#Another one for my never ending to-do list

[omgfloofy]

Let's just answer the whole damn list.

1: How many fics have you worked on since January?

I've got the ever present dal segno al coda that I've always been working on this year. However, in May, I came up with the concepts that turned into The Insurgent King and this has kind of taken over EVERYTHING in my mind.

I also got a couple of Ys fics out, a pretty dark story for Van Arkride, and a couple of one shot stories for FFXV.

2: What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

👏 MAFIA 👏 ADJACENT 👏

Insurgent King has been SO MUCH FUN because it's really delving a lot into the dark underbelly of stuff. I also got to use my AP style from Endless History in a fic with The King's Interview in that series.

But in general, writing has been amazingly therapeutic for me. It was something I started after my mom's death in 2022 as a bit of personal therapy. I think having time to be in make believe worlds writing fantasy and adventure when it sometimes feels like my world is falling apart has helped me more than you can believe.

Additionally, an upcoming story that I've been planning for Insurgent King is straight up a heist story, ala Oceans 11 and so forth. I've never done something like this before and it has been the craziest thing I've had to plan. And it's the one story that doesn't have a shit ton of stuff already written for it, since the heist needs to be so carefully put together.

I'm SO excited for that story to finally get released. I can't wait for people to read it because it's been so much fun to plan.

3: What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

Final Fantasy XV seems to be the game to keep on giving me a lot of inspiration for ideas. However, I've been finding inspiration for my stories in so many things all over the place.

Trails Through Daybreak has served as much of a supportive 'vibe check' for Insurgent King, as an example. Watching through Tower of God's S2 anime has reminded me of how COOL that comic is and since I've started writing, I've started finding a whole new appreciation for fiction and other stories all over the place. The biggest influence this year, though, has been from old TV shows ala Lost and Stargate, both of which have been an immense inspiration for the storytelling method behind Insurgent King. Look at it like a serialized TV series and the way I'm writing it will probably make a lot more sense.

4: How many fandoms did you write for this year?

For things published, three: Final Fantasy XV, Ys, and Trails.

For things that are still in my WIPs bin? Lost Universe, No Man's Sky, and Helldivers.

5: What ships captured your heart?

I adore Lunoct - but I fully understand that my bias comes from working on dal segno al coda, which is kind of my baby. I can't wait to start releasing it, because Noctis and Lunafreya are the quintessential power couple in it, and fate does not want them together because of the shit they can do when united in it.

6: What characters captured your heart?

I know this was from something I released last year, but it was at the very end of the year, and it still carried over through this year: Anemona from Ys IX. I would not have written anything for her if it wasn't for the Yuletide exchange.

I've also found myself loving the hell out of writing Gladio in my FFXV fics. He's started to become one of the easiest characters for me to write, even.

Also, writing in the point of view of Regis in The King's Gambit. I want to write something that's far more enjoyable for him than the ball of anxiety he was in that fic. Shit was going poorly and he had to change everything to make it go less poorly in that story. I just want something with him being happy.

7: Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

I hadn't written/released anything for the Trails series, strangely enough, until I wrote Cannot Deny His Sleepless Eyes. I have another fic that I've been dabbling with that's Trails from Zero/Trails to Azure, but I'm not far enough to really call anything for it.

8: What fic meant the most to you to write?

The Cordelia Manifest.

This was the first fic of the Insurgent King series. Think of it like the pilot for a TV series. I wrote it based on vibes I got while listening to music from Bubblegum Crisis. While doing so, I realized that I love this setting a LOT and really needed to delve into it more and explain out how Insomnia fell and Noctis became a king of the criminal underworld in it.

9. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

Lost and Found.

This was my fic in the FFXV Remix event that happened earlier this year. I had so much fun reading a fic called The new guy by MiraNjell and chose it for my remix fic.

A lot of this was pulled from my own personal experiences from getting a new puppy this year.

10: What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

The Insurgent King.

In this case, not the series, but the fic named for the series. This is my longest published fic on AO3, and I felt so proud of actually getting it done.

11: What fic was the most difficult to write?

ad astra is one of my FFXV wips. I've come and go with it several times, but since it delves very hard into concepts that are "beyond human understanding" and kind of delves a bit into cosmic horror… it's easily one of the most difficult projects ahead of me. I want to read more cosmic/eldritch horror before I try to write more of it, and I really want to become a much better writer to do this concept justice.

With what I released, it would be Cannot Deny His Sleepless Eyes. I've never written whump before and this was somewhat uncomfortable as it has a lot of heavily implied child abuse. It's only 400'ish words, but I didn't want to expand on it any further.

12: What fic was the easiest to write?

Infiltration! I just sat on the ending for ages, and then decided "boom" and knocked that shit out in a couple of hours. A lot of Noctis and Prompto's interactions remind me very much of the same kind of 'two friends who lose all brain cells when together' friendship that I have with my best friend.

In fact, the "be quiet" aspect of Infiltration was actually based on a real bet with my best friend from years and years ago.

13: What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

Shortest: Cannot Deny His Sleepless Eyes - 414 words

Longest: The Insurgent King (story, not series.) - 62,638

14: What were your go-to writing songs?

I made a whole ass playlist for Insurgent King.

15: What was the hardest fic to title?

Filed Away. I still am not 100% happy with the title.

16: What's your favorite title of the year?

There's an upcoming story in my Insurgent King series called A Field of Flowers. I love everything about this title. I can't wait for people to see just why it's an amazing title, too.

17: Share your favorite opening line

Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring. Click. "Fisherman's Lighthouse." "Good… [afternoon], this is an automated call from Concordo Shipping. Your freight parcel has been scanned in at… [Pier Lots Warehouse] and will be ready for pick up in… [forty-eight hours]. Failure to pick up your parcel… [one week] after its release will see that your parcel is forfe–" Click.

The above is the opening from Observator, one of the side stories in Insurgent King. I love it because I think you can hear the automated voice on the line.

18: Share your favorite ending line

Voices echoed through Regis' quickly fading consciousness. He saw the flash of blue, glimmering magic in front of him. He couldn't make out the words from the woman's voice — it sounded as if he was under water. He had no time. He held his left hand up to her. He needed the ring to be noticed immediately. "Take it." His strength faded fast. "Take it to…" But Regis Lucis Caelum never got out that last word before he died on the steps of the Citadel.

The above is the ending (before the super short epilogue) of The King's Gambit, the third story of the Insurgent King series. Regis' death is a catalyst to everything in the series, and I wanted the story that was in his POV to end abruptly as he died. There would be no more 'voice' for the POV any longer, afterall.

19: Share your favorite piece of dialogue

"It's not home." Noct said as he crossed the room and started to poke through the bag. It's dinner, but instead of commenting on the food, he mused out loud, "I'm surprised, though. Ignis is usually super critical when I'm too lax about hiding my identity." "You could make it easier and introduce me to them as your cousin Gladio Gar." "No." Noct stopped, then looked up. He sounded a lot sharper than he initially intended, but continued with it, "Don't. That's my thing." Gladio leaned back with a smug grin. The chair groaned in protest at the large man's weight from the action. "Yeah, I know." He paused for a second, just for the timing of it. "It shouldn't be." "I have a good cover here." Noct mumbled as he dropped into his own chair and opened the box to look through the food. It was a burger — he was surprised it wasn't Cup Noodles. "It's about as great as a baseball cap." "It works!" Noct grabbed a fry out of the box and threw it at Gladio. He laughed as it only bounced harmlessly off his head.

The above is from A Part to Play, one of my Twilight extra stories that's still in WIP format. I have to be extremely careful with this one because it has some very technical stuff to describe and I need to take my time. It should be out soon, though.

19: Share your funniest line

This time, the roles were switched. Luna took hold of Noctis' wrist and walked ahead to lead him, instead. "What's the worst he could do to us?" "To you." Noctis didn't fight being pulled along. "He wouldn't do anything to you." A beat. "He'd just kick my ass in our next training session." "If he's kicking your ass," It was so weird to hear Luna repeat his own words. She always knew what to say and the perfect way to say it, when Noctis felt he fell short in that skillset. Luna quickly glanced back to say, "Then you just need to…" She paused, as she seemed to search for the words, then continued, "get good and show him what for." Noctis thought, at first, that he must have not heard her right. The words and Luna's voice just didn't sound right together. After running that over in his head again, he finally laughed. "I'm sorry. Who are you and what did you do with Lunafreya?"

This is from Date Night, my little 'preview fic' for Noctis and Lunafreya in dal segno al coda.

This fic is a single night of events that just didn't fit in the full narrative of the main story and is Noctis and Lunafreya having an evening out together in Insomnia. (takes place during part 2)

I really have a lot of fun with Noct and Luna in segno. I know I said it before, but I'll say it again: I really can't wait to get comfortable enough to start posting it, because I want people to really have fun with what the two are capable of in that story.

As I said before, they are very much a power couple in dal segno al coda, except there are points here and there when Noctis and Lunafreya just have the chance to be the people they could never otherwise be.

20: What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

I would go as far as to say that the sudden idea behind Solus popping into my head was a big surprise. It doesn't change the overall story of the Insurgent King, but it does add more to it, I feel.

There's also a contender for biggest 'surprise' that came about from writing part 2 of segno. This wasn't this year - I think I wrote the scene last year, even - but I'm still trying to contend with it. I feel like I have to fight over 'how far is too far' with the idea.

It changed a LOT of segno and triggered a lot of rewrites, as well. However, it was very much a case of 'Lunafreya wants what she wants, and it's not necessarily what the author originally wanted.' LOL

21: What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

I started using Google Drive, but I was introduced to Ellipsus this year and I love it so much. So I've started migrating my works to it.

While it's not the main parts of the story themselves, I have a plnner for dal segno al coda, that I use to keep track of dates in it and what happens around said dates.

I also have been carrying a tiny composition book in my purse to use when I get ideas while away from home.

22: If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

I would actually put that towards The King's Interview and when I looked at the finished product on AO3. Not so much the writing part of it, but the design work and workskin editing. Since I have a web development background, I really love playing with AO3 workskins and think they can be a very powerful tool in storytelling.

That header image was made from two different stock images, and intended to illustrate the interview, as you would see on a news site or newspaper.

I also did something like it for the Epilogue for The King's Gambit. I made a faux newspaper front page in InDesign, complete with making a believable printed halftone look of the front of the Citadel. There's so much more of that layout than what I showed.

I've also got a story that's doing something like this further down the line in segno - so I may have just lifted that idea from there. segno's 'front page' is a little more complete than this one, however. Complete with extra fake headlines and snippets of other articles and stuff.

23: Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

Not necessarily. I think the only real time to celebrate finishing one would be when I finished The Insurgent King - the story, not the series it's named after. This is probably due to the nature of the series, though, since I was immediately in my files and making notes of where to go with the next story and what had to be revealed in it (as well as what I can't reveal yet).

24: How did you recharge between fics?

I might just pull up a game and play a bit. Nothing too fancy.

25: Did you create fanworks other than fic?

Not really, no.

26: How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

Just one, really. It was the @ffxvremix. I wrote Lost and Found for it.

27: If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

I'd thank, of course, @firefallvaruna for being my amazing beta reader. I'd also thank @snifftheraven. He's been the best sounding board for a lot of my ideas. He's also super honest and tells me when my ideas are too much, or if I have gone down a path that I probably wouldn't want to take.

28: What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

Sadly, my to-do list included getting part 1 of segno done. Then I got sideswiped by a whole new AU called The Insurgent King. Which is on point for that AU's version of Noctis.

I might celebrate the end of the year by working on segno a bit more and maybe pushing that 75-80% completion a little closer to 100%.

29: What would you like to write next year?

Getting segno's part 1 done and started to AO3 is definitely on my planned list for next year. I'm also continuing onward into Insurgent King.

I know the ending to both series. I should be able to make it.

A slightly revised version of last year's questions! Two ways to play: Reblog and have your followers send you numbers, or answer the whole list!

How many fics have you worked on since January?

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.)

How many fandoms did you write for this year?

What ships captured your heart?

What characters captured your heart?

Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

What fic was the most difficult to write?

What fic was the easiest to write?

What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

What were your go-to writing songs?

What was the hardest fic to title?

What's your favorite title of the year?

Share your favorite opening line

Share your favorite ending line

Share your favorite piece of dialogue

Share your funniest line

What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

How did you recharge between fics?

Did you create fanworks other than fic?

How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

What would you like to write next year?

[yieldtotemptation]

WISH ft. Giselle

giselle x male reader smut

8k words

"It's a Christmas miracle!" —is how Giselle chooses to make her grand entrance, swinging open the door to your bar, a fresh powder of snow dusting her shoulders. She shrugs it off. "My favourite person in all of Seoul."

You deadpan, "That's very concerning."

She laughs off your quip with the same ease that she does everything else. Sways her hips, saunters over to you, fire engine-red heels clacking against wood as she rushes to take her usual stool. Not like she'd have to fight anyone for it, there's no one else here.

Besides, even if there were—it's always been hers.

You're sliding over her drink before she can even open her mouth to order, because that's what you do for her. Anticipate. Your job in a nutshell, really. Knowing what she wants.

Her thanks is in the blush colouring her cheeks, flushing them a rosy pink, matching her hair in hue.

Just so immediately pretty.

She raises the drink, grinning at you through the glass. Gets a little too dramatic with her gasp.

"Exactly what I wished for! How did you know?"

"Made a list, checked it twice."

That earns you a giggle, has Giselle leaning forward, propping an elbow on the bar, chin in her palm. Her usual routine—just sitting there, all stunning and flirty and really, really fucking out of place amongst the dim lighting and worn-out leather.

And yeah, you’ve committed it all to memory, seen it in every light and shadow; the smoky liner ringing around her eyes, the gloss that makes her lips look shiny and sweet and oh so soft. The absolutely devastating smile that never seems to leave her—only gets wider, warmer, parting when she laughs and slaps a hand on the table, or lands it on your forearm.

Accidentally, of course.

"Does that mean I get to sit on your lap later?"

It’s a touch early for her to throw out bait so blatantly. That’s more of a three-drinks-in kind of thing.

Still, your mouth answers for you before your brain can catch up, “Depends if you've been naughty or nice.”

“I think we both know the answer to that one,” she says, far too casually for you to handle, daring you to let that thought linger. Let it rattle around your head with all the other loaded thoughts involving her in various states of undress and in all sorts of compromising positions—underneath, on-top, kneeling. Thoughts that are better kept on a tight leash.

Because you know what would happen if you were to give in to them.

How you’d reach over the bar separating the two of you, pull her onto the counter. Send all the glasses, the bottles, crashing to the floor, and just kiss that smile right of her face, right here, right now. Tear off her clothes and leave her bare and exposed to the cold December air, make her yours, fuck her absolutely senseless. Render her nothing but a victim to your fingers, your lips, your cock, to all the need that’s been boiling inside you over the past months and—fuck.

She's got you good.

There's no point in pretending like it hasn't been this way since the first time she found you—at the end of an alley that's at the end of another alley, down the stairs and into the underground proper. Waltzing her way into the hovel that is your whiskey bar; all for reasons that you’re yet to fully untangle.

Months of performing this same dance—it's late, she walks in, typically perfect and bouncy, like some half-remembered fantasy or a libido-driven hallucination. Only, she must be real, because there’s no way you could ever conjure up someone like her.

It's embarrassing, you really should be far more used to it now, built up at least a partial immunity to her brand of charm. But somehow, she still finds a way under your skin. You’re only human, after all. And she’s… she’s Giselle.

Undeniably, in-your-face gorgeous, Giselle.

Dead-set and determined to throw herself at you until you break.  

"Perfect," is her evaluation when she's taken her first sip. It plays out like it’s been choreographed: she licks her lips, flashes that million-dollar smile, lets loose a sigh of pure contentment. Looks at you all wide-eyed and impressed; like you're the only person in the world who's ever given her exactly what she wants. Like she doesn't already live in a reality where everyone else falls flat on their faces to ensure that the needs of Aeri Uchinaga are met. “Always perfect.”

And you have your own steps to follow. Yeah, you're watching the pulse in the curve of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders, the naked collarbone when she shirks off her coat to reveal tits that are much too ample for her dress to contain. All these little things that make her so fucking distracting.

She says, surreptitiously, "You know, I didn't think you'd be open today."

"And yet you came anyway."

"And yet I did."

There's the loaded insinuation stacked on top of her words like a teasing question mark:

('I came looking for you.'

'I was waiting.')

"Like I said, a Christmas miracle," Giselle repeats, softly this time. Barely audible over the Christmas tunes you’ve got on a loop, some self-inflicted torture you’re wreaking on yourself for purposes unknown. Maybe to get into the spirit of things. Maybe to keep the silence at bay. Maybe to make Giselle's efforts feel less effective.

It doesn't work.

It does, however, have you leaning in just to hear her better, and that's a mistake right there. Getting too close that you can follow the lines of the dress she's picked out for the night. A sheer black, strapless number that hugs her figure close, dipping at her chest, giving you just enough of a glimpse to send the alarm bells ringing.

Ending short of the tops of her thighs, because of course she's wearing stockings, and of course they have tiny little bows holding them up, and you're already thinking about how easy it would be to get your teeth in them and pull them apart, and the walls are starting to feel closer and closer with each passing second.

But you don't say anything. You just try to remember to breathe. You chance a look back at her face, aiming for unaffected.

Her eyes instantly undo you.

Giselle uncrosses and crosses her legs. The stockings stretch.

"Like what you see?"

Now seems like an optimal time to pour yourself a drink. Something strong to fortify the weakness in your knees, to maybe bolster the resolve that's threatening to crack like the ice frosting over the windows outside.

You grab a glass, pour a good measure of whiskey and throw it back without even bothering with the usual ritual. You need it. The burn is a good distraction.

You turn her question back on her. Shame on her for asking something so obvious. "What do you think?"

"I think," Giselle smiles, tilts her head, that curtain of bubblegum-pink cascading over her collarbone and down onto the bar, "That it appears that all the effort I put getting into this tight fucking dress was worth it."

You're unable to stop yourself from saying, "Don’t need the dress if that was the intention." It slips out of you, like an idiot, and you decide to busy yourself by pouring two more drinks, because you really don't know what the fuck else to do at this point.

“Duly noted,” she says, likely adding it to some mental file she keeps on you. Ways to get you to drop your guard. Ways to get under your skin. “But don’t you think unwrapping presents are half the fun?”

You’re rolling your eyes, it’s too much, but Giselle’s too good at this whole thing. Got the two of you sliding deep into the easy rhythm of conversation you've found yourselves in many, many times before; when it's just you and her in the waning hours of the night and you're finding excuses not to close up and she's finding excuses to stay.

And the drinks just compound on it even more. All the alcohol really seems to do is blunt her filter and dull your better instincts, bringing you both to that tipsy point where everything that comes out of your mouths can’t help but sound like shameless innuendos; all terrible ideas that you both absolutely must indulge in.

Talking and flirting and drinking until you’re finally crossing that invisible line drawn over the counter of your bar, forgetting about that ethereal wall of separation that keeps you on the straight and narrow; that would normally stop you from doing things like reaching over and brushing a strand of pink out of her face and over her ear.

You keep your hand there, your thumb padding the soft skin of her cheek. She leans into your palm.

“So,” she says, and it’s accompanied by the kind of pause that holds a whole universe of possibility. She takes a sip of her third drink of the night, her eyes fixated on you, studying the lines on your face. Trying to find the cracks.

“So.”

“Why haven’t you made a move on me?”

She might as well have gathered snow from outside your door and thrown it right at your face. You blink, the warmth of the whiskey in your cheeks fading fast. “Very confident of you to think that I would want to.”

“Don’t dodge,” she chides. “We both know you didn’t open tonight for the amazing business rush. So. Spill. Why?"

You’re about to spout off an excuse—something about a Hippocratic oath, or bartender-customer privilege, but Giselle cuts your lie short before it can even leave your throat.

“You’ve been staring at me like you want to eat me alive every night I’ve been here, and you expect me to believe you’re not interested?” Giselle leans closer, her breath warm on your hand. Her eyes piercing through, stripping away every defence you’ve ever had. “You’re barely hiding it you know? How badly you want me.”

There’s an implicit challenge underneath her words. You get the message loud and clear:

Don’t you know how badly I want you too?

"It's—" you start, before course correcting when you catch the smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. You swirl the whiskey around in your own glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light and dance. "Complicated."

"Oh really?" Giselle's eyes light up at that, and you're beginning to feel like you're falling into some trap she's set up. It just hasn’t revealed itself to you yet. "I like complicated. I live off complicated."

"I'll bet," you reply, not missing the fact that she's now taken your hand into hers, threading her fingers through yours. "Probably why you're here so often."

Giselle clicks her tongue, runs it across her lips. You'd die for a taste. "I thought I asked you to stop dodging. But, if you really want to know, I come here because I like the company," she explains, before ending her thought with, "and the attention."

"Because being an idol doesn't give you enough?"

"Not in the way I want it."

"And I do?"

"Not yet," she says, with an air of finality. "But give it time."

The silence stretches between you, thick with the weight of the unspoken. The air in the bar feels charged, like the moment before a storm hits. You're reading her, acutely aware of the things running through her mind, because you can see it in her eyes, because they're the exact same thoughts that’s never left yours.

You want her.

You need her.

She’ll give herself to you.

Giselle’s the first to break the pause. “Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

The corners of eyes crinkle ever so slightly, and that's about where you realise your fate's been sealed from the start. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. You’re aching already. "What I really want for Christmas."

You don't need a map to know where this is headed. But you still ask anyway. "And what is that?"

"You."

You set down your glass with a clink. "Look, Giselle—"

"Let me finish," she interrupts, and now her hand's sliding up your arm, leaving a trail of static wherever she touches. "For Christmas this year, all I want is for you to do whatever you want to me."

A second attempt, "Giselle—"

"I know you want to. You know I want you to. We've danced around this for too long and I'm running out of ways to subtly tell you that if I don’t get my hands on that perfect cock that I know you're hiding, I just might burn this place to the ground. So," she says carefully, intentionally. Making sure you feel each word coursing through your every nerve ending, winding their way down to your cock, until you’re throbbing in your pants.

Giselle bats her eyelashes. Bites her lip. Leans even closer. Her tits get very close to winning the war against her dress.

"Don't you want to make my Christmas wish come true?"

You never stood a chance. "I do quite like my bar in one piece."

"I do too." Giselle's smile turns devilish. “But I like the idea of having your cum inside me more.”

"Then we better get you out of your clothes."

Only, a slight amendment.

"But keep the stockings on."

—

Giselle kisses you like a woman starved. Messy, sloppy crashes that has her nose bumping into yours and her teeth finding purchase in your lip. She seems determined to leave her mark. You’re more than happy to let her.

It’s a far cry from what you’re used to—the build-up, the slow crescendo where you both pretend that you don’t immediately want to jump to the inevitable—but Giselle clearly doesn’t give a fuck about any of that.

The moment you’ve dragged her over the bar, fulfilled your fantasy and cleared the countertop so the only thing standing between you and her body is the crumpled mess of her dress, she's on you. Moaning, whining into your mouth, desperate. Tongue hunting down yours, pressing into it, trying to wrestle it into submission.

Taking your cheeks into her hands, holding firm, the only thing keeping her steady as you match her hunger, heat against heat. Her taste is everything you've ever wanted—sweet and sharp, like the whiskey burning through your veins, warming you from the inside out.

"God, I needed this," she whispers in the breaths between your kisses, as your hands get adventurous and run down the length of her spine, pulling her closer into you.

You make good on your promise, finding the zip, peeling it down, leaving the fabric to sag off her shoulders. Her skin is cold underneath your fingertips, the curve of her back breaking out in goosebumps. Your touch makes her arch, her back bow, her breasts push up against her dress until it can't hang on any longer and the whole thing pools around her waist.

“Merry Christmas to me,” comes tumbling out of your mouth when you finally get to appreciate Giselle.

The full, round tits, naked and begging for your hands. The smooth curve of her waist, the dip of her stomach. The way her hips flare out, giving way to thighs that you know, just know, will be the perfect grip. And the stockings. Holding up the suspension of your disbelief—she’s so ridiculously out of your league and yet so, so needy for you.

“Fucking gorgeous, Giselle,” you’re telling her, making her sigh, her eyes closing shut as you reach out to fill your hand with her chest. Your touch makes her nipples pebble, stiffen underneath your thumb. She leans back, pushing her chest out even more, giving you as much of herself as she can for you to touch, to tweak, to worship.

And she’s so much smaller than you, so much softer than you’ve ever allowed yourself to believe. The reality of her in your arms is far more intense than any fantasy you’ve ever concocted in the quiet of the night after she’s long gone and left you with nothing but her memory. But she’s giving herself to you now, wanting you to do it all.

Letting you push into her, kiss the skin between her neck and her clavicle, press into her a brand that will linger long after you’ve both unwinded and unraveled each other.

“Just like that,” Giselle whispers in your ear, hands finding your neck, needing you even closer still. “Don’t stop, just keep touching me. You can do whatever you want—tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just don’t stop.”

Nothing else to do but oblige, to give in to your baser instincts, to bring every fantasy, every lurid thought to life. Giselle’s been living in your mind rent-free. Filled it with thoughts of fucking her into oblivion again and again—so you already know exactly where to go, what to do next.

You know to trace the edge of her stocking with your thumb, pressing down on the bow, watching as the skin around it flushes from your touch.

You know to drag your hand up, higher up her thighs, push the hem of her dress to her waist, slip under the elastic of her panties and hold itself there. Leave her trembling in anticipation of your touch.

“Please,” you’ve barely started and she’s already begging, breathless. Needing for you to explore her.

But first, you need to tell her how.

“I’m going to touch you,” you say, voice gruff, and she shudders, her hands tightening around your neck. “I’m going to get my fingers into your cunt, I’m going to squeeze your tits, I’m going to make you scream my name, and you will, because you’re going to be such a good girl for me. Understood?”

Her eyes flash open, meeting yours. Not an ounce of doubt. Just pure need.

“Yes,” she says. A single word that’s more a plea than a response. “Please. Do whatever you want. Make me feel good.”

She just about collapses when you yank her panties down and push your hands between her thighs.

“God—fuck—” and she’s sobbing already.

“You’re so drenched,” you’re remarking, sliding your fingers higher, feeling the wetness that’s been gathering there for who knows how long.

“For you,” she’s gasping, repeating herself, “For you.”

It’s so easy to find the heat of her, to push in and down on the top her mound. Give just the right amount of pressure on her clit that makes her jerk. Makes the muscles in her face twitch, her mouth open wide and moan. It’s a melody in your ears, and you press down harder, swirling now, and you’re beginning to think you’ve found your true calling.

Fuck making her drinks; making her fall apart is why you were put on this planet in the first place.

Her breasts jiggle with every tremble that runs through her, flickering in reach of you, taunting you with their bounce. You can’t help but lean down. Not when they’re calling to you like that.

You lick a path from the base of her neck to her collarbone, and then lower, to one of those perfect peaks that’s been begging for your attention.

Giselle inhales sharp through her teeth, her chest heaving as you start to suck on her nipple. You work your tongue around it, roll it in your mouth until her knuckles turn white against the edge of the bar, her nails digging into surface. The sounds she’s making, these choked gasps that are so raw, so needy.

Showing how good she feels with every part of her body—pushing her breasts up and into your face, her hands tangling in your hair, legs spreading wider, thighs shaking at the effort of staying upright.

You don’t let up, keep going—tongue swirling, fingers moving at double-time over her cunt, her other tit.

Listening to her turn your name into something filthy, something that sounds like a curse.

You pull back off her, cool air kissing the wetness you leave behind, making her quiver, her high, fuck-me heels knocking against wood.

“Giselle,” you say, taking in this look of bliss on her face. The teary eyes, the trembling lip, her cheeks now so very red. “Gonna make you cum now.”

You don’t wait for permission. You already have it. You step forward, lifting her legs up and trapping her atop the bar, spreading her wide open.

Two fingers at first, all at once, no hesitation. Giselle’s pupils blow wide, shocked, teeth bite down on her bottom lip, muffling a cry that you feel in the pit of your stomach. She’s so soaked that you slide right in with ease, a slow push that makes her whine, the slickness making the sounds of your fucking echo over the din of the empty bar.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Giselle stutters, all breathy and desperate. Hands flying to your shoulders, nails digging in. Holding on for dear life, writhing as your fingers curl upwards, pushing up against that magical spot inside that has her clenching.

“Such a good girl,” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth like they’ve always been there, just waiting for her to hear them.

The whimper that she makes—the noise alone should be illegal.

“So tight around me,” you tell her, pushing on, focusing entirely on pulling more of these noises from her, doing your best to ignore how hard you already are, how unbearable it is to not be inside her. “So good for me.”

It’s the praise that makes her keen, makes her whine. Pushes herself onto your fingers, trying to get more, trying to get all of you. Just so fucking hot for you.

You can see it playing out across her body, the way she’s losing herself to the pleasure, giving up control of her own functions to you.  So helpless, so beautiful. So fucking delighted to finally have you using her in ways she’s only dreamt of.

You’ve never seen anything like it. You’re addicted before you’ve even had her.

“This cunt is going to feel so good around my cock.”

Giselle's nodding, slurring together a string of yeses and thank yous in response.

Her pussy’s pulsing around your fingers, juices soaking your hand, she’s already so close. So close that you can almost taste the orgasm on her skin.

“You want it so fucking bad, don’t you, Giselle? Want me to fuck you senseless.”

Her eyes are glazed over, barely there. Just stunningly beautiful even in the midst of her desire, and you’re not even sure she’s heard you at all until she’s panting out, “I want it. Need it. So much. Oh, God, please, fuck me with your cock. Make me cum. Make me scream.”

But you get in close, lips to her cheek, a command for only her to hear. “You’re going to cum all over my hand. You’re going to show me how badly you want it. Understand?”

“Yes—yes, please—” is the most she can manage, a harsh whisper that barely gets through. You feel it more than hear it, a shiver running through her, down her spine and up yours. “Do it. Give me more, I need it.”

She’s nothing short of incredible. Writhing under your touch, losing herself to your fingers—there’s never been anything—anyone—like this. Anyone that runs this hot,  that pleads this much, that is so eager for nothing but you, as much of you as you can give.

There’s no excuse for why it's taken so long to get here, why you let every other opportunity skate by. But now’s not the time for regrets. This is all just catch-up. Getting to this moment that’s been burning a hole in your mind. Making up for all the times when you should’ve been bringing her to her knees, should've been marking her up as yours.

“Mine,” you’re claiming, taking her lips once more, feeling the tremble in her chin. “You’re going to be mine, aren’t you?”

“Yours,” her voice quavers back into your mouth.

She kisses you back like she’s drowning, like you’re the very air she needs to breathe. And it’s all you can do to finger-fuck her faster, pressing deeper into her wetness. It’s filthy, borderline disrespectful the way that you’re owning her now. But it’s all necessary, if that’s what it’s going to take to get to feel her shatter in your arms.

But just as you can feel her hips bucking up off the counter and into your wrist, as she’s about to tip over the edge, you pull back, breaking the kiss, leaving her choking for air.

“Look at me,” you tell her, forcing her glassy eyes to refocus, to snap to yours. “I’m going to make you feel so good. You’re going to cum so hard for me. You’re going to look at me when you do.”

Giselle opens her mouth answer, but all that comes out is a whiny mewl when you slide your other hand from her tits to the back of her neck, pulling her into you, hard enough that you can feel her pulse drumming against your palm.

“That’s it, such a good girl,” you say to her, adorning her with all these sweet words that absolutely wreck her. And it’s so easy to because all of them fit. Your good girl, your slut, your baby, your whore. She deserves to hear them all. “Take it, take it all for me.”

“Fuck, please, I’m almost—” She tries and fails to put the syllables together—your fingers are too good, too precise in their frenzy. Playing her body, hitting every key, every beat, rushing to that final chorus.

And then it hits her, without warning, just a sigh and then she’s—

“I'm—I'm—cumming!”

Eyes trying to stay on yours, losing focus, turning wild, until she’s barely even there anymore.

Giselle cums.

Locking her in place, rippling across her body. Every muscle tensing, cunt quivering, hips lifting off the bar as her juices paint your hand.

“Thank you, thank you, fucking thank you—"

Her voice dies out, trapped in her throat, her words becoming nonsense as your fingers have her riding waves. You’re utterly transfixed, watching the orgasm rip across her face, melting her down to a messy puddle. Barely hanging on to you, mouth lolling open, eyes screwed shut, breaths coming in sharp and fast.

She’s limbless, her body goes slack, and you debate giving her the space, or even just a second to catch her breath, to come back to reality.

But you just don’t.

You don’t stop moving, don’t stop working her, because something tells you that the last thing she’d want is for you to stop. Something tells you that she’s one of those girls—the ones who love to chase the high. Who love to be pushed, who love to be told that they’re doing so well, that they’re perfect.

And Giselle is.

“Again,” you press into her neck, and she gives you the closest approximation to a nod that she can muster. “Again and again, I’ll make you cum until you can’t walk straight. Until you forget what it was ever like to not have my cock inside you.”

The nods come faster, insistent, following a whine as your fingers slide out of her cunt, all sticky with her juices. You bring it up to her, hold it in front of her face so she can see the mess she’s made of your hand.

Her breath hitches when she opens her eyes, catching sight of your glistening digits. You don’t even need to prompt her; she takes the initiative—she’s sucking your fingers without a second thought.

Moans when she tastes herself, sucking them clean, tongue flicking across your knuckles, pulling them into her mouth, relishing her own flavour.

“So fucking needy for it, aren’t you?”

You withdraw your fingers, enjoying the cry of protest at the loss, but you’ve got better plans for her. Pressing a kiss to her temple, before backing off completely, leaving Giselle empty, her legs wobbly.

You're quick to lose your clothes, stripping yourself off without much ceremony, tossing them aside with little care for where they end up.

And yet Giselle’s eyes rake over you, following your every move—she’s seen you before, you’ve caught her staring at your arms, your biceps, making no secret of assaulting you with her gaze at any chance she can get.

But now it’s the unbuckling of your belt, the vanishing of your jeans, the reveal of your cock. Springing free, hard and heavy.

Giselle wants it. Mouth salivating, pussy leaking at the sight of it. Oh, how she wants it.

It gives her energy, has her reaching out for a touch, a stroke. But you stop her, gently taking her wrist into your hand before she can make her Christmas wish come true.

She even has the audacity to pout. “Haven’t I been good?”

“Good?” You repeat, and you’re laughing. “You’ve been downright angelic.”

The pout quirks into a smirk, and there’s that familiar mischievous spark returning. “Then don't I deserve a little reward?” Giselle’s fingers go to her folds, spreading them apart. Putting her cunt on display, proud to show off how ready she is to be filled. “Like that big, beautiful cock of yours in my perfect little pussy?”

You don’t bother with the usual finesse, there’s no need for that. This doesn’t land anywhere on the normal spectrum of casual hook-ups to making love. This is about fucking. About need, raw and unfiltered.

“So, would you please—"

You’re yanking her by the waist before she can get started, lifting her off the bar and setting her down in front of you. There’s that thrill rushing through her, at being so easily handled, so effortlessly claimed.

She’s panting, breaths fogging up the air between you, waiting for your instruction.

“Get rid of the dress.”

Her compliance is instant—she steps out of her outfit, her panties. Until she’s just standing before you; the charm, the sex appeal, the big beautiful eyes all in view, so full of hope and desperation for the special kind of bliss only you can provide her.

Just Giselle, her fucking gift of a body in a pair of tight black stockings and high stiletto heels.

“Now,” you say, tilting your hips forward, your cock jabbing into her stomach, pressing a stamp of need into her skin. Giselle preens at the contact, practically vibrating at your touch. One more thing— “Beg.”

“Fuck me,” she says. Simply, honestly. With every ounce of her soul. “Fuck me good. Take me. Please. I need it. I need to feel you inside me. I’ve been dreaming of this, of you fucking me just like this, so—please, make it real.”

“Begging’s a good look on you, Giselle,” you murmur, finishing the rest of the thought in your head. ‘You're going to be doing a lot more of it tonight.’

She yelps when you flip her over, force her to brace herself against the bar. Her lovely ass high up in the air, her pussy drooling onto the floor.

You don't bother warning her.

You stuff your cock into her.

She fucking screams.

So wet, so slippery. Sliding in and out of her, forcing her cunt to mould itself too you. So fucking tight that you have to bite back a groan, have to fight the urge to just pound into her, to fuck her into the counter.

But there's still a pace you're setting, a rhythm that’s not quite as frantic as her needy cries. You’re in no hurry, not yet. You want to savour this. The feel of her clenching around you, the way her back arches with every thrust, her palms slapping against the bar top, leaving little smudges of sweat behind.

“God, this—” Giselle tries, but finds herself lost for words, unable to properly articulate just how good it feels to have you inside her. But the noises she makes—whimpers and gasps and moans and groans—speak volumes.

You complete the thought for her— “You fucking love this, don’t you?” You’re grunting, pressing your body to hers, nipping at her ear. Slurring these dirty thoughts like they're sweet nothings, these words of pure filth into her neck. “Love being fucked like this. Been waiting for it for so long. So goddamn desperate for it that you can’t even fucking talk.”

She’s fucking amazing. Not just the feeling—hot and tight and perfect—it’s the way she moves with you. Pure pleasure ricocheting through her, the slap of her ass against your hips, the sway of her tits underneath her, her cunt desperately trying to swallow you whole.

It’s her, her body, so alive and responsive and sensitive underneath yours. Taking your cock so deliciously, her cunt fluttering around like it’s trying to hold onto it, like it’s never going to let go.

“So, so fucking hard,” she’s found her voice, clawing back some level of composure. Enough to tense her cunt, squeeze her walls around you. Needing you to know every inch of her body, every inch of her pussy, needing you to know that it’s all yours for the taking. “God, it feels so good—doesn’t it? Fucking me here. Tell me. Tell me how good I am. Tell me I’m a good girl. Tell me you’re never going to be able to spend another second here without thinking of my pussy.”

You know she’s right, she’s leaving a part of herself here, branded into the very fabric of this bar that’s been your sanctuary. It has you pushing in deeper, a violent thrust of your hips, a little punctuation to drive her point home.

She swallows as you pick up speed, chokes on a half-formed moan—so, so fucking close. But you’ve only just begun.

Grabbing her hair, winding your fist in pink, pulling her up so she's forced to listen. The details on her face are all hazy, her makeups smudged from tears, from where she’s rubbed at her face, trying to keep the pleasure at bay. But that’s not how this goes. That’s not how any of this goes.

“You want to hear how good you’re being for me?” A harsh whisper for her, and it takes so much effort for her to just nod in response. “You want me to tell you all the filthy things I’m thinking? Everything that I’ve been dying to do to you?”

“Yes,” she pleads back. “Tell me, please—I need to hear it all.”

So you do. You lay it all on her. Every unfiltered, explicit thought you’ve had—every depraved fantasy that’s on the tip of your tongue whenever she’s around. You tell her all of it, how much of a whore you’re going to turn her into; how much of a slut you want to make her.

How this isn’t the last time. No, there’s going to be hours, days, weeks of this after.  Of you fucking her here, of her coming to you just to have another taste of your cock. It’s a revelation, a promise, and it fucking ruins her.

“Every single time you've walked into here, every single time you've sat across form me, I've thought about this," you're grunting now, giving in to the urgency that’s been building up in your chest, the pressure that’s been weighing on you for what feels like an eternity. “I’ve thought about bending you over this very bar. Making you beg for it, making you scream out my name when I fuck my cum into you. Making sure every single person out there knows that this cunt is mine to take whenever I fucking want.”

It’s so fucked, the effect that hearing all this has on her. The sound of your voice, your darkest desires, the harshness of your words, it’s all too much for her, it’s everything she’s ever wanted to be told.

You’re unlocking something in her, something she’s never admitted to anyone, not her closest friends, not her bandmates, not even herself. The way you speak to her, the way you’re treating her like a perfect little fuck doll—and you’re realising that maybe, just maybe, it’s because no one’s ever fucked her well enough to find out.

There’s no room here to be gentle, there’s no way in hell she’d ever want you to be. You tighten your grip in your hair, slam into her harder, skin slapping against skin, mixing with the wet sounds of her pussy taking all of you. Each cry you fuck out of her is music, each one a little higher pitched, a little more desperate than the last.

“This is what you want isn’t it?” You’re demanding of her, even when she’s blubbering, barely able to breathe let alone respond. Just trying to hold on.

But you’re not letting her.

You’re taking her to that place that’s beyond words, that’s beyond thought. The place where all she can do is feel and react. And she’s doing that so beautifully, her body shaking, her cunt quivering around your cock. It’s building and building, the things you’re doing to her, saying to her, making her choke on her own spit, making her eyes roll back and her mouth drop open, until all she can repeat, over and over again is your name.

“Again,” she shapes another word, another plea. She’s a total disaster of need. “Please, again, make me cum again.”

“You'll cum when I say you can,” you growl, forcing her to choke on another whine. The strangled noise goes straight to your cock; makes it throb harder inside her, drive deeper into her. You let go of her hair, only to palm her tit, squeezing into the flesh hard. Giselle jolts, a squeal escaping her lips. “But since you’ve been so good, I’ll let you cum before me again. Just this once. Just because it’s Christmas.”

You’re being evil, you know it, she loves it, but it's the best part. She clearly wouldn't want it any other way.

”Yes.” Giselle’s beaming, shivering with excitement. Getting fucked into utter ruins and thanking you for the privilege. “Thank you, use my pussy, do whatever you want, just let me cum.”

That sparks an idea, “Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want,” Giselle pants, not a single idea of what she’s agreeing to. But maybe that's the whole point. “Anything.”

There’s a grin that splits your face that you can’t help, that you don’t bother suppressing. “I’m not going to ask for permission anymore, Giselle. I’m just going to fuck you the way I want. Make you addicted to my cock. Take you how I want, cum in all your holes, fill you up over and over again.”

Giselle’s eyes go wide, nearly stops breathing entirely. So close. Knowing that the next words out of your mouth are going to decimate her completely.

“Gonna make you start the New Year knocked up.”

She freezes.

“God—” Giselle’s a fucking wreck, on the verge of something explosive, something else entirely. “Oh my God.”

She just needs you to give her that push.

“You love it, don’t you? Being made nothing more than a fucking cumdump for me? That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

You’re fucking her too hard, hammering into her too roughly, it’s a wonder that she can even manage a stuttered, “I—I—”

“Fucking say it, Giselle,” you say, “Spit it out.”

It’s too difficult for her to fit the words together, to form her reply, so it means all that more when she manages to tell you. “I want it.”

“Want what?”

“Your cum in me. All of it. Until I’m, until I’m—” She’s there, lost in it, in the idea of you ruining her in such a permanent, irreversible way. Or maybe completing her, making her whole, making her perfect for you and only you.

But you’re so close too. Right fucking behind her. All she has to do is say it.

“Until you breed me. Fill me with your cum, give it to me. I need it. Make me your permanent cocksleeve and never let me go. Make me yours—completely, forever yours. Make me your fucking whore.”

“Good girl.”

And with that, she’s gone.

Hits her like a fucking meteor. Leaping right off the most intense high she’s ever climbed. Bucking and quaking against your bar, your cock still impaled inside her, mercilessly undoing her. It’s nothing short of fucking pornographic, fucking depraved the way it’s destroying her.

Seizing her entire body in pleasure, her nails digging into the wood, scraping up marks that will prove to be a sweet, everlasting reminder of the exact moment she became yours. Fracturing her, breaking her apart into a million tiny pieces and then remaking her all over again as something purely sexual—something that only exists for your satisfaction.

“So fucking good, your cock, God it’s you, just you—” Giselle’s words dissolve into a keening cry that shatters the remaining silence of the bar. “Breeding me so good—”

Nothing short of a miracle that she’s still on her feet, that she can still do anything at all. One last thing she needs to do in the dying embers of her lucidity, one final goal—choke your cock with her cunt, wring you dry, make you flood her with your cum.

“Cum, cum, fill me, breed me, give me your—”

“Take it,” you exhale, “Take it all.”

And it’s Giselle in her entirety that overcomes you, overloading your senses with the pure, distilled feeling of just her. The smell of her sex, her perfume, the feel of her curves, her softness, the perfection that is her pussy, enveloping your cock, drenching it in her wetness. These things that you’ll never, ever be able to forget.

But it's her words that make you erupt.

“Breed me, Daddy!”

You cum deep into Giselle’s pussy.

Buried inside her, rushing white hot, thick and heavy. Ropes and ropes of it, spurting inside her, painting her insides, coating her walls until it’s just sheer heat and you making her whole.

Her cunt’s clenching around you, she’s begging, slurring moans and whimpers that there’s no fucking chance you have of comprehending—just basking in the knowledge that they’re desperate, needy sounds that are all for you.

She can’t keep it all in. But she needs to.

Something knocks the architecture out of her legs, but you’re quick enough to wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, keep her on her feet. Keeping her from collapsing entirely, just letting her pulse around you, clench and quiver.

You’re kissing her into the shoulder, cooing these affirmations, keeping her with you, telling her the truth of it all, “Such a good girl, Giselle. Taking my cum so well.”

Giselle can’t say anything. She sobs. Face buried in her hands. Not from pain, not even close. You’ve never seen pleasure look so much like agony. So much like release.

It’s overwhelming.

You try to make a move, take a step back. But Giselle flexes her cunt, clutching you tighter. Reaches back with her hand for your thigh to stop you.

“Wait,” she whispers. "Not yet. Don't move. Keep your cock inside me. Don't let a single drop get out."

You give her the time, because she’s just so perfect like this. So unfathomably gorgeous, all fucked up and cum-drunk. In ways no one should ever be. Like you’ve torn the wings off an angel, brought her down to Earth and made her yours.

You revel in it.

“Take your time,” you breathe; the exhaustion, the strain, the adrenaline pumping through your veins all coming to a head at once. Keeping your cock plugging up her cunt. Leaving all your cum inside.

Neither of you are moving anywhere. Not until she says so.

Giselle laughs.

“Perfect,” she sighs, voice hoarse and shaky. “I knew it would be perfect. I knew you would ruin me like this. God, I don’t ever want to go back.”

You’re laughing too, harsh, airless chuckles that feel like they’re being torn out of your chest. You twitch your cock inside her. “You think you have a say in the matter?”

“I guess I don’t,” she giggles.

You look around at the scene of the crime, the evidence you've left on her. The marks on her skin, her shoulder, her neck. The ruins of her dress, her panties. The tearing of her stockings. Her tear-filled eyes, her smeared mascara, her drooling lips.

And her cunt, so full of you, so very yours.

It’s barely believable. She may not have burned down the bar, but there’s certainly a fire that’s been set. One that’s not likely to die down anytime soon.

It has you swelling inside her all over again.

Gisele feels it.

“Say,” she starts, wriggling her hips against you, making you groan. “You didn’t have any Christmas plans, right?”

Your hands slip down to her hips, idly massaging into the small of her back. “None at all.”

Giselle’s laughter subsides into a contented exhale, her lashes fluttering as she looks at you with a soft smile. Her hand reaches back, caressing the side of your face. “And the rest of the year?”

“Nothing that can’t be cancelled.”

“Good,” she says, her breath sweet against your cheek. “Cancel them all. Close up for the holidays. Shut all the doors. Stay inside with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And do what?”

“Get to work,” Giselle answers, pulling you into a last kiss, threatening to undo you all over again. “You did promise to knock me up by New Years.”

[smuttysabina]

Hoe Hoe Hoes

(Aria & Celine & Tina x Santa Claus, 1.9K words) Tags: Yeah its Santa smut, what are you going to do about it; That's right, these three get their backs blown out by Ol' Saint Nicks' dick; Mostly normal sex; Enormous amounts of cum, A Christmas Miracle occurs, The trio save Christmas!

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; except of course, for the gooners, cocks a-grip, pumping their meat for their favorite ship. But all was not well this Christmas Eve, for many their balls were as blue as the snow, furiously masturbating for their teasing, favorite hoes. A trio of streamers, fair Aria, Celine, and Tina, prancing around their kitchen, filling their fans with Yuletide cheer, yet never enough to bring their orgasms near. What a tragedy it would be then, for such a frosty mass to remain un-spilt, surely these slutty ladies should be wracked by guilt? But the Big Man was watching, his eyes a-smolder, for this was an issue he could not let molder; It was time to get down to business, on this very White Christmas...

The trio of girls are laughing tiredly when they turn off their stream, after an exhausting night cooking and playing with one another, they were ready to let off some steam! Aria was fanning her exposed cleavage, her face flushed from alcohol, her juicy thighs warm in the humid air of the room as she prances around in her mini-dress. Celine meanwhile was almost completely covered up in her onesie, though her own sizable bust was also on full display, even a shy girl likes to show off some times! And while her chest might have been tiny compared to the other two, Tina's outfit was as slutty as Aria's, highlighting her petite body's modest assets. Giggling and clutching at one another, they stagger happily into the living room to enjoy their festive decorations and relax by the fireplace. But something magical was in the air that night, for just as soon as they snuggled up, they heard something banging down their chimney. Which was somewhat problematic considering their fireplace was electric, and there was in fact, no chimney at all; and yet nonetheless out from the fireplace emerged the Big Man himself. The girls gasp in shock as the familiar red shape appears, Santa was here to deliver their presents! 'Santa!" the three squeak with delight, to which Santa gravely responds, "Hoe, hoe, hoe," he points at them, "You've been very naughty this year young ladies!"

The streamers gawp in horror, how could this be, they had been so kind and giving to their communities this year! Why, in their last stream they had done so much fanservice, surely their beloved viewers were satisfied by all of that memorable content? But Ol' Saint Nick (Lion of the Church, Defender of the Orthodoxy, Vanquisher of the Arian Heresy, Champion of Nicaea) was having none of their excuses, they had been spreading a noticeably un-holiday cheer this season, what good was a gorgeously wrapped present if there was nothing inside? Therefore, they were all on the naughty list! The trio wail in despair at this proclamation, surely there was something they could do to set things right? There was still time for them to save Christmas! The Jolly Man nods approvingly at their enthusiasm, that's just why he was here, to help them spread the true joy and love of Christmas! And so with a merry laugh, he pulls down his pants to reveal ten throbbing inches of holiday cheer. "Wow!" gasps Celine "Oh my god, Santa!" squeals Tina 'Why the fuck is Santa hung like reindeer?" groans Aria

The girls gather around Santa's Christmas Tree, nervous at the sheer size of it, but determined to get back on the good list no matter what; they owed it to their fans to end the year on a good note! Aria and Celine hesitantly unlimber their hefty breasts, kneeling around The Big Man, they glance at one another before squishing their tits around his shaft. Tina meanwhile puts the star on the tree, licking Santa's tip before straining her mouth to fit it inside, she sucks dutifully upon it with her arms around the other's waists. The busty pair rub their boobs up and down his shaft, falling into a synchronized rhythm, their faces flushing as their dual-tittyfuck starts to excite them as well. Aroused by their unusual situation, the girls are filled by the Holy Spirit, their pussies dripping as they throw away their inhibitions and get down to the serious business of naughtily decorating Santa's Christmas Tree with their sweaty pillows. Their tongues lolling excitedly, they croon and beg for it, while Tina moans encouragingly with her tongue hard at work slathering his cockhead with merriment. With a mighty groan Ol' Saint Nick gifts the girls some presents from his capacious sack, his load erupting into Tina's pretty mouth before it overflows and spews out over the other girl's chests and faces. Tina swallows frantically before gasping in disbelief, "It tastes like eggnog?"

But their penance is far from over, and the streamers lustfully bend over for Santa, stripping out of their festive outfits to show off their bodies more easily for him. Side-by-side with their butts pressed together, the girls eagerly look back as they await their infusions of holiday cheer; their cunts drooling down their thighs in anticipation. Father Christmas has a twinkle in his eye as he grasps Tina's tiny waist to hold her steady, his enormous sleigh pushing into her petite pussy; dashing deep into her snow. There must have been something magical in the air that night, because Tina's usually cramped cunt took every inch of Ol' Saint Nick's dick, her taut belly bulging with the evidence of a Christmas miracle! Her legs quiver as Santa plows her, stretching out her insides and filling her tummy with a warm love and goodwill. Tina is shuddering when Santa pulls out, and now it is Celine's turn to experience the joy of the Christmas Season. She groans as her stomach swells, her weighty breasts clapping together as they sway ponderously from his slow and steady thrusts; by the time Santa is finished with her, his north pole is slick with her frosting. Then it is on to Aria, who moans loudly as her stocking gets stuffed, her saggy tits flopping wildly around her chest as her guts get rearranged by the Big Man himself.

That Jolly Old Soul then spends some time switching between the streamers, sampling their holes and bringing them to the brink of ecstatic jubilation before moving on. After several rounds of this, it is Aria who breaks first. She begs for, her tongue sticking out and her eyes rolling, her hips bucking uncontrollably as she slams herself back against Santa, screeching for release. But Ol' Saint Nick is unfazed, his candy cane unyielding as her pussy spasms all around it, painting his sack with her own icing; only when she has finished does he. Aria wails with delight as her womb is flooded with sticky holiday cheer, collapsing onto the floor so that she is only being held up by the cock inside of her; she was now most definitely not on the naughty list anymore!

As Aria slides bonelessly off of the North Pole, Tina is right there to replace her, eagerly stepping forward with her arms behind her back, the very paragon of demureness. But Ol' Saint Nick is not fooled by her false innocence, and in a flash she is hoisted into the air, and then impaled upon his chimney. Tina carols loudly as her tiny pussy is once more stretched beyond normal capacity, every festive inch slipping inside of her until her lower lips are smearing Aria's leavings off of his fireplace. She clutches at his chest as she is lifted up and down his shaft, unable to do anything other than paint the floor with her love for Father Christmas. His mighty hands grip her petite butt tightly, and suddenly Tina's mind goes blank as the Spirit of Christmas fills her, his eggnog pouring within her until she feels as if she were about to burst. But when the slut was left sprawling on the floor, not a drop leaked out, a Yuletide surprise that left her tummy swollen with good tidings.

Celine was the last, and like a charitable girl she waited with her legs wide open, ready to give Father Christmas what she had denied to her fans for so long. She groans as her fertile body is squished beneath his awesome weight, but she merrily wraps her legs around him nonetheless as he enters her; she doesn't mind this sort of thing at all. Celine trembles as Santa Claus goes to town on her defenseless pussy, his balls jingling as the slap against her palpitating asshole, and soon a slick signal of her submission spreads down her crack. Her toes twitch in the air with every thrust, her sweet voice lilting high as she affirms her love of Christmas in the most jolly way possible. Only after Ol' Saint Nick has plowed some courage into Celine does he give her the most precious gift of all, and joy surges through her along with his seed.

Aria and Tina cease their furious masturbating and scurry over to join Celine, helping her up onto her knees as they eagerly wait for what they know must come next. They squish their faces together, all of them kneading their breasts like dough as they open their mouths wide as if singing. Santa waxes his pole right in front of them, knees bent as he readies to give the girls one last present before he must fly away. The trio pant for it, begging, assuring him that they are good girls now, sloppily making out as they grope one another; they wanted to try some more eggnog! Ol' Saint Nick lets out one last mighty groan, as he plasters the girls with icing, blowing snow all over their faces and down their chest, coating their hair with a thick layer of frost. The streamers sputter and gasp, swallowing the ropes that land in their mouths, licking it off one another in a frenzy of lust. By the time they were finished, the Big Man had vanished, but he had left one last surprise for them. A pile of presents, filled to the brim with phallic objects of all sorts, dongs the churned and whirred and vibrated, enough to put on a degenerate nativity play. The girls gasp as they look at the clock, there was still time for them to save Christmas! Gleefully, Aria, Celine, and Tina scoop up armfuls of toys and lubricant and dash back into the kitchen hammering the camera on and sending out blast-emails and posts to all and sundry to cum join them for fresh Christmas festivities!

The stream that would last for thirty-seven cum-soaked minutes before being shut down when a mod finally finished draining his balls and realized he should maybe put a stop to things. It would set a record for late-night viewer counts that would only be surpassed years later. But perhaps most importantly, Christmas had indeed been saved, and several gallons of pent-up semen had been emptied. And for forever after, the three hoes would be sure to remain on the naughty list...

[saintslewis]

forever yours: the series | 44

— series.

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x black oc, lindokuhle lee vilakazi

summary: work just never ends for lee, even during her down time but hey? more money and possibly more connections.

warnings for this chapter: cussing, outfit descriptions, social media.

saint’s team radio 🪽: first chapter! hope y’all enjoy 🤍

pls like, comment and reblog!

taglist down below!

dividers from @cafekitsune

ATLANTA, GA

The smell of hair straighteners burning through each bundle filled Lee with some sort of comfort, knowing she was going to walk out of this salon with a fresh do and a check on her maintenance to-do list.

It wasn’t that exciting of a race that she’d have to go to in a few days time. Austria. Not always the most fun of grand prixs but it fills a gap for the ever growing f1 calendar. She looked straight ahead at the mirror watching the hairstylist work her magic in the prestigious looking salon Lee had seen on instagram.

The stylists here were nosy, trying to be all up in people’s businesses including that of customers. Lee had no time to take no bullshit but she knew the lady was still working on her head, something she knew she couldn’t afford to mess up. Her phone became boring after some time even seeing a few messages from her assistant and her niece’s babysitter/ au pair.

“Hold up, hold up!” A voice yelled out in the salon with excitement in the tone. “Don’t I know you from somewhere, girl?”

Lee hoped and prayed that they weren’t talking to her. They couldn’t be. She wasn’t all that known except in the f1/sports community. “Yeah, you look real familiar, girl!” And in the corner of her eye, she saw another hairstylist plop down on the seat next to her with the biggest grin on her face. “Kya! Remember that girl I showed you with that fine ass man two weeks ago?” The lady shouted over to someone else.

Oh God. Lee immediately knew what this was about. It’s all anyone recognised her for the past few weeks. During the week of the Canadian Grand Prix, someone compiled a bunch of vids that included Lee and the sport’s greatest, Lewis Hamilton lookin cozy. First, it was the camera pointed to Lee during the race and of course she had to admit, her makeup looked good that day.

Then it was when a couple of fans saw them walking together through the paddock to their respective cars, laughing and a hug that lasted a little longer than usual and that had the internet going ballistic.

Forcing a smile, Lee gathered the energy to speak when the lady was done speaking. “Yeah! That’s her! That nigga looked rich, girl. That’s your man or what because if not, a sister could use a little lovin.” The woman laughed, causing a ripple effect in the salon, hairstylists and patrons alike.

To be messy or to not be messy? It’s not like she’s ever going to see these people ever again.

“We’re not a thing. He’s just a close friend but if you want, I’ll put in a good word for ya.” Lee spoke, already feeling the heat of the hot comb a little too close to her scalp through the wig cap.

The woman stared at her then smiled. “You a real one! And your accent is cute as hell.” She got up and left Lee’s side to her other friends and Lee sighed in relief. She’s been asked that very question one too many times in the past few weeks.

Sitting for another 30 minutes, Lee finally got up, paid and left the salon feeling all brand new. Of course she spared smiles and laughs with the hairstylists but she’s never wanted to get out of there quicker. The noise and heat was just overstimulating her senses. She still tipped though, you don’t get champagne at every hair salon.

“Yes, Santana?” Lee answered the phone, settling into her car seat of her rental. She’ll admit it, she did splurge on the rental but it’s not like she had anything to lose. Although the Maybach did fuel some unnecessary rumours.

“Lee, oh my goodness! I’ve been trying to reach you. Anyways, Lewis’ publicist and I were speaking and he’d like for you to speak in his segment for Drive to Survive in Austria. He arranged a whole thing.” Santana spoke through the phone, sounding like she was in the city.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she thought over of it for a second. “You know what? Sure. I know there’s gonna be a bit of a schedule change though for me, right?” Lee asked, fastening her seatbelt and connecting her phone to the car speaker so she could pull out of the parking space.

“Yeah, you’d be missing that SkySports segment with Danica about Red Bull and VCARB. So it’s all up to you-”

“Absolutely cancel that shit. I’ll speak to Lewis more about the deets but thank you, Santana. See you at the airport, yeah?” She turned into a drive thru of some fast food restaurant, she was too hungry to even focus.

The two wrapped up the convo and within 10 minutes, Lee got her food. Deciding to not eat in the car, she sped through to her airbnb and hopped out. Setting her phone on the kitchen island, she facetimed Lewis rather so she could eat.

“You still in Spain? I know those clouds from anywhere.” She joked once the call connected and she could see his confused face pop up on the screen. “Matter of fact, I’m in London but I’ll let you have that one.” Lewis smiled, finding a spot to sit down so he could have her whole attention.

“Listen, I’m hearing that you wanted me to speak with Netflix?” Lee unpacked her food order and laid it out in front of her.

He furrowed his eyebrows a bit before realising what she was talking about. “Oh um, yeah. Wanted to get through to you professionally and all that. Need someone on my side, y’know?” He cleared his throat, making his voice slightly raspy.

“My whole career is based around supporting you, Lewis. So I don’t mind, you know I got it. They want me to say some shit about your move to Ferrari?” Lee looked at the screen as she drank her soda.

Lewis nodded, his eyes slightly squinted under his cap. “I know it’s been a recurring topic but I just wanted someone who’ll be positive all the way through the segment.” He scratched his beard.

“Okay, no problem. I’ll talk to those directors then because they tried to talk to me earlier. You know I was supposed to work with Danicka before I heard of your thing?” Lee chuckled in disbelief, biting into a spoonful her grilled chicken bowl.

“You look good.” He spoke, smiling when he saw her being taken aback at his compliment. “Thank you? I got my hair done today, this is what Austria will see on their screens. But did you hear what I said?” Lee raised her eyebrow at the man.

Lewis chuckled before answering. “I heard, love but I don’t want to talk about her or any of them. Tell me, how are you getting to Austria?”

Pausing her hand on the spoon, she looked at him. “No, Lewis, I will not be flying with you. We’ve already got enough rumours as it is. Plus, I don’t wanna step on nobody’s toes.” Lee went back to stabbing through her food.

“Should I ask you again? I rather like the back and forth with you.” Lewis giggled, seeing her eyes dart to the screen once again. “Whatever you say, I’ll just smile and nod.”

She rolled her eyes. He was unbelievable. “Whatever you say, Mr Hamilton. I’ll see you in Austria next week.” Lee smiled, eating another spoonful of her food. He sighed and now it was his turn to roll his eyes at her stubbornness.

The two continued speaking on the Netflix interviews and how the directors would twist their words for the sake of good television. The conversation didn’t last too long because Lewis had other things to tend to whilst Lee would appreciate eating her lunch peacefully without him teasing her about looking like a chipmunk while she had food in her mouth.

-

RED BULL RING, AUSTRIA

Her heels were surprisingly comfortable for their first wear. The small chair that Netflix provided was a bit cold but luckily she didn’t have to be there for too long before she returned to SkySports to film something within the paddock.

The film crew assistant’s hands were shaking as he tried to mic Lee up. Because of how much time it took to get the mic strapped, some people got the nerve to walk up to her in her most peaceful time in the paddock.

“You know, I’ve always thought you looked super intimidating with your heels on! Like you’re a villain or something.” A loud, agitating voice with a side of clacking sandals invaded her personal space even more than the man strapping up the mic on her back.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, Lee gave Danicka a sharp look, one that said ‘shut up or you’ll get your ass beat’, and fixed the sleeves or her blazer. It didn’t take too long for everything to be set before beginning her solo segment on something the RedBulls were doing this weekend.

Damn, I need a shot. Or more money to motivate me

So focused on her inner thoughts while watching the playback video of her segment, she got knocked out of it by a tap on her shoulder. Once she felt the tap and it awoke her senses, she also heard the cheers and murmurs surrounding her. It could only be one person.

“Good morning, Lewis.” Lee said to her dear friend, who loved to do this surprising thing lately, as she stood up straight. The man was always in awe when he locked eyes with her. “Mornin’ Lee. I’ll see you later for our thing, yeah?” He smiled, his eyes probably crinkling behind his sunglasses.

“We have a thing?” Her eyebrows furrowed, her nose scrunching up a tiny bit before letting go. A little trait of hers that Lewis loves so much. “You need to check your emails more, sweetheart.” He winked, she just knew he did, behind the designer sunnies before walking away, tucking his hands back into his pockets.

What she could not explain was why her stomach did the thing when he winked. When she smelled his delicious cologne and surprisingly loving his Adam Sandler-esque tracksuit.

“Uh Lee? Are you okay?” The cameraman, Josh, stood up straight and asked his friend in concern. Snapping out of it, she looked at Josh. “Huh? Oh, yeah I’m good. Just fine.” She reassured him, looking back at the direction Lewis went, knowing very well that he left a while ago.

Josh then had a smirk on his face. “Right. What’d your boyfriend say?” He teased, feeling a smack on his arm a second later. “Don’t start with me, Josh. Don’t even think about it, yoh.” She warned, stepping back to the front of the camera to finish up her work.

saint’s notes 🧝🏽‍♀️: wellllll this is a small small introduction to the mini series and how their lil friendship goes! Lewis is a yearnerrrr in this one but that’s alright 🤭 hope you guys enjoyed!

🫧 tagslist: @mauvecherie-writes @chaneajoyyy @alika-4466 @queenshikongo3 @serpenttines @emjayewrites @exotic-iris13 @yeea-nah @vsfavs @motheroffae @h4vertzz @arshiyuh @henneseyhoe @cocobutterqwueen @gwenda-fav @httpsserene @peyiswriting @saturnville @purplelewlew @greedyjudge2 @sunfairyy @marvel-hotchner @boujiestpoet @f1-football-fiend @shhhchriss @jewel-diva44 @pickingupmymercedes @tian-monique

🫧 dividers: @cafekitsune

[d-emeter]

babee i just have to let this out: i was watching one of those yt tarot video of your soulmate to cheer my non-existent love life after receiving 3 wedding invitations and i got "different background/lives abroad, built/fit structure, gives importance to his hair, nice eyes, a bit tanned skin from working outside" guy and the image of john freaking mactavish's blue eyes, in his compression t-shirt under las almas sun with his stupid mohawk is all i can think about asld;kasl;fk (im east asian so that checks out the different bg/lives abroad aspect lol). do whatever you want with this information 🤣 love your writing!!

oh he might just be your soulmate idk what to tell you. this also gave me some soap with an international partner brainworms enjoy

Soap with an international partner — reader x Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish

Now I will not pretend otherwise, the first thing this man will do when he finds out you're from another country is ask you to teach him cursewords in your language (or in your accent/slang if you're from another english speaking country). This immediately devolves into dirty words once you start dating.

If you're facetiming your family abroad, best believe this man is in frame too, talking with your mother like he's known her for years. If they ever come to visit or you visit them, he also very quickly becomes the favourite 'uncle' to any kids in the family. No getting rid of him now, bonnie.

If you ever get homesick, he's pulling out all the stops to make you feel better. I'm talking cooking your favourite dishes, decorating your apartment with your national flag, playing music from your country. When it gets really bad, he already has the plane tickets purchased.

When visiting your home country, he insists on taking those garish tourist photos in cheap knock-offs of your country's traditional clothing. Will also make you do this when you visit Scotland, then hangs the photos next to eachother on the fridge.

His notebook is filled with little words you've taught him, usually along with a tiny sketch of said object or concept (he's a visual learner).

He'll never show you before he's sure he has you locked down, but he started googling and making a list of baby names in your language after the first date.

And finally, a few years down the line, he'll end his vows by telling you "I love you" in your language.

[rqyup]

# placeholder (oneshot)

pairing.. toji fushiguro x reader

cw.. angst, swearing

jujutsu kaisen masterlist

Toji had always been a mess, but you thought, swore, you could fix him. Why else would his sharp green eyes soften every time they landed on you? Why else would he let you see the cracks in his armor when the rest of the world only ever got his smirks and scowls?

But after the fight, the one that ended it all, you finally accepted the truth.

He’d had girls every week, even before you and him. Petite, curvy, blonde, brunette; it didn’t matter. Toji Fushiguro could have anyone he wanted, and that fact alone made your stomach churn. You hated how it ate away at you, the knowledge that you were never special. Just another name in a long, long list.

You knew why he did it, you knew more than anyone else. Why he drowned himself in women and cheap liquor every time he had the cash. He was running, coping with the grief that clung to him like a shadow. The death of his wife had shattered him in ways you could never hope to fix. And you knew this because you’d seen it firsthand, felt it in the way he broke down around you, no matter how much he pretended he didn’t need anyone.

“Toji?” You’d found him slumped on the couch, reeking of alcohol. His shirt was half undone, his hair disheveled, and his eyes glassy. He turned his head lazily to look at you, his lips curving into a sad, drunken smile.

“Honey…” he slurred, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

Your heart stopped. Honey? He never called you that.

“Megs misses you,” he muttered, his words tumbling out clumsily. “Come home… I don’t want all these women, I swear. I only need you.”

For a fleeting second, your chest tightened, and something warm spread through you. Flustered. Hopeful. But it shattered just as quickly as it came. Those words, they weren’t meant for you. They were for her.

You looked away, biting your lip to keep the tears from falling. It hurt. God, it hurt to know that you were just a placeholder, a shadow he clung to when the real thing wasn’t there anymore.

...

“Toji, I can’t keep doing this!” you yelled, your voice breaking as the two of you stood in the middle of his apartment. “You can’t keep running to me when you’re drunk and lonely, and then pretend I don’t exist the next day!”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “What the hell do you want from me, huh? You knew what this was!”

“No, I didn’t!” you shot back, tears streaming down your face. “I thought—God, I thought I could help you! I thought I meant something to you!”

Toji’s lips twisted into a bitter smile, and for a moment, you swore you saw something crack in his expression. But then his words cut through the air like a knife.

“You didn’t mean anything,” he said coldly. “You were just a quick fuck. A replacement. Same as all the others.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs, leaving you standing there, frozen. You wanted to scream, cry, anything, but all you could do was stare at him, your heart shattering into pieces.

And in that moment, you finally understood. Toji Fushiguro didn’t need saving. Not from you, not from anyone.

rqyup © 2024 – do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my content; dividers by me; likes and reblogs are appreciated !

[kingofbodyrolls]

Bangtan Christmas ‘24 | Hoseok fic recs

Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays! ❄️🎄

As the twinkling lights of the season surround us, I hope you’ve found some warmth and joy in the fics shared over these past 24 days. Whether you’ve devoured them all or haven’t had the chance to dive in yet, don’t worry—I’ve saved the best for last; a rec list ✨ This special rec list is my gift to you, filled with winter and Christmas-themed stories that bring me endless joy every year 🥰 It contains the fics I’ve reblogged all throughout December, BUT—also many Hoseok stories that I sadly didn’t have the time to read, but was on my Christmas to read list. Sometimes life just hits you… and I really wanted to include them to make the most spectacular rec list so that’s why they’re included ✨

A kind comment, a heartfelt message, even a simple like or reblog—it all makes a difference. You never know how much warmth a few words can bring to a writer’s heart, especially during the cold days of winter. And even if some of them are on hiatus and don’t respond, know that your appreciation is felt.

Before we dive into this treasure trove of stories, I want to take a moment to say an enormous thank you to all the writers out there. Your words weave wonders, creating characters and worlds that have made me smile, cry, and above all, feel deeply. So, thank you for crafting such brilliant art with your writing. You are a gift to this community, and we’re all better for it 💜

[Bangtan Christmas ‘24 masterlist] Note: the stories that I sadly didn’t get to read are marked with *.

⭐Fake Love @aquaminwrites [16.2k]  ⭐Ho Ho Horrible @ugh-yoongi [5.2k] ⭐Perfect Strangers @/kingofbodyrolls [19.7k] ⭐Home for Christmas @augustbutwinter [0.9k] ⭐When it Snows @augustbutwinter [4.4k] ⭐Grinchly, Yours @artaefact [15k] ⭐Love at First Snow @vanaera [16.9k] ⭐What I Wouldn’t Do @infireation [n/a] ⭐Tis the Season to be Freezin @solastia [3.6k] ⭐Kissing Santa Claus @army-author [1k] ⭐Next @dreamscript [2.8k] ⭐Metallic Snow @army-author [5.0k] ⭐Project Dream Girl* @bonvoyagenoona [35k] ⭐Just Like Christmas* @yeoldontknow [38k] ⭐A Holly, Jolly Crisis* @kpopfanfictrash [36.2k] ⭐Written on our Veins pt1* + Written on our veins pt2* @army-author [19.4k + 13.8k] ⭐Sleeping Bags (and other unconventional cures for Insomnia)* @boymeetsweevil [2.5k] ⭐Inebriate* @seokjxnnie [6.5k] ⭐Elf* @guksthighs [6.5k] ⭐And so it Begins* @seokstrivia [6.1k] ⭐Elf* @hamsterclaw [1.3k] ⭐The Holiday: Unplugged* @gukslut [17.4k] ⭐The Switch* @kookingtae [9k] ⭐The Compromise* @chim-chimmie [12.8k] ⭐Silver Bells and Cockle Shells* @readyplayerhobi [22.2k] ⭐Sleigh Bells Ring* @readyplayerhobi [10.2k] ⭐Secret Santa* @jjungkookislife [12.8k] ⭐Stay Warm This Winter* (discontinued series) @rosaetae [12.6k + 11.7k] ⭐Matters of the Heart* @hobidreams [13k] ⭐A Story Book Ending* @army-author [12.2k] ⭐Hit the Town* @joonthighs [3.7k] ⭐Snowed In* @untaemedqueen [15k]

I truly hope you find joy in diving into all these wonderful stories! 🥰 Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to explore this rec list. I couldn’t resist creating another one—I’ve missed it dearly. I know some of you enjoyed the monthly rec lists, so I hope this little collection brings a spark of joy to your holiday season.

If this list has brought a smile to your face, I kindly ask that you consider reblogging it. The more it’s shared, the more people can discover these incredible stories, and together, we can spread even more holiday cheer to the talented writers who make this season a little more magical with their words ❄️✨

Hello, lovely people! I’m Lissa, both a reader and a writer at heart. Though I don’t write much fanfiction these days, my love for reading and recommending fics burns as bright as ever. If you’re looking for more Bangtan fanfics to cozy up with, you’re more than welcome to follow me, or simply explore my rec library. There’s always something special waiting for you.

With all my love, and borahae always 💜

[vengefultakeover]

Fatso: Hello, Bonebag (Pilot)

NOTE: Just so we’re clear: I am the original author of this story even though @dantelockwood is parading around as though they wrote it. They have stolen content and it’s a shame. These edits were done by the incredible @echovelvet278 and anyone else could never.

THUD

I dropped my suitcase by the door and looked around the foyer at the empty house. I ended up getting it for cheap and after I moved out of my exes place it was a welcome listing. It was beaten up, chunks of wall were missing exposing the small crawl spaces between the walls and the support structure holding the house up. Luckily, that was still intact.

I whistled as I closed the door looking around, the Kill Bill tune. I wandered through the archway next to me to find empty bookshelves lining the walls and a chandelier covered in the center of the room. The base connecting it to the ceiling was coming undone, another thing added to the list. I ran a hand along a shelf, picking up the dust along the way until a pile was swept onto the floor in a cloud. There was a chair at the end of the room facing out the window and I walked over, looking out to where this chair was looking. The backyard was bigger than I thought, could be big enough for a pool, but the fence was overgrown and decrepit and the grass would definitely need to be redone.

"I've got my work cut out for me - GAH!" I screamed as I turned around, my best friend having snuck up on me while I was peering out the window. 

"Ooop, sorry." She said, placing her own suitcase on the ground.

"For a place so old, the floors are surprisingly quiet." I hold my hand against my chest trying to keep my heart from exploding.

"Well, old buildings like these have a pretty good foundation. Especially here. Plus this is some high quality wood right here." She says, stomping with her foot, another cloud of dust puffing into the air around her sneaker.

"You have no idea what you're talking about do you?" I cross my arms with a smirk.

"Of course not. Anyways, I'm surprised the moving truck isn't here." My phone started to buzz as she said this. The moving company logo popped up and I put it on speaker.

"Hello?" 

"Hey, is this Emerson? Sorry to bother you, but our dispatcher says that the unit you rented is going to need to be picked up in person. We had no idea that they were delivering to that address, we would have said no if we knew. So, you are going to need to come pick up the truck. We're refunding half of the cost and of course you'll get the full deposit, but that is one of our black out delivery locations." The woman on the other line didn't seem to take a breath as she said this.

"Oh, shit, okay. Um, well...we'll come get it then." I held my hands on my hips, maybe a little too visibly upset because Sherry looked concerned. The conversation on the phone finished and I slid it back into my pocket with a sigh.

"Okay, so I'll take care of the truck, you should get the lay of the land here," Sherry pushed her suitcase to the side of the room and winked on her way out before I could get a word in.

"Alrighty then. Just me and you." I said, looking up at the crown moulding. It was in surprisingly wonderful condition. I just hoped it was everywhere else so we could keep it.

I continued to whistle, browsing the empty cabinets in the kitchen, tapping the burnt out lightbulbs in the bathroom, and testing how creaky the bedroom doors were until I heard a thud in the hallway. Peering my head out of the master bedroom, I found the attic staircase having flopped open and the small staircase leading up to the dark square in the ceiling looked ominous. Of course, I was curious, and with how old this whole building was it could have just been a loose screw. Right?

I slowly crawled my way up the steps and poked my head into the hole. There was a small window towards the end letting in a beam of light making a floral cross over a pile of cardboard boxes. I never thought I would buy a house that had a creepy attic, but this one came right out of a horror movie. Empty dress forms covered in soot and cobwebs, cardboard boxes stacked high, a chest with a heavy metal lock keeping it closed, and even a desk with boxes of photos of old homeowners and guests inside. 

"Wicked." I said with a smile. I took a seat at the desk and started shuffling through the photos. Tea colored images and straight faces repeated themselves one after another until I came across a group of brothers. Three of them all laughing in their morning coats and bowler hats. 

"What a handsome trio." I looked through a couple more and found individual shots of all of them. None of them staged or monotonous, but full of life. "I bet you were fun." I said, staring at the image of a portly fellow before quickly turning around as a mannequin fell over and a draft seemed to blow the picture away.

"That's my cue." I packed up the photos that were left and returned them to their boxes, knowing I would be going through them some time in the future and as I crawled back down out of the attic I felt eyes on me. Then, a cool feeling touched my hand causing me to recoil and fall down into the hall. Sherry caught me before I fell over the banister and laughed at the mishap with a jingling set of keys in her hand.

It took us a while unpacking the truck, being the only two, until a friendly neighbor stopped by.

"Hey there, need some help? I just got back from work and thought you might need a hand." He asked. I kept my head down trying to make sure I had enough room to pick up a couple heavy boxes.

"Oh, it's just fine, I'm sure you've had a long day and - " I caught a glimpse of him through my legs and realized I had my ass facing him. He stood there with his hands on his hips ready to help and this man was gorgeous. I quickly stood up and spun around, leaning against some boxes only to have them tip over.

"Are you sure? I really don't mind." He was innocently smiling as I stumbled and I nodded.

"We'd love the help." I said.

"Yeah we would, this shit is heavy." Sherry walked by and picked up one of the toppled boxes. The stranger started assisting pretty fast and honestly it was good that he ended up showing up because it went much faster.

"So, are you two married?" He asked, sipping on a water bottle after the final box was inside.

"Oh no. He couldn't if he tried." Sherry choked on her water and laughed.

"I'm gay and she's just helping me fix the place up." I playfully kicked Sherry.

"Oh, great." The stranger was smiling as he took another sip, maintaining eye contact that made me feel warm. 

"Well, I should head to bed. I'm exhausted." Sherry yawned. "Don't forget we're returning the truck tomorrow." 

As she left the room, the stranger started to get up to leave, "Wait, I didn't catch your name." 

"Oh," he chuckled, "It's Lance." He extended a hand which I may have shaken a little too long. He didn't seem to mind, he even got closer.

"Is there anything I can do to repay you for the help? I'm sure the water bottle isn't enough." He was standing so close to me I could feel his body heat.

"I think there just might be..."

Of course, I wasn't expecting to get my brains blown out by the hunk next door on the first night I stayed here, but I did. He fucked me on the sloppily made mattress surrounded by my bedroom boxes until we were both practically screaming and then we comfortably passed out next to each other as the fatigue from moving and a long work day took over us.

The following morning was met with blinding sunlight and a bit of movement at my feet. I pushed myself up onto my elbows and looked down at Lance who was naked and pointing towards the bathroom.

"Are you okay?" I asked, vision still a little blurry. As I rubbed my eyes I noticed that he looked terrified.

"I saw something in there. I touched my fucking cock." His voice was panicked.

"What?" I laughed, "Come back to bed, this is weird."

"Nah man, fuck this." He reached for his clothes and then suddenly toppled over onto the ground as though something had pushed him. He flipped over, his cock semi hard and I watched as it bounced to life. The tip pulsed open and I moved my hand to my mouth. Lance yelled as this invisible force tried to invade him, but then it stopped.

"Of course I don't fit." A voice groaned and suddenly I saw this thing become opaque. A large round ghost appeared out of thin air and slipped itself out of his cock and then flew directly towards his screaming throat. 

Lance gurgled before suddenly gulping and then this man convulsed on the floor. His arms flicked from his sides and his chest puffed out and flexed. I was amazed watching the display before me, even getting hard as this spirit invaded his body. His head bounced and rolled until suddenly he was on his feet with a grin letting out a heavy and deep belch.

"Hello Bonebag." His voice had changed, deeper and goofier, definitely not matching his body. Maybe that was just because I had already heard his voice.

"Um, hello?" I said with an awkward wave.

"Are you okay?" He asked in awe.

"What do you mean? Are you okay?" I leaned forward over the bottom of the mattress and poked his stomach.

"Hey that tickles." He laughed a deep hearty laugh, reminding me of the men in the photos. "You're not afraid of me?" He asked with his eyes squinting.

"Should I be? I mean that was cool. I figured this house must be haunted, but I had no idea a real haunting would be like this. It's kind of hot." What was I even saying? Was I dreaming? Going insane? Maybe there was black mold here.

"Oh. wow. Maybe I'm just not being scary enough." He leaned into the bed, crawling over me with his deep and misaligned voice. He could feel the hard on as he pressed into me.

"I don't think that's it. This is just - I dunno - hot." I said.

"Oh." He tilted his head and pushed himself off.

"You're dead right? Why don't I show you a good time? I'm sure you get up to a bunch of fun on your own." I get up off the bed, and start looking through the box labelled 'closet' with a thick sharpie font.

"What made you say that?" He asked with a smirk.

"Hmm, the general translucency, the moving objects, the creepy house. C'mon, you've got to be. Plus, nothing else could really explain what I witnessed just now." I threw together an outfit and walked to the shower.

"I guess you're right on the money fleshie." He chuckled.

"You coming?" I asked, turning on the water in the bathroom to take a shower. "I think we're gonna have some fun together. What's your name?" I stood in the door frame.

"It's Fatso." He said, walking over to me with a grin and a blue glow in his eyes.

Sherry was spooning some cereal into her mouth when we ran by her, unable to hear the mumbling as we disappeared out the door. She was left with a mouth full of cheerios and milk sitting at the upside down empty cardboard box with her phone playing something from TikTok.

"Okay, let's get you a meal." I we hopped into the car.

"You know how to treat a big ghost like me right." He said, patting his stomach before buckling in. As I turned the key I noticed that Fatso was patting the abs on his stomach, pushing in the ghostly tummy belonging to the ghost inside. He chuckled as he sucked it back in and we were off.

I had no idea what I was getting into when we went to the mall food court. Hotdog after hotdog, burger after burger, then we moved on to bourbon chicken, Subway, even pizza.

"This bone bag can really pack it in." He said, patting his stomach again, only this time it was a bit more bloated than before. His abs were squares poking through his tank top and I laughed as I sipped on my soda.

"How is it?" I smiled.

"You know," He let out a loud belch that echoed through the food court and eyes turned towards us, "I really missed having a stomach." He sucked his teeth and I wiped away a bit of sauce lingering on his upper lip. He smiled and I noticed his eyes glowing slightly blue again.

"That's really you in there?" I rest my head on my palm and stared at him.

"Yeah, my brothers and I hold the longest running possession, but I think I might win with this one." He flexed his arms and let out another burp.

"You're funny." I laughed.

"You think so?" He seemed to blush.

"Your brothers aren't around?" I asked, taking another sip of the sofa.

"I've been taking a break. I really love scaring people, and I thought I might get you in that house by hopping into this hunk. I like to visit there, it's like a vacation home. I thought I could fit, but I always bite off more than I can chew." He shrugged.

"I thought you did just fine." I was biting on the tip of my straw.

"Well thank you." He said, puffing out his chest and grinning with a rush of confidence.

"Maybe we should go out and have some fun. I know a couple of places we could go and dance." I stood up after checking the time. I extended a hand and pulled him with me as he shoved the last few bits of food into his mouth.

By the time we got to the row of clubs in the heart of downtown it was pretty late. We walked, knowing we wouldn't find parking and letting ourselves get distracted long the way. I was enjoying this ghost's company and something about him inhabiting my neighbor was extremely hot.

"This is Pepper's and there's a couple of places here that you might like."

"The last time I enjoyed music this much I got kicked out of my fleshies' body." Fatso was trying very hard not to enjoy the music as we walked in and I pulled him into me.

"Look at me," I said, staring into his eyes, "it's okay to enjoy it. Just use it to influence your movements." I started to dance near him and he hesitantly started to copy. He closed his eyes, moving his arms around and even doing a little jig that was definitely not popular in this time period. I laughed and he smiled with me, dancing some more and feel more comfortable in his skin than I had ever seen. He got so into it, he jumped onto the stage as the light shifted to a beautiful blue. Not unlike the color of his eyes. He grabbed the pole, spinning around it and sliding onto his knees. As he flipped around, kicking into the air he looked back at me and then invited me to him. Fatso's face popped out of his and I couldn't control myself, crawling up onto the stage with him and dancing on the LED stage.

Other's joined us on stage, a group amassing there and dancing to the beat. Fatso and I got closer until we were grinding against each other and I could feel his lips pressing against mine.

The combination of the music and the kiss and the hard on stimulated by the grinding must have been too much because he backed away from me and started to shake. As the beat pumped through the room his face popped out and then back in, especially when the bass was full and loud. His arms flailed and he kicked people out of the way and started to dance wildly towards the exit. I rushed after him until we were outside and suddenly he was almost throwing him up, screaming on the way out followed by that booming laughter.

"What the fuck?" He said, looking at the ghost in front of him. It took him a moment to realize what it was and then screamed. Terrified, he ran away, tripping over a recently emptied garbage bin and then running into a pole.

Fatso chuckled, "Love to see their reaction." He watched my neighbor run away.

"Me too." I say standing next to him, "What do you say we get you another hunk of flesh? A fleshy, was it?" I said, patting his belly which made him giggle. This time I could see the blush, a dark blue rushing into his cheeks.

"That sounds like a party to me." He grins.

[twig-tea]

2024 Tumblr Top 10

tagged by @lurkingshan here and @neuroticbookworm here, thank you both! This really reminds me that I need to do a real pinned post at some point.

If you want to generate your own, you can use this link! I used the link to find the posts but wrote this below because I thought reflecting on the posts would be fun.

My GL rec list (covering everything through to Feb 2024), which I'm very happy about taking first place. If you want GL recs, check that out first, and then feel free to browse my #GL recs tag.

The admittedly shady post from October calling out the director of the Addicted Heroin Thailand adaptation for (a)making weird choices and (b)defending them as artistic. But I stand by my anger about this. Censorship is not an aesthetic!

The non-novel-spoilery reaction post to episodes 1 & 2 of Love In The Big City which was also from October, but which honestly stands up for my reaction to the whole series. What a gift of a show.

A quick pitch for Akaya is in Love with Hiroko from July. This one hurts! I was so ready to cheerlead for this show and did several times, but the penultimate episode made me wary and the finale really upset me, to the point where I didn't end up writing about the finale, so I'll take the chance here: Don't make a show about two self-aware lesbians, one who has been comfortably sexually active for years and one who is super horny for her, and have them get together as adults and yet be celibate for a year out of "respect". Is the message that sex between consenting and enthusiastic adults is not respectful?! GTFO. For the record I can be respected with orgasms, thank you.

The episode celebrating the messaging in the finale of Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo from November. Glad that this is here between the previous entry and the next two, because this is a good balm for the pain. LFtCoT landed the ending and gave us all a giant hug while doing it!

The list of things I was thinking about at the end of Wandee Goodday ep3 from May. Another disappointment for me. The things this post shouts out are still things I like about this show, and reading it again is a reminder of where the back half let the first half down (not taking seriously some of the things we were told to take seriously in the first few episodes).

An early post about Love Is Better the Second Time Around from March. Another show that did not land everything, in this case because it felt like it tried to shove in a complicated conflict in the last two episodes that they didn't have time to handle. But I still love those early episodes and all of the interplay between Miyata, Iwanaga, and Shiraishi.

My clown theory for Every You, Every Me also from October, which ended up being correct! I've never been more happy to be right, I liked this reveal for the show so much.

In February I wrote this thesis about the state of Thai BL looking at data from 2022 and 2023, which I have been meaning to go back and update since I think Shan as usual was feeling the start of the wave and we needed more data to see the change actually play out in 2024. I now no longer feel (as I did in this post) that things haven't changed, I do think they have this year. But I need to crunch the numbers again to prove it to myself (and everyone else) though. Stay tuned!

In July I did a round-up post about the various theories surrounding Century of Love, and whether Vee and Vad were the same person. Turns out San did wrestle with this as I'd hoped but the show itself felt like it lost steam and copped out around this, unfortunately. At least we'll always have fox demon Offroad and grumpy old man Daou's collarbones thanks to this show.

Special shout-out to @lurkingshan because two of the posts above are answers to asks she put in my inbox that spawned project posts. Shan knows what the people want to hear!

Tagging @italianpersonwithashippersheart @benkaben @ellsieee @colourme-feral @pigglepiephi @impala124 no pressure tags and apologies if you've been tagged already!

[antinitoniny]

santa doesn't know you like i do

"i wonder if santa could bring a whole damn 6ft man this midnight" you said, pouring yourself another glass of red wine.

"...is that what you wished for this christmas?" anton, your best friend asked. he seems concerned & LOOKS concerned.

"i mean, i can't really think of anything i want for christmas except for an intelligent, hot, athletic, 6foot man to ruin my 2025." you said

you & anton have been friends since your womb era considering the fact that both of your parents have been friends for decades.

your friendship is basically fixed & y'all can't do anything about it anymore. proven & tested when you tried to cut him off during elementary after stabbing his arm with a pencil but you found each other in one dining table the next evening.

now that your parents wanted some time to themselves, the "kids" are left to take care of the house this christmas eve.

now, you're sitting on the couch next to anton, trying to figure out how the hell would santa fit in the chimney.

"you brought the cookies out, didn't you?" you asked, checking the table near the tree.

"for santa? are we seriously gonna do that?" anton asked, looking at you like you're some 5-year-old.

"um, no? it's for my future husband that he's bringing over." you rolled your eyes jokingly.

"what did you wish for anyway?" you asked

"i wished for someone to like me back" anton said, sitting back comfortably, looking at the ceiling.

silence.

anton waited for your response but you weren't saying anything. curious (and nervous), anton looked at you to check your reaction.

there you are, spacing out.

"what's on your mind?" anton asked, popping your lil bubble.

"how the hell would santa grant that? it's not like he can put that in a box & leave it under the tree" you said

anton laughed loudly for a minute or two which made you think that he's going insane.

anton, on the other hand, found your thoughts funny. he expected you to tease him about his lil crush or ask him about who it is. but instead, you were worrying about santa.

"i can't think of anything else. plus, i don't really believe in santa." anton replied

silence.

but this time, it was because the conversation was done. silence has never been awkward with anton which is mainly why you've learned to love anton's company.

his presence doesn't make you worry about what you're gonna say next nor how you're gonna continue the conversation. you can just exist in one place in silence & it can be the best hours of your day.

"what exactly did you write to santa?" anton asked, looking at you. for some reason, you felt nervous to look back & engage in eye contact so you stared at the tree.

"good morning, santa. if i'm on your good kid list, i'd like to have a good company for christmas. preferably a 6ft man in his 20s, smart, nice, soft spoken, family oriented, athletic, and hot. thank you, santa. merry christmasㅡ with a bunch of hearts" you recited from your memory.

"that's basically me" anton whispered

"huh? are you badmouthing me on christmas?" you raised your brow

"i said that your wish is not that specific" he said sarcastically.

"santa observed me for years as a good kid, he knows me & he knows my type" you rolled your eyes jokingly at him

"i've been with you for more than a decade, i think i know you more than santa" anton mindlessly replied

"your point being?" you asked

anton gulped. he doesn't know what he's going to say & confessing to his longtime crush is definitely not part of his 2024 bingo card.

"that i'm more than qualified than santa in fulfilling your wish" anton said confidently, succeeding in hiding his nervousness (at least in his end)

"i don't think any of your friends fit the criteria" you said, lowkey hoping that anton will offer himself

"i do" and he did

"huh?"

"i fit your criteria, don't i? am i not enough as a christmas gift?" anton teased, leaning over to your side of the couch. anton's confidence grew once he saw how flustered you are.

"hahaha what are you saying? stop it hahahaㅡ i wonder if they're home? i'll checkㅡ" you said, standing up to go to the front door. your face is obviously heating up from the unexpected turn of events.

"i like you" anton interrupted you. you stood frozen to your spot, looking at anton who's already looking at you.

"i love our little moments together like how we spent hours just walking around town last weekend, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. you make the most random things feel important." anton smiled while recalling your little moments together. you couldn't help but smile as well.

"it's the way you laugh at your own jokes, even when no one else does. it's honestly one of my favorite things. you'll say something dumb, then look at me with that "I know it was bad but I’m laughing anyway" expression, and I’ll always laugh too, because I get it. " anton said, slightly teasing you. you rolled your eyes jokingly, chuckling of how accurate he is as if he has read your mind during those moments.

"also, right, you've always hated wearing those big jackets in the winter, but I know you’d never leave the house without it because someone else might be cold. i mean, you always let someone borrow your jacket without a second thoughtㅡyou act like it’s no big deal, but I know it’s because you don’t mind being a little uncomfortable if it means someone else feels better." anton continued.

his words warmed your heart. you didn't know that he noticed that.

"is that why you always wear two jackets and i somehow find a magic jacket on my shoulder?" you laughed

"yeah, and you always tease me about how dramatic i am for wearing two jackets." anton sighed

"you could've just made me hold the other jacket just in case" you said

"you hate holding stuffㅡ it's always ME who's holding your bag anywhere" anton quickly rebutted which made you zip your mouth.

anton chuckled and continued.

"anyway, i admire your perspective on different things & how you view people. it's like, no matter how messy the situation looks, you always manage to find the good in it. you see beauty in the things other people might miss, like how you can walk through a crowded street and notice a little detail, like the color of someone’s shoes or the way a kid is laughing, that makes everything feel lighter. " he said.

"there’s something about the way you move through the world—so real, so unbothered, but always with purpose—that makes me want to be better too."

anton said, looking at you sincerely.

"i can’t help but fall more for the person you are when no one’s looking. I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, you became someone I want to know more, be more, and be with." anton said, walking closer to you.

"so.. merry christmas?" anton laughed the awkwardness off.

"i don't know what to say, i'm really bad at words" you said, tearing up

"obviously, i'm aware. you're not obligated to say anythingㅡ i just wanted toㅡ i just felt likeㅡ" anton's words were soon interrupted by you.

"i love you. like, fuck it, i stabbed you with a pencil when we were 7 because i was sad because you didn't like me" you confessed. you were so close to crying because of anton's words and anton just stood there, laughing his ass off.

"you're pretty violent..." anton said, acting so offended

"h-heyㅡ"

"i'm sorry for the late confession. i should've known." anton suddenly said. he was about to say more but you immediately interrupted him with a hug.

"...maybe i should start believing in santa" anton chuckled, burying his face on your neck.

"merry christmas, ant." you said, breaking the hug to look at him.

"oh my god. thank you, santa" anton said, completely taken away by your beauty & by the thought of how the situation escalated to this.

you laughed at how chaotic he is. the anton you love, the anton you've loved that seemed to have never changedㅡ and you're glad that he didn't.

"i actually wrote your name on my santa wishlist" you confessed

"good to know. after all, santa won't give you somebody that loves you more than me".

[senditcolton]

It Would've Been Sweet...

...if it could've been me.

summary: there was no good reason for you to be in TD Garden during a Game 7 Stanley Cup Final Game. especially when the only connection you had to the sport was your ex-boyfriend Joel Edmundson, who you had left in St. Louis six months ago. but here you were. what were you doing here? a/n: hello friends! if you've been here since the inception of this blog, you might recognize this story. however, I no longer write for the original player that starred in this fic. but I am very proud of this fic plus, I think this was the start of my trademark bittersweet endings, so i couldn't just let it disappear. so, here is another rewrite now starring my favorite crop top king who i miss terribly. song inspo: The 1 by Taylor Swift word count: 8.8k warnings: time jumps [past is in italics], argument scene, language, angst with a bittersweet ending

What were you doing here?

That was the question running on loop through your mind as your eyes stay glued to the ice a few dozen feet below. There was absolutely no reason for you to step foot in this arena. There was no good reason why you shouldn’t be in your studio apartment on Newbury Street right now, curled up under your blankets, watching re-runs of bad reality TV.

When you received a text earlier that day from an old friend, asking if you had any plans, you knew what she was going to propose. You had seen the news. You had felt the energy go up in this east coast sports city. And you knew why your friend – a friend who you hadn’t seen since you moved 1,200 miles across the country – was in the city you now called home and had asked you to join her at this place on this night of all nights.

You knew all of this and could list all the reasons why you shouldn’t have responded; why you should’ve ghosted her like you had everyone else you left in St. Louis. But despite all that, you texted her back.

That was how you found yourself sitting in a clubhouse suite in TD Garden, trying desperately to only focus on the black and yellow jerseys of the Boston Bruins zipping around the ice.

Trying not to look over at the other end of the rink. Trying not to look at the white jerseys with blue and gold detailing. Trying not to scan the sea of players for the one person you should’ve forgotten by now.

Trying not to have your eyes land on the number six emblazoned on your ex-boyfriend’s back.

What were you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.

But we were something, don’t you think so?

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The unfamiliar voice sounding from behind you tears you out of the peace you were taking in the quiet kitchen, causing you to spin around. You were ready to tell whoever it was off, ready to confront the person who was so bold as to say where you did and did not belong. However, the face that greets you, the owner of the voice, is not what you expected.

His head of chestnut brown curls was messy, his stunning hazel eyes sparkling as they rake up and down your body and his lips, surrounded by a light scruff, were twisted up into a small smirk. He was cute. Like, really cute. It also didn’t hurt that he was clad in swim trunks and a t-shirt that was cut short, exposing his muscular midriff.

You tighten your hand around the beer bottle you were holding as you lean back against counter, your face shifting from annoyance to mirror his casual bright expression.

“And why is that?” you ask, taking a small sip.

“Because,” this stranger starts, “this is Dunner’s party. And the Dunner I know would have never invited someone so gorgeous to his house and without hanging over her shoulder the entire time.”

You let out a light laugh, the compliment not escaping your notice.

“Oh really? How do you even know I was invited by Vince? Maybe I snuck into my neighbor’s house in the hopes of meeting a hot single man. Maybe this is the first step in my evil plan to make a professional hockey player to fall madly in love with me.”

“And how is that working out for you?”

“You tell me.”

The man in front of you lets out a big laugh, causing a genuine smile to grace your face. You liked the sound of it, the sight of his head being thrown back, his smile so bright it almost blinded you. He looked back at you, the grin still on his lips.

You hold out your hand to him, giving this stranger your name as an introduction and hoping he sees your somewhat formal greeting as an awkward indication of your interest. He gladly takes your hand in his, shaking it gently as he gives you his name in return.

“Joel.”

You two stand there for a moment longer, simply looking at each other and you are trying not to focus on the warmth of his palm and the energy that seems to be flowing between you.

“So, why are you here?” he asks, dropping his hand from yours and you try not to let your face fall in disappointment at the loss of his touch.

“My friend invited me,” you say, gesturing towards the crowd of people in backyard. “What you said earlier – that Vince would be draped over some gorgeous girl – you are right about that. It’s just that my friend Daphne is who Vince is attached to.”

Joel hums and softly nods hid head in understanding. He walks a few steps until he is resting his body against the counter right next to you, his arm slightly brushing the bare skin of your own.

“Okay, so that’s the reason why you’re at this party. But, why are you here?” he asks, lightly gesturing around the empty room before glancing over to you. You sigh, looking out the large glass windows facing the backyard, watching the rest of the party mingle on the grass or splash in the pool, their laughter dancing on the late summer breeze. And here you were, hiding in the kitchen.

“I thought it would be fun. Not sure if I was right,” you explain, your hands going to fiddle with the loose corner of the beer label. “But Daphne is always trying to get me to go out with her.”

“Why don’t you?”

“It just really isn’t my scene. I did the whole party life thing in college and now, it’s just kind of lost its appeal.”

Joel lets out another hum, his eyes focused on you. He glances back at his teammates, acting loud and rambunctious as always. It was a lot to take in, he realized, especially if you weren’t exposed to it for over half the year like he was. He looks back at you, your fingers still fidgeting with the damp paper, your eyes far away.

You were beautiful. The thought was in Joel’s head before he could even process what it meant. And he knew instantly that he didn’t want to see you worried, that he wanted to see you smile again.

“So, you aren’t trying to get an attractive, wealthy hockey player to fall in love with you?”

You let out a laugh, your eyes connecting with his once again. The sparkle in his irises tells you he is joking with you, trying to make you feel comfortable. But there is also another emotion behind it. You can see it trying to swim to the surface, a desire that hadn’t been directed your way in a long time.

“Well, never say never,” you quip back. “Do you happen to know someone who would be willing to be infatuated with me?”

Joel tilts his head back, his hand going to stroke the facial hair on his chin, pretending to be deep in thought.

“There is this one guy…” he starts, trailing off to catch your reaction. You turn towards him, the playful smile still on your face.

“He plays on the same team as Dunner. He’s also defenseman as well, number 6. A decent hockey player. Funny, chill, and pretty good-looking, if I do say so myself.”

You hum in thought, your fingers tapping a small rhythm against the top of the marble island before nonchalantly shrugging your shoulders.

“He seems promising. Do you think he would like me?”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Joel replies almost instantaneously, causing a small giggle to fall from your lips.

“Well then, point me in his direction!” you declare, catching Joel smiling at you out of the corner of your eye. “The next step would be to trip dramatically and fall into the pool, which will cause him to dive in after me to save my life. That is where our romance will begin!” you continue, throwing out your hands for additional affect.

“Or…” he says, gently grabbing your hand out of the air, his thumb brushing against the soft skin. “I could just give you his phone number. It might save you some time. And bodily harm.”

You smile, jolts of electricity racing through you from his touch.

“I suppose that works too.”

In my defense, I have none for digging up the grave another time.

“Hey, are you alright?”

You hear Daphne’s voice next to you and you finally tear your gaze away from the ice. She is staring at you, a hint of genuine concern in her eyes. The light-washed blue denim of her jacket stands out in the sea of black and gold and you spy the number 29 proudly displayed on her shoulder. Somehow, the sight of it makes you feel self-conscious that you’re only wearing an oversized grey sweater with a small Blues logo over the left breast. But then again, what else should you be wearing?

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, shaking your head, trying to erase the fantasy of you wearing a customized jacket out of your brain. “It just feels a little weird to be here, that’s all.”

Daphne turns to look around the box, all the other Better Halves excitedly talking and mingling. A few had come over to greet you, almost to welcome you back into the chosen sisterhood that developed between you all. But they knew it was only for one night.

Anyone could see how messed up this situation was; you coming to the biggest game of your ex-boyfriends’ career, hanging out with the ladies that you had grown close to in those six months you and Joel were together. Willingly placing yourself into this moment, as if nothing happened.

As if there was no break-up, as if you didn’t move halfway across the country and ghost all of them just to avoid anything that would remind you of his smile, his hazel eyes, his contagious laughter.  

Daphne sighs as she returns her gaze to you, your chin resting in your upturned palm, your eyes now focused on the giant screen hanging above the ice.

“You didn’t have to come, you know. Not that I don’t want you here,” she quickly backtracks. “I’m so happy you’re here. I missed you. We all missed you, trust me. But, you know, if it gets to be too much, you don’t have to stay. Everyone would understand.”

“Why would I turn down the opportunity to see a Stanley Cup Final game? Especially a Game 7.”

Daphne looks at you, a disapproving glint in her eyes. She knows that you’re trying to make light of the situation, make it a joke, and ignore the real reason you said yes. She knows exactly what made you agree to come meet her after months, even if you weren’t ready to admit it to yourself. And it sure as hell wasn’t a free ticket.

She turns away from you, her eyes following your gaze to the now pristine and empty rink. The lights dim and the roar from the hometown crowd goes up. But the sound and the energy buzzing through the stadium wasn’t enough to stop you from hearing Daphne’s last spoken words.

“He would be happy to know you’re here.”

You look down at the ice as the players step out, now allowing yourself to find the one person that you refused to acknowledge since you stepped foot in the arena.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

And if you wanted me, you really should’ve shown.

He was late. Again.

You sigh, as you continue to pace around your kitchen, your heels clicking gently on the tile floor. It had been almost two hours since Joel was supposed to pick you up for a date. But instead of sitting in an upscale restaurant, drinking good wine and eating decadent meals, you were left waiting in your best dress, watching the hands on the clock circle.

Although, you weren’t sure why you were still waiting.

The reservations you two had were definitely cancelled by now and at this point in the night, it was too late to even think about doing anything other than lying in your bed, watching whatever was airing on The Game Show Network until you fell asleep.

But you stayed, hoping that your boyfriend would walk through the door. Because you were pissed. You wanted to make him feel guilty for leaving you stranded like this. It wasn’t healthy – you knew that – but you weren’t sure what else to do. Lately, it seemed like Joel was more interested in… well, anything that wasn’t you.

When you two first started dating, it was like something out of a cheesy rom-com. He was attentive and caring and you had honestly never felt more loved. But before you knew it, the fire between you two started to dwindle.

In the back of your mind, you knew it was coming. Everyone talked about the honeymoon phase and its inevitable end. You just weren’t prepared for it to end when it did.

It also didn’t help that that conclusion of that lavender haze just happened to coincide with the St. Louis Blues’ worst losing streak, landing them in last place, not just in the division or the conference, but within the entire league. And the playoffs were just over the horizon.

Glancing back at the clock, you sigh. You are ready to give up, call it quits and change back into your comfy old sweatpants when you hear the doorknob turn. Your boyfriend’s laughter echoes around your apartment, the voices of Colton and Robert also filling the quiet evening.

You exit the kitchen and walk into the living room, your eyes landing on Joel, his arms slung over Colton and Robert Bortuzzo’s shoulders respectively. He doesn’t notice you at first, his eyes focused down as he attempts to kick off his shoes. You cross your arms and clear your throat and it is that noise that brings his attention up to you.

“Babe!” he shouts, his face flushed and eyes hazy.

“Hey,” Colton greets you as he supports his teammate’s weight. “Sorry, he got drunk tonight. We tried to take him home but he insisted we bring him here.”

You let out a small hum, the anger boiling in your stomach as you take in Joel’s inebriated state. Instead of moving toward him, fawning over him or laughing at him like you normally would, your feet stay glued to the floor. Out of the corner of your eye, you see both Colton and Robert look you up and down, taking in your dress and heels. The tense atmosphere is palpable and not even Joel’s incoherent babbling can stop them from realizing that the drunken man between them had royally fucked up.

You let out a heavy sigh, gritting your teeth, your body sinking in defeat. This was not the situation that you had planned for the night and you had half a mind to throw him out. However, you were never the one to cause a scene and you weren’t about to get into it with Joel when he probably couldn’t even walk straight, let alone think straight.

“You can take him to the guest bedroom,” you say. “Down the hall to the left.”

You can almost feel the relief that came off in waves from Robert and Colton as they started to half walk, half drag Joel down the hall, you following close behind. Joel didn’t seem to understand anything happening around him until they guided him towards the guest bedroom and away from yours.

“Wait, where are we going?” he mumbled, trying to move his body back in the direction of your bedroom. “This isn’t the way to bed, guys. And I should know. I’ve been there a bunch of times.”

You fight back the urge to scream at Joel’s not-so-subtle innuendo, already feeling embarrassed about the situation he had put you in. Instead, you help shove him onto the mattress of the guest bed, watching as your boyfriend flounders against the covers. Joel tries to lift himself up but both Robert and Colton push him back. His eyes dart from his friends over to you, those hazel irises wide as he looks up at you like a neglected puppy dog. It takes all your effort to keep your icy demeanor.

“Babe, why can’t I sleep in your bed?”

“I don’t want you puking all over my sheets,” you say cooly, even though everyone else in the room knew the real reason why he was being banished to the guest bedroom. Joel doesn’t notice your coldness and instead shoots a goofy grin in your direction, his head hitting the pillow, curls flying wildly as he mumbles that he promises not to. You roll your eyes, having heard enough of his so-called promises in the past few weeks.

Robert clears his throat and you turn to him and Colton, awkwardly standing in the room next to you. You sigh, walking away from Joel and leading them out into the hallway and back to your front door.

“Thanks for getting him here safe boys,” you say, holding the door open for them as they walk over the threshold and out into the hallway.

“Of course,” Colton says, shooting you a sympathetic smile. You start to close the door but just before it shuts completely, you hear the small chirp that leaves Robert’s lips.

“Not sure how safe he’s going to be in there.”

You fasten the lock on your front door before you let your head fall forward, gently hitting your forehead against the wood, the anger still radiating from your tense body. Bortz doesn’t know how right he is. To say you are livid is the understatement of the year. You want nothing more than to tear Joel a new one but you know that doing that now would be pointless.

So instead, you take a few deep breaths in through your nose and out your mouth. Then you turn back into the kitchen and grab a glass, filling it with cold water from the Brita filter in your fridge. After grabbing the small case of Tylenol from your purse, you wander back to the guest bedroom.  

Joel is curled up on the bed, still completely dressed except for the shoes that he managed to remove at your front door. You hate the way your heart softens as you take in his sleeping face, his lips slightly parted and his curls wild against the pillowcase. Moving over to the nightstand, you place the glass of water and aspirin down and move to leave when Joel reaches out and manages to grab your hand. You look down at him, his eyes now half opened and his thumb gently caressing the skin on your wrist.

“Come to bed,” he mumbles, slightly tugging you towards him. You gently remove your hand from his grasp and take a few steps back from him.

“Not tonight.”

You reach the threshold of the room, ready to leave when you hear Joel’s voice call your name and you turn your body, your eyes connecting with his.

“You look really pretty,” he murmurs.

Normally, a smile would tug at the corner of your lips in response to his compliment. But your face stays frozen in its apathy as you watch Joel’s eyes close once more. You are silent as you push yourself out the door and walk into the peace of your own bedroom. It isn’t until you are curled under the covers, your dress exchanged for pajamas and your face scrubbed free of makeup, do the tears finally start to fall.

In my defense, I have none for never leaving well enough alone.

Everything about this situation was stressing you out.

The hockey fan in you was stressed because you had just sat through 20 excruciating minutes of the Blues getting almost no time in the offensive zone and you practically screamed every time Jordan was forced to make a save.

The other part of you was stressed because you weren’t sure if you were allowed to be this worried about the boys.

It was still true that you cared about the team and wanted nothing more than for them to win this. You wanted to hug Devon and Dayna when Jay scored a goal that deflected off Ryan’s stick, getting the Blues on the board first. You wanted to scream and jump with Jayne when Alex scored in the last 10 seconds of the first period. And you definitely felt the thrum of pride run through you when Joel laid down in front of a shot by Sean Kuraly, potentially preventing a Bruins goal.

But it felt almost wrong to care this much.

The only reason you got into hockey was because of Joel. You learned the game for him, cheered for him, celebrated every win and mourned every loss. With him. And now, you were no longer his.

It wasn’t right for you to act like you were still a member of this group. Because you would just be lying to yourself. And it would just make it that much harder to leave.

You couldn’t let yourself fall into that comfortable complacency, pretending that everything was alright. That everything was different.

You know the greatest loves of all time are over now.

You woke up, your heart heavy and your eyes puffy. It took a moment to shake off the groggy haze that hung over you, to remember the reason why your heart felt like it had gone five rounds in a boxing ring, but eventually, the events of last night came flooding back to you.

The sound of the clock ticking on the wall. Your feet aching in your heels. Joel’s slurred words. The way his hand felt intwined in yours. Your tears falling onto the pillowcase.

You didn’t want to face him but he was in your apartment, sleeping a few doors down from you. There wasn’t no way to avoid the inevitable confrontation.  With a huff of breath, you raise yourself from your bed, the sheets falling from your body, your bare feet connect with the cold hardwood floor.

You quietly open the door and walk down the hall, ignoring the urge to walk into the guest bedroom and check on Joel. Instead, you pad into your kitchen and start to make your morning cup of coffee. It is when you are standing in front of the machine watching your mug fill, do you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

“Mornin’” you hear Joel mumble into your shoulder as his lips press against your bare skin. Every fiber of your body wants to melt into his embrace but you resist, choosing instead to shrug yourself out of his grasp. You take your mug from the machine and walk over to one of the stools at the end of your island, sitting down so your body faces him. You take a small sip, still not acknowledging Joel standing stunned in the place you left him.

“Babe?” His questioning voice causes you to look up and you can feel a flare of anger appear at the sight of his confused expression painted on his face. “Did I do something wrong?”

His ignorant question is the breaking point and you practically slam your mug onto the cold marble in front of you, some of the hot liquid sloshing over the side. Your eyes connect with his as the vindictive rage you had been holding in for almost twelve hours finally starts to pour out of you.

“Do you really have to ask that Joel?” you spit out, not even attempting to hide the pure venom in your voice. “Let’s start with the fact that last night, I spent almost two hours waiting for you in this goddamn kitchen. Do you remember why? It was because we had a date. You were supposed to pick me up and we were supposed to go out to that cute little bistro by the river.”

You see his eyes widen as he takes in the information, remembering the plans that the two of you had. His reaction makes your wrath feel righteous. Joel’s mouth opens as if to say something, perhaps an apology, but you cut him off before he can even utter a sound.

“And then, the moment I was about to call it quits, to give up and go to bed and call you in the morning, after trying to call you multiple times that night, what happens? You come stumbling into my house, practically being carried by Parayko and Bortuzzo. So, instead of spending a beautiful night with your girlfriend, you decided to what? Get drunk with your friends? And then insist that they bring you here so I can take care of you?”

“Babe I’m so sorry, I –” Joel starts to say but you stop him.

“I’m not your maid, or you mother, or your fucking side-chick, Joel. I’m your girlfriend. I am not some shiny thing that you can play with when you get bored and then toss to the side when something new catches your interest.”

You see his eyes darken at your words and Joel takes two long strides over to where you were sitting.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he grits out, now towering over you. In any other situation, you might shrink and back down, always the mediator. But this time, you are just too livid to care.

“What it means is if you want me, you need to start giving a shit about me. That means keeping your promises and showing up when I fucking ask you to.”

“I’m sorry, alright. Is that what you want to hear?” he says, his voice raising in frustration.

“I want to hear why you chose getting shit-faced with your friends over picking me up for the date we had planned for weeks.”

“Jesus, it slipped my mind. We were just hanging out and Bortz suggested we drink and it just got out of hand. We were all stressed about the team and it just seemed like the best thing to do. You understand that we are in last place!? If we don’t start winning games, we can kiss any chance of the playoffs goodbye. Part of my fucking job is to try and fix that, but I can’t do that when you are demanding all of my attention.”

Your mouth drops open, a scoff leaving your lips as your brain registers Joel’s accusation.

“Excuse me? I’m demanding all of your attention? I’m not the one who showed up drunk on the doorstep, begging to be coddled like a child.”

“Oh, get over it. I showed up, didn’t I? I remembered you. You know how many girls I could get, how many are lurking in my DM’s waiting for their chance. You’re lucky that even though I was drunk, I didn’t run to one of them. Although, maybe I should’ve. They would’ve taken care of me and they definitely wouldn’t be busting my balls right now.”

His words take you aback, cutting through you down to your core and you can feel the sting of tears in the corner of your eyes. Joel knew all your insecurities and here he was, using that knowledge to hurt you deeper than anyone else could.

“Get. The fuck. Out of my house,” you grit out, your chest heaving as you try to control your breathing. Your voice is quiet but hard as you stare down the man in front of you. Although you will for it not to happen, a tear escapes you, rolling down your cheek and you see Joel’s eye dart to it, the color draining from his face as he realizes what he’s said.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it, I swear,” he babbles, dropping to his knees in front of you, reaching for your hands. You rip them away from his grasp and let the floodgates open. The tears flow freely now and the hurt that had settled in your sternum tickles up your throat.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t you dare imply that the girls in your DM’s care more about you than I do. They’re not the ones who make your pre-game meals and drive you to practice and let you rant about anything: trade rumors or ice times or bullshit calls. They don’t give a fuck about you, Joel. All they care about is your looks and the price tag attached to your name. But fine. If you want someone who’s only good for a night, someone who’s not going to tie you down and hold you accountable and challenge you while still caring about you and loving you… then we’re done. Now there’s nothing stopping you from getting what you want.”

You lift yourself off the stool and walk back towards your bedroom, leaving Joel kneeling on the floor. The door latches behind you and you wait. For what, you aren’t entirely sure. It’s only after you hear the echoing of the front door shutting, do your knees give out and you drop to the ground, your sobs racking through your now empty apartment.

That is where you stay until you have no tears left, your energy completely drained. You are sure your heart has broken into a million little pieces and if someone were to cut you open, the crimson flood would pulse out, staining everything around you. But the worst part would be that it would beat out to the rhythm of one phrase, the one phrase that you had never said to anyone else;

I love you. I love you. I love you.

And if my wishes came true, it would’ve been you.

You couldn’t do this.

Somehow you managed to sit through another period and every time Joel stepped out onto the ice, your eyes were glued to him. You watched as he continued to play his game, dumping pucks into the offensive zone, blocking shots, helping puck movement, setting up multiple opportunities for his teammates to score.

When you watched him on the ice, you understood why you fell for him. He was kind and unselfish. He wanted to help the team even if it didn’t mean any glory for him. That was the type of person he was.

And when the buzzer sounded signaling the end of the second period, you felt your heart reaching out to him as he exited down the tunnel towards the locker room.

You couldn’t do this.

You jump from your seat and push your way past the other Better Halves, out of the suite. It takes a while for you to find a semi-secluded staircase in the winding corridors of the club level but when you do, you sink onto the carpeted stairs, ready to hide for the rest of the game in your makeshift oasis. Your head falls into your upturned palms as you try to calm your breathing. You are so caught up your emotions that you don’t notice a body crouch down in front of you.

The soft call of your name bounces off the walls and you look up to lock eyes with Jayne Pietrangelo, a sympathetic expression painted on her face.

“I’m fine,” you say, trying to keep the tremble from your voice.

“Bullshit.”

The quiet conviction in her voice startles you at first but her steady gaze causes your walls to crumble. Before you can even blink, she has you wrapped in a hug, squeezing you tight as if she could make everything better by just holding you. You aren’t ashamed to say that is almost worked.

Jayne was one of the first people to welcome you into the group and you were pretty sure she thought that you and Joel were end game before that idea even crossed your mind. She became like a big sister to you and when you ended things with Joel, she was one of the few calls you picked up in the days after.

She lets you push your face into the denim jacket she was wearing as she gently strokes your hair. After you manage to compose yourself, she pulls back from you, forcing you to lock eyes with her.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she softly demands and you almost let out a laugh at her demeanor. Alex’s captain tendencies must have rubbed off on her because here she was, ready to coach you through anything.

“I just can’t do this,” you sigh out, your head shaking as your eyes dart to the ceiling.

“Can’t do what?”

“Be here. Watch him. I don’t belong here anymore.”

“Do you want to leave?”                                           

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

All Jayne does is let out a small hum as she comes to sit next to you. You two stay there in quiet contemplation, your mind racing a mile a minute as you wait for her to say something, anything that will make you feel better.

“I’m not going to stop you from leaving, if that’s what you want to do,” Jayne says, her eyes sliding over to connect with yours. “But I think you are ignoring the real question. Instead of asking yourself if you’re allowed to be here or if you even want to be here, you need to understand why you’re here. Why did you decide to come to a place where you knew you were going to re-live some painful memories? You knew what you were walking into and yet you still came.”

She turns to you, her hands reaching out to grip yours as she stares at you, her eyes cutting you open and laying out your soul like the pages of an old book.

“So, tell me. Why are you here?”

Her question rattles around your brain as you search for the answer. The lies are easy to think of, ready to fall from your lips: it’s a Stanley Cup Final game, you didn’t have anything else to do, Daphne asked you to come, you wanted to see all the girls again.

But you knew the real reason you said yes; the real reason you found an old oversized Blues sweatshirt in the back of your closet that still smelled faintly of cologne, the real reason you walked to TD Garden after spending months trying to forget about anything that reminded you of St. Louis. And he was sitting in a locker room a few dozen feet below you, with only 20 minutes left in a game that most players dreamed about, hoping that he would be able to hoist the greatest trophy in sports.

“I wanted to be here for him. Win or lose,” you say, the words still a little unsteady after being locked in your heart for six months. You take a deep breath and let yourself continue, allowing the confession you had been denying every time it appeared in your head fall from your lips.

“Because I love him. I still love him.”

Jayne says nothing for a few moments, letting your words hang in the air before she shoots you a gentle smile.

“That’s enough of a reason for you to stay.”

She gets up, holding out her hand to you. Looking up at her, you allow yourself to smile, the first genuine grin flooding your face. You take her hand and let her lift you off the staircase and lead you back to the suite where the rest of your friends were waiting.

And if you never bleed, you’re never gonna grow.

You were a wreck since your fight with Joel. He had tried to call you multiple times but you let it go to voicemail every time. And as the days passed, the calls became less and less frequent until they stopped altogether.

A week later, you came home to find a small box sitting on your doorstep. Inside was all the things you had left at Joel’s place with a small note sitting on the top.

“I’m sorry.”

You had never cried more in your life than you did that evening.

After laying in your bed for hours on end, binge eating chocolate, and binge watching the same three TV shows, you finally decided it was time to stop wallowing in your sadness and try to move on. The next day, you cleared out everything in your house that reminded you of Joel and let yourself get lost in the effort of forgetting him.

It wasn’t easy.

You still sometimes woke up before the sun, your body telling you it was time to get Joel to practice. When you had a bad day, you found yourself making his favorite meal, as if his sadness had melded with yours. Whenever you turned on the news, you always managed to catch it in time to hear the sports section. You found yourself listening to how the Blues were winning again, pulling themselves out of last place and continually pushing themselves towards the playoffs. You resisted the urge to dial Joel’s number, still stored in your phone, and congratulate him after every win or console him after a loss.

As a distraction, you threw yourself into your work, getting tasks done at a breakneck speed and being more productive than you had ever been. You managed to have the best work quarter of your life and your reviews were through the roof. Although, you didn’t really take note of it because you weren’t trying to impress your boss or the company. You were simply trying to stop your mind from focusing on something else, like the feeling of freshly washed curls between your fingers and a smile that outshined the stars.

So, the day your boss called you into her office, the last thing you were expecting her was a promotion. And you certainly weren’t expecting to pack your things and move to Boston after accepting said promotion.

But part of you was relieved to be leaving. It would be much easier to forget about Joel in a city where most people didn’t even know his name. When you landed in Boston, you thought that this would be the place where everything you left behind would fade away.

And you were right. At least, for a few months.

You made new friends and went out to bars and brunches. You continued to work your ass off at your job, now working to prove yourself instead of just working to forget. You didn’t realize that Joel hadn’t even crossed your mind for a long time.

Then one night, when you were out dancing with friends, a handsome stranger pulled you into his lips. And it felt good. You felt free for the first time in a while, believing that your heart was finally mending after everything it had been through.

But that night, after you went home alone and crashed into your bed with your head pounding from the alcohol in your veins, you dreamt of Joel. Of him holding you tight and hearing his heartbeat pound in his chest.

You woke up the next day with the most exquisite ache in your chest and a desperate desire to be wrapped up in his arms once more. Then, when you were walking home from the grocery store that same day, you thought you saw him standing on the corner.

It wasn’t him, of course. But just the mere possibility of seeing him again had you almost dropping your bags onto the sidewalk and rushing into the arms of a complete stranger who just so happened to look like your ex-boyfriend.

That was the moment you knew you were fucked.

Soon, you found yourself turning on the TV, watching hockey games for the first time in months. And when the Bruins won the East and the Blues won the West, you realized that your two worlds were colliding. The world with Joel and the world after him were crashing together and you would be caught up in the carnage. But you were ready for it.

So, when you received a text message from Daphne, who you hadn’t spoken to since you left St. Louis, you answered it. And when she mentioned that Yana couldn’t make the games as she had just given birth to Vladi and hers second son, your heart waited for her to ask the question you hoped to hear. And when she asked if you wanted to come to Game 7 with her, the tug in your heart had made the decision long before you got the words out.

If one thing had been different, would everything be different today?

That was how you found yourself standing in the suite with all the other St. Louis Better Halves, watching as the final minutes of the final period counted down.

After Jayne pulled you back to the seats, you decided to let yourself go. No more holding back your emotions, no more resisting the feelings that had been churning inside you since you stepped foot in the arena. Instead, you screamed with the rest of the girls when Brayden scored another goal to put the Blues up three to nothing. You held breath, squeezing Daphne’s hand as you all watched Vince lead a three-man breakaway, silently praying for something good to come from that opportunity. And you jumped and hugged the girls when Zach scored a fourth goal with less than five minutes left.

And now, you were on your feet, one hand clasped in Daphne’s and the other clasped in Jayne’s, your heart pounding as you watched the clock on the scoreboard in front of you drop to seconds as the final minute of play began.

You could see the bench, the boys on their feet and as every second ticked by, they grew closer and closer to victory. Your eyes looked for Joel, wanting to memorize every minute of his reaction when the final buzzer sounded. It took you a little while to locate him in the crowd but once you did, your eyes never strayed from his body.

He was bouncing with excitement, the anticipation buzzing through him. You could see him slowly realize that this was going to happen, that he was going to be a Stanley Cup champion and when Jaden shoots the puck towards the blue line and it sails past Krejci, onto the other side of the rink, you watched him leap over the bench, throwing his gloves and stick into the air as he rushed to the goal, slamming into the pile of his teammates, all cheering because they finally, finally achieved what they had been working their whole life towards.

You almost collapse under the pure excitement rushing though you, the screams of the other girls echoing around the box and they celebrated. They were hugging and cheering but you kept your eyes on the ice, watching as the boys embraced each other. You felt tears welling in your eyes and it wasn’t until Jayne pulled you into a hug did you tear your focus away from the sweaty mop of curls.

“They did it!” she screamed and pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. You hugged her back and found yourself going around to the other girls, who celebrated with you like nothing had changed. Because nothing had changed. Just because you weren’t with Joel didn’t mean that these girls weren’t your friends. You had become a part of their lives and you were ready to celebrate with them for as long as they would have you. You hoped that would be a long time.

Daphne held you tight as the two of you jumped up and down, screaming incoherently at the fact that this did indeed happen. That Vince was a Stanley Cup Champion. That Joel was a Stanley Cup Champion. That the St. Louis Blues were Stanley Cup Champions.

All the girls turned their attention to the ice as the Conn Smythe trophy was presented and you swore that almost everyone jumped into Dayna’s arms when Ryan’s name was announced over the loudspeaker. It was a few moments until finally, the Stanley Cup was carried out onto the ice. You watched the boys, lined up, arms wrapped around each other as they took in the trophy that was finally theirs.

And when Alex skated forward and hoisted the Cup over his head, you cheered louder than you had in your entire life.

You watched as the Cup made its way down the lineup, passing between players, each one of them unable to contain their excitement and joy. Daphne pulled you close when Vince had his turn, lifting it above him and you could see the tears in her eyes as she watched the man she loved celebrate. And she held you next to her when Joel finally got his hands on the Cup.

The joy in your heart was indescribable as you watched him carry the 35-pound trophy, cheering and pressing kisses to the silver metal. It was exactly the moment you had wanted for him since you first started dating. It was what you dreamed about at every home game, his name and number proudly displayed on your back. It was what you had hoped for when you watched him on your television for the previous six games of the finals. And it was everything you had wished for ever since you walked into TD Garden almost two hours ago.

The girls were moving, picking up their things and heading out of the box, presumably to go down to the ice to congratulate their men on a hard-fought victory. A wave of doubt settled over you and you shifted your weight between your feet, unsure if you should, or were even allowed, to go down with them. It wasn’t until Daphne grabbed one hand and Jayne grabbed the other did you start to move.

You all make your way down the corridors, pushing past people and flashing your security passes. Your heart rate increases once you reach the end of the tunnel. The lights were still shining bright, causing the ice to blind you as you step onto the rink. The three of you carefully shuffle across the ice, the atmosphere still electric with the energy buzzing off the players and staff.

Jayne was the first to break away from your group, running towards Alex who was currently being interviewed. You see the reporter notice Jayne hurrying over and give Alex a nudge in her direction. His face instantly brightens the moment he sees her and he skates over, embracing her.  

It wasn’t long before Vince spotted Daphne. As soon as his eyes land on her, he was rushing towards her and she dropped your hand to meet him halfway. You watch as he pulls her close to kiss her deeply, her hands tangling in his hair.

As happy as you were for all of them, both the players and your friends, their joy and intimacy left you feeling awkward as you stand alone in center ice. You weren’t exactly sure what you were supposed to be doing, if anything. While the girls welcomed you with open arms, you weren’t that close to the other players or staff. Most of them hadn’t seen you since you ended things with Joel.

It was when you caught the eye of Colton Parayko did you really feel like a deer in headlights.

Colton’s eyes flicker behind you, looking for Joel, wondering if he had seen you. Glancing back at you, he stood there a moment longer, taking you in. Then, that familiar crooked smile broke out on his face and the breath you didn’t know you had been holding rushed out of you. You mirrored his grin, your body relaxing as he gave you a small wave. You laughed and returned his gesture before he skated away, going to celebrate with his family.

His quiet reassurance was all you needed to feel certain that you were meant to be here.

You slowly spin, finally taking in the joy surrounding you, letting it soak into your skin. You watch Vladi sit on the edge of the rink as he calls Yana, see Laila walking over to Colton and see him wrap her into a giant hug, look over towards Patty lifting his son Anthony onto his shoulders, still shouting and pumping his fists in the air.

You were so caught up in enjoying the moment that you didn’t notice a pair of eyes attach to your frame. It wasn’t until you completed your circle did your gaze fall on Joel, his gaze already locked on you.

A towel was slung around his neck, the Stanley Cup Championship hat perched on his head. And he was staring at you as if he had seen a ghost. You were sure you looked the same way.

You both stand there, a few feet away, simply drinking in the sight of seeing one another in person for the first time in months.

You feel your heart swell as you take him in, the joy still emulating from his body. Words couldn’t describe how happy you were for him. Even if he was no longer a part of your life, you were happy to see him succeed. You wanted him to know that.

Part of you would always love him, that much you were certain of. But part of you knew that maybe you two just weren’t meant to be. And for the first time, that thought didn’t send a jolt of pain straight to your chest. Instead, you felt the warm wave of acceptance wash over you.

You let a small smile dance onto your face, connecting your eyes with his and silently sending all the care and admiration you had for him across the ice. And when you looked into his hazel eyes, the ones that you missed waking up to every morning, you let only one thought reverberate within your mind:

I love you.

And when he smiled back, his eyes sparkling like they always did, you knew that he was thinking the same thing.

But it would’ve been fun, if you would’ve been the one.

You had never felt happier than you did in this moment. The sky was a perfect blue above you, the sun shining on your bare skin, its light refracting off the soft waves on the lake.

You lean back, your feet gently kick in the water off the end of the boat and your eyes close as you let the peaceful contentment soak into your bones. You feel a form settle behind you, a pair of arms coming to wrap around your waist and pull you close. Eyes opening, you glance back to see Joel, a light sun-kissed hue now dusting his nose and cheekbones. A soft smile makes its way onto your lips, causing him to grin back at you.

“Hey pretty lady.”

“Hi,” you softly whisper out.

“What are you doing back here?” he asks, pulling you even closer, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. You lean your head against him, taking a deep breath.

“Nothing. Just relaxing.”

Joel just hums in reply, letting the silence return as your bodies press against each other, simply supporting the other’s weight and taking in the moment.

When Joel mentioned his captain’s idea of taking a couple of boats out to Lincoln Lake with the team and their better halves for some bonding and relaxing before the season started and the hectic schedule pushed everyone in different directions, you had to admit you were unsure whether you should go. You had only just started dating Joel. But as soon as you made it out onto the water, you found yourself laughing with the other girls, as if you had known each other forever.

“I’m happy you decided to come,” you hear Joel mumble. And when you glance back, you can see the pure love pouring from his hazel irises. You let yourself lift your head up towards him, connecting your lips to his. You can smell the sunscreen on his skin, taste the rosé on his lips. Your fingers tangle into his sun-bleached curls, and in that moment, you realized that you never wanted to let him go. You pull away from him, your lips still gently upturned as you bring your eyes back to his.

“Of course I came. Where else would I be?”

taglist: @laurenairay @fallinallincurls @ sorlos-world @svexhenthusiast 

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[kayleighwinchester]

Everything I Wanted for Christmas

Well, y'all, after an insane peak season at Amazon, fighting the awful writer's block dragon, and lots of Christmas music on Spotify, we made it! @fangirlingfromdownunder, you were my SPNFanficPond Secret Santa recipient! I accidentally deviated a bit from the info you gave; the brain worms started doing their thing, and here we are! I hope you like it nonetheless - I absolutely adored writing it! Merry Christmas!

Seeing Dean settle into something close to ‘normalcy’ was a fascinating thing to watch - especially as the holidays drew nearer. 

The eldest Winchester had, you knew, never known much of a life outside of cheap extended-stay motels and the backseat of the Impala; Christmas had consisted, at best, of stolen decorations and gas-station presents, if those weren’t outright stolen too. Now, with the bunker, you’d had a front row seat to watch him, in an endearing turn of events, essentially begin nesting. He scolded Sam if the kitchen was left messy, got on your case about towels left on the bathroom floor, and became viciously protective of his own – and later, your shared – space within the Men of Letters’ underground sanctuary.

With that in mind, you were more than a little curious to see how the holidays would go over - how Dean would take to the festivities he’d never fully had a chance to indulge in.

This… Wasn’t exactly what you had expected. Not by a long shot.

Dean had ushered you out the door that morning with a handwritten list, one you were sure, now, was just an excuse to get you out of the bunker for a few hours. It included everything from vanilla extract to hooks for outdoor Christmas lights (where the hell was he planning on hanging outdoor lights?) – from tinsel to cookie cutters. Your suspicion was only furthered by the fact that you were quite sure that at least half of what you were reading on his chicken-scratch list was already in the many cabinets and closets of the bunker, or, at least, could have waited - this list easily could have been spread out over more than one beer run, rather than Dean all but shoving you out the door.

Still, you complied - though not without a fair bit of grumbling when the eldest Winchester didn’t respond to your ‘I’m back’ text, leaving you to haul the first load of bags through the front door yourself.

What you saw in exchange, however, was most certainly worth it.

Dean was all but fighting for his life, grappling with a tree that was, admittedly, a bit too large for the space it was in, if anyone had bothered to ask your opinion. It only took you a moment or two to realize that it was, in fact, a real tree, and Dean did, in fact, have help (that realization was helped along by Dean’s sudden, panicked, “dammit, Sam –” as the tree swayed precariously, threatening to drop toward his side). It took another moment or two to process that they had somehow gotten said real tree into the bunker - you glanced down, finding that you were crushing a light carpet of needles underfoot. 

“Come on, man, this shouldn’t be this hard,” Sam sighed out, sounding utterly exasperated with his older brother as you watched him try to get a better grip on the utterly massive tree. 

Dean bristled slightly. “‘Shouldn’t be this hard’,” He mimicked the words back, adding a grumbled, “shut up” onto the end. “Just need to get this thing up before she gets back -...”

You decided to spare Dean’s dignity for as long as humanly possible, quietly sneaking out to get the next few loads of grocery bags - all plastered in colorful logos from Walmart, Menards, the local mini-mart, and even one or two from Dollar Tree. By the time you were done, you were relieved to find the tree finally standing, the branches still settling, and Dean huffing and puffing, taking a long drink from a beer sitting on the war room table. 

“Looks good,” You called down, leaning against the banister.

The eldest Winchester went utterly still.

Clearly, this wasn’t all he’d hoped to accomplish with his few hours of near-solitude, because he let out a quiet, “Son of a bitch,” under his breath, scrubbing his free hand over his face, before adding a louder, gentler, “Thanks, Sweetheart,” though his tone still held a bit of exasperation. He looked up toward the door, pausing as he saw the veritable mountain of shopping bags around you, and quietly, sheepishly asked, “...Uh, how long you been standin’ there, Sweetheart?”

“A while,” You said simply, holding up the last of your shopping haul - a case of beer. He grimaced, scrubbing his hand over his face once more, motioning a bit helplessly to the tree. 

“Surprise,” He offered halfheartedly. “I was gonna -...” Another half-hearted motion toward the offending evergreen. “Ran outta time, I guess.” His shoulders slumped just slightly, and he took another drink of his beer.

“Decorate it?” You guessed, and he nodded. “De, we can do that together. I figured we would. That’s kind’a the whole point.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I just -...” He grumbles softly. “Wanted to surprise you.” 

“I’m not gonna lie,” You crossed your arms on the banister, leaning forward, eyeing the tree. “That’s a pretty damn big surprise, Baby. How the hell did you get that thing in here?” And for the first time, you noticed that the tree was suspiciously close to the nearest wall, and… 

You couldn't help but bark out a laugh. “...Did you cut it in half?”

“No!” Dean barked out immediately. 

Sam, emerging from the kitchen, helpfully supplied, “He just cut half the branches off,” though he sounded utterly exasperated. Dean shot him a withering look that really did define the phrase ‘if looks could kill’. 

“‘S not half.” Dean grumbled. “Just… Took some off the back. Wouldn’t fit through the door otherwise. ‘Sides,” He shot Sam a pointed look, “aren’t you supposed to be meeting up with Eileen? Y’know, somewhere that’s not here?” 

Sam raised his hands in surrender. “You’re the one that needed help with the tree.” He pointed out. 

“Yeah, well. Tree’s up.” Dean returned, using both hands – one still holding his beer – to shoo Sam toward the door. Sam rolled his eyes, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, before he disappeared down the hall. Dean’s own eyes returned to you, and, more importantly, the bags piled around your feet. “Could’a called me to help with those, y’know.” He pointed out as he took the stairs two at a time to begin helping you carry them the rest of the way into the bunker.

“I tried,” You commented dryly, holding up your phone and waving it once. He cast a glance down to his own phone, sitting on the table, and then back to you a bit guiltily. 

“Didn't hear it,” He said, looking just a bit like a scolded puppy. “I would’a helped.” He began to pick up bags – clearly attempting to make up for his misstep by taking as many as he physically could in one go. You couldn't fight back a smile that curled onto your lips at that, watching him take the stairs back down – again, two at a time.

The two of you made quick work of putting away the few actual grocery items – the beer, the baking ingredients that you had been entirely correct in assuming you already had around the bunker, and a few other things, setting the rest of the bags on the table.

Sam left for his evening with Eileen just as Dean was starting on the hot chocolate. The two of you had changed into pajamas – some adorable matching ones that, surprisingly enough, Dean himself had surprised you with – plaid pajama pants, lined with some soft, fuzzy material, and shirts with piles of gifts printed on the front, his reading I got everything I wanted for Christmas and yours reading It’s me, I’m everything – and matching slippers. 

As Dean worked on the drinks, you got started on music – you'd been delighted to find another cache of records in a tucked away closet, all vintage Christmas. Your favorite discovery in the bunker thus far had been a beautiful record player, still in perfect condition, and an ever-growing collection of records to go along with it. You had just gotten one by Gene Autry going, one by Dean Martin sitting ready for when it ended, when Dean came out of the kitchen, proudly presenting two mugs of hot chocolate, complete with marshmallows that just barely fit into the mugs.

“Alright,” He grinned, that wide, boyish grin, his eyes sparkling, as he set the mugs down, rubbing his hands together. “So, we got the hot chocolate – and eggnog for later,” Admittedly, you were a bit surprised that he had the restraint to keep alcohol for a time that wasn’t right freakin’ now. “So, uh, what’s first?” Oh, there was that look on his face – that expectant but uncertain look, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. That much, you knew, was accurate. 

“Lights,” You said matter-of-factly, a grin curling onto your own lips. “Which is probably gonna be the most annoying part.”

You could see the smile start to falter on his lips, his eyes wandering to the bags on the table. “Annoying?” He wondered. “They’re just lights, Sweetheart. ‘S gonna be fine. ‘Sides, they’re brand new. Not like they’re gonna be all tangled up.” He moved to open the first box of lights, missing the way you shook your head.

“Give them five minutes.” You warned him. "They'll be a mess."

You could hear his grin as he began opening box after box of lights – clearly, at least some thought and Googling had gone into his list, because he’d been very specific about how many boxes he thought he’d need. “Watch ‘n learn, Sweetheart, watch ‘n learn.”

So, watch ‘n learn you did. 

Settling yourself on the edge of the table, mug in both hands, you watched him start on the lights – and learned, very quickly, that he had no real idea exactly how infuriating the strands of lights could really be. His face was twisted up in concentration and frustration as the lights twinkled cheerfully, spots of pale gold dancing off of his skin. The entire affair was punctuated with several muttered ‘son of a bitch’es, one ‘oh no you don’t’ as the tree began to lean to one side, and finally, finally, four songs into the record, an exasperated, “A’ight, Sweetheart, you win. Wanna come lend me a hand?” 

You grinned, hopping down off of the table, setting your mug aside and moving to his side, standing on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll do you one better,” You teased. “Go drink your hot chocolate, and – what’d you say again, Baby? Watch ‘n learn?” 

He rolled his eyes skyward, but obediently took a step back, and then another, moving back toward the table, taking a seat and picking up his own mug in one hand, picking through the bags with the other. “We still gotta wrap presents, too.” He pointed out absently. “Wanna give Sammy somethin’ that isn’t wrapped in plastic bags this time. You got wrapping paper, right?” 

“Big paper bag on the floor,” You directed, examining the tree briefly. You were fairly sure Dean had to have watched a few online tutorials – your own experience with lights was something along the lines of wing it and hope they stay, whereas he had actually seemed to have an order he was doing things in. He was somewhere around halfway done with wrapping the lights around the inside of the tree, cords flush against the trunk, so you followed his lead. 

You could hear him rustling through the bag behind you, and hear his snort of amusement. “Y’got Scooby Doo wrapping paper?” There was no way to mistake the sound of the smile in his voice. 

“Figured I could either wrap yours in it, or you could wrap the ones you’re giving out in it,” You informed him, your own smile returning. “But I wanted to give you first dibs.” You’d reached the bottom of the tree, and, carefully winding the lights on a lower branch to keep them from slipping, started your way back up.

“Oh, I’m so usin’ it.” He said seriously. You could hear him continue to paw through the bags. “...Sweetheart. Darlin’.” He said slowly after a few moments. “How many different kinds’a ornaments do we need? Don’t think these are all gonna fit.” 

You draped the lights over a branch, giving them a warning stare, as if you could intimidate them into remaining in place and not tangling further, turning around to face him. He’d taken out every plastic container of cheap Walmart ornaments, and had spread them out across the table. He was examining them like they might bite him. 

“Well,” You drawled, “by the time I hit Walmart, I figured that list of yours was a wild goose chase to keep me out of the bunker for a while –” Catching your expression, he opened his mouth to protest, and you shook your head, grinning. “Don’t even. You know the kitchen like the back of your hand, Dean – you and I both know we didn’t need more vanilla.” He closed his mouth, grinning guiltily. “So I figured I’d stay out a little longer, and, uh – I kind’a went a little overboard.” Your own smile had gone a bit sheepish. 

You could see his mind working, the gears turning, as he examined the spread of ornaments, before he blurted out, “Thank god for Charlie. How the hell do people afford this crap?” You couldn’t help the loud laugh that escaped at that. “No, seriously!” Dean continued, as if worried you weren’t taking his concern with the seriousness it deserved – no, demanded. “Every year we drive past houses that are all done up with this stuff, inside and out! Entire neighborhoods! And one of these boxes,” He held up one of the containers, a plastic cylinder full of red baubles, some matte, some glittery, some metallic, “is, what,” He glanced at the sticker, “ten bucks? How many’re we gonna need for the tree? Jesus. And these are from Walmart!” 

At some point, you’d begun laughing in earnest, and even he couldn’t keep up his faux outrage for long, his own lips breaking into that beautiful smile of his again, his eyes sparkling in the light of the half-strung Christmas tree. He reached forward, pulling you across the last two steps that separated you, onto his lap, his lips pressing to yours. 

The record had finished and the room had gone quiet by the time you finally disentangled yourself from his lap. “Go put on the next record, De. Gotta get the lights up or we’re never gonna finish.” He huffed with a childish pout, but stood, landing a playful smack to your ass as he passed.

As Dean Martin’s voice filled the room, you stood on your toes, finishing the lights as far as you could reach – Dean stepped in for the last few rounds, carefully tucking in the end of the strand. The two of you stepped back, with you checking for any gaps in the lights and admiring your work, and Dean admiring you. 

Hanging the ornaments took significantly less time, though by the end of it, you were both covered in cheap green, silver, and gold glitter. Dean had broken out the eggnog and a tin of Christmas cookies Donna and Jody had sent over, and, as you put on a third record, this one Nat King Cole, the two of you settled cross-legged on the floor in front of the tree (with Dean dramatically complaining under his breath about his knees), the majority of the presents the two of you had purchased spread out between you. 

You’d worked in relative silence for a time, before Dean spoke up, his voice slightly tense as he struggled with the wrapping paper and tape, struggling to make something vaguely aesthetically pleasing out of Sam's present, but his words were genuine nonetheless. “Thanks. This was… Nice.” 

You glanced up, reaching for a bow to press into place on top of Claire’s gift. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He reached over, taking a long drink of his eggnog, staring down the present in front of him like one might some sort of crafty foe. “I never really got to do this before, y’know? ‘S…” He struggled for a better word for a moment, before finally repeating, “Nice.” He reached for a cookie next, taking a bite – you knew him well enough to know it was his way of deflecting from the emotions he’d just expressed.

“You’re welcome, Baby.” You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his nose – his face wrinkled up, and he took a moment to process that, before he pulled you forward, sending presents sliding across the tile and wrapping paper rolling in every direction, his lips finding yours once more.

Everything he wanted for Christmas, indeed.

[starlightsearches]

Hello~ congrats on 2k~ I'm absolutely delighted you're including writing for Hux to celebrate, I've read absolutely all of your Hux works a million times and I love them so much still!!! I'd love if you could write Track 7 for Hux please~ thank you ^-^

Track 7: Kiss on My List by Hall & Oates  - Give me a character and a fluff prompt (or give me free rein) and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons about it.

Together

AN: This is a second part after this request for those of us who can't handle angst 😬 and thank you for the request, pookie! I hope you all enjoy!! Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated tee hee

Warnings: Mainly hurt/comfort whoops, language, heavy embarrassment for the reader, lots of talk about gossip, Hux is an awkward little freak, I made up a bunch of stuff about First Order bureaucracy, some brief mentions of sex but nothing too raunchy, and fluff at the end!

There are a lot of rules—both written and implied—when you're working for the First Order.

You're not sure where you'd find don't cry when you're on duty on either of those lists. But you know how dangerous the sting in the back of your throat is, either way.

You've never felt like crying on the bridge before, except for maybe from boredom. While there were tense moments, those were few and far between—like the stretch of empty space between stars.

And still, no battle or pursuit has come close to the horrible feeling that's smothering you as you stare down the back of the general's great coat.

He refuses to look at you, addressing all your orders to the viewport or the space above your head, his back to you whenever he can manage it.

There had been a senseless, simmering thrill that used to rush through you, before you had ruined everything—all those times you had caught the general staring, when you had watched the pink flush of blood crawl over his skin and imagined what the heat from him would feel like echoing from his hands, the press of his body, his wet, flushed mouth.

Stupid. Wanting him. Wanting anything, but especially this—to feel cared for, held, desired, by a man like the general. A man so single-minded, so dedicated to the cause his name was practically synonymous with the First Order itself, the unmitigated power that formed weapons and machines and the ruthless people who wielded them.

And why wouldn't he be ruthless with you? Maybe you were just one of many for the general—another subordinate, something to be used, designed to be discarded in the end.

You've made yourself thoroughly miserable following this trail of evidence to this conclusion, but it's difficult to find an alternative. Why else had he sent you away so soon after you had been together, had banished you from his quarters with the marks he'd left on your skin still stinging?

A voice you recognize too well interrupts your thoughts.

"Fall in. Uniform inspection."

Speaking of misery. Captain Cardall's had arrived on the bridge, sharp eyes wandering, always stained with a shade of loathing he saved just for you.

But you fell in to line, regardless, doing your best to school your expression into something neutral, if not a little resigned. You had given up long ago, trying to find some way to meet Cardall's impossible standards. No matter how much time you spent reading over the uniform regulations, he'd manage to find something you missed—or make up a new rule on the spot, couched in official language as an excuse to redress you, to take you down a peg.

Something he found necessary, although you couldn't imagine why.

You're near the end of the line, and so you're forced to wait, watching as the rest of your team is excused without comment, even Tawani, whose boots are so scuffed they're starting to look gray.

Whatever. Cardall and his pettiness and his stupid demerits were the least of your concerns.

It's your turn now, and you can smell the captain's breath as he nears—day old caff and the rotting stink of his soul. You snap to attention, eyes forward, doing your best not to keep your expression still and stony.

The man circles, looking for a loose stitch, a wrinkle, a crooked cuff. You don't dare breathe, but you can't miss his deepening frown as he scans each and every inch of you, desperation practically oozing out of him.

Fuck. Had you actually managed this time? It's a small consolation prize on the shittiest of days, but you'd take the wins you were offered, even if they couldn't possibly make up for your losses.

You've celebrated too soon. Cardall's face juts toward yours, only inches from pressing against your skin and your stomach rolls with nausea. You can't stop yourself from flinching, from turning away from him and his glacial gaze.

It's hardly a millimeter that you've moved, but you've given the captain everything he needs. A pit forms in your stomach as the joy returns to Cardall's features, the slow curve of his wicked smile.

And you know you've irreparably fucked up.

"Officer," he addresses you, two of his gloved fingers slipping into the space between your collar and skin. His touch is sickening, even through the leather, makes you want to run, but you're stuck, glued in place with fear. "What is this?"

Gods, if you had any luck left in you, any good-will from some unseen power, you'd drop dead right now.

It doesn't happen, though. You stay on your feet, even with the way your knees go numb. Everyone on the bridge has turned to watch. You think, although you may be imagining it, that the general's eyes are turned your way as well, the burn of his attention tracing up and down your spine.

"It's . . ." fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, "a hickey, sir."

You're half surprised Cardall doesn't start doing a little jig with the way he preens, brimming with excitement at this new and wonderful opportunity to humiliate you.

"A hickey?" he asks loud enough for everyone to hear—as if they weren't already engrossed in your torment—and you nod, his thumb just brushing the edge of the edge of the bruise you had tried to cover.

The general had done a number on you, truly. And left the galaxy's worst souvenir.

"Well," Cardall continues, finally pulling away from you to clasp his hands in front of his chest, "this is a serious infraction, isn't it?"

He takes his data pad from his assistant, a mousy young cadet who never utters a word. Cardall makes a big show of bringing up the uniform regulations, making a note on your personnel file that spares no details, narrating the description of the bruise and its location in enough detail it brings heat to your cheeks.

You're immobile, in flames, your own personal funeral pyre lit with shame. And still, you can only think of the general, of the way he must be feeling, watching this display. Did his shame mirror your own, his cheeks pinked as he remembered the feel of your skin between his teeth? Or was he disgusted by you, by this connection he wished so desperately to sever?

"Now," Cardall says, ready to deliver his killing blow, "to whom shall I send the fine for damage to First Order personnel?"

There's a nasty snicker from somewhere outside your line of sight. Everybody was familiar with the rule about visible marks left on other officers—meant to keep younger, and more volatile, cadets from fighting, the threat of a fine pulled from their pitiful service stipends enough to curb most tempers. Or convince the cutthroat ones to be cunning enough not to get caught.

But there was a secondary consequence—officers strutting into work, bruises painting their necks and a smirk on their lips when they announced the responsible party. For the younger and less responsible among you, it had become a particularly bold way to announce a serious relationship, a sign of commitment.

Not an option for you, of course.

"I take responsibility for the damage, sir," you state, feigning confidence and hoping no one will notice the way your voice shakes, "I'll cover the fine."

A hum of disappointment, a rush of whispers. It's allowed, certainly, but will only increase the intrigue, the rumors that will follow you around for weeks, or even longer, if all other wells of drama stay dry.

Captain Cardall sneers, but he's left impotent in this, at least. He makes another note on his data pad and stalks away to the next officer in line, but he must be at least a little satisfied with his torment, given the little hop in his step and the set of his shoulders.

You breathe, in and out, in and out, but just barely—too aware of your still-captive audience to allow yourself anything like relief. Instead, you blank your mind of everything that's just happened and turn back to your station, becoming a machine, emotionless and unblinking.

You spend the rest of your shift ignoring the unmistakable burn of the general's gaze.

Your time on the bridge comes to an end, and your replacement materializes at your side, finally releasing you. It's a quick walk back to your quarters, one you manage without tearing up or screaming in the halls, relishing the way your door sounds as it falls closed, sealing you safely from the shitstorm outside.

Finally alone, you fall back against the wall and take your first real breath.

Now you could break down in peace.

"Are you alright?"

It's mortifying, the way you jump at the whisper, the way your eyes—blown wide with fear—find him in the center of the room, watching you.

The general looks achingly handsome; you can't help but recognize it. High spots of color in his cheeks, his dark eyes flashing in the light, and it breaks your heart all over again to have him here in front of you.

"General," you force the word out, then try for some semblance of decorum, straightening your posture like it could ground you in such strange circumstances.

He only nods, and though you'd never truly trust your ability to read him ever again, there is something about the expression he wears—brows furrowed and meeting in the center, eyes turned down at the corners.

The general is worried, and the expression is not at home on his face.

He must not want you to see it, because he's swift to glance away from you, eyeing the walls without seeing much, the fingers on one hand tapping at the palm of the other.

It's so different from the last time you were alone. Any awkwardness had been swallowed up by the heat of the moment—his arms wrapped tight around your waist, those hungry and desperate kisses that still made your knees grow weak.

You can't speak, and even if you could, you're not sure what you would say. Why had he come here? To berate you? To thank you for letting all the embarrassment fall squarely on your shoulders?

"I—" the general starts, then pauses, flashing his eyes to yours, "I would have waited for your return, but given the circumstances—"

The circumstances. That's one way to put it.

"Of course," you mumble, and you do understand. If anyone had seen him waiting for you outside your quarters, it would have only offered greater fuel to the blazing stories that were undoubtedly already traveling the ship, red-hot and sparking from one person to the next.

"Are you alright?" The general repeats his question, still watching, still unreadable, but there's a softness to his voice that's entirely unfamiliar.

You nod, barely, throat tight and sore, eyes ready to well with tears at this small sign of concern—that he had sought you out, despite everything.

The general presses his lips into a tight line, and there's something in the cant of his body, tense with forward energy, leaning toward you like this small distance pains him.

"I've taken care of the fine," he tells you, "discretely. And the notes in your file."

You open your mouth to speak, to thank him, but no sound makes it out. There are tears now, pooling at the bottom of your lashes, but you won't blink, won't let them fall.

General Hux does step forward at the sight of them, fervent, the space between you shrinking, close enough he could reach out and touch you, if he wanted.

"And I'll take care of Captain Cardall, as well."

The words, and the severity behind them, drain the color from your face.

"No, please," you caution him with a shake of your head, "it will only make people talk more."

Cardall would certainly not react well to any kind of criticism—especially not where you were concerned—and the well of bitterness inside him was deeper than any other you had known. He'd spread the story himself, no doubt, and the connections were easy to make.

But the general is undisturbed.

"I don't care if people talk."

Spoken with all the authority in the world. You should have known a man like the him couldn't be frightened by a few whispered words.

Against your will and without any influence on your part, a little hope blossoms in your chest. He isn't embarrassed by you, isn't ashamed that others might try to guess at a relationship.

The general's eyes drop from your own, tracing the collar of your uniform, and he reaches out a hand, pausing just before his gloved fingers meet the skin of your neck.

"May I?" he asks, and you nod in confirmation, breath catching in your throat as he pulls your uniform out of the way, eyes the mark he had left on your skin.

His skin goes pink, cheeks rosy when he sees how he had stained you in the heat of the moment, sees it with the eyes of all the others who had witnessed the spectacle of you.

"I'm-" he flushes deeper, eyes bewildered," You must know how very sorry I am for— for this."

"Don't be."

It's the polite thing to say, you think, in a moment like this one, but you mean it. Being with him had been worth all the pain.

His eyes flash, wide with surprise now, and you don't miss the way his fingers brush at the column of your throat, reaching for more of you.

"Really?"

His tone incredulous, so different from what you're used to that you breathe out a laugh, letting your own hand reach up to rest on his outstretched arm, just brushing at the bare stretch of skin between his glove and the cuff of his sleeve.

He takes another half-step forward, his hand moving to cup at the curve of your neck.

"I had thought—" he starts, but he can't get the words out, eyes so wide and open, marveling at the touch of your hand.

He doesn't need to say it. You know what he had been thinking because those same fears had been yours.

How delightful it is to have been proved wrong.

You pull him closer, stroking your hand down the sleeve of his uniform and there's only a little hesitation in his touch when his other hand meets your waist.

General Hux smiles at you, really, and the expression is miraculous, has him glowing. Your heart stops beating.

He kisses you, slow, so very unlike the last time, and you feel that miraculous smile pressed against your own.

Nothing could be better.

[brainrotgoblin]

ok SO. this is a long one, I apologize in advance.

Without knowing your personal tastes in shows/media, I'm going to give my favorites.

My personal favorite anime is Bungo Stray Dogs. A detective anime where real world authors are imagined as characters with special abilities based off of the books they wrote. It's sort of a crack show that turns into a really well fleshed out story with more serious themes. Heavy cw for suicide/mental health tho with that one. For fanservice/ick levels in BSD, there's a joke incest couple (a common happenstance in anime unfortunately but its a common comedy trope in japanese media), but it's not prominent at all minus a few jokes in the first few episodes.

The Promised Neverland is a psychological horror anime, and I wont say too much about it because *spoilers* :) Its seriously amazing. For fanservice, absolutely none. However. There is a character midway through season 1 named Sister Krone, her character is fleshed out writing-wise, but her design is a racist caricature of sorts. Otherwise I recommend the show so highly, its a show i wish i could see for the first time again. (also season 1 is where it ends. i prommy. Dont watch past that if you watch TPN for the sake of your own mental health).

Moving on to Sk8 the Infinity. Another personal favorite of mine, a goofy skateboarding show with the most endearing characters ever and gutwrenching (imo) interpersonal issues between the characters. Its also heavily queer coded which is cool, and is getting a second season sometime in the near future :). Another one i wish i could see for the first time again. It's only main issue imo is it's villain being pretty heavily coded as a groomer, but the show doesnt justify it really. Come for the goofy skateboarders stay for the queer couples that are basically canon ("Reki my love... of skateboarding-" a real quote from the show btw these boys are STUPID) and the kind of insane plot. Fanservice: not much, sorta just a lack of diversity with this one. Hoping it improves in s2

Death Note. what is there to say about death note that hasnt already been said. A classic anime with extremely impressive writing depicting god complexes, and the consequences of what it means to inflict personal justice. It's another detective show but the core of it is a commentary on black and white thinking. I think about this show so often osduifjowisejf. Fanservice/ick: none as far as i remember. I need to rewatch the show but any sort of sexual comments (of which there aren't many) are used in a way to further develop existing characters and how they interact with others. No weirdos in this one just psychological horror and a pinch of existential dread <3.

BNA (Brand New Animal). A lesser known anime about furry city and societal commentary. It does do the whole animals as a metaphor for racism bit but its not the main focus of the show and has more of a focus on class struggle (..and religious imagery. for some reason) and interpersonal conflicts! A bonus to this anime is also that it's absolutely STUNNING, I love Studio Triggers art and the COLORS ough. Scrumptious. There's no icks or fanservice in this show from what I remember, the mc is a woman (and is sort of a metaphor for a mixed race kid) and we love her for that. Extremely strong characters all around. Good show :) (sidenote! BNA did get discontinued due to lack of popularity so theres a few loose plot threads that will unfortunately never get tied up. Just a fair warning).

My last anime rec. I think. Im listing off the less offensive ones, so theres not as many in my immediate list. Saiki K! A comedy anime that focuses primarily on subverting anime tropes. The main character Saiki has basically every power under the sun, and would be a typical mary sue esc character but his main goal in life is to be the most unnoticed person ever. I dont think any summary i write could do it justice so I'm just gonna promise that this show is genuinely so good and I highly recommend it. Fair warning that most of the characters aren't the most developed as they're meant to be direct characterizations of tropes and not much more than that. For fanservice and icky stuff theres none that I can remember. I haven't seen season 2 though, as theres no english dub.

(also i agree with the dunmeshi recs i just saw it recommended like 3 times so i dont need to repeat it)

There's my unnecessarily lengthy opinions :) I wish you happy anime watching, its a really fun category of media!

wanna try watching some kind of anime at some point because they look cool but a. i know there's a misogyny and racism problem and im not sure which ones are bad about it and b. i have no idea where to even start with that

[demaparbat-hp]

Character design for Katara in Soundless.

[front-facing-pokemon]