

For the first time, Clarisse - whose heart was guarded like a fortress, felt a crack in her defenses. The winter wonderland within your eyes seemed to cast a spell, thawing the frost around her heart...

[kaylasficrecs]

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an elevator of all places | imagine, fluff | @multifandom-simp-page

i thought you were dead | imagine, flangst | @geekywritings

don't leave me | drabble, angst | @multi-fandom-imagine

can't lose you | imagine, flangst | @feyre-darling92

heartbeat like thunder | imagine, fluff | @sprout-fics

the first is always the hardest | imagine, flangst | @poedamern

proximity | one shot, fluff, smut | @vibrantbirdy

you are beautiful to me | imagine, fluff | @geekywritings

wherever you go, i go | series | @goosewriting

cost of attachment | one shot, fluff | @djarintreble

you're here, we're here | imagine, flangst | @grievedeeply

come back to bed | imagine, comfort fluff | @geekywritings

wait, what? | imagine, fluff | @novaonhere

injured | imagine, fluff | @lemonsprite

make a house a home | imagine, fluff | @writings-of-a-hufflepuff

soon | one shot, flangst | @forever-rogue

echo | imagine, angst | @psychosith

familiarity | one shot, flangst (more fluff) | @vibrantbirdy

first kiss | imagine, fluff | @multi-fan-dom-madness

touch on touch | imagine, fluff | @frost-queen

a jedi & a droid | one shot, fluff | @weevil-wallflower

constant | one shot, fluff | @goosewriting

kiss it better | headcanon, flangst, comfort | @lyssaluvs

[bits-and-babs]

⋆ 𝐏𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃

Dark!Commander Mills x f!Reader

word count: 3.7K

warnings: 18+ MDNI, Dead Dove Do Not Eat; this fic may be unsettling for some readers. Dark!Mills, Chasing Predator/Prey, fear, tense scenes. DubCon [Non-Con Themes?]. Mentions of body hair, Size Difference/Size Kink. Pussy slapping, unprotected p in v sex, tummy bulge, claiming, cream pie

➛ mills masterlist I| main masterlist |I send an ask I| taglist

Jagged bark digs into the skin of your back through the thin, soft cotton fabric of your shirt. You feel the amber tree sap seep into the canvas, sticking uncomfortably to your back and clinging to you as you try to ease your hyperventilation. The cells of your lungs vibrate with alarm, stinging as you suck in mouthfuls of oxygen.

Get away.

The sunshine thrashes you, your skin slick with the sweat that rolls down your temples. Heat ebbs at the edges of your mind, teasing you with the promise of unconsciousness. Rest. It urges you to let your knees slump, to ease your aching body down to the forest floor and close your eyes for a moment– you can’t. You can’t be certain how far ahead you were or how much of a head-start he had conceded.

It had been freezing when you awoke, the cold biting your skin raw even as it thawed. A low hum deafened your ears, subconscious tears frosting your coarse eyelash hairs together and forcing your lids shut. Panicked, you had pushed the heels of your palms to your eyes in an attempt to melt the frosty glue, feeling something slippy and thick smear across the skin of your cheekbone.

The metal tang to the scent that pierced your nostrils indicated you were bleeding, pain leaping forward in your skull and forcing your eyes open in your discomfort. Like a mallet smashed over your head, the sounds of your surroundings cracked through your ear drums. A deafening siren screamed, blurring your vision with the intensity of its volume. Glass tinkled against the metal shell of the cryogenic chamber as you’d wearily pushed yourself from the leather seat you had called home for an estimated double solar-cycle. Your limbs were stiff, unused and preserved in ice for twenty-four months.

Green flooded your vision as you rose to your feet, a flashing light on the data pad of your chamber indicating your apparent survival following defrost. You’d been thankful to see your vitals displayed across the screen– you had felt so awful upon waking that you were almost certain you had died.

Relief that had flooded your veins curdled into distress when the data pad beeped, a cursor swiping across the pixels to dismiss the notification of your stirring.

You hadn’t given the scene much notice from then, jittery fear shuddering over your skin and forcing your feet forward. The ship that had meant to deliver you to Somaris was nowhere in sight, but debris pieces of the vessel had lay strewn across the forest floor. Orange embers still glowed within the metal of some large slabs of metal.

The realisation had been slow to arrive, the throbbing remnants of a concussion sweeping nausea throughout your body as you stumbled over the fallen trees. The piercing ring of the alarm continues to circle your agitated mind, tormenting you with the sinking reality of your plight. Stranded on a planet far beyond the solar system you had come from, surrounded by alien creatures you hadn’t seen stored in information holo-pads and without a ship to re-enter orbit– all while attempting to avoid the person who you had no doubt was hot on your heels.

Initially, you had assumed that the scaly, lizard-like animals were causing the snapping of the twigs in the thick treeline of the forest. While some were humongous, you noticed some were of a smaller size. Even the creatures that reached your hips posed a significant enough threat for you to avoid them by ducking behind tree trunks and bushes, their sharp teeth dripping with saliva when they caught your scent.

Whipping around at the sound of another ‘crunch’, you’d caught sight of him. Long, ebony hair fell in strands in front of his face; his brows pinched together in a stalker's concentration. His lips set in a grim, thin line, recharge-blaster aimed directly at your calves. The amber sap that had coated your skin from the trees appeared to have drenched his eyes, irises burning a bright honey colour in the brutal sunshine.

You hadn’t stopped running since, chest heaving as the cells of your lungs screamed at the intensity of your pace. The thick fabric of your flight suit, coated in leather around the collar, was heavy to carry, your legs aching as you’d lept over each of the fallen trunks in your way.

Shuddering at the memory of the hours you have spent evading capture, you inhale shakily in an attempt to ease your thumping heart. It threatens to crack your sternum, bludgeoning the bone with its rapid pace. Even though you’d stopped for some time, dread kept your heartbeat thrumming like the wings of the birds on your home planet, your blood rushing in your ears and drowning out the squawks of the flying lizards, their beaks long and sharp, wings leathery with clawed hands at the joint.

A stream trickles nearby, the running water rippling around the surrounding rocks. The breeze is cool against your face, tickling your cheekbones in a soft kiss. Despite the rustling of the leaves, the babble of the small brook, and the distant hiss of the hot spring geysers, it’s utterly quiet.

Foreboding chills you to the bone, wringing you dry.

It feels off, this delicate balance of stillness. Trepidation crawls up the vertebrae of your spine and prickles your skin with goosebumps. There’s an ambience; thick with something sinister. It coats your surroundings and lingers in the air like unsparked lighting, threatening to pounce.

Your hair stands on end, blood freezing along with the beat of your heart when you hear it; the zooming charge of a blaster.

“You can’t run from me forever.” It’s delivered with an alarming deadpan, his even voice ricocheting off the tree line. You can’t tell where he is like this, your neck reeling on its shoulders as you frantically search the area.

Darting your eyes amongst the bushes, you spot him- his footsteps cautious as he picks each footfall carefully. He’s learnt from his previous mistake, ensuring not to reveal his position with a snapping twig.

You swallow back a whimper, skirting around the trunk of the tree. Palm pressed to your nose and mouth; you hear your trembling breaths as you attempt to smother them. It’s terrifying, the level of noise you make. You’re certain your pulse gives away your hiding spot- that the vibration of the very cells of your being is connected to an amplifier and blasting through the woodlands.

In contrast, your pursuer is almost silent, barely making a sound as he picks through the undergrowth. You wonder how it’s possible for such a large man to make so little noise. He’s so careful, so silent that you pause your breath to listen for him better. Where-?

“Sweet Thing…” you hear him coo, a slight taunt to his voice that makes your nails dig into the tree's bark. Your lungs threaten to scream, ankles promising to buckle beneath the suffocating pressure.

Crouching as low as you can onto the balls of your feet, you attempt to shuffle around the trunk's circumference. You’re careful to test each footstep, feeling for fragile foliage beneath the sole of your shoe before setting it on the floor. You swallow thickly, wincing as the dried leaves rustle quietly.

It’s as though time momentarily stops. The rubber of your heel catches on the roots of the tree, slipping down the curved surface and sending your foot crashing through the sun-baked foliage with a sickening ‘crunch.’

Oh.

Tensing up all at once, your muscles pinch with fear. You fail to suppress the heaving breaths that rattle through you now, sucking in mouthfuls of oxygen and wheezing in terror when you exhale.

“Hmm,” a hum sounds to your left, loud to your ears. You bristle, the seams of your person screaming that you need to move, to run. Instead, you stay rooted to the spot, fight or flight bested by the primal instinct to be still. To hide. The atmosphere shifts, the chill of the breeze twisting to an icy disquiet.

Don’t. Don’t move, be still. If you’re still, he won-

They crawl across the curve of your jaw at first, fingertips creeping along the line of the bone before gently grasping your chin. White hot fear holds you perfectly still as his thumb pushes into the soft flesh of your cheek, the scrape of his knuckles biting into your skin as they purse your lips together. With your feeble attempt to shake him, his grip turns solid.

“Got you.”

His gruff voice rasps against the shell of your ear, lips brushing the thin skin and raising goose pimples across your neck and down your spine. Breath caught in your throat, you barely manage a whimper of response– the sound cracks in your vocal cords and sounds more like a startled exhale.

Your resolve fractures into tiny shards as he uses the grip on your chin to tilt your head backwards. Tension cracks between your shoulder blades at the awkward angle, your muscles straining as he pulls them taut. There’s a tensity at your throat, too, the thew connecting your jaw and neck almost pained by the extreme flex.

Amber. The thin strips of gold lay stark against the pitch black of his dilated pupils, irises merely a slither as the abyss swallows them whole. An eagerness paints his expression, even as his thick, dark brows pinch together in concentration. The hulking frame of your hunter stands above you, neck practically folded over to stare down at your kneeling form. He’s scanning your face, assessing each aspect of your visage and taking in the details. The paw grasping at your face tilts it left and right as he searches for… something.

Again, you wail as you feel his thumbprint dig into the soft flesh of your cheek. It braces against the edge of your molars, prints embedding– branding itself into the skin beneath it.

“Shh-Shh,” He hushes you softly, voice somewhat soothing now as he sweeps his knuckles across your temple and over your cheekbone. “Quite the hunt. Chased you all over, 70652. ”

The five digits of your passenger number ring through your eardrums like the alarms that had alerted you to your crash landing. It flits across his expression, a smug, mocking look as the realisation strikes you between your ribs like a wet blade—the pilot. Commander Mills, you had been told before cryostasis, was a skilled enough aeronaut to deliver you safely to the destination of Somaris. It appeared he had failed his mission.

“I- I don’t-”

“Everyone in the cryo-bay is dead,” he speaks over you, matter-of-fact in his unwavering tone. Your eyelashes flutter closed, confident Mills can feel your pulse pump blood through your veins as he trails his fingertips down your jugular. It tingles, the feather-light touch, adrenaline rushing over your body in surging waves. “It’s just us.”

“Hngg-” you mewl as he crouches behind you, dragging his lips gently across your pulse point as he breathes you in- the scent of your evasion. Soil coats you in an earthy smell, the metallic tang of blood from the scrapes of the thorny undergrowth. Mills groans against your jugular, scraping his sharp incisors over the thrum of your heart while savouring you.

“Aren’t you lucky?” He whispers, gravelly voice barely registering at this volume. Mill’s hand slips down your throat, calloused fingertips tracing down your central points. Your throat, your sternum between your breasts. The deliberate trail has your breath quickening, an underlying threat of danger making the hairs on your arms stand on end. “Lucky that I found you before those creatures did? Hmm?”

The delicate intonation of his question is deceptive. He’s not being kind- he’s mocking you. Still, the enamel of his teeth sinking into the concave connecting your neck and shoulder has you crying out, wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Mhm,” he lathes his tongue over the indents his teeth leave behind, splaying his fingers wide as he trails his palm over your stomach. Need unfurls beneath the weight of his hand, twisting and coating your abdomen when his fingers dip just beneath the waistband of the joggers you had been provided before entering cryostasis. “This... Is thanks enough.”

Heat creeps across the apples of your cheeks as you feel his hand slip further into your pants and wedge beneath your panties. You can do nothing but turn your hot face away from him, squeezing your eyes shut when his fingers brush through the thatch of curls across the curve of your pussy. Mills hums softly, your only warning before he’s sliding the pad of his finger through your slick cunt.

“Shit,” he grunts softly, the tip of his nose trailing up the length of your jugular. “So wet for me already.”

Sinews in your jaw ache at the force with which you clench your jaw, trying desperately to swallow down the moans that threaten to bubble up from your throat. Mills is circling his fingertip just barely over your clit now, the delicate touch coiling a throbbing heat between your thighs.

It’s a subconscious response, one that bypasses your brain and jolts your hips forward onto his hand. You don’t mean to, your fingers sinking into the soil beneath you as your body tenses. It sends a bright, hot arc of pleasure through your body and you wail raggedly, the short-lived friction enough to blur your vision.

Mills leaps.

Ripping his hand from your pants, he grabs ahold of your waist in a bruising grip, flipping you over onto your back harshly. It’s so fast, the world careening sideways. When you land it almost winds you, your spine hitting the ground with a thud. Twigs and rocks dig into your flesh, but Mills gives you no real opportunity to complain when he pins your body down with the hulking weight of his own.

Urgency spurs Mills on, pushing his fingers under the waistband of both your joggers and your panties before yanking them down your thighs. He doesn’t bother to remove them, abandoning them over your shins. They bunch around your ankles, movements restricted by the fabric. Your body is trembling, buzzing with something far from the fear he had originally inspired in you.

Mills is huge. Broad and muscular, when he leans his body over yours he almost blocks your whole line of sight. His muscles shadow through the thin fabric of his shirt, sweat causing the material to cling to his damp flesh. The chase across the forest seemed to have had little effect on his athletic frame, the exhaustion that had afflicted you unapparent when he pushes your knees back against your chest.

“Just look at you. Trembling. Panting. It’s gorgeous.” Subtle cruelty drips from his tongue when he praises you, watching your nipples harden as your folds are exposed to the cool air. Honey irises drag over your sopping cunt, greedily lapping up the view. You shouldn’t be enjoying this, so exposed to a stranger you had been running for in fear of your life just moments before.

“Please,” you beg, pathetic sobs cracking in your throat at the desperation to be touched.

“You’re in no place to be directing me, Sweet Thing.”

Despite his apparent refusal, Mills is pushing the trousers of his flight suit past his hips to expose his cock. Again, he refuses to waste time in removing them entirely, removing just enough to ease himself out of the confines of the material. You only catch a glimpse of his cock before he hoists your thighs over his pelvis, but your heart seizes at the sight– an angry, red tip leaks precum that smears across the inside of your thighs, veins protruding across the large shaft. You can’t fit tha-

God, he pushes the pad of his thumb into your clit and you yelp, seeing stars. A steady, wicked throb of bliss pulses through you as he applies pressure to the bundle of nerves, swiping his print back and forth. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t help the way your hips jolt as you feel him attempt to breach your entrance with the head of his cock.

“Stop moving,” Mills orders, hand wrapped around his dick as he sweeps through your folds. You’re sobbing now, tears welling in your eyes as he continues to abuse your swollen clit. He slips again, dark eyes flicking up to your face when your hips jolt upwards to chase his touch, the build of your impending orgasm catching you off guard with how quickly it seems to blossom. The third time, when the tip of his dick notches the inside of your thigh rather than taking root, his patience snaps.

Mills suddenly draws back from you, removing his hand from your clit before bringing his open palm down on your throbbing cunt with a brutal slap. Pain bows through you, blending seamlessly with your bliss and causes a sharp, high pitched cry of his name to tumble from your lungs. In your shock, your hips momentarily still. Taking advantage of your dazed state, Mills quickly lines his pulsing cock against your cunt and drives home, swiftly ramming into you with an abrupt snap of his hips.

A haggard gasp rips through your throat at the sudden intrusion, the painful stretch of his cock cracking through you and making your eyes roll back. Dirt cakes under your fingernails as you grasp feebly at the damp soil, trying and failing to find any kind of purchase to ground yourself.

“Take it,” Mills orders, his gruff voice impossibly reaching lower octaves as he pushes his length further into you. He sits back slightly, his eyes almost pitch black with how his pupils swallow them up as they settle on your cunt. Fascinated, he watches your lips stretch around his girth and paint his protruding veins with your slick. “Make it fit— Shit!”

His crude growl scrapes your eardrums as he bottoms out inside of you, hips flush with your own. You can’t breathe, feeling as though he’s big enough to settle amongst your lungs. You heave shallow breaths, your head pulsing with mind-numbing dizziness.

Then he’s moving. He drives forward at first, reaching depths inside you that make your abdomen ache before pulling out of you. The stark emptiness he leaves you with is short-lived, thrusting forward and stealing what little oxygen you had swallowed down.

Heat simmers through you with each shred of the head of his cock against something blinding inside of you. It gives you no room to think, to move, the cruel pace Mills sets. It’s merciless, pummelling into you and driving you up across the forest floor. “Fuuuuck, that’s good,” Mills groans loudly, holding on tight to your hips to prevent you from sliding away from him. You sob brokenly, hitting his chest with the heel of your palm as you struggle against the orgasm that’s practically hurtling towards you. Christ, his dick is so hard, ramming through you and pushing up against your cervix and causing a delightful ache.

The wet sounds of him thrusting into you are obscene, slick and desperate as he begins to pull you down onto the snaps of his hips. Fat tears stream down your cheeks, collecting in your hairline as you sob his name over and over.

“Look at you,” Mills practically snarls, eyes set on the bulge in your lower abdomen and in awe of what he finds there. Fuck fuck fuck. You can see him, see the outline of his cock driving in and out of you through your abdomen. “Mine.”

Through your haze, you feel Mills press his giant palm against your abdomen, feeling himself twitch and thrust inside of you. His forehead drops against your shoulder, hips beginning to stutter as your walls flutter around him.

It’s overwhelming; the intense pace, the brutality of his thrusts, the way your clit brushes against the pubic hairs on his lower pelvis. You sound fucking wrecked, wails spluttering with each devastating rock of his hips.

“Aha-ah- ohfuck,” you babble, eyes rolling back as your body curls inwards. You’re burning, tightening, your orgasm creeping across the pit of your stomach. “I-I’m gonna-“

Mills groans loudly, and your back arches suddenly when he bites into your collarbone. His teeth sink into your flesh, hard enough to draw blood, and the pain shoves you right over the ledge you’d been dancing over. You cum with a scream of his name, clamping down around his cock as ecstasy surges through you from head to toe. Your vision blurs, hearing cuts out.

“Shit,” you hear him spit distantly, despite the close proximity to your ears. Mills’ hips push up deep inside of you, his body lurching and trembling as he cums inside of you. It feels, even in your altered state of consciousness, like it takes forever. Milking him endlessly, his breath shuddering against the wound on your clavicle as he gently grinds into you to ease himself down from the high.

There’s no movement, no sudden release of your body and flopping to the side. Mills stays stuffed within you, your mixed cum dribbling down the inside of your thighs as he squeezes the flesh of your hips with his palms.

Your sobs of his name had been loud, noisy enough to draw in all kinds of lizard creatures, but Mills seems insistent on remaining like this, scraping his teeth across the curve of your shoulder and beginning to rock into your swollen cunt again.

“There’s a few hours before nightfall,” he talks over your garbled string of noises, overstimulated and exhausted from the hours of running and the brutal way he had fucked into you. “You can take me again before then, can’t you, Sweet Thing? Before we head back to the ship?”

Your body resigns to his question, already far too wearied and submissive to argue what feels more like an order than a question— besides, bliss is already pooling in between your thighs when he pinches your clit with the pads of his forefinger and thumb.

“Good Girl.”

END

Join the Tag List Misc Character Taglist: @glassbxttless, @peachyproserpina, @pansa-1-san @htccu7gho9

Gif belongs to @zachsnydered

[kookygranger]

Fairytale of Hawkins: Part Two

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

A cheesy hallmark Christmas fic inspired by @bettyfrommars's tow truck!Eddie and prompts #1 & #6 from Betty and @allthingsjoeq's Holiday Prompt Party

Summary: A petting zoo, Secret Santa and mistletoe never being around when you need it.

Warnings: reader doesn't have family, reader and Eddie are in their late 20s/early 30s, swearing

Word count: 5.3k

Author's note: Okay, it's 11:54pm on Christmas Eve where I am and this is far from perfect, but I wanted the people who enjoyed the first part to have this for Christmas so here it is. I hope you're all safe and you get moments of peace and joy these holidays.

Part One

You were handsome You were pretty, Queen of New York City When the band finished playing They howled out for more – Fairytale of New York, The Pogues/Kirsty MacColl

3 Days 'Til Christmas

“So uh, what’s goin’ on with you and Robin’s friend?”

Hawkins town centre is frosted with a light dusting of snow that fell in the early morning hours. Picture perfect, like a Hallmark Christmas card. The hum of festive cheer in the crowds doing last-minute gift shopping and partaking in the charming small-town seasonal activities is mostly drowned out by an argument between Dustin and Lucas, Max and the younger Sinclair sibling rolling their eyes in annoyance. They sit, impatiently waiting for the rest of the party to show up, on the edge of the fountain frozen over with the cold snap that swept through town at the beginning of the week.

Steve’s perched on the back of a bench a few feet away, ignoring the squabble as Eddie toes the ground in front of him.

“First of all, I know you know her name. And B, nothing is going on, she’s a great girl and a really good friend to Robin.” Steve shrugs, “We both told you you’d like her.”

Eddie squints, his leather jacket opening to reveal a dark red sweater as his pocketed hand gestures in question, “Why me specifically?”

Steve shrugs again, “Rob and I both thought you’d hit it off. It just feels…right. Don’t you think?”

“I mean yeah, yeah she’s beautiful. Cute as hell when she gets flustered. But she’s a city girl–used to more than this, right?” He looks around at the small-town square, filled with little kids dressed in matching sweaters and flustered mothers pushing prams with clenched smiles. “She’ll be gone well before the ice on the road thaws.”

“So? What’s wrong with having a little holiday fling?”

Eddie sucks his teeth, “I don’t think I can.”

Steve lets out a low whistle, “You’re that head-over-heels already?”

“No.” Eddie shakes his head, cheeks flushing pink from more than just the bite to the wind, then sighs. “Think if I have a fling I might just get there though. This is Robin’s fault she shouldn’t’ve talked her up so much!” Steve chuckles at his friend’s distress. “Doesn’t help that she looks like a damn angel when the snow’s kissing her eyelashes.”

Steve rubs his face, “Jesus Christ.”

***

You and Robin had vowed to hold off drinking for the rest of the holidays after your night at The Hideout, which was followed by a day spent on the couch, groaning about loud noises as Gremlins beamed across the TV in the darkened living room. When you’d finally managed to peel yourselves away from the nest you’d made out of blankets, large diet sodas and greasy fries from the drive-thru, you decided to cross off making Christmas cookies from Robin’s list of “holiday activities that could make the grinch’s heart grow.” She assured you weren’t the Grinch in this situation but it certainly felt, pointed.

The misshapen sugary treats weigh down your tote bag as you walk arm-in-arm with Robin towards the designated meeting spot.

“I keep making a fool of myself in front of Eddie.”

Robin smirks, “You’re doing fine.”

“I can just be so,” you hold out your hand in a vague gesture and grimace, “sometimes, you know?”

Robin laughs, “Oh, I know.”

“Thanks.”

She squeezes your arm that’s wrapped around hers and shakes her head, “Everybody loves you I promise. And if they don’t yet, they will.” You both round a corner, the fountain and a group of animated college kids coming into view. Steve waves from across the street, Eddie turning his head in your direction then away again quickly when you make eye contact.

“Right.”

***

“C’mon now everyone keep up.” Steve claps his gloved hands together, his cheeks pink and his brows furrowed in faux admonishment as he leads the group towards the petting zoo set up for the weekend in the parking lot of Bradley’s Big Buy supermarket. You can tell by the glisten in his eyes how much it means to him to have all of his found family in one place.

You laugh softly when he claps Dustin on the back and the younger boy tries to shrug off his embrace.

“He’s in his element this time of year.” Eddie falls into stride next to you, the both of you now bringing up the rear of the boisterous group.

You nod, a small smile permanently etched on your face from the company. “I can tell.” You walk the rest of the way in silence, watching the antics of the strange mix of personalities in front of you with a distant bemusement as you tried and failed to come up with something to say. Had you called him sexy at one point the other night or did you dream that?

The stench of hay and something less savoury wafts over you as you all enter the car park under a bright red banner with ‘Petting Zoo’ written in white cursive on it. You’re about to ask Eddie if they did this every year when a middle-aged woman stops you with a brochure held out in front of you.

“Have you found Jesus?” She’s standing by the entrance in a matching woollen navy-blue coat and skirt, heels on her stocking-clad feet and hair quaffed perfectly in a bob accentuated by the pearls on her ears and neck.

You don’t even think about your response before it slips out, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise he was missing.” You can see Eddie smirk out of the corner of your eye. It was just meant to be a light-hearted joke, but the woman clearly didn’t see the humour.

She purses her lips in a thin line and snatches the brochure back out of your reach. “I should’ve known you were one of his type.” You keep walking along, her voice changed back into a sweeter version as she asks the next person the same question behind you.

You turn to Eddie, his eyes downcast and shoulders higher than they were a second ago. “What type are you?”

He rubs the back of his neck underneath the black knitted scarf that matches his beanie. “Uh, devil worshipper according to this town.”

“Oh, I’m actually lapsed. Found all that sacrificing was getting in the way of my day job you know?”

The smile that catches at the corners of his mouth makes your tummy flip.

“I know whattya mean.” He nods, all dramatics with his feigned seriousness, “So much laundry with all those blood-stained clothes.”

“Right? Such a hassle.” You both laugh as you look at each other. “Do they actually think that?”

Eddie shrugs, “It was worse when I was in high school, but I still get the odd bit of holy water thrown in my direction.”

“Why?” You shake your head and frown, serious this time. “Just because you listen to Motorhead?”

“That and I was the leader of the Dungeons and Dragons club in high school. It’s a game for nerds really, but it kinda got swept up into the satanic panic that was going around at the time.”

“That’s so…dumb.”

He huffs a laugh through his nose, watching your feet walk in sync together. “Yeah, I guess it is.” His head snaps back up, “Wait, how do you know Motorhead?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” You bump his shoulder and scoff, “Did you just judge a book by her cover Eddie the devil worshipper?” He opens his mouth to speak but his reply is cut off by an animalistic snort that has your head turning in curiosity. You gasp as you spot the furry brown creatures leaning into patting hands over a wooden fence, “They actually do have reindeer here!”

Eddie grins as your face lights up. “Did you think they were lying?”

You shake your head, “I thought they’d just be regular deer. I’ve never seen–“ You grab Eddie’s leather-clad arm in your excitement and he looks down at your touch before you bound off towards Robin who’s laughing at your reaction.

El and Max have to coax you into actually patting one when you get closer, the antlers much more intimidating in person. They giggle as you squeal and pull back your hand when a cloud of condensation escapes from the deer’s nostrils as it huffs loudly.

You turn to laugh with them, distracted as the reindeer leans in closer, your body tensing when you feel its hot breath on the back of your neck before it snatches your scarf from around your shoulders. The girls yell as you whip around to see it trot off, barely processing what just happened when you feel a warm hand on your back, Eddie’s frame coming into view as he slips past you and jumps the fence. He’s able to grab the scarf out of the creature’s mouth and sneak back onto your side of the fence before anyone who works there even notices.

You’re speechless as he hands your scarf back to you, El and Max cheering along with Robin and Nancy who’d noticed the commotion.

The younger girls are giggling again when Max interrupts the silent look you and Eddie share while the scarf is held in between the both of you. “You’re a real knight in shining armour this week Munson.” He looks up at Max as she and El walk away, looking for their boyfriends to ask if they’d brave a reindeer pen for them.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You take the scarf from his hands, grimacing at the wet patch on the light fabric. “Don’t know if you can get reindeer drool out of cashmere though.”

He snorts, “Maybe you shouldn’t have worn something so expensive to a petting zoo, princess.”

You brush off the nickname, not entirely sure if it was meant in jest. “You know I’m a feminist, I’m gonna need you to stop coming to my rescue Eddie.”

He smirks, “I don’t think that’s feminism, I think that’s stubborn independence to the point of detriment.”

He was taunting. Flirting really, but Eddie forgets it takes time for people to figure out he’s not just being grumpy all the time. That he isn’t as mean as his initial wariness of people might suggest. For a second he forgets that you haven’t always been a part of this group – that you don’t know him like the others do.

The awestruck look that had graced your face drops. “Jeez okay, I didn’t realise we were reading each other.” His eyes go wide as you shrink into yourself. “You know, I realise you probably don’t like me very much and you might feel like I’m ruining your time with your friends at Christmas, but I am trying Eddie.”

He hates the way your eyes begin to water.

“Robins told me so much about all of you, I know how much you all mean to each other and I really didn’t want to intrude on that, but she insisted that it would be okay. She’s letting me spend the holidays with her family because I don’t have one, and I don’t want her to regret that.” You look down at your feet, “I’ll make sure to stay out of your way from now on.” 

Eddie clenches his eyes shut as you walk away to find Robin or anyone else who won’t mind you joining in.

“Nice work Munson.”

***

Once the group have had their share of reindeer petting and eaten the cookies you and Robin had brought along with some hot cocoa from a nearby stand, everyone gathers in the town square again for the annual Secret Santa. You’re huddled together with Robin, head leaning against hers as you steal each other’s warmth and the group gathers in a circle, Steve tossing pieces of paper with everyone’s name written on them into his beanie.

Eddie keeps stealing glances at you as Steve goes around the group, dramatically holding a gloved hand to each of the teens’ eyes and yelling, “No peeking!”

Eddie feels shit. He can’t believe he’s made you feel unwelcome. Well, he can. He knows he can be guarded when it comes to letting new people into his life, but you’re one of Robin’s best friends – spending Christmas with her because you don’t have anywhere else to go and he’s made you feel like he doesn’t want you here. Asshole.

When Steve gets round to you and Robin, he holds the hat out to her then moves on to Jonathan and Argyle next. You figure you’re too new to the group to partake in this tradition, which seems fair. Steve rounds out the wonky circle with Eddie, dropping the beanie with a “whoops” before fumbling on the ground with it, then holding it out to Eddie. You notice him squinting his eyes in suspicion, wondering what’s going on between them when Steve comes back to you.

“Lucky last,” he smiles that charming cherub grin of his and you reach into the beanie to pull the last piece of paper out.

Of course it would be.

Steve reminds everyone of the budget and secret part of Secret Santa with a pointed look at Mike, who frowns in offence before the group starts heading off in different directions.

Robin moves to stand in front of you. “Who’d ya get? Do you need help? I can bend the rules for you seeing as you don’t properly know everyone.”

“Yeah, I feel like I’m a bit disadvantaged.” You laugh nervously, “I uh, I got Eddie.”

“Oh great! He’s easy. Big nerd, you know what he likes.” She starts counting off on her fingers, “Music, DnD, Lord of the Rings and all that fantasy stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess.” You shrug.

She hooks her arm with yours again, “C’mon let’s go together, I got Nancy. I feel like you’ll be better at picking something for her than me.”

***

After an hour and a half, you’re about ready to give up. You helped pick out a faux-leather journal and fountain pen set for Nancy from Robin, but you haven’t been able to find anything remotely good for Eddie’s gift. Everything feels impersonal like something he could’ve just picked up himself and the last thing you want is for him to be disappointed that you got him for the gift exchange. Just another friend-only activity that your presence has ruined.

You’re currently browsing through a second-hand bookstore, hoping to find something you can curl up on the couch in your apartment with during the rest of the holidays, while Robin’s popped into the bath and body shop across the street to look for a gift for her aunt.

Your eyes scan the hardbacks in the fantasy section, fingers running lightly across the spines when they come to a stop on a light green book. You tilt the book from the shelf, admiring the mountains and dragon carved in navy blue adorning the border. This could be perfect. Carefully opening the worn cover, you find an inscription written in the yellowed pages that makes you smile. You close the book softly and head to the counter to ring it up. Maybe he wouldn’t be disappointed.

Dear Henry,

In celebration of our mutual liking – I hope Bilbo becomes a friend as well.

Happy Birthday,

Love, your Arwen

***

Christmas Eve

The butcher paper wrapped gift sat heavy in your palm as you’re greeted by Steve in his living room when you and Robin walk in. You hold up the present in question, keen to get rid of it before your clammy hands ruin the red satin bow decorating it, and Steve points you in the direction of the pile under the colourfully lit tree. You take a moment to admire the personal ornaments, the glint of a red 20-sided dice reminding you of the other inhabitant of this apartment.

The famous Harrington Christmas Eve party had been talked up by Robin for months. In her attempt to get you to Hawkins, she promised you a preview of the King Steve you’d heard her tease him so much about (which he vehemently denied was a thing), potently spiked punch (which you would not be partaking in) and impromptu games out on the street that would cause noise complaints from the neighbours.

And now that Steve and Eddie shared an apartment? Apparently, rowdiness was a prerequisite.

You’re more nervous than you should be as you settle in, taking solace in Jonathan and Will’s quiet company on the couch as you sip on a non-spiked mug of egg nog. It isn’t until half an hour later that Eddie even shows up, despite this being his apartment.

He walks into the living room, cheeks red from the cold, snow still sprinkled on his shoulders and in his hair. He’s followed closely by Dustin who’s rugged up in an assortment of knitwear that looks like it was definitely made by a doting family member, and grins when everyone greets him.

“Finally, you two.” Steve walks in from the kitchen with a bowl of freshly poured potato chips. “Everyone’s here, we’re getting ready for Secret Santa.”

Eddie just nods at him, offering you a tight-lipped smile when you catch his eye before he walks over to the tree to place something under it with his back turned to you.

While everyone gathers in the living room, he ducks out. Returning without all the extra layers, his crisp white t-shirt takes you by surprise and your eyes wander to the silver chain around his neck.

Pull it together, honestly.

“Okay, I’m first!” Robin walks across the room to the tree by the front window, only to be stopped by Steve’s arm.

“What? Why are you first?”

“Well, someone has to be dingus. Why not me?” 

“Uh, maybe we should let our guest be the first?” Everyone turns their head towards you and the attention makes you sink further into the couch.

“Oh, no Robin is always first.” You wink in her direction, then frown. “Wait, did that sound weird?” You look at Jonathan and Will who both chuckle, the older boy giving you a shrug.

After Robin tears through her present the decision is made to go anti-clockwise around the room. The closer it gets to Eddie who’s sitting on the couch opposite you, the more your palms begin to sweat. You don’t think your heart could take him being indifferent to his gift, and you hated that you cared so much about what he thought. What was this town doing to you?

When Steve hands Eddie his gift your back automatically straightens, perched perilously on the edge of your seat you grip the mug of egg nog in your hands. He takes his time with unwrapping, not diving straight in and tearing like you would’ve expected, even draping the ribbon around his neck once he’s untied it. When he gets to the gift the room is mostly silent, save for the Christmas carols playing from the stereo in the corner. You’d already clocked The Kinks, The Damned and Ramones – sure that the boy who held your last ditch gesture in his hands had picked the tunes.

Eddie’s face is stoic as his fingers run along the cover of the book. When Dustin and Mike, sat near him spot what it is they share exclamations of “Sick”, but you’re more interested in the metalhead’s opinion. You take in a deep breath as he opens the well-preserved cover and you watch his eyes read the inscriptions.

After much back and forth you’d decided to leave your own message next to the original one. Writing in pencil in case he wanted to erase it.

He rubs his freshly shaven jaw then his eyes find yours across the room. They’re soft. Pools of awe that match the tone of his quiet voice.

“Thank you.”

You offer him a small smile, “You’re welcome.”

“How did you know it was from her?” Dustin pipes up from his seat on the floor.

“Lucky guess.” His eyes hadn’t left yours until then, and you watch him scan the message again.

Dear Eddie,

I know you’re already well acquainted but I thought what better company on a long winter’s night than the second best party to go on adventures with (second only to your own of course).

Merry Christmas,

C.G.

xx

You feel his eyes on you as the rest of the gift-giving takes place around you. Wiping the sweat off your palms now that the moment was over, but the tension you’d felt hadn’t lifted from your chest – only tethered itself to the cause that was sitting across the room lightly brushing his thumb over your offering.

You’re the last in line to open your Secret Santa, but the attention of the room has been caught up in the gifts that have already been revealed. You’re admiring the new camera bag Jonathan is turning over in his hands when Steve taps you on the shoulder. He holds out a small parcel that fits in the palm of his hand and winks at you when you take it, before walking over to sit by Dustin.

You look down at the parcel wrapped in shiny red paper, tugging at the twine tied around it when you feel the weight of the couch shift beside you.

Eddie takes up more room than Jonathan who’s now sitting on the arm of the sofa across from you with Nancy’s arm draped over his leg. He’s manspreading a little, but the only reason you notice is because of the close proximity of his knee to yours.

“You got me,” he gestures to the gift in your hands, “I mean I got you. Well, I guess both are true.” He holds up his new copy of The Hobbit and smiles softly.

You look down at your lap again and begin to unwrap your present, Eddie’s leg bouncing next to yours. A glint catches your eye as a pair of dangly ruby earrings is revealed.

“They’re not real obviously,” Eddie scratches his jaw, “and Robin said you’d be happy with anything, like a snow globe or candy but I saw these in the drugstore and thought they’d look good on you.”

You smile, “Eddie they’re really pretty. Thank you so much.”

He blows out a puff of air, “You like them?”

“I love them, honestly. Oh, look we match!” You hold out the earrings next to the ring on his finger sporting a small ruby stone.

His cheeks are dusted in pink as he smiles, “Yeah, I guess we do.” You ask him to hold the earrings you had in before as you swap them. “You don’t have to put them on now.”

“I know, I want to.”

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, mesmerised as he watches you put on his earrings. “What does C.G. mean by the way?” He opens the book in his lap again.

“City girl.” The frown on his face troubles you momentarily before he speaks again, doe eyes pining you down once more.

“Thank you. It’s really special. You’re really–“ He trails off, eyes searching yours as you wait for him to finish his sentence. But he doesn’t. Instead, he gets up so abruptly that you flinch. “I gotta uh, find something…I’ll be back.”

You turn to Will who had been not so subtly watching the whole exchange from the other side of the couch and gives you a sympathetic smile when you say, “I still don’t know where I stand with him.”

***

For the next twenty minutes, you only see glimpses of Eddie as he darts in and out of rooms. Stomping around like he’s on a mission, a crease etched deeply in his brow. While Nancy and El are admiring your earrings in the kitchen, you hear a squeak of shoes on the linoleum before you see a blur of brown hair disappear around the corner.

You excuse yourself, finding Eddie alone in the hallway, leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed and head tilted to the ceiling.

“Eddie, are you okay?” He shakes his head and huffs out a bitter laugh. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s always goddamn mistletoe at these things. Steve always gets drunk and tortures people with it, but then this year? Of course there’s none!”

You step closer, now standing in front of him but he doesn’t meet your eye. You’re confused. “Why do you need mistletoe?”

“So I have an excuse to kiss you.”

Oh.

OH.

Wait, what?

“Why don’t you just…kiss me?”

His head snaps down, eyes flickering back and forth between yours with a frown. “Can I?”

You bite your lip to stop the enormous smile threatening to creep onto your face. “Yes Eddie, you can kiss me.”

He pushes himself off the wall, crowding your space and reaching a hand out tentatively to touch your face, thumb gently stroking your skin like he had the book. He searches your eyes for any hesitation before he leans in slowly until your fluttering lashes tickle his cheek and he can’t take it anymore. The kiss is as soft as the snow falling in flurries outside, one elongated peck before you're both leaning in for another, and another. Turning tender as he reaches his other hand to pull you closer by the waist. You can taste peppermint on him, probably from one of the candy canes hanging on the tree, but it’s the warmth from his chest and the heady scent of his cologne and smoke that clings to his shirt that has you lost in him. So lost that when his thumb gently pulls down on the side of your mouth, you let him in with no hesitation, his tongue now spreading his warmth from the inside.

“Wow, that got R-rated really quick.” You jump and lean back, not moving far with Eddie’s grip still on your waist. You look down the hall and catch Robin nodding with a look of slight disgust on her face next to a smirking Steve standing there with his arms crossed.

Eddie bows his head and sighs, “Really? Think you can maybe take the commentary somewhere else Harrington?”

He holds up his hands in defence, a leafy twig with white berries hanging from his hand. “Hey, I was just coming to give you two a push, but it looks like the party’s already started.”

Eddie pinches the skin in between his brows, “For fuck sake.” You cover your mouth with your hand at the sight of the deep blush creeping into his cheeks, which deepens even further when you both hear Dustin yell from the other room.

“Did he kiss her yet?!”

Eddie groans and moves his hand to the small of your back to guide you out the door, flipping off the audience at the end of the hall before grabbing your coats off the hanger. He helps you into yours and leads you outside the apartment building by your hand.

For the first time since you arrived in Hawkins, you don’t notice the cold that greets you, focused entirely on Eddie’s warmth as he crowds you against the brick wall of the building. He holds one arm above you, almost enveloping you in his soft waves when he leans in.

That intense gaze has you shying away again, opting to play with the zipper of his jacket instead of looking back.

“You really liked your gift that much huh?”

“I really like you.” He tilts your chin up.

“I didn’t think–“

“I’m sorry if I made you feel unwelcome,” he frowns. “I have trouble letting people in.”

You shake your head and he moves his hand to stroke along your jaw. “It’s okay, this is a very special family I’ve walked into. I understand why you’d be wary of anyone disturbing that.”

“You fit right in. I promise.”

“Thank you, Eddie.”

He smirks, “Also, I’m just really, really bad at flirting when it comes to drop-dead gorgeous city girls.”

You grin, “I think you’re probably better at it than you think.”

He leans in, lips a breath away from yours, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

***

Christmas Day

The screen door shudders under your touch as you knock on the trailer, your gloved hand coming back to wrap around the translucent cake plate tucked into your chest. You hear muffled footsteps before the inside door swings open to reveal a beaming Eddie on the other side.

“Hi,” you smile.

You step back to let him open the screen door and he meets you with half a step out, grabbing the plate from you before placing a gentle kiss on your lips that has you desperate for more.

“Hi, sweet girl. C’mon in.”

You follow his warmth, “There’s only half left of the cheesecake. I’m sorry Robin and her family already ate most of it, then I kind of hid it when I realised I didn’t have anything to bring over – I think it tastes pretty good though. And I brought this wine, which is all they had left at the store and it only came in this gigantic bulk size, I think it might be half water–”

You feel Eddie’s smile as he presses his lips to yours again, “It’s okay sweetheart. You didn’t have to bring anything.” “I know, but I wanted to make a good first impression and we both know that I…don’t.”

He chuckles, “Trust me, I was blown away as soon as you stepped outta that car.”

You roll your eyes, snappy reply dying on your tongue when you hear a door open and an older man walks down the short hallway towards you. “Hi, Mr Munson.” Eddie squeezes your shoulder as you step forward with your hand held out and introduce yourself. “Thank you so much for having me, I hope I’m not intruding on your Christmas.”

“Nonsense,” he frowns at you, the resemblance uncanny, and brings you in for a tight hug. “Please call me Wayne, darlin’. Honestly, Ed’s been bouncing off the walls waiting for you to come so you might be able to do me a favour and get him to sit still.”

“We were just watching Gremlins.”

“Oh, I love that film! I didn’t get to appreciate it the other day because I was hungover–I mean…we were busy baking cookies.” You feel Eddie’s chuckle on the side of your face.

“She brought baked goods and wine, Wayne. All for lil’ old us.” He squeezes your shoulder again.

“It’s not any good.” You hold out the cheap bottle to Eddie’s uncle.

“Oh hell, anything you can uncork, uncap or unscrew, I’ll drink it.”

You laugh, shoulders relaxing under Eddie’s subtle massage.

***

You feel light.

Floaty and fuzzy with the laughter coming from beside you, your body sinking into the worn couch and Eddie’s gentle stroking of the back of your hand grounding you in the moment. The Munson’s, like almost everybody else in Hawkins had welcomed you into their home with open arms.

It was Christmas and you were curled up on the couch with a boy who meant something to you. Allowed to be a part of a family if only for a short period.

“So little miss, you headin’ home tomorrow?” You turn to Wayne, who’s sitting in his armchair, eating a piece of the cheesecake you plated up for him with Eddie’s help.

“I was planning on it, but you know the airport gets so busy during the holidays and Robin’s still gonna be here so…I think I might just stay till New Year, actually.”

Eddie’s head snaps from the TV set towards you. He grips your hand a little tighter to get your attention.

“Is that right?”

You turn to him, “Yeah. Are you–are you gonna be around?”

“No,” he shakes his head, frowning in that way that’s starting to make your heart flutter, “I gotta work. Lotta damsels in distress needin’ me to rescue them from the side of the road.” You feel the heat creep up your neck as Wayne rolls his eyes at his nephew.

“Wanna ride shotgun?”

~ THE END ~

Tagging: @eddieslooneymoonie, @micheledawn1975 – thank you for asking!

[magpie-writes]

Catching Snowflakes

Part One

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Wordcount: 1.6k

Summary: Din and his latest bounty crash land on an ice planet. Can you trust each other enough to survive?

Tags: Enemies to lovers. This chapter is pretty tame but things will, ahem, heat up soon. Pre-Grogu.

Author’s Note: Unbetaed, but thank you to @acrossthesestars for gently bullying me into getting back on the writing horse. Thank you also to @radiowallet for her advice about all things fic. I love you both lots.

“Is this what you meant by bringing me in cold? Because I gotta say, there must be an easier way.”

The Mandalorian kneeling beside you in the snow responds with an irritated grunt - which is more of a response than you’ve gotten in the hours since the two of you crash landed on this icy planet. You feel a surge of triumph at getting that much of a win although, with your hands in binders, you know it’s nothing more than a hollow victory.

Still, if all you can do is needle him with your words, jabbing in between the unprotected places in his armor like the stinging sleet currently sliding down the back of your neck, you’ll take it.

Neither of you are dressed for this. Standing in the grey leggings, lavender tunic, and thin woolen coat he’d tracked you down in, you’re halfway to frostbitten already. Still, smug satisfaction curls in your belly as you take in the ice riming the bounty hunter’s normally shining beskar. Opaque white crackles over the plates of his armor like frost on a windowpane, its crystalline branches spreading further and further the longer he crouches beside the open panel of his Razor Crest. One of the engines blew hours after he captured you, forcing the ship into a tailspin he’d only just managed to pull out of before making a heavy landing into powdery drifts of snow seemingly as tall as he is.

He’s spent the time since then swearing under his breath and wrestling with various tools, neither of which has accomplished more than getting a few lights to blink on and off, and delaying the inevitable - him handing you over to the people who hired him, collecting the bounty on your head, and leaving you to your fate.

A shiver that has nothing to do with the weather runs through you at the thought.

“Dank ferrik!” The Mandalorian throws a wrench into a nearby drift and rises to his feet to, you can only assume, glare down at the offending mechanism.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Is this going to delay you collecting your reward money? That’s such a pity for you.”

The black void of his visor turns to you and it takes every stubborn bone in your body not to quail beneath that flat, empty stare. You lean against the ship instead, a look of mock sympathy on your face.

“Why don’t you wait in the ship?” The hunter extends an arm towards the still-open hatch in exaggerated “invitation,” his deep voice tight with impatience.

“And miss all the fun?” Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, all innocence. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

-

Luckily for your extremities, the Mandalorian manages to wrestle some systems online not too much later. The Crest remains grounded, navigation and comms are still down, and he doesn’t seem optimistic about the weapons system, but the atmospherics flicker back to life, filling the Crest with light and welcome heat.

For a little while, at least.

Before you’ve even finished thawing your chilled fingers over a vent, your captor powers the ship down until all that’s left are a few low lights and the barest whisper of heat. When you shoot a look at him, he shrugs one metal-clad shoulder.

“Need to conserve power.”

Raising your manacled hands, the steel as frigid as the air outside, you demand “Think you’ll still get full price if I’m missing pieces?”

You try to force down the thought that he probably would.

He shuffles his feet for a moment, uncertain, then pulls something out of a nearby crate with a sigh.

“Come here.”

You scoff and take a step backward, your hands raised in defiance. “If you think I’m getting any closer to you than I have to, you soulless, money-grubbing -“

The Mandalorian catches your hands in his gloved ones, his grasp firm but not painfully so, and shoves something smooth and metallic against your palm, making you gasp.

It’s warm.

Your fury temporarily forgotten, you almost groan at the relief as heat radiates to the tips of your fingers. You cup your hands around the polished metal blazing like a tiny sun between your skin and his gloves.

“A hand warmer?” You look up to find the Mandalorian studying your expression, his helmeted head tilted to one side, before nodding once.

“Why didn’t you get one sooner?”

“I just have the one.”

As the heat spreads between you, the ice on his gloves begins to melt, the moisture rising into the cold air as steam. If you were anywhere else, with anyone else, you’d make some flirtatious joke about it. Surprised as you still are by the kindness of his gesture, that humor surfaces despite your better instincts, and a wry smile tugs at your lips.

“Do you hold hands with all your bounties, or just the half-frozen ones?”

The Mandalorian drops your hands like he’s been burned. Only your lightning quick reflexes save the handwarmer from dropping to the floor and, caught off guard, you attempt to hand it back to him.

“Keep it.” He nearly stumbles over a crate in his rush to put more distance between you. “I’m uh, gonna go work on the ship some more.”

Before you can think of a response, he turns and walks back into the howling wind. Alone.

-

Hours later, you toss and turn on the bunk you found while exploring the confines of the ship. It’s surprisingly comfortable, if small, the mattress thin but serviceable, and the blankets thick enough to wrap yourself in. They’re cleaner than you’d worried they’d be, carrying only a faint hint of what you guess must be the Mandalorian’s scent. Worn leather, softened by what you suspect may be beeswax. The tang of metal and burn of carbon. And something subtler. Warm, almost spiced. There’s something oddly comforting about it - or would be, if it didn’t remind you of the man who was hauling you to a grisly fate.

With a sigh, you flip yourself onto your back and stare up into the darkness. Where *is* that man, anyway? If he dies out in the cold, there’s no guarantee you’ll be better off. Not with the comms down and the ship grounded. You could take your chances that there might be a settlement nearby, but you hadn’t caught any glimpses of one as the Crest was plummeting to the planet’s surface. Besides, with no winter weather gear, your odds of making it any distance before collapsing are… not great.

You’re up and moving before consciously arriving at a decision.

-

The wintry night air whips around you, lashing the warmth from the blanket clutched around your shoulders before you can brace for its icy onslaught. It’s shockingly, brutally cold. Killing cold. Your teeth are chattering by the time you make it to the Mandalorian’s side.

Snow has drifted against his broad form and icicles cling to the cowl around his neck. He’s not moving and for a moment, you wonder if he actually has frozen to death out here by himself.

Somehow, the possibility doesn’t cheer you the way you thought it would.

“Mando?”

Reaching out, you shake his shoulder hard enough to send snow tumbling down his back, nearly jumping out of your skin when he turns to look at you.

“Maker, don’t scare me like that. What are you doing out here?”

“What do you t-think?” Despite his obvious sarcasm, the Mandalorian’s voice is dull, oddly flat. “Trying to f-fix the engine.”

He tries to rise but wavers on his feet. Instinctively, you reach out, taking his weight when his numbed feet stumble. His Beskar armor is freezing to the touch. You can only imagine how cold he must be beneath all that frozen steel.

“Come on,” you urge, slipping an arm around his waist and encouraging him to lean on you as you make your way back into the moderately warmer ship. “Let’s get you warmed up.”

“You sure you wouldn’t rather leave me to f-fend for myself in the snow? Can’t say I’d b-blame you.”

You cut a glance at the bounty hunter, not sure if he’s joking.

“Oh, I considered it,” you admit breezily as you close the door behind him. Without the furious howling of the wind, the dimly lit ship falls into a hushed silence, quiet enough for you to hear the Mandalorian’s sharp bark of a laugh.

“What changed your mind?”

You shrug, not entirely sure yourself.

He stands and stares at you for a long, long moment before nodding once, murmuring a quiet thank you, and settling onto a nearby crate.

“Wait, Mando, are you going to sleep out here? In your armor?”

“That’s the plan.” He sounds tired, resigned.

“There’s not another bunk? Or…” You’re about to offer to switch places with him but stop, remembering that you’re his captive. His bounty. Why should you care where he sleeps?

“Suit yourself. Just don’t come crying to me when all your joints rust.”

“I’m not a droid.”

For the first time, there’s heat in his voice. It’s enough to make you turn, to glare at him and demand “No? Because you’re heartless enough for one. Tell me something, Mando. Do you even know what they’ll do to me? The people that hired you to bring me down? Or why they put a bounty on me in the first place?”

There’s a long, tense moment and then, “I didn’t ask.”

“Oh? And why not?”

“I never do.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t you think you should start?”

Without waiting for an answer, you turn your back and make for the small cabin. Alone.

It’s only later, when you’re on the blurred edge of sleep, that a question of your own occurs to you: what sort of bounty hunter gives up his own bed for a captive?

[rosesloveletters]

lucky star.

Pairing: Dr. Frederick Frankenstein x Fem. Reader

Word Count: 6,645

Warnings: sexual content / smut

Summary: ‘Frederick, you are my lucky star,’ Your skin was burning hot and you thought you might spontaneously combust, ‘your radiance was too much and I couldn’t help myself…’ // You had been burned before, but never like this. // Frederick and Reader spend a loving, passionate night alone inside the castle.

Author's Note: Hopefully you all can forgive me for taking a small break from writing Wonka fics to write for another of Gene's roles. If you haven't seen Young Frankenstein, please go watch it. It's so damn funny and Gene is so attractive.

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

The cold air seeped down into your bones, penetrating your thin nightgown the same way the moonlight cut through the clouds and bathed the dank night in a milky haze. There was at least a foot of snow on the ground and the cold air bled through the castle walls. December was a brutal month to be up in the mountains; the winters here seemed to last a lifetime. 

What little reprieve you had was the crackling fireplace in your quiet bedroom. You took up residency on the hearth, the stone-cold floors beneath your bare feet sending tremors through you, but it was nothing you wouldn’t suffer so long as you were able to stand before the fire. 

This was how he found you most nights, your silhouette red-rimmed and glimmering from the firelight as each fragile little flame arched in a furious, swirling dance. Encased in stone, the flames could not travel, but you imagined them swallowing you whole. 

Your body was a block of ice and you feared it would take a decade just to thaw your heart, but his presence melted the frost on your fingertips and got your blood pumping again. Such was your complicated relationship between this professor turned mad scientist. 

The lick of the flame never heated you up like he did. 

“Oh, you’re still there?” He asked in an amused tone as he entered your chambers, already shedding his coat to prepare for the long night ahead. He must’ve been exhausted, though you had no idea what he was working on down there in the laboratory. He abated your questions with affection, arms encircling your body like the flames you dreamed of and shielding you from the cold. 

You turned just enough to glance at him over your shoulder, “every night,” you responded and turned back to the fire. The flames reflected in your dilated pupils danced in a blaze of infernal passion as though you were lit from within. 

You heard him shuffling around behind you, but you paid him no mind. The flames enchanted you; you always dreamed in noire, but for the first time you could see in the color he had shown you. 

Soft violin music permeated your senses and you suppressed a full-bodied shudder. 

It was as if you had been summoned out of thin air, stagnant temptation veiled over you. 

With your curves accentuated in firelight, you resembled the moon in all her shimmering, shivering opalescence. In her craters all alone, you were a woman scorned, a maiden murdered in cold blood, a ghost of herself digging her own grave to be buried alive, but inside of the castle you were unapologetically yourself. You belonged here as much as any of the other residents, a misfit to the rest of the world, a crisis of consequence, the quintessence of vice and virtue and all alone in every way except physical. 

Your ears rang from the haunting harmony as you waited for warmth to come. 

It finally did, in the form of your lover’s arms wrapped around you. 

You saw less and less of him these days and you suspected a new achievement of his sometime soon, but he kept quiet about what it was. It was much easier to pretend he was falling out of love with you than to conjure any idea of what he had been doing for the last several days because in a state like this he was much more difficult to study than any lecture he might’ve once given. You would have gratefully taken down notes from him rather than pick apart his brain for the learning material. 

If your love was ancient history, then why weren’t you hanging up in a museum yet? 

As much time as he spent away from you it was imaginable that he forgot you existed, yet he always came back to you at night. 

It was all just an idea, the seed of all science, which bore roots of hypotheses and germination in study and, if one were lucky, might someday bloom into spectacular results. 

“I suppose you’ve still got no intention of letting me know what it is that you’re working on down there?” 

The way in which his arms tightened around your body indicated the affirmative, but you were always going to be curious. Your tired game of pretending was no longer enough to satisfy your hunger for the truth and he knew it. His tender love would not sate you forever and if he didn’t swiftly act, you might begin to demand more. Not that he minded, really. Being wanted was pleasant and not something he was used to. His romantic relationships were stinted and tense, stifled and repressed. He succumbed to your advances and gave answers to your questions ultimately because you made him a priority. 

He felt safe with you. No more longing glances at women who did not want him or elbow touches with the supposed “love of his life” because she didn’t want to mess up her outfit. He treated you with respect and with dignity because you offered him the same. He did not have to fit himself into a pre-cut spot in your life. You molded him into your heart, enveloping him in your love and holding him close to your chest because he meant that much to you. You wanted him there and he could feel it, all his nerve-endings alight with the sacred promise of love and mutual want and connection. 

A gentle chuckle came from him and he leaned in close, lips by your ear, “I promise to tell you more about it soon, my dear. I feel that I am nearing a breakthrough.”

A breakthrough or a breakdown, you were uncertain which word best suited where he was headed. His wild curls appeared more and more disheveled each day because he couldn’t be bothered to style his hair when more important things weighed on his mind. His work consumed him to the point that when he dragged himself back to you at night, his mind was still buzzing with ideas and he seemed distant even though he did not mean to be. 

Sometimes you caught him up reading long after you would have retired to bed for the night. When you thought he was sleeping beside you, he was poring over case studies and medical journals by candlelight. When your bed was cold and the spot beside you that he always occupied was empty, you would find him fast asleep at his desk, the rise and fall of his shoulders and gentle snores indicative of his peaceful slumber. 

On nights like those would you guide him back to bed where he would curl in beside you and hold you close, sheltered through the night in his embrace until morning light touched your face. 

Other nights were fitful and full of restlessness and nightmares. He would twitch and quiver, plagued by images no man was ever meant to see. He wouldn’t tell you what he dreamed of, even less about what frightened him, but you had reason to believe that his brain tormented him on occasion, such was the case of most, but with deep intellect came a price and he was much crueler to himself than any colleague of his might be. 

He needed to unwind, to take comfort in closeness and sanctity from insanity. 

He would work himself to death like this and you would be damned if you were to let that happen. 

“That’s good news, darling,” your gentle response made him grin and you could feel the slight upturn of his lips against your cheek, “but do you think we might not speak about work tonight?”

“Well, if not that, then what shall we speak about?” 

As he asked the question, he began to pull you in. Your bodies connected and with you flush against him you could feel his arousal, unabashedly betraying his aching need for you now more than he had felt in a lifetime for anyone else. 

The pungent scent of frosted Frasier fir, candle smoke and scintillating wit clung to him, lingering like twilight hues on the longest day of the year. You inhaled, apt to lose yourself in him the same way he lost himself in his work, only now did you understand that there was much more to it than that. His work was important, but you were his love and that took up more space in him than the chunk of matter between his ears and the story of your lives filled more pages than any of the studies in his medical journals. 

A night off would do him some good; for once, he could devote enough time to engage in a passionate, loving affair rather than a quick frolic and he would do well to remember how much he had always wanted something like this. 

He wanted you now and would not wait. You made him forget who he was for a while and that was such a beautiful thing. 

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein, a man whose names’ reputation preceded him, had learned that he could only put so much distance between himself and the truth. As absurd as it was to say, he had perhaps stumbled upon a secret that could not be contained, a truth so groundbreaking, a scientific discovery so unbelievable that it had to be believed to be seen…

Except, currently, the only thing he was seeing were blurred lines and the gothic undertones of lust which tinted his periphery. His lips slanted over yours and the modest friction from his wispy, sorrel mustache scraped deliciously against your cupid’s bow. The wet graze of your tongue sent a shiver through him and elicited a small grunt as his large hands swept down the length of your body and grabbed your hips. 

Your pelvis ground deliciously against his and he groaned, “you’ll be the death of me, my love.” 

Your closeness was the finger on the hairpin trigger of his desire. He felt like his aorta might burst at any moment and so, using every second he hoped he had left, he savored the warm press of your body on his and devoured every inch of your exposed neck. He was gentle at first, taking care not to mark your delicate flesh, but soon his intrinsic carnality corrupted him and he could not help himself from sinking his teeth into your skin. 

You let out a breathy gasp and could feel him grinning against the column of your neck.

Your arms were around him, holding him to you mostly to steady yourself because if your hands had nothing to hold onto, you would have fallen to your knees for reasons beyond just lacking support in your current state. He would have approved of it now, although he was squeamish about it at any other time. He would have even encouraged you, with hands in your hair on the back of your head to guide you in pleasuring him, but no. 

He wanted more. His body demanded more and he would have it so long as you were willing. He was tired of being asked to wait, his resolve worn down to nothing because he had gone without for far too long. 

As a physician, he knew well the needs of the human body and the satisfaction that came from indulging one’s desires. He did not think on it all too much, but whenever he found himself alone and steeped in eroticism and longing, he had no choice. Everything you did turned him on and his cock throbbed at the thought of him burying it inside you. 

It was inescapable. No matter how often he changed course or preoccupied his mind with other things, his thoughts always returned to you. 

He moved you back towards the bed, the backs of your knees coming into contact with the edge of the mattress and you dropped down onto it, pulling him on top of you. He collided with your body, an animalistic growl clawing its way out of his throat as his hips grinded against yours. 

This was unlike him, a version of himself that never saw the light of day – he kept it in a cage and fed it blood; only carnal desire was enough to sate its hunger. 

He dragged his teeth along your neck as your fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons. He couldn’t take his lips off you, he had to kiss every inch of you. He needed it far more than he could communicate through words and luckily for him you did not ask him to. You were busy undressing him while he worshipped your body with his mouth, his tongue tasting your succulent flesh as he inhaled your heady scent. Your body was ripe for him to take a bite and he would devour every bit of you until there was nothing left to satisfy him. 

He sat up enough to toss his jacket aside, undershirt now open to reveal the hint of bare skin and a dusting of hair several shades darker than the curls on his head. He looked ethereal in the low light, fire silhouetting him, and the edges of his body glistened as his dark pupils glittered and burned like glowing embers. A wildfire of its own raged within him as he was driven mad with lust. He kissed you feverishly, lips and teeth clashing with yours as he was anything but gentle with you in this moment. 

His kisses were rough, but his delicate appearance contrasted his movements. His long, thick lashes fluttered against his cheekbones, accentuating his shimmeringly blue eyes that, even in such low light, glistened like gemstones. He had the softest features of any man you had ever seen and you would have paused to admire him if only he wasn’t so tempestuous in his urgency for you. 

His hands slid up underneath your dress, fingers tantalizingly rubbing against the crotch of your panties and along your inner thighs. He unashamedly touched you and a smiled graced his lips as you moaned for him, arching your back as your hands splayed on his chest, scrabbling for purchase but you were hopelessly plummeting into the pit of your own desire with nothing to grab onto and no way to cushion your fall. 

He rubbed you a little bit through your panties, but it was not enough. 

He wanted to feel your wetness saturate the soft cotton, however, it would be much more appealing to him if his fingers were to glisten with your juices instead of allowing all your sweet honey to leak into your underwear. He ached to feel your tight heat clench around his long fingers as they curled inside you, delicately massaging your sweet spot as he guided you towards a climax. It was a boost to his ego, knowing he could pleasure you that way and with little to no difficulty. He was a physician, after all, and had had many lessons in human anatomy. He knew what he was doing and, though he would never say it, was prideful over the fact that he could bring you to orgasm with just his fingers and a few heated, teasing whispers. 

Even if you were defiant and tried to hold out, those fingers of his were your weakness and he knew best how to use them. A stubborn girl presented a challenge and that interested him; Frederick wanted excitement and connection, not just clinical sex. 

His fingers hooked under your panties and teased them down your legs, watching you squirm as you anticipated what might happen next. It was up to him to decide and the thought made him dizzy. 

Your excitement was palpable. With sweating palms, you clutched onto the thin bedsheets and peered up at him, a halo of fire backlighting his frizz of curls. You were unable to keep still, thighs rubbing together in anticipation of his large, warm hands that would spread them apart. Your full-bodied blush was crushed into existence by rose petals and rouge and your exquisite form buzzed with giddiness and euphoria as he tenderly pulled your legs apart and nestled between them, shoulders against your thighs for support. You were hesitant to follow his lead, but you trusted him to care for you the same as he cared for his reputation.

He began almost immediately, wasting no time. Neck bent, head between your legs, he shamelessly suckled your clit and swilled your sweet nectar with instinctive, primordial hunger. 

The doctor tasted you with insatiable vigor, his tongue lapping greedily at your glistening folds as you squirmed and writhed on the bed. You were grappling with yourself, attempting to stave off your own needs as your fingers splayed and flexed on the sheets as though you were imagining grasping onto him instead of the linens. 

You wanted him, that much had been determined, however, you could see no end to his brutal self-satisfaction; he would take as much from you as you were willing to give, not because he had no thought of returning the favor, but because he had deemed himself a dying man long ago and you were his cure. This was what would set him free, seal his fate and claim his immortality, not whatever lined the pages of myriad medical journals he tutored himself with. 

That did not matter. Perhaps this was all he had ever wanted: a beautiful love to have and to hold, who would, most importantly, meet and master his needs. 

‘The needs of any man,’ he thought in defense of himself, ‘it isn’t just about love or sex…it’s science.’ 

That was what the young doctor told himself, especially during intimate moments such as these, when he found himself struggling to maintain consciousness as his tongue breached your center and delved into your core until your gentle moans crested into the shimmering, shivering crescendo of an orgasm. 

You were on the cusp of one already. 

You peered down at him and gasped; Frederick was a vision even when he wasn’t knelt between your legs, but such a position afforded you the best view of his facial features and he was a sight to behold. 

His long lashes fluttered against his high cheekbones, the light from the fire defining the subtle curves and valleys of his face, the creases of concentration on his forehead and the swell of his parted lips as they suctioned around your clit. He pressed one finger inside of you, followed in quick succession by a second digit as he gently stretched you. 

You moaned as his fingers scissored inside you and his tongue delicately teased and flicked your sensitive bundle of nerves. Tension coiled in your abdomen as you could feel the bud of an orgasm beginning to grow. 

Despite his lust for your body, his mind was focused only on your pleasure. No paltry sum would be enough to make him use his advanced knowledge for just his benefit; he loved you and even though he could only stave off his most primal needs for so long, there would be no mistaking his devotion. 

He pulled away and his parted lips glistened with saliva and your juices. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, savoring the essence of you left behind, “oh, my darling,” he crooned, hand reaching out and fingers burying into your soft hair, “oh, my only love…”

When he uttered those words to you, he meant them. 

You would not dismiss him whenever he made such professions of love. His words resonated within you, cut through you like a sharp scalpel through soft skin, peeled back the muscle and tissue that clung to your ribcage to nestle deep within your chest cavity, taking up residency inside your beating heart. Everything that he said made sense, as though you had been the one his words were always meant for. 

His outfit was disheveled to a state comparable to his wild mane which stuck out in curlicue flyaway strands going in all directions. 

Your heart was beating rapidly, pumping blood through your veins and carrying his love for you outwards and to every part of your body. Your core ached and throbbed with need and your lower lip jutted in a pout of disappointment at being denied your first orgasm. 

Frederick watched you squirm with a hooded gaze, taking in your exquisite beauty as you arched your back enticingly and rolled your hips despite the lack of friction, “May we continue, my dear? I’d say you’re as ready as ever…”

You felt far away from yourself as you nodded and nothing else was going through your mind other than connecting with your lover, physically, emotionally and mentally. 

He had a pleased expression on his face when you consented and he stripped off his undershirt, exposing his bare chest. You sat up and reached for him, warm hands caressing his stomach, his sides, his broad chest. Every inch of him burned with intense passion and desire and his heart skipped a beat with every touch of your hands on his skin. He took a shaky breath, entranced by the way you held him close, needy for his affection and craving more of his love. 

He bent his head and nipped at your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. 

His dominance pervaded your senses and hindered your ability to reciprocate in as many ways as you would have liked. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on his lower back as he sat up a bit straighter and began unbuckling his belt. You were on your knees, the soft bed linens beneath your legs was comfortable as you nibbled and kissed his neck, drawing sweet, almost feminine moans from him. He could hardly focus on what he was doing because the touch of your lips was too intoxicating. He was drunk off your love and every bit of attention you afforded him stilled his fingers as he fumbled with the buttons on his trousers. 

After a moment, you had to help him. You tenderly popped open each button for him before your hand slipped inside and cupped him through his underwear. The sound he made was somewhere between a moan and a shrill whine; your lips turned upwards into a smirk and you leant over him, biting at his sensitive neck as your fingers danced over the length of his aching erection. 

“Oh ho ho, darling…” he grasped your wrist, but did not try to stop you, “oh, how you tease me…”

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to tease him in this state, but he could stand to wait a bit longer for you. As maddening as it was, you were enjoying the foreplay far too much to let it end yet. 

You quieted him with a kiss as sweet as the tulips in spring, stifling his moans of pleasure as your hand slid beneath the barrier of his underwear and held his rigid flesh in your hand. He mewled in ecstasy as you gave him a firm stroke. 

Your lips broke apart and he pressed his forehead against yours, “darling, I can’t wait any longer…you’re killing me.”

An unsurprising choice of words, given the status of his most recent experiments, though you would be none the wiser. 

If there were a way to achieve immortality and worldwide acclaim for his scientific achievements in the medical field, Dr. Frederick Frankenstein would find it; he would devote the rest of his life to such a cause if it meant he could spend an eternity in your loving embrace, to be brought to completion by your hands and your body. 

“I’m all yours, Frederick,” you whispered to him and you could’ve sworn the flames inside of the fireplace leapt for joy at that statement, “I always have been.”

He groaned at your words and his manhood throbbed in your hand, aching to be inside you. He nosed along your jaw, snuffling and nuzzling your cheek as his lips pressed kisses onto your face. His body was filled with love and that was what kept him alive, not the heart that was beating inside his chest. 

His head dropped down to your chest and his lips attached to the swell of your breasts that peeked out from the top of your dress. He murmured against your skin, fingers snagging on your dress as he fought to pull it off you, but your touch on his most sensitive area rendered him useless beyond simple measures of attention. For you to have isolated control over a mind as intelligent and focused as his was some feat and had you a mind to control him, it would have been easily done. 

However, the only control you had was already slipping away now that the cloying desperation had begun to take hold of you.

You gave his manhood several more deliberate strokes, savoring the little noises he made as he tried not to lose control. 

When you removed your hands, his cheeks were flushed and his chest heaved as he dragged air into his once-barren lungs which now bore flowers, petals of pining and passion blooming in this season of love and making it difficult for him to catch his breath. 

He grinned as you and he made eye contact and you were submerged into those icy blue depths, treading water out there in the deepest, lapis lazuli pools.

“And I am yours, my dear,” he whispered as he cupped your face, thumbprints kissing the rosiness into your cheeks, “now and forever.”

His kiss seared through you, sweeping the love back into you that had spilled out through the cracks in your soul. You were mesmerized by the feel of his mouth hovering over yours, breaths mingling and lingering between the two of you like morning fog between fir trees. 

You were one already, even without the connection between your two bodies, although that was to come as Frederick slipped away from you long enough to remove the rest of his clothing while you did the same. 

Completely naked, you were warm clay to be molded by his steady, capable hands. 

You hoped Frederick would shape you in the image of the love he had for you so that you could kiss his chiseled ivory cheeks, bringing your stone-cold lover to life.

He hesitantly touched your body, reverent in the way that he let his hands gently hold your hips and guide you beneath him on the bed. 

However many times he had done this, when he was with you it always felt like the first time. In truth, his first time was not what he had imagined: awkward, halting and less than satisfying for both him and his partner, but more than likely it had been a deep disappointment to her rather than to him. He cringed at the thought whenever it surfaced unbidden and stowed it away with the rest of his deeply embarrassing faux pas. 

The inexperience of his youth was not something he could fault himself for, as is the same for anyone, but now that he was older and wiser and had become a more experienced lover, he finally felt like he had earned the right to claim such a lovely woman as you. He had earned his right to be your lover, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, but in death he was determined that you should not have to part. 

Frederick made a mental note to put everything he had into solving the mystery of life after death, to secure yours and his immortality so that neither of you might face such sadness as to outlive the other. 

Nothing so melancholy would reach either of you tonight. 

Frederick loomed over you, catching your gaze as you wriggled into position beneath him. Your legs wrapped snugly around his hips and he propped himself on his forearms so that he did not put his full weight on you. 

He reached between your bodies, taking himself in hand as he guided himself to your entrance. He pushed into you, taking note of your slight wince and the way your body twitched as he entered you as gently as he could manage. Your wetness was the perfect natural lubricant and he had prepared you quite nicely to be able to accommodate him. 

One of his hands took hold of yours and squeezed, grounding you as he finally claimed your body. You held fast to him, your lips parted in a silent expression of pleasure as you adjusted to the fullness of him being inside you. 

Frederick eased into you slowly, taking care not to hurt you or cause you any unnecessary discomfort. If he could avoid it, Frederick would not ever bring you any pain. He wanted you to want this as much as he did and so he took his time with you, being as careful as he could be. Your pleasure meant as much to him as his own; he would have felt terrible if you got no enjoyment out of your shared intimacy. 

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked breathily as he bit back a moan. 

He stilled once he had slid in to the hilt, awaiting your approval and permission. 

You let go of his hand and instead wrapped your arms around his body, clinging to him fully so that he felt the reciprocation of the love he was giving you, “I am, darling,” your whispered against his skin as you kissed his shoulder, making his eyelids flutter as his eyes rolled back.

He groaned, wanting to let instinct take over so that he could finally, finally have his way with you. His hips curved and bunched as he resisted the urged to let go and lose control of himself, but he did not allow himself to move until he sensed you were getting impatient. Slowly, carefully, he began to pull out, only to thrust back into you with a deliberate snap of his hips. 

The initial force of his thrust forced the breath from your lungs and imparted to you the desperation behind his every move. 

Frederick was a romantic at heart. 

Even though he was still just a man, his craving for love rather than sex for the sake of having sex made moments like this feel even more potent with raw emotion and need he had for his partner. He had made mistake after mistake in his past relationships and he was determined not to make a mess of things like he once had done. There was a sense of predestination between you and Frederick, as if the two of you were meant to be together before either of you were aware. Your paths only crossed because you were brave enough to grasp the string of fate and follow it until you came face to face with him. 

You believed it now to be the case because your soul had become magnetized, gravitating to him as he now became your orbital center. 

It was as if the planets and the fates had aligned to bring you together; you did not like clichés except for ones which reminded you of Frederick because no matter how many times those words were spoken, they rang true for the two of you. 

Frederick quickened his thrusts once you were properly adjusted to him. 

He glided into you with ease, taking care to soak up all your moans and pleasurable sounds as your bodies moved in unison. 

You clawed ferociously at his back, digging in your nails as his maddening pace awoke some deeply instilled, hidden carnality buried within your soul. Your kisses were reckless and rough, tying his tongue down with promises whispered in sloping cursive. 

The sound of skin slapping skin echoed throughout the room as you made love, the gentle groans and moans he emitted bringing you closer and closer to your release. You caressed him, gentle with him now as you wanted to convey to him that he was special. 

‘Frederick, you are my lucky star,’ Your skin was burning hot and you thought you might spontaneously combust, ‘your radiance was too much and I couldn’t help myself…’

The beauty of stars was meant to be admired from afar; inside of his eyes did they shimmer, but up close, they blazed. 

You had been burned before, but never like this. 

You gripped onto his hair, giving it a gentle tug, which made him groan even louder and his next thrust was perceptibly harder as he seemed to like when you pulled on his hair. 

“I love you, Frederick…”

The confession spilled out of you in a flood as you anticipated the light in his eyes leaving him as all the color drained out once the weight of your words set in. 

“I love you, too,” he panted, repeating those words back to you with no hesitation, as though he had been waiting to hear you say it. 

It still felt like the first time, as you had often been told was the truth with true love. You had not believed in it until you met Frederick, though even now it seemed foreign to your system. Perhaps it was that you were still in shock after plunging deep into those electric pools of blue, but you shone just as bright as the galaxies in his eyes and if this was love then you would have looked for him in every lifetime, anticipating the feeling he evoked in you the first time you met. 

He wanted you too, waded through tide pools and wept away the storm clouds in his eyes so he could see clear enough to find you. 

He clutched you to him, his rhythm faltering as he crept closer and closer to release. His moans took on a higher pitch and you savored his whimpering as the heaviness of your own release had sworn you to silence. 

At last, did he coax a moan from you and, once the dam had been broken, you were unable to silence the sounds which spilled tantalizingly from your lips like honey drizzle from spoon to teacup. 

You and Frederick were finally one with each other, two halves of a whole like a split peach fitted back together, the fruit of your consummation leaking juices from your pierced flesh. 

You devoured him, holding him close as your moans became louder and more drawn out until pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave and plunged you into euphoria. 

Your orgasm spread outward throughout your body and your skin tingled, your core throbbing as he continued his thrusts until he released inside of you, announcing his climax with a soft cry of completion. Several short bursts of heat filled you, warming you from the inside as he came, his lips parted in sweet bliss and relief. 

His wiry, tufts of fluffy curls framed his round face and you gazed at him in amazement, in awe over what you had just done as well as his beauty. Sweat clung to his brow and he took several shuddering breaths before he was able to move again and pull out of you, taking up the spot by your side as he reached over you with one arm and brought you in against his side. 

You curled up against him, letting him place a lingering kiss on your shoulder as he held you in the dark room. Your sweaty bodies glistened, dewy, slick skin sticking to each other, a perfect testament to what had just taken place. 

Frederick’s body was a galaxy and every freckle on his skin formed a different constellation. 

You wondered idly which one were you a part of and how many ways there were to connect them. 

The graze of his nose on your arm made you turn your head to look at him and he was smiling at you as he held you. 

‘The human body is meant to hold another,’ he had told you once, ‘look at how perfectly our hands fit together…how easy it is for me to hold you in my arms.’

He was right, it seemed, for you fit perfectly against his body like you were made just for him, as though the universe crafted you as each other’s perfect lover.

There was no such thing as perfection, but what you shared was as close to that as a human being could ever get and, if Frederick had anything to do with it, he swore that he would find a way to share eternity with you even if it meant being buried with you till you were nothing more than two skeletons in each other’s arms. 

An end which did not have to be so grim, yet Frederick accepted that as a mere part of who he was. 

As he swept you into his arms now, pulled you on top of his chest as the two of you giggled and laughed like lovestruck teenagers, Frederick knew that he would do anything for you, even accept that he could not outrun his fate. 

He was a Frankenstein and some things could not be helped, but with you by his side it all became worth it and suddenly he could not understand why he had fought it so hard, other than the fact that he had something else to prove rather than letting himself be defined by the past, his fate determined by those who lived before him. 

His love for you cancelled out the afflictions to his spirit, the blows he had taken from turning a blind eye to what he only hoped now might be true. 

In this place, he would find it. 

He was on the cusp of making such a miraculous discovery, that much was he certain. 

Perhaps it should have concerned him that he was chasing something so morbid, but this dream, once realized, could mean the difference between life and death, between her heart and his. He was not doing this for the wrong reasons now, and maybe that would be enough for it to work. 

Perhaps that was the key to unlocking his grandfather’s scientific masterpiece. 

Your gentle kisses on his cheek comforted him as he slipped even deeper into thought, contemplating what he had that his colleagues did not: love. 

That was the difference. 

Science was supposed to be unbiased and supported by fact rather than feeling, but an impossibility transcended bias and factual evidence; would it not make some sliver of sense that if all things possible were supported by scientific evidence, that all things impossible were only able to be maintained by those who were bold enough to challenge science itself? 

Frederick’s peers were not led by love as he was, otherwise, it might not have been the name ‘Frankenstein’ that was known by many yet understood by few.

As you settled atop Frederick with the side of your face against his bare chest, letting the gentle rise and fall of his chest lull you as your eyelids grew heavier and heavier, you were content to be one of those few. 

Frederick held you to him, hands splayed lovingly on your back. 

He had never felt more himself than in this moment; for once in his life, he was proud of who he was. 

He did not think it would be the last time he felt that way, especially with you by his side. 

As the two of you drifted off, snuggled in the embrace of one another, you slipped into what would be and let the rest crumble away. 

You loved Frederick far too much to let yourself be consumed with worry for what was to come. 

Whatever you faced, you would face it together.

With love guiding you, nothing could come in between you, not even death. 

[fushiglow]

a short fic for the prompt: satosugu + secret meetings

YOU MOVED ME, ANON 😭 thanks for being my first!! i fear i've set a high bar with the first prompt, because this little fic is closer to 500 words than the 300 i promised…

but look, 'spinning' by ilsey and mark ronson came on shuffle and my mind ran away with it. make sure to listen as you read to set the tone! i cried writing this and i loved every second tbh — thank you again 🫶

Satoru didn’t know how he’d ended up on the steps of the temple again. Actually, that wasn’t true. He knew exactly why he was there. It was the same reason Satoru had found himself on those stone steps a hundred times before — or was it closer to two hundred now? In truth, he’d stopped keeping count after the seventh or eighth occasion they’d met in secret like this. Gojō Satoru wasn’t the only person who sought sanctuary in Getō Suguru — the stragglers filtering out of the wide temple doors were evidence of that — but the truth of the statement didn’t make it any easier for Satoru to swallow. He watched them go, leaning up against a pillar with his hands shoved in his pockets and a petty scowl affixed to his features. ‘Careful, Satoru.’ A voice that wrapped the syllables of his name in safety. It was all he could do to stop himself sagging with the relief of it. ‘You could probably vaporise them with the force of that glare alone.’ Turning towards that sound was involuntary for Satoru. He was a flower helplessly following the sun, seeking out eyes that bore all the warmth of summer. Still, the winter frost that encased that golden gaze wouldn’t thaw immediately — not until the sun dipped below the horizon, taking the last of the worshippers with it. It was only then that the mask slipped, ingratiating simper softening into the gentle smile Satoru loved most. He loved it, because it was a smile reserved solely for Satoru. ‘You need a break, don’t you?’ Gojō Satoru was the strongest. The strongest wasn’t allowed to break. The strongest wasn’t allowed to hide himself away from the world like a coward. But his eyes were itching with overstimulation, his nerves fraying at the edges from overuse of his technique. He nodded. Suguru extended a hand and Satoru took it without hesitation, Infinity falling from his skin like petals from a flower — slowly and then all at once. ‘That’s alright, Satoru.’ The tender kiss Suguru pressed to his knuckles felt like refuge. It felt like home. ‘I’ll protect you.’ Gojō Satoru wasn’t the only one who sought sanctuary in Getō Suguru, but he was the only one who would find it in the temple of the man’s body. He was the only one allowed to crawl into the space between Suguru’s ribs and stay there, tucked safe against his beating heart. It was a blessing and a curse. Because Gojō Satoru was the strongest. The strongest wasn’t allowed to hide. The strongest wasn’t permitted a safe house — and yet Satoru had found one in the arms of the only man who could kill him. For the strongest, there was no true sanctuary in this world. But for Satoru, there was Suguru.

hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it ♥️

if you wanna submit a prompt or request, head over to my retrospring — make sure to read the guidelines first!

[artemisravencourtney]

Klaroline Wip Wed: Bloodied Edges of the Crystal Queen

Yes I started another fic. No I don't feel shame about it. I won't give away much but basically, it's a fantasy story with some very very mild Harry Potter influences and some found family adjacent vibes. Oh and angst. So much angst.

Plot: A girl wakes up in an enchanted palace with no memory of who she is or how she came to be. She's less concerned about it than she should be.

She sometimes thinks that she should want to explore beyond the mountain peaks and sharp cliffs, but she doesn’t.

She’s tried before, curious about what lays beyond the thick clouds that shroud her home, but whenever she does she feels this tug of… something. A tightness in her chest that builds and builds and makes it hard to breathe. She never instructs Lya to turn around, convinced she can push through the squeezing sensation, or that she’ll get used to it, but her beloved steed and best friend always does so anyway. The second she struggles to get enough air, Lya races back to the palace, refusing to leave her side for the rest of the day. She’s not unaffected by these attempts either, feeling an eerie sense of dread that prickles against her skin for hours afterwards. She starts to feel, deep within her bones, that going too far from the palace would kill her.

She never wants to leave after that.

It doesn’t bother her. She gets a good amount of space in every direction, and the mountains are stunning in every season. The winters are harsh, but the snow is beautiful and undisturbed, creating a whole world of white. She makes herself thick armor and a visor when the blizzards start, keeping the cold out as Lya (who is happiest in a snowstorm, even though it makes flying tricky – she thinks the thestral must love the challenge) beats her heavy, bat-like wings, flying higher and farther than she dares in summer and doing tricks all the while. The unpleasant feeling is always much fainter in a blizzard, too. She thinks it has something to do with the fact that no other living thing would be outside during a storm, let alone able to spot her. Food is trickier to find in the frost, but not impossible for Lya, who leaves her at home on clear days as she spends hours scanning the snow for prey with her hawk-like vision. She brings home whatever she can – rabbits, boars, mountain goats, even the occasional eagle - and her castle helps her as she skins, prepares, and cooks it (fire, for whatever reason, is created by a hand motion that her arms remember but her mind does not). They ration the food strictly, with her learning that it never spoils if she encases it in crystal. If the storms last all day or Lya’s hunt is unsuccessful they eat the preserved portions until they can replenish their supply.

Her zone of safety, so to speak, becomes smaller as the snow thaws and the sunlight strengthens, but she isn’t inconvenienced. With the fading of the frost comes the arrival of migratory birds, foliage, bees, and eventually berries, along with all of the game they hunted in winter. She’s learned through trial and many, many errors how to best prepare the springtime meals, as well as how to hunt both with and without Lya. She also rips out chunks of the earth containing the most beautiful flowers she can find, making pots of different shades and sizes all over the palace to preserve her treasures. The sunshine makes her more content, and she spends many afternoons relaxing against the warm bark of a pine tree, gazing at her view of the mountain range and listening to birdsong.

[theheirofthesharingan]

I have been reading your fic, The Everlasting Love, and I must say that it’s one of my favorite fics ever. Everything is just really well done :)).

I was just wondering how Itachi felt after he woke up and realized that he was alive. Did he want to die since the beginning or was he actually considering living until Sasuke had the sleep paralysis thing?

Why does Itachi hate medicines? Is it because he thinks he deserves to suffer or is it just a hc?

Also, in the anime/manga, do you think that Kishimoto should’ve added more realistic trauma responses (especially for Sasuke.) ? I think he did it better than many other animes, but I still think he should’ve added more. (And I do think Sasuke is mostly justified for his actions, I’m not sure why the narrator made him out to be a person who needed ‘fixing’)

I believe that Itachi was planned out from the start, now that I have read some of your posts. I was skeptical until the data book part (where he had only one s-rank mission), and now I feel really stupid for thinking otherwise. And I just realized that Itachi always looked sort of sad in the manga, not like a psychopathic cold-blooded killer.

Last question: how did you feel about Itachi before the twist (I’m sorry if this was asked already)?

Okay, all these questions are really random (sorry about that) but I was just really curious. Have a good day :).

I have been reading your fic, The Everlasting Love, and I must say that it’s one of my favorite fics ever. Everything is just really well done :)).

Thank you so much. :)

I was just wondering how Itachi felt after he woke up and realized that he was alive. Did he want to die since the beginning or was he actually considering living until Sasuke had the sleep paralysis thing?

This is a very good question, because on more than one occasions I've wanted to explore Itachi's thought process in the fic but the nature of the story prevents me from doing it, because it's going in the flashback and Sasuke only tells us as much as he knows and understands.

Itachi was devastated and horrified because he thought with him his sins and evil would be gone too, and Sasuke would be free from him. He wouldn't ever have to hurt his brother again and he'd planted Amaterasu in Sasuke to keep Madara away, and in case that failed, Naruto would keep Sasuke safe. But of course being alive horrified him, because how could he look at Sasuke after all he'd done? It's why his first reaction was to touch Sasuke's wrist as a way to apologize/see if it still hurt him there.

As to Itachi wanting to live.. It's a little bit complex, because Sasuke is his sun. Itachi lived his entire life in a world akin to the arctic cold where it was always cold and sun never shone. Sasuke's presence changed everything for him. On one hand, he wanted to go away, because he knew he didn't deserve the kindness Sasuke showed him. On the other hand, he loved being around his brother whose memories were his only comfort. How could he not when the person he loved the most was there beside him and there was a chance he could go back to being normal again? So, when he was around Sasuke, the frost thawed and Itachi reacted in a more human way. He would never be as vulnerable as he was if it was someone else. He doesn't know how to and he couldn't emotionally and physically show vulnerability to anyone else.

He also knew Sasuke would be under threat from Madara and Itachi wasn't deluded about anything. Itachi wanted to savour the moments he had with Sasuke, before he knew he would have to leave, so he could kill Madara (and die in the process), but Sasuke's nightmare only confirmed his belief, removing any doubt from his mind, that with him by his side, Sasuke would never be happy, although it's not true at all. But Itachi had understood how Sasuke reacted to him even if Itachi was completely harmless. He doesn't blame Sasuke, he blames himself. So, while he knew he'd have to die sooner or later (when he was healthier so he could face Obito), Sasuke's nightmares prompted him to leave.

Why does Itachi hate medicines? Is it because he thinks he deserves to suffer or is it just a hc?

It is a headcanon of mine that he took medicines to live and they didn't necessarily ease his pain. Some days he'd be in a much worse condition than any of his medicines could handle, and it's all associated with the bad, painful memories for him. Taking them also means living for him, which he didn't want.

It's a childish quirk that I wanted to add because he's always so solemn... But that doesn't mean he wouldn't have some things in him that were childish that someone else might find relatable.

Also, in the anime/manga, do you think that Kishimoto should’ve added more realistic trauma responses (especially for Sasuke.) ? I think he did it better than many other animes, but I still think he should’ve added more. (And I do think Sasuke is mostly justified for his actions, I’m not sure why the narrator made him out to be a person who needed ‘fixing’)

I do believe Kishimoto does a very good job at Sasuke's trauma responses, except for not letting him process the grief of losing Itachi and making him decide to destroy Konoha almost instantly. The narration makes him look bad/in the need to be fixed because he's Naruto's biggest challenge. And as much as he suffers, he continues to slip past Naruto's grip. Naruto, being the kind of person he is, has fixed many people. Gaara, Zabuza, and Pain etc., so Sasuke being his biggest obstacle, not only in his life, but in his dream to become the Hokage, he has to be shown as someone who needs to be fixed. Because that would establish Naruto as the kind of person he's said to be from the start.

The narrative sidelines Sasuke a lot for this. I would have loved that along with the whole fixed thing, if Sasuke and Naruto both changed the system together. Sasuke wouldn't have to be the bad guy for his anger towards the village, and Naruto could still be the saviour, a kid with a golden heart.

I believe that Itachi was planned out from the start, now that I have read some of your posts. I was skeptical until the data book part (where he had only one s-rank mission), and now I feel really stupid for thinking otherwise. And I just realized that Itachi always looked sort of sad in the manga, not like a psychopathic cold-blooded killer.

He was definitely planned. There's no doubt about it. The first databook, along with the earliest chapters of the manga prove there was always much more to him than we initially thought.

how did you feel about Itachi before the twist (I’m sorry if this was asked already)?

It wasn't asked before and it's okay.

I loved him from the moment he was introduced. Sasuke was my favorite character, but Itachi too, even as a villain, became my favourite as soon as he showed up. He always seemed cold and sad to me instead of evil. Like, something was immeasurably sad about him the way he reacted to the things around him (or didn't... which was most of the times). He was ethereal.

When he died, before the reveal, I had to take a break before watching the next episodes because his death saddened me so much. And then his reveal was brutal. How could someone go through that much pain and be subjected to so much injustice and just be okay with all of it? It's been over a year and I haven't stopped mourning him. :(

Thanks for the lovely ask.

[ananxiousgenz]

TPP HADESTOWN AU PART 4

ANOTHA ONE. i am so sorry guys, but the muse has possessed me and i literally cannot stop writing. this is no longer a flash fic. i am now a slave to the au. this time will be a direct continuation of part 3 because honestly i wanted to keep writing that but i also just wanted to post it so consider this a kind of part 2 to part 3 if that makes sense

tpp mutuals come get your juice!!! @smidgen-of-hotboy @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @urjover @one-joe-spoopy @waters-and-the-wilde

when he said his name, juno heard it.

ringing in the background like the hum of a crystal wine glass.

the song.

when peter nureyev said his name, the song echoed with it.

"your name has the same melody," juno breathed, eye wide and searching for some kind of answers on the face of this strange, beautiful man. how could his name have the song of spring laced through it?

nureyev shot him a sideways look and took a sip of his drink. "so. what do you do for a living, lady who's going to marry me?" he questioned, leaning back in his chair and looking juno over with a gaze he could only describe as skeptical.

"oh! well, I work here at the bar with rita. she's over there. but you've met her already so I don't know why I'm introducing her."

rita gave a friendly wave from her perch behind the bar.

"I also, um. I, uh. I sing. sometimes. not all the time. i'm not bad at it. typically when I do sing, someone will give me a couple bucks. it's nice. oh, and uh, I can play guitar too, but I haven't done it in years, and to be honest, I don't really want to-"

nureyev cut juno off, looking away disinterestedly and downing the rest of his drink. "that's nice. so you're like all the other bar workers in existence. that doesn't exactly sound like something I'd want to marry."

suddenly, the butterflies that had been gradually building in juno's stomach began to unexpectedly drop dead.

"heyyyyyyy, that's not very nice, mista nureyev. mista steel isn't like all the otha ladies you eva met! he's a very supa awesome lady who I love workin' with and-oh oh oh! mista steel! you GOTTA tell him about that song you're workin' on! it's so pretty! and important! I'm sure mista nureyev would LOVE to hear about that!" rita cried, bounding off the bar and hustling over to deliver another drink to the table.

"oh, uh, yeah! I'm working on this song to bring spring back again," juno said, feeling mildly embarrassed that rita brought it up with this man who was still basically a total stranger. "it's not done, honestly, it needs a lot of work. but, when i'm finished with it, it will hopefully fix.....everything."

"wait just a moment." nureyev's brow furrowed and juno's stomach twisted at the sight. even when he was skeptical and defensive and bone-tired, he was still so damn attractive. gods, what juno wouldn't give to just kiss him right now- focus, steel, he's trying to talk to you-

"so you say this song will bring spring back again?"

"yup! at least it should."

"that's...." nureyev placed a finger over his lips in thought. "I haven't seen a proper spring in at least a decade, maybe more. the world has been so wrong in recent years... I shudder to think where it would all end up without the return of warmer weather."

"well, that's the idea with the song. I want to fix it. all of it. when the song is done it should put the world back on track. more sunshine, springs, falls, rain and flowers. you know. all the stuff that's just sort of been missing. maybe you could help me out with it!" juno grinned a bit sheepishly.

"and why would I want to help?" his eyes were cold, almost as cold as the biting wind and frost outside, but juno thought he saw the beginning of a thaw at the edges of his facade.

"because, mista nureyev. he's real good at makin' people feel like life is worth livin' again with that music of his. also, he makes the BEST chocolate cake i've eva had! and frannie agrees with me!" rita chimed in, cleaning the bar top as best she could with her short stature.

juno snorted involuntarily, marveling at rita's ability to constantly be focused on food. "it's true, I won a local competition a few years back for that cake."

nureyev's face had half a smile on it now, and the butterflies in juno's stomach turned into a hurricane.

"so you can make people feel alive again? that's quite a gift, juno. but what else can you offer me?"

"huh?"

"say, for example, if we were to get married. who would pay for the wedding rings? times have been hard, and gold is scarce. how would you do it?"

juno thought for a moment. "the rivers. they've got plenty of gold in them, and if my song works, they'll give it all to us for wedding rings."

nureyev's eyes glinted with something juno suspected was either curiosity or suspicion.

"what about a wedding feast? or a bed? good food and better beds are hard to come by these days. what would you do about that, juno?"

"the trees would take care of the wedding feast, and the birds would take care of the bed."

"with your song." nureyev cocked an eyebrow as though it was a question.

"well, yeah, of course."

"you talk a lot about that song. why don't you sing it for me?"

a wave of panic stuttered through juno's mind. "I can't. I told you it's not finished."

"you said you wanted to take me home and marry me, is that true?

a sly smile crossed nureyev's face, and goddammit it only made juno want him even more. "yes," he breathed.

"then sing the song for me, juno."

juno hesitated, then nodded in spite of himself. he shouldn't be doing this, he knew he shouldn't be doing this, but he couldn't help it.

he was in love.

and lovers need the spring like a flower needs sunshine. so he'd sing the sunshine back for peter nureyev.

he stepped back, breathed in, and let the notes flow from him like water from a faucet. the song flooded the room, hitting the walls and rushing back to his ears in perfect harmonies, and for a moment, he was back in that wheat field with benten, strumming guitar as he danced like a pheonix rising from the ashes, spinning around and around and around like he was the center of the universe.

and then the song ended. and juno was back in a shitty roadside bar, holding a perfect dahlia in his left hand, with peter nureyev staring at him now, eyes wide and sparkling.

"that's...... you...... how did you do that?" nureyev asked quietly, standing from the table on unsteady legs and taking the dahlia to examine it with shaking hands.

"i didn't do that, the song did," juno muttered as nureyev gently touched the immaculate petals of the dahlia, still damp with dew. rita beamed at juno from the bar and gave an overenthusiastic thumbs-up. juno just rolled his eyes again.

peter nureyev looked at him then, all of the previous frostiness gone from his eyes and something like amazement and love and hope spilling through them.

juno decided that he liked it when he looked like that. it made him feel like he really could fix the whole damn world with that song of his.

nureyev seemed to come to some sort of conclusion and slipped the dahlia into the buttonhole of his traveling coat. "so, what time does your shift end, my dear juno?"

juno thought for a minute. "uhhhh, the bar closes around 10. why?"

his eyes gleamed like a pair of stars as a smile twinkled on his lips. "didn't you say you were going to marry me?"