#prompt: Winter Soup

[gregorovitch-adler]

Winter Soup

Gus was getting dressed in the bathroom on a winter morning as Max continued to sleep in their bedroom.

Max had been sleeping for unusually long today. Normally, he was the one to get up first and wake up Gus. He even had a morning class today in his college at 8 AM. Gus decided to let him sleep while he got ready for the day.

Gus fixed his tie, ran his hand through his hair and walked out of the bathroom. Max turned in the bed a little, but he was still asleep.

Gus raised his eyebrows in concern and walked over to Max's side of the bed. "Estás bien?" he asked.

Max hummed in his sleep, but apparently he couldn't open his eyes. He pulled the comforter closer and shivered a bit.

Gus placed the back of his arm on Max's forehead and neck. "God, you're burning!"

Max opened his eyes with some fluttering. "Mm? Querido, no me siento bien hoy," he said and grabbed Gus' wrist.

Gus held up his other forearm to check the time. Max just had fifteen minutes to make it to the class on time. "So, you can't go to your classes today?"

Max looked up at him from just above the comforter with the most adorable gaze and shook his head.

Gus smiled at him fondly. He then bent over to kiss Max on his forehead. Max smiled at that.

"Hang in there. I'll be right back." Gus squeezed Max's shoulder and turned around to get out of the bedroom.

Gus also had important business to attend to, but he was not going to leave the house before making some soup for Max.

Everything else could wait.

--

Prompt: Winter Soup by @fluff-cember

Tags: @helloliriels @lisbeth-kk @gaylilsherlock @jamielovesjam @keirgreeneyes @topsyturvy-turtely @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear , etc.

[ate-the-wordsmith]

Heute wird Sebastian allein essen müssen. Er ist bald an der Reihe mit Observieren. Sie beschatten eine Spedition. Thorsten hat schon acht Stunden hinter sich. Jetzt ist gerade ein Kollege dran. Sebastian übernimmt dann den Abend und die Nacht.

Thorsten hat versprochen, ihm etwas zu kochen. Inzwischen sind die Temperaturen bis zum Gefrierpunkt und darunter gesunken. Gerade in den Nachtstunden wird es bitterkalt. Eine warme Suppe ist da genau das Richtige. Eine warme Hamburger Suppe.

[fanfics4all]

Winter Soup

Request: Yes / No Fluffcember Day 14

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Ron Weasley x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 729

Warnings: Just yummy fluff!

Y/N: Your Name 

Prompt(s): Winter Soup

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

It was the first day of Christmas break, and I was spending the holidays with the Weasleys at The Burrow. Snow dusted the crooked rooftops, and the scent of pine and cinnamon filled the air, making the house feel cozier than usual. I was both excited and nervous as I looked around the warm chaos of the Weasley family home, filled with laughter and holiday decorations. 

Mrs. Weasley bustled about the kitchen, pulling out ingredients and muttering to herself as she planned dinner. The Weasley’s Christmas Eve feast was known to be a special occasion, filled with hearty food, warmth, and more than a little magic. I offered to help and Mrs. Weasley’s face lit up. 

“Oh, that would be wonderful, dear! Why don’t you join me in making a nice winter soup?” Mrs. Weasley said, her eyes twinkling. 

“It's the perfect thing to make on a chilly evening like this. We’ve got lots of mouths to feed, and this’ll warm everyone up!” I nodded eagerly, stepping into the kitchen, rolling up my sleeves, and trying on an apron. I wasn’t much of a cook myself, but Mrs. Weasley’s excitement was contagious and I was determined to do my best. Mrs. Weasley started chopping vegetables with a quick flick of her wand. Carrots, parsnips, and potatoes tumbled into the pot. I was given the task of stirring the broth by hand, enjoying the earthy, comforting scent as it filled the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley continued adding spices to the pot, sparkling in a dash of thyme and a pinch of nutmeg, muttering under her breath about each ingredient's ‘warming properties’ as she went. She showed me how to season the soup with just the right amount of salt and pepper, adding a few magical herbs that they grew in their garden. 

“Cooking is a bit like brewing potions, really.” She said as she adjusted the flame beneath the pot with a tap of her wand. 

“It takes patience, a little care, and a lot of love.” She winked, patting me on the shoulder. 

“And trust me, no one will ever go hungry ‘round here, especially at Christmas. I smiled, feeling myself relax into the rhythm of stirring and tasting. I marveled at how much warmth Mrs. Weasley seemed to pour into every step. Soon, the soup began to simmer, filling the room with a savory, comforting aroma. The kitchen grew cozy, bathed in the light from the fireplace, and I found myself chatting easily with Mrs. Weasley. She told me stories of Ron’s childhood that made me laugh and feel even closer to him. 

Ron wandered into the kitchen, peeking over my shoulder with a grin. 

“Hey, smells good in here.” He said, leaning in for a quick kiss on my cheek before stealing a piece of bread from the counter. 

“Ron, get out of here and wait with everyone else!” Mrs. Weasley chided, swatting at him with a dish towel, though she was smiling. 

“Can’t blame me for wanting a taste of Y/N’s cooking.” Ron teased, sending me a wink before retreating to the living room with a loaf of bread under his arm. 

Once the soup was ready, Mrs. Weasley and I ladled it into large, steaming bowls and carried them out to the dining table. The rest of the family, along with Harry and Hermione, gathered, taking their seats as everyone dug in, the room filled with the sounds of laughter and stories, the soup warming everyone to their toes. 

Later that evening, after the dishes were cleared, Mrs. Weasley pulled me aside to say what a lovely job I’d done. I felt a warm glow in my chest, I was beginning to feel like part of the family. Embraced by their kindness and warmth, I knew this was a Christmas I would cherish forever. 

After everyone had gone to bed, Ron and I stayed up a little longer, watching the snow fall softly outside the window, a comfortable silence settling between us. He slipped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. 

“You fit right in here, you know. Mum already adores you, and she’s right, you make a mean winter soup.” He whispered, smiling. I leaned into him, a soft smile playing on my lips. 

“I think I love it here, too.” I muttered, feeling at home in the warmth of the Weasley family.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1 @in-slytherin-we-trust @accio-rogers @sambucky8 @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @answer-the-sirens @andreasworlsboring101 @vanessa-kom-skaikru @impulse-anchor @psamathegoesrawr @nighttimemoonlover

[sigh-tofm]

when the power goes out one cold and rainy november evening…

… price

- goes full dad. pulls the grill up to the back veranda door and cooks up some mean steaks for you two. gets a fire going in the fireplace to keep the house heated. has half a mind to call the power company and tell them that they don’t need to hurry, he’s got everything covered here. actually, they don’t need to come at all, not for a few days. tells you his thoughts as he pulls the mattress off your bed and deposits it in the living room in front of the fireplace, so you both can keep warm tonight. you let him know in no uncertain terms that he will do no such thing. you’ll let him have is fun tonight, but you will need a hot shower and a working oven in 36 hours, no matter how much he wants to play boyscout. but as you sit in front of the roaring fireplace and your admittedly very rugged and handsome husband feeds you bits of grilled steak and holds a glass of red wine to your lips, a thick, warm blanket covering you both, you must admit that this isn’t bad either.

… kyle

- excitedly improvises. you know, it’s like this every day when we’re in the field, he beams as he brushes the dust off the firepit in the woodshed. doesn’t mean it has to be like this now though, does it, kyle. you pull your jacket tighter around yourself and watch as he finds the least rotten firewood in the shed and uses up eight matches before he can get a light. you almost tell him to leave it and come inside, that you’ll order in tonight, but he’s so engulfed in fanning the little flame to life that you can’t help but play along. you get an umbrella when the rain comes down harder and use it to shield both your boyfriend and his firepit from the weather. when you gently ask how he’s going to cook up the pizza you two were in the middle of preparing when the power went out, he wilts a little, but somehow manages to macgyver a cooking system for it that only leaves it slightly burnt. you know, he says while you two are standing under the awning, admiring your fire baby and nibbling on damp, blackened pizza, in the field we sometimes need to share sleeping bags too.

… johnny

- immediately relents. moans and groans about being off duty and that he shouldn’t be expected to fend for himself like this when he isn’t in an active war zone. you pull up the local takeaway menu on your phone and hand it to him. go get us some warm food, soldier, you prompt him and gather up some supplies while he’s away. the old scottish farmhouse you live in has a fireplace, of course, so you light a fire there and with some effort pull the couch up in front of it. blankets and pillows from the living room, old fair isle knit jumpers from the hallway closet, a sheepskin rug to warm your feet on. when he comes back with his arms full of steaming indian (best to get some extra, mo chridhe), his mood seems to have lightened a little too. especially when he sees you in thigh high knit stockings, wearing his jumper and laying on the sheepskin rug. okay, maybe this isn’t so bad. at least he’s not being shot at.

… simon

- is prepared. goes down to the basement and carries up box after box of emergency equipment. hands you a round little paraffin stove (which you have no idea how to work) and a matching aluminium pan, as well as a large variety of ready-made freeze dried stews and soups. just add water, he says unhelpfully, and continues pulling out equipment from his kit. amongst the various bags of tools and gadgets you can spot tent poles and emergency flares, and it’s obvious he’s been itching to use all this stuff for a while. you decide to entertain him and google your way around the stove, finally getting a light on it. you light candles and pull out your winter coats while the water boils, making it an overall cozy time. hav’ta be prepared, he mutters as he comes to sit with you when the food’s ready, the living room full of his unpacked catastrophe preparations. next time we’ll just go to a hotel, you gently request and serve him year-old mushroom stew, brought back to life with some warm water. he looks longingly at all his equipment. you yield. or camping.

[ceilidho]

prompt: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 2. (part 1 here)

-

The urge sits right under his skin.

It’s a month out from hibernation, the torpor not quite sunk in all the way just yet. Plenty of time still to stockpile supplies, train the new rangers before his leave of absence, and chop all the firewood needed for the winter months. Plenty of time on the surface, that is—with only a month left to go, John quietly acknowledges to himself that maybe he bit off more than he could chew this time around. 

It’s exhausting work though. The new batch of recruits are fresh-faced, hardly experienced enough yet to last the season without him, but he hadn’t had much choice with Gaz taking the year off to go back to school. He’s been regularly putting in sixty to seventy hour weeks, hardly leaving him any time to cook or clean or prep for hibernation. Time goes by in a flash. He hasn’t even done a quarter of the repairs around the house that he’d wanted to finish before slipping into the winter torpor.

Hard to figure it out. He’s been putting it off without a real reason, getting lost in the forest for long swaths of time, trudging through the new snow up high in the mountains. Hardly ever in his bear form, conscious of not totally giving over to the animal, but occasionally he can’t help slipping into like tumbling down a snowbank, just losing his footing for a moment and sliding, sliding, sliding until hours have passed and he finally hears his own chuffs and feels branches crack under the weight of his paws.

He winces when he turns back, bones creaking and cracking back into place. 

John has been smelling something around town for weeks now, something sweet and delicate like sap over a branch, but work has left him too busy to start anything. Instead he stops by the grocers every other day, where the scent is strongest, to pick up miscellaneous items. Canned soup here, steaks there. He stockpiles canned and tinned goods in his den, preparing for the long winter when he’s lulled into sleep for extended periods of time, but every time he enters his den, it feels oddly bereft. Empty. Missing something.

The month or so before hibernation always leaves him feeling groggy and laconic; it makes his eyes go half-lidded and his speech descend into grunts and one-worded answers. He spends so many weeks hoarding food and blankets and firewood for the brief moments when he wakes that he can’t stop himself from eyeing even the pretty cashier like another thing to hoard.

He holds himself back, but just.

John wakes up on the couch after a particularly rough shift, groggy and out of sorts. Flecks of sleep stuck in the corners of his eyes still. He’d run into another bear (a real one) on the trail hassling a couple hikers during his shift and it’d taken a couple stressful minutes to gently guide the hikers away before dealing with the bear himself. It’s easier to deal with them in his bear skin, but he generally avoids shifting in the month leading up to hibernation for a reason. It settles him deeper into his bear, draws the sleep closer.

He’s full of cuts and bruises, his side covered in a barely healed, particularly nasty gash, the flesh knitting itself together slowly. His stomach growls. He hadn’t had a chance to cook himself any supper when he got home before collapsing on the couch—had barely eaten lunch as well. That’s part and parcel of his way of life; even during the summer, the days had been long, extending well into the twilight hours. 

And bears need food. John burns calories faster than most, an enormous amount of energy expended when shifting into his other form. He’s a familiar face at every restaurant, grocery store, and market in town for a reason, even if that reason isn’t widely known. In the summer, there was at least some time during the day to gorge himself on berries or fish from a nearby stream, but the berries and fish have long disappeared with the coming of winter. It shouldn’t come as a surprise—hunger dominates his mind during the months leading up to winter—but it’s somehow caught him off guard this year. 

His head perks up when the doorbell rings. 

It doesn’t ring again, but he can hear someone on the other side of his front door, shifting from foot to foot. John isn’t expecting anyone and doesn’t remember inviting anyone over, but he gets up anyway to answer the door. 

There’s a pretty little thing waiting for him on his front porch with a bowl of stew and homemade sourdough bread. He recognizes her from the grocery store, the sweet smelling thing always looking over at him from the till. 

“Sorry to trouble you,” she says, peeking around him. Probably trying to be inconspicuous. 

It slots something in his chest into the right place. He shifts slightly to let her peer over his shoulder into the empty house; no wife or kids scurrying behind him. It eases some of the tension in her shoulders.

“No trouble,” John says. “What’s got you on my doorstep after hours bringing over supper?”

She’s exquisitely shy, almost nervous when she steps from foot to foot before holding the food out closer to him. He takes it, if only to avoid watching her strain. In his hands, it smells entirely too good; makes his mouth water. His bear huffs in his head. John can’t remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal. Certainly not since well before his mother passed. 

“You seemed like—I saw you come home. You looked dead on your feet, so I thought…well, I’d already made soup, so it wasn’t much trouble.”

“You saw me come home?” he repeats.

“Oh, I, uh—I live next door.”

“That so?”

She flushes prettily, just the slightest deepening of the colour over her cheekbones. “Yeah. Six months now. Moved in just before the summer. Anyway, I, well…sorry if you were in the middle of supper, I wasn’t sure if—I heard from Kate that you’ve been busy, so I thought you might appreciate not having to cook.”

“That’s mighty kind of you,” he says. There’s a pause where neither of them say anything. “Can I—I have, uh, a bowl in the kitchen if you want—”

She holds up her hands at that, taking a step back. “Oh no, sorry, I don’t want to…I don’t mean to intrude. I just thought I’d…you know…friendly neighbour and all.”

“It’s no trouble, really. Come inside.”

“No, I—I really have to get going,” she insists, finally turning away from him and descending back down the stairs. “Enjoy your supper!”

He watches her turn and scurry off back to her house, glancing down back once only to give a little start when she catches him still watching her. His nose twitches when he notices that even with the tupperware stacked in his hands, the distinct sweetness that had been hovering outside his door gradually dissipates in his neighbour’s absence. 

His bear rumbles inside his chest. 

In the mountains, he ruminates on his neighbour’s small kindness. It builds in his chest like a slow burning fire when he stands in the brisk cold and stares down into the valley below. The snow squeaks under his boots on the hike back down. The ache of hunger echoes through him again; he thinks of tupperware offered to him in two soft hands. Next time, he’ll invite her in. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when she comes by again not a few days later, this time bringing along with her a pan filled with berry cobbler, tinfoil crinkling under her fingers when she hands him the entire pan. The next day, she stops by with a jar of homemade apple cider. 

It takes awhile for John to coax her inside. She brushes off his invitations to join him for supper for days before he notices the cracks in her resolve. She lingers on the porch for longer than she should, body oriented towards his house even when she says that she has to go. John considers for all of a few seconds just dragging her inside, but there’s something immensely rewarding in reeling her in slowly. A slow hunt and the promise of a meal so decadent that it leaves his tongue heavy in his mouth.

When she finally concedes, his blood roars hot, the beast in his chest thickly nuzzled under his skin, satisfied. 

She’s skittish in his house. Hardly stays for more than ten minutes the first time he succeeds in getting her in. Just long enough to take a couple bites out of the gingerbread loaf that she’d brought over and he’d cut a few slices off before retracing her steps back to the front door. John holds back the instinctive urge to follow her and trap her in with a hand flat on the door when she tries to open it. It’s better to earn her trust. 

His interest just goes up and up as she continues feeding him throughout the week. Perfect mate keeping his belly full, keeping him nourished after a hard day’s work. She keeps him company on the couch when he invites her over on the weekend, dragging her little socked feet over the carpet and snuggling up on the other side of the couch like he might reach out and grab her. He might.

Part of John can’t believe that he’s been living beside this girl for going on six months and never scented her before. It permeates his house now, baked into the walls and carpet. He wishes sometimes she’d stop by and use his bed for a nap, if only so that he could come home to a bed smelling of her; he’d wrap a firm hand around his cock with the scent of her under his nose and tug himself off with his face pressed to his pillow, imagining her trapped under him, the plush pillows of her ass turned up to let him rut between her thighs. 

Her feeding him and spending time with him is confusing though. It confuses his bear, who associates all those things with mate. It’s nature to want to keep the thing feeding him. 

So he can’t help the way his bear expects her now. When he wakes up in his bed without a smaller body tucked away in his arms, it leaves him foul-tempered, short with his men. Picking up groceries becomes more difficult than ever when he instinctively beelines to her when he walks through the automatic doors, pleasure coiling in his chest at the sight of her staring wide-eyed at him. Always a bit shy, even as it slowly melts from her like old snow. Timidity from a season ago, still frosted over but shrinking. 

He doesn’t stop himself from dragging her into his lap before passing out on the couch after a long day at work, leaving her befuddled and uncertain. His arms don’t let her up though; they keep her pinned to his chest until he wakes back up an hour later, nuzzling the bristles of his beard over the soft skin of her neck and dragging a big palm up the inside of her thigh, seeking out the warmth between her legs even half-asleep.

His hand pauses its upward trajectory when she shifts. He’s slow to come back to consciousness, but far slower to move his hand. Mate, his bear rumbles in his chest when his fingers dig into the clutch of her thighs and John hears her muffle a yip. She should be soft and pliable for him, should let him drag his hand up into the space between her legs that she’s kept hot and tender for his touch. 

John lets her pretend at sleep until he finally moves his hand away, moving to sit up and leaving her curled up on the couch. He goes off to the kitchen to put on the kettle and comes back to find her awake, stammering out an apology for falling asleep. 

“None of that,” he grumbles, setting two mugs down on the coffee table. He sits beside her before she gets the bright idea to get up and leave. 

“Sorry, I didn’t plan on staying this long. I should get back—”

“Someone waiting for you at home?” John interrupts, curt despite himself. 

The idea of her going home to someone instantly aggravates him. Even knowing for a fact that there isn’t a man living in her house doesn’t tamp down the anger. He’s scented the exterior of her house once or twice; John would’ve caught the smell of another man by now if there had ever been one living in her house. He’s held off marking her house with come or piss, but that might have to change if she keeps dangling the possibility of there being another man over his head.

It’s his fault for not marking her yet. The trees in the mountains have been marked up over the years that he’s lived in this town, deep gouges in the bark marking the forest as his territory, but he hasn’t yet rubbed his scent into his mate’s skin. It’s his fault she’s still acting like an unattached sow. 

She hesitates; risks lying to him. He can see it plain on her face. “…No.”

His face softens, eyebrows pulling together sympathetically. “I’m not such bad company, am I? Stay for a little longer—all that food’s gonna go to waste otherwise.”

“I—I guess I can.”

“Brilliant. Drink your tea, honey.”

She picks up her mug and sips it quietly while John shifts her feet into his lap and digs his thumbs into her right sole. He shushes her when she jolts and tries to sit up, digging this thumb harder into the arch of her foot. 

“Enough of that. Back down,” he scolds.

“You, but you shouldn’t—you don’t have to do that,” she stammers, trying to pull her foot away and moaning inadvertently when he digs into a sore spot. Her hand clamps down on her mouth.

“Don’t give me that, aren’t you on your feet all day? And then baking for me after a long shift? It’s the least I can do, honey.”

She’s reluctant at first, but then squeaks again he rubs his thumb over the ball of her foot. Hardly able to deny the truth. It isn’t long until her little squeaks and moans start coming out unbidden, exhaustion opening her up. He can smell her sex leaking if he breathes in deep enough. 

“Promise to stay here and wait until I fix up supper?” he murmurs, keeping his voice low. 

She hums, eyes having slid shut. Without even really moving her lips, she mumbles, “Promise.”

“Good girl.”

Sleep warm, she finally settles into his house like she belongs, like she’ll be spending the long winter here as well. Her scent is as imbued in the couch as his. It’s cinnamon sweet. 

“Why do you even…buy so much food if you aren’t gonna use it?” she asks, drowsy enough that even if he were to respond, there’s a chance she wouldn’t hear it. “You hibernating or something?”

John smiles. “Something like that.”

[fluff-cember]

Fluffcember 2024

Heyho.

@alpaca-clouds here!

I was asked whether I would create Fluffcember as an official challenge this year, and I thought to myself: You know what? Why not?

Hence this blog - and a really early posting of the list.

Rules

This is a 1-month-challenge for fluffy fanworks.

All sorts of fanworks (art, writing, graphics) welcome.

We will however not accept any AI-Art or AI-Writing!

SFW and NSFW is both welcome - but please make sure to tag it accordingly.

Tag CWs if you share under this tag!

No minimum or maximum word count for writing!

We will reblog entries during the month of December!

If you have questions: The asks are open!

Full list of prompts under the cut.

Day 01: Roasted Marshmallows

Day 02: Winter Flu

Day 03: Snow Man

Day 04: Christmas Sweater

Day 05: Northern Lights

Day 06: Gingerbread House

Day 07: Condensed Breath

Day 08: Sparkling Snow

Day 09: Sugar Rush

Day 10: Carols

Day 11: Slippery

Day 12: Skiing

Day 13: Fire and Ice

Day 14: Winter Soup

Day 15: Naughty List

Day 16: Chocolate

Day 17: Snowed in

Day 18: Mistletoe

Day 19: Fondue

Day 20: Fairy Tales

Day 21: Cabin in the Snow

Day 22: Winter Storm

Day 23: Confessions

Day 24: Christmas Tree

Day 25: The Perfect Gift

Day 26: Forgiveness

Day 27: Family Gathering

Day 28: Cold Turkey

Day 29: Mint

Day 30: Warming Up

Day 31: Fireworks

Alternatives:

Hot Bath

Fallen Through The Ice

Holiday Decoration

Homecooked Meals

Coming Home

[notthesoup]

got a few ideas for your writers block

stoner vi and what she’s like when she’s high

athlete vi au and her reaction to you going to her games

what vi is like when she has a crush on reader like a massive one

PAIRING vi x fem!reader

TYPE headcanons

GENRE fluff

SYNOPSIS what vi is like when she has a major crush on reader (friends to lovers)

NOTES i will complete the other two prompts on a seperate post. not beta read!

© notthesoup — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

She loves the way you laugh, and though she may not admit it in the early stages of tour friendship, she’ll often do things to try to make you laugh.

In group settings she is often seen by your side. You both are inseparable in times of happiness, preferring to share it with one another.

Vi is a big listener, and loves to hear you talk. Though, sometimes she finds her mind adrift as she gazes at your face as you speak animatedly about a subject. In these moments, her mind is blank, but there is an overwhelming feeling of affection and appreciation towards you.

When she focuses back on the conversation after you’ve asked her a direct question, she quickly flounders. She thinks that her excuse as to why she wasn’t listening is enough to tide you over, but there’s a certain glint in your eyes when you contemplate why she started spluttering. Your fixed stare at her is almost enough to make this cycle repeat again.

Vi is a very physical person, always having a hand on your shoulder or arm, holding your hand in hers, or absentmindedly playing with your fingers.

She sometimes feels guilty/anxious about this physical aspect of herself though; throughout her life, fighting has been at the forefront of her mind, so to finally be at peace is a strange headspace to be in. Sometimes you’ll walk too quietly or turn a corner to quickly and she flinches, her fists clenched in instilled preparation. It’ll take a while, but she eventually unlearns these habits and exists in a more serene state, where she doesn’t have to be constantly vigilant.

Vi loves that she’s able to talk about stupid shit with you; what qualifies as a soup, what a hypothetical second winter would look like, whether cherry tomatoes are inherently evil, etc. The both of you could discuss for hours without tiring, even though you’d eventually talk in circles. It’s never a dull moment with you.

Vi’s love language is acts of service. She realizes her feelings towards you are more than just a crush when you surprise her with something seemingly small, be it a cute note or an offer to help her with errands.

Although she has a reputation of being a smug cocky bastard (affectionate), it’s mostly a bluff. When it comes down to it, she’s a very gentle and careful lover. After realizing the extent of her feelings towards you, she tries gauging your reaction by “subtly” being more affectionate.

In the end though, it’s actually you who initiates the romance between you two. Months down the line, she’ll ask you how you knew she liked you. You’ll then laugh, a very boisterous and happy sound, and she’ll store that memory with her like a picture in a wallet.

ARCANE MASTERLIST !

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work, please consider reblogging and/or commenting! thank you if you do 🤍

[merrymusings]

            winter / christmas / holiday themed prompts

♛ — [sender] brings a gift to [receiver] ☁ — [sender] throws a snowball at [receiver] ✧ — [sender] bumps into [receiver] under mistletoe ✰ — [sender] and [receiver] stroll around the city/town looking at holiday lights ❐ — [sender] gives [receiver] a festive sweater ♬ — [sender] sings a christmas carol at [receiver]'s door ⇧ — [sender] and [receiver] drink hot cocoa at a diner ☃ — [sender] and [receiver] attempt to make a snowman together ● — [sender] and [receiver] decorate a christmas tree ❆ — [sender] and [receiver] get trapped indoors during a snow storm ╳ — [sender] encourages [receiver] to make a snow angel ⍋ — [sender] and [receiver] pick out a christmas tree at a farm △ — [sender] and [receiver] try to chop down a christmas tree in a forest ☜ — [sender] and [receiver] attend a white elephant/secret santa party ✔ — [sender] and [receiver] make small talk at an office holiday party ☺ — [sender] and [receiver] get tipsy at an office/school/community holiday party ♞ — [sender] and [receiver] watch silly hallmark holiday movies ☎ — [sender] and [receiver] put together a gingerbread house ◎ — [sender] and [receiver] decorate and bake christmas cookies  — [sender] and [receiver] cook a festive meal ☮ — [sender] brings [receiver] some fruitcake ✂ — [sender] and [receiver] craft handmade ornaments/decor ♤ — [sender] and [receiver] try to string popcorn garland ☀ — [sender] and [receiver] go ice skating ☂ — [receiver] sees [sender] fall from a roof/high place while putting up christmas lights ☾ — [sender] and [receiver] go shopping for gifts together ‼️ — [sender] and [receiver] take holiday themed photos together ♡ — [sender] and [receiver] cozy up by a fireplace ⌘ — [sender] and [receiver] visit an outdoor christmas/holiday market ♣ — [sender] and [receiver] make mulled cider ◑ — [sender] gifts [receiver] a pair of matching pajamas ✚ — [sender] and [receiver] volunteer at a soup kitchen ➊ — [sender] and [receiver] attend a local theater production of a christmas carol ✿ — [sender] and [receiver] attend a ballet presentation of the nutcracker ★ — [sender] and [receiver] attend a holiday orchestra ♜ — [sender] and [receiver] play board games by candlelight ♨ — [sender] and [receiver] roast chestnuts on an open fire ♯ — [sender] and [receiver] wrap presents together ☠ — [sender] and [receiver] play a holiday themed drinking game ⁑ — [sender] offers [receiver] coquito or eggnog ✗ — [sender] and [receiver] attend a nye black tie gala 𓋼 — [sender] and [receiver] discuss resolutions for the new year ✈ — [sender] and [receiver] count down to midnight

[cloveroctobers]

let it snow — 6. Terry Richmond [Winter prompts]

A/N: It only makes perfect sense to write something loving for this man. My plan is definitely to see Mufasa during this Xmas season with the family. You already know I had to add some shenanigans to this as well! 🤍

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE & I’m using: 2. “S'mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt.” - "You just can't cook." + 13. neighborhood festive decoration competition becomes dangerously competitive.

WARNINGS: language + a sprinkle of sexual content.

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“S'mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt.” You softly exhale as you hold said s’more beneath your fingertips, staring at the treat so lovingly.

Terry gave you a side eye, sitting right beside you on the plushy outdoor sofa that’s set up in the screened in porch out back, “You just can't cook."

Which stops you immediately from biting into the slightly charred gooey dessert, “Okay, that was so nasty and so rude.”

“I mean that in the most respectable way.”

No way did he just try to pull a, “we listen and we don’t judge,” on you?

You tilt your head in confusion, lips pushed out, and a frown situated right between your brows. Maybe you weren’t the best cook and that was mostly in Terry’s department when it came to your shared household but you had no problem assisting and sampling!

Terry reached out to the table across from the couch, picking up the tin that contained the roasted s’mores, which you both participated in making at the pit in the backyard.

“Uh uh, you just said I couldn’t cook so keep your hands to yourself.”

Terry peers over at you with his naturally lined green eyes, chin burrying into his shoulder as he says, “You’re acting as if you made these all on your own. The stars are on the bottom, covered by your burnt ones.”

“They’re charred.” You sat up from your slouched position and stuck your nose up into the air.

“…Which is another term for overcooked.”

“You don’t cook s’mores.”

“You’re right,” Terry finds a s’more that looked the best, one he made, “you roasted and set them on fire.”

“The store didn’t have any more chestnuts to roast!” You argued, “And I’ve just about had enough of your slander on my s’mores. What is this? A holiday bake off?”

Terry scoffed, tossing his long legs up onto the table as he held a s’more of his own, “Not even close. You would be kicked off immediately.”

He grimaced at the black parts of the marshmallow that still remained from the s’more you previously bit out of. Which earned him a nice slap to the chest, and a rumble of laughter from him in return, letting you know that didn’t hurt as much as you intended it to.

Terry loved teasing you on your cooking skills, along with your family, who had no issue calling Terry up instead to see what he would be bringing to all sorts of family functions. It’s not like you didn’t try…you always had the vision but executing was the problem. During this season you were experimenting with soups and there was no better person to try it on than your man.

If you wanted honest opinions, Terry Richmond was your guy.

“…Hold up.”

Blinking you turn to see Terry slowly sit up—truly on some Michael myers type shit but you kept that to yourself—his eyes glaring out into the nightfall.

“What’s the matter?” You asked before popping the rest of the treat into your mouth.

Terry answers, “Look at our neighbors house and tell me what you see.”

Frowning you lean forward as well, looking left to right rather than straight ahead you respond, “…high ass light bills?”

Any other time Terry would have let out a laugh but by his posture, you can tell he was trying to keep his cool. The grunt that escaped his mouth and the air that flared from his nostrils, finally gets you to look at the house that was directly behind your home.

“Oh no he didn’t.” You stood up, watching as the inflatable gingerbread man stood tall and proud, “I said that was the theme we were going for.”

Terry nods, “Uh huh. Safi said he only celebrates kwanza and wasn’t into the whole decor like everybody in this community is.”

Safi just moved in a few months ago and you two were the first to actually go introduce yourselves with a platter of something nice. Just doing neighborly things and it seemed like Safi and Terry were getting along just fine. Safi even stopped into Terry and Mike’s catering business, building some sort of networking relationship at first. They hung out a few times, he invited you two over for dinner…so you weren’t completely strangers.

To put it simply, a heads up would have been nice.

“Looks like he changed his mind.” You crossed your arms, “Either that or he’s fake as fuck.”

Terry sighs, “I should go over and see if he needs any help.”

“Or you can just text him with a picture followed by a question mark?”

Terry gets to his feet now, “Things can get misconstrued through text, baby. I rather stop by.”

It was your turn to hum, “Well don’t take too long…the rain and sleet are supposed to come in again around nine and there’s a present I want you to open under the tree.”

The man dips his head as he starts shoving on his outerwear that he tossed on the other furniture as the indoor porch got a little too warm for him, “Let me guess, that present must be you?”

That knocks some of the annoyance out of your frame as you meet his awaiting emerald (usually peridot) hues in the dim of the attached space, “Maybe…you’ll just have to wait and see.”

He winks as he steps forward, pressing a scratchy kiss to your cheek, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

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“…my bad man, I don’t know what you’re getting at.” Safi lightly rubs at his jaw, shifting to lean against his ajar door, “First you stop by unannounced and then you and your lady accuse me of stealing a stupid gingerbread when everyone uses gingerbread decor, it’s Christmas.”

Terry felt his eyebrow twitch, hands clasped in front of him as he felt the wind pick up behind his back, “I apologize for stopping by so late on short notice. I just couldn’t help but to detect a decor piece that I showed you that I knew my lady would like. To my surprise it looks identical. You are aware that the back of our homes face each other…so one of us would see it?”

Safi folds his arms and slowly nods his head, “Sure but it wasn’t intentional.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I am of you pressing me.”

Strike two!

“Okay Safi.” Terry sends him a smile that felt less than jolly, “I see where this is going so I hope you have a nice night and whatever holiday you suddenly decide to celebrate.”

Safi sends a mocking two finger salute, “Everything’s always good on my end, vet. Terry. Say hello to the Mrs. For me?”

Strike three!

You’re lounging right by the tree on a crocheted blanket and in front of the fire, back warming up soothingly as you patiently waited for Terry to get back. Hearing the front door slamming, you sit up a bit on your elbow, ready to get back into your model pose but sit up quickly at the hooded figure.

Who turns out to be Terry who sends you a wicked grin full of teeth, his nose crinkled at the bridge of his nose followed by the dip of his inner brows.

“You didn’t.” You peek at the deflated decor in his hands.

“Uh huh.” Terry drags it towards the indoor porch, “Safi thinks shit is going to be sweet just because it’s the holidays? Naah. We’re going to show him what happens when you move the way he does.”

Clacking your nails together in excitement as you sat cross legged, you nod at your man who tosses the inflatable onto the porch. When he turns back to you, drinking in the image of you in nothing but a red and white pinstriped blouse and thigh high socks.

“That can wait though.” Terry smirks as he starts peeling out of his jacket.

You’re up on your knees while Terry gets down on his, you’re almost chest to chest as he cups your face, his thumbs gently caressing the sides of your cheek bones while he stares deeply into your eyes.

“Glad you made it back to me in one piece, Richmond.”

Terry snorts, “Did you really have any doubts?”

You smirk, “I mostly said a prayer for Safi.”

“Course you did,” Terry laughs before tenderly pressing a kiss to your lips.

You melt into him just like the sleet that hits the windows. Just from that kiss alone, you’re fighting to catch your breath as you flick your eyes up to meet Terry’s which are shifting in hues the longer he stares at you, “…I hope you weren’t too rough on our gingerbread man.”

Terry leans down to place an open mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, feeling your pulse race at its point, “I thought I said our plan to win this competition can wait?”

“I-it can.”

Great, now he had you stuttering!

“Then lay back and keep your eyes on me. If you close them at any point,” He leans in close enough to your ear, making your toes curl already, “You lose.”

And Terry knew just how much you hated that.

So call this a pre-game if you will, head tilted back, fighting to keep your eyes open that the warmth of tears glided down the corner of your eyes, arms down low on your man’s head, alternating against the urge to keep his face closer or push away while Terry got his own serving of festive Bailey’s cream from you.

The snow was the least of your worries tonight…and your worries sure as hell didn’t include Safi’s flip flopping having ass either!

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Continue with my winter anthology prompts here.

[north-noire]

What are you going to eat for dinner, dad?

Drew this prompt between Henry and Charlie, with a bonus drabble! Think of it as a writing exercise for the AU itself (plus, I just found the prompt really lovely). I'm also trying to experiment with my art a little more!

Anyway, the full pentadrabble/writing I made for this prompt is under the cut!

--- Henry could hear Charlie talking behind him, her voice sounding curious. "What are you going to eat for dinner, dad?"

"Since winter is coming up again actually, I made your favorite soup." Henry replied warmly. He softly smiled as he stirred the ladle within the pot of soup he was cooking. He chuckled at the thought of her enjoying her favorite stew once again. It was the familiar feeling of fuzziness that came with nostalgia. He could still vaguely remember the times where Charlie came home from school feeling exhausted and drained from dealing with the day, only for her to perk up when she recognized the dinner Henry set on the table.

It felt warm and tender, like the soup he was making for her.

It didn't take long until Henry finally took a light taste of the soup he was making. He made sure it tasted just like how it used to be. He could still taste the familiar warm saltiness of the soup, and that was enough for him. He was sure that Charlie would like it too.

As he turned off the stove, he was already grabbing two plates near him to put them at the dinner table. "Well, dinner's ready."

Charlie chuckled in reply, but there was clearly a hint of sadness in her voice. "I really wish I could eat with you too, dad."

"W-what are you talking about, it's your fav--"

Then the realization hit Henry.

The reminder that she was just a soul confined within the Marionette felt so sudden, when Henry could've sworn that he was talking to Charlie - back to the person he used to know. Henry hated that he could still imagine Charlie herself just from her voice.

Charlie sounded distraught as she spoke to Henry again, almost ashamed with what she had said. "S-sorry, I appreciate that you made this all for me and everything, it's just that--"

"It's alright, Charlie, you shouldn't apologize," Henry assured her, trying to avoid showing any devastation in his tone. It hurt him to get reminded that she wasn't a person anymore, but at most, he appreciated the gentle reminder from her, even if it hurt to fully accept it all deep down.

As much as he'd rather see his own daughter's form rather than the Marionette itself, the last thing he wanted was for Charlie to feel bad for what had happened to her.

At the end of the day, she was still his daughter, and he loved her all the same.

As he put back one of the plates he was holding back in the cupboard, he hastily sat down on the table beside his daughter. He looked at Charlie and put a hand on her shoulder.

Henry tried to smile at her. "How about we go do something after this? Something we can do together."

Charlie's expression softened. "…yes. I'd love that."

[chiyuuchu]

omg omg omg i literally love your works so much YOU WRITE SO WELL?? LIKE???

and so if ur doing requests what about y/n taking care of sick bakugou or something? xx love youuu

lovesick <3 (9th August 2024)

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Prompt! Katsuki who thinks that he can handle everything on his own learns that sometimes it’s okey to be helped

The harsh winter winds howled outside the dorms of U.A. High, the air biting with a cold that seeped into the bones. The entire class had been training hard, pushing their limits in preparation for the upcoming hero exams. But even the strongest could fall, and that’s exactly what happened to Bakugou Katsuki.

Bakugou wasn’t one to admit weakness. If it were up to him, he would’ve fought through the fever that had settled in his body, but today, the sickness hit him harder than any villain could. He lay in his bed, groaning and glaring at the ceiling, his usual explosive energy dulled by the heat radiating from his skin.

You had noticed Bakugou’s absence from class earlier in the day, his empty seat feeling unusually prominent. It wasn’t like him to miss training, so when Aizawa mentioned in passing that Bakugou was ill, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of concern.

After classes ended, you decided to check on him. You weren’t particularly close to Bakugou; his abrasive personality and short temper kept most people at arm’s length. But you couldn’t just ignore someone in need, especially when that someone was a part of your class, your team.

Gathering your courage, you knocked on the door to his dorm room.

“Bakugou?” you called softly, but there was no response. You knocked again, a bit louder this time. “Bakugou, are you okay?”

A muffled growl came from inside. “Go away,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

You hesitated, but then opened the door a crack, peeking inside. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to block out the sunlight. Bakugou was sprawled out on his bed, a blanket half-thrown over him, his face flushed with fever. He looked worse than you had imagined.

Ignoring his earlier protest, you slipped inside and gently closed the door behind you. “I brought some medicine,” you said, holding up the small bag you had prepared. “And soup. I thought it might help.”

Bakugou turned his head slightly to glare at you, though it lacked its usual intensity. “I don’t need… help,” he muttered, trying to push himself up but failing as a wave of dizziness hit him.

You sighed and moved closer, placing the bag on his bedside table. “Everyone needs help sometimes, Bakugou. Even you.”

He grunted, clearly unhappy with the situation, but didn’t argue further. You took that as permission to stay. Setting the bowl of soup on the table, you reached for the medicine.

“Sit up a bit, okay? You need to take this,” you instructed gently.

Bakugou gave you a look that could have melted steel, but he complied, albeit slowly. You handed him the pills and a glass of water, watching as he downed them with a grimace. His usual fiery spirit seemed dimmed by the fever, and it was strange to see him so vulnerable.

“Thanks,” he mumbled after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. It was a rare show of gratitude from him, and it made you smile softly.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, pulling a chair close to the bed. “You should eat something, too. It’ll help.”

Bakugou eyed the soup with suspicion, but hunger and exhaustion won out. He took a few spoonfuls before setting the bowl down, his eyelids drooping.

“Don’t think this means I’m weak,” he muttered as he sank back into the pillows.

You shook your head, your expression gentle. “I know you’re not weak, Bakugou. You’re just sick. Even heroes need to rest sometimes.”

He didn’t respond, already half-asleep, but the tension in his body seemed to ease at your words. You stayed by his side, occasionally checking his temperature and making sure he was comfortable. As the hours passed, his breathing evened out, and the harsh lines of pain on his face softened.

When he finally woke up, the fever had broken. His eyes, though still tired, had regained some of their usual fire. He looked at you with a mixture of confusion and something else—gratitude, maybe?

“You stayed,” he said, his voice stronger than before.

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. “I couldn’t leave you alone like that. Besides, you’re pretty scary when you’re sick. Someone had to make sure you didn’t blow up the place.”

Bakugou huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it. “You’re annoying,” he muttered, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Just get better, okay?” you teased lightly, standing up to stretch. “I’ll check on you later. Try not to set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

He watched as you left the room, his gaze lingering on the spot where you had been. He might never admit it out loud, but for the first time in a long while, Bakugou felt a warmth that had nothing to do with his quirk—or the fever.

[rooksunday]

fluffcember day fourteen: winter soup

It wasn't precisely unusual to find Fox in the galley of the Coruscant Guard headquarters, but until that moment, Stone hadn't realised Fox knew the function of anything apart from the caf machine. Yet there Fox stood, his curls and face still creased from sleep, bare-footed in his undersuit and glowering at a large pot as if it were late to turn in an incident report.

Stone sidled into the galley and helped himself to a mug of caf from the station by the door, where it had been arranged to prevent the commanders from bothering hardworking troopers while they were doing real work.

(That Fox had copied the phrasing word for word spoke loudly about his respect for the self-proclaimed Corrie head chef, Sergeant Chop. Chop had stalked into the galley on their first day on Coruscant and declared it hers, so everyone else should kindly kriff off and leave her to it. Recognising her claim, off they had all duly kriffed.)

Sipping his caf, Stone looked a question at Chop, who stood at the stove tending a giant pot of her own. Chop shook her head, indicating that she didn't know what Fox was doing, either. Presumably he'd been permitted to invade the sacred culinary space as it was early enough that Fox wouldn't get in anyone's way, since there were only him, Chop, and Stone in the room, and thus his nonsense could continue. Whatever said nonsense involved.

Well, that's why Stone was a commander. To brave asking such questions of his feral tooka superior officer.

And also because he lost the coin toss to Thire.

He walked over. "Fox—"

"Does this need more?" Fox thrust a spoon toward Stone's face. The spoon contained a steaming lumpy light brown liquid that smelled pleasantly herbaceous.

Stone looked blankly at Fox. "What?"

"More! Does it need?" Fox let out an exasperated noise and gently shook the spoon. "Taste it!"

"There was a seminar on eating unknown substances. You were there. You made Shiv host it."

"That was about drugs and glowing things—"

"And the talk prior to that about accepting gifts from strange men?" Stone asked.

"Strange beings," Fox corrected, then narrowed his eyes. "Hey! Just try the blasted soup, will you? I'll make it an order if I have to—"

Chop interrupted. "Not in my kitchen you won't! Uh, sir."

Gaze sliding sideways before returning to Stone, Fox amended, "I won't disrupt the harmony of Sergeant Chop's kitchen but I will make life difficult for you in numerous petty and untraceable ways if you don't try this soup, Commander Stone."

"Why, Commander Fox, do you kiss your tube with that mouth?"

"Stone—"

Stone sighed and reached out. He was always going to reach out, but it was important to provide the occasional example of insubordination to remind Fox how such things were done. Just for future reference.

"Give me the spoon before you hurt yourself."

Stone tried the soup. He handed back the spoon.

"Well?" Fox asked. The bags under his eyes were well over the weight allowance; he needed to sleep, not be attempting to cook.

He wouldn't hear such sensible advice, of course. Stone stuck to what Fox would hear, instead.

"Maybe some more pepper? Not too much." That sounded reasonable. "The soup is good, Fox. Sir. Might I enquire as to what prompted your sudden foray into the culinary arts?"

Fox grunted, his back to Stone, already grinding pepper into the pot. His shoulders were in a stiff line. He didn't look around as he spoke.

"Thorn came back from that escort trip yesterday. He said the planet had been deep in a snowy winter."

"Yes, I think I heard that from the others that went. Haven't seen Thorn yet, though."

"...He started sneezing."

Abruptly, absolutely everything made sense. Somewhere, Thire was laughing and didn't know why. From the corner of his eye, Stone saw Chop grin and duck her head, as understanding became clear to her, too. If Thorn was experiencing a discomfort that Fox thought it was in his power to fix, the galaxy could go hang, never mind rules about who could do what in the Corrie galley.

"The holonet says soup is good for colds," Fox muttered. His stirring had slowed. His shoulders had crept towards his ears.

Stone had been born to loyalty, but he'd chosen to give it to Fox. In the battlefield, in the stinking streets of Coruscant, and now in the kitchen. Smiling slightly, Stone clapped the other clone on the shoulder and pushed in close, giving the soup another consideration with his new perspective on the purpose of it.

"Put in some more pepper, you know Thorn likes things spicy, then let's get some of this into a container. If we catch Hound before he takes Grizzer out, he can bring fresh bread from the bakery on the corner. Thorn'll feel better in no time."

Fox mumbled something unintelligible, then asked, "You're sure?"

Like a wet tooka.

"If he doesn't, we'll go raid that Black Sun pharmacy two levels down. How about that?"

"Thorn does like shooting things." Fox added more pepper with a flourish, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "If he stops sneezing, I'll even let him bring Hammer."

That hadn't quite been what Stone intended by the offer—he'd more been thinking about the healing power of the pharmaceutical products—but Fox had brightened at the prospect, and Stone wouldn't puncture that brightness. He nodded instead.

"Bread, soup, and blasters. Who wouldn't feel better after that?" Stone asked.

Stone himself felt better already.

He was going to get Thire to write the incident report.

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 8.9K Warnings: ANGST w/ comfort (but also not?) Prompt: A Winter in Lupin's Cottage This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 48: Dust in the Wind

December 26th, 1976

The green flames rose and enveloped you alongside the slightly dusty smell of floo powder, you closed your eyes and opened them again until you felt the very distinctive smell of a home-cooked meal. You opened your eyes and stepped out of the fire. Remus was hugging a beautiful woman with hair exactly the same as his, and just next to them was a man, as tall as Remus, who had a hand on your friend’s shoulder. 

“Good evening,” you said politely, a small nod that the man returned. 

He stepped forward, “Lyall Lupin,” he said as he extended his hand, and you shook it while you introduced yourself to him. 

Remus’ mum pulled her face from her boy’s shoulder and turned to you, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, darling,” she said as she pulled you into a hug. She might have been the prettiest woman you had seen in your life. “Remus has told me a lot about you in his letters,” she said and you threw Remus a look, he just shrugged in response. “I’m really sorry it’s in such a condition that we finally meet, though” she pulled back and looked at you straight in the eyes. Remus’ brown, you realised as you stared back, “How are you?” 

You looked to the side, not sure what to say. You weren’t sure how much Remus’ parents knew, so you weren’t sure how to answer, you didn’t want to scare them, but you told Remus to ask them if it was all right if you went, so he must have at least mentioned the fact that you could have been a dеath eater target. Did he also tell them about your Mum? About Nina? 

“I’m coping,” you replied with a sad smile– that didn’t seem to convince Hope and she brought you back into a hug. “I’m really sorry you had to go through such awful things, darling.” 

You blinked a few times, she had a rather strong accent, but it was charming, you wondered if smaller Remus spoke more like her before Hogwarts. 

“Thank you,” you said as you leaned a little more into her hug. You didn’t realise how well hugging her made you feel. She was about the same height as your Mum, if you closed your eyes– no.

“Are you hungry?” She asked you as she pulled back to look at your face. She definitely had his eyes and they had the same mouth, although her nose was smaller, more narrow and slightly more pointy, the feminine version of Remus. She really could be her older sister and not his mum. No wonder Lyall fell madly in love with her. 

“The food smells delicious,” you said politely. She smiled, the exact same smirk Remus would sometimes give you. It was the smirk he’d use when he was up to something. 

“You know, I’m no wizard,” she said as she nodded for you to follow into the kitchen, “But I’d be dumb if I didn’t take advantage of all the fantastic things the magical world has to offer,” she said as she pointed at her kitchen. There was a floating spoon spinning the soup. She opened one of her drawers and picked out a few spices. Some of them were normal muggle spices, some of them were magical spices, and there were even a couple of potions there. 

She’s amazing, you thought as you saw her picking a warming potion and placing a couple of drops on the soup. “It’s great for winter,” she explained, “keeps me warm all night, even when Lyall is not around.” 

“When who is not around?” Lyall asked as he walked inside the kitchen, he had stayed behind talking to Remus. 

Hope threw him a smile and then a wink, placing a bit of the soup in the back of her hand, and then bringing it to her lips. 

“Do you like it very salty?” she asked. 

“Oh, I’ll take it how you take it,” you said with a quick shake of your head. Hope gave you another smile, winked your way and then took a small pinch of salt and added it to the pot. 

“Lyall, darling, would you set the table, please?” 

“We’re on it,” he responded. The cupboard above her head opened wide and a set of plates, cups and cutlery floated out of it and towards the dining area. You gently stepped out of the way as a small cup floated right over your head. 

“How can I help?” you asked her as he took the spoon, gave a few more twists to the soup and placed it on the sink. 

“There is some fresh apple juice on the fridge,” she said as she pointed towards one of the cupboards. “Do you mind bringing it over?” 

You had known what fridges were, you were muggle savvy enough, but you had never actually seen a fridge, at least not one outside of a muggle grocery store. So you walked towards the cupboard she had pointed and pulled the door open, only for the door of a fridge to be opened alongside it. A whiff of cool air hit your face and you leaned down to look through the things that Hope kept there. Milk, cheese, ham, and a couple of jars of things you didn’t know, there were also toppers with leftover food. 

You quickly found the jar and pulled it out of the fridge. “You don’t need anti-spoiling charms when you have one of these?” you asked, “food never goes bad?” 

Hope threw you a look as she pulled out gloves from a cupboard and used them to pick the pot of soup, “It goes bad if you leave it for too long. Unless you freeze it. Frozen food can last almost forever,” she explained. She walked outside with the soup and placed it on top of a wooden table that Lyall and Remus had placed there. Rem stood up and used his wand to bring over a tray with bread, and then one with shredded cheese. 

The magic spoon started serving your food as you placed your plate close to the pot, and then Hope used a normal spoon to add cheese on top of hers and yours. “You’ll like it, trust me,” she said with a smile. 

“It’s her special tomato soup,” Lyall said and took the cheese plate from her hands to serve himself and Remus. 

“How’s school?” He asked him as he added some cheese. 

“Remus is incredible,” you said before he even got to speak. Lyall turned to you with a raised eyebrow. “Insanely clever, he’s exceptionally good at potions, History and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I think he got ´Os´ on all of his final projects.” 

“She was my partner on most of them,” Remus said and then threw you a look.

He could tell you had switched into charmer mode. You stood slightly straighter and you spoke in the same way you had used back at Slughorn’s party. The tone you used on teachers sometimes. He too was charmed by you when you did it, but he didn’t want you to make such an effort, especially not for his parents. 

Hope, who didn’t really care for Remus’ grade as much as Lyall did, had been a lot more busy looking at the way her son was looking at you. She could easily tell how worried he was, and while she couldn’t see past the mask you wore, she was certain Remus could. 

“No talking grades on the table,” she scolded Lyall. “How have you been, Beag Gille?” 

“Oh,” you said as you sat your spoon on the soup. “That’s Little Boy! Isn’t it?” 

“You speak Gaelic?!” Hope asked, surprised. 

“Oh no,” you replied as you shook your head. “But Remus has called me a few things in Gaaelic before, “Beag Nicnevin and… what was it?  Oh right, he called me and Sirius something like  chachelan alan.” 

Hope raised an eyebrow, and looked at Remus who was holding his breath, and looked like he wanted to be swallowed by the ground. “Chailleachan àlainn?” 

“Yes! That was it,” you responded. 

“And neither of you know what he meant by that, did you?” She asked, there was a smile playing on her lips. 

“No,” you laughed. “But we got the meaning loud and clear, he was insulting us.” 

Hope’s smile tightened. She had had the suspicions that Rem had once had a crush on Sirius. She was sure, from the letters, that he liked you a lot, but it was now that she realised her Beag Gille had fallen for his two best friends. And neither of you had a clue, apparently. 

“Is it not an insult?” You asked when you noticed her expressions.

“Oh no, it is, awful one,” she said as she sent Remus a look. He just swallowed. He had never been more thankful that Lyall could not speak an ounce of Gaelic, no matter how many times both Hope and himself had tried to teach him. “Should have never given him that old dictionary,” she added, as she pointed at the bookshelf behind her. 

Remus threw her a look and resisted the urge to kick her under the table, “But she speaks many other languages, right, Vix?” 

“Vix?” Lyall asked, confused. 

“From Vixen, they thought it was a funny nickname,” you said with a shrug. “It grows on you,” you added then. “I don’t speak that many.” 

“At least 3 different ones,” Remus said. You refrained from saying how many you actually spoke. “When she and Sirius want to be annoying they start talking in French to shoot me out.” 

“And do you often find her and Sirius annoying?” Hope asked, turning to her son while she leaned her head on the back of her hand. 

“Yes, plenty of times,” Remus shot back rather quickly and gave a look to his mum. He had given you that same look plenty of times before, but you didn’t think he would give it to his mother. 

You leaned back towards Lyall and whispered, “Sir… Do you know what’s going on?” 

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he admitted and then shrugged. “They’re often like this thought, it’s like they know something the rest of us normal people don’t,” he said the last bit a little louder and Hope turned to him with a salacious smile. 

What a stunning woman, you thought as you saw her tilt her head at her husband, “You said you wanted the garlic?” she asked and extended her hand towards him, he scoffed as he took it in between his hands as he shook his head. That was Remus’ amused expression, he too tended to look at you that way often. 

After that, Hope changed the subject and she ended up telling you embarrassing baby stories of Remus. He had given up on stopping her babbling near the end of the second story, and just focused on finishing his soup. 

“So he then looked at me, he had this cute, adorable fat cheeks back then, and he frowned, mind you he was about this tall,” Hope said as she placed her hand near the ground. “And then he said: MUM, I’GWONA CORWSE YOU!“ 

“No way!” 

“He was small but he was clever,” Hope said with a nod, “He caught on pretty fast that his dad was the only one who could do magic besides him. Anyway, Lyall got pretty angry at him and he was grounded for saying that.” 

“And all for a lemon curd pie?”

“Clearly, you’ve never tried her lemon curd pie,”  Remus said as he stood up and picked his plate up. Since Hope and you were done, he also picked those up. 

“I can make you some, darling,” she added with a smile. “As long as you promise not to curse me,” she added with a smirk. 

You laughed, “I’d curse whoever tried to course you, Hope.” She had asked you to call her by her name at some point during the first story.

“And she really would,” Remus agreed, “she’s a brilliant duelist.” 

“I knew you’d be as sweet as Remus pictured you, but I’m starting to think he was selling you short,” she said and stood to pull the cups, you instantly stood to help her as well. 

“Oh leave it,” she said when she spotted you walking towards the sink. “Lyall charmed the sink so the dishes would wash themselves,” she explained and simply placed the things over the sink. “It’s the wonders of having married a wizard. Now you must be tired. Remus’ll give you his bed.” 

“What?” You asked. “No, I wouldn’t want to–” 

“Nonsense,” Hope said. “We have a good sleeping bag Remus’ll take. We’ve raised a gentleman after all.”

You smiled, Remus had never been anything short of one, that wasn’t a lie, “Thank you.”

When you moved to walk toward the door they had pointed to as Remus' room, Hope spoke again, “Remus darling, would you mind coming over just a second.”  

Remus gave a look your way and then walked towards his mum. “Yeah?” 

“Chailleachan àlainn?” She asked simply. 

“It was taken out of context mum, you wouldn’t–”  

She just smiled, “It might be a little too soon to tell, Beag Gille, but from what I’ve seen…” 

“What?” 

Hope bit her lip, “Have you ever heard of Emperor Nero?” 

“Eh… Roman? Really bad or something?” 

Hope smiled, “Yeah, Nero was vioIent, certainly. But there was something else. Look up his story with Sporus and Sabina, would you?” 

“Why?” 

Hope smiled and shrugged, “I’ll tell you once you’ve looked it up.” 

Remus narrowed his eyes at her impatiently. “Mum,” he complained, her smile only widened. “I’m not a kid anymore, you can’t manipulate me into learning.” 

“Oh, Remus, you’ll always be my Beag Gille,” she said as she reached for his cheeks. She could barely pinch anything now, but she did anyway. 

Remus rolled his eyes but allowed her to play with his face to her heart’s content. 

“By Merlin!” you exclaimed. “Is this baby Remus?” 

That was enough to distract her, there was a small portrait of Remus in your hands. It was his fourth birthday, he had no scars since he wasn’t a werewolf and he was smiling at the camera as he blew the candles. Hope walked over to you and smiled. “See those fluffy little cheeks?”  

You nodded in return. “He was absolutely adorable!” you said as you looked at him. Remus, your Remus, but smaller and chubbier, almost too cute to handle. 

“And he would never shut up,” Hope said. “Always asking questions about something.” 

“Exactly like his mum,” Lyall said, and she scoffed at him. 

Lyall and Hope seemed to be truly happy with each other, you had never seen that kind of playful banter between your parents. You wondered if they had ever been like that; if your father had ever made your mum smile the same way Lyall made Hope smile. You knew they had loved each other, in a weird twisted kind of way, but never like Hope and Lyall. You decided then, that that was the kind of love you wanted to have. And then a small smile appeared on your lips, since, in the end, you weren’t that far from it. 

“All right, time to sleep,” Hope said as she clapped her hand and pushed both you and Remus towards the room. “Remus has his own bathroom, so you can use it to change.” 

“Thank you,” you said with a smile as you walked inside. Remus’ room was smaller than any of the rooms in Hogwarts but it wasn’t exactly small either. He had a wall filled with rows of bookshelves, there was a small desk on the side, right in front of one of the windows, with a few books lying on the side. There was a closet next to the door and there was another door right after it. 

Remus had a few posters on the windows, and his closet was filled with pictures of places he had visited with his parents and a bunch of pictures with his friends. “Oh Godric! He looks exactly like Regulus did,” you said as you left your suitcase drop hastily on the floor and leaned down on the wooden floorboard to pick a picture of young Sirius. 

“That was in first year,” Remus said with a smile, remembering the day he took that picture of Sirius. He had been fascinated with the camera Remus had brought after the Christmas break and wanted to know everything about it.

“This is basically the Reggie I met two years ago,” you said with a smile, “down to the haircut.” 

“Sirius has always had softer features, though,” Remus said. 

You nodded in agreement, “He was so cute, almost as cute as you with your adorable chipmunk cheeks,” you said before placing the picture back in its place and standing up. Remus tried not to blush at your words. You had probably said it inadvertently, but you had basically said he was cuter than Sirius. “Is that your bathroom?” 

Remus nodded, “Go ahead, I’ll change here.” 

You walked over to a corner with your suitcase and opened it, taking out some sleeping clothes before walking inside the bathroom and starting to get changed, but you had forgotten your toothbrush, so you walked outside to get it again. Remus’ head snapped over to the door as it opened. 

You half gasped, Remus wore so many soft and cuddly sweaters, it was easy to forget how ripped he actually was. “Ugh, sorry, I can wait inside if–” 

“You know I’m a werewolf anyway,” Remus said with a shrug. He was –in fact– not  as cool as he appeared. 

You smiled and walked behind him, your arm accidentally brushing against his back when you walked past him to get the toothbrush. He was quicker while trying to find something, a simple sleep shirt. It took you no longer than a second to get your toiletry set. By the time you turned around, he already had a shirt on. But it was an old one, and it was rather tight. 

“The colour suits you,” you said before walking back inside the bathroom. Remus frowned, it was a simple grey shirt –not simple, a tight grey shirt–. And while you might have not known it then, it hadn’t been the colour that prompted you to say that. 

When you finished you walked straight into the bed and sat on the edge, Remus was extending the sleeping bag on the floor. You pulled your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them as you rested your chin over them. “Is that really comfortable?” you asked in disbelief. 

“It’s okay,” he said with a shrug. 

“And… are you really planning to sleep there?” 

“Where else?” He asked as he turned to you. 

You pointed at the bed with your head, as if it were the most obvious thing. 

“I can turn into Vixen if you want,” you said, doing it instantly and leaning your head closer to lick his face. 

“Ugh, Little Witch!” he complained as he pulled back. You jumped from the bed over to his lap. It was obvious that asking to sleep with him like last night would have been weird. Not because you didn’t enjoy cuddling up to Remus, he was very cuddleable. But you feared he might have been uncomfortable and had only done it because it was necessary. You didn’t want to force him into something he didn’t like, but you knew for a fact that he liked cuddling Vixen. 

You brushed your head against him and he sighed. “Fine then,” he said. “I’ll brush my teeth, see you on the bed.” 

You jumped over to the bed and turned back. You had been so distracted you had entirely forgotten to tell Sirius and James you’d gone with Rem. So you took some paper from his desk and wrote a small note on a piece of paper. You leaned over the window and tapped a few times, you had given Reese the address, and you hoped he was around. When you spotted his small figure approaching the window from the fence, you smiled, hastily opening the window and wrapping the note on his feet. 

You were shutting the window when Remus left the bathroom, “I just owled the boys, so they know we’re here.” 

“I brought the radio,” he said pointing at his backpack, “And I also told them you were coming.” 

“When?” you were with me almost all day. 

“When I owled my parents.” 

“Before they sent the letter that said I could stay, were you that confident?” 

Remus nodded, and you scoffed with a smile, throwing a pillow his way before walking back to the bed and turning into Vixen. Remus lay on his bed and gently pulled you over his chest. The two of you were asleep in an instant. 

December 27th, 1976

There was a gentle hand on your head coaxing you awake. “Little Witch,” Remus said softly, “Little Witch.” 

You blinked awake, Remus smiled when he saw your small eyes open and dug his finger near your ear scratching the section softly, just like Vixen adored. You licked your snout and then dug your head on his chest again. 

“Nu-uh,” he said cheerfully. “No more sleep, I want to show you something.” 

You frowned and looked through the window. It was dark as fuck, Remus never woke up before the sun came up, you had even threatened Sirius with waking him up early just to make him cranky for the rest of the day. 

You jumped off his chest and onto the side of the bed, turning back and appearing in a sitting position, “Who are you and what have you done to my Remus?” 

Her Remus? I certainly like the sound of that, he thought and smiled a little wider. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” 

“On a scale from 1 to 10?” 

“Eleven, now shut up,” he whispered and stood up, walking to his closet and throwing a jumper and then a coat your way. “You’ll need this. It is still cold out there.” 

You frowned but pulled the jumper over your head, and then put on the coat. The coat was long, it reached your ankles, on Remus it probably reached way higher. You grabbed a pair of boots from your suitcase and tied them on as Remus did the same with his old pair of brown converses. 

When he was done, he nodded and the two of you walked outside of his room. He’d cast a silencing steps spell on the two of you so you wouldn’t wake his parents, and then you were out the door. You had not seen the outside of his house, and while Dumbledore had mentioned that they lived near the sea, you did not expect them to live that close. 

When he opened his front door, there was a whiff of cool wind that hit your face, which caused you to wince, but right after getting used to it you opened your eyes, the first thing that you heard was the sound of waves, so loud and clear, you wondered how it was possible that you hadn’t heard it when you were inside the cottage. From his front door, there was a small path that led to a simple stone fence, it was covered with a thin layer of snow, just like most of the garden, except for the small stone path that led to the wooden door of the fence. 

“Dad heat charmed the rocks,” Remus said as he saw you staring. You leaned down and placed your hand on them, they were warm to the touch but not too hot to burn. You smiled, Lyall was as much of a talented wizard as Remus. 

Beyond the fence, there were a few metres of land, and then, there was the steep end of a cliff. You looked marvelled at the scene, the moon was still shining in the sky, and it reflected a light beam of light on the sea. 

“Come,” he said as he grabbed your arm and pulled you towards the gate. From there, he dragged you through the area and towards a different place.  You followed behind Remus for what must have been a 15-minute walk. The soft sound of waves, the crunching of your shoes against the snow and the melody of both of your breaths had combined to make the scenery even more soothing. The beam of light from the moon seemed to follow you as you climbed up and down smaller hills, as you heard the waves crashing against the shore way below the area you were standing on. Remus didn’t let go of you at all on the walk. 

His hand had found its way into your arm and he was guiding you through a path invisible to your eyes but impossibly clear to his. You were half admiring the way nature shone, and half the way he so easily moved through it. You knew Remus had a great sense of orientation, you had seen as much the day he guided you through the halls and then through the secret passages, you had seen Moony run and chase through the woods like the natural hunter he was, but you had never seen Remus outside of school grounds, or Hogsmeade. 

You had never seen him speeding through snow-covered hills and towards a direction completely unknown to you, the confidence by which he moved, the cadence of his steps, the sureness of his stance, they were all sides of Rem you had seen before, but now you stared at them in a new light. Perhaps it was how emotional you were, or the moon shining high above the two of you, reflecting its silver light on Remus’ profile, but you found the scene absolutely breathtaking, fascinating and beyond enrapturing. And you hadn’t even gotten to the place Remus was trying to show you.

“Mind your step,” he said as he tightened his grip on your hand, nodding towards a stoney step that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. “It’s ruins from an old castle,” he explained. “You can find these irregularities almost all over the valley,” he added as he pointed behind him, the light of the moon allowed you to discern a few, old crumbling towers. 

You smiled, and then followed behind him, not towards the castle, but in the same unknown direction he had been dragging you since you stepped outside of his house. No more than 5 minutes passed, and he stopped, let go of your hand and walked towards the end of the cliff, as if to make sure he was in the right place, and then he came back. “It’s here, come over,” he whispered, and grabbed your arm again, pulling you towards the cliff. 

He sat down near the edge and then patted the spot right next to him. You sat down on the snow next to him. 

“Look,” he whispered as he pointed towards the water. 

You stared at the shimmering water for a couple of seconds, but you didn’t see anything other than the reflections of the moon. You were about to turn to Remus, to ask him what exactly he was going on about when you noticed a slight movement, and then a shimmering, iridescent fin. 

You gasped and covered your mouth instantly, “Remus, it’s merfolk!” you whispered. He smiled when he saw the wondrous expression that filled your face. “How is it possible?” you asked as you saw one of them jump from the water and then back in. You realised as well, that the crashing of the waves at the bottom, was accompanied by soft screeches that would get carried away with the strong wind. “They’re out and about, aren’t they scared to be spotted by muggles?”  

“It’s a reserve,” Remus explained. “That’s why Dad decided to move here. Apparently, they’ve charmed almost the entire place. Muggles forget what they’re doing and turn back whenever they cross the magical borders, kind of like Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.” 

“Does that mean there are more magical creatures here?” You whispered as you leaned your head over the edge to see the merfolk better. You could instantly tell they were Sunfolk since they had long, human-like hair and were stunningly beautiful. Some of the deadIiest. 

“Yeah, there’s a forest not too far from him that is said to be more filled with magical beings than the Forbidden Forest. I heard Dad mention there were fae there too, I guess we could also visit if you–”

“No,” you said simply. “Fae are dangerous, Grandma taught me as much.” 

“No more than merfolk,” Remus retorted. 

“And we’re looking at them from far away,” you added. “With Fae, it wouldn’t be as simple. They could charmspeak you, Remus.”

Charmspeak was something similar to the Imperius curse, when done properly, the fae could get you to do whatever it is that they wanted. Your mom had been capable of it, she and your grandma had taught you how to resist it since they were scared you might be stolen as a child, and taken back to their tribe. Your grandma hadn’t left in the best of terms, and fae were resentful people. 

“They can too,” he said pointing at the sirens. “They’re beautifully deadIy” 

“I’m aware,” you responded with a smile and leaned a little closer to the edge, your hands firmly gripping the very end of the cliff as you used them to support yourself and look down curiously. “That makes them even more enrapturing, don’t you think?” You turned to face him. 

Remus laughed, “You really do like dangerous things.” 

“Not all the dangerous things,” you said, thinking back to a few nights ago. 

What a beautiful sight it was that Remus had brought you to, a welcome distraction to the thoughts and memories plaguing your mind. But that didn’t stop you from feeling slightly bitter at the sweetness of the world. Was it making fun of you and your sadness, by being so beautiful and wild? Were the gorgeous scenes mocking your grieving soul or was it an omen of better times? 

The darkness was starting to subdue, the sky tinted orange and pink tones ahead, you hadn’t noticed until then, that Remus had woken you to see the sunset along with him. 

“You come here often?” You asked as you leaned back on your hands, the cold snow more refreshing than painful as it had been nights ago. 

“Dad bought the house when I entered Hogwarts. There’s a small muggle school in which mum teaches history and science a few kilometres west.” 

“Wasn’t she a chef?” 

“Mum has been so many things, you’d be surprised. She worked at an insurance company in Cardiff before she met Dad, but before that she had been in a band.” 

“A band?” you asked, turning to Remus. The warm morning light was reflecting on his skin, making his features softer and homely, like the groggy Remus you had met after the moon, the one who acted like a child and wanted to cuddle you for longer. 

He nodded. “She was the drummer,” he explained. “She said she thought there was more to the world than it had to offer and that she wanted to explore the endless possibilities of it all. No wonder she fell in love with a wizard.” You bit your lip as you laughed. Hope was a fascinating woman indeed.

“Anyway, I didn’t know the house until the Christmas break of my first year, Mum and Dad didn’t have to move around as much since they didn’t have to hide Moony anymore and they decided to settle down here. Dad warned her not to get too close to the cliffs, and not to wander around, but she’s stubborn, a lot like you actually.”

“She was the one to find the merfolk, she’s not stupid, though, she didn’t dare to get close to them until she asked Dad all he could tell her about them and gobbled a few hundred books. I got that from her,” he said, turning to face you and then back at the sunset. “She was the one to bring me here, she said she had a Christmas present for me and told me all she had learned about them as we admired the sunset. She said ‘Remus, all things can be beautiful, even the most dangerous ones’, I knew she meant me, but I never quite felt like I lived up to it.” 

“Well that’s because you’re a stubborn idiot,” you said with a teasing smile. “You’re beautiful Remus, as beautiful as the Sunfolk swimming down there and as the fae lurking in the forest that you mentioned. Like the sunset and moon, like the wind that blows on our face and the whispering chants of the sea,” you turned to him, “you should just accept it and move on.” 

Remus was almost shocked by your words, he didn’t remember you being so poetic, perhaps the near-dеath experience had brought out a new side of you, or perhaps you were just saying your unfiltered thoughts. In the embracing rays of the morning sun, in the homely presence of nothing but the waves and the sky, words were easier to muster, and thoughts became freer than birds. 

He knew he shouldn’t tell you, he was aware what a terrible idea it was, but would there ever be a better moment to confess all the feelings that had pent up inside of him the last few months? With the sunrise, and the soft and warm moment surrounding the two of you, with the words you had just said to him like they were a normal sentence but that had been more like a windfall to him. Like an answer to his longings. Perhaps, this was it. “I’m bisexual…” 

The second he said it, he completely regretted his words. He had gotten too caught up in the moment, too wrapped up in the beauty of it all. What exactly was he planning to say? I’m bisexual and I have a crush on you and your boyfriend? You had just seen a friend diе for fucks sake, this was about the worst fucking time to speak his mind. 

“I know,” you said simply, calmly, as if one of the last secrets he held from you wasn’t such a surprise. Although when Remus said it, it seemed like he had cut himself off; like he had originally wanted to say something else but stopped himself.

“What?!” he asked with a confused frown. Did you know? How did you know? Did that mean you also knew about his impossible crushes? 

“Minho accidentally let it slip when I figured he had a thing for Tom, he assumed you had told me,” you explained. 

“Really?” he asked in disbelief, “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready,” you said with a shrug. 

“How many more things you know about me that I don’t know you know?” He asked in disbelief, almost diverted altogether. 

“That’s quite a question, Moony,” you said with a teasing smile as you leaned back and allowed yourself to fall into the snow, looking at the stunningly tinted sky. “I also like girls, sometimes.” 

“What?!” he asked, turning to you very surprised.

“Sirius was shocked too,” you said with a small laugh. You liked this, it felt normal. Like you were just a kid enjoying the time with your friends, no war to worry about, no dark family secrets, just you and Remus. 

“He probably thought it was hot,” Remus said as he too allowed himself to fall on the snow. You laughed, remembering Sirius’ words after you told him. “Godric! He didn’t actually say it, did he?” 

“Sirius? Speaking his mind without thinking? Nah,” you replied sarcastically. 

“Ugh, please tell me you hit him for it.” 

“I was a little drunk,” you admitted. “Fell asleep shortly after to be honest.” 

“You fell asleep?!?” 

“It was after I fell into the water and almost got kiIIed by the water spirit,” you said in self-defence.  There was a bit of silence. “I wonder if that was a Naiad or… maybe it was Merfolk? They looked devastatingly hungry, but I don’t see how such beautiful creatures could become so hideous only by the lack of care and neglect.” 

“Not all merfolk are beautiful,” Remus said. “Sunfolk are those that muggle mermaids are based on, but they say there are also some deep in the Black Lake, and I believe the deeper they inhabit, the less human-like they become.” 

“Yeah?” you asked, turning to look at him, snowflakes already adhering to your hair. Remus couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you looked. “Have you seen them?” 

“Of course not,” he replied with half a smile. “But Dad mentioned once that Dumbledore speaks mermish, he’s probably seen them. We can ask him what race they are, although I’d assume they’d be something like Lacfolk or Somfolk.” 

“Or Deepmer,” you said, trying to think back to your Magical Creatures from the Depths course. 

“Did you just make that up?” he asked. 

“What, you mean Lacfolks is a thing but Deepmer isn’t?” 

“It sounds like you just made it up.” 

“I did not!” You weren’t exactly sure if that was the name, you had one class about it when you were 13, but you had been so busy with other final projects and exams that you didn’t have the opportunity to thoroughly pay attention to it (it wasn’t coming on the exam, and the subject was only given because there was a boy called Elliot who was really passionate about them and requested the teacher to dive a little deeper into the subject). “Well, I’m like 80% sure it’s a thing,” you added as you sat up again. 

The sun was starting to come out, a small little fireball emerging from the sea tinting the clouds around it a soft orange tone. Remus sat up as well, lost in between looking at the sky and at the way it reflected on your eyes. He forced his gaze to the sight in front of him instead. 

You leaned a little over the edge again, “You think they’re aware we’re looking at them?” you asked when you saw a merman jump from a rock and gracefully dive into the water, muscles glistening in the sun as he called for another man to follow behind. 

There was a couple kissing on one of the rocks as well. Devouring each other like they hadn’t kissed in months. You kept staring, paying closer attention to all of them. Some had long blue hair, the colour of the sea. Others a lighter green, more akin to sea foam. Their skin was very tan, like most Sunfolk, but their long hair helped them blend into the water, hiding them from their biggest predator– muggles. 

“I think they might be,” Remus said as he saw a merman looking up the cliffs and into your direction. He didn’t speak much, but Remus’ acute sight could kind of see a slight smirk. A coquettish little smile that seemed to beckon him to come down, he was handsome, but there was no way in hell he’d be lured by Merpeople if he had you to look at as well.

“They’re rather hedonistic,” you said when you spotted a blue-haired merwoman kiss one with ashy white curls, wrap her hands around the other’s waist and then pull her to her neck as a green-haired merman kissed her lips. 

“Polyamory is common in merpeople,” Remus murmured. 

You leaned a little closer to the edge and then pulled back, your cheeks burning in embarrassment, “Remus– Remus I don’t think they’re hedonistic merpeople.” He turned to look at you with a frown. “I think it’s mating season.” 

“What? Makes no sense, mating season is almost always in summer…” 

“You go tell them that,” you scoffed. “Can’t believe you brought me to see horny merpeople!” 

“What? I didn’t–”

You started to laugh and then looked up at the sky again, the sun was much higher now, reflecting a warm beam of light through the landscape. You then leaned down and allowed your head to fall on his lap. “Snow is kind of cold,” you said simply. 

He brought his hand to your head and started getting rid of some of the snowflakes that had gotten caught. He placed his fingers around a strand and then allowed them to melt before drying his fingers on his coat and repeating his action again. There was something insanely calming about being with Remus. And while the sights, and stunning view he had brought you were soothing, his hand on your hair were reassuring you far beyond the ability of the mermaids’ chants, and the crashing of waves against the stone. 

You stayed there, sometimes talking, sometimes staying quiet, and simply basking in each other’s company. Waking up early had definitely been worth it. You were beyond thankful you had Remus, you couldn’t think of a better place to be. Laying in your lonely room in Hogwarts while you thought back on everything that had happened on Christmas with nothing other to do than eat your heart out in the quiet of lonesomeness seemed like torment in comparison. 

Back when you were alone in the snow, with Nina held between your arms, you didn’t think you’d be able to feel at peace again, and while you still felt all the sadness, you were thankful that it wasn’t crashing with the serenity that you felt at the moment. With the bliss of simply looking at the stunning sight and hanging out with your best friend. You realised that sadness and joy weren’t mutually exclusive, but rather there was enough space in your heart for you to feel both desolate over all that had happened mere days ago, and delight over the stunning sights, and the alleviating touch of Remus’ fingers. 

“Shouldn’t we go back soon?” you asked, the Merpeople were still in the water enjoying themselves, but the sun had gone up rather high, and while its warmth felt all the more soothing, how high it was and how much warmer it had gotten gave you the feeling that you had been with Remus for a while, “Won’t you parents worry?” 

“Mum probably already knows where I brought you,” he lifted his hand from your hair to check his clock, “breakfast should be ready by now, though.” 

“Breakfast?” you asked as you stood up and turned to him, the snow on your coat gently falling to the floor, “you’re telling me I’ll get to eat more of your mum’s delicious food?”

You had stood up so fast that Remus was slightly taken aback. He rolled his eyes but nodded, and extended his hand for you to help him up. Did he really need the help? Not really. Did he want an excuse to touch you? Most definitely. 

“Merlin, I swear my mouth’s watering and I don’t even know what I’m going to eat.” 

Remus scoffed at that, you had always appreciated your food. Especially some of the things the elves prepared, but he’d never expect you to become his mum’s number one fan in regards to it. 

“Come on Rem, let’s go!” you said as you started running. 

“It’s the other way round, sweetheart,” he said with an amused grin. 

You stopped yourself in your tracks, looking at the side and then back at Remus and then to the side again. It was still dark when you got there, but getting confused about which side you had walked from was embarrassing when there were only two possible options. “You’re fucking with me?” He shook his head, an amused smile still dancing on his lips. You sighed and turned back, walking towards Remus. “Are you sure?” 

“Very,” he said with a laugh and grabbed your arm the same way he had done when he brought you, this time pushing you a bit closer to him. You didn’t mind it all, you enjoyed being close to Remus, you’d always had. “Come on, we wouldn’t want you to miss my mum’s exquisite food.” 

“Don’t make fun of me! It really is exquisite,” you replied, this time with a smile as well. 

You and Remus walked back to his cottage, and Hope really had breakfast ready by the time you were there. 

“You took her to see the merpeople?” She asked. 

“Yeah,” you said with a smile, “And the stunning sunrise too.” 

Hope sighed with a smile, and Lyall used his wand to bring in a small crystal bottle with honey and a vase with some fresh berries. 

“We got these from the fae market in the forest,” she told you. “It’s hard to deal with them at first but I met a really friendly Brownie that collects muggle things and he’s always willing to make exchanges. 

“You’ve eaten fae food?” you asked, horrified. Your mother and grandma had warned you, over a thousand times never to eat fae food.  

Lyall smiled, “Not all fae food is bad. Especially not if you’ve made a deal for it. Their charms disappear if they receive something in exchange.” 

“I– I didn’t know that,” you stuttered, realising how little you actually knew of the fae, even when you were part one. 

“Not many know,” Lyall said reassuringly. “We’ve kept a close relation with most of the leaders of the clans in the forest since it is my job to make sure the wards and protection spells are always active. Hope, being as friendly as she is, made friends along the way.” 

“And it doesn’t scare you, they might try to take her away?” 

“The Fae?” Lyall asked. “Of course not, they’re very respectful of deals, we’re their guardians.” 

Remus gave you a short pat on the back and a sort of comprehensive side look. He too knew what it was like not to know much of who you were, or at least of part of who you were. And while you had learnt a good deal of fae lore, it mostly consisted on how to stay the hell away from them, rather than their customs. Truth be told, you didn’t even know what type of fae your grandma was. Dryad, Selkie, Nymph, Spite, Alven, there were so many of them that had the size and look of a human enough to blend in, like your grandma.

Remus also didn’t know much about werewolves even if he was one, much like you, his knowledge consisted mostly of how to deal with the problem rather than with their origin, who they were or what they did. At this point, you might as well know more about werewolves with all the research you had done than he did himself. 

“You want to try one?” Hope said with a smile, taking the plate and offering it up to you. You stared at the absolutely delicious-looking fruit and extended your hand for a strawberry. You took a deep breath and then placed it in your mouth, biting it and closing your eyes at how delicious it tasted. It might have had no charms, but you could easily become addicted to the flavour. 

“Woah,” you said as you licked your lips, the remnant of juice being as delightful as the fruit itself. Your eyes had tinted bright silver for a mere second before they returned to normal. Lyall had been busy setting up the table but both Remus and Hope noticed. 

Hope was about to say something, but Remus shook his head. It must have been something similar to his eyes going golden when the wolf was near. 

“Let’s eat, shall we?” Hope said as she placed the bowl with berries back on the table and pulled a chair for you to sit. You thanked her as you sat down.

Breakfast went by as swiftly and gleefully as dinner had gone last night. And so had the days after that. You’d spend your time exploring around the cliffs with Remus, taking breaks for reading books, and talking to the boys through the radio. You exchanged a few letters with Lily, Marlene and the rest of the girls who had sent letters to the boys the minute they found out about the Christmas Party fire, and that you were on the list of the people that had been invited. They were worried since they hadn’t heard from you since then. 

Somehow, being in such a beautiful place had actually helped lift up your spirits, and while you didn’t feel exactly like yourself yet, you did feel a lot better. One night you sneaked out as Vixen and ran towards the shore, hiding behind some rocks and staring at the selkies. One of them had long blonde hair and it reminded you so much of Nina’s that you ended up running back up the hills and crying near the castle ruins until Remus found you. 

He wanted to tell you off for walking out at night, for not telling him or anyone, for not even taking his wand along. He wanted to tell you that even if the merpeople and fairies had dealt with his parents, that didn’t exempt you from the dangers of being ignorant of their customs. Instead, he sat beside you and placed a hand on your back, smoothing soft circles like he had done the night he found you in the snow. You wrapped your hands around his neck and clang to him as you allowed the tears to drop from your eyes and wet his jumper. He had run out so fast he hadn’t even taken a coat out. 

“What happened?” he asked you softly. 

“She looked like Nina,” you whispered and sniffed, trying to wipe the tears off your face and compose yourself.

“It’s okay,” he said soothingly and wrapped his arms a little tighter, bringing you to his lap and holding you close. He held you until you stopped crying and the two walked back to the cottage. Neither of you talked about it in the morning, nor did you the day after in which you both went to see the sunrise again. 

“We just got this letter for the two of you,” Lyall said as you walked back inside the house. 

“Yeah?” you asked with a frown, as you extended your hand to take it from Lyall who had handed it out for you.

“From the Potters,” Hope added with a smile. 

You turned to Remus and the two of you opened it. “Oh, they want us to come to their house after New Year,” you said. 

“How surprising,” Hope replied with a knowing smile. 

“They say we can stay over until we go back to school from there…” Remus added as he read.

“That means I won’t see you again till the break?” Hope asked, looking at the two of you, and then focusing on Remus. “What about the moon?” 

“I mean, Vix could go and–” 

“No,” you said. “It’s fine, we don’t have to go. Are you going to spend the moon here?” 

Remus threw you a side glance and then turned to his mum who had a knowing look on her face. “I was just joking. You both should go and have fun with your friends. Remus has been at the Potter’s on a Moon before, I’m sure they have something prepared for that.” She turned to you, “You must miss your boyfriend as well,” Hope added looking at you. 

And you really did miss Sirius. But the idea of going to the Potters, of being with Sirius and James and then going to school, meant reality. It meant facing everything that had happened again, talking to the boys about it. The small little bubble you had created here with Remus. The one where there were pretty things and creatures and nothing more than would burst the minute you left. And you weren’t sure who you’d become outside of it. 

You turned to Remus, “Well if you want to,” you said softly. 

Remus looked at you and smiled, although it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. “We’ll go, after New Year.” 

It’s not that Remus didn’t want to see James and Sirius. Heck, he missed Sirius intensely, his eyes, his hair, his laugh, his voice, his pranks. But stepping out of his house and into the Potter’s meant you wouldn’t be his anymore –you weren’t now either– but he had lived the blissful deceit of having you, of hugging you and playing with your hair and being the person to comfort you when you were sad and of being the only one to make you laugh and being the only one who got to see your smiles and he didn’t want that to end. He knew how selfish that was. He was aware he was being greedy, but he had enjoyed the dream the two of you had been wrapped up in. And even then, he wanted to see Sirius again. He yearned for him and his mannerisms and the way he would sometimes invade his personal space, and he had to pretend he didn’t enjoy it. No matter how much bliss he felt with you, he wanted to see Sirius again. You both did.

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: And some more fluff! Isn't Remus the sweetest? Sidenote: Are those mermaids trying to tell us something?

Read more Marauders Fiction

[tethysresort]

Midwinter in Imladris (Fandom: Silmarillion)

The first years in Imladris.

I found a prompt list I like! I'll update the tags and characters/relationships as I go along writing, but it should all stay T or G rated and SFW.

Happy Holidays!

@fluff-cember

Day 1: Holiday Decorations

Day 2: Coming Home

Day 3: Snowmen

Day 4: Christmas (Midwinter) Sweaters

Day 5: Stargazing

Day 6: Gingerbread Houses

Day 7: Condensed Breath

Day 8: Sparkling Snow

Day 9: Sugar Rush

Day 10: Carols

Day 11: Slippery

Day 12: Secrets

Day 13: Fire and Ice

Day 14: Winter Soup

Day 15: Home-cooked Meals

Day 16: Chocolate

Day 17: Snowed In

Day 18: Mistletoe

Day 19: Hot Bath

Day 20: Fairy Tales

Day 21: Cabin in the Snow

Day 22: Winter Storm

Day 23: Confessions

Day 24: Christmas (or Midwinter) Tree

Day 25: The Perfect Gift

Day 26: Forgiveness

Day 27: Family Gatherings

Day 28: Cold Turkey

Day 29: Mint

Day 30: Warming Up

Day 31: Fireworks

Day 32 OR Day 1 of the New Year! Sunrise

[inexplicifics]

Hiya! I was wondering if you’d been having any luck making the Cats Among Wolves bunnies cooperate lately? If not, that’s cool. Plot bunnies are not the most cooperative creatures, but I figured I’d ask. I was also curious about what the writing process usually looks like for you if you were willing to explain it a bit. Do you tend to jump around between projects just following the inspiration, or do you write out at least a whole scene or chapter before letting yourself move around? How many times do you usually send a fic to Rose for betaing before you feel ready to release it? I always find different people’s processes so interesting.

So Cats Among Wolves is mostly not cooperating at the moment - I am weirdly low on Brain and the bunnies are not doing long-form very well just now. But here's a snippet from the Cedric & Axel fic:

Fuck, this is good, Cedric opines, sipping greedily at the soup Gaetan is holding for him. “The old Wolf knows his way around a kitchen,” Gaetan agrees, nodding. “I think I gained most of a stone the first winter I spent here.” “You needed it,” Eskel puts in. “All you Cats are too damn scrawny.” “Wolves are just absurdly big,” Gaetan sniffs. “And what are Vipers, then?” Eskel - teases. And Gaetan is grinning. Axel has never seen Gaetan so relaxed around an alpha before. Not even Cedric. But there’s not even a hint of tension in his littlest brother. He’s utterly unafraid. “Vipers are mostly perfectly normal sizes, Letho’s just special,” Gaetan says cheerfully. Letho smirks.

As to my writing process - oh gods, it's like a pogo stick. I often have eight or ten docs open, and I create a new WIP at least three times a week. (I am very easy to plotbunny. And I am surrounded by enablers.) I write until I get stuck and then I go to something else. Sometimes, if something really grabs me, I can get a whole longfic out in a week; sometimes I have to come back to it again and again until it clicks. My personal feeling is that as long as words are ending up in a row, it's all good.

I don't outline. Outlines kill fic for me. Once I've written down what's going to happen, why bother writing it again? Even for something like MBtT, I had the very loosest possible sketch of the plot and the desired relationships. I also can't estimate how long a fic is going to be to save my life. I thought MBtT was going to be 50K. I have to very deliberately keep from putting plot into things like prompt fills and flash fics, because once I've added plot, that fic isn't getting done in less than 10K.

I usually send the fic to Rose when it's completely done, and then do a pass through it once she's left comments, fixing all the plot holes she finds. Then she checks my work and I put it in the posting queue.

One thing I have found that helps me is that I color-code my docs. Blue is in progress, purple is ready for beta, and green is ready to be posted. It makes it easier for me to track things visually.

The other thing that really helps is cheer-readers. Because I try to only post finished fics, sometimes I'll start wondering if what I'm writing is really any good. Rose and Twist and Ray have all been wonderful at Encouraging me enthusiastically to keep going, and suggesting directions when I get stuck. Cheer-readers are great and I encourage writers to find them if they can.

Hope that was interesting!

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 20 Prompt: Sick Day

Tags: Established Relationship, Mentions Of Past Parental Loss, Eddie Munson Needs A Hug, Steve Harrington Is A Sweetheart

wc: 1290 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Steve doesn’t get it.

He’s seen Eddie in worse shape.

Death knocking on his door, tubes, and machines keeping him alive. In spite of the shitty cards he was dealt, he always had a smile on his face — cracking jokes with the kids, charming his way into extra pudding cups and sides of mashed potatoes. Steve’s pretty sure they mourned the day he was finally released because he had a way of making even the crabbiest doctors smile.

If ever there was a time to be miserable and wallow in the pain it was then.

And yet, a winter cold has managed to knock Eddie on his ass, turning him into the most miserable, helpless version of himself.

Steve hates it.

Not because Eddie is whiney and dramatic (he’s both of those things on a good day), but because he doesn’t know what to do to help.

Days and nights blend together as Eddie stays sheltered in his bedroom. His bed is a nest of blankets and pillows — half the time he’s burrowed under them, no doubt making his fever worse, and the other half he’s propped up on pillows, desperately hoping the elevated position will ease his cough. A hoard of half-empty bowls of soups and napkins full of nibbled-on crackers are scattered on his nightstand along with the cold medicine Wayne picked up three (maybe, four?) days ago. The one Eddie refuses to take because it makes him feel worse.

His usual unruly curls are flattening by the second and his cheek has a near-permanent indentation of his wrinkled pillowcase at this point. If it weren’t for his frequent trips to the bathroom, Steve would be worried about muscle loss and blood clots on top of the hundred other ways he’s worrying about Eddie right now.

Steve’s tried everything. His grandmother’s chicken noodle soup, coaxing Eddie into a warm shower, even phoned Ms. Henderson to see if she had any home remedies he wasn’t thinking of. Nothing seems to be working.

At a loss, Steve tiptoes into Eddie’s room hoping to find him sleeping beneath the covers.

He’s not.

“Eddie, baby,” Steve coos. Toeing his shoes off, he pads his way over to the edge of the bed and runs a hand over the corner of the bed in search of Eddie’s legs. When he’s certain they’re not there, he sits. “What can I do to help?”

Eddie groans and presses the right side of his face deeper into the pillow. A single tear races down his cheek as he sniffles. “Could you just lie with me?” he croaks, voice horse from lack of use and the sore throat he’s been fighting for the last few days.

“Course, baby. Why didn’t you ask me sooner?”

He doesn’t wait for the answer and instead shuffles up the bed. Resting his back against the headboard, he kicks out his legs over the hoard of blankets and lets himself sink into the warm mattress. Once he’s situated, Eddie shifts until his back is pressed against Steve’s side. It’s weird feeling the heat that radiates from his body — he’s usually the one with cold hands and feet in the relationship.

“Didn’t want to get you sick,” Eddie mumbles eventually.

“Don’t mind getting sick, if it means you’ll feel better.” Steve means it. He would shoulder all the sickness and pain in the world if it meant that Eddie and everyone else he loves never had to feel anything but happy and healthy. If only the world worked like that. “Do you need anything?”

It’s silent in the room as Steve waits for Eddie’s response. So quiet, Steve wonders if maybe Eddie’s drifted to sleep and he’s waiting for a response that’s never going to come. But then Eddie shifts beside him, slowly rolling onto his other side so he can face him.

“I need my mom,” Eddie whispers just as the floodgates open, tear after tear falling from his eyes in that slow dramatic way they only do in movies. At least, Steve thought it only happened in movies.

His heart seizes in his chest as Eddie reaches for the soft sweater he’s wearing. Doesn’t complain when he buries his face into it, staining it with tears and snot and whatever else as Eddie’s body shakes under the weight of his tears.

Christ.

He doesn’t get it, not entirely. His own mother was never the nurturing type — she’d slap down medicine on his bedside table and leave a list of places she’d be if he needed to reach her, but that was it. Never once did she rest her hand against his forehead to check his temperature, let alone sit at his bedside.

But he knows Eddie’s mom would have done those things. Probably did do all those things judging by the way his boyfriend is sobbing in his arms right now.

Admittedly he doesn’t know much about Ms. Munson — he’s gathered it's hard for Eddie to talk about her. But he knows enough to know the world lost an incredibly kind soul way too early.

“Eds,” Steve sighs, scooting down until he’s lying down with Eddie firmly curled up on his chest. He gets both arms around him, squeezing him tighter. “I wish I could.”

“She always—” Eddie hiccups, wincing as the motion burns his already aching throat. “She always used to lie down with me. Run her fingers through my hair until her ring got caught in my curls. Then she’d move to tracing up and down my arm.”

Steve doesn’t have to be told twice. He lets one hand drift into Eddie’s tangled curls, scratching his scalp before gently carding his fingers through a few strands. His other hand ghosts up and down his arm, goosebumps erupting in his featherlight touches wake.

“Like this?”

Eddie melts under the contact, nuzzling deeper into the warmth of Steve’s sweater. “She made the best grilled cheese sandwich when I was sick. And she’d cut them in weird ways. Let me eat them in bed while she told some story she made up on the spot.”

“Well, m’no storyteller. But I can make a grilled cheese. Probably not as good as your mom's though.”

“No,” Eddie agrees, the smallest smile tugging at his lips as he looks up. “She had a secret ingredient she never told me.”

“Bet it was love.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose, shaking his head, “That’s lame.”

“Yeah, it is. She wouldn’t have had a lame secret ingredient.”

“She was the best,” Eddie sighs, closing his eyes for a moment before they flutter open again. This time he wiggles out of Steve’s embrace and moves his head back to his pillow before grimacing at the wet stain left behind on Steve’s sweater. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Eds. S’just a sweater.”

“I know. I just…” he groans and rubs circles over his eyes with his fists. “I always miss her more when m’sick.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says, pulling at him until Eddie’s back on his chest and his hand is back in his curls. “You can tell me about her, you know? Whenever you want. I like hearing you talk about her.”

“Maybe when my throat doesn’t burn like Satan’s living room.”

Steve laughs.

There’s his boy.

“You know, that medicine over there might help with that,” Steve teases, gesturing to the untouched medicine.

Eddie wrinkles his nose in disgust, shaking his head.

“Alright, you big baby,” Steve chuckles. “Why don’t you get some sleep then?”

“Will you stay?” Eddie asks, already fighting sleep judging by his fluttering eyelashes.

“Course I’ll stay,” he whispers. “I’ll even make you a grilled cheese when you wake up.”

“Full of love?”

“Yeah, Eds. Full of love.”