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euphemiaamillais · 11 months ago

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money, power, glory - coriolanus snow

on the night of your victory party, president snow decides that he wants a little more than a kiss from his victor—after all, don’t you ought to show your president just how patriotic you are?

cw: 18+//dub-con//age gap (reader is 18+)//abuse of power//mentions of exploitation//objectification//blowjobs//piv sex//coercion//loss of virginity//creampie//district 7 victor!reader and president!coryo

the party is all for you; the gaud and festivity, the fountains of alcohol, the ridiculously clad guests. you won, they tell you—but it’s a reminder of the children you killed as you fought tooth and claw in that arena. it feels wrong, to be put on display like this when twenty-three children lay dead in their districts. the celebration of murder—it’s as if you’re the prize animal at the circus.

you had been primped and preened by your stylist drusilla all afternoon, gritting your teeth as every part of your body was plucked and waxed, as she pulled your hair back into some elaborate hairstyle, the pins now digging into your scalp. that pain—the dull ache of it—ironically served as a reminder of the pain you had to endure in the games. you only survived because you slit the throat of that boy from two, watching the blood trickle out of his neck as you practically limped away.

you’d since been repaired, though many a time you felt that familiar ache in your ankle—the one that had been broken—and supposed it was punishment for the cruelty of your actions. but put twenty-four helpless children in an arena and ask them to fight to the death, and you learn that the ‘inherent goodness’ in human beings is nothing but a thin veil maintained by law and order.

‘enjoying the show?’ you hear the familiar, cut-glass voice of drusilla, who’s currently festooned in a garish purple gown covered in feathers—with a hairpiece to match.

you shrug, taking a sip of the expensive champagne, feeling the bubbles fizz down your throat as you swallow. it’s all so much, the noise, the people—as if you’re being smothered.

‘you’re being awfully quiet,’ she sighs, brushing your shoulder with her perfectly manicured hand. ‘isn’t there anything to tempt you?’

drusilla is more sympathetic than most in the capitol; she’d listened as you’d told her about your family back in seven, the trees that spanned for miles, how you often lay under their green blanket and daydreamed of a world beyond this one. but still, she would never understand what being a victor was like, there were scarce few in panem who did. many turned to morphling or alcohol upon their return home, and you’d heard horror stories whispered about victor’s being sold for certain services.

‘i’m just tired, that’s all,’ you murmur, reaching for another glass of champagne as a waiter walks past.

drusilla cocks a thin brow, a suspicious look glittering in her eyes. the throng of people is dizzying as you down your second champagne, but you feel your nerves ease, and pray that this night will become more bearable.

‘come, they all want to see you—their victor,’ she grins, pearly white teeth glistening under the golden light of the strings of lanterns.

you take her hand, and she pulls you through the crowd. it’s a vertigo-inducing sea of rainbow; hands clasping together in applause, rich cheers from their panted mouths. you feel your own lips twitch into a smile, but your eyes are somewhere else; far away from this. you can smell the soil back home, see the larks that fly through the trees that reach to the heavens. there’s a dreadful pang of homesickness thrumming in your heart.

and yet you cannot return home, not when they’re all watching you, waiting for the pretty victor to make a witty remark, or to make bids on who will get to have her first. you’re acutely aware that your pink dress is practically see-though, it’s gauzy fabric not leaving much to the eye. your feet ache from the heels they’ve put you in, and you know no matter how much they primp and preen at you, you’ll always be district. an outsider among those in wealthy excess.

among the throngs of people, you spot him—president snow. your breath catches between your lips. you’ve seen him before, obviously. his touch has always strayed a little too much when he’s been around you, but of course, you’d never say anything. you wonder how such a young man—he’s only 24 after all—rose to such power. nobody can deny how attractive he is, piercing blue eyes and platinum blonde curls. if he hadn’t put you in these games, maybe you’d even be persuaded to like him.

drusilla pushes you to him, and you stumble a little, the champagne causing a heady, floaty feeling in your body as you make an attempt to make yourself presentable. you hadn’t expect to be thrust towards him so soon, but the way he’s staring at you is as if he’s been expecting this.

‘don’t be so nervous, you look gorgeous,’ drusilla reminds you as you come to a halt before president snow.

he’s wearing one of his finely tailored suits; this one the crimson shade of red you’ve so often seen him wearing. you feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and feel the absence of drusilla’s hand from your back. when you crane your neck—only slightly, so as not to seem rude—she’s disappeared into the throng of brightly clad partygoers.

‘my favourite victor,’ president snow reaches for your hand and presses a kiss to it. his lips are strangely cold. not that you knew what to expect, but somehow it makes sense. his demeanour is like ice.

‘president snow,’ you lean back into curtsy, your bad ankle aching as you do so.

he smiles, icy eyes flickering over your form. he can practically make out your undergarments in that dress; they’re a shade of peach and of such a sheer satin that you can nearly see right through, but it leaves enough for the onlooker to be left wondering what lies underneath. your eyes follow him, and you clutch at your arms shyly, as if half of the capitol hasn’t seen you dressed so scantly.

‘shy tonight, are we?’ he inquires, edging close enough to you that you can make out the slight five o’clock shadow on his jaw.

‘i’m tired, that’s all,’ you mutter, flinching as one of his hands grips at your waist.

‘i would’ve thought you’d enjoy this spectacle, seeing as you made quite the circus out of the arena,’ he leaned in close to your ear, in what you assumed was an intimidation tactic. in spite of being hardened by the arena, deep down, president snow terrified you. ‘the way you killed that boy from two—brutal. but you made yourself the star of the capitol…’

his touch strays further, grasping at the thin fabric that surrounds your ass. one blonde brow arches in surprise, and his lips flicker into what you assume to be a smirk. if he was anyone else, you would’ve pushed him away, but he’s your president. one word and you’d be good as dead; and after enduring the games, you’d rather not come face-to-face with that sort of confrontation again.

‘how pretty,’ he muses, fingers tracing lightly against your form. ‘did you wear this just for me?’

your lips purse, but your body propels you to give a swift nod of your head. ‘do you like it?’

president snow smiles, eyes dancing at your quick wittedness. the girls he has are usually stupid whores who he pays to suck his cock—you, on the other hand, are a precious prize. intelligent, obviously, and startlingly beautiful. and you’re the first female victor since mags flannagan, not that he has any say over her because he was still crawling his way up under dr. gaul then.

‘oh yes, i think you know why,’ he drops the fabric, and takes a few steps away, a blasé look crossing his features.

he watches as your cheeks turn a pretty pink, and you cast your gaze to the ground. how charming; you feigning bashfulness. he’d seen you at your most primal, knife dragging along the jugular of that boy. you couldn’t charm your way out of this one.

the silence pierces the air, and you are prompted to speak—anything to change the topic. the stagnancy between you two has wrapped it’s suffocating arms around you—and you don’t want to choke.

‘i must thank you, president snow, for the festivities,’ you gesture to the ridiculous amount of decorations; the blaring music and the light show.

‘i’m glad you like it,’ he remarks, but his eyes are still trained on you. he wants something from you, and you’re not sure what. ‘i had to celebrate my favourite victor, after all.’

you stifle a scoff; his flattery is sickening. he’s never this charming among company. he’s cold, calculating—you can see it in his eyes, still, but he so obviously needs you wrapped around his little finger. and of course, you can’t resist. who would disobey their president, after all?

‘you flatter me, sir,’ he swallows thickly at the appellation. god, he’d love to hear you call him that as he bends you over one of his expensive armchairs. he wonders if you’d beg him to stop, or if you’d take it. he can’t figure out which type you are, just yet.

‘there’s nothing wrong with flattery, don’t you think?’ he is close to you again, breath fanning your cheek. ‘especially when it comes from your president.’

you feel your body freeze up. there’s something so intimidating about him, and although you want to outsmart him, the way he makes your knees buckle turns you into another one of those bumbling capitol fools.

‘now, if you’ll excuse me, sweetheart. i’ve got a few matters to attend to,’ he backs away, leaving in a flourish of red.

you have to blink a few times to register his absence, and reach for another glass of champagne as a waiter holds out a decadent tray to you. why not? you think, taking time to sip elegantly at this one. there’s no harm in imbibing if you have to make it through this hellish night.

—

drusilla taps you on the back as you’re shoving an expensive vol-au-vent past your painted lips. when you turn around, she’s shocked to see your mouth full of the pastry, cheeks rounded out as you attempt to swallow it. the hunger pangs had grown considerably, and when you finally gulped it down, the effects of the champagne made you giggle.

‘oh honey,’ she shakes her head, reaching for a pristine napkin to wipe at the flakes of pastry by your lips.

the night had drawn on, and you’d been left with an anxious feeling after your encounter with president snow. everytime somebody so much as brushes against you, your head had whipped around as you searched for a head of perfectly-set blonde curls and a crimson coat. to your luck, it had only ever been waiters, carting more champagne. you reckoned you were drunk enough now that you didn’t care how you acted.

let them think you were a fool, you’d be heading home tomorrow anyways.

‘how much have you had to drink?’ she inquires, and watches as you furrow your brows in thought.

‘six, no—seven glasses,’ you admit, and drusilla scolds you with a clucking tongue, her pink curls bobbing as she shakes her head.

‘president snow won’t be very happy with that,’ she remarks.

your mouth turns into a curious pout, watching as her face falters into some sort of cryptic, far-away look. you run the soft fabric of your dress through your fingers as you let the words settle. no, it doesn’t make sense.

‘why would he care?’ you asked, a little piqued by the thought that he’d even be remotely interested in whether you were sober or not.

drusilla’s purple lips are drawn into a thin line, and she bends in close as if she’s ready to tell you a secret. your throat’s gone dry, the anxiety prying at you with it’s cold hands.

‘look, sweetie,’ her golden tone is laced with a little condescension. ‘president snow won’t like that you’re drunk. it won’t make the situation ideal for him.’

your brows quirk into a look of confusion. situation? drusilla sees your loss of words and takes it upon herself to inform you of the events. how naive you are, that you’ve got no idea just what he wants with you.

‘you’ve been asked to stay the night at the mansion,’ her eyes flicker to search for any eavesdroppers, and then she continues. ‘look, i’m sorry if i didn’t tell you earlier, but he’s asked to keep quiet about it. what with the others being jealous—’

‘others?’ your voice falters.

‘well, sweetie, you know how desirable victors are. president snow just wants to make sure nobody else gets their hands on you. that’s why he’s keeping you here, under close guard.’ drusilla bites her lip, revealing that she’s worried for you. she didn’t have much of a choice in your fate, but if she could forewarn you, she would.

you understood now why he’d been so touchy before—clearly he was jealous that somebody was trying to get their hands on his precious victor.

you lose all your words, mouth opening, nothing spilling out. it feels like it’s been filled up with dirt; you can hardly speak. drusilla goes to strike your arm, but is prevented from doing so as she’s whisked away by some blue-haired man harping on about her latest designs. once again, you feel the pangs of loneliness.

you had to reconcile yourself to the fact that the rest of your life—however long that may be—would be a lonely existence. you’d spent the better part of the month on the train, zigzagging back and forth between the districts, reading off prewritten speeches as you had to face the families of the fallen. all those children—their children—dead.

every night, you’d taken those pills prescribed by the doctors, the ones that stopped you from waking up with your hand around your throat as you screamed. you slept a dreamless sleep, but it became hard to not depend on them. what would you do without them tonight?

—

the party draws on long into the night, and you grow bored and overwhelmed. as per drusilla’s advice, and also not wanting to wake up with a throbbing headache tomorrow morning, you resorted to drinking the assorted non-alcoholic beverages.

your head is pounding by one am, but the party doesn’t seem to cease by any means. deciding you’ve had enough, and that nobody would really miss you—after all, nobody’s even talked to you for at least two hours—you stumble your way across the marble steps of the mansion. you hazily remember drusilla telling you what door you were meant to enter by, and you find it manned by a singular avox.

without a word, they let you inside, and you trail tipsily after them up a velvet staircase. your ankles roll as you climb the steps, head spinning, but it doesn’t take long to reach your room. your feet are aching, and when the avox leaves you to your own company, you practically tear the shoes off your feet.

you lay back against the white sheets, revelling in the feeling of the thousand-count cotton brushing against your skin. you’d never felt anything like it, and could feel your eyes shutting as you relax into the plush sheets.

you awaken what seems like hours later, but only twenty minutes have passed on the alarm clock by the bed. the sound of footsteps can be heard outside your door, and you’re surprised you can make it out as the party still booms outside the vast windows of the mansion.

you sit up, heart racing, and head throbbing slightly. you’re groggy from the champagne, and the bubbly tipsiness has given way to the absolute misery of sobering up.

the door opens, a small sliver of light giving way to the shadowy figure that progresses into the room. you squint, unable to make out a face, but pray it’s not one of the men you’ve heard were making bids for the victor.

you sigh a breath of relief when you see president snow, not a hair out of place as he stands beside your bed. your dress is up around your thighs, and you can see his blue eyes dancing across your frame.

‘president snow,’ you murmur into the darkness.

you wondered who had turned off the light in the first place—your memory is hazy at best but you don’t remember flicking the switch. an avox must have come past while you were sleeping.

‘i see my favourite victor has taken some respite,’ he muses, one cold hand reaching out to stroke your thigh.

you flinch back reflexively, not used to the icy feeling against your skin. nor are you used to the prying hands of men. the most you’d ever done was kiss a boy, and even then, that was years ago, you weren’t even sure it counted.

‘sorry,’ you spit out, lips trembling with apology. he only laughs, hand still tracing your smooth skin.

‘no need to apologise. i’d rather you doze here than fall asleep on a bench where any of those men could lay a hand on you,’ he makes a sound of disgust, shaking his head at the thought. ‘i couldn’t let them spoil my pretty victor.’

you feel your cheeks warm—did he really think you were pretty? but you remembered who he was; in fact he was the very reason there were even any games at all. he could put a stop to all this if he wanted, and yet he didn’t. you couldn’t let him fool you with his charm.

‘it’s very thoughtful of you, president snow,’ you offer, not wanting to raise suspicion in him.

in the moonlight, you can see a smile flicker across his lips. his hand moved further up to the apex of your thigh, and your breath hitches. what was he doing?

‘do you like that?’ he murmurs, leaning in against your ear, breath hot.

you can’t think of what to say. your thighs tingle a little with the touch, but you don’t want him there. it’s wrong. he’s the president though, and how can you tell him no when he could have you killed?

‘you’re a quiet one, aren’t you?’ he mutters, but wanting to rouse a sound out of you, he moves his hand to press flush against your panties, thumb stroking the area where your clit is.

you let out a breathy gasp; the pleasant warmth flooding your belly. his brows quirk up at your quick response—you’re so willing. he wonders how far he can push you; of course he wants to have you no matter what, after all, it’s his right as president—but he wants to know how much of a whore you are under those pretty clothes.

he knew what district girls were like. lucy gray—though that name made him shudder—bent easily under his guidance. he hoped you’d do the same; obey him. he had more power now, six years after his stint as a mentor and then peacekeeper. he kept that to himself; everybody else simply thought he’d been struck down with a bad bout of the flu, when really he’d been uncovering rebel plots by day and by night was burying his cock deep inside of whatever district slut would have him.

‘please, president snow,’ you beg, head spinning as he rubs at your sensitive nub.

‘please what?’ he inquires, an undercurrent of menace in his voice.

‘i mean—are you sure we should be doing this?’ you furrow your brows with anxiety. ‘aren’t there men who want to pay you good money for this?’

you squeeze your legs together in the hopes that he’ll stop, but this only angers him and he uses his muscular hands to pry your thighs apart. you can’t deny him this; he wants it, and he’ll have it.

‘oh, they’re not going to get you. no, you’re far too precious for the likes of them,’ he shook his head in disbelief. ‘when i realised you were going to be sold to some scumbag who’s been divorced three times, well, i couldn’t let that happen.’

your mouth stretches into a perplexed pout, and you let out another soft moan as he rubs diligently at your clit. his other fingers brush over your red lace panties, and he sucks in a breath as he feels how soaked you are. surely you cannot deny him when you’re practically begging for it?

‘but…’ your lips tremble and you are almost deterred from saying what you want to by the scornful look painted across his noble features.

‘surely you don’t want me,’ you scramble to find an excuse.

‘why wouldn’t i? it’s not like you’re a girl anymore, hm? you’re nineteen, and ever so pretty,’ his other hand thumbs your cheek. you didn’t feel it, but you’d been crying. his thumb presses against a droplet.

‘please,’ you plead. ‘you wouldn’t enjoy it—i’m a virgin.’

he laughs, shaking his head at your stupidity. he hasn’t suspected it, what with the way you were dressed; the gown revealing far too much of your body to him—he could see the top of your nipples sticking out of the neckline.

‘oh no,’ he clucked his tongue. ‘then i simply must have you. how could let you i waste your virginity on any of those men when i could have you?’

you shake your head, body trembling as you feel yourself give way to his fingers, which were slowly bringing you to your pleasure. you clutch at the plush sheets and feel yourself gush, your panties growing even more damp.

he can’t believe it, how quickly you came. he wonders if you’d ever even touched yourself before. sure, you’d killed a boy, but you really knew very little about the world, and even less of men. it enthralled him.

his cock strained in his suit pants, and he let out a low grunt. you responded with a shocked look, but sighed as he stood up, letting go of your thighs. the way he’d touched you—it was scandalous. surely he’d be in a lot of trouble if anyone found out?

but your heart fell when you remembered that he was president. it’s not as if you were anything more than a hired whore who had to do her duty by him.

‘you’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?’ he called out, combing a hand over his perfectly styled hair.

your mouth went dry, but you stood up, wanting to be defiant, clawing for anything to make you seem like you had some sense of autonomy. it was a lost cause, however. you forgot how he towered over you now that your heels were discarded. you couldn’t face up against him.

‘i said, you’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?’ his voice was wrought with ire this time, and you nodded.

‘yes sir,’ you respond with a clear tone. you’re surprised you even managed it.

he reaches out to stroke your face again, sighing as your warm cheeks meet the cold pads of his fingers. you tremble a little, knees buckling in fear. anything could happen.

‘now, are you going to be a good girl and show your president how patriotic you are?’ he asks.

‘yes, mr president,’ you reply blankly. the name sends the blood straight to his cock.

‘then get on your fucking knees,’ he commands.

your head is spinning, but you somehow find your way to the ground, knees aching as you press them into the wooden floorboards. you hear the sound of something unzipping, and when you glance up, you come face to face with his cock.

he’s hard, and huge—not that you’ve ever seen one before—and he lets out a heavy grunt as he sees how pliant you are. he wants nothing more than to fuck that pretty little face of yours and watch how you gag around his length. he hasn’t known he was so big until he’d gotten to district 12 and the stupid district sluts kept choking on his cock. when he’d dressed in academy rouge he’d only ever known his own hand. but now, he knew what power he could exert with all eight inches of himself.

‘good girl,’ he strokes your chin, and when you open your mouth, he slides his thumb over your bottom lip.

your saliva coats his thumb, and you gag a little as he slides it to the back of your mouth. a small grin flickers across his lips; if you’re choking on his thumb, just imagine how bleary-eyed you’ll be as you gag around his cock.

‘god, i don’t want to think about what i would be missing out on if you’d died in that arena,’ he tuts at the thought, and slides his thumb out of your mouth, smearing your own saliva at the corner of your lips.

your lipstick is smudged now, and he’s determined to ruin it even more; perhaps even have your mascara running down your cheeks as you take his cock in your mouth.

‘when i’d heard that the victor was to be the eighteen year old girl from district 7, well, i knew i’d be able to have you. especially once i got a look at you, in your victory dress. did they make it that short on purpose? to make my cock hard?’ he laughs, reminiscing how he’d taken a whore that night that looked just like you, pretending it was you that he was fucking from behind.

you shiver, terrified by him, his words. they’re disgusting. the way he viewed you as something to exploit—and it can’t even be considered taboo because you’re nineteen, after all. if the president wants you, he’ll get you.

‘answer me!’ he scowls, tugging at your intricate hairstyle, which hurts because the pins holding it together were already poking at your scalp.

‘no,’ you murmur, because it’s the truth. you wore what they told you to, you didn’t think it was supposed to be for him.

‘no?’ he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘well then, tonight at least—they must’ve known i wanted to have you. wasn’t going to let you get away from me this time.’

you swallow thickly, mouth agape in terror, knees trembling against the cool floor. you can feel the bruises forming on them; the dull ache of kneeling is humiliating.

finally, he presses his cock against your open mouth, a little pleased that it was hanging agape in shock, making it easier for him to slide it right in. you freeze, blinking back tears of mortification, but you can't say no, not when he's your president, not when there's that nagging ache in your core that makes you yearn for his fingers back against you.

you open wider, and he slides himself in, cock hitting the back of your throat instantly. you gag, the tears now dribbling foolishly down your cheeks, and president snow just laughs, the sound mottled with undertones of a soft groan. you wrap your lips around him, and move to bob your head up and down, but he grabs your hair and tugs it towards him.

you cry out, scalp stinging and mouth stuffed full to the brim with his cock. his grip tightens as he begins to thrust into your mouth, grunting as feels your saliva coat his length. he can't even fit himself all in, it's pathetic, but he'll help you learn in time how to deepthroat, so he can watch as your mascara runs while you beg him to push himself further down your throat. you'll become his personal fuckdoll.

'teeth,' he winces as he feels your top teeth make contact with the skin of his cock, and embarrassed, you make sure to push your top lip around them.

his lips stretch around a groan, forcing your nose to meet his pubic bone—the sound of your gags are delightful, and when his eyes flutter shut, you know he's enjoying it. he tosses his head back, cock throbbing as he forces it back and forth in your mouth. when his eyes open again, it's to the sight of your mascara running, thick black streaks painting your cheeks as you choke around him.

'so pretty,' he strokes your cheek, smearing the mascara even more. he wonders if you'll still be crying as he stretches you out, filling your cunt with his big cock. probably; he's forgotten how much whining virgins do.

feeling himself close, his thrusts grow more haggard, and you feel his balls slap against your chin as you attempt to breathe—through your nose, of course. his movements are suffocating, you're grasping at his hips, praying for it to be over—and then it is.

hot sticky spurts of cum slide right down your throat as he gives a loud moan, crying your name in praise. part of you—the part you revile—reddens at his praises, you want nothing more than to please your president. the other part of you tries not to gag as the pearly ropes of his cum slither achingly slow down your throat.

'good girl, swallowing it all—you'd do anything for your president, wouldn't you?' he coos, pulling his cock out of your mouth.

your lips ache, and you're sure the back of your throat is blooming purple with a bruise; but you nod, eyes all fucked out because your cunt is dripping wet, all for him.

'well, i really only want one more thing from my victor...' his voice trails off, lips pursing. you can see the desire in his eyes, icy gaze dripping with lecherous intent.

and yet, you cannot deny the fact that he had already made you cum once, that your body is begging for him. you hate it. you want to scream—if only you weren't so tired and your mouth didn't ache so sorely.

'how about you lay back in the bed, hm?' his voice is soft, laced now with the sweet tone he uses to charm the wives of senators and the little girls that give him roses.

you oblige blindly, and rise, knees black and blue, legs trembling, but somehow you find yourself laid back against the plush sheets once again.

‘can’t believe nobody else has had you,’ he murmurs, removing his shoes carefully, and then undoing his suit. it’s brand new, and he doesn’t want to spoil it.

when he’s undressed to his boxers, you can’t help but admire his form. he’s well-toned, biceps muscular, the slight formation of abs on his stomach, and you can see his cock has once again hardened. you press your thighs together in want, and he watches as you gaze at him, half-terrified, eyes blown wide, and yet half-wanton, body beckoning him to take you and make you his.

‘god, you’re so pretty,’ he muses, crawling across the bed and placing his arms either side of you.

you shiver, suddenly feeling brushed with cold, perhaps it’s from him. how fitting, you think, that his name and touch are both reminiscent of the cold. you can feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh, a reminder of your helplessness in this situation. the way he’s going to do whatever he wants with you.

he slides his fingers under the straps of your dress, forcing it down your arms. you lie still as a stone, letting him slide the dress down your body, exposing your breasts, watching him sigh as your nipples respond to the frigid temperature radiating from his body.

he takes one breast in his mouth, laving at your nipple until it hardens under his tongue. your hands are urging you to clutch at his perfectly styled hair, but you cannot move; the tears are brimming in your eyes and you’re not sure if they’re out of shame that he’s touching you, or shame that your body is so pliant to his touch.

he pushes the dress down further, and gets on his knees until he’s completely stripped you of it. there you lay, among the pristinely white sheets, the party alive outside of your window; completely bare besides your panties. your skin is pocked with goosebumps as he runs his hands over your bare stomach, fingers latching at the waistband of your panties.

‘god, are you wet for me?’ he chuckled as he removes your soaked panties—still evidence that he’d managed to make you cum.

you are unresponsive until he gives your skin a pinch between his slender fingers, and a soft yelp escapes your lips.

‘talk to me,’ he commands, though there’s an undertone of begging. not that the president should ever have to beg. ‘i can’t have my pretty victor keeping silent, especially not while i fuck her. i want to hear the sweet sounds that are going to come from your lips.’

you give a nod, eyes flickering to glance at the ceiling, watching as the hazy lights from outside dance upon the ornate eaves. one of his hands touches your cheek, the chill bringing you back to meet his gaze.

‘gonna make you mine,’ he groans, reaching down to palm at his cock through his boxers.

you push away the tears at your eyes, and your hands go down to clutch at the sheets. you’re still a little floaty from the champagne, but it can’t seem to take you away from what is occurring right before your eyes.

'look at me!' he snaps, hard cock now pressing against the inside of your thighs.

'sorry,' you manage to get out, lips trembling as you brace yourself—he's big... too big.

'fuck, can't believe i get to have you all for myself...but i suppose it's the least i deserve as president,' a soft laugh plays upon his lips, the sound soon mottled by a low moan.

he eases the tip into your hole, sighing at your tightness. your eyes flutter shut, but strangely, your core only tingles as he slides himself into you. it's the ultimate betrayal—your body is yielding to him, growing wetter as he sheathes himself completely inside of you; at least, most of his eight inches.

'so fucking wet,' he grins devilishly, beginning to buck his hips gently.

you look so angelic, hair sprawled out on the pillow like a halo, the soft lights from the party glowing against your skin. coriolanus wants to take it slow, in spite of how much his cock is throbbing, because you are his prize—he must relish you. he can't let your virginity go to waste, after all. half the capitol has been vying for it, and now he is the one to take it. he imagines the disgruntled looks on the faces of the men who had bid for you when he informs them that you've been spoiled—and if any of them complained, well, he's the president. he could see to their... accidental deaths.

as he stretches out your tight walls, a pretty moan escapes your lips, by accident, but he takes this as a sign that you are surrendering yourself to him. coriolanus smiles a little to himself, and fastens the pace slightly, grunting as your body opens itself to his caresses.

‘you like that, hm?’ he inquires, one cold hand moving down to rub your clitoris.

you let out another gasp, this time of shock and pleasure, as his thumb presses against your sensitive nub. his eyes dance with delight as you come apart under him, your cunt growing slicker by the second. you’re so beautiful, and he glances down at the part where you two meet—his big cock stretching out your tight walls. a milky ring of your arousal coats his shaft, only driving him more lustful as he fucks you.

‘president snow…’ you cry out, trying to shove his hand away.

you can see the ire returning to his eyes, and when he presses down on your clit harder you stop and allow your body to relax. you realise it’s fruitless to try and fend him off anymore—he’s making you feel good, after all. but that’s the terrible part of it, the fact that you can feel waves of pleasure washing over you again. he’s smiling sickly, groaning as he ruts into you with grunts.

‘you're so fucking tight,’ he moans, watching you moan with pleasure as his fingers bring you to climax.

‘so good…’ you say, barely above a whisper, but the knowing look he cast you makes you admit it—after all, perhaps he’ll be kinder next time. let you decide when you want it.

‘yeah? you like the way my big cock is filling you out? how your president is reminding you who you belong to?’ he grunts, and you give a lazy nod.

the coil in your stomach comes unbound slowly as the combination of his cock stretching you out and his thumb rubbing diligent circles around your clit drives you over the edge. your toes curl sightly, arms moving up to grip at his back. you find the smooth, cold skin is surprisingly toned; hard muscles prominent under your touch.

you feel your pleasure peaking, body dancing with warmth and want. you try to stifle your moan by turning your head into the pillow, but his hand grasps your chin and pulls you back to meet his gaze.

‘don’t turn away from me!’ he scolds, brows knitting into a pained expression.

‘i’m sorry…’ you murmur, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

you feel a wave of pleasure wash over your body as his thumb coaxes another orgasm out of you—your second one for the evening. your cheeks fill with warmth as your arousal coats his cock, causing coriolanus to let out a breathy groan.

you pray that it ends soon, but your body continues to dance with pleasure and satisfaction, giving into him, allowing him to make his stake in you. his pretty little victor that he was deflowering—and she came around his cock and everything!

‘fuck,’ coriolanus grunts, hands travelling down to grab at the soft skin of your hips as he pounds into you. ‘all fucking mine. taking me so well…’

when you clench around him, he feels his balls tighten, and cock still for a moment as he reaches his own climax. you’re mewling so prettily—half-begging for him to stop by the way your head roles about in a dissociative reverie shows him that if your heart cannot be persuaded to take him, your body will.

‘shit,’ he spits as he slows his pace, dragging in and out of you at a painfully still speed.

he doesn’t want to finish so quickly, but you’re so fucking tight and your slick coating his cock has set his nerves on fire—his tip is throbbing with desire. coriolanus’ fingers are plunged into the supple skin of your hips, digging far enough that you feel a few bruises forming under the skin.

'so fucking tight,' he curses, sliding himself all the way out before filling you up to the hilt again. the sound of your wet cunt squelching around his big cock reverberates against the walls.

another moan escapes your plump lips, egging coriolanus on—clearly you're enjoying this to some extent; you've come twice tonight. next time he might not be so kind, after all, he's only being so sweet because you're a virgin—you're more like a prize to enjoy than anything else.

'gonna fill you up with my cum,' he sneers, eyes rolling shut as he pushes himself against your g-spot. you contract around him in response. 'you'd like that, wouldn't you? taking your president's cum? so patriotic, aren't you?'

the way he's still squeezing and pinching at your hips urges you to respond, so you cast a groggy nod—the champagne is still making your head swim.

'good girl,' he praises, and you respond with a genuine smile.

coriolanus grunts heavily, his balls tightening, and he feels hot spurts of cum spurt out from the tip of his cock. the relief that washes over him is blissful; watching you take every last drop of him makes him sigh deeply. you can't help but squirm at the sticky feeling as he thrusts his cum back up into you. you're trying not to lurch away in disgust—his hands, now clamping down on your shoulders, are keeping you there, close to him.

when he pulls out, he gazes at your weeping cunt in awe as his cum trickles down your thighs. you’ll always be his—he can see that by the tiny smudge of blood that also coats your inner thigh on one side. he doesn’t know if he can bear to sell you to those other men now; perhaps he’ll just have to lock you up here and keep you all to himself.

‘thank you, mr president,’ you murmur, half on the verge of sleep.

your body is humming with exhaustion, and you begin to curl up into a supine position, trying to force away the uncomfortable combination of his sticky cum and the dull ache between you thighs.

‘i’ll be back tomorrow,’ he presses a kiss to your forehead, smoothing a few tendrils of hair out of your half-closed eyes. ‘don’t think you can get away from me now, my pretty victor.’

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whenanafallsinlove · 5 months ago

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BNHA CHARACTERS X GN! READER; - how they would act with a foreign s/o headcanons﹗

﹗warnings: none, pure fluff! :D

a/n: not proof read! Sorry if it's a little repetitive! Requests are open if you want pt 2 with other characters or fandoms :D

includes: Katsuki Bakugou, Shoto Todoroki, Hanta Sero, Denki Kaminari

Katsuki Bakugou:

definitely learns how to cook typical foods from your country

calls you dumbass if you mess up a sentence in japanese

likes to correct your pronunciation and grammar

if you typically eat a lot of spicy foods in your country, you two will challenge each other on who eats the most spice

he likes when you speak in your language

he told you he wanted to learn your language with the excuse that it would make him a better hero

but he wants to learn it because he is just nosy

specially after hearing you saying his name during a call with your family, and not understanding what you told them about him

you told him that if he wanted to know, he would have to learn your language

he obviously takes that as a challenge and learns a lot very quickly (and he's unsurprisingly good too)

Shoto Todoroki:

would be eager to help you learn japanese

he would surprise you by learning your language too

asks you to cook your favorite typical meals for him to try

if you were feeling homesick, he would search online and buy you a bunch of your country’s typical candy

gets embarassed when you catch him listening to podcasts to learn your language

he's like super proud of having a foreign s/o

he will bring the fact that you're from another country every chance he gets

when he brings you to meet his family, he's mortified when his father asks something stupid/stereotypical about your country

when you started dating, one of the first things he asked you was the cultural differences when dating in your country

just to make sure you were on the same page, and also to take into account important gestures that would be meaningful for you

Sero Hanta:

he would compliment you and use pet names in your language

he watched a tik tok of “trying typical candy from my s/o’s country!” and immediately asked you to do it

starts to listen to music in your language!

often asks you to teach him some phrases in your language, but gets frustrated when he just can’t get a grasp on the pronunciation

duolingo is secretly his best friend

admires you for knowing more than one language

would buy anything related to your country and gift it to you,

he sees a postcard at the store with a photo from your country? he buys it; he sees a fridge magnet from your contry? he gets it; he sees a turism magazine with 'top 10 places to visit this year' and your country's name on it, he's already checking out with it

he just wants to make you feel at home with him too

constantly checks on you to make sure you're not homesick

Denki Kaminari:

asks you A LOT about your country, specially the differences between where you are from and where you live now

he’s like a kid, always grabbing random stuff and asking “how do call… in your country?”

begs you to teach him how to curse in you language

probably tries to learn how to dance to music from your country

when you facetime your family he likes to greet them with the three words you have taught him

celebrates your important national festivities with you

he starts to follow and watch entertainment content in your language, claiming he starts to understand it (he does not)

everytime you cook something from your country, he asks you to make some for him too

claims that your voice and personality change when you speak in your language

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #denki x reader #denki kaminari x reader #sero hanta x reader #sero x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader

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astraerystarr · 8 months ago

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Optimus Prime x Megatron fic recs!!

HII AGAIN, I had to delete my old account @numbraerys so I'm reuploading this rec list, sorry about the mess but I'll make the rec a little prettier this time ^^

Homesick For A Memory by Eisengrave, Maelikki [M, 9k w., Bay Movies]

Even Primes can lose their faith. But sometimes, their failed Protectors make good on their word given long ago.(weird little fixit for AoE because we stan a protective Megatron and an Optimus who is finally tired of his human hamsters. Also, homecoming.)

~ugly crying, screaming on my pillow, rolling around on the floor

The Silver Lining by GeminiWishes [Teen and up, 38k w., Transformers Animated 2007]:

After Optimus was expelled from the Autobot Academy, he had no sense of what to do or where to go. Desperate for purpose, he ends up on a mining crew that travels the galaxy. But when their ship is attacked, Optimus' life will change forever.

Whether or not he'll be able to handle those changes is yet to be determined.

~I ran around my room on all fours reading this

Some Kind Of Forever by auri_mynonys (FAVE) [E, 8625 w., TFP]:

A chance meeting in a bar near the Pits brings Orion Pax and Megatronus together.

~I freaking love this fic, I'm so glad it was one of the first I ever read

Adeste Fideles by Legitconcrusher (FAVE) [Teen and up, TFP, 57,632+ w, ongoing]:

“Oh, indulge me, Optimus. How many times have you answered your desire’s calls to walk among these pitiful creatures…in the flesh?”

In which Optimus shares with his greatest foe, and former friend - Megatron, the one time a year he allows himself to feel amid the throes of their War within a Christmas market.

The angsty slow burn Christmas AU no one asked for.

~absolutely wonderful to read and incredible writing♡♡♡♡

Gaining Perspective by Dragonlingdar [Teen and up, BayVerse, 105,732 w., Ongoing]:

Megatron and Optimus are turned into humans by a prototype weapon Starscream uses against them. In order for Megatron to get his revenge and Optimus to free himself of Megatron, they must reclaim their original bodies. However, will they still be Optimus Prime and Megatron by the time they do?

~I hyperfixated on this fic for a whole month after finishing it

Contact by auri_mynonys (FAVE) [E, 98,747 w., TFP]:

Orion Pax knows there's a word for what Megatronus means to him. He just can't quite put his finger on what it is.

Which is probably how he missed the moment where he asked Megatronus to marry him.

~Slow Burn♡♡♡♡♡

Plus One by auri_mynonys [E, 64,631 w., TFP]:

Megatronus has a party to attend. A high-caste date will lend him status in the eyes of his fellow gladiators, and Orion Pax is all too happy to play the part…

~this slow burn was slowly burning, I loved every second of it

Songs Of Metal And Sparks by EbonyAura [Teen and up, 58,741 w., Rock n' Roll AU, TFP]:

Imagine the Transformers Prime universe where war is nonexistent, and instead of the Autobot and Decepticon factions, it's the Autobot and Decepticon rock bands.

Imagine that both bands are nearly world famous, yet have no idea the other exists.

Imagine that Cybertron's festival of music is approaching, and with it, the chance for a lucky upcoming band to go on a world tour.

Imagine that both bands, ecstatic for the chance to finally reach world fame, are going to the festival.

~this cured my teenage heart that didn't get to read nice cute stuff like this

Optimus Prime Is Destined To Die!! by Chuzilllaa (FAVE) [G, 169k+ w, ongoing]:

Orion Pax is your typical archivist from a functionalist free universe and lives a peaceful life, but after dying tragically in a transport incident he’s reincarnated as Optimus Prime of the hit action novel Songs of the Spark, the beautiful but aloof eldest prince of the Prime lineage…who is a pathetic side character doomed to die a tragic death at the hands of the tyrannical Duke Megatron.

Of course his darling little brother Rodimus Prime is the precious hero and puts an end to Megatron’s reign, but Orion has no intention of dying a pathetic death! No! Not again! He wants to live damnit! So begins the attempts of a pax-turned-prime turning over a new leaf in the hope of living another day. Little does he know there’s a bit more to Optimus than a pathetic side character…

~I love this fic so. damn. much.

Lunch Date by Chuzilllaa [Teen and up, 6,000+ w, Earthspark, crack]:

With a new cafe opening at G.H.O.S.T headquarters, Optimus invites Megatron to try something new.

~fluffy and funny♡♡♡

At First Sight by Lyricality (FAVE) [M, 27,000+ w.]:

Optimus is the last of the Primes; Megatron is the greatest of Kaon's gladiatorial warriors. Their shared destiny - Optimus is certain - just needs a push in the correct direction.

~help I got obsessed with this fic and I can't get out

To give (in) by 0 (only_elsewhere) (FAVE) [M, 10,000+ w, Earthspark]:

After the war, Optimus confesses.

~aaashhksdkkklkosljdhjh

Victory Condition by astolat [E, 37,000+ w, TF Gen1]

“Do you want me to tell you a story?” Megatron said mockingly. “You won’t like it, Prime. It’s not a very nice one.”

~cave in fic with poetry and the heart wrenching story of Megatron's origins - my beloved

Cooking Off by zuzeca [E, 2000 w., IDW G1]:

Megatron and Optimus find themselves in an awkward position and learn some extremely personal information about each other.

~ Good reading ;3

#megaop #fic recs #transformers #Optimus prime x Megatron #megatron x optimus prime #Transformers fic recs #megop #I'm always adding new fics i find #reupload #I'll see Transformers One soon and then I'll update this list with fics from that movieverse too :D

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spiriteddreams · 12 days ago

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in exile, seeing you out

Hiraeth: (n.) a homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was notes: sunday x reader — angst with a hopeful ending, lots of feelings wc: 2.2k

i. The story begins before his fall. It starts with the comforting warmth of lovers who do not notice the cracks that begin to snake beneath both of your feet. You are bathed in golden light, a product of the star-filled dream he has worked to build and sustain for the two of you to stand beneath now, to impress you, to show you what he can offer you in this world. The sun does not rise in this sweet dream beneath the stars so neither of you will burn if you get too close. But this story of Icarus starts with the falters in your relationship, the missed signs and the words that you couldn't translate for one another.

"Sunday, are you alright?" you don't fully address him by his name often, but the rise in his sleepless nights and his days spent out longer at work have raised your concerns.

"It's nothing you need to worry about, my dear,” he doesn’t look up from his work. This isn’t the first time you’ve approached him out of worry, but it comes to a point when you wonder when it will be the last.

You sigh and try your luck again. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, you need to rest—“

“Well if it's not me to take on this mantle then who?” his pen stops scratching against the paper. It is silent now that Sunday looks up at you, holding your gaze with something swimming in his eyes, something you can’t quite decipher. He looks exhausted, wings drooping behind him, hand clutching his pen so tightly as if it is the only thing tethering him to this place.

“What mantle? Sunday, what are you talking about?” you scoff. “You’ve been speaking cryptically for weeks, can you please tell me what’s going on or how I can help you?” He refuses to divulge anymore than he already has. With the Charmony Festival just around the corner and esteemed guests arriving to join in the festivities, you feel as if Sunday is closing himself away from everyone in sweet dream. And what is the opposite of the sweet dream but the harshness of the sun?

“Nothing. It's nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he sighs sharply then takes a deep breath. In a more gentle tone he continues, “Now if you would, please, I need to finish this. I'll join you for dinner, I promise.”

He joins you, just as he said and apologizes for his harsh words. He brings you home and his hands do not stray far. After all, at the end of the day you are both just lovers, with tangled hands and swollen lips, sweet nothings breathed onto skin. But even then, you can still trace the lines of tension etched across his face, the tightness to his words, the slight pulling away that you are unable to prevent the more times this pattern repeats. He locks himself up in work, snaps for your exit, then whispers bittersweet apologies later.

You think you’ve seen this film before. In a movie perhaps, one with Penaconian stars whose faces are plastered on billboards, a teaser of two tragic lovers whose paths ultimately diverge. You don’t quite like the ending to that, and yet you wonder if that was a warning, some sort of ridiculous sign you should have read into.

Another instance passes and he refuses to hear you out. You exit this narrative before Sunday has the chance to bring you down with him.

ii. He’s not quite sure what hurts more: the train that barrels into him or the sting he feels at the sight of both you and Robin standing with the Astral Express. The sight of your horrified expression doesn’t suit you, and yet you are still standing there, hand wrapped around your own weapon as if you would not hesitate to strike. If you and Robin stand on the opposite end of all that he has built, he can’t help but wonder, in this split second of grace that he can afford, what is he defending now?

The train hurts more, physically of course. But with how fast everything has happened, he can’t quite piece things together, this scheme that had bloomed behind his back. The last time you both had spoken, it was a quiet and cold exchange of words with one another, fueled by both his and your exhaustion and frustration. Sunday hadn’t quite realized just how distant you had grown until you were packing up the last of your things, reclaiming the bits and pieces of your life that you had left in his care. It felt like only five minutes had passed after you both had quieted down and you had left, leaving him alone at the end of the hall.

But this feels like a betrayal in his eyes. Amidst the fighting his head spins, reeling between separate conversations with Robin and Gopher Wood. One urges him to lay down to rest, while the other sneers at him to continue this fight he is so rapidly losing. He tries to recall the signs, if there were any, that he may have missed that have led to this point.

“Love, don’t you think you should take a break, you’ve been working for hours non-stop.” He's not sure why this conversation has surfaced but he indulges in the memory for just a moment. A break sounds nice right now. And when was the last time you used such a term of endearment when addressing him? This memory of you is blurred, both by the heat of the fight and the distance in time but he hears himself saying, “There’s no need for you to worry, this is only a menial task I need to take care of. I’ll join you shortly.”

You open your mouth, hesitate, then close it. Sunday waits for what you have to say, but he can feel the paper at his fingertips begging for his attention. When you say nothing he looks back down. Even with his Halovian abilities, he’s no mind reader, but he figures that if you had something to say, you would’ve come out to say it.

(When does concern turn to unease?)

Now, he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes. He knew that you and Robin were close, but he’s not quite sure how you ended up in this position. Yet he doesn’t have the grace of time to consider how and why you now know his secrets. But if anything, it gives him the drive to win, to craft this sweet dream within a dream for you and ensure that you will never have to see something like this again, with golden blood pouring down and a scorching sun that threatens to melt away all that he has built.

All of a sudden everything around him feels like it’s burning. He can feel the wind rushing against his back as he reaches skyward for something, he’s not sure what this time.

“Brother,” Robin’s soft voice surrounds him. “The dream is over.”

He rests his eyes and pretends that he falls into your embrace.

iii. He can’t turn things around anymore, time never favors the fallen. But there are always other factors, unknown variables who enter the playing field, bargaining for his freedom. And when Sunday returns in search of a farewell, he realizes that his self exile from penacony is also an exile from you.

He chooses to watch from a distance as you pick up the pieces he left behind for himself. He knows he has left his mark and that his time with you is far too ingrained for it to be washed away like all else. You are not Robin, so he can't find it in him to face you, even in this disguise.

So he doesn't quite understand your fleeting movements, never staying in place for long until he learns that you have been spending more time with the Nameless. You’re retracing his steps, he realizes, and that’s what leads you to stand next to Dan Heng. Jealousy bubbles in his chest from where he stands, within your field of view but still, he thinks, hidden in the shadows.

From this distance, he can't hear the words you exchange with Dan Heng, nor is he familiar with this expression on your face (he is, but he chooses to read it differently). You look excited, thrilled even, and Sunday wonders what could make you smile so brightly right now. He scoffs at the thought that you might continue to seek out this Nameless again, that you’re planning to move on. Would you hear him out, one last time?

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he misses the way you catch him staring, his disguise long gone, alter ego for once, quiet. You find it almost endearing that Sunday doesn’t feel the need to be in disguise around you, but that feeling is washed away by the reminder that he can’t even find the courage to face you. Robin’s told you of the little time she was able to spend with him, even if it was in disguise. What makes it so different for you?

Exile is a cruel word. It carries the weight of one’s memories, a haunted past that can eat one alive if they do not find it in themselves to seek out that closure. But Dan Heng reminds you that exile is not a word that can stretch out longer than time itself.

“We all find our way back, one way or another,” he says. “The Express will remain here for a bit longer, you’re always a welcome guest so do visit. If I cannot convince you of that, I’ll have to send March after you.”

“Then when you leave for your next destination, I’ll bid you all farewell,” you promise.

Sunday feels like he’s been hit by the Astral Express again. You stand in front of him and for a second he thinks he must be dreaming, because all this time, he thought he had done a good job at hiding his disguised return from everyone.

“Sunday,” you greet him curtly. His mind races, trying to decipher the tone that you use. He’s speechless and it hits him that the rest of the crew have so conveniently decided to make their exit. It is just you and him and the two ends of a rope that each of you hold.

He swallows thickly. “You’re here. I… I wasn’t expecting this.”

“I can go if you want—”

“No! Please don’t,” his words come out more rushed than he intended. You look thoroughly unimpressed and he can only wonder what could possibly be going through your head for you to be so composed and he be the one grasping at air.

“I’m sorry,” he isn’t sure where to start. Now isn’t the time for him to be picking his words carefully but the anxiety in him festers because he worries nothing he says will be enough.

“Do you know what you’re sorry for?” As gentle as you say it, they still sting. He can hear the hurt that’s etched into the words and that’s enough for him to give in. Sunday has never been one to let his composure fall, but if the last few months have proven anything, it’s that he’s exhausted. So he lets his resolve crumble, in only a way that one might in front of a lover. And while that’s not the term he can rightfully use anymore, he still feels it when you pull him in and let him sink into your embrace.

He doesn’t hide his words as well as he thinks he does, but you still let him, even though it hurts that he still can’t find it in him to be completely honest. The Sunday in front of you is the same man, though scarred. His mannerisms still give away his festing anxiety and you’re not a fool to the way he subtly tries to reach for you. But he can’t stay, you know that.

When you both finally have a proper conversation, Sunday feels lighter. Exile no longer feels like a curse. Perhaps a ‘see you soon,’ in a twisted sort of manner.

“I’m surprised you’ve chosen to journey with the Express, even if it’s just temporary,” you hum. The two of you stand side by side, staring out one of the Express windows. Your hands curl around the window sill and Sunday has half a mind to wrap your hand with his.

You continue. “I think this will be good for you. Look beyond the stars, at least try to.”

“And how about you and I?” Sunday asks. “Are we going to try again?”

You hesitate. The two of you know that with the Nameless, it's the stars that lead the way.

“It’s time for you to go, I’m sure we’ll meet someday soon,” you avoid the question. Sunday smiles to himself, you’re just as hesitant as he is. It’s just the truth that he must learn to confront if, no, when you meet again.

“Wait for me?” he asks.

“I will.”

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 note: not rly content with the ending but i was listening to hadestown and this is what came of it

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #sunday x reader #hsr x reader #sunday #sunday hsr #hsr angst #spiriteddreams writing

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cailinsblog · 2 months ago

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Home for the Holidays |

nico hischier

Nico hischier x reader

Snow was softly falling outside Nico’s window, covering the world in a shimmering blanket of white. Christmas break was here, but despite the festivity, Nico couldn’t help feeling a bit homesick. He missed the snowy Alps, the warmth of his family’s home, and the comforting smell of his mom’s cooking. It was hard not being in Switzerland for the holidays.

But there was one silver lining this season—his next-door neighbor, Y/N. She had become his close friend since he moved into the building. They shared inside jokes, late-night chats, and cups of coffee on cold mornings. He’d developed a soft spot for her, though he tried his best to hide it, not wanting to risk ruining their friendship.

One chilly December morning, Y/N noticed Nico looking especially down. She had picked up on his longing for home, even if he hadn’t explicitly said it. So, determined to bring a bit of comfort his way, she decided to bake him something special. Though Y/N wasn’t Swiss, she loved learning about different cultures, and after some research, she settled on making Lussekatter—Swedish saffron buns. With their golden color and delicate taste, she hoped they might cheer him up.

Later that afternoon, she knocked on his door, a small tray of freshly baked buns in hand. Nico opened the door, surprised to see her standing there with a shy smile and the sweet-smelling treats.

“Hey,” she said softly. “I know you’re missing home, so I made you these. They’re not exactly Swiss, but I thought they might help a little.”

Nico’s eyes softened, touched by her thoughtfulness. He took a bun, tasting the warm, fluffy pastry, savoring the delicate hint of saffron. “Thank you, Y/N. This… means a lot to me,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. He looked at her, feeling his heart swell, but he held back, unsure if she felt the same way.

Y/N, on the other hand, had butterflies in her stomach just being around him. She’d liked Nico for a while now but convinced herself he only saw her as a friend. Seeing him smile, though, made her heart flutter with hope.

The next day, Nico knocked on her door with a surprise of his own. “Hey, so I was thinking—how about I repay you for those amazing buns?” he said, holding out two tickets to a Devils game. “I’d love for you to come.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, Nico, you don’t have to…”

“I insist,” he replied, grinning. “Besides, it wouldn’t be the same without my favorite fan there.”

Blushing, she accepted, and Nico handed her a Devils jersey with his number and name on the back. She slipped it on, and his eyes lit up, seeing her in his colors. “It suits you,” he said softly, and she felt a thrill at the way his gaze lingered on her.

At the game that night, Y/N cheered Nico on, her heart pounding every time he took the ice. It was exhilarating, watching him play with such skill and focus. Late in the third period, the score was tied. Nico skated towards the net, effortlessly maneuvering past the defense and flicked his wrist, sending the puck soaring into the top corner. Goal!

He skated to the boards, looking up to where she was seated, and pointed at her, a bright, triumphant grin lighting up his face. Her breath caught as their eyes met, and her cheeks flushed. She couldn’t believe he’d just done that in front of the entire stadium.

After the game, Nico found her waiting outside the locker room, still buzzing with excitement. “You were amazing, Nico!” she said, pulling him into a hug, her face bright with pride.

He held her close, savoring the warmth of her embrace. “Thanks to you,” he murmured, pulling back slightly to look at her.

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the world fell away. Nico’s voice was soft as he finally spoke up, gathering the courage he’d been holding back. “Y/N, I… I’ve liked you for a long time. I just didn’t know if you felt the same.”

Y/N’s face lit up, her heart racing as she realized she wasn’t the only one. “I’ve liked you too, Nico,” she admitted, a shy smile spreading across her face. “I just thought you saw me as a friend.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I could never just be friends with you.” Then, as if the universe were giving them permission, he leaned in and kissed her, his lips warm and soft against hers.

They broke apart, grinning at each other, feeling like they were on top of the world. This Christmas break, Nico might have been far from home, but he realized he was exactly where he wanted to be—right there with Y/N.

Reblog and comment💕

#hockey #nhl #nhl x reader #fanfic #nhl players #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier fic #nico hischier fluff #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagines #nico hischier #new jersey devils x reader #new jersey devils #nhl13 #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey #nhl fic #nhl fluff

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hoseokslefteyebrow · 5 months ago

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The Anomaly || JJK || Masterlist

summary : In which you're isekai'd from your (own) parallel Jujutsu Kaisen universe to the canon universe.

Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen X Reader, eventually Character x Reader (idk who yet tho)

A/N: Bonus chapters can be read by as a standalone.

Prologue

Chapter 1: Alone

Chapter 2: The Origin of Blind Obedience

Chapter 3: Accomplices

Chapter 4: Homesick

Chapter 5: It's Like That

Chapter 6: Evening Festival

Chapter 7: The Shibuya Incident

Chapter 8: Seance

Chapter 9: Flunctations

Chapter 10: Flunctations pt.2

Chapter 11: Thunderclap

Chapter 12: Right and Wrong

| Bonus Chapter: Nanami Kento

Chapter 13: Right and Wrong pt.2

| Bonus Chapter: Nobara Kugisaki

Chapter 14: Right and Wrong pt.3

Chapter 15: Metamorphosis

Chapter 16: Shibuya Incident: Gate Closed

Chapter 17: Death Sentence

Chapter 18: Tengen's Barrier

Chapter 19: A Plan

Chapter 20: Infiltrating

#idkeitherman #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #megumi fushiguro #nobara kugisaki #platonic jujutsu kaisen #yuji itadori #inumaki toge #maki zenin #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk x you #ryomen sukuna

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pedrospatch · 1 year ago

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when i’m feeling alone, you remind me of home

Javier Peña x DEA Agent Female Reader

summary: Spending Christmas in Bogotá, Colombia isn’t ideal. Javier knows you’re missing home a little harder than usual, so he comes up with a plan to cheer you up.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. minor deviation from canon timeline (had to make it work), reader is an agent for the DEA, NO AGE SPECIED, NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION, reader understands and speaks spanish but no mention of her race or ethnicity, friends to lovers trope, reader celebrates christmas, reader has a good relationship with her family, minor smoking and alcohol consumption (both reader and javi), reader’s a bit rough around the edges sometimes. fluff, soft javi, he’s a bit of a grinch in the beginning though. switches in pov’s and tenses.

*ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS AT THE END.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: thank you to @hellishjoel for inviting me to join in on this fun project!

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist

Javier Peña doesn’t do Christmas.

He especially doesn’t do Christmas in Bogotá.

He doesn’t see the point even acknowledging it.

There are more important things on his mind.

Capturing Pablo Escobar.

Dismantling the dangerous Medellín Cartel.

Living long enough to tell the fucking tale.

Those were his priorities while in Colombia.

Not decking the halls with boughs of holly.

And yet, there he is, fighting with a string of bright and colorful lights, wishing these damn things would put themselves on the tree. “Puta madre,” Javi curses underneath his breath as he tries untangling them from around his waist. Somehow, he only makes it worse. He grumbles, “This is fucking ridiculous—it shouldn’t be this fucking hard throwing lights on a goddamn fucking tree—” He pauses, spins around to find where he’d gone wrong and then continues grouching to himself. “Can’t believe people do this fucking shit for fun. Stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

Javi manages to free himself and glances down at his watch to see he’s running out of time—it’s past five now, and unless Messina’s in one of those bad fucking moods of hers and decides to dump some last minute paperwork onto your desk, then you’re going to be walking through the front door soon.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling a deep and frustrated sigh.

He’d been an idiot to decline Connie’s offer to help him when she had dropped off the decorations for him earlier that afternoon.

“You sure you don’t need my help?” she had asked as she handed him the cardboard box overflowing with festive ornaments and tinsel. “I have a couple of more hours before I have to be at the clinic, you know. I can help you set it all up for her, make it all nice and pretty.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it handled,” he’d replied. “I’m sure it won’t take me too long to put some—is this fucking fruit?” Confused, Javi shifted the box over to his hip, pulling out a string of dried oranges and red cranberries. “Um, what the hell is this for? This supposed to be a snack for me while I decorate?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a homemade garland.”

“It’s a homemade what now?”

“Garland, Javier. It goes on the tree.”

Amused, he’d raised an eyebrow at her.

“Fruit going back onto the tree? That’s ironic.”

Sighing, Connie rolled her eyes at him once more.

“Last chance. Do you want my help or not, Javi?”

“I appreciate it, but like I said, I’ve got it handled.”

She’d shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself, then.”

Little did he know how he’d regret his decision. It’s a bigger headache than he thought it would be, an incredible waste of valuable time he could’ve been using to hunt down new leads, do the job he came here to do and find Pablo Escobar. Then again, the more he thinks about it, the more Javi realizes this isn’t a waste of his time at all—not really.

Because he’s doing this for you.

Because he knows you love Christmas.

Because he knows you’ve been feeling homesick.

The season you normally adored was bringing you nothing but heartache this year. There is a void—a hole in your heart that only your family could fill.

“Messina denied my request for time off,” you had told him, taking a drag of his cigarette—you’re not much of a smoker, but he’d learned that tended to change on occasion when you were upset. “Said it isn’t fair to let me go home for Christmas. That I’m not the only one who wants to be with their family. And I get it. I do.” Sighing, you took a second drag and then handed the cigarette back to Javier; he’d put it between his lips, the taste of cherry flavored lip gloss that lingered on the filtered tip prompting a craving stronger than his craving for nicotine. “It was selfish of me to even think of taking time off. I just—I miss spending Christmas in my hometown, you know? Waking up to snow outside my window in the mornings. Building snowmen with my sister, hurling snowballs at my brother. I miss my mother and her cooking. I miss my father and how even at our age, he still insists on pretending to be Santa.”

Laughing, Javier leaned forward on his stool.

You’d asked him to meet you at your usual spot—a quiet lounge bar right around the corner from your apartment. When he walked in and saw the scotch in front of you on the table, he’d known something was wrong. You’re not much of a drinker, either.

“Does he eat the cookies and drink the milk too?”

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest, a little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. He tried not to let his gaze longer there too long—he’s just one man. There was only so much strength he could muster to keep fighting the temptation.

“Of course. He takes his role very, very seriously.”

Despite your smile, he’d noticed it right away.

The unmistakable sadness in your eyes.

You were tough as fucking nails.

In this line of work, you had no choice but to be.

But Javier knew your family was your weakness.

His weakness?

His weakness was sitting there in front of him with a crestfallen expression on her pretty face, tracing around the rim of her glass with her finger.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Your voice had thickened, the emotions you’re used to bottling up threatening to boil over.

“Of course not,” he assured you. “There is nothing stupid about wanting to go back home to see your family. There’s nothing stupid about wanting to be with them for the holidays. I promise you that.”

You snorted. “Peña, we’re trying to bring down the most dangerous man in all of South America. Last thing I need to be doing right now is dreaming of a white Christmas. It’s fucking stupid, alright?”

Hesitantly, Javier lifted his hand and placed it over yours—it wasn’t the first time he’d ever held it, not the first time he had shown physical affection, but this was the most vulnerable he had ever seen you and he didn’t want to make things worse. Once he realized it was okay, he brushed the back of it with his thumb softly, soothingly.

“Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño.”

“No hay caso para eso, Javier.”

“Maybe I can convince her to let you go. She’s got me and she’s got Murphy. We’ll handle things here while you head home for a few days, spend a week with your family for Christmas. Doesn’t hurt to try, you know.” Javi squeezed your hand. Knowing just how fucking stubborn you could be, he insisted on it. “Por favor, cielo. Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. Dejame ayudarte.”

You drained the rest of your scotch and swallowed it along with the lump that had climbed it’s way up your throat. Setting the glass back down, you then pulled your hand out from under his and stood up.

“Forget it. I’m here because I have a job to do—we both have a job to do. I’ll get over it, Javier. Always do.”

Before he could say another word, you’d picked up your jacket and purse, making a quick dash for the exit before he could see the stubborn tear slipping out from the corner of your eye and down the side of your face. But he had seen it, and that’s exactly why he knew he had to do something for you.

About an hour later, Javi places a glittering star on top of the white spruce and then takes a couple of steps back, hands on his hips. Cocking his head to the side, he observes the tree and makes sure that he hasn’t left a single spot bare. He decides to add more gold tinsel until he feels oddly satisfied—and once he is, he pulls out his pocket knife, using it to open the small sized box he had brought with him; two different addresses were scribbled on the side of it in your mother’s handwriting, his apartment’s address the destination, her address the return.

“I wrapped it well,” she’d said over the phone. “It’s her most prized possession, so I really hope it gets to you in one piece or she’s going to kill us both.”

Javier slowly unwraps the object inside and feels a wave of complete and utter relief wash over him to see it made it through customs without breaking.

He squints, taking a better look at the ornament.

The little blonde ballerina is made of porcelain and holds a nutcracker soldier in her arms—the skirt of her dress is white lace embroidered with teeny red rosettes that perfectly match the blush painted on her cheeks and the color of the bow in her hair.

“It’s Clara,” your mother had explained to him.

“Who?” he’d asked, stupidly.

“Clara. You know, from The Nutcracker?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he’d fibbed. “Clara. Got it.”

He had no clue what she had been talking about—but if it’s special to you, then it’s special to him.

Carefully, Javi hangs it on tree just as he hears the front door open and then slam shut so hard that it causes the paper thin walls of your unit to rattle.

“Peña!” you shout loudly. “You fucking asshole!”

Lip rolling between his teeth, he stifles a laugh.

You must have seen his Wrangler parked outside.

Grinning, Javier steps out into the hallway to greet you. “Hola, hermosa. Bienvenida a casa.”

“So, let me get this straight,” you say, tossing your purse and unit keys onto a nearby table. “You offer to give me ride to and from work but then proceed to ditch me and leave work three hours early—you leave me with no other fucking choice but to call a cab to bring me home and when he drops me off, I see your fucking car outside of my apartment?”

Rubbing his chin, he hums, “Sounds about right.”

You approach him, your hands curled into fists.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Javier?”

Javi’s quick to hold up his own hands in defense.

He won’t put it past you to knock him out—he and Murphy have seen you bring down men twice your size before without a weapon. Neither of them can decide if it’s hot as hell or downright terrifying.

“Okay, put those away and let me explain,” he tells you, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry I did that to you, but I did it for a reason.”

You scoff, “Well, if that reason was to piss me off, I have some news for you—it fucking worked.”

“That wasn’t the reason. Not this time, anyway.”

Chuckling, Javier extends a hand, holding it out to you.

You peer at it. “What are you doing, Peña?”

“Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti.”

Suspiciously, you ask him, “What did you do?”

He laughs again. He knew it wouldn’t make it easy for him. “You do know how surprises work, right?”

You lift your chin. “I do and I don’t like surprises.”

“I know you don’t, but I think you’ll like this one.”

Javi continues to hold out his hand and waits.

He’s just as stubborn as you are, if not more.

“We can stand here all fucking night, corazón.”

Sighing in defeat, you place your hand in his, heart skipping a beat when he smiles and laces together your fingers with his own.

“Cierra tus ojos.”

“Javier, I don’t want—”

He quickly cuts you off. “Do you trust me?”

Of course. Hell, you trusted him with your life.

And not just because it’s a job requirement.

Huffing, you do as he says and close your eyes.

“Good.” Javier places his other hand on your waist and his fingers brush against the patch of smooth, soft skin peeking out from between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your blouse. Ignoring his burning desire to feel more of you, he leads the way into the living room and positions you in front of the tree. Without dropping your hand, he moves to stand directly behind you, chest pressed lightly against your back.“Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita.”

“Look Peña, I don’t know what you’re up to but—”

Your own startled gasp cuts you off mid sentence.

Squeezing your hand, he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and you can feel his grin as he whispers, “Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parece?”

You open your mouth to speak, then clamp it shut.

His surprise had left you speechless.

Pleased with himself, Javi nudges you towards the tree and then drops his hands down at his sides as he watches you gingerly touch the needles.

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply, the delicious, woodsy smell of pine reminding you of your family and how you’d all pile into your father’s old pickup truck and head to the Christmas Tree Farm to find the perfect white spruce to take home. Your father took great care in the picking process—he wanted the tallest, fluffiest, most fragrant tree. “Need this place to smell like the farm!” he’d boom. You smile and can’t help but to think he’d approve of Javi—if not because of what he had done for you, then the choice in tree would be enough to win him over.

“Do you like it?” he asks, softly.

You open your eyes and whirl around. “Javi, I can’t believe you did this,” you say, breathlessly. Smiling brighter than the lights on the Christmas tree, you throw your arms around him. “I love it so much!”

He savors the embrace—and wonders if you know just how perfectly you fit right in his arms.

“There’s one more surprise,” Javier informs you as he spins you around to look at the tree once again. “Do you see it?”

“See what?” Peering at the tree, you frown. “What am I supposed to be looking for—wait a second, is that—is that Clara?” Your hand flies to your mouth and you look up at him in complete shock. “That’s the ornament my grandmother made for me when I was a baby! I’ve had her since my first Christmas. How did you—?”

“Santa no cuenta sus secretos.” Javi grins, pulling you closer against his side. “But if you must know, your mom sent it to me,” he confesses. “Actually, I have to be honest—this whole thing was her idea.”

Perplexed, you ask, “This was my mom’s idea?”

“I know you’ve been having a hard time being here during the holidays instead of with your family,” he says. “I called her up a couple of weeks ago, asked her what I could do for you. We started talking and came up with this.” He shrugs and touches a hand to the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I know it’s not the same as going home. But I thought it might be nice to bring a little piece of home here to you.”

Warmth blossoms inside of your chest as you turn to face him. You place a hand on his chest. “Javi?”

Nervously, his throat bobs. “Yeah?”

“Why did you do this for me?”

Javier lifts his hand and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I told you. I just want to see you happy.”

“But why?”

You know why.

But you need to hear him say it.

You need to hear it from his own mouth.

Javi’s hand moves to cup the side of your face. “Is it not obvious?” he murmurs as he grazes the silky soft skin over your cheekbone. “Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientas igual.”

“How do you know I don’t feel the same for you?”

“Do you?” His thumb sweeps your bottom lip. “Do you feel the same for me?”

Your hand curls around his red plaid flannel.

“I shouldn’t,” you admit. “We’re work partners.”

He feigns offense. “Ouch. And here I was, thinking we were friends.” He now takes your chin between his index finger and his thumb. Licking his lips, his eyes meet yours. “Breaking my heart, baby.”

Your breath audibly catches. “We are friends—and it scares me to put our friendship on the line.”

“But?” he prompts as he tilts your head up toward his. His opposite hand finds your hip and pulls you closer to him.

“But when you do things like this—it’s hard for me not to fucking fall in love with you, Peña.” You drag your hand down his chest, your fingers relishing in the softness of his flannel. “It’s so fucking hard for me not to fall in love with somebody who feels like home.”

Javier’s chuckles softly.

“For the record, this wasn’t a ploy to get you to fall in love with me, corazón. But if it worked—” Javier pauses, dropping his hand from your face. “Then I guess it’s worth pulling this thing out.”

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Javi, what the hell are you—?”

He grins, holding the mistletoe above your heads.

“Connie said this might come in handy.”

Your eyes flicker to his lips, then meet his gaze.

“Ven aqui, Peña.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull Javi in and crash your mouth against his. You brush his bottom lip with your tongue and he grants you the access you’re looking for. He tastes like spearmint and scotch, and something else too.

He tastes like yours.

And he feels like home.

diver credit to @saradika-graphics ❤️

Translations

Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño. - I’ll talk to Messina, darling.

No hay caso para eso, Javier. - There’s no point, Javier.

Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. - Let me help you with this. I just want to see you happy.

Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti. - Come with me, I have a surprise for you.

Cierra tus ojos. - Close your eyes.

Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita. - You can open your eyes, pretty girl.

Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parch? - Surprise, precious girl. You have a Christmas tree. What do you think?

Santa no cuenta sus secretos. - Santa doesn’t tell his secrets.

Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientes igual. - You know all too well I have feelings for you. Even if you don’t feel the same.

Ven aqui, Peña. - Come here, Peña.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fluff #narcos fanfiction #javier peña one shot #javier peña drabble #12 days of pedro

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roonotrue · 13 days ago

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The 12 Days of Twisted Wonderland - Prologue

Twisted Wonderland Writings Masterpost

Prompt: While talking with your fellow freshies about their plans for winter break, you get a bit homesick and tell them about some of the Christmas traditions of your world. So, they decided to look for a way to make NRC feel a little more like home to you before they all leave for winter break!

Reader: GN reader - They/Them pronouns and reader is called 'MC/Prefect.' MC is also directly implied to NOT be religious but still celebrates Christmas because... Lots of people who aren't religious do (me). Christmas is just awesome guys. And if you are religious then just ignore that part.

Included Characters: The Freshmen (Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, Ortho, & Sebek), + Grim!

Warnings: Mild Swearing.

~~~

The chill in the air is nice. Not freezing cold just yet, the first snow of the season has yet to arrive, but with Halloween officially over, the rapidly growing chill in the air is a sign that winter is just around the corner.

Normally, there is a budding excitement inside your chest, almost instinctual, every time the weather starts to get colder. Looking forward to the holiday season. Friends, family, traditions, gift-giving, festive food, lights, colors...

Christmas.

In your world, it's a holiday based on a religion. A religion that doesn't exist in Twisted Wonderland (or at least not at NRC), hence, no one really knows any of the traditions surrounding it.

There is a ton of decorating for the winter season, though, that makes the whole place look like a Christmas Hallmark movie.

Maybe decorating things with lights, ornaments, colorful tassels and tinsel, pine branches, and holly is just a... Universal winter impulse- No matter what world you're in.

If you didn't know any better you'd think Christians just made up their religion to justify their decorating impulse every winter.

That said, growing up, you learned very early on, that just because the Christians made the holiday, didn't mean you had to be religious to celebrate it.

And you celebrated it every year back in your world.

But now... You'll be alone during winter break. Well, you'll have Grim to keep you company, and whatever chores Crowley forces your way to keep you occupied...

So instead of holiday spirit or Christmas gifts, you get seasonal depression this year... Great.

While everyone around you is buzzing happily, excited to get to go home soon. Gee, if only you could do that. (A dry sarcastic comment that you scoffed at Crowley yesterday and he simply coughed awkwardly and shuffled off to do absolutely nothing useful. Like usual.)

You try not to let it show on your face though, you don't want to be that guy dragging everyone's mood down after all.

Which works, for the most part. Until-

"Jeez, MC, what's up with ya today? You've been all sad-faced like a kicked pup' since we sat down." Epel is the first to notice.

You, and your freshmen friends (though Sebek might argue about the 'friends' part) all sat together to eat lunch outside, wearing a few extra layers to protect from the occasional cold breeze, but other than that it's quite nice out.

Clear sky, autumn leaves scattered on the ground, just chilly enough that if you breathe out real hard you can see your breath a bit.

Everything was just on the cusp of being a bit too cold, but not quite there yet.

Winter is right around the corner. Winter break is right around the corner.

"Oh, uh, just a little tired that's all." You quickly cover with a light laugh, looking at the others whose eyes are now on you and trying to remember what the conversation was.

"Huh? But you went to bed early last night!" Grim talks between bites of his sandwich, bread crumbs stuck in the fur on his chin that you grab a napkin from your bag and reach to wipe it off.

"Don't talk while you eat, you'll choke." You scold him, and he bats your hand away with a grumble of protest.

He hates it when you baby him like a parent with their toddler.

But if he hates it so much, maybe he should stop acting like a toddler so much, and you'd stop acting like his parent.

"Well, if it's not sleep, what is it MC? Is it winter break? Is Crowley gonna stick ya with chores like last time?" Epel cringes and Ace scoffs.

"What does that lousy headmage even do around here besides show up and push his work on everyone else?" Ace asks, leaning back resting his chin in his palm, elbow propped on the wooden picnic table.

"Well, he intrudes on our classes a lot." Jack's ears flick in irritation- one of the few students who doesn't appreciate Dire Crowley's interruptions that lead to him taking over the class to teach the easiest of nonsense that they all already know.

While there actual professors seeth in the corner. Professor Crewel actually saw him coming in once, and before the headmage could say a word, launched an empty glass beaker at him to keep him out.

You have never respected Crewel more.

Even if he made you clean up the mess.

"Say, you went to a school like NRC in your world, right, MC? What did you do on winter break back there?" Deuce asks, and that catches everyone's interest.

"Oh, right, with no magic your world is very different from ours, MC, what kind of classes do you even have in school there?" Ortho asks from next to you, and you smile.

"Well, more just general education, science, math, history, that kind of thing, and then in a college like this you take specialized classes for whatever career you planning on going into- and without magic, there are a lot more careers that humans have to do than here in the Twisted Wonderland." You explain.

"Hmph, your world sounds terribly inefficient if it has to rely on humans taking years to educate themselves to do jobs that would take magic and fae only moments." Sebek scoffs, arms crossed.

He's wearing his normal uniform, not a single extra layer, and when you offered him a spare scarf he yelled something about humans being so much 'weaker to temperature than fae', but even now, you can a slight shiver run through him every time a particularly cold wind blows through.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, well, we have a lot of nice things even without magic to help us get them. During winter break everyone got to go home to their families just like they do here, and a lot of them would celebrate the holidays..." You mumble solemnly.

"Holidays? What kind of holidays do ya have over there?" Epel asks, and something about the way he says that- 'over there' makes you snort a laugh.

Like you're just from a different country and not a whole different world.

"Lots. With so many countries, religions, and cultures- there are a lot of holidays year-round depending on who you are, your family, and where you live, yada yada... This time of year though, my family, and most of the world, starts getting ready to celebrate Christmas." You tell them, picking at your food that you haven't eaten much of yet.

"Christmas? What's that?" Ortho asks, and Deuce actually brightens.

"You told me about it! At Rook's birthday a few days ago! Something about exchanging gifts?" He asks to which Ace perks up.

"A holiday about giving gifts? Now that I can get behind!" Ace smiles, leaning forward expectantly.

"Well- yeah- you give gifts, but it's about more than that. It's about family, friends, and traditions... Every year, at the start of December, we'd go out and get a pine tree and we'd decorate it with colorful lights and ornaments, and the star on top! Never forget the star on top-" You start ranting about your Christmas traditions at home, a rush of familiar excitement bubbling up in your voice.

"And we'd spend all of the winter break having fun, ice skating, making snowmen & snow angels, sleigh rides, though nothing really beats decorating the house and tree, it's what sets the mood for the whole holiday, and the music! Oh, Cater, Lilia, and Kalim would loooove the Christmas music, it's so pop-y and cheesy, talking about the same stuff- a lot of romantic songs since Christmas is considered to be a really romantic season-" You list some things and they all look at you confused but you keep going.

"Wait, do you decorate the house or the tree?" Deuce asks.

"You cut down a living tree and bring it inside? That's incredibly unhealthy for the environment, not to mention unsanitary!" Sebek shouts, and you roll your eyes.

"In my world there a pine tree farms that grow small pine trees just for Christmas time- to keep anyone from cutting down wild ones. And there are tree skirts that catch the falling pine needles to keep things clean." You explain with a chuckle.

"Farms dedicated to pine trees? That sounds so strange. Sure, apples and other fruits, but just regular old pines?" Epel ponders, and Ace and Deuce nod along.

"What other traditions are there?" Grim ducks under your arm, settling down in your lap in a way that reminds you far too much of children sitting on Santa's lap asking for presents.

"Well, every Christmas, some people from my neighborhood would gather around and sing carols- which are Christmas songs sung by a group of people like a choir- in exchange for hot chocolate, I always loved having hot chocolate. Oh, and the ugly Christmas sweaters, I loved ranking them in my head on who had the worst, one year I saw a girl with a tacky bright blue one with hand-stitched reindeer and glitter glue- god it was awful but so funny." You pause, half tempted to grab some paper from your bag and draw it to show them.

"You know, we have hot chocolate here, right?" Jack raises a brown with a slightly amused smirk and you roll your eyes.

"And ugly sweaters, though not necessarily 'Christmas' themed." Ortho adds and that makes you laugh.

"Housewarden Vil would hate a tradition based around wearing something intentionally ugly. Can ya imagin' the look on his face?" Epel chuckles to himself, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Would you all stop interrupting! I wanna hear more, what about food? Is there any good food for Christmas?" Grim asks, looking up at you with sparkles in his eyes, that he only ever really gets when thinking about food.

"Ha! Leave it to you to be focused all on your stomach, Grim!" Ace teases, and you laugh, but continue anyway.

"Well, the baking was my favorite- at least to eat. Sugar cookies, peanut butter blossoms, thumbprint cookies, no-bakes, gingerbread, pudding pies. Traditionally, lots of people would make houses out of gingerbread cookies. And on Christmas day, the 25th of December, families would have a big feast, with ham, turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, and candied yams. That was after you opened all the presents though-"

"Wait, so this is all leading up to a Christmas day? That's when you get the presents?" Ace asks, and you smile and nod.

"Yep, so when you're a little kid, there's this fun fairytale about a guy named 'Santa Claus' who every year, on Christmas Eve, rides out on his sleigh, pulled by reindeer, and delivers gifts underneath people's Christmas trees for well-behaved children. When you get older, and obviously find out he's not real, it's still tradition to put the gifts you get under the tree and wait to open them until Christmas day." You pause for a moment thinking before reiterating.

"Though that depends on some things. Friends for example like to be there when you open the gift they give so they can see if you like it, so sometimes they give you your gifts to open early, which is fine too! The point is, Christmas is the season of giving. Showing people how much you care for them by getting them thoughtful gifts and spending time with each other." You smile looking up at the sky.

It's getting a bit cloudy. As is your mood.

"It's also considered to be a really romantic holiday. Where couples would chose to propose to each other as a Christmas gift, or little lovebirds would confess their feelings. My friends liked the whole mistletoe tradition- getting caught under a sprig of mistletoe with someone and having to kiss whoever's under it with you- it could end up really cute, or funny, or even downright awkward." You chuckle.

The memory of two of your old friends getting caught under one, and while one made funny smoochy faces, the other was pushing them away making a barfing sound surfacing in your mind.

You wonder how they're doing...

"That sounds like a terrible tradition! Being forced to kiss someone just cuz you got stuck under a dumb plant?" Grim cringes and you snort.

"It's not manditory, nor does it have to be on the lips or anything. I got caught under it once with a friend and we re-enacted a scene from a book were the knight dropped to his knees and kissed the princess's hand." You sighed fondly at the memory.

"So it's just a cute, non-serious tradition? I bet it'd make an awesome prank for people who take it seriously though." Ace smirks, a look in his eye that means he's definitley gonna drag you into one of his backfired messes later.

"Whatever you're planning, you better leave me out of it, Ace. I don't need to get in trouble with Riddle cuz you went and used my worlds traditions to prank people." You give him a waring look and he just smiles, and gives a playful wink.

"Hey! I'm not planning anything!" He scoffs in mock offence, but you sharpen your glare.

"You better not be."

"Say, what kind of gifts do you give on Christmas? Do they gotta be Christmas-y themed like everything else?" Epel asks, and pivots the conversation back to the holiday.

You spend the rest of lunch describing more Christmas traditions to them, ones your own family had, ones others had, and even some ways other countries celebrated.

Stockings above the fireplace filled with chocolates and small toys and trinkets, Santa Claus and his elves in the north pole-

That lead to Ace making a short joke to Epel while they were walking back to class, which got his ankles swiped from under him, landing on his ass in the hallway you all burst into laughter- outside of Sebek who made a loud shout about 'making a scene in the middle of the hall being unbefitting.'

His shout drew the attention of a passing Lilia and Cater who joined you all on your walk and Ace and Grim started ranting to them about everything you'd just told them about Christmas.

You watch silently as the two upperclassmen listen, just as intrigued as your fellow freshmen had been...

Twisted Wonderland isn't the worst world to have gotten stuck in. The friends you've made here. They make the idea of going home a really hard one to think about.

But all this talk about the holidays, and the upcoming loneliness as eveyone gets ready to leave campus- leaving you all alone... It's bringing your gloomy mood back in full force.

"You really do miss it, don't ya?" Epel interupts your thoughts and you look to see him staring at you as you walk side by side.

"... I do. The holidays here in Twisted Wonderland, and how there celebrated at NRC have been some of the most fun I've ever had in my life... But Christmas was really special to me. And it was a time for family and friends, so spending it alone is... hard." You sigh, suddenly feeling very tired, despite going to bed early like Grim oh-so-helpfully pointed out earlier.

"You know, maybe you could come stay with one of us for winter break? My meemaw wouldn't mind having a guest." Epel offers, and you smile at the kindness.

"Nah, I don't wanna intrude, plus Crowley's chores aren't that bad- I get them done pretty quickly, and then I have plenty of free time to fix up Ramshackle more."

"You know, I'm pretty sure that should be Crowley's job- you already do plenty of his chores to make up for your food and living expenses. You shouldn't have to fix Ramshackle up to." Jack, who's walking on the other side of you, points out.

"Yeah, but argueing with him ain't exactly easy... I'm think of talking to Professor Crewel about some things though, since he seems more... Reasonable then Crowley does." Speaking of Professor Crewel, you reach his class room, and the upperclassmen split up, heading towards their own class.

Ace and Deuce head inside and you pause to look at Epel and Jack one last time.

"Thank you guys for the concern though, I appreciate it, really." And you turn away.

Missing the thoughtful glance your two friends share.

~~~

"So! I think we all know why we're here today!" Epel smacks his hand on the desk in the empty classroom dramatically.

"Uh- not really, but go on." Ace raises a brow, feet proped on the desk he's sitting at, attempting to balance a pencil on his nose.

"We're here because of MC! Duh!" He shouts.

"Huh? What about 'em? They're fine." Ace shrugs, and Jack rolls his eyes from next to him, swiping the pencil away.

"They are far from 'fine' Ace! Didn't you see how homesick they got when talking about Christmas!? Or how sad they've look the last few days since!?" Epel crosses his arms, tapping his foot- before stopping quickly- the mannerism something far to similar to what Vil would do when scolding him.

"That's true! I've scanned them every time we meet up, and their vital always show lower than average levels of serotonin and dopamine! I've been meaning to ask them privately if they're okay, but I have yet to get the chance." Ortho informs, pulling up a screen from his arm to show the history of the last several times he's scanned the Prefect.

"Oh, well, they have been kinda down lately, haven't they?" Deuce brings a hand to his chin in thought, and Grim- who's standing on a desk in front of Deuce- scoffs.

"Down? They've been downright depressed is what they've been! So lost in thought and stuff, they burned dinner last night staring off into space all mopy and stuff!" The little dire beast pouts.

"They miss their home- or at least their friends and family. This is the time of year, that during Christmas, they would spend with them. And they can't do that now. They'll just be all alone on campus once we all leave. That's a pretty depressing thought." Jack rubs the back of his head, ears slightly drooping at the idea of not being able to see his own family during such a special holiday.

"Hey! They won't be alone! They'll have me!" Grim shouts indignatly.

"By the seven, that's even worse..." Ace shivers at the idea of being stuck alone with Grim for a whole two weeks.

"Hey! What the heck is that suppose to mean!?" Grim growls, and Ace rolls his eyes.

"That's enough! This ain't about you two! MC is our friend! They've done so much for us, and all of NRC! They don't deserve to feel so alone, stuck doing Crowley's dirty work when they should be enjoying time with their family! At there home!" Epel scolds, and Ace and Grim look away bashfully.

"Yeah, you're right, but... What are we supposed to do? It's not like we can send them home or anything. And there's not much good in trying to talk Crowley into being helpful- we already try that regularly." Ace runs a hand through his hair a troubled look on his face.

He's thought about this plenty of time. Talked about it with his dormmates too, and his fellow freshmen, but when it comes to helping the prefect, the don't really accept help easily, nor is there much they can do either.

Freshmen are kinda at the bottom of the food chain here at NRC, even the stronger ones like them, so there influence and ability to help is very limited.

"Obviously we can't, but me and Jack had an idea! So we called you all here- plus Sebek, but he's busy with Malleus stuff or whatever- so we'll fill him in later." Epel explains and meets Jack's eye- a determined nod from him and he announces the plan.

"We're gonna bring Christmas to NRC!"

...

"Huh!?"

The ripple of shock around the room is broken first by Ace.

"Whadda mean 'Bring Christmas to NRC!?' How the hell are we supposed to do that?" He shouts.

"Simple really! I made a checklist of all the things MC was talking about when describing Christmas, and we're gonna do them! Here, take a look!" He places the list in front of them.

1. Get a Christmas tree! (Pine prefered)

2. Decorate Tree & Ramshackle - Colorful lights, ornaments, and tinsil! (Reds, greens, whites, silver, gold, & blue colors! Reindeer, snowmen, snowflakes, mistletoe & holly and more are important designs!) DON'T FORGET THE STAR ON TOP THE TREE (Star - real? Maybe? Further information needed).

3. Bake them lots of cookies! (peanut butter blossoms, no-bakes, pudding pies, thumbprints, gingerbread, sugar cookies shaped like reindeer, candy canes, snowmen, etc.)

4. Throw a Christmas feast before leaving for winter break! (Ham, turkey, candied yams, mash potatoes and gravy, other sides)

5. Get them gifts! One from each of us! - REQUIRED!!

6. Wrap them in colorful wrapping paper!

7. Hide them until the 25th!

8. Sneak them under the tree before MC wakes up! (The Ramshackle Ghosts can help, and maybe Grim)

9. Happy MC when we all come back from break!!

10. Get the Housewardens in on it? - BIG MAYBE

11. DEAL WITH CROWLEY!!!

"Well, this is pretty thought out, I'll admit, but I'm not sure how... Acheivable it is." Ortho sighs.

"Especially the last goal." Ace adds.

"Oh, don't go giving up now! When MC's doing nice things for us, or getting us out of trouble- they never give up! I know that I'm going to do everything I can to cheer MC up and make sure they have a good Christmas, even if they can't have their family with them! Are you gonna help or not?" Epel nods resolute.

"Well, when you put it like that, there's no way I can bail out now, I'd be a total jerk to." Ace smirks, sitting back down.

"Agreed. MC always helps us out when we need it, and even when we don't they're always there for us. It's only fair that we return the favor for once!" Deuce smacks a fist into his palm, with a thoughtful look on his face that turns determined.

"The Prefect of Ramshackle has helped Nii-san a lot, and is always wonderful company! Seeing them so sad lately has been worrying. If this plan will make them feel better, then I will gladly help!" Ortho gets that look in his eyes like his just been issued a challenge in a game.

"Good. Now, this is all gonna be hard to accomplish, but it's gonna be even more difficult to do under there nose! So we need help. I'm thinking since the housewardens all owe MC a lot- they might help us do this for them." Epel mentions, picking up the list.

"Well, I know Trey can help us with baking, and Riddle might help find a way to deal with Crowley." Ace says, and Deuce nods in agreement.

"I can text them to meet us in the library later to talk about it." Deuce pulls out his phone.

"Hm, I don't thing Leona or Ruggie would be very interested in helping or going out of their way for anyone, even the Prefect, but I can mention it to them anyway." Jack hums

"I think if I yeild and promise to add a few more steps to my skincare routine, then Vil might help, Rook will help no problem... We might be able to ask Azul for help with food for the feast." Epel ponders.

"Azul? Hell, nah! And be in debt to him for the rest of our school lives for a measly ham and turkey? I'd rather try cooking it myself then that." Ace groans, and both Deuce and Grim shiver in terror.

The memory of the first time they were in Azul's debt still an open wound in their minds.

"Turn you and Grim loose in a kitchen? No offense, but I think I'll take my chance with the Leech twins." Jack huffs, shaking his head.

"I find Jade Leech and Floyd Leech of Octavinelle to be very fun and kind to me! I'm sure they will help the Prefect!" Ortho says optimistically, and everyone lets out an 'eeehhh'.

"What? You don't believe they would?" He looks around at them, and Ace snaps his fingers.

"I believe that you would be the best person to ask and find out! They're both pretty fond of you, so there's a higher chance they'll agree if you ask." He announces and Ortho nods.

"Alright! I will head to Mostro Lounge first thing after school tomorrow!"

"And we'll see about cookies and talking to Riddle." Deuce adds.

"I'll see about finding some decorations, Mr. S might have some stuff we can use. Maybe I can get Leona to help pay for some of it. He is kinda soft on MC, even if he won't admit it." Jack smiles.

"And I'll talk to Sebek, he'll be in charge of getting a good pine tree- and then me and Grim will talk to the ghosts in Ramshackle to make sure they'll help us hide our gifts for them and leave them under the tree on Christmas Eve!"

And like that, the plan is formed.

Now, it's time to put it into action.

Christmas at NRC!

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malleleothreesome · 1 year ago

Text

Under the Mistletoe with Malleus

❤️ summary: Malleus' latest hyperfixation is mistletoe ༶༶༶ 💚 warnings: gender neutral reader, SFW, fluff, romance, Christmas centric but not religious ༶༶༶ ❤️ word count: 4k ༶༶༶ 💚 inspired by: this ask thank you! ♡✧*:･ﾟ

Malleus listens intently to all the tales you have to tell, all the little pieces of your world, of yourself—all the little snippets that come rushing out from the recesses of your memories, painting a picture of your humanity and the universe you'd once inhabited. All the intricacies and details of how your family would spend Christmas, the foods, the gifts, the songs—he loves hearing all about your unique traditions and experiences. Malleus is endlessly grateful for each of these recollections that you decide to entrust him with—small moments of personal history that hold so much weight in shaping who you are. Your mind runs wild as your thoughts run rampant, a blur of vivid recollections that overwhelm you. Then, he sees the tears brimming on your lash line and the tremble of your lower lip, his heart sinking instantly when the painful weight of homesickness visibly crashes down upon you. His own emotions, his yearning, his gratitude are all clogged up in his throat. When the tears finally drip past your lashes and down your cheeks, you're swaddled in strong, firm arms that cradle you. Malleus doesn't bother with words as he shushes your sobs, only offering his comfort with the secure tuck of your frame against his larger form, and the gentle tracing of his elegant, gloved fingertips along the curve of your back in soothing circles. His soft humming is melodious against the crook of your shoulder, warm and welcoming as he surrounds you completely.

Wanting to make the Christmas season extra special for you, his dearest friend, Malleus spends copious hours poring over the plethora of holiday books he could acquire from the school library—reading and studying each festive tale, tradition, and legend until the pages are wrinkled with the oils from his fingertips. Each chapter carefully absorbed and ingrained into his psyche, his eyes sparkling alight with delight and fascination, relishing in the lightness and warmth of the holidays as he familiarized himself with this magical and jovial festivity. When Christmas rolls around the corner, Malleus ensures the front entrance to Ramshackle dorm is lit up and decked to the nines in brightly glowing lights strung all over the framework—an aura of luminescence and color enveloping the dilapidated architecture with festive spirit. The rest of the exterior of the Dorm was covered with glittering golden tinsel, wreaths, garlands and pinecones—whatever he had deemed as festive in his extensive research.

Malleus was determined to honor this strange holiday—a special and important part of your childhood—but unfortunately, none of the decorations, lights, or Christmas cheer were quite as meaningful and special as what he wanted it all to symbolize. When he heard about the tradition involving a parasitic plant, he was naturally intrigued by the idea that a plant would wilt away and die if not united with a particular organism—it could only flourish and thrive when entwined with its complementary other half. In return, the mistletoe would provide both beautiful flowers and ripe fruit, enhancing the lives of the forest around them and fostering harmony within the ecosystem. However, it was the usage of that plant during a kiss that truly made him delighted by its macabre nature and its value to this sacred human festivity. It seemed befitting somehow that the now dead mistletoe, the melancholy parasite that thrives in connection with others, could bring a measure of life and happiness to all who cross its path through a kiss under its eternal, desiccated embrace. Perhaps, this tradition could serve as his best effort to explain that this gesture was intended as a token of appreciation for the kindness you have extended to him—the pleasure and privilege of having you, such a splendid and bright star, in his dark and dreary world—his reward to you for making him feel alive with such an overwhelming sense of happiness that he didn't even know the sensation could exist until you entered into his life. For Malleus, you were the one to awaken him, to pull him from a long slumber and into your embrace, allowing him the privilege of knowing warmth, love, and joy once more. A ghost of a smile appears on his lips, unbidden, as he imagines the roots of the mistletoe spreading through both your lungs, finding nourishment in each other's energy, a complete symbiosis.

Malleus desired so much that your connection would be reciprocal, as intimate and profound as the magic of this holiday would allow. Though your relationship up until this point has remained platonic, he hopes the magic of this custom might give him permission to love and cherish you as so much more. From the moment he first laid his eyes on you, his heart had already made his decision. That fiery intensity of emotion for you has only been compounded with each meeting the two of you have shared—the yearning that only grows stronger with each moment he spends at your side. His feelings for you have reached a saturation point; the deep well of passion and affection that burns ever stronger within the confines of his chest will not be extinguished unless the source of all his turmoil is revealed and answered in due kind. At long last, he wastes no time in preparing the customary kiss. His heart yearns so dearly for it that even the constant tug of his usual shyness and trepidation could never possibly bring him to halt in his advances. Malleus promised himself that the delicate, thriving thing you and he were developing would not fall prey to the same pitiful demise as the mistletoe if left untouched and unwatered. If you did indeed feel similarly about him, he could only imagine the beauty and majesty that would blossom between your intertwined souls, a union of great and unstoppable potency, a lifetime of adoration and devotion.

Therefore, he procured a large branch of mistletoe, so ripe and abundant with sprigs that its small, white berries shimmered and shone. The hanging plant seemed to call out, in a sing-song tinkle of fairy bell laughs, for his beloved to walk underneath, so he could ensnare you in its clutches and give you an obligatory kiss you couldn’t refuse—or so he hoped. Malleus wrapped the strand with some festive red ribbon, decorated with twirling glittery snowflakes, making it shimmer under the twinkling rays of Christmas light. Then, he carefully balanced the mistletoe at the highest point above the doorsill and stepped back, admiring the way the golden glow of the lights would reflect off the glossy white berries, casting them in an ethereal iridescent glow that made them pop, dancing across its branches as though possessed by some Christmas spirit. They sang for you, just waiting for you to take Malleus up on their unspoken promise of his unrequited, hidden desires for your lips.

With that, Malleus knocked on your door. Though, despite his determination and his willpower—so vast and endless that his ambition was virtually limitless—Malleus couldn't help but be flustered, his hands trembling and sweat forming along his brow, heart rate beginning to rise like a swelling wave until he could hear it beating in his pointed ears. The silence that engulfed him was deafening as his mind replayed the myriad ways you might respond to his advances—sharing his sentiments, returning his affections, giving him the opportunity to finally love and kiss you the way he so desperately, hopelessly yearned. Or—perhaps, his advances could have an unwanted negative reaction, creating friction or even destroying your friendship—if not the very love he sought—completely. Undeterred by the looming anxiety that threatens to drown him like a tempest-wrought sea, his heart manages to remain valiant and brave, the steady rhythm keeping him tethered, ensuring him the courage to risk the possibility of breaking apart and dissipating with the winter wind that sieves through his lithe fingers.

As he hears the creaking footsteps along the old staircase inside, the adrenaline kicks in, giving him the fight or flight impulse he has been lacking, his legs stiffening, threatening to buckle from his immense nerves, knees trembling so harshly that he almost loses his balance. He shuts his eyes, trying to brace himself for whatever comes next, not allowing himself to breathe again until the knob finally gives way and the door is thrown open. At last, Malleus gazes upon your dazzling appearance, flooding his vision with an image he's dreamed about for weeks: you stand before him, bathed in the bright, effervescent light, glittering hues of gold and green like a present wrapped up just for him. Before he even allows you a moment to compose yourself and register his presence, Malleus can't help himself, the need to let his words rush out overwhelming him until his syllables practically stumble over each other.

"I wish to partake in the traditional parasite with you," he tells you quickly, trying to sound confident despite the urgent desperation to speak leaking through in his strained vocal chords, struggling to hide the shakiness that attempts to invade and taint the voice he wanted to convey his longing for you with. His words are filled with hope and trepidation, his emerald eyes wide with vulnerability as the mistletoe glistens under the shimmer of lights he personally strung up, bathing the two of you and your surroundings in a magnificent luminance that casts a perfect spellbinding glow upon the scene. Your mouth falls slightly ajar as your eyelids flutter in confusion before registering his intention, noticing the way his expectant eyes dart between your lips and the hanging plant above your door frame, his intense gaze giving you the most telling implication. The sudden realization of his motive renders your whole being paralyzed. Your face heats up from the sheer impossibility of the moment and your brain fizzles into a complete and utter daze, unsure how to comprehend the enormity of the offer he's extending.

An eternity seemed to pass as the seconds ticked on, his dark brows knitting together as the mist and tension seemed to wrap around the both of you. The sting of the cold wind whistled past the space that seemed to shrink between the two of you in unbearable torment. A curtain of lacy snow was falling around, shrouding everything in a dull glow. The night itself seemed to be in a strange sort of serenity and apprehension—watching his eyes lock onto you so intently and feeling his breath, hot and heavy, mingling in the frost between the two of you. The foggy mist of the cool evening air floats through your hair, tiny particles of frozen water suspended around you and shimmering brilliantly as the beams of multicolored lights shine past and illuminate each crystalline droplet in a celestial aura.

Despite it all, your focus was on him alone.

Finally, he was able to collect the breath stolen from his lungs and continue his confession, taking your floundering silence as an invitation for his explanation. "I had wished to spend some time with you under a mistletoe, even though this is something that humans usually do with their partners or loved ones..." he admits sheepishly. You couldn't stop the gasp that escaped your lips when you saw how glassy and emotive his eyes were, the sparkling lights catching the yellow flecks in his viridescent stare.

A shadowy flush washes over his pale complexion as he allows the words he had tried so long to repress to come flowing freely from his lips. "I've noticed how sad you seemed since you were removed from your world, and I wanted to bring you a little of the Christmas cheer you're accustomed to. I wanted to ensure we'd have a pleasant Christmas, especially with how often you've shown me such loving kindness," a sigh escaped his throat, "you've gone to such great lengths, I wanted you to know just how much you mean to me..." His fingers thread together anxiously as he continues his ramblings. "I was so excited to learn the Christmas tales, legends, and histories behind all the traditions... There is so much joy and good-will involved. It seemed a befitting way to honor our time together. As my beloved friend—," his tone holds a subtle note of reluctance to his last statement as he lingers on the term a bit too long. "I wanted to ensure your time in Twisted Wonderland wasn't depressing, and that you experienced Christmas as best you could under your circumstances." The more his sentences seem to elongate, the further he's pulled into himself and begins to overthink every minuscule aspect of his interaction.

The wind picks up slightly, blowing his silky, ebony locks away from his forehead, revealing the shiny scales that cascade up the top half of his head as his horns poke out through the billowing strands. His long, heavy cloak trails behind him, sweeping up the fresh piles of glittery snowfall, shimmering under the auras of the decorative lights he painstakingly strung for you. Malleus was so imposing in the darkness of the night—there's an ineffable beauty to it as his skin seems to emit its own soft glow. Yet, despite his frightening appearance, he appears so docile and timid standing before you with his head bowed, one foot dragging the toe of his boot along the white slush and ice, kicking clumps of snowy wisps, attempting to abate his mounting anxiety.

"...Are you aware, child of man, of the nature and symbolism of the mistletoe?" He pauses and peers into your eyes, emerald pools pleading for mercy as a crack opens within him, revealing his fluttering soul for your scrutiny, allowing you to glimpse his emotional state in a rare display. "Mistletoe requires the partnership and nourishment of another to keep it flourishing—without its partner, it will wither and die a gruesome death, gasping, desperate, starving..." The strain on his tone is audible, words full of unspeakable yearning as he pines so desperately, the loneliness of centuries seeming to distill within a single, all-encompassing desire for your acceptance and love. His Adam's apple bobs with a hard gulp of apprehension as he seeks the approval he longs for deep within your gaze, hoping he has finally found the love of which he has searched for since the first heartbeat he has taken.

"No matter where it falls, or how strong its stem or seed, it will perish without another plant to sustain and nurture it," his explanation was grave and yet somehow poetic, holding you entranced with rapt attention. Each sentence was meant to mimic his struggle—the endless waiting, and the desperate need for companionship that has weighed so heavy on his aching heart for so long. The solemn confession of a hopeless romantic, yearning desperately for the chance to take root, plant his soul and spread until all the ache was gone, replaced by the warmth and fulfillment of life only a partner could give him.

"And yet, if the two plants come into symbiosis with each other, the result is breathtaking—one would not expect something so simple would possess such transcendent beauty and vibrance," his melodic tenor takes on an ethereal quality, as the wondrous facts he learned are once again brought to the surface, replacing the melancholy in the air. "Mistletoe is capable of blossoming to life; producing flowers and bearing fruits when combined with its host, providing an environment for both plants to flourish and thrive," his heart picks up its pace at the subtle meaning and implication behind his words. "Once a healthy mistletoe becomes entangled with its beloved, the pair remain connected and thrive, ultimately strengthened by the bonds forged in interdependency, blooming brightly against the frigid temperatures of winter." Malleus' soul is brimming and bubbling over with the hope and anticipation of a relationship with you and, in an instant, Malleus understands what it truly means to be alive.

"Since you first crossed my path, the mistletoe within my chest grew with such ravenous appetite, longing to reach out to your heart and find harmony, sharing in warmth and nurturing life. You, my lovely starlight, are a plant of the utmost virtue," he gently caresses your cheek as you fall deeper under his enchantment. His words have rendered you completely immobilized, the smooth silk of his voice ensnaring you, unable to escape its sweet whispers and dulcet tone. "For the first time in all of my years, the bud inside me began to bear fruit and opened my eyes to a paradise I never thought possible. Through a simple act of your kindness, you have breathed life into my tired and aching heart and granted me new purpose." Malleus cups your face so delicately, long, tapered fingers stroking the curve of your cheekbones in loving affection. He gazes at you with glowing, adoring eyes, staring deep into the infinite possibilities of your future together. The soft plumes of the falling snowflakes softly embrace you as his feather-light touch communicates all his longing and unspoken passions. You allow yourself to bask in the tender and raw vulnerability of his heart as the glimmering lights and stars in the sky shine with the promise of a brighter tomorrow for you both.

"I had spent many years in unending isolation. Each passing second in your presence was the happiest, most indescribable euphoria. It took a considerable amount of time to discover these feelings and become aware that they are associated with the yearning for intimacy, something which I was denied for a great amount of my lifespan. I've long desired the things I've learned your Christmas legends signify," the words leave him on a wistful sigh, an endless source of elation. "Of family, comfort, love... All that I desire for Christmas is you," he concludes softly. "It was thanks to my research into the mistletoe that I realized how much I needed your lips as though without them I would never draw another breath, so I ask... Do you wish to be mine? Could I have the gift of your lips, of a kiss?" he requests breathlessly as the tip of his tapered thumb ghosts across the flesh of your plush lower lip, sending shivers throughout your whole being.

At last, the confessions of his affections toward you reach their inevitable resolution, allowing the culmination and coalescence of every feeling and emotion within his soul to burst forth like fireworks, shooting off into the midnight air in an explosion of beauty and intensity that would cause any witness to pause and stare in awe of the magic of the night. Like the soft, romantic tones of Christmas music and the enchanted glimmers of holiday lights, Malleus' spell woven in the lyrics of his confession engulfs you in an aurora borealis of ardent devotion. The feeling of his hands against your cheeks radiates warmth and comfort as he cradles your visage close, tender and secure against the soft flurries that flow all around you, surrounding you with an intimate aura of holiday mirth. You find yourself leaning into his touch as your heart and soul yearn to return the depths of his affection, so openly displayed across his handsome, captivating features. With a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, your knees threatening to buckle from his searing yet unyielding stare, you gather the strength to utter the most wonderful syllables you have ever experienced the pleasure of pronouncing—the sum of every single one of his blessings wrapped up neatly into one succinct phrase.

"I love you, too."

Your voice was shaky, unsteady, cracking under the emotion, but the message was unmistakable. The intensity of the moment rendered Malleus stunned and speechless, tears of delight stinging his emerald eyes, brimming at the waterline with the intensity of his joy. Every single day was spent thinking of the next instance where the two of you might cross paths and now, you'd just given him the most spectacular present in the world. Malleus doesn't think about anything else, he just leans in, lips parted ever so slightly, barely containing the gasping breath that escapes his throat as his nose nudges yours and his entire world collapses upon itself before igniting with an incandescence of pure elation. With all the delicate adoration of his whole, enchanted being, he offers you a sweet brush of his soft, inviting lips against yours. A whimper emanates from his mouth as a trembling sob of disbelief is unleashed, reverberating between the two of you and sending every last vestige of his restrained sentiment into you, engulfing your heart in a fervid embrace that crushes you with all the weight of his desperation—his centuries' worth of desire and craving for an end to his misery.

Despite having never been kissed, his lips moved confident and gentle, as though it were as natural as his very breath, or the thrum of his heart. The sensations were unparalleled—better than his wildest expectations as your flesh entwined with his, mingling the pliant texture and pillowy warmth. A satisfied sigh rolls past his tongue, which teases the seam of your mouth, offering gentle, fleeting sensations as he licks and teases your bottom lip. A series of jolts rock your frame when his fangs accidentally nip at the skin. The sound that leaks from his throat as he swipes his tongue over the wound and laps up the warm, metallic liquid of your blood is guttural and broken with the raw emotion of being deprived of such ecstasy for so long. It was heavenly—to finally be united and experience the taste of love, passion, and the transcendent rapture of the one and only person to ever make him feel such happiness.

He swallows every whimper and moan of your kiss, reveling in the sounds that permeate through your entangled forms and dance on the frosted wind. Your fingers come to thread through his silk-like locks, nails grazing his scalp until a shudder rattles his chest and his tongue can't help but invade the hot, wet cavern of your mouth. There's a subtle pressure placed on the base of your skull, adding a deeper angle, so that he may completely envelope and taste the sweetness of your saliva as you revel in each other. When the chill of the winter winds brings forth the full impact of the cold, and the mistletoe spins aimlessly under its icy breath, swaying above, you are undeterred in the bliss of your newfound love. Your noses smudge as you press yourself further, gaining deeper contact and savoring each brush of his deft, explorative tongue and the tickle of his heated breath fanning against the sensitive surface of your palette. The kiss sparks flames within you that make you forget the bitter chill, warming the deepest crevices of your core, staving off the frigidness of the night and replacing it with the cozy, fluffy heat of your love. You clutch desperately, latching onto the black tailcoat and pressing the muscles and softness of your bodies even closer, desperate for each touch, wanting him as close to your form as you can manage. The fullness of your feelings for each other, and the completeness of his confession, finally come together in a bittersweet, perfect dance of two souls. Forever bound, hearts thudding in unison as you two continue to exchange kisses underneath the mistletoe, filling this merry season with newfound glee and a holiday tradition all your own.

When you two finally make it inside, you sit comfortably with his arms wrapped around you atop a pile of plush blankets, surrounded by mounds of pillows under the twinkling lights of the massive tree he had erected and draped in garland. Next to him, there was nowhere better you'd rather be, snuggling deeper into his warmth, burying yourself in his embrace and cuddled tight under his heavy, weighted cloak as the roaring fire before you burned in a warmth that reflected that of the deep, profound affection the two of you shared for each other. As he held you in his lap, surrounded by the soft music playing in the background and the decorations he'd strung, he looks at you with excitement alight on his beautiful visage, eager to share more fun facts about his latest hyperfixation. With the shimmering lights refracting across the deep emerald pools of his gaze, he starts to ramble, "Did you know, mistletoe is also a sacred symbol of fertility—"

Woah, woah, woah, woah... I just spent all day working on this, its like, 10:30pm and now I'm just now eating mac and cheese for dinner. I really love what I created, I hope you all do too. This was fulfilling a request for my 12 Days of TWSTmas event, so uh, anon, I'm not sure if this is what you expected of me... I think I projected my own newfound mistletoe hyperfixation onto Malleus a bit too hard, but I hope this meets your expectations. I'm desperate to hear all your thoughts on this one, I really want you guys to love this as much as I do! I wish I had more to say here, but my brain is melting. My exhausted brain longs to sign this off like a corporate email. Best, Erica Malleleothreesome

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