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andreafmn · 1 year ago

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Kinktober ⛓️ Day 3

Word Count: 2.5K Paring: Lip Gallagher x Fem!Reader Prompt @kinktober2023: Hate Sex WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI), p-in-v sex, foul language, reader is technically underage

Summary: There is no one that (Y/N) despises more than Philip Gallagher, but having his brother as her best friend forces them in close proximity more than they would like. Or maybe they do?

A/N: This is set some time during season 3 so Lip is around 18 and reader would be 17 since she's contemporary with Ian's age, so do with that what you will.

<- Previous

“Yo, Ian,” Lip’s voice rang through the house. “You’re girlfriend’s here!”

“Oh, fuck off, Lip,” (Y/N) said as she bumped past him into the Gallagher home. “I know you wish I was here to see you, but I don’t do charity work on Tuesdays.”

“Fuck you, (Y/L/N). You’d be lucky if I was the one you were studying with.”

“Of course, the genius Philip Gallagher that doesn’t even want to go to college,” she snickered, stopping at the rest on the stairs. “I’ll take my chances with my own brain. Thanks.”

“You’ll regret helping Ian with math,” he called as he walked to the front door. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With an exasperated scoff, (Y/N) walked up the rest of the stairs, clutching her backpack tighter than she should have. She didn’t understand why she and the older Gallagher son didn’t get along. She had a wonderful relationship with everyone else in the family –even Frank was courteous enough with her– but something never clicked with Lip. Every time they were in close proximity, they would bicker and fight until someone else got in the way. It made it especially difficult when (Y/N) came over to spend time with Ian.

She would never say she hated Lip. But the sentiment was close enough that others would notice. Between the terrible side-eyes and the snide comments, being around the two could easily become suffocating. Granted, everyone but them knew what was truly happening. They had met their match in each other but were too stubborn to admit it.

“You ran into Lip, didn’t you?” Ian chuckled as his friend walked into his room. “It’s all over your face.”

“Unfortunately, I did,” she sighed, plopping down next to him on the floor. “But he seemed to be going somewhere, so I didn’t have to talk to him for much.”

“Just long enough to make sure you got annoyed. Perfect mood to study Geometry with you.”

“Fuck you, I’m always a delight.”

“Sure. Until you spend a second with Lip, and then everything goes to shit.”

“Shut up, Ian,” she said, rolling her eyes. “If you want me to help you study, you’ll stop talking about your despicable brother, Phillip.”

Hours passed between textbooks and worksheets, notebooks and loose papers, and somehow the bright afternoon sun had shifted into night. Ian had already gone to bed, tired from a long day of shapes and mathematical equations. Almost everyone in the house had done the same, tucked into bed early, which was a luxury for anyone on the South Side.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) was still wide awake, taking advantage of the tiredness of the family to use up what was left of the hot water. She could have gone home, to her packed house and probably cold water, but she found comfort staying with the Gallaghers. The family was a melting pot of chaos, there were more fights than a WWE ring, and every single day brought a different kind of adventure. Her house had all of that, except the real warmth of a family. And being there made her feel like she was a part of something.

The water ran across her skin, soothing the tight muscles that stiffened her body. The smell of soap filled her nose as she lathered herself, and she was glad that the bar seemed new still. They were small luxuries that she was grateful she could partake in every once in a while. And in the quiet of the night, it was almost peaceful.

Until a sound that did not fit into her spa-like scenario filled the air. From behind the curtain, she could hear a strong stream of liquid falling into the toilet. But she knew she had locked the door —not that it would have worked in that house anyway.

She moved the curtain slightly to reveal Lip standing in front of the toilet. “What the fuck are you doing?” (Y/N) exclaimed, making sure her body was covered. “Can’t you see I’m using the bathroom?”

“You’re in the shower. Toilet was up for grabs.”

“Why couldn’t you have gone downstairs?”

“Because I was already upstairs,” he shrugged, shaking his cock above the toilet as he finished. “Stop gawking, (Y/N). I know it’s impressive, but staring is kind of rude.”

“Fuck you, Lip. I’ve seen better,” she said, closing the curtain to conceal the way her skin was flushing. “I’ve definitely been with better.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he snickered, turning on the sink. “But we both know the guys you’ve fucked are not exactly Adonises.”

“You’re such an asshole, Lip,” she scoffed. “If you’re gonna be here, at least pass me my towel.”

“Why should I? You can just step out.”

“You’re not seeing me naked, Lip.”

“It’s only fair,” he chuckled. “You saw mine, I get to see yours.”

“Stop being a perv, Lip. I’m not one of those chicks you fuck for fun. I actually have standards.”

“Right, and they’re so high, right?”

“They are.”

“Is that why you fucked Billy Spencer two months ago or lost your v-card with Jesse Suarez in his car? Yeah, those standards are skyscraping high.”

In a fit of rage, (Y/N) ripped the curtain open and sauntered out of the tub, getting as close to Lip as possible. “You don’t get to fucking judge my decisions, Philip,” she spat, jabbing her index finger against his chest. “Who I sleep with or don’t sleep with is none of your business. And you sure as hell are one to talk. Your list is not the most pristine, either. Starting with Karen, for example.”

“Don’t you fucking talk about her,” he said through gritted teeth, pushing back on her as she had. “You don’t talk about her.”

“What? You can dish it out but can’t fucking take it, huh?”

“I can take whatever you fucking throw at me, (Y/N). I ain’t scared of you.”

“Maybe you should be,” she continued. There was almost no space between them. She had him pressed against the wall, their noses almost touching as they heaved in anger. “There is no one else that can put you in your place like I can, and you know it.”

“I don’t need you to put me in my place.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’re so fucking infuriating!”

“Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?”

Lip’s next move was a surprise to her. She was expecting him to keep yelling or stomp out of the bathroom. Instead, he placed a hand on either side of her face and crashed his lips onto hers. He was all kinds of rough and forceful, clashing teeth and lips together without any care. But somehow, (Y/N) found herself kissing back just as roughly, grabbing onto the lapel of his jacket.

But it wasn’t until she felt the roughness of his hands on the skin of her back that she realized she had jumped out of the shower, naked and still dripping with water. She jumped away from Lip as though his touch was fire and scrambled for her towel, trying her best to cover her body from him.

“Why are you covering yourself now?” he laughed. “I already saw everything, (Y/N).”

“Fuck you, Philip.”

“I was gonna let you,” he grinned. “But it looks like you got performance anxiety. Maybe you’re not as good as guys say.”

“Not that it’s any of your concern, but I’m great in bed,” she argued. “But I would rather do it with someone I actually like.”

“It’s just sex, (Y/N),” he countered. “This is not to fall in love.”

(Y/N) kept quiet for a beat, thinking over the boy’s request. His reputation for being a good lay preceded him, and she would have been lying if she said she had never thought about it. But the fact that his personality was almost revolting made her wonder if it was worth it.

“God, you’re so fucking infuriating,” she said before doing the same thing he had done. “This means nothing. You’re just convenient.”

“Right,” he chuckled against her mouth. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“Oh, shut up already.”

“Make me.”

Her lips did all the answering, molding to his mouth perfectly, their tongues dancing together in perfect symphony. If she had believed in fate and the alignment of the universe, she would have deluded herself into thinking that they were meant to be.

Lip’s clothes were rough against her unclothed skin, the zippers and the fabrics scratching at her body and rubbing the most sensitive parts of her body that were exposed. Warmth pooled between her legs with the kiss alone, and her body’s reaction scared her. It was almost instantaneous, and it had been the first time it had happened.

“It’s not fair that I’m the only one that’s naked,” she said breathlessly.

“Do you ever stop fucking talking?”

“Not when my mouth’s unoccupied,” she snickered. “And I have a lot to say.”

“You’re too fucking much,” he grumbled as he took off layer after layer of clothing, letting them fall to the floor. “Now come here.”

He kissed her roughly again, pressing his chest as close to her body as he could, his hands snaking to the small of her back. As their mouth moved in synch, they walked backward until her back was pressed against the wall, the coldness making her skin erupt in goosebumps. But his hands were enough to build a fire inside her. The way they mapped every inch of her body and worked in tandem with his mouth to find her most sensitive spots.

Lip nipped at her jaw and her neck, traveling down to her collarbone as his hands tweaked the hardened peaks of her breasts. Somehow, he was able to annoy her within an inch of raging ire and could bring her to the brink of orgasm with just his mouth and hands.

In a swift move, Lip turned (Y/N), bending her against the wall as he pulled the zipper of his pants down. The clothes pooled at his ankles as he held his cock and lined himself up with her wetness, running the head across her fold and teasing her clit.

“For someone that is just doing this out of convenience, you’re really wet,” he chuckled darkly. “Have you been dreaming about this?”

“I could ask the same of you, Philip,” she retorted. “Because for someone that doesn’t really care, you’re really fucking hard.”

“I’m only just a man, (Y/N).”

“How about you shut up and prove it already, then? Maybe…”

(Y/N)’s words died in her throat as she felt him sink into her completely, stretching her walls like no one had done before. He took the air out of her lungs, a moan getting strangled in her throat at the suddenness.

Lip didn’t move instantly, allowing her body to get used to the size. At least, that was what he would have said if she had asked. Truthfully, being inside her was the most overwhelming experience he had ever had. He needed a moment to compose himself before he busted too early. The last thing he needed was for (Y/N) to have more ammo against him. He enjoyed their bickering reparté, but he had quite the reputation when it came to sex, and he wouldn’t let her ruin it. Even if his body was trying to betray him.

Once he felt he could control himself, he started moving hips, quickly setting a pace that had (Y/N) letting out a string of moans that he wanted to listen to for the rest of his life. Her hands gripped the towel bar before her, her knuckles turning white from the tightness. She met his every move, pushing against him as he pummeled into her.

“Harder,” she meweled. “Fuck me harder, Philip.”

Lip did exactly as told. Skin met skin at a rapid pace, filling the otherwise quiet room with pants, moans, and slaps. Even her using his full name did not put a damper on his mood, rather loved the way it sounded in her mouth. And for the first time, it didn’t sound like she was saying it with hate. At least, not completely.

He snaked his hand around her body, his hand finding the mound of her clit and pressing two fingers on it. They circled and rolled the bud, making her walls clench around him as he pistoned into her. He knew both of them were reaching their end. The tightening of her cunt and the tightening of his balls told him enough.

“Fuck, don’t stop, Lip. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

And he didn’t. He kept thrusting until (Y/N) let out a pleasurable yell that had him covering her mouth. As he did, she bit down on his skin unconsciously, making him moan and awakening something in him he didn’t know was dormant. It brought him right to the brink of his end, and it took everything in him to leave her warmth and explode all over her ass.

His body slumped over hers, absentmindedly kissing the skin of her shoulder as they both came down from their orgasm. They felt comfortable in their silence, their pants synching and their bodies melting against each other. If they could have, they would have fallen asleep in that very position.

But a knock on the door startled them apart.

“Yo, I need the bathroom,” Carl called from the other side of the door. “I’ve gotta piss real bad.”

“Can you go downstairs, Carl?” (Y/N) asked. “I’m just finishing up in the shower.”

“Ugh, fine! Just hurry up. There’s more people in this house, you know?”

“Yeah, sorry!”

After wiping themselves down, Lip and (Y/N) started getting dressed, neither meeting each other’s gaze. “We don’t speak about this to anyone,” she finally said. “Especially not Ian. And this can’t happen ever again.”

“Sure,” he mumbled. “Whatever you say.”

“I’m serious, Philip,” she pleaded, placing a hand on his chest to get his attention. “If Ian finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I won’t say anything,” he laughed, looking at her in a way he never had before. “But I wouldn’t mind if this happened again.”

“Are you serious?”

“What? The rumors are true. You are a good lay.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, Mr. Gallagher,” she grinned before stopping at the door to exit first. “But I don’t think this will happen again.”

“Keep telling yourself that, (Y/N).”

“Fuck off, Philip,” she whispered from the end of the hall before disappearing into the boys’ bedroom, leaving Lip to think of just how he could make this a repeat situation.

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fayes-fics · 11 months ago

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Friends & Family

Friends + Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Anthony has a very important question to ask, but the universe appears to be conspiring against him. Threequel. Set a year after the first fic in this series

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Public sexual acts, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, woman on top, back-to-back orgasm. Also, on a non-sexual front, all sorts of emotions and thwarted proposals.

Word Count: 5.4k

Authors Note: This is VERY, VERY belated request fill for the divine @colettebronte. She has had the patience of a saint as I have grappled with this request for many months. I hope this is worth the wait, but to be honest, after this delay, I'm not sure anything could be. Thank you to @sorryallonsy for betaing. Please enjoy <3

“Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, what is this??”

There is an undignified yelp, and a spatula drops to the floor with a loud splat. Apparently, he didn't hear you come in.

“Bloody hell! You scared the shit out of me… And what is the full-name business all about?” he exclaims, spinning around, holding his hands aloft as if in a hostage situation. The sight is made even funnier by the fact he is wearing one of your novelty aprons, complete with floppy bunny ears.

You have walked in from afternoon coffee with old friends to find your kitchen in absolute disarray. Pots, pats on every surface, opened containers, the contents of your spice cupboard all pulled out and haphazardly dotted around. There is a large pile of reusable shopping bags with half-open veggies in and what looks like a sourdough loaf cut open and likely going stale next to the complete wrong knife for the job at hand. There is almost no worktop surface that is left unused or covered in some sticky-looking residue from god knows what.

“I said yes to you making dinner while I was out; I did not say you could conduct some kind of controlled explosion in my kitchen,” holding your hands up in exasperated resignation.

Frankly, it’s a mystery why he offered to make dinner in the first place; you have never seen the man so much as boil an egg in all the years you have known him. And certainly not in the twelve months you have loved him. His idea of cooking is usually stopping at Whole Foods to pick up a hot rotisserie chicken.

He walks towards you with that adorable puppy dog expression, his perennial get-out-of-jail-free card. You pick a fleck of what you think is broccoli from his hair as he reaches you.

“Points for effort?” he pouts, a tiny smile toying with the corners of his mouth, seeking forgiveness. You let him pull you into his arms and kiss your cheek. “Do you still love me?” he teases, pulling back to shoot you that perfect-toothed charming grin.

“I’ll love you even more if you tidy all this up,” you counter, raising an eyebrow as he chuckles. “Although I’m intrigued. You have never once made dinner since we’ve been dating; why now?”

“Well, I wanted to do something special…” he says pointedly, pulling away to switch off the hob when there is a slight burning smell in the air.

“What’s so special about today?” You frown.

“Really?” He spins around to look at you, a slight pout as you wrack your brains. “What happened on this date one year ago?”

Ohhh…

You feel bad you had completely not realised it. Exactly one year ago to this day, you got together after many years of combative flirting. Heart melting in your ribcage as you suddenly realise this is him attempting to cook an anniversary dinner for you.

“You secret romantic, you,” you murmur, contrition and affection burning inside as you can't help but seek his touch.

“Don’t let anyone know,” he jests as he pulls you into his arms again and kisses your temple. “I have a reputation to uphold….”

“Of course…” you giggle, resting your head on his shoulders as you sway together in the bombsite that was your kitchen. “And here was me thinking you would do something far more risqué…”

“Such as..?” he prompts, intrigued by where your thoughts have gone.

“Oh, I don't know….” you run your fingers into his lush hair, pressing into him. “Maybe take me back to that same penthouse your friend owns. Maybe make it to that overpriced sofa this time…” his eyes flash dark and dangerous, licking his lips, and you feel compelled to continue, “Maybe even that enormous bed. And the balcony….”

He groans gently as his mind no doubt fills with the same images as yours. “Fuckkkkkkk….” he rues, “I should have done that. I’m definitely no Gordon Ramsey….”

You laugh and run your hands up his biceps. “Maybe not. But I do have a suggestion…” you offer, dropping your voice a little smokier.

“Tell me…” Anthony rumbles, nudging your cheek until your lips brush, fingers digging into your flesh where he holds you.

“Let's work up an appetite and then order from our usual. Tidying up can wait…” you whisper, mouth ghosting over his, fingers opening the top button of his shirt and toying with the patch of chest hair.

“You’re fucking perfect.”

You squeal gently as he picks you up and strides towards your bedroom. The little navy velvet box burning a hole in his suit jacket pocket can wait for another day. Perhaps.

—

During a boring editorial meeting the following morning, your phone buzzes in your lap.

AB: Can you be at mine at 7pm tonight?

Y/N: Yes… but why?

AB: All will be revealed 😉

AB: Come hungry for delicious protein

Y/N: Filthy. I like it. 😉😛

AB: OMG NO! Not THAT. Bloody hell…

Y/N: Shame…

AB: Well, okay, maybe a bit of that. Afterwards. 😉

Y/N: *victory dance* 💃

AB: I love you, you filthy animal 😛😘

—

You walk into Anthony’s kitchen at precisely 7pm that evening to find some very posh-looking man in a bowtie pouring some wine into the good glasses. The ones you are too scared to use.

“What is all this?” Your curiosity piqued.

“Cooking was a disaster, so this is recompense,” Anthony greets you with a hug and a brief kiss on the lips.

He looks handsome in his usual crisp shirt, undone just enough at the chest to be distracting, and custom-tailored trousers that cling to him just right. It takes some effort to tear your eyes away from him, but when you do, you now see a smorgasbord of cheese on his expansive, pristine white marble kitchen island, with fruit, crackers and all manner of chutneys.

“Oooh, lovely. Fancy cheese and wine night?” you guess.

“Indeed,” he replies warmly. “Baxter here is a world-renowned expert on such things. He will be taking us on a cheese world tour paired with the very best wines.”

“Sounds lovely. Thank you,” you nod to the man, then crowd into Anthony again. “The anniversary of our first proper date?” you guess, kissing his jaw, enjoying the slight rasp of stubble there.

“The lady is learning…” he ribs genially, taking your hand and pulling you along to take a seat on one of the stools.

Baxter speaks engagingly and knowledgeable, and admittedly, every cheese and wine pairing is exquisite. Just a bite from each, but after 10 countries, you are a little tipsy, leaning into Anthony and shooting him goofy smiles, resting your chin on his shoulder, cheekily grabbing his thigh where the fabric pulls taut right over his quad muscle so temptingly. You want to climb into his lap and wrap around him.

After an hour, the man politely takes his leave, mentioning he has left some more “adventurous” choices in sealed boxes in the fridge.

“What does adventurous cheese mean?” you tipsily ponder after the man has left. “Do you think it's abseiled down a mountain?”

Anthony laughs accommodatingly at your goofiness, taking your hand and leading you outside onto the balcony. “I assume strong-flavoured maybe. But I’m quite sure it's all bravado,” he assures.

You lean on the railing, looking down upon the Thames below, all of London seeming reflected in its inky depths, a thousand lights twinkling in its choppy waves, like a sea of stars beneath you.

“I could never tire of this view,” you declare wistfully, a warmth behind your ribs as he crowds into your back, placing a light blanket around your shoulders.

“It is yours to enjoy for as long as it is mine,” he breathes into your hair, kissing your temple and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You sway together gently in the breeze, your hands over his, pushing back into his warm body.

“I love you,” you say quietly, turning to nuzzle his cheek.

“I love you too,” he responds immediately, “and I have for so long now; it feels wrong when you are not with me,” his tone ardent, gentle. “Wait here….” he whispers, a waver in his voice that makes you pause.

You wait patiently as he slips back inside, the breeze dancing through your hair as you inhale deeply and soak in the city. Although you are high above street level, the sounds are still there, like a background hum. It’s as energising as the country air at his rural ancestral home in Kent, just in a different way—so vibrant and teeming with life.

Anthony seems to be gone for a while, so out of intrigue, you wander inside to the fridge, grab one of the containers Baxter left and take it back onto the balcony before he reappears. When you peel it open, you are taken aback by the smell. It's very pungent, even out in the open air.

“There is an important question I wa…” Anthony freezes mid-sentence. “Dear god, what is that smell?” he exclaims, his face scrunching violently.

“Oh, I think it's the cheese Baxter left.”

You swing the container around so it's right under his nose and watch him go white as a sheet and then double over to one side, dry heaving.

“That's disgusting!” He gags, quickly putting something small from his hand into his trouser pocket as he coughs roughly, almost bent double.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” you frown, bringing the container back to your own nose, closer than you had it before.

Then, a wave of nausea hits you, too. It smells of decay and bad feet and turns your stomach so violently that you have to grab the balcony railing to stop yourself from stumbling.

“Fuck that's terrible,” you stutter, trying hard to keep down the rich wines and cheeses you have already consumed.

“Throw it!” Anthony blurts, somewhat frantic.

“Where?” you panic, holding it away at arm's length, desperate to stay upwind of it.

“Off the fucking balcony! Fling it in the Thames! I can't even have that shit in my bins….” he yelps before another wretch doubles him over again.

Gripping the container, you fling the contents as hard as you can, watching the blob of cheese sail downwards in an arc for twelve storeys, hitting the river below with a distant but satisfying plop. You both stand there wheezing and gasping as you reseal the container immediately, fearful of any residual scent.

“Dear god, am I going to inadvertently ruin every one of these special evenings?” he grumbles under his breath, sounding more like a rhetorical question than anything.

You have no idea what he could mean, but you don’t have the capacity to ask - you have to run to the cloakroom as the mere olfactory flashback makes you nauseated.

When you reemerge ten minutes later, full of regret and needing toothpaste, you find him in his en suite bathroom in a similar fragile state. You both crawl into his bed feeling delicate, curling up foetal and holding hands across the expanse of the bed, him muttering apologies.

—

III

The following week, Anthony takes you back to the same restaurant where you had your second date, one year to the day later. Seeing the pattern in advance, you wear the beautiful little black dress he bought you recently. And you are pleased to make him temporarily tongue-tied when you slip off your coat to reveal it, whispering coquettishly in his ear that you are happy to skip dinner and return to his.

“Oh, we will,” he rumbles, a promissory note that lights a fire low in your belly.

After perusing the menu, you decide to order the same dish you had last time. You are certain everything is terrific, but you remember it being so delicious it had you making noises only Anthony usually can. Also, you are hoping for a complete repeat of the same night from a year ago. Memorably, it was the first time he managed to give you three orgasms in one night—you are very keen to repeat that.

But rather strangely, Anthony’s energy seems slightly off, almost nervous. You can only assume it's apprehension that this night does not go as the previous two attempts at anniversary celebrations have.

While you are sharing a delicious starter, a familiar face over the room at the bar catches your eye.

“Is that Benedict?” you frown, causing Anthony to twist in your booth and look.

“Probably,” he sighs.

You are nonplussed by his reaction, so you take it upon yourself to wave to him, to Anthony’s seeming chagrin.

When Benedict wanders over, you notice his shoulders are hunched, a shuffled gait. Not the usual mister sunshine he is.

“Hey Ben, everything okay?” you check as he pulls up nearby, hovering a little.

“I got dumped,” he exhales. “So I’m drowning my sorrows,” he explains, holding his whiskey tumbler aloft in a rueful toast.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you grimace, knowing he has been more unlucky in love than not, which seems a shame; he’s a sweet, good-looking man but often gets used, attracted to people who take advantage of his giving nature.

“Anyway, I don’t want to interrupt your dinner…” he placates modestly, glancing at his older brother, who seems to be brooding.

“Don't be silly, you can join us,” you beckon him into the booth.

“No, he can’t,” Anthony interjects.

You frown at him. “Why not? It’s just dinner,” you dispute.

“No, it’s not; it’s our anniversary,” Anthony argues before turning to Benedict. “Brother, I love you and all, but would you kindly fuck off?” Anthony grouses, gritting his teeth.

“Anthony!” You admonish. “Don’t be a dick!” You roll your eyes. “Ignore your grouchy brother, Ben; of course, you can join us,” you offer again, seeing the hesitancy but also the sadness tugging at the corner of his eyes that means you are worried about leaving him alone.

He acquiesces, and as he wanders across to the bar to grab his jacket and join you, you scowl at Anthony. “He’s just been dumped. You could be nicer,”

“I could… just not tonight,” he says, almost harangued.

You decide not to dwell on why he seems unduly hung up on this evening’s plans, being so particular, watching him seem to fiddle with an item in his jacket pocket, then look askance across the restaurant, defeated.

“Anthony, are you okay?” You check quietly as Benedict walks back over.

“Yeah, I just….” He sighs and finally meets your eye squarely with a tinge of sadness. “I had other plans for us tonight. Not babysitting…”

At one point during the main course, Benedict excuses himself to the bathroom. Anthony has been mostly monosyllabic, almost sulking, and you feel guilty; perhaps he did indeed have other ideas for the evening.

You shuffle around to lean into him and grab his hand, placing it high on your thigh under the table, the message unmistakable.

“We can still have our plans for later…” you whisper hotly into his ear.

He seems to perk up immediately, his hand grasping your flesh in a way that catches your breath. “You always know what to say to make me feel better…” he murmurs, at once playful and reverent.

“Touch me…” you whisper, the need for him an instant, tart taste in your mouth.

“Here, in the restaurant? With my brother coming back to join us any moment?” His tone is incredulous but unmistakably aroused.

“Yes…” you hiss, pushing his hand up higher to the junction of your thighs where you burn molten for him always.

He growls when he realises you have made another style choice, this one scandalous—no underwear.

“I’ll do more than that, you wonderful minx,” he huffs, pulling your thigh over his lap under the tablecloth. He plunges two fingers into your aching pussy and presses his thumb over your clit. You gasp and grip the table hard, just as Benedict reappears.

It certainly does wonders for Anthony’s disposition, like he is a different man now. Chatting amiably to his brother as you subtly try not to look flustered, dripping silently into his palm as he holds still.

“Whatever you did to put this one in a better mood, thank you,” Benedict jests at one point.

“I just had to give the old grouch a hug and his favourite toy to keep him entertained,” you joke back, him not realising exactly how true that is. Anthony’s fingers flex deep inside you at your cheeky riposte, and you can feel his smirk as you have to cough to hide your moan.

“Well, thank you,” Benedict smiles, “you bring things out in my brother I never thought I would see. So whatever magic trick you are pulling, keep doing it.”

Anthony’s fingers curl hard against your g spot, and you have to laugh loudly to not scream.

“She’s the very best brother,” Anthony replies, lips brushing your temple as he flicks his thumb teasingly over your clit. “I hope one day you find someone as special as she is,” he offers, his first sympathetic noise to his brother of the evening.

“I should be so lucky,” Benedict adds quietly, tone pensive, glancing at his phone as it lights up by his elbow.

Anthony withdraws from your pussy; you whimper mutely, feeling bereft but also relieved, not sure you can act any longer. You watch as he brings those fingers up to his mouth and sucks them decadently as Benedict is distracted by his phone.

“Thank you for dessert, my love,” he thrums into your ear, “and the show,” he adds cheekily, your clit and pussy clenching, denied, so very aroused.

“Take me home right now, Anthony!” Your order is through gritted teeth, quiet but brokering no argument.

And he does.

—

A tide of relief hits you as the door to his sleek penthouse clicks softly open; tossing aside your umbrella and slipping off your shoes in the fancy hallway. It's been a taxing work day; all you can think about is climbing into the shower, then curling up and watching something mindless until Anthony gets home.

“Y/n…”

An enticing but distant call in that familiar voice.

“Anthony?” you respond, puzzled. “I thought you would be out late tonight?” you add, wandering forward, trying to find the source.

“Change of plan….”

You cross the open-plan lounge area with its floor-to-ceiling view across the rooftops of London. It's been more than a year of dating, and still, you aren't entirely used to the sheer scale of his place compared to yours. It feels like it takes ages to get across just his living room.

“Where are you?” you frown, hands on hips. It sounds like he's likely in the bedroom.

“Follow the sound of my voice,” he entices, and yep, it's definitely from that direction.

However, when you wander in, the room is empty, the early evening sun blazing onto the soft, luxurious white duvet on his vast bed.

“Getting warmer,” he offers, quieter now, and you recognise his voice has an echo. He can only be in his en-suite bathroom.

You round the corner into that tastefully masculine room - all slate and birch - to be greeted by a sight that makes your lungs feel too tight.

There, in his sizeable sunken whirlpool tub, is one Anthony Bridgerton. Very naked and very wet. Standing so that the bubbling waterline hugs his hips—acres of toned torso, water droplets meandering down the washboard of his stomach and glistening in the thatch of hair across his chest. You bite your lips without even realising it, shifting your stance as you feel a ripple of excitement over your skin.

“Hello, Ms y/l/n,” he preens, knowing exactly how much the sight before you makes you tongue-tied and aroused.

“Hello…” you stutter back, eyes still feasting. “What is the CEO of Bridgerton Enterprises doing taking a bath at….” you glance down to check your watch, “... 5:25 pm on a Thursday?”

“It's a special occasion…” he smirks, wading towards the edge of the tub closest to you. “I thought a bath would be nice.”

You can't seem to look away from the wake of waves cresting his Adonis belt as he does so. The sight of something delicious just below the surface is almost hypnotic.

“My eyes are up here, you know,” he mocks gently, tongue literally in cheek, as you cut your gaze to his triumphant face.

“Wh… what special occasion?” you manage to stumble out.

“Surely you recall what happened on this night exactly twelve months ago?”

When you look nonplussed - frankly, you can barely remember your own name right now - he mock sighs.

“I surprised you on my way back from the airport?” he prompts.

“Oh!” you suddenly cotton on, “it's been a year since we exchanged keys!”

He nods, and a fetching beam breaks out across his face. “Ahhh, the lady remembereth,” he winks.

“So this is how you’re celebrating?” your eyes again drag covetously down his body.

“No, this is how WE are celebrating…” he corrects and gestures towards a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket at one corner of the tub, along with two long-stemmed flutes.

You can't help but match his grin now. “Well, I can’t find fault with that idea,” you admit, taking a step closer until you are at the edge of the tub surround.

“Hmm, I thought not,” he says silkily, closing the gap between you.

Grabbing the back of your neck with a firm hand, he draws you down into a deep, sensual kiss. His mouth claims yours. You shiver as warm water trickles down inside your top from the hand in your hair. He crowds into you, soaking your clothing with the press of his body as you kneel on the sunken tub surround.

“Oh no, this is all wet,” he feigns, tugging lightly at your sleeve, “you will just have to take it off.”

“Hmmm. I rather think that is your doing. How about you take it off?” you challenge, the banter between you never seeming to get old.

“Maybe I’ll just pull you into the water fully clothed?” he posits, raising an eyebrow.

You laugh and take a step back, revelling in his undivided attention as you strip for him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his expression hungry; the only sounds are his panted breath and the bubbles roiling in the tub. You are down to your underwear, a new matching lacy set, as if you knew, on some subconscious level, it was a special occasion, when he lunges forward and makes you squeal as he effortlessly picks you up and hauls you into the huge tub with him. The warm, effervescent water is a balm and tonic, making your skin tingle.

“What is the point of celebrating anything if it’s not an excuse to get naked?” he offers silkily, cupping your jaw with both palms, his wet thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones, then his lips are back, plundering, seeking, his tongue tangling with yours as his hands roam your skin, arranging so you are straddling his lap, his cock a solid press against your inner thigh.

This is indeed how you always want to celebrate every milestone of your relationship—with wonderful, sensual intimacy. Anthony pulls back from the kiss, and you stare into his rich eyes, blissfully tracing the lines of his face with fingertips as he easily unhooks your bra and pulls it gently over the rounds of your shoulders. This close-up and soaked, his face is all sharp contours and smooth, lightly tanned skin.

“You are too handsome,” your internal monologue spilling out with a light mewl as his thumbs brush your nipples.

“I love you too,” he chuckles drolly to make a point.

“Oh yes, that too,” you append with a playful pout. Then, a more sincere “I love you.”

“Wonderful to hear,” he rumbles into your ear as his hands slide underwater to tug down your underwear.

He pulls you deeper into his lap, your thighs pushed wide around his slender hips. His rigid cock nudges your slit promisingly, and you wait with bated breath for his much-wanted invasion. But he pauses, and you feel the curl of his smile against your cheekbone.

“Champagne?” he teases, holding still.

“Now?!” you splutter. “How about you get inside me first?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” he answers, wry and laconic.

Any witty riposte you may have dies on your lips as he surges into your body, knowing you need no warm-up, ready for him the minute you rounded the corner of the room.

“Happy key day,” he murmurs as your eyes flutter closed and you moan loudly, him nudging that spot that makes you so addicted to him.

“Happy key day,” your response is a ragged exhale as you adjust to his deep invasion.

Every time it still feels like the first, like it's just too good, and you just want to cling to him and be fucked into oblivion or fuck him into oblivion. A potent, heavy feeling inside that makes you crackle with energy and feel sated at the same time.

“Fuck me, Anthony,” you sigh into his wet hair, pushing closer into his embrace, voicing your exact desires.

“With pleasure.”

You squeak as his hands grasp tight around your waist and haul you up until just his tip is still inside you, then slams you back down, a curse falling from your lips as he does. His handling is slightly rough in a way that feels perfect, his teeth glancing your earlobe before he sucks it into his mouth and bites lightly.

Then it's a wondrous carnal dance, your joint noises echoing up the slate tiles as you fuck wantonly. Taking over at one point and gripping the edge of the oversized tub, you ride him for all your worth, chasing that feeling only he, his cock, has ever given you. So addictive ever since that very first night.

“I only ever want to fuck you, always…” the words tumbling from your lips unbidden, no filter between your thoughts and mouth as you spiral higher.

Even in the full throes of passion, his expression softens as you confess it.

“Forever?” something vulnerable in his panted tone as you rise and fall upon him.

“Forever, Anthony Bridgerton,” you vow, sensing his need to hear it, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders, pressing all of your being into him, wanting your bodies to be forged together somehow.

His thumb slips between your legs, and you cry out as he snags your clit perfectly, eyes rolling, feeling like a live wire.

“I need to feel it; please give it to me,” he implores desperately, thumb flicking almost violently over your engorged pearl.

It doesn't take much more, and you are fracturing around him. Crying his name, fingernails leaving crescent shapes on his shoulders as you reach that high, unable to stop slamming upon him as you flutter, your whole body spasming in pleasure but unwilling to stop. Him roaring his approval as you squeeze his cock tight, rippling around him.

“Please don't come,” you plead to him, “I need more, Anthony, more,” a wrecked sob, wanting to orgasm again. He snarls, his teeth on your cheekbone, his grip tightening around your hips, staving off his orgasm as best he can.

You grab his face and babble nonsense, saying you need his cock forever, strung out on the edge, almost a mania in your being, needing everything he can give. He pants harshly into your open-mouthed, sloppy kisses as you keep riding wound so tight like a coiled spring, wanting to be speared open by him always.

“Marry me!” he cries as you both reach that peak together, an explosion in both of your beings, feeling him come inside you harsh and deep, moaning your name like a prayer.

You collapse upon him, the bubbles of the jetted tub tickle your skin as you heave breaths, wracked and sated to your very core. A high like you have never known.

“Did you just…. propose?” you stutter as your brain comes back online, his cock still buried inside you.

“Shit…” he laments. “That was NOT how it was supposed to go! I had it all planned out!” he decries, burying his face into your shoulder where you still sit upon him.

“Anthony….” there are no other words, shock tying your tongue.

He pulls back and looks contrite. “Please allow me a do-over?” his face so beseeching.

Raw emotion and victory crest hard in your veins, and you can't help but banter with him - as you always have, as you always will, until death do you part now.

“No, Viscount Bridgerton,” you rag, holding his face, “No do-overs. You will just have to live with the fact you proposed to me as we came together….”

His face is a jumble of warring emotions as you realise you have kept him on tenterhooks about your answer.

“…And you will just have to accept that I said yes with you still inside me,” you add silkily.

A handsome grin claims his whole face, relief and devotion coursing through him. “We can’t tell anyone,” he whispers as you resurface from another kiss.

“Our little secret,” you smile back as he finally slips from your body.

—

“You know I might be the first-ever Viscountess with a garden flat in Zone 3,” you chuckle, sitting in matching fluffy robes on his balcony, the sky a riot of colour as the sun sets.

A few minutes before, he had gotten down on one knee and produced a little velvet box. You squealed and said yes again, watching transfixed as he pushed a flawless, elegant three-carat diamond onto your finger.

Anthony frowns deeply. “Err, no. You are moving in here with me,” he asserts loftily.

“I’m not selling my place!”

“You can rent it out!” he waves dismissively.

“Urgh, tenants. Hassle.” You roll your eyes.

“Okay, fine, then we can just use it to store all of my stuff you hate, alright?” he counters, catching your gaze with a fiery challenge. Your insides ablaze that your trademark flirtatious antagonism will always be there, even once you are married.

“Oh, Viscount Bridgerton, you have a deal…” you whisper coquettish and swing off of your lounger onto his, straddling him and sealing the pact with a kiss.

“I’m just so glad I could finally make it happen.”

You flip around and settle between his legs, your spine on his chest, lacing your hands together over your robe. “What do you mean?”

He barks a laugh you feel echo into your back. “So this is not the first time I have tried to propose to you. Remember that disastrous cooking? Attempt 1. Cheese night when we almost died? Attempt 2. Benedict interruptus? Attempt 3.” He holds up a hand before you, counting each on his fingers. “I almost gave up.”

You laugh and realise with hindsight how he seemed off kilter on those occasions, a soft ache behind your ribs in empathy. “I’m so glad you didn’t. Give up, that is,” you murmur, running your fingers over his lovingly once he lowers his hand back to your belly.

“I jest; I would never give up trying to make you my wife,” he pledges solemnly into your hair, kissing the shell of your ear. “And I hope you will never give up on me, as terrible of a husband as I will likely be….” he demures.

“I can do that, old friend…” you tease, a callback to that first night you got together.

“Less of the old,” he chides, immediately picking up your invitation, an exact repeat of your words to each other that first night you got together, heart melting as you realise he remembers the conversation word for word, too.

“I've known you my whole life, Anthony,” you continue, that conversation etched into your brain, turning back over in his arms. “You can't lie to me…”

“I never will,” he goes offscript, and you exchange laden looks. Then, a dangerous smirk takes over his face as he leans closer. “But you can handcuff me to our bed anytime,” he adds, a nod to the joke you made that night.

“You wish, you lucky fuck,” you respond, aping his line.

He grins widely and pulls back, handing you a champagne flute from the nearby lounger table.

“From old friends to new family…” he toasts, sincere and ardent, clinking his glass softly against yours.

“Friends and family…” you smile, your diamond ring afire in the setting sun, as you take a sip and pull him in for a blistering kiss.

Anthony taglist pt 1: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor @hanji-emo-blog @y0ur-favgerman @Huffelpuffforlife @0x1harmonia0x1 @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton fluff #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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norrisleclercf1 · 13 days ago

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Day 19 of 25 Days of Christmas: First Snow

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Rating: PG

Words: 886

The season's first snowfall has a magical way of transforming the world around you. As you look out the window, the gentle flurry of white blankets the landscape in a soft hush, muffling the usual sounds of the Netherlands. This moment marks a new chapter for you and Max, filled with warmth and intimacy as you cozy up inside your snug apartment.

The day started chilly, prompting you to wear thick socks and wrap yourself in a soft wool sweater. Max, ever the practical one, has already laid a fire in the fireplace, the flickering flames casting a warm glow that dances across the room. The scent of burning wood fills the air, mixing with hints of cinnamon and nutmeg from the baking you did earlier. It's the perfect setting for a day spent together.

As you stand in the kitchen, you can feel excitement. You rummage through the cabinets, pulling out everything needed for a hearty winter stew. Chopping vegetables becomes a dance of laughter and playful teasing. Max slides behind you, planting gentle kisses on your neck as you stir the pot, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. You tease him about his culinary skills, but secretly, you love watching him become a part of the ritual.

The snow falls softly outside, creating a serene backdrop to your afternoon. You glance out the window and see the world blanketed in white, a perfect canvas for new memories. The streets are quieter than usual, with the occasional burst of laughter from children outside, bundled up, making snowmen, or having snowball fights. The sight fills you with nostalgia, a reminder of your childhood winters.

With the stew simmering away, you decide it's time for a movie marathon. You both snuggle up on the couch, wrapped in a fluffy blanket that feels like a cloud. The light from the fire flickers warmth around you, and you can't help but feel grateful for this moment. Max picks the first classic holiday film that never fails to make you both chuckle. As the opening credits roll, you settle back into the cushions, feeling the world's weight melt away.

Every so often, you sneak glances at Max, who is completely engrossed in the film. The way his eyes light up during the funny parts makes you smile. Sometimes, you can't resist leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder, feeling his arm wrap around you. In these moments, the outside world fades, and all that exists are the two of you, enveloped in each other's warmth.

Between movies, you both take breaks to check on the stew, the savory aroma wafting through the apartment. Max humors you while you sneak sips of wine, your giggles echoing in the cozy space. The kitchen becomes a playground for shared laughter and affectionate banter, and you can't help but steal kisses when he isn't looking. The comfort of your relationship feels like the perfect pairing with the chilly weather outside.

As the afternoon sun dips, casting a golden glow through the windows, you finally sit to enjoy the stew you've both created. The flavors are rich and filling, and the warmth of the food enhances the cozy atmosphere. You chat about everything and nothing, weaving stories and dreams for the future. Max talks about his ideas for next summer while you share your thoughts about possible winter escapades. The conversations flow easily, and the connection between you deepens with every shared smile.

With the snow continuing to fall outside, the ambiance shifts subtly as it turns to evening. The lamp's soft glow adds a touch of romance to the room. You offer to pick the next movie, and Max nods, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. You choose a cozy romance that pairs perfectly with the snow outside and the warmth within.

You both settle back into your comfortable positions, and the film plays on. As the story unfolds, you can feel Max's fingers intertwining with yours, creating a sense of calm and security. You lean closer, your head resting on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing you. The world outside is a winter wonderland, but it feels like your little bubble of warmth and happiness here.

Toward the end of the evening, the credits roll, and you find yourselves reluctant to leave this cozy haven. You can hear the soft patter of snow against the window and imagine the world outside wholly transformed. It's a beautiful sight, but what indeed envelops you both is the warmth of each other's presence.

As you clean up the remnants of your cozy feast, Max pulls you close and spins you around playfully, laughter and love echoing through the room. You both take a moment to look out the window at the sparkling snow and find yourself smiling at how beautiful everything is—both outside and in the warmth of your shared space.

With the night drawing in, you both finally venture to bed, feeling tired yet content. Wrapped up in blankets, you know this day will remain etched in your memory—a day when the snow fell softly outside, but inside, it was all about warmth, love, and connection. You fall asleep to the gentle sound of the winter wind, thankful for Max and the cozy life you share together.

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ronearoundblindly · 11 months ago

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Heat Tank

Johnny Storm x ghost!reader from the Phantom Pleasure series

One of my Valentine's Fics for 2024. Prompt: A kiss in relief. WC 782

Summary: Though you've grown closer, Johnny has spent months unable to touch you. As a spirit, you are attracted to heat, so there's a chance his energy can actually offer you a form--if only temporarily--for him to see and feel. This is Johnny's first chance to test the Heat Tank.

The science of the structure makes no sense to Johnny, but he knows he has permission to go supernova while inside. The venting and dispersion will work for a prolonged period, and as an unexpected bonus, Richards was able to channel the energy to heat the entire block.

Johnny doesn’t care about that.

Why he needs the Tank is vague, but the Four know Johnny rarely asks for technology unless absolutely necessary. If it can help prevent any direct damage to the brownstone or the neighborhood, Reed and Sue are on board.

The apparatus is simply a more powerful version of the original assessment chamber in the Baxter Building, less the flaw where his maximum temp can melt the walls.

Johnny does the song and dance, listens to the explanation of controls—door stays locked until a specific sensor reads below 110* F—and then dismisses Reed and his sister to go out to dinner or whatever it is they do. He doesn’t pay attention after the necessities.

He contemplates inviting you in verbally, but instead lights his hand. That’s your ghost-equivalent of an attractive offer: concentrated heat. If this works at all…

As soon as the thick door shuts, its pitch black save for his hand, and Johnny stokes the fire. He gets more and more nervous, letting the smooth, gradual increase boil atmosphere like a frog in the pot, until the first shapes of you lick through the distortion.

You’re here.

You’re really here—right there within reach—and he pushes for more, more heat, more pressure, more you.

There’s not one whole part of you that becomes clear first; it’s wisps of a hip, a curve of a jaw, leg. He simply watches intently, unable to hear over the roar of flame around him—around you both.

But he can hear your voice in his head so clearly, joking, poking fun at his needless intensity, his perpetual impatience.

Johnny…

I’m always here.

I’m not going anywhere.

You aren’t though. He wants more. For once in his constantly un-alone life, he wants just one thing: to see you, to be with you physically.

Then you’re there.

Suddenly, the nuance of oranges curve over every inch of you, and Johnny’s body feels hotter than it’s ever been, in pain or pleasure, in fear or safety. He’s on fire inside and out.

He hardly imagines what your skin will be like in his palm because the burnt clay undertone of it seems hard. If Johnny’s learned anything about you, “hard” would describe none of it. You’re malleable like amber and fragile as rust.

The shared presence of blood-red is the most you and Johnny have ever had in common to date, and yet he feels a connection in the destruction, the dispersion of his life-force. If only he could truly give himself to you…

His bare foot steps forward in a cloud of plasma and smoke, sliding through the blaze.

He is the only source of oxygen now. There is nothing but Johnny to galvanize life within the Tank, and he has a goal.

Touch her.

That’s all he has to do: suffer and incite thousands of degrees for a corporeal taste.

Just one. Just one touch. Just touch her.

But Johnny Storm has never settled for the bare minimum. He steals the whole show. He shoots all the way to the stars. He can’t be held back, and there’s no one who cares to hold him back.

Before he can close the distance between you, your arm raises, a palpable hand resting on his chest which he greedily covers with his own and continues. Onward to you. Nearer. Hotter. Sooner. Until he arrives, lips kissing the beautiful, pouting plume of your lips.

To his utter delight, you feel…cool like fog rolling over his molten skin, and his lungs fill with the contradiction, veins opened wide to the shock of dopamine injected by new.

Johnny’s power makes him impose on others—on the world—because he controls the climate around him. Climate never fights back.

You do. You can affect him, and he’s instantly addicted.

He’ll fuse straight to your soul if you let him. He’s that far gone in seconds. The chain reaction simply floods through him, and he pumps more and more heat out to keep you tangible.

He’ll die without friction. He can’t imagine living without.

He presses, smelting your essence into his memory and hoping.

Stay, he thinks. Stay even when I burn out.

The hand on his heart squeezes, a cool rock to rest his sweating skin upon.

You’re a balance. You can keep him grounded even after all the hot air of this life floats away.

A/N: well, I'm really praying that read as interesting rather than confusing because I've had to come up with odd ways to describe how Johnny and a ghost can interact. Had this idea for Reader to be attracted to heat (i.e. her consciousness gathers around that energy which is the only time she can kinda really *think*) for a while, and it struck me that it would be novel to have a cold kiss be more tantalizing for the Human Torch. Anyway, I overthink everything, so yep, all is fine here!

Jake Jensen and a kiss to distract ⬅️➡️ Ransom Drysdale and a kiss as a yes

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#valentine's day fanfic #valentine's day prompts #johnny storm fanfiction #johnny storm x reader #johnny storm x you #johnny storm imagine #phantom pleasure

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youre-ackermine · 30 days ago

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⋆⁺₊❅. Unspoken ⋆⁺₊❅.

❅ Prompt 18 "Mulled wine"

❅ Characters Levi x Petra - Levi Squad - Hange - Moblit - Nifa

❅ Content Canon Universe / SFW

❅ Warning Swearwords / Alcohol consumption

❅ Wordcount 1229 approx.

❅ Requested by anon

It was already dusk when they finished the chores of the day, chilled to the bone and exhausted.

Snowflakes whirled around them as they got back from the stables, their boots sinking into the thick layer of snow with crunching sounds. They hunched against the relentless wind to cross the courtyard.

Leading the way, Captain Levi finally pushed the heavy wooden door open and a gust of icy wind followed his squad as they entered the HQ main building. Snow clung to their cloaks and boots, seeping through the fabric.

"I can’t stand this weather anymore," Oluo grumbled, shaking his head like a wet dog as he stepped in.

Eld stomped his boots against the floor, sending chunks of snow flying. "It’s warmer in here," he said.

"Barely." Gunther tugged off his gloves, his frosty breath hanging in the air.

"Well it's winter," Levi began. "What do you expect other than shitty snowstorms and freezing your balls off?" He brushed the snow off his own shoulders with brisk, efficient movements. His dark hair was damp, flattened by the snowfall.

His sharp, steely eyes swept over the group to fix on a shivering Petra. She pulled her hood down, slightly shaking out her hair. A few strands stuck to her cheeks, and she pushed them back with gloved hands, her gestures still graceful after hours cleaning the stables.

When Petra caught his gaze and smiled, Levi turned abruptly to walk down the hallway.

"C’mon, let's get to the mess hall," he growled.

They headed further inside, their boots leaving a wet trail on the stones. The old walls were awfully quiet at this time of the year, but they could hear the muffled sound of laughter and clinking mugs coming from the dining hall.

Light streamed through the door left ajar. Levi stepped inside first, his squad filing in behind him, the warmth reaching them immediately. A welcoming mix of spices and baked goods made Petra’s stomach growl.

The fire was crackling in the hearth and candles flickered on a long table. Scouts who hadn’t gone home for the Yuletide season were gathered there, chatting and laughing. Hange stood by the stove, stirring a pot of steaming mulled wine, while Nifa placed a tray of golden oat cakes on the table.

"Finally," Oluo exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. "Something to warm us up."

They shook off the last remnants of snow as they found themselves drawn toward the inviting atmosphere.

Petra’s cheeks were flushed from the sudden change in temperature, her eyes bright.

Settled in a corner of the room, Levi remained quiet, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingered on Petra for a while as she unfastened her cloak, snowflakes melting into droplets in her hair. She glanced at him, her lips curving into a small smile before she joined the others by the fire.

Levi’s eyes shifted away.

Hange’s mulled wine filled the air with the spicy scent of cloves, cinnamon, and oranges.

As the evening flew by, only a small group lingered near the hearth, Levi’s squad and Hange’s squad. Petra sat in the middle of the gathering, her cheeks glowing from the wine and the firelight. She was laughing at a joke when Moblit came closer.

"Happy birthday, Petra," he said, handing her a beautiful drawing of a serene landscape and a pouch of chocolates. "It’s from all of us in Hange's squad."

Petra’s eyes widened as she took the gifts. "Moblit, this is… Thank you all so much. It’s beautiful."

"Moblit is insanely talented," Hange chimed in, grinning and clapping him on the back. "You should draw more in your free time."

Moblit muttered something about Hange's experiments keeping him too busy and poured himself another mug of mulled wine.

This was Oluo's cue to step forward, holding a small tin in his hand. "And this is from Levi's squad," he announced, puffing out his chest. "Fine black tea. Imported."

He glanced at his Captain as if seeking approval.

Petra thanked her comrades with a soft chuckle. Her eyes drifted on Levi as she cradled the gift in her hands. "You always know exactly what I like."

Levi gave her a quick nod, taking a sip of his tea to avoid speaking. Her gaze lingered a bit longer on him before she turned back to the others.

⋆⁺₊❅.

As the evening wore on, Petra grew visibly more relaxed, her usually composed demeanor replaced by giggles and clumsy gestures. Maybe she had enjoyed Hange’s mulled wine a bit too much and as she reached for a slice of oat cake, she nearly knocked her mug over.

"Oi, Petra," Levi said, standing beside her chair. "You've had enough for tonight. Let's get you to your room before you pass out and make me deal with the mess."

Petra giggled, clearly tipsy. She looked up, her amber eyes meeting his. For a moment, the noise in the room seemed to fade and Levi had to avert his gaze to break the spell.

"You’re right, Captain. I think I need to rest."

When she stood to leave, her steps wobbled, and Levi offered her his arm.

"You’re always looking out for me, Captain."

"Someone has to," Levi replied dryly, though his steady grip on her arm was far gentler than his tone suggested.

The halls were freezing, their breaths visible in the dim light of the flickering torches. Petra shivered and Levi wrapped his jacket around her shoulders.

"Thanks for the tea," she said after a moment, her voice soft. "I know it's from your personal supplies. You're always so thoughtful, Captain."

"It’s nothing," Levi replied, keeping his tone neutral. "Don’t read too much into it."

They had reached her room door, and Petra turned to face him, still holding his arm. Her eyes shone brightly.

"No, really. Thank you for everything,"'she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “"You're more… You're thoughtful. And kind. Even if you try to hide it."

Levi frowned. "You’re drunk, Petra. Go to bed."

She laughed softly, and before he could step away, she leaned up and kissed him. Her lips were warm and tasted faintly of mulled wine, lingering on his just long enough to make his breath hitch.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were even redder, though whether from the wine or embarrassment, Levi couldn't tell.

"Happy Yuletide, Captain," she murmured. "And I…" She hesitated, then added quickly, "I appreciate you."

Levi blinked, caught completely off guard. His face remained impassive, but his mind raced.

"Petra," he uttered in a breath. "Get some rest."

Petra smiled and nodded, fumbling with the handle of her door.

"Goodnight, Captain," she whispered before slipping inside, the door clicking softly behind her.

Levi stood there for a moment, staring at the door. The cold seeped through his shirt, but he hardly felt it.

That kiss, so light, so fleeting, so warm, lingered and her words echoed over and over in his mind.

With a deep breath, he turned and headed back to the kitchen. The fire had burned lower, and the room was empty and quiet now. He sank into a chair by the hearth, rubbing a hand over his face. His thoughts refused to settle, replaying the feel of her lips and the look in her eyes.

"Shit," he muttered to himself.

For the first time in a long while, Levi found himself at a loss.

❅‪‪ A/N Not beta or proof read / English is not my usual language

❅‪‪ All graphics by me

❅‪‪ ❤︎‬ REBLOGS APPRECIATED ‪‪❤︎‬ ❅

Holiday Drabbles Masterlist

#holiday drabbles 2024 #levi ackerman #petra ral #levi x petra #rivetra #rivetra fanfiction #rivetra drabble #snk fanfiction #snk drabble #aot fanfiction #aot drabble #val writes ✍️#tw alcohol #tw drinking

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fruitcoops · 6 months ago

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If I Make It to the Morning

Prompt B3: "Surprise Visit" to continue PWHL Lions for Day 4 of @oknutzy-week-2024. I cannot get enough of them, thank you @lumosinlove for making such brilliant characters and letting us play with them like paper dolls.

They were just so goddamn cute.

Finn bit down on her spoon, holding it between her teeth with her arms crossed over her chest until she felt like she could breathe without shrieking. Leo had woken for a few seconds, only to close her eyes and sink back into sleep easier than Finn had ever seen. Logan, who used to jerk awake at the faintest click of the front door, snored softly as if the whole city wasn’t waking outside.

They were so cute, and it was such a goddamn problem.

Logan was…god, Logan just was. She was, in her way, and Finn had never been able to get over it, not even after a year without so much as a stray meme on Instagram even though she knew Logan opened every single one of her private stories. Finn hadn’t expected the surprise visit to her apartment—had thought Logan would be long gone, celebrating this insane dream come true with her new teammates. But Logan had come, Logan had stayed, Logan had allowed hugs she melted into and for Finn to take her to a restaurant where she laughed like nothing had changed.

Twenty-four hours passed. Logan got an Uber to the airport, Finn went to bed, and in the morning there was Leo. Bright and golden in overalls that made her look eight feet tall. A thin teal ribbon adorned her ponytail in a floppy bow that Finn wanted, desperately, to pull until it unraveled.

I’m Finn, Finn O’Hara. She had had to remind herself of her own last name. Come on in, your bedroom’s down the hall.

The books that had filled Leo’s duffel now sat snug on their IKEA bookshelves, tucked in with Finn’s like they were meant to be there. Her pots and pans were perfectly organized in the cabinets behind Finn’s head so she could reach them with ease. When Finn took a deep, fortifying breath, Leo’s magnolia room spray lingered in the air around her.

It was all so new and yet it felt so old, in the way an heirloom blanket was just the right softness and just the right length from years of comfort. The blanket Finn had bought to make this place feel a little more like home covered the expanse of Leo’s legs on one side of the couch and crept all the way up to Logan’s chest on the other. It was a fuzzy green thing; twenty dollars from Target, hardly something to be passed down. Finn wanted to hold it forever.

It was new and old and precious, and Finn could have absolutely none of it, so she bit her spoon and crossed her arms and waited for the coffeepot to finish hissing so she had an excuse to wake them up. Which happened to be the last thing she wanted.

It would be so convenient for Logan to miss her flight back to Minnesota. Maybe the storm had flooded a drain on their street. Maybe a tree had fallen somewhere between here and the hotel for the rest of her team. Maybe Finn could curl up in the armchair beside them and—whoops! Oh no! Overslept! Far too late to rush out, now, better if Logan just stayed a little longer in a place where she felt so right.

Leo’s Mardi Gras shirt fit her better than most of Finn’s clothes ever had.

These two would be the end of her.

A little milk, please. No sugar. Thanks, Harz.

Mixing the milk with the sugar first makes it taste better. Ouais, it’s…science, or something.

Finn poured hers black, gripping the ceramic sides tight enough to hurt. These feelings were too much. Her heart was too much. She watched them sleep on her couch like a creep and wished on every glow-in-the-dark star she had socked away her nightstand as a surprise for Leo that they could have this every day. It was a selfish wish. She ached for it.

“Rouge?”

God. “Yeah?” Finn answered, hoarse.

Logan mumbled something sleepy and low, stretching over the arm of the couch until her back cracked. “When time?”

“ ‘Bout eight.” Finn cleared her throat and took a sip of coffee. “I was going to get you up soon. Figured we’d drop you off at nine, nine-thirty.”

“Mmm.” Logan blinked at her a few times, slow and foggy with the morning, before squinting around the room. Her vibrant gaze hesitated on Leo. “Fell asleep during the show.”

“Me, too,” Finn said quietly. “Guess we were all tired.”

Logan hummed again. Leo slumbered on. The hall clock ticked down the seconds until Logan would return to her team, to Minnesota, to texts every other day.

None of them made any attempt to move.

#finn ohara #logan tremblay #leo knut #oknutzy #coast to coast #sweater weather #cubs #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #fluff #oknutzy week 2024 #surprise visit

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en-dazed · 2 years ago

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midnight cravings - yang jungwon

PAIRINGS: jungwon x reader

GENRES: fluff

WARNINGS: mentions of food

PROMPT: in which jungwon cooks for you at midnight

WORD COUNT: 1155 words

A/N: this is very mundane actually but i love imagining these little domestic moments with them 🥺

likes, reblogs and any interactions are appreciated <3 as always, let me know if you liked it!

You laid with your head on Jungwon’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. His hand rests on your back, tracing soothing patterns on the small of your waist. The delicate touch of his fingers sent a shiver of warmth down your body. The clock on your nightstand showed half past midnight and you groaned internally.

These were the moments you treasured the most, the ones that you missed the most when he was gone. You wanted so badly to just let yourself fall asleep in his arms but there was just one problem.

“Wonnie,” He hummed in reply to you.

“I’m so hungry.” You admitted, hoping he wouldn’t hear the loud noises of protest that your stomach was making at the moment. His fingers paused momentarily, the soothing patterns on your back ceasing as he took in your words.

Then, a soft chuckle escaped his lips, filled with warmth and amusement. “Should we order some late night food? Or do you want me to make you something?” He offered and your heart soared. It was past midnight and you knew he must be tired after a long day but here he was offering to cook for you just because you were hungry.

A surge of affection washed over you as you gazed up at him, grateful for his unwavering care for you. You felt lucky, to be able to yourself Yang Jungwon’s and to have him love you so selflessly like this.

A small smile formed on your lips as you reached up to caress his cheek. "Thank you, Wonnie. Can we cook together? I’ll help you.”

Jungwon returned your smile, his eyes shimmering with affection. With a tender kiss placed on your forehead, he gently disentangled himself from your embrace and rose from the bed. Together, you made your way to the kitchen, hand in hand.

In the well-lit kitchen you helped Jungwon gather the utensils and ingredients. You struggled to reach a pot that had somehow ended up on the top cupboard, stretching and standing on your tiptoes, determined to get it.

“Let me get it for you, baby.” Jungwon came up behind you, reaching up and effortlessly grabbing the pot you were struggling to get. His chest on your back felt warm and you unconsciously leaned into him.

Grateful for Jungwon's assistance, you turned around to face him, feeling your cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and affection. His warm gaze met yours, and he couldn't help but chuckle softly at your reaction.

"You know, you're adorable when you're trying to reach things," he teased, his voice filled with genuine fondness.

You playfully swatted his arm, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Hey, I can be independent too, you know," you retorted, though the sparkle in your eyes betrayed your amusement.

Jungwon pulled you closer, his arms encircling your waist as he rested his chin on the top of your head. "Of course you can, love," he whispered, his voice laced with tenderness. "But that doesn't mean I won't lend a hand when I can."

You melted into his embrace, relishing the feeling of being enveloped in his warmth. The scent of his cologne mingled with the aroma of the kitchen, creating a comforting atmosphere that made you feel at ease.

As you stood together in the kitchen, Jungwon guided you through the process of preparing the simple meal. He cheekily stood behind you, his arms wrapped around your hands as you chopped the vegetables. “I’m just trying to help you!” He said with a glint in his eyes and you laughed.

Jungwon made sure that he was always, always in contact with you, no matter what he did. He made you stand in front of him as he stirred the ingredients on the pot, his chin resting on your head. He found every excuse he could to ‘help’ you, ushering you away from actually doing anything of significance.

You couldn't help but steal glances at Jungwon, a sense of contentment and happiness swelling within you. The domesticity and intimacy of the situation made you feel giddy.

He noticed your stare. “What?”

“Nothing. Just thinking about how much I love you.”

Jungwon's eyes softened, his gaze filled with warmth and affection. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. "I love you more.” He whispered, his voice filled with sincerity

The two of you continued to cook together, savouring the shared moments and the anticipation of the meal to come. As the aroma of the food filled the air, your hunger intensified. Once the food was done, Jungwon urged you to go upstairs to the bedroom.

“I’ll bring the food up to you. Go, get comfortable.” He gave you another kiss before pushing you out of the kitchen.

You obediently made your way to the bedroom, excitedly waiting for him to come up. Before long, Jungwon appeared in the doorway, a tray in his hands, adorned with the delicious meal you had prepared together. He made his way towards the bed, a gentle smile on his face as he set the tray down on the bedside table.

Sitting beside you, he leaned in to place a soft kiss on your lips, the taste of his affection lingering. "I hope you're ready for a feast," he murmured, his voice filled with playful anticipation.

You grinned, excitement bubbling within you. "I'm starving." you replied, your voice laced with eagerness. Jungwon made a big show of revealing the dish on the plate and you giggled at his theatrics.

He watched as you dug into the food, his gaze filled with warmth and adoration. As the meal came to an end, you leaned back against the pillows, a satisfied sigh escaping your lips. Jungwon reached out, his fingers finding yours, intertwining them gently. The warmth of his touch sent a comforting sensation coursing through your body.

In the quiet of the room, you both remained, basking in the afterglow of a shared meal and the love that enveloped you. Time seemed to stand still as you lay there, your bodies close, your hearts entwined.

As the night wore on, exhaustion began to weigh heavily upon you, pulling at your eyelids. Sensing your weariness, Jungwon gently took the empty plates from the bed, his movements careful and considerate. He returned to your side, his arms encircling you, providing a sense of security and comfort.

"Rest now, baby," he whispered, his voice a soothing melody. "I'll be here, holding you through the night."

With those words, you felt a sense of tranquillity wash over you. Snuggling into his embrace, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the embrace of sleep. The rhythmic sound of Jungwon's heartbeat served as a lullaby, lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

As you drifted off you could’ve sworn you heard Jungwon whisper “I love you,” to you but you were too far gone to reply, sinking into the feeling of being loved and cherished.

#enhypen jungwon #jungwon fluff #jungwon headcanons #jungwon x reader #jungwon drabbles #jungwon imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen headcanons #enhypen imagines

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httpvomitello · 12 days ago

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Hey!! :D I was wondering if I could request a Ron Weasley x Male!Ravenclaw!Reader headcanons?

The reader is super smart, loyal, patient, and witty, but also kind of introverted and can easily pick up on other people’s emotions. They love writing poetry, playing chess, and taking care of plants. I think it’d be cute if the reader hated Ron at first and thought they were rivals, but Ron was just being his usual sweet self and didn’t realize there was tension AT ALL! (Hermione brings it up all the time 😭)

Over time, the reader starts feeling guilty about it once they become friends (and later, more than that).

For the prompt, I was thinking: In a pre-established relationship, Ron accidentally finds the reader’s notebook with a bunch of romantic poetry about Ron in it. The reader gets super embarrassed and tries to brush it off, but Ron surprises him by saying it’s really sweet—and even asks if the reader could write him one too!

Thank you so much if you decide to write this! I’d really appreciate it! <33

Hello, sweetie! Sorry for the delay in writing, but I hope you like it! ♡

How It All Began *⁠.⁠✧

ron weasley x m!reader

You and Ron didn’t exactly get off on the right foot. As a Ravenclaw, you were sharp, intellectual, and always two steps ahead in wit. Ron, on the other hand, was impulsive, loud, and didn’t always think before he spoke.

To you, he was a rival—someone you couldn’t quite understand but always seemed to clash with.

To Ron? You were just that quiet, brainy guy who was weirdly good at chess and sometimes gave him looks (which he didn’t realize were your glares of annoyance).

Hermione picked up on the tension immediately and tried to mediate. “Ron, you do realize he thinks you’re competing with him?”

“Competing? At what? I can’t even keep up with half of what he says!”

You’d catch him teasing you during some classes, and it only made your irritation grow.

But what you didn’t notice was the way his teasing came with a soft grin or how he always tried to sit near you in shared classes.

It all changed one day in Herbology. You were struggling to carry a particularly large pot, and Ron, without hesitation, came over to help.

“Blimey, this thing weighs a ton. You alright there?” he asked, flashing his smile.

You were caught off guard—not just by his unexpected kindness but by the sudden flutter in your chest.

Was this the same Ron Weasley?

- After that, Ron seemed… different. Or maybe you were the one who’d changed. You started noticing the little things: his loyalty to his friends, his self-deprecating humor, and how he always seemed to brighten a room just by being himself.

- Slowly, your “rivalry” melted away. He became someone you looked forward to seeing, someone who made you laugh despite yourself.

Chess was your common ground. Ron loved the challenge of playing against you, and you loved the rare moments when he actually managed to win.

He’d tease you relentlessly “See that? Genius Ravenclaw, beaten by a Weasley!”

But he was also sweet, praising your strategy and insisting you teach him your tricks.

Over time, Ron became your closest friend. He had a way of making you feel seen, like your quiet nature wasn’t a flaw but something he genuinely appreciated.

You, in turn, found yourself falling—hard.

His humor, his warmth, his unwavering loyalty—it all drew you in. But you didn’t dare say anything, afraid of ruining what you had.

What Ron didn’t know was that you often wrote poetry to process your feelings. Your notebook was filled with verses about your life, your thoughts, and lately… him.

You wrote about his laugh, the way his freckles danced across his nose, and how he made you feel like you were more than just the “smart Ravenclaw.”

One day, while looking for a quill in your bag, Ron stumbled upon your notebook. Out of curiosity (and complete obliviousness to the concept of privacy), he flipped it open.

What he found made his heart race: page after page of romantic poetry, all clearly about him.

When you walked in and saw him holding your notebook, you froze.

“Ron! That’s private!” you yelped, snatching it away.

His ears turned bright red as he stammered, “I didn’t mean to— I was just— It’s… really good.”

You wanted to disappear on the spot. “It’s just… silly stuff. Nothing serious.”

Ron looked at you, his expression unusually soft. “It’s not silly. It’s… about me, isn’t it?”

Your silence was all the answer he needed.

“You think all that about me?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“It’s embarrassing, okay?” you mumbled, staring at the floor.

To your surprise, Ron grinned. “Embarrassing? Nah. It’s—” He paused, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s kinda brilliant, actually.”

You blinked. “It is?”

“Yeah,” he said, his ears still red. “No one’s ever written something like that about me before. I didn’t even know you felt that way.”

- Then, with a sheepish smile, he added, “Think you could write me another one? Just for me?”

You did write him another poem—a simple but heartfelt piece about how much he meant to you. Ron kept it tucked in his trunk, pulling it out to reread whenever he missed you.

From then on, he made it his mission to show you just how much he cared. He’d compliment your intellect, ask about your writing, and even attempt to help with your plants (though he once nearly killed your prized fern).

“You’re not just some genius Ravenclaw,” he told you one day. “You’re my genius Ravenclaw.”

And when he kissed you, pulling you close with all the tenderness in the world, you realized Ron Weasley was more than you’d ever dared hope for.

He loved your poetry, your passion for chess, and even your introverted tendencies, seeing them as parts of what made you... you.

#reader #x reader #y/n #harry potter x reader #harry potter #hogwarts #x male reader #ravenclaw #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley #ron weasley x male reader #ravenclaw x gryffindor

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seren1tyhaze · 1 year ago

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road snacks

PAIRING: haechan x afab reader

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

SUMMARY: a cross country move with your boyfriend is exciting and sometimes a little more steamy than you thought it would be

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I officially present my first Kinktober 2023 entry! This is another piece I had finished but was trying to finish other wips but don't want to hold off posting things that are ready anymore. Please enjoy prompt number 16 "Public" :)

WARNINGS: explicit smut, public sex, soft Haechan who is actually not very soft

PLAYLIST: Lost in the Light by Bahamas, Yacht by NCT 127, Malibu 1992 by COIN, Daylight by Matt and Kim, Catch by Epik High + HWASA

The sun is starting its descent in the horizon, bright rays stretching across the sky as you stretch your arms across the dashboard in a deep stretch. It’s nearing the sixth hour of the long first day of your road trip and your energy is starting to fade. You’ve been up since early this morning, taking on the first few hours of driving before swapping with your auburn haired boyfriend currently tapping his thumbs on the leather wheel car beside you, humming lightly to the music filtering through the sound system.

Leaning back in your seat, you sink down, letting your eyes slip shut as you lean your head against the window and let the sun warm your bare arms and face. The music is calm and filled with beautiful harmonies, lulling you to sleep for the first time on the journey. You had promised each other you would help whoever was driving stay awake, but with plans to stop at nightfall at a hotel, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a short cat nap.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you feel a light brushing of fingers along your exposed shoulder and you reluctantly push your eyes open to see an apologetic gaze from the handsome man next to you.

“Babe, I’m so sorry, could you hand me something from the cooler?” Hyuck asks, applying some pressure to your shoulder to massage it with his fingers.

You melt into the touch, nuzzling your cheek warmly against his hand before nodding, unbuckling your seatbelt to carefully lean between the front two seats and open the cooler in the back. Travelling together has been a dream, stopping at different tourist spots on the way, letting him take pictures of you on his film camera, and charting out which cities along the way had all-you-can-eat hot pot.

“Water? Ginger ale?” you ask, wedging your waist between the seats to get a better angle.

Suddenly you feel Hyuck’s hand on you, causing you to jump and your upper body to lurch forward, trapping you between the seats.

“HYUCK!” you squeal, craning your neck to try to get his attention.

“What?!” he whines back, laughter seeping in as you feel the car slow down, easing his foot off the gas to reduce speed.

Without further explanation, he spreads his hand out over your ass, kneading with his fingertips slowly, just as he had been doing to your shoulder a few moments before. Despite the awkward angle you are currently curled into, you sigh and feel your cheeks start to heat. Despite all the alone time on the trip so far, there hadn’t been much time for anything beyond quick kisses or spooning in bed in the weeks leading up to the move. You’ve both been so busy and exhausted that every night your eyes have slipped shut the minute your heads hit the pillow.

“I’m sorry, what am I supposed to do when you’re on display for me and I’ve been horny for days,” he adds, voice dropping into a gruff tone as his hand moves between your thighs that are pressed together from the position.

“I thought you wanted something from the cooler,” you reply, trailing off as you feel him slide his fingers slide up the seam of your leggings, getting dangerously close to your core.

“You know what, I am kind of hungry, now that you mention it…” he replies, applying more pressure to your ass with his thumb, glancing up in the rear view mirror wickedly as he pulls off the highway and into a deserted corner of a rest stop.

As he puts the car in park, you wiggle trying to free yourself from the awkward position, feeling your calf starting to cramp. You let the lid to the cooler drop shut, knowing he’s definitely not thinking about that drink anymore.

Hyuck turns around in his seat, moving his hands to your waist, making contact with your bare skin from your shirt riding up just below your breasts. He pulls you gently so you are no longer wedged between the seats but keeping your ass close to his face.

“Now, how about that snack,” he murmurs barely audibly as cool air sends shivers up your spine when Hyuck pulls at the waistband of your leggings, exposing you fully.

“Donghyuck!” you cry out, arms tensing up and teeth digging into your bottom lip. The sun is setting slowly and a hazy dusk covers the sky. Anyone walking by would definitely be able to see and your cheeks burn at the thought of someone tapping on the window or pulling out their phone at the sight.

He only laughs, dipping his head down to press kisses at the thin lines of the bear tattoo on your lower back, laving at the skin there with his tongue as he always does. His hand slides up your chest, massaging you there and taking your nipple in between his fingers to squeeze it gently. A moan bubbles up in your throat and you dig your palms into the back seat below you, letting your head drop down.

Hyuck keeps kissing your skin, brushing his lips over and over, making you squirm. He gently lifts your hips up to give him a better angle, pushing your thighs open gently and lowering his head between them. You can feel his breath cool across your dripping core, arousal building in you and your temperature starting to rise in the cramped car.

“Baby, please,” you groan, turning your head to try to make eye contact with him as he continues to tease you.

“Begging? We’re begging now, are we? I thought you were scared someone would see,” he chuckles cruelly, sitting back and dragging a finger suddenly through your arousal before pulling it up to his lips and loudly sucking on the wet digit.

You groan in annoyance, feeling frustrated at not being able to move and have a sneaking suspicion he’s going to edge you despite the urgency of the situation.

“Please Hyuckie, I need your mouth on me now,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper, almost drowned out by the soft music still playing in the car.

His eyes darken at the sound of the nickname in a lust-filled tone and his hands return to your ass cheeks, spreading them lightly to give him better access. His mouth is suddenly on you, tongue dragging along you to gather your arousal on his tongue, swirling at your clit. Your legs start to shake with pleasure and he tightens his grip as he slides a hand up your back to push your ass up further.

You don’t realize you’re holding in your moans until you taste blood in your mouth, having punctured your lip lightly. You know you aren’t going to last long after weeks without sex so you push your hips back, grinding against his lips for more friction.

You can feel him smile against you, pulling you even closer to him by the waist, moaning against your core and tasting every inch of you. He was starving, nose bumping up against your clit repeatedly and sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Your mouth drops open to warn him of your impending orgasm but there’s no time as it crashes over you, a strangled cry falling from your lips that surely could be heard by anyone parked nearby. His grip on your waist tightens as you try to pull away, refusing to breathe until he’s worked you through your pleasure with his wicked tongue.

He finally breaks away from you with a messy sounding smack of his lips and you don’t need to look back at him to know that his cheeks are flushed and silky strands are dangling on the sides of his forehead. He pulls your leggings up for you and gently pulls you back into the passenger seat, slumping back into his own once you’re settled.

You’re out of breath and your arm hurts slightly from being pressed in an awkward position for so long. Your chest is heaving underneath the thin material of your shirt and you sigh, finally bringing your eyes up to meet your boyfriend’s gaze.

He’s smirking deviously, as he always does, and his legs are spread wide, cock visibly hard in his loose sweatpants. There’s a slight sheen across his forehead and his lips are still wet. You flush at the sight of him, heart pounding in your chest as you reach forward to close the space between you. You can taste yourself on his lips and moan into his mouth as your tongue makes contact with his. You run your fingers through his hair, dragging his head back to break the kiss and meet his eyes again.

“Now, is my boyfriend going to let me have snack time too? Or is he not going to share?” you ask menacingly, shoving your free hand down the waistband of his pants suddenly to grasp at his cock.

All he can do in reaction is moan, letting his eyes roll back as his head gently hits the window as you tug on his sweatpants and lower your lips over his lap. As much as he craves eating you out, you know blow jobs are his biggest weakness and it was your turn for payback in the darkening parking lot on the side of the highway.

This trip might end up taking longer than you both had planned if your quick snack breaks turned into full course meals, but neither of you really minded.

#nct smut #nct x reader #nct fanfic #haechan x reader #haechan x y/n #haechan x you #haechan smut #kinktober #nct kinktober

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bellyasks · 9 months ago

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I Can't Just Let All This Go To Waste stuffing prompts bc i loveeee an excuse

A new bakery recently opened up in town, and your character goes to check it out. Excited to try the interesting things they have, they wind up buying way too much. Now they're saddled with a ton of baked goods that are bound to start going bad before long. It would be a shame to waste any of it, especially considering it wasn't exactly cheap, so they'd better get moving.

Your character was planning on hosting a party with a bunch of friends and prepared plenty of food to go around. One by one, though, their friends message them to let them know they won't be able to make it. Now, your character sits all alone at home, surrounded by a ton of very perishable snacks that won't be much good later. On top of that, they didn't leave any fridge space to put them away since they weren't meant to last the night. Feeling glum and deflated, your character has little to do now but spend the evening eating all that food.

Your character buys a big tub of ice cream only to discover that they don't have any freezer space to put it away. With nobody around to share it with, they have no choice but to try and eat the whole thing themself before it melts.

Fresh fruit is a perfect summer snack, except for the fact that it goes bad so fast. Following a visit to the farm market during which they let their stomach do the thinking, your character comes home with way too much fruit. They have some as a snack right away, and, unable to resist how sweet and ripe it is, immediately go back to their new stash for a little more. It's hard to stop eating, but since it's gonna be moldy in a few days, why not go wild right now?

Your character orders a pizza or two to split with a couple companions, but their plans fall through when everybody has some last-minute obligation calling them away. Everyone except your character, that is, who is now alone with nothing but a lot of hot, fresh pizza. They know they should just have a couple slices and put it away, but pizza is never as good the next day. How much of it will they eat before their belly finally stops them?

Trying to watch their spending, your character buys a bunch of marked down food in the hopes that it will last the week. The dates are sooner than they realized, though, and they only have a day or two to eat everything. They ask around, but nobody seems to be in need of their nearly-expired offerings, so they accept their fate and start planning an enormous meal.

Your character makes a big pot of soup with the intention of freezing half of it for another time. They neglected to check their freezer beforehand, though, and find that there's absolutely no room. Knowing they'll never finish all the soup if they only eat reasonable portions, your character's meals for the week consist of very large, very filling servings.

Your character bakes a big dessert for a potluck at work, but apparently nobody really liked it, because when it's time to pack up, almost the entire thing is still there. Knowing it'll only sit around getting gross if they leave it in the break room, your character brings their rejected treat back home and decides to take care of it themself.

#prompts #stuffing #stuffed belly #belly kink #tummy kink #belly #my post #scenario

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c-e-d-dreamer · 1 year ago

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And They Call It Puppy Love

A/N: Listen, I know the Rivalry prompt for @nessianweek was probably meant more for Nesta and Cassian as rivals, but I just think there's something so funny about Cassian having a rivalry and beef with an animal sooooo yeah :) Shout-out to the Anon who sent me this prompt! And also, I imagine Nesta's dog as a black Australian shepherd.

Read on AO3

“Who’s a good boy? That’s right. You’re a good boy.”

The voice floats to Cassian through the wood of the apartment door, light and sweet. It fills his chest with an easy warmth, but try as he might, there’s no stopping the grimace that tugs at his lips. He sighs softly and pushes his fingers up and through his hair, rolling his shoulders back once before he raises his fist to knock. He’s better than this. Barks echo around him for a moment, and then the apartment door is opening.

“Hey,” Nesta greets him, that small, private smile lighting up her face.

“I brought everything to make your favorite,” Cassian tells her, raising the bag in his hand for her to see.

Nesta’s smile widens at that, the sight sending Cassian’s heart skipping between his ribs. “You’re too good to me.”

“Not possible, sweetheart.”

Cassian presses a kiss to Nesta’s cheek as he steps inside the apartment, relishing in the pink he can see starting to bloom across her skin. He discards his leather jacket and shoes in her front entryway and walks into her kitchen, setting the bag down on the counter and pulling out all the ingredients he grabbed on the way over. Deft hands slip beneath the hem of his tee, sliding along his waist, and Cassian finally gives into his grin as Nesta presses her forehead between his shoulder blades.

“Can I help with anything?” Nesta asks, her voice slightly muffled against the cotton fabric.

“After last time? No.”

He feels more than he hears her quiet huff, and though he can’t see her, Cassian is sure that she rolls her eyes. “It was just one, small, tiny, little grease fire.”

Cassian chuckles and turns around in her arms, cradling her jaw in his palms and tilting her face up toward his. “I’ll cook. You can do the dishes.”

“Deal,” Nesta agrees, pressing up onto her toes and kissing him sweetly.

Nesta goes to pull away from him, but Cassian is having none of that. He curls his arm around her waist and tugs her right back into him, kissing her properly, languidly. She practically melts against him, fingers curling into his shirt, and when he finally pulls back, that pretty blush he loves so much is spilling across her cheeks again. Her eyelashes flutter for a moment and then that stormy blue gaze is on him. Cassian doesn’t think he’ll ever get over how beautiful her eyes are. How beautiful she is.

Nesta finally slips from his grasp, but she doesn’t go far, hopping up to sit on the counter, so Cassian gets to work. He grabs the pots and pans he’ll need for the dish, setting them on Nesta’s stovetop, and snags the cutting board he spots near the sink. He slides his hand along Nesta’s knees as he steps around her, grabbing the fresh veggies he bought and giving them a good rinse.

“Where do you keep your good knives?”

“The drawer by the coffee machine.”

With a nod, Cassian sets the vegetables down on the cutting board and steps toward the drawer in question, but his path is blocked. He tries to keep his smile easy and friendly, tries to keep his voice light as he says, “excuse me, Bingley.”

But unsurprisingly, the dog sprawled across the kitchen tiles and in his way doesn’t budge. In fact, Bingley merely lifts his head from his paws and narrows his eyes at Cassian, practically daring him to say something, to do something. The look has Cassian’s fingers itching with the urge to dig his phone from his pocket, to snap a photo as proof of a fact that Cassian has known since the first time he stepped inside Nesta’s apartment.

Nesta’s dog hates him.

He’s sure of it. The way his shoes are never quite safe when he stays over. The way Bingley will growl at him whenever Nesta slips out of the room and out of earshot. The way Bingley will tangle his leash around Cassian’s legs when they go to the park. The way Bingley straight up glares at him just like he is currently doing. Cassian swears on the Cauldron that the dog despises him.

When Cassian had informed his brothers of this fact on one of their boys’ nights out, Rhys had laughed so hard he nearly fell off the barstool. And when Cassian had pulled up Nesta’s Instagram to show Bingley to both of them, it had even pulled a laugh from Azriel. According to his brothers, the dark brown fur that was a bit wavy around the ears and the light brown eyes made Bingley look like the dog version of him, which to them, made the whole thing even funnier. Cassian hadn’t joined in their laughter. Instead, he had grumbled into his pint glass about how he would be best friends with himself if he was actually a dog.

And despite the months he’s been dating Nesta since, the animosity that Bingley harbors toward him hasn’t lessened, and no amount of friendly smiles or words, no amount of attempted and failed pets or scratches, no amount of treats seem to deter the Australian shepherd. Cassian is twice the dog's size, and yet he still feels like he’s losing the battle.

But he refuses to lose the war.

So with a soft sigh and a glare of his own that Nesta won’t be able to see, Cassian leans over Bingley, tugging open the drawer and grabbing the knife he’s looking for. Him, one. Bingley, zero.

It doesn’t take him long to whip up their dinner, Cassian sidling up between Nesta’s legs and stealing a kiss or two in between stirs, raising the spoon to her lips for a taste test after each step. And when they’ve finished eating and all the dishes are washed, Cassian and Nesta retreat to her sofa, scrolling through one of the streaming services to find a movie to watch.

Cassian slides his arm across the back of the sofa, his fingers curling around Nesta’s shoulder, but before he can tug her closer, Bingley decides to jump up onto the sofa too. Right in between them. He’s clearly undeterred by the lack of space available, moving and shifting around until Cassian has to scoot over to get away from the paw digging uncomfortably into his thigh. Cassian presses his lips together, forcefully swallowing down the sigh desperate to be released. It’s only the smile that graces Nesta’s face as she scratches Bingley’s ears that keeps him from requesting the dog get down.

Still, Cassian doesn’t miss the way Bingley looks over toward him before pointedly settling his head in Nesta’s lap. The message is clear. The only person who will be cuddling Nesta tonight is her dog. Bingley, one. Cassian, one. And later, when Cassian goes to slip beneath the sheets with Nesta, he finds Bingley already on the bed, leaving only a sliver of mattress available, the dog once again decidedly taking the spot beside Nesta.

Bingley, two. Cassian, one.

~ * * * ~

Cassian is just stepping inside his apartment after his morning run when his phone rings. He digs it out of his pocket and finds Nesta’s photo flashed across the screen. He can’t help but stare at it. The way her nose is scrunched adorably. The way she’s mid-eyeroll. The way he can see the first hints of that fond smile breaking through even in this captured moment. It’s his favorite photo of her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Cassian greets through the phone, pressing speakerphone and setting the phone on his kitchen counter while he prepares his post workout shake.

There’s a sniffle on the other line followed by a quiet cough. “Cass, I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel our plans today. I woke up feeling like shit.”

The croak in her voice has Cassian’s heart squeezing, and he swipes his phone to press back to his ear. “You don’t have to apologize, Nes. You sound terrible. I bet it’s that virus that’s going around. A bunch of people at the office have been out sick all week.”

“Whatever it is, I hate it.”

“Do you have medicine? Some soup? Everything you need?”

“I think…? I haven’t found the motivation to get out of bed just yet.”

Cassian is already moving through his apartment and toward his bedroom when he speaks again. “I just got back from my run. Give me some time to shower and hit the store, and then I’ll be right over.”

“Cassian, you don’t—”

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”

Cassian can hear Nesta grumbling through the phone, but it soon turns into another coughing fit, and that solidifies his decision. After he hangs up with Nesta, he quickly showers and gets dressed, hopping in his car and stopping at the store before he’s finally walking up the steps of Nesta’s apartment building. He shifts all his bags to one hand so he can knock, and it takes a few moments before he finally hears shuffling on the other side of the door, the click of the lock.

When Nesta tugs open the door, she definitely looks worse for wear. She has a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, the golden brown strands of her hair slightly mussed and falling out of her simple braid. Her skin looks pale and clammy, her blue eyes almost a dull gray. She offers Cassian a few slow, tired blinks and then steps back, allowing him to step inside the apartment. He makes quick work of unloading all the items he brought, refrigerating what needs to be kept cold and setting everything else on the counter.

“You really didn’t have to come over and do all this,” Nesta tells him, hovering just inside the kitchen.

“Nes,” Cassian chuckles softly, stepping over to her and framing her face with his hands. He frowns when he feels how warm her skin is beneath his palm. “Let me take care of you.”

Nesta peers up at him, a frown of her own marring her face, and Cassian hates it. He hates the skepticism he can see dancing across her expression. It makes him want to track down every single one of her exes and punch them in the face.

“I know I look like shit and that you could be spending your day doing far better things.”

“First of all, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen even when you’re sick. Second of all, I want to spend time with you. And third of all,” Cassian tells her, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

Nesta’s face starts to scrunch up, but she steps closer and hides it against his chest. “I love you too.”

He can feel Nesta shiver against him, so Cassian wraps his arms tightly around her, allowing her to leech as much of his warmth as she can. But after a moment, he guides her out of the kitchen and onto the sofa, grabbing one of the spare blankets and draping that over her as well. A quick glance around and he spots Bingley watching him curiously, the dog’s head tilted slightly.

“Come on, Bingley,” Cassian requests, patting the cushion beside Nesta. “Come watch over our girl for a few minutes.”

Surprisingly, the Australian shepherd listens, ambling into the room and jumping up onto the sofa. The dog settles his head in Nesta’s lap, so, content to know that Nesta’s in good hands, Cassian heads out of the living room. He makes a brief pitstop in the kitchen before stepping into Nesta’s bathroom, running her a hot bath. When the tub is full, he adds some epsom salt and a few drops of eucalyptus oil to mix with the steam and help with the congestion. With a satisfied nod, he goes to retrieve Nesta, finding her right where he left her.

“Did you run a bath?” Nesta asks from beneath her pile of blankets. “I heard the water running.”

“Just for you, sweetheart.” He scoops Nesta up and into his arms, carrying her down the hall and into the bathroom. “You soak, and I’ll make you some soup, okay?”

That same expression from before starts to take over Nesta’s face again, but a pointed look from him has her swallowing down any words of protest with a sigh. She drops the blanket from around her shoulders, so Cassian presses one last kiss into her hair and retreats back into the kitchen.

He whips up some chicken noodle soup with ease, the family recipe like second nature as he moves about Nesta’s kitchen. Bingley lays on the kitchen floor and watches him the entire time, but Cassian tries not to pay the dog any mind. He’s too focused on Nesta, on finishing this soup for her, on keeping his ears pricked for any sounds coming from the bathroom to worry about going another round with the dog.

He’s just ladeling some soup into a bowl when he hears quiet sniffles, turning to watch Nesta shuffle into the kitchen. She’s changed into an oversized crewneck and sweats after her bath, some of the color having returned to her cheeks.

“A bath and homemade soup?” Nesta teases lightly, scrubbing her sleeve beneath her nose.

“Only the best for you.”

After Nesta finishes the soup and takes some medicine, Cassian presses the back of his hand to her forehead. She’s still too warm for his liking so he coaxes her back into bed, tucking the blankets tight around her shoulders.

“I still have to take Bingley for a walk,” Nesta protests, looking adorable with her cheek squished by the pillow.

“I can take him for a walk,” Cassian promises, sweeping her hair away from her face. “You just try and get some sleep.”

He steps out of Nesta’s room and closes the door behind him with a quiet snick, but once he’s alone in the hall, he takes a moment to let out a quiet breath. He can do this. He can take a dog that hates his guts for a walk. Squaring his shoulders and cracking his neck, Cassian strides into the front entryway of Nesta’s apartment, grabbing the leash hanging from the hook there. As though the sound has summoned him, Bingley comes ambling in, pausing a foot away from Cassian and staring him down.

“Alright, Bingley. If you’re going to fight me at least wait until we leave the apartment. Nes needs to rest.”

Cassian waits for the growl, waits for Bingley to snap or try to bite him, but it never comes. Instead, Bingley closes the distance between them and dips his head, waiting. Cassian practically chokes on his surprise, blinking a few times to ensure his eyes aren’t deceiving him, that this is really happening. Slowly, carefully, he slides the leash into place, opening the front door and allowing Bingley to lead the way down the stairs and out of the apartment building.

The whole walk feels like a blur. There’s no twisting and wrapping the leash around his legs. No tugging against his hold and pulling him in every direction. No taking off as soon as they’re outside, which was Cassian’s worst fear. Instead, Bingley keeps an easy pace, pausing occasionally to do his business, until they’ve done a solid loop of the whole neighborhood.

Nesta is awake when they make it back to the apartment. She’s able to nibble and keep down some crackers, and Cassian makes sure she drinks plenty of water. He gives her some more medicine and gets her back into bed. This time, he slips beneath the blankets with her, tugging her into his arms.

“You’re going to end up sick too, you know,” Nesta points out, even as she shifts to curl tighter into his chest.

“Maybe that’s my plan all along,” Cassian offers, tracing soothing shapes up and down her spine. “We both end up sick and then we’re trapped in this apartment together for days.”

“You’re the worst.”

“And you need to sleep.”

Nesta hums noncommittally, but after a few minutes, her breathing evens out, her body relaxing fully against him. Cassian keeps his arms securely around her, turning his head and pressing a kiss into her hair. He stays like that, letting his own eyes flutter closed and soaking up the peace of the moment.

The mattress shifting and moving beneath him has Cassian’s eyes jolting open again. He peers through the dark of the bedroom, using the light spilling around the drawn curtains to see Bingley standing at the foot of the bed. Cassian’s arms tighten around Nesta, as if he can put off the inevitable, can stop the way Bingley will squeeze into the space between them, all but knocking Cassian out of the bed and taking up the space beside Nesta, just as the dog always does.

But his bated breath quickly morphs into bewilderment, as Bingley merely settles at their feet, curling up and resting his head on his paws. The Australian shepherd stares at Cassian a moment before letting out a quiet huff and shutting his eyes. It feels a lot like a peace offering, a lot like a truce.

“Good boy, Bingley.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck

#nessian #nessianweek2023 #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #my fic

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trulybetty · 2 months ago

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october | 22 x pile of leaves

pairing: frankie x f!reader word count: 653 warnings: none, as always un-beta'd. summary: Frankie's sick. ao3: linked

{ x. series masterlist }

author note: prompts are not in chronological order, the story is told throughout the life span of the relationship. once all are posted, I'll post a list of the prompts in chronological order.

22 x Pile of Leaves.

The sound of rain pattered against the windows, it was soft rhythmic backdrop to an otherwise quiet house. You stood at the stove, stirring a pot of dahl, the fragrant spices filling the kitchen with warmth. From the hallway, you heard a muffled thump and rolled your eyes. Turning the stove down you gave the pot one last look before you covered it and headed toward the source of the noise.

Frankie was supposed to be asleep, in bed where you’d left him an hour ago to start dinner. He’d come down with the flu two days ago, and it had hit him hard. But being Frankie, staying in bed was the last thing he’d willingly do.

Turning the corner, you found him at the bottom of the stairs, tool kit at his feet.

“What are you doing?” you asked, crossing your arms.

It wasn’t the first time you’d caught him out of bed that day. You’d already stopped him from going out to do yard work at six am that morning. Arguing the rain would be coming in any minute and the leaves needed to be raked.

He glanced up, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, “The bottom step is loose, need to fix it.”

“Frankie, you need to be in bed.”

He shook his head stubbornly, “No, I’m fine. It’s just a little virus, it’s nothing.”

“You had a fever of 102. That’s not just ‘a little virus’.”

He stood up slowly, bracing himself against the staircase, very obvious that the movement had brought on a wave of dizziness, “I’ve worked through worse.”

You raised an eyebrow, “And they sent you home from base to rest, there’s no mission here, no orders to follow but to go to bed.”

He tried to give you a reassuring smile like the room wasn’t spinning, “I can’t just lie around all day doing nothing. The leaves still need raking.”

You rolled your eyes, “They will still be there tomorrow,” you stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. His skin was warm to the touch as he leant into you, “Come on, back to bed.”

He hesitated, “I don’t want to be a burden. You already take care of so much.”

“You’re not a burden. You’re sick,” you softened your tone, seeing the fatigue in his eyes, “Let me take care of you, okay?”

He sighed, the fight leaving him, “Alright.”

You guided him back to the bedroom, where the sheets were rumpled and half off the bed from his restless attempts at sleep. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples.

“Headache?” you asked.

He paused, “A little.” which for Frankie probably meant a lot.

“I’ll go get you some water and painkillers, don’t move.”

He caught your hand as you turned to leave, “I appreciate this, you know.”

You looked at him gently, he suddenly looked more vulnerable than ever, “I know.”

Returning with a glass of water and a bottle of pills, you watched as he swallowed both, his movements slow.

“Lay down,” you urged, pulling the blanket up once he settled, “Try to get some rest, please.”

He laid back, his hair much darker against the pillows, making him look younger and a little more boyish, “Have I ever told you about the time on deployment I went on a three-day recce with flu?”

You shook your head, he was half asleep now, “Sounds miserable.”

“It was,” he coughed, his chest rattling, “Benny is a shitty nurse.”

You laughed as you brushed a damp curl of hair from his forehead, “Get some sleep, tough guy.”

He gave a faint smile, his eyes already closed, “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.

You watched as his breathing steadied, the tension easing from his face, and for a moment, the years seemed to melt away, leaving behind the image of the man you’d fallen in love with—determined, vulnerable and deeply caring.

#frankie morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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aesopsharpmybeloved · 11 months ago

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Tess' Sharpuary - 18. Cold

Professor Sharp wakes one morning to discover himself with a rather annoying case of cold.

chapter specific tags: slice of life, fluff, attempts at humour

relationships: aesop sharp x reader

18. Cold (1.3k)

tw: none

One thing nothing could prepare you was just how cute Aesop would be when an annoying cold attached itself to him.

One morning the two of you woke up in each other’s arms, like you usually did. You’d wake up before him, but you were happy enough to just rest in his arms until he woke up as well. Many mornings, you simply had no other choice, his arms holding onto you so tightly. Sometimes you managed to wiggle out of his hold to use the loo at the very least, but most of the time, you were held prisoner in his warm embrace. It wasn’t exactly a punishment, though.

This morning, as you were slowly tracing his features with your fingertips, enjoying seeing his handsome face so open and relaxed, you were completely content. The nights were very chilly, and seeing as both of you liked falling asleep with the window slightly open, the bedroom was now chilly as well. Thankfully, the potions master was like your own little furnace, so you found yourself unwilling to leave him so soon. Except…Your hand came to touch his forehead gently. As warm as Aesop could get in his slumber, he was entirely too warm this morning.

A hoarse groan and his brow furrowing shortly thereafter confirmed your suspicions. The potions master was ill.

“How do you feel?” you asked gently, once more stroking his cheek. It took him a while to actually open his eyes, and even then they were slightly unfocused for a moment. “I don’t remember being trampled over by your Graphorn friend yesterday, but I definitely feel like I was,” was his answer, voice weak. You clicked your tongue: “You poor man… Why don’t you rest up while I go fix you some chicken soup? And a cup of tea?” Aesop gave a grateful smile, and let you out of his strong hold.

After pressing a kiss to his forehead, you descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. With a wave of your wand, ingredients began leaving where they were stored and organised themselves up on the counter. The kettle filled itself with water and descended upon the stove, where bread to be toasted joined it soon.

Less than 10 minutes later, the pot with two chicken legs and plenty of vegetables was bubbling away, and you once more climbed the stairs leading to Aesop’s bedroom. It was your bedroom as well now, you corrected yourself, seeing as you moved in with the teacher some time ago. You found him buried under blankets, all snuggled up. You had to bite your lower lip in order not to melt at the sight.

He sat up in the bed, running his hand through his messy hair, the roots slightly damp with perspiration. “Thank you,” he rasped out, immediately going after the tea. He almost spat out his sip: “W-what is that?!” “Herbal tea,” you replied, “chamomile, plantain, lime-tree blossom, and rosehip, sweetened with honey. Come now, surely it isn’t that bad…”

Aesop mumbled incomprehensively and sipped at the tisane again. “It is not. However, when one’s expecting English Breakfast tea with a drop of milk, it’s a bit of a nasty shock…” He gave a little start when you leaned over, but soon closed his eyes and relaxed his lips so that you could press a kiss upon them, except… except no kiss came. Instead, your forehead pressed against his momentarily before you leaned back again, prompting a look of disappointment to cross his face.

“At least 39°C,” you said, petting his hair. The professor blinked and angled his head slightly: “How can you be so sure about that?” The look on your face simply said ‘Trust me’. You got back up and began walking away to check on the soup when an unhappy voice reached her ears: “Hold on, are you seriously not going to even kiss me?” Grinning, you turned back around to quickly steal a kiss from his lips. “There. Now I want you to get some more rest while I cook, alright?”

“Alright, alright,” he said, “But could you please bring me some Pepper-up? It’ll help me get rid of this nasty cold quicker. Red potion, silver stopper.”

You made your way into the cellar Aesop used to brew his concoctions. Your eyes slid over the neatly sorted and organised cabinets containing the various potions and remedies and quickly managed to locate the desired potion. The label fastened to the neck of the bottle confirmed it was the correct one, and you returned with it to the bedroom to find the professor fast asleep, once more buried under the blankets.

You quietly walked to him and put the potion for him to find when he woke up on the nightstand. You used your hand to brush a few strands of his hair away from his face, before once again leaving him alone to go check on the meal being prepared downstairs.

You would soon find out that ill Aesop, even after ingesting the Pepper-up potion, is a cuddly Aesop, and after you shared the hearty warm lunch, he proclaimed that having you in his arms was vital for his swift recovery.

It seemed to have been the truth, however, as when you woke later in the afternoon (and blast it, you didn’t mean to fall asleep!), you were glad to find his temperature had dropped to something over 37°C.

“Good thing it’s the weekend,” you said softly, “would they be able to find a replacement for you on such short notice?” “I don’t think they would, the classes that day would simply get cancelled… Except, well…” he now looked slightly awkward. “What?” you inquired.

“I wouldn’t have taken the day off with a cold. If today was a weekday, I’d simply dose myself with more Pepper-up, and go to work as normal. It’s just a one-day thing, and it’s simply easier to survive the day than to make up for the time lost in the class. The only reason I stayed in bed today is that it is the weekend, and… Well, honestly, having you pamper me like so has been very, very lovely… Don’t worry, if you happen to get ill, I too will pamper you until you’re better.” You started chuckling a bit throughout his explanation. “You rogue,” you grinned, “You let me worry about you!”

You weren’t actually mad or worried. After all, it was the common cold, not even Muggles were too concerned about it. However, Pepper-up potion was certainly more effective than mustard plasters. “I’m sorry,” he smiled back sheepishly, “you springing into action as immediately as you did, it feels so nice… Is there anything I can do around the house to make it up to you? I’m feeling up for it now.”

“Oh no you don’t, mister. Pepper-up or not, you’re still running a fever, you’re staying right here.” You placed your hands on your hips, your face strict as you were trying to imitate Nurse Blainey. “Oh, I won’t argue… What about you, though? he asked then.”

“I’ll find myself a book, and I’ll read it here, to make sure you don’t get any more silly ideas about getting up,” you replied, grinning. “Merlin’s beard, how will I fare with this situation?” smug happiness was audible in his voice, “am I allowed to use the loo at least?”

—

The next morning, the first thing that left your mouth was a groan. Your head was killing you, and your throat ached quite nastily. “You know,” came Aesop’s voice, way clearer and stronger than it was yesterday, “when I said I’d pamper you as well if you got ill, I didn’t expect I’d be doing so today. But you know what? I’ll take it, gladly.”

You opened your eyes to see him fully dressed and holding a tray in his hands, a cup of tea and a couple of slices of toast on it.

“Your tisane, my love.”

---

Thank you for reading! ❤

[AO3] - [Sharpuary 2024] - [Masterlist]

#aesop sharp #professor sharp #hogwarts legacy #my art #fanfiction #reader insert #drawing #aesop sharp x reader #aesop sharp x mc #sharpuary #sharpuary 2024 #hogwarts legacy fanart #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #digital art #artists on tumblr

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