#I am a sucker for Christmas fics

[gemaesteria]

Podfic: Wishing On Runway Lights [MDZS, WangXian]

Written by: @inflight-gremlin

Art by: @museywrites

Summary:

7 Chapters.

Main story ends at Chapter 5. (6 & 7 are extras).

Rated E for explicit (eventual smut).

Lan Yuan just wants a baba

With the Chrismas holidays fast approaching, so does the storm of the century. Through it all, issue after issue, no one expected the little wishes made on runway lights to bring two strangers together like never before. Or Amidst flight delays and cancellations, Wei Ying finds himself taking care of a young boy left stranded at the airport. The initially unfortunate circumstances of their meeting would lead Wei Ying to meeting Lan Wangji, the child’s father. From then on, it’s a quick one way trip to falling in love.

🎧 Listen here. 🎧

Available on Ao3, Google Drive, Spotify and Apple Podcasts.

Sound on to hear the teaser below 📣

[sl003]

SESE's Fic Recs (ATEEZ)

Hi and welcome to my ATEEZ fic rec! This is basically a collection of my favourite ATEEZ fics (duh) and I really recommend reading them if you haven't already! This List will get updated from time to time when i have new fics that i can put on here.

Warning: As i will write my opinion/thoughts under some of the fics, they might contain some spoilers for them!

The pictures aren't mine, so all credits go to the rightful owners!

My all-time-favourites are marked with a: ♡

With that being said, a giant thank you to all the incredibly skilled and talented writers that came up with these amazing works of art <3

Have fun reading!

PS: If any of the links don't work or are wrong, please tell me, i'll fix it as fast as possible!

KIM HONGJOONG

I'm The One - @sorryimananti-romantic (24k)

prince!hj x translator!r

♡ The Nightfury - @bvidzsoo (22.2k)

pirate!hj x pirate!r - enemies to lovers (kind of?)

I can barely describe how much i love this! I just love the dynamic between the reader and hongjoong in this one. You can really feel the hatred and attraction they feel for each other. I reread this regularly since this is a plot that i've never read in this way before.

Ghost Of Christmas Past - @stayteezdreams (4.5k)

kinda romeo & juliet au (forbidden love trope) / "exes" to lovers

This started off so intense that it immediately pulled me in and had me hooked! I'm a sucker for the "forbidden love" trope and this was such an amazing approach.

Your Fan - @hwaightme (2 parts)

Part 1 / Part 2

idol!hj x fashion designer!r

Hongjoong with a fashion designer s/o just made so much sense! And he was so whipped for her it's adorable, definitely recommend!

Familiar Stranger - @yourlocaljonghoe (24.2k)

best friends to lovers / divorced au

♡ Your Gentle Hands - @yourlocaljonghoe (37.6k - 2 parts)

dressmaker!hj x married!r (plays in the 1800s)

This was also so incredible to read. The way the writer wrote hongjoong's personality and his behaviour/dnyamic with the reader was so delicate, i loved it! There were quite a dew sudden and unexpected plot-twists/changes that really surprised me and had me hooked.

♡ The Parent Trap - @yundeob (18.1k)

exes to lovers / parents au

I also reread this one every once in a while, I just really love the chemistry between the reader and hongjoong, especially as the story progresses! Definitely one of my favourites!

Million Dollar Man - @holybibly (9.2k)

This is nearly 9k words of pure filth, but it's the best filth i've read in my whole life. the way he treats her and talks to her makes me melt. this is so divine, i love it! (and the appearance of seonghwa at the end, wow)

PARK SEONGHWA

The Way I Am - @frenchkisstheabyss (1.6k)

fiancé!sh x make-up artist!r

This was so precious! The way Hwa got so insecure and scared made me tear up, this is so sweet, definitely worth a read! Also a regular reread of mine :)

Best Friend's Mother - @hwashotcheeto (series - 10 parts)

(discontinued) mommy!sh x wy's best friend!r

Bodyguard - @baekhvuns (37.8k)

bodyguard!sh / forbidden love

Let's Not Fall In Love, Again - @baekhvuns (39k)

failing marriage / time travel au

JEONG YUNHO

Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy - @yunhoszn (12.25k)

+ Horses Are Still Overrated (Sequel - 2k)

cowboy!yh x city girl!r

The Trace Of You - @bvidzsoo (25.1k)

psychiatrist!yh x patient!r

Thousand Miles, Just To Get You Back - @bvidzsoo (28.7k)

victor!yh & r / hunger games au

Memoir - @baekhvuns (16k)

mafia au / amnesia au

KANG YEOSANG

There's a lot, I think it's obvious he's my bias... sorry not sorry

Cosmos - @pirateprincessblog (17.7k)

dystopian/space au

Stay - @sorryimananti-romantic (18.6k)

archer!ys x princess!r

Married In Vegas - @starrysvn (10k)

ex friends to lovers / forbidden love (kind of)

♡ Operation: Passenger Princess - @sungbeam (9.5k)

college au / frat boy!ys

Again, something i reread on the regular. The chemistry between them is obvious right from the beginning and it's just such a sweet fic. It gets angsty for a short minute but it goes right back to fluffy, which i love!

Speak Now - @edenesth (11.6k)

best friends to lovers / hanahaki disease au

♡ Richboy!Seonghwa Series - @ateezmakemeweep (30 parts)

+ Richboy!Yeosang Series (Spin-Off/Sequel - 6 parts)

private school au (?) / love triangle / enemies to lovers

I'm actually not a big fan of love triangles, but this was amazing, especially since it doesn't stay a classic love triangle for toooo long. I actually went into the richboy!sh series with wanting to read something with seonghwa (obviously), but this fic made me root for yeosang so damn fast that i actually loved the way it turned out in the end and then the small sequel series just topped it off so well!

Untitled - @ateezmakemeweep (18k)

badboy!ys x r / enemies to lovers (kinda)

Transcendent - @biaswreckingfics (9.5k)

soulmate au / best friend's boyfriend

♡ Entropy - @in-san-ity (21.3k)

mafia au / hacker!ys / found family (kinda)

This has to be my all time favourite fic. I put off from reading it very long (i remember the first time i started reading it something put me off, idk what anymore tbh) but when I saw it on nearly every fic rec post i saw, i decided to give it another shot and i fell in love. The dynamic between yeosang and the reader with sol is so precious to me and there were just certain things in the wording that made it even better. If you haven't read this, please do it!

Untitled - @ateezmakemeweep (10k)

skaterboy!ys x ballerina!r / enemies to lovers

Not too much to say about this except it got me right in the feels, it's so sad but also so sweet and wholesome!

Siren - @sorryimananti-romantic (27.8k)

siren!ys x siren hunter!r

CHOI SAN

Crimson - @hwaslayer (21.8k)

san x stripper!r

Ceilings - @yoongiseesawmp3 (3 parts)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

single mom!r to not so single mom!r / exes to lovers

♡ Sunrise - @sorryimananti-romantic (29k)

soldier!san x soldier!r / military special forces au

This is also one of my favourites of all time! The tension and chemistry between these two is out of this world. The way they both (especially the reader) try to suppress their feelings for each other before they finally snap *chefs kiss*.

♡ Leave The Window Open - @sungbeam (3.7k)

strangers to lovers / neighbours / byeol playing matchmaker

This is soooo cute. It's such a cute idea, especially with incorporating byeol into it, this makes me feel so soft! Regular reread of mine

Face Down - @latte-fairytaekwoon (5.5k)

abusive relationsip / "saviour" san

Infinity - @seung-hwa (4.3k)

soulmate au / reincarnation au

♡ From Saturn To Mars - @lividstar (24.2k)

stargazing / star-crossed lovers

Dear god, when i tell you this made me cry... I've read this like 2-3 times now and i was crying my eyes out each and every time i read it. It's written so beautiful yet so tragic. It already starts off quite sad but it just gets progressively worse (in the best way possible). if you feel like you need to have a good cry, read this. Or read it anyway, cause it's incredible

Back To You - @ateezmakemeweep (12 parts)

badboy!san / college au

Broken - @ateezmakemeweep (2 parts)

Part 1 / Part 2

abusive relationship / "saviour" san

Your Worst Mistake - @bvidzsoo (25.7k)

hunger games au / stylist!san x tribute/victor! reader

SONG MINGI

Steamroller - @fallinforgyu (10k)

best friends to lovers au

Am I Just A Bet To You? - @hannie-roses (24.9k)

enemies to lovers au / you were just a bet au

Preying On You Tonight - @bvidzsoo (29k)

enemies to lovers au / werewolf!mgx vampire!r

Your Fan - @hwaightme (2 parts)

Part 1 / Part 2

idol!mg x rapper!r

They're both so whipped for each other, i love it!

Untitled - @ateezmakemeweep (12k)

werewolf au / mates au

JUNG WOOYOUNG

Water - @yuyusboyfriend (6.7k)

bff's brother!wy x ftm!r

Right Here - @0097linersb (2 parts)

Part 1 / Part 2

best friends to lovers

Midnight Kisses - @mingigoo (5 parts)

single mom au / bff to lovers / dead ex!seonghwa / new flame!san

♡ Place In Me - @starrysvn (17k)

exes to lovers / chef au

I blame this fic for kickstarting my sudden obsession for old parisian apartments, but in the best way possible. This is so beautiful and i really like the chef trope with wooyoung

CHOI JONGHO

♡ Cyberpunk - @sorryimananti-romantic (23.7k)

droid!jh x programmer!r / exes to lovers (kinda)

This is also one of my favourites, i've never seen a trope like this before and i love it! Definitely need to reread this one!

Oh Shit, Are We In Love? - @mingigoo (15.8k)

best friends to lovers

Second Chance At Love - @xomakara (7.1k)

dad!jh x nanny turned mom!r

POLY/MULTIPLE

♡ Opposites Attract Universe - @beenbaanbuun

poly!addams!matz x reader

I'm a sucker for poly!matz and the way these two are portrayed here makes me melt. they just worship their darling so much, just wow. And also with in inclusion of the other members (yeosang as a werewolf/guard dog, san as a butler, jongho as a ghost etc.). Every single fic/drabble etc that takes place in this universe is worth reading!

Three Hearts As One - @cybrsan (2k)

poly!woosan x reader / zombie apocalypse au

Again, one of the things that just made me cry. This is so beautiful but so damn sad and tragic. It's really short but it manages to make me tear up each time.

Beefcake Raccoon - @songmingisthighs (6.5k)

Concrete Bear - @bro-atz (account no longer available)

Manwhich - @skteezcursed (7.7k)

kinda poly!jongsang x reader (mainly jongho x reader)

Outlaw - @staytinyville (49 parts - ongoing)

poly!ot8 x reader / outlaw au

i never thought i'd read a ot8!poly fic but here we are. I decided to give it a shot since i was eating up all the outlaw/wild west/lore au fics with ateez. i'm glad i decided to read this cause it's really amazing, i love the relationship the reader has with each of the members, and one of my favourite parts has to be that every member has a different nickname for her. When i started realizing this i was eating it up and anxiously waiting for the next nickname to appear (i was especially waiting for hongjoongs, and when i tell you i melted when he called her princess for the first time)

Django - @last-words-ofashootingstar (5.5k)

poly!woosan x reader / bouncy au / hint at poly!ot8

It's You - @holybibly (2 parts)

Part 1 / Part 2

poly!woosan x reader

funnily enough, i don't even read this for the spicier parts (which are also *chefs kiss*), i just genuinely love the chemistry and dynamic between those three because they're just so comfortable and shameless around each other, this is really something i need in my life.

[mmso-notlikethat]

Bucktommy Ι WC: 3400 Ι Christmas fic Ι cw: unintentional self-harm

I might have some kind of fixation with writing them drunk but well... I love seeing them messy and pathetic sue me 😞

also on ao3

"Bar fights on Christmas Eve. Why is this a thing?" Hen muttered.

Eddie adjusted his gloves, surveying the scene. "Maybe Santa didn’t bring what they wanted."

Chimney chuckled. "Or someone sang ‘Last Christmas’ one too many times."

Buck stayed quiet, his mind already churning with a mix of irritation and exhaustion. As they approached, a police officer waved them over.

"This one’s yours... I think," the officer said, jerking his thumb toward someone sitting on the curb. Buck’s stomach sank as soon as he recognized the messy mop of dark hair.

"Tommy?" Buck’s voice came out in disbelief.

Hen tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. "Oh no.”

Tommy looked up, his face marked with a bruise along his cheekbone and a faint cut near his eyebrow. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled and slightly damp as if someone had spilled a drink on him. Despite all of this, he grinned widely. "Heyyyyy! Look who’s here! Evan! No Buck!! My favorite ex!"

Chimney blinked, caught between disbelief and amusement. "Okay, Christmas just got interesting."

Buck groaned, already dreading whatever explanation was coming. "What happened?"

Tommy tried moving, the cuffs clinking as he gestured grandly. "Do you know how great you are, Evan? You’re like—like Santa, but with better arms!"

"Okay, he’s drunk," Eddie said, trying—and failing—to hide his amusement.

Hen smirked. "No kidding, detective."

The officer sighed. "Bar fight broke out. He didn’t throw any punches, but he got hit, refused medical attention, and wouldn’t leave when we asked. Kept insisting he was fine."

"I am fine," Tommy slurred, his voice betraying just how much he wasn’t. "They didn’t mean it. They were just… passionate about pool tables."

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "They punched you in the face."

"And the ribs," Tommy added cheerfully. "But I didn’t hit back! Isn’t that the Christmas spirit?"

Chimney snorted, already enjoying this far more than he should. "You got sucker-punched, and your takeaway is holiday cheer?"

"Forgiveness is key, Howie," Tommy declared dramatically. He leaned back slightly, his cuffs clinking. "I’m basically a saint."

Hen crouched in front of him, tilting her head. "How much did you drink?"

Tommy squinted, holding up his fingers. "Two? Maybe four? Could be six. Math’s hard."

The officer crossed his arms, visibly irritated. "He was trying to mediate, but when things got heated, one of the guys turned on him. Said something about him 'looking smug'—whatever that means."

Tommy perked up. "I do look smug! It’s my default face."

"Congratulations," Buck muttered. "You got punched for your great personality."

Hen smirked. "To be fair, it’s a punchable face."

"Thanks, Hen. Love you too," Tommy shot back, swaying slightly. "But seriously, I didn’t even fight back. I just told them to calm down, and, bam, fist to the face. It was… educational."

Eddie crossed his arms. "You learned nothing."

"I learned not to stand too close to drunk strangers holding beer bottles," Tommy said wisely.

The officer announced. "Look, if you can take him off our hands, I’m willing to let him go. Just… keep him out of trouble."

Tommy perked up. "See? I’m very cooperative. Just ask—what’s your name again? Officer Friendly?"

Buck said shocked and unbelieving “Let him go? You said he didn’t even hit back! Why is he even cuffed?? Why didn’t you just let him leave?”

The officer shrugged. "He was being stubborn. Kept saying he was fine, didn’t need help, and that he was 'the spirit of Christmas.' You try reasoning with that."

Tommy nodded proudly. "I am the spirit of Christmas. Forgiveness, love, and mild head injuries."

Chimney shook his head, grinning. "Oh, this is gold. Someone should write this down."

Eddie crouched beside Tommy, examining his bruised face. "Doesn’t look like it’s broken, but you’ll need an ice pack.”

The officer muttered something under his breath while uncuffing him, and Eddie stood up to help Tommy stand.

"You’re lucky they didn’t haul you in," Eddie said, steadying him. "But seriously, you okay?"

Tommy waved a hand, swaying slightly. "Never better. Just a little… dented."

"Dented," Buck repeated, his jaw tightening as he noticed the way Tommy flinched when Eddie accidentally brushed his side. "We’re checking those ribs now.”

Tommy looked at him with an exaggerated pout. "Evan, you’re still bossy. I missed that."

Buck rolled his eyes, biting back the mix of worry and frustration bubbling inside him. "Let’s go."

Tommy suddenly leaned toward Buck, sniffing dramatically. "You smell good. Like cookies. Did you bake? You totally baked."

"Sit down, Tommy," Buck said, guiding him toward the ambulance. "And stop sniffing me."

"Can we keep him like this?" Hen asked. "He’s much more entertaining."

"Yeah, it’s like finding a unicorn," Eddie added. "Drunk, unfiltered Tommy. Never thought I’d see the day."

Once Tommy was helped into the ambulance, Buck followed close behind, his jaw tight with concern. Tommy sat on the gurney, looking dazed but still trying to joke.

"See? I’m fine. You’re overreacting. Classic Evan."

"Take your shirt off," Buck said, already pulling gloves on. "We need to check for bruising."

Tommy leaned back against the gurney, his grin widening lazily. "Oooh you are a medic now? If you wanted to see me shirtless, you could’ve just asked. No need for the whole Christmas emergency."

"Tommy, stop," Buck said, exasperated, his voice sharp with worry. "Just let me check."

Tommy shook his head, folding his arms defiantly. "Nope. Not letting you play doctor."

Hen stepped in, putting a hand on Buck’s shoulder. "Let the professionals handle this, Buck."

"I can handle it," Buck argued, his eyes fixed on Tommy. "He’s hurt."

Chimney appeared on Buck’s other side, smirking. "He’s always been stubborn. You’re not gonna win this one. Let us do our job."

Buck hesitated, his hands falling to his sides as Hen gently nudged him out of the way. She crouched in front of Tommy, her voice calm but commanding. "Alright, Tommy. You don’t get a choice. Shirt off, now."

Tommy sighed dramatically, wincing slightly as he pulled off his jacket and shirt. Underneath, dark bruises were spreading across his ribs and a faint red mark lingered along his shoulder.

Hen frowned. "That looks nasty. You’re definitely going to the hospital."

"It’s just a bruise," Tommy said with a wave of his hand. "Tough guy stuff, you know."

Chimney raised an eyebrow. "Tough guys don’t take punches like that without flinching. Which you did, by the way."

"That’s because I’m cool under pressure," Tommy said with exaggerated flair.

Buck, standing nearby, crossed his arms tightly, his jaw set. "Cool under pressure doesn’t mean you don’t need help. You’re going to the hospital, Tommy."

Tommy tilted his head toward Buck, his smile turning genuine.

Buck didn’t wait for him to speak, his eyes flicking to the bruises before meeting Tommy’s gaze. "Let’s just get you taken care of."

Hen cleared her throat. "Alright, playtime’s over. Chim, get the monitor. We’re not taking chances with those ribs."

Tommy slumped back against the gurney, his grin faint but still there. "You guys really are like family. Dysfunctional, but family. Awesome."

As Hen and Chimney worked, Buck hovered nearby, his concern palpable. Tommy—even drunk—noticed, his voice softening. "Hey, Evan. I’m okay."

"You don’t look okay," Buck said, his voice clipped.

"But I will be," Tommy murmured. "Thanks… to you and all of you."

The ambulance hummed quietly as it crossed the dark streets, the faint sound of sirens cutting through the stillness. Buck sat on the bench across from Tommy, his eyes fixed on him as Hen drove and Chimney worked on notes up front. Tommy leaned back against the gurney, arms folded across his chest, his bruised face turned toward the ceiling.

"You going to tell me what happened?" Buck asked, breaking the silence.

Tommy tilted his head, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What? Didn’t the officer give you the play-by-play? It’s pretty simple, guy punches me, I forgive him, everyone moves on."

Buck’s jaw tightened. "That’s not what I meant."

"Well, you gotta be more specific, Evan," Tommy said, the grin widening. "I’ve had a lot of adventures tonight. Bar fights, karaoke, getting arrested… It’s been a full Christmas Eve."

Buck leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I mean why you were even there. Why were you drinking alone? Why did you let someone hit you and just—wave it off?"

Tommy shrugged, his expression still light. "Maybe I was spreading Christmas cheer. You know, turn the other cheek and all that."

"Tommy," Buck said, his voice sharper now, "this isn’t funny."

"Neither are you, but we all have our flaws," Tommy quipped, winking. "Come on, lighten up. It’s Christmas."

Buck’s patience frayed. "You’re covered in bruises and sitting in an ambulance, and you’re joking. Why can’t you just be serious now for five minutes?"

The grin on Tommy’s face faltered, and he turned his head away, looking at the far wall of the ambulance. His voice, when it came, was quieter. "Because serious didn’t help."

The tension in the small space grew, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Buck exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to rein in his frustration. His eyes drifted to Tommy again, and that’s when he noticed it—his eyes, red and puffy, like he’d been crying before the fight.

"Tommy…" Buck started, his voice softer. "Have you been—"

"Don’t," Tommy interrupted, his tone flat. "Just… don’t."

Buck fell silent, studying him closer. The faint hollows beneath Tommy’s cheekbones were more pronounced than he remembered, and the way his jacket hung slightly looser over his frame caught his attention. He wasn’t skinny, but he was leaner—more muscular, yes, but not in a healthy way. It looked like someone who’d been skipping meals and pushing too hard.

"You’re not eating enough," Buck said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Tommy glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Didn’t realize you were also a nutritionist now."

Buck’s concern only deepened. "You’re overworking yourself. You’ve always done that, but this—this is different."

Tommy’s jaw tightened, and he looked away again, his voice barely audible. "I’m fine, Evan."

"No, you’re not," Buck shot back, but Tommy didn’t respond. He stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on the window as the city lights blurred by.

After a long stretch of silence, Tommy murmured so quietly that Buck almost missed it. "I HATE Christmas. Stupid captain—‘You are taking Christmas off, Kinard.’ Stupid, stupid."

Buck glanced at him, startled by the soft admission. Tommy’s head lolled slightly to the side, and his eyes were heavy-lidded, but the slurred bitterness in his tone cut through the haze of drunkenness.

“Stupid Christmas. Stupid captain made me take it off. What else was I supposed to do?”

"Tommy…" Buck started, but Tommy didn’t look at him. Instead, he muttered something unintelligible and leaned back against the gurney, his expression shutting down entirely.

The ambulance fell silent again, save for the faint hum of the engine. Buck leaned back against the bench, his hands gripping his knees as he tried to process what Tommy had said—or what he didn’t say. He wanted to push, to get answers, but the look on Tommy’s face—the shut-down, closed-off expression—stopped him. For now, at least.

…

The fluorescent lights in the hospital room buzzed as the doctor stood at the foot of Tommy’s bed, flipping through his chart. Tommy sat up slightly, one hand rubbing his forehead as he squinted at the doctor. He was more coherent now, though his eyes still held a hint of fatigue.

“Here’s what we’re looking at,” the doctor began. “Bruised cheek bone, two stitches on the cut above your eyebrow, bruised ribs, and—” he paused, giving Tommy a pointed look, “—a mild concussion. Turns out you did hit your head during the fight. But with how drunk you were, it wasn’t immediately obvious if it was the alcohol or a concussion causing your symptoms.”

Tommy groaned, leaning back against the pillows. “Great. So I’m a walking disaster. Is that what you’re saying?”

The doctor didn’t smile. “I’m saying we’re keeping you overnight for observation. It’s standard with head injuries, and given your condition—”

“I’m fine,” Tommy interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “Look, thanks for the concern, but I don’t need to stay here. I just need some water, maybe a snack, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You have a concussion and bruised ribs. This isn’t up for debate.”

“Debate? Come on,” Tommy said, his voice edging on pleading. “I’ve had worse. I’m a firefighter, I know what I’m saying. Just let me go home, and I’ll sleep it off.”

“You’re staying,” Buck’s voice cut through the room before the doctor could respond.

Tommy turned his head sharply, his tired eyes narrowing. “Why are you even here?” he snapped. “Just go. You got me checked in, that’s enough. Thank you very much!”

Buck didn’t flinch, didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he took a step closer, the tension in his face eased, despite the frustration still lingering in his voice. “I’m not going anywhere. And you’re staying the night. End of discussion.”

Tommy scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest before wincing as the motion aggravated his bruised ribs. “Unbelievable. You think you can just waltz in here and—”

“Tommy,” Buck interrupted again. “You need to rest. Stop arguing.”

For a moment, Tommy just stared at him, his jaw clenched tightly, but he didn’t have the energy to keep up the fight. He let out a frustrated sigh, looking away. “Fine. Whatever.”

Buck nodded once, then turned toward the door. “I’m going to tell everyone your state and that you’re staying the night.”

That stopped Tommy cold. “Everyone?” His voice was sharper now, his head snapping back toward Buck.

Buck paused, glancing over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Everyone who needs to know.”

…

When Buck came back Tommy was lying back against the pillows, his face slightly turned to one side. His breathing was slow but uneven, like he was trying to stay awake despite the pull of exhaustion. Buck sat in the chair beside the bed, scrolling through his phone, his leg bouncing slightly in nervous habit.

Minutes passed, the quiet of the hospital only broken by the occasional beep from the monitor. Tommy stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at Buck, who hadn’t noticed he was awake. Tommy’s gaze lingered on him, taking in the familiar slope of his shoulders, the furrow of his brow as he focused on his screen. Finally, Tommy sighed, his voice soft and scratchy.

“Another Christmas at the hospital. Old habits die hard, huh?”

Buck’s head snapped up, startled. “Uh, you woke up.”

Tommy smiled faintly, shifting slightly on the bed. “Yeah, happens sometimes.”

Buck leaned forward, tucking his phone away. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Should I call the doctor?”

Tommy shook his head and immediately regretted it, wincing as pain shot through his temple. “Ow. Nope. Definitely no head shaking.”

Buck stood quickly, his concern sharpening. “You okay? Want me to get someone?”

“I’m fine,” Tommy said, his voice sharp. He looked at Buck and gave a small, sheepish smile. “Thanks for staying, though. Uh… sorry about your shift.”

Buck moved to stand beside the bed, waving it off casually. “Bobby gave me the rest off. I’ll cover another shift later. It’s fine.”

Tommy winced again as he shifted to sit up a little straighter. “Yeah, sorry… you know you didn’t have to.”

Buck’s expression relaxed, but there was a weight to his gaze as he looked down at Tommy. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Then, without warning, Buck reached out, his hand brushing gently against Tommy’s bruised cheek.

Tommy froze, startled by the touch. His instinct was to lean back, but instead, he found himself leaning into Buck’s palm, almost without thinking. “Uh, what…”

“Tommy... you’re hurt,” Buck said, his voice quiet and firm.

Tommy blinked at him, then let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Duh.”

Buck didn’t move his hand, his thumb grazing just below the cut near Tommy’s eyebrow. “No, Tommy,” he said, his voice heavier now. “You’re hurt.”

The words landed with a weight that seemed to knock the air out of the room. Tommy stared up at him, his expression unreadable, until his eyes began to glisten. He blinked rapidly, turning his face slightly to avoid Buck’s gaze. “I’m fine,” he murmured.

“You’re not,” Buck said, lowering his hand but not stepping away. “And you don’t have to pretend with me.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he tried to push the emotion back down. “It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he said finally.

Buck pulled the chair closer and sat down his eyes drifted to the bruises shadowing Tommy’s cheek and the faint red line where the stitches had been placed, “You don’t always have to handle it alone, you know. You can… let someone in. Let me in.”

For a long moment, Tommy didn’t respond. Then he exhaled slowly, leaning his head back against the pillow.

“I think I forgot how.” his voice quiet, almost fragile. It was the kind of admission that wasn’t meant to be heard aloud.

Buck’s chest tightened at the words. He gave a faint, sad smile. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

Tommy’s gaze flicked toward him, a flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, maybe hope, but definitely vulnerability. It wasn’t a side of Tommy Buck had seen often, and it wasn’t one Tommy would have willingly shown under normal circumstances. But here, under the dim hospital lights, stripped of his usual defenses, he couldn’t hide.

Tommy shifted slightly, his fingers absentmindedly brushing the edge of the hospital blanket, where Buck's hand rested. “You’re stubborn, you know that?” he muttered, his tone lighter now, though the exhaustion still lingered.

Buck let out a small laugh. “Takes one to know one.”

Tommy smirked faintly at that, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re still here.”

Buck leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Because you need someone to be.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know if I deserve that.”

Buck’s response was immediate, no hesitation in it. “You do.”

For a moment, Tommy said nothing, his eyes drifting toward the window, where the faint glow of the city lights filtered through the blinds. “I’m not good at this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Buck straightened slightly, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to be. I told you we’ll figure it out together.”

Tommy looked at him again, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, he nodded—just a small, almost imperceptible movement—and leaned his head back against the pillow once more.

Buck hesitated, then said quietly, “Uh… Merry Christmas…?”

The words seemed to break something loose in Tommy. He suddenly sat up, his movements sharp and panicked, a decision he regretted immediately. His face contorted in pain as he squeezed his eyes shut, a wince escaping his lips. “Shit,” he hissed, his hand instinctively clutching his side. “Shit, Evan, it’s Christmas!”

Buck blinked, caught off guard by the outburst. “Tommy—”

“You should be with your family, not in a hospital!” Tommy’s voice cracked slightly, and his hands trembled as he rubbed at his face. His breathing hitched, and for a moment, it looked like he was on the verge of tears. “I didn’t mean to— You shouldn’t be— God, this is all—”

“Tommy,” Buck interrupted softly, standing and taking a step closer to the bed.

Tommy shook his head, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You should be with your family. Or—hell, with the 118—they’re your family anyway.”

Buck sighed, ducking his head for a moment as he tried to steady himself. Then, with quiet determination, he moved closer, cupping Tommy’s face with both hands and gently forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Tommy,” he said firmly, his voice steady and filled with certainty. “Don’t you get it? I am exactly where I want to be.”

[goodnightoilcountry]

jo's nhl fic rec list !

hi - welcome to my attempt at being a fic writer again. i have a wip list in the works but first things first: my fic rec list of all the works i've found and adored.

if you don't know yet, you will know soon that i am such a sucker for angst. i hope you find something new to love from the list below !

how to navigate

i update this list weekly (try to) and place all the new fic recs at the top under NEW.

when searching for a specific player, they will always be listed under their current team.

* updated tuesday 14 january 2025 *

weekly note: happy update! do we like the current structure of this list? i've been mulling about how to improve it but not sure how just yet. keen to hear thought if there are any !

like my selection of fic recs? have a player who's not been featured? let me know and i'll go on a deep dive for you!

NEW

the little steps to falling in love (nico hischier) by @theemporium summary: nico hischier didn't expect to go first overall. he didn't expect to become captain of the new jersey devils. he didn't expect to become a dad to twins. and he certainly didn't expect to fall in love with the twins' nanny. word count: 17.2k

i'll be home for christmas (nico hischier) by @cuteandhughesy summary: nico hischier acting as your fake boyfriend to try and get your family off your back this holiday season seems like the perfect solution - or so you thought. total word count: 14.9k

merry christmas, i miss you (nico hischier) by @bewaryofpity summary: when you received a call from your ex on christmas eve, the last thing you wanted to do was to pretend you're still together in front of his parents. word count: 6.6k

please please please (luke hughes) by @cuteandhughesy summary: navigating a secret relationship with your brothers teammate is turning out to be a little harder than you expected. the 3 times you and luke were almost caught + the 1 time you are caught. word count: 4.3k

pretend it's platonic (matthew tkahuck) by @holy-puckslibrary summary: best not-boyfriend boyfriend ever! word count: 3.2k

where did my baby go? (mat barzal) by @theemporium summary: sometimes home is a place. sometimes it's a person. sometimes it's a bench that holds more memories than mat can fully handle, memories that are slipping through his fingers. word count: 3.6k

FIC REC MASTERLIST

total number of fics: 185

anaheim ducks fic rec list players: trevor zegras

carolina canes fic rec list players: andrei svechnikov - jack drury - pyotr kotchekov - sebastian aho - seth jarvis - tyson jost

colorado avs fic rec list players: cale makar - nathan mackinnon

detroit red wings fic rec list players: jt compher

florida panthers fic rec list players: matthew tkachuk

montreal canadiens players: juraj slafkovsky

nashville preds fic rec list players: brady skjei

new jersey devils fic rec list players: jack hughes - luke hughes - nico hischier

new york islanders fic rec list players: mat barzal - matt martin

philadelphia flyers fic rec list players: erik johnson - jamie drysdale

pittsburgh penguins fic rec list players: anthony beauvillier - michael bunting - sidney crosby

toronto maple leafs fic rec list players: auston matthews - mitch marner - william nylander

utah hc fic rec list players: clayton keller

vancouver canucks fic rec list players: arturs silovs - brock boeser - quinn hughes

ALL OUR WONDERFUL WRITERS

thank you to all the incredible fic writers on this godforsaken app ! i am always so in awe of how creative people are and am constantly inspired by your minds ! i can't wait to find more of you on here 🤍

@43-hugs @adoristsposts @austonwithan-o @babydollmarauders @bagopucks @bedsyandco @behoright @bitchinbarzal @blueskrugs @bqstqnbruin @cellythefloshie @chewingcyanide @comphersjost @comphy-and-cozy @doc-pickles @eyesthatroll @fallinallincurls @happer08 @hischierdevils @hischierhoney @hockeyboistrash @hockeywhy @hockey-fics @hockey-hoe-24-7 @holy-pucks @hookingminor @huggybug @hugshughes @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 @islesnucks @itsjusthockey @ladylooch @letsgetrowdy43 @marnerparty @matthewtkachuk @mattyanonwrites @matwith1t @mendeshoney @misshoneyimhome @mrsensitive @nhlclover @ohmyeyesmyeyes @pennylanefics @prettytoxicrevolver @pucksnsticksnhockeyboys @silovsmenot @starry-hughes @senditcolton @silverstonesainz-archive @stormsplurge @sunkissed-zegras @sunnyskiesscareme @sydnikov @thatintrovertedwriter @theemporium @thewintersoldierdisaster @undertaurus @unluckyhoneybee @withwritersblock @yelenasdog @youunravelme

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space (2)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 2 of 3! (part 1)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation ( please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries ), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, policeofficer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), pedro-ception aka there's a small cameo of another pedro boy, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy, reader is described to have hair and celebrates christmas ( but no mention of the reader's religious beliefs )! smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. hey... hey... how y'all doin'?🧍remember when i said part 2 would be posted a few weeks after part 1? yeah, that was a fucking lie. and, remember when i said it would be 2 parts in total? that was also a lie! the universe is praying on my downfall ( i had a fun mental health episode and fell into a black hole for a few months <3 ) unfortunately, i am very much still alive and kicking, so this is me trying to get the ball rolling again when it comes to posting fics. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it + tumblr will not allow me to post it as a whole due to it's paragaph-count limit, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of. “huh?” “this. us. it could be casual, y’know?”

Golden boy, you dropped the ball I am Annie fucking Hall

The year moves too fast.

It’s like you blink, and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving.

Leaves turn brown. Pumpkins are carved only to rot upon front porches. A gathering of friends, young adults getting their first taste at hosting a thanksgiving meal.

You’re put on dessert duty, which culminates in stressful tears and your mother’s hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, reassuring you that it’s okay, everyone burns their first pie.

No one at the party needs to know the pumpkin pie you brought was a product of your mother’s gentle care.

Then there is actual Thanksgiving, which you celebrate, as always, at your aunt's.

The highlight is, and forever has been, the road-trip out of state, your father making it his mission to deafen you and your mother with his horrific singing.

As they drop you back at your apartment, your father has no qualms leaning out the car window and calling after you.

“I expect to see you cheering me on at the Thanksgiving Touchdown event!”

Which brings you here, to said event, sweater sleeves tugged over cold fingers and a wandering pair of eyes who refuse to comply with your wants.

You want to focus on the ongoing football match- Fire Department vs Police.

Your eyes prefer to follow him, striding up the field, his hair soaked in sweat and his t-shirt long removed.

You’ve no valid reason to roll your eyes at the other women who seem to prefer spectating the sport of Javier Peña. You’re no better than them.

Yet, as one of them let’s out a joyous shriek as he takes a pass at the ball, your eyes roll.

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

At least you have company. An older gentleman, who you caught struggling to pick his wallet up from the floor. He’d smiled as you returned it, and conversation had flowed easily from there.

As the whistle blew, commencing the final match of the local community services’ football league- or, Thanksgiving Touchdown, as your father so aptly named it-, he’d patted the empty seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

He points, and you follow the direction, realising he’s speaking about Javi.

“Him,” he says it with a teasing tone to his voice. It’s like he’s mocking the agent. “Think’s he’s God’s gift, takin’ his top off like that.”

The more you sit with the older gentleman, the more you enjoy his company.

On the field, your dad bellows something at Javi. He replies with a curt salute, and shoots off down the length of it.

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

A force to be reckoned with, keeping pace with rookies half his age.

The vision of him, gun strapped to his leg and a tact vest on his chest, speeding down streets in the columbian heat conjures in your mind.

You wonder how it felt to know him then, if worry kept his companions awake.

It had certainly kept you awake in recent months, and that was with him safe, in Laredo, cooped up in some bachelor pad.

“Surprised he’s not thrown his top to the crowd of screaming ladies!” The gentleman continues his mocking, and it rouses laughter out of both of you.

A whistle is blown, your eyes return to the field and, though he’s quick to look away, you catch the tail end of Javier’s eyes on you.

Fifteen minutes pass, in which you do your best to not stare at him.

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

Eventually, the man next to you coaxes you into getting him a lemonade from the food truck.

You oblige, of course, and deny his attempts to hand you cash, insist it’s on you.

He’s kept you smiling on a rather gloomy day.

You tell him you’ll be right back, smile, and realise you don’t know his name.

“Chucho,” he tells you, and waves you off.

You join the queue, keep your head down, ignore the gossiping women three spots ahead of you, claiming to have each shared an encounter with Javi.

You don’t need to know what he’s been up to.

You don’t want to know who he’s been up to it with.

It happens when you’re finally being served.

There’s no longer a queue, just you, smiling as sweetly as possible. The service industry is rough enough, nevermind on holidays.

You order successfully, both Chucho’s lemonade and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The guy working the truck- young enough, a bit too traditionally good-looking, with coiffed hair and a shaven face- he’s talkative.

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

Even more so after a something that means nothing yet everything ends out of the blue and you’re left reeling over whether or not some part of you is to blame.

So you let him shoot you his dashing smile, and throw in unnecessary pet-names that just feel forced into every sentence he speaks to you, and write his number on the paper cup of your hot chocolate.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” he winks. The pet-name feels a little too on the nose for the season. Couldn’t he have called you sweetheart instead? “A sweet treat for that sweet smile.”

You wonder if he’s allowed to gift the free donut he slides your way.

Your stomach growls and begs for sugary release before you can fully bring yourself to care.

An awkward thanks. Hands reach up to grab the to-go cups, three fingers curling up the bagged donut. 

He helps you get a grip on the beverages, placing them in your hands.

His touch lingers, more than necessary, fingertips brushing over your knuckles as if trapped in slow-motion.

“So, a pretty girl like you got a boyfriend, or are you gonna let me take you out to-”

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

Your father screams one name, loud and clear, down the pitch.

“Peña, get your head out your fucking ass and pick up the ball!”

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

Javier, frozen in place, face an unreadable maze of emotions, eyes staring right at you.

They follow you all the way back to your seat, even as the game picks up again.

Even as you congratulate your dad on another victory for the police department, now the four-time consecutive champions of the Thanksgiving Touchdown.

Even as you head off to your father’s car.

Even when you’re home, curled under a blanket and watching a televised copy of Annie Hall, you feel his eyes on you.

The look of betrayal on Javier Peña haunts you even once you fall asleep.

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

Everything has it’s place, from the books that line your bedside table to the memories inside your mind.

You compartmentalise.

Tucked deep into the right side of your brain, there’s a box.

It’s contents, memories you’ve yet to process.

Moments you know that, if you wish to move on, you’ll have to relive.

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

And, scribbled in bold red marker, April ‘99.

A late night.

You, wide awake, laying on your back and mapping out stars in his ceiling.

Javier fell asleep hours ago and now snores softly against your neck, muscled arm curled around your waist as his legs entangle your own.

The agent is a fiend for cuddling, and so often wraps himself around you like a vine.

You find yourself nestling your hand in his hair, and take note of the sharp breath he intakes.

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

Relax when you feel him snore and press himself even deeper against your naked skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

He hadn’t told you that, but he didn’t need to.

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

In the way he let you take the lead, resting back against the couch to watch how your hips wound down on him.

In the way he got even clingier than usual, dragging you into the shower with him just to have you near, holding you from behind as you washed up the plates he’d used to serve you dinner (a trade-off he’d reluctantly agreed to months ago: he cooks, you clean), laying his head on your lap as you curled up to watch some cheesy horror movie- one you’re bound to fall asleep during and he’s counting on it, glancing up till he spots you slumped over and eyes closed, granting him the perfect excuse to carry you to his bed and nestle himself in beside you.

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

It’s like you’ve forgotten something, misplaced something, and can’t even figure out what it is.

You just know its absence is wrong.

Javi mumbles something, dreaming away, and you feel the subtle press of his lips against your skin.

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your (his) shirt.

He can’t get you close enough, it seems.

Playing against his wants, you pull back, slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

There’s a pinch between his brows, furrowed in worry.

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

It’s a selfish act, born purely from your own desire, but you find yourself pressing a kiss against his forehead.

His grip loosens, though slightly.

It gives you enough time to feel a stir between your thighs, a calling coming from your bladder.

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

It’s a struggle that leaves you topless and feeling a pinch of cruelty, standing over the bed as you watch his hand grabbing at the vacant spot you once occupied, your scent and shirt the only traces you leave behind.

You don’t bother turning on a light, make your way to his bathroom with practiced ease.

Pad your way across the cold linoleum floor, sink down onto the porcelain seat- he’d stopped leaving it up when your overnight visits became more frequent. You hadn’t asked- didn’t need to ask-, he’d simply done it.

Closing the door over, yet not enough for the hinges to squeak and the handle to lock, you pray the wood muffles noise of the flushing toilet.

When it stops, you wait a few seconds, until you’re sure there’s no rustling coming from his bedroom.

Then, you open the tap.

The water is barely a trickle, yet you tell yourself its enough.

Lather your hands in soap, sit them under the constant drip of cold water till you feel the suds wash down the drain.

It’s hard to stop yourself from sneaking a glance at the mirror, just as it’s hard to recognise the version of yourself you see.

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

Yhen come the thoughts of Javier, and how he sees you.

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

He’s not said anything. Or done anything, to make you notice a change.

But, then, Maybe it’s been subtle, slow, dragged out long enough it’s not drastic enough for either of you to take note of.

You eye the spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom, and try to remember when it became yours.

You don’t remember.

One moment, his toothbrush sat alone. And, the next, you were standing side by side, laughing as you raced to see who could make a foamier mess of the toothpaste.

Corazón, you look like a rabid animal, he’d called you once, laughing through tears as he wiped away the white suds dripping off your chin. You’re lucky that you’re just so cute.

You can recall, even now, how quickly his mouth had found yours that night, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in the minty taste of one another.

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

Only, sweat lines your forehead and your face seems drained of colour.

You make it only two steps back before you’re hurtling across the bathroom floor.

Your knees crash down first, harsh and unforgiving against the tiles.

The first wretch burns, has you coughing over your own gag.

In the dark, it’s hard to see what exactly comes out of you, but you know where it came from.

Your stomach.

Another wave of nausea hits, this one harder, and you’re gripping at the sides of the bowl, spewing into the water below.

A splash meets your cheek, but you’re too out of it to care, wave after wave of nausea leaving you a coughing, gagging, crying mess.

You feel lightheaded, only managing a moment to catch your breath before another wave hits.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s in your throat, in your mouth, in your nose, in your hair.

It feels like it’s never stopping and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your days submitting to the horrors of throwing-

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” warmth, against your naked back.

It’s a nice warmth, not like the one that has you covered in a cold sweat.

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

You try to follow it, match your breathing to the tactile comfort.

“That’s it, baby,” cool air meets your neck, the hairs that stuck to your skin now pulled up and pushed back. “I’m right here, I got you.”

Eventually, all that’s left is the burning of bile at the back of your throat and the dull ache of eyes gone raw with tears.

You’re pulled into a solid mass, naked chest pressed to naked chest as you go slack upon the bathroom floor.

You’re exhausted, and covered in your own sweat, tears and vomit.

Javier doesn’t care, pulling you tighter against him and whispering sweet words you don’t quite pay attention to.

“Woke up and you weren’t there, corazón. Don’t do that again,” even in his attempts to chastise, he’s gentle, brushing the remaining strands of sweat-slicked hair off your face. You must be an awful sight, yet his expressions don’t give way. “You wake up, you wake me up too. ‘Specially if you’re gonna hurl, okay?”

You glance at him, swallow back a lump and deal with the realisation that dawned upon you ten minutes earlier, as you sat hunched over the toilet’s bowl.

“Javi,” he smiles at the way you call his name.

You feel sick all over again at the thought of that changing, everything changing, as you build the courage to speak.

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

You imagine he’ll stand up, pace the floor.

Run his hands through his hair, rant over every thought he has.

Ways to get rid of it, the dangers of your dad finding out.

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

He’ll ask why you weren’t safer, why you forgot to take that morning-after pill, why you played so fast-and-loose with your body.

None of it arrives.

He stands, yes, but only to pull you up with him, tired limbs leaning into his strong build as he drags you both under the heat of a warm shower.

You watch the remnants of your own vomit wash down the drain, and question how he can stand there, not disgusted with you.

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

He’s rougher with himself, scarcely drying properly before he’s carrying you back to his bed, a replay of hours earlier as he lays you down, crawls in behind you and tucks you both under the soft comfort of his worn-out sheets.

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

He so easily nestles himself behind you, dragging you back against him and committing himself to the role of big-spoon.

His hands have always felt large, their touch always electrifying, but nothing compares to the feeling of him splaying one across your lower stomach, a subtle press into where part of him could be growing within you.

“Javi,” you whine, fighting off the sleep your overwhelmed body so badly needs. “I’m sorry.”

You say it because you feel obligated, like it’s your place to be apologetic.

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

“No seas boba (Don’t be silly),” there’s a fresh set of tears already sliding down your cheeks by the time he replies. “Don’t need to be sorry, baby.”

“But I-”

“But, nothing,” his tone feels final, one that tells you you’ll get nowhere arguing against him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, corazón.”

You fall asleep, eventually, soothed by his gentle breathing and the repeated motion of his thumb stroking over your belly.

Yhe next time you awake, there’s a crack of sunlight creeping through his blinds.

Javi’s still in bed, only he’s propped up on his elbow and staring down at you.

His smile stretches a little wider when he spots your open eyes.

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

“I gotta go, corazón,” is met with a protest from you, rolling over to curl into his solid chest.

Expecting it, he wraps you up tighter in his arms, presses an array of chaste kisses to your head.

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

You don’t want him out, in the real world, where the hours you’ve spent cooped up together become more scandalous than the peaceful nature of them.

“I know, I know. Don’t wanna go either, baby,” you wonder if you spoke your thoughts aloud, or if Javi simply knows you so well.

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

Help him tie it, the comforter pooled around your naked waist as you sit criss-cross-apple-sauce and Javi’s at the side of the bed, legs bent at the knee.

He thanks you with a kiss, then asks you to pass him his cologne.

It’s on the other side of the bed- his side of the bed- and you lean over to grab it.

You don’t bother handing him it, spraying it directly onto your own wrist and dabbing it into the skin of his tanned neck.

He lets you, a gentle smile on his face and eyes that pull you in for a hug, burrowing himself between your naked breasts.

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day, cariño (darling),” he tells you.

“Good,” you reply.

Another hum, this time of approval, and a squeeze to your hip.

When he pulls back, he looks even more reluctant to leave.

Reality rears it’s ugly head, but he pushes it out your mind with the pressing of his hand against your stomach, the same spot he’d held onto all night.

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

Your hands instinctually curl in his hair, and you like to think you leave it a little messy, enough to ward off any of the women he works along side, hopeful eyes hoping to get a taste of the handsome, unmarried cop.

“Stay,” he mumbles against your skin, as if you’re the one who’s about to leave. “Don’t go, ok? I’ll call around lunch.”

He keeps his word.

Calls you, a few minutes past two, interrupting whatever daytime TV you were pretending to watch.

Answering leaves you feeling lightheaded, like you're trapped in a daydream.

Listening to him croon down the line while your finger anxiously tangles in the phone’s wire as you stand in his apartment, it feels domestic, like you’re waiting for him to come back home, a place you share together.

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

“How bout you, corazón?” He knows how to make you melt, picturing him smiling at his desk. “Have you ate yet?”

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

“You need to eat, baby,” you don’t like the fact he uses that pet-name, not right now. “There’s plenty in the fridge. Could make yourself a sandwich, or some toast. Might even have some of that pasta left over. You know, that one you said you liked? Oh, wait, maybe don’t eat that, don’t think uncooked salmon is good for pregn-”

You don’t want him to say the P word, so you cut him off.

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

He says ok, then you hear him take a bite of whatever his lunch is.

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

He tells you a quick story, something about one of the younger guys accidentally stapling his tie to an arrest warrant.

That rouses a laugh out of you, makes you forget all about the massive P word he almost said.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

A place he’d begged you to stay this morning, safe and tucked away.

“Was thinking we could drive out to the clinic, find out for sure if we’re pr-” he cuts himself off this time, like he knows you’re not ready to hear that word. “Then we’ll take things from there, okay? Whatever you decide you wanna do, corazón, you call the shots.”

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

He walks through the door and welcomes the way you coil yourself around him, humming in delight as he peppers a few kisses over your face.

“Still smell like me,” he says it with approval, takes a purposeful whiff at you as he pulls you tighter against him.

You still smell his cologne on him too, buried beneath a few layers of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Near clinging to one another, it’s a miracle you two make it out his apartment and down the elevator.

An arm around your waist, he guides you over to his car.

Pulls the door open for you, stops you from bumping your head on the way in.

He practically runs round the car’s hood, jumping into the driver’s seat and thrumming the engine to life with the turn of a key.

“You remember to eat?” He asks as he pulls out onto the street.

You nod, then audibly reply.

Tell him you did in fact eat toast, leave out the part where you spewed your guts again twenty minutes later.

The drive is quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just relaxed, with the radio playing gently and his window rolled down enough to let in some air.

At some point, his hand slides over the console and rests against your thigh.

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

As you watch out the window how he drives past the turning for the local hospital, he must catch your questioning gaze.

“They, uh,” he clears his throat, rings his hand over the steering wheel. A small stain of sweat marks it. “Know your dad pretty well in there. And me. Figure you’d rather he not find out about us like that.”

He’s right.

So you relax back into your seat, accept the fact you’re both driving out of town together.

At some point, the beginning notes of your favourite song play through the stereo.

You instantly perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat and tap your foot a little to the beat.

Javi says nothing, simply peels his hand off you to turn the volume dial up.

Seconds later, he turns his head and throws you a look just asking if he’s done good.

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

A soft squeeze before he pulls them up to his lips, eyes back on the road.

The clinic is bright.

And squeaky, each step you take making you a little more nervous than the last.

Javier, by all accounts, is solid as a rock, signing you both in, picking up a few pamphlets, buying you a can of soda, all while you curl up in some plastic chair and just focus on not spewing your guts out.

You only relax once he’s sat beside you, helping you get a sip of the sugary drink and wrapping a protective arm around you.

You don’t mean to but you fall victim to sleep, the past 24 hours getting the best of you.

You come-to likely not much later, but to the sound of a childish giggle.

Cracking one eye open, just slightly, you notice you’re slumped into Javier, head on his shoulder.

There’s a giggling little girl in front of you both, in purple overalls and with two pigtails to hold her curly hair.

One of her hands is on Javi’s knees, using him to keep herself standing.

“First time?” You snap your eyes shut as a stranger’s voice fills the quiet bustle of the clinic.

A confused sound leaves Javier.

“Yeah, could tell from the look on your lady’s face,” the man continues. “Same one my own wife had during our first visit.”

You want to pay attention to Javi’s response, but you’re a bit busy dealing with the fact he’s not correcting the man, telling him you’re not his lady nor his wife.

His thumb soothes over your hip, and you wonder at what rate you’ll melt away into a pile of nothing thanks to his soft touches.

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

You tell yourself to try harder, to actually pay attention.

You succeed, catch as Javi replies, “a girl.”

“Yeah?” the stranger seems genuinely invested, it almost makes you want to open your eyes, see him for yourself.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wanted a boy, myself,” that same little girl giggles again and you can’t fight the temptation to peek once more, catch as she crawls into her faceless-father’s lap. “Doc told us it was gonna be a boy, too. Then this one came along and, wouldn’t ya know, not a boy.”

“Surprise!” the little girl squeals, and you feel Javi’s shoulder shake under your head.

God, you want to look at him, see if he’s looking at her with the same adoration that’s festering in your heart.

“Yeah, baby, you’re my little Sarah-Surprise,” the man coos and, despite his rough accent, it suits him. Like he was only ever meant to speak with gentle words and a soft heart, all for his precious daughter. “It’ll get easier, on your lady, just so ya know. Less scary, more exciting. ‘Bout to welcome our second one, and I’ve never seen my wife so happy.”

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

A chair squeaks as pressure is taken off it, the stranger standing.

You peak your eye open in time to see him picking his daughter up, her little legs dangling off his hip.

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

“What,” he clears his throat, and you wonder if it’s of emotion. “What are you hoping for this time?”

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

You’d pretended to wake up to Javier’s coaxing.

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

A smiley nurse handed you a cup, talked you through what you needed to do for your tests.

Took your blood pressure, complimented your earrings, and stepped out the room to give you privacy.

A short while and a reunion with Javi later, you sat in a doctor’s office, both a nervous wreck as you clasped each other’s hand.

“Mrs. peña,” again, Javier does not correct the doctor. And you realise it’s because he filled out the forms, he signed you in. He wrote you down as Peña. “You and your husband are not pregnant.”

What should have followed was a sigh of relief, from both of you.

But all you felt was led drop in your stomach and Javier’s grip tighten on your hand.

“You are, however, displaying symptoms of acute food poisoning, likely salmonella.”

The doctor continues on, detailing a prescription you’re being given.

But it falls on deaf ears, the world around you gone blank as you wrestle with conflicting emotions.

You’re not pregnant.

You should be elated. Jumping, and cheering, and dancing all over the place. Instead, you’re silent, letting yourself be guided back into the car by Javi.

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

He doesn’t explain that he’s taking you back to his place.

Getting you back in his bed, switching off the lights, he curls himself in behind you and splays his hand over your stomach.

Over your empty womb.

For some reason, you find yourself sobbing into your pillow, unaware of the tears from him that stain your neck as he tries to hush you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the irony of him repeating those very same words last night is not lost on you.

It’s hard to move on, when every month there’s a stabbing pain in your abdomen and a trickle of blood staining your underwear to remind you of April.

And so you keep it locked in it’s box, slapping another caution tape over it’s lid as you groan and roll out your own bed, trudging your way into your bathroom to check if the wetness between your thighs is your monthly visitor.

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

It’s not because he’s done anything to warrant your rejection, but, rather, it’s the forthcoming actions he’ll be guilty of.

See, you know why he’s calling.

Your mom let it slip, over brunch and a few too many glasses of wine.

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

Or, at least, that’s what you were until the last poker night he’d hosted, way back in March.

He slips away, phoned by your tipsy mother and obligated to drive three towns over to go pick her up because she misses him.

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

It was less a suggestion, more of a pleading, his hands already scraping the seat back and awaiting you to plop yourself down.

He leaves you with his hand, his winnings so-far, and a kiss to the top of your head.

“Watch out for Peña,” he whispered, as if you hadn’t been keeping an eye on the agent all evening, clouded by his own cigarette smoke and sitting looser each sip of his whiskey, no ice. “His poker face is dangerous.”

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

Rounds end and rounds start, and you father’s pile of winnings grow more and more.

It’s an ego boost, taking money from these cocky men who look at you as though surely you have no clue what cards you’re holding.

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

Flinging down cards, muttering curses, shoving his cash across the table.

All whilst glaring, at you, eyes black with ire.

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

Nearly an hour’s past since your father left, someone else leaves the table.

Says he needs the toilet, you point him in the direction of it.

You all call for a break, and then you graciously offer a refill on drinks.

It’s what your dad would’ve done, kept them all drinking and lowering their inhibitions, their focus disappearing alongside it.

“I’ll help!” One of the officers exclaims.

He’s on the younger side.

Practically a rookie, it’s only the second poker night he’s attended.

He’s sweet, with his large-framed glasses and his nervous smile.

You both make your way out of the basement- refurbished to be your dad’s man-cave- and head towards the kitchen.

You open the fridge, grab however many bottles of beer you need.

He heads to the liquor cabinet, pulls out a bottle bourbon.

You beat him at grabbing the whiskey, an unvoiced need to be the one who refills Javi’s glass.

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

Conversation flows naturally between you, in spite of him being a near stranger.

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

You both agree on the fact he’s a pain in the ass.

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

You tell him where to go to get the best club sandwich.

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

nNeither of you can tell who causes it, but one of you mispronounces a word and you both wind up in a pile of giggles, falling over yourselves and banging into counters.

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

Through wheezes, he repeats the phrase that left you both in this state.

You laugh harder, louder, warn him to stop before you lose control of your bladder.

Something thuds in the hallway, your eyes shoot up to the kitchen entry and you swear you see Javi’s retreating figure.

Blink a few times, realise there’s no one there.

You both gather some decorum.

He grabs as many of the beer bottles he can manage, and looks at your empty hands in question.

You tell him to head back without you, that you just need to go to the toilet.

Parting ways, you find the both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms occupied.

Sigh in frustration, only to remember your parents en suite.

It’s empty, because of course it is. No one would feel comfortable enough invading the privacy of your parents' bedroom.

You do your business, wash your hands, fix yourself in the mirror.

Decide your lipstick needs a little touch-up, your clothes need straightening out.

And, when you’re done and ready to head back down to the poker table, you hear a thud.

Pull open the bathroom door, expect to find your father struggling to put a tipsy, giggly, clumsy version of your mother into bed.

Instead, there is only a brooding look and disapproving grunt.

A firm grip, on your arm, dragging you right back into the bathroom.

The door slams shut, a little harsher than you’d like, the sound of it surely reaching the ears of those regrouping for the next dealing of the cards.

He doesn’t pounce, like he so usually does when he’s wearing that look of frustration.

He’s simmering in it, teetering on the edge of boiling anger as he smooths a hand over his chin, visibly clenching his jaw, swallowing back whatever it is he wants to say to you.

He takes one step forward, and you go one back.

Then two steps, which you also match.

Your hip smacks into the sink’s counter on your fifth step backwards and it’s enough to finally put his hands on you.

He tugs you right into his chest, one hand soothing over where you’d banged your hip.

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

When he speaks, you nearly melt into a puddle, the heat of him invading your space, face inching close to your own, enough to have you questioning the sanctity of your parents en suite.

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Could ask you the same thing, officer,” you make the fatal mistake of giggling, but you’ll blame it on the fruity cider you’d helped yourself to.

He clearly finds no humour, not even as you fiddle with the top button of his shirt and shoot him your best look of innocence.

“Think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” His hand, warm and imposing, grips a hold of your face.

It’s almost painful, but you like it, squirming a little at the blunt stab of his nails and the way he smooshes your cheeks, forcing a pout onto your lips.

You try shake your head, his grip won’t let you.

“Sitting in a room full of men, making yourself the centre of attention,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, and you can’t help but compare him to an angry dragon.

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

“What’s the matter, Javi? Jealous you’re not the centre of all those men’s attention?” You’re poking the dragon, teasing him, and it’s an act that may leave you burned and scarred.

Or, as you’re hoping, it’ll win you the ride of a lifetime.

He doesn’t even grace you with a verbal response.

No, he scoffs, as though he’s in physical disbelief at the words you’re saying.

Spins you around, pins you to the sink’s counter, tugs your hair till you’re forced to stare at your reflection.

He’s right behind you, seething in anger, fire in his eyes.

His head dips between you neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

“Not all of us are attention whores like you,” it’s fleeting, and he’ll deny it if you dare mention it, but he smiles.

Just a second, but you feel it, see it even though he tries so hard to turn his face into your neck.

It’s what lets you know he’s playing, teasing, egging you on to push him over the edge.

“I’ve been with real whores, corazón,” he confesses a sin you already know, eaves-dropping one too many times on your dad fishing stories of Colombia out of him. “Fucked them so often they started doing their nails in colours they knew I wanted to see wrapped around my cock.”

Involuntarily, your back arches, brushing your ass against him and providing him the perfect access to wind his hand up between your heaving breasts, all the way up till his fingers curl round the base of your throat.

In the mirror, the image is one of ownership, of Javi seizing your bodily autonomy. A whore and her gentleman caller.

It’s arousing to think about, Javi and his whores.

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

“And not one of them took half the money you’ve taken from me tonight.”

Oh.

So that’s what this is, his pretty ego, bruised at the hands of you?

Poor Mr. Javier Peña, humiliated in front of all his peers round after round, hundred bill after hundred bill.

You almost taunt him for giving into the temptations of the fragile male ego, but you’re stopped in your tracks.

By him, hands squeezing at you a little tighter as he grinds the unmistakable outline of his hardened cock against you.

That single action changes the game, entirely.

Because this isn’t about you stealing his money and his ego.

No, this is something far filthier, that has your panties growing wetter beneath the skirt of your dress.

“I’m worth every dime though, aren’t I, officer?.”

The grip tightens.

He shoves you harder into the counter, so hard a tub of your mother’s moisturiser topples off.

The hard outline of him is still there, ever-present.

“‘S that what you like, huh, taking my money? Wanna be Javi’s personal little whore?”

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

Certainly not you, reflection mimicking the way you eagerly nod, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hold back a grin.

Javi notices- of course he notices- and takes his victory, hips rocking even deeper into you.

There’s too many layers between you, a feat on which you both agree, yet neither of you do anything about.

You just savour the friction, instead, pushing and pulling one another to the axis of pleasure.

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

“What’s it gonna cost me to get you bent over and stuffed full of my cum, corazón?” One hand leaves your body. The mirror snitches on him, exposing how he’s reaching into his back pocket. “This?”

He smacks something down, into the bowl of the sink.

It’s his wallet, and you watch the worn leather of it shine with the residue of water on the linoleum.

The hand at your throat pulses a squeeze, his knee nudges you from behind.

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

His mouth, right by your ear, lips tickling you with the subtlest of brushes against it.

His hand guides your own, down into the sink, flipping the wallet open and putting it’s belongings on display.

Bills, some placed neatly, others stuffed in forcefully, edges spilling out the pockets. There’s less in there than when he arrived, courtesy of you.

There’s a few miscellaneous cards. A library card, an ID slip you’re sure he uses for something in the sheriff's station, a loyalty card to some record store.

The picture of his mother sits centre stage, radiant smile and loving eyes grabbing the attention of any who dare open it.

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

And then you notice something else, peeking out from behind his mother’s picture.

You dive into temptation, dart your nosy fingers over to tug at the object, till you realise it’s another picture.

A picture of Javi, and you.

Taken on a polaroid you found under a box of his belongings, you remember the day clear as ever.

The two of you had messed around, captured your sins on film with the promise of destroying it after. It would be too risky a thing, to allow image evidence of the intimate ways in which you knew each other’s bodies.

Javi’s fingers on your skin, your nipple in his mouth, his cock’s outline bulging within your lower abdomen.

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

Fully dressed, eyes fixed on his television, your head lays in his laps while his fingers card through your hair.

It’s captured from above, as if Javi’s own eyes had made a permanent record of his view.

The sweetness of this living on, of Javi taking something sacred for himself to keep hidden in his wallet distracts you for a moment.

He does good to bring you back into the room.

“Take how much you think you’re worth, corazón,” whispered into your ear, as he rips a few of the notes out his wallet.

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

With each bill you count, your internal price shooting up within your head, you try picture his reaction.

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

You, your face, looking at your expressions in a way that reminds you it’s his job to read people.

You decide to be bold, dig into his wallet and, even though your insides twist in anxious turmoil, hold up your hand to present him with your answer.

Resting neatly, between your fore and middle finger, a shiny credit card.

The gleam in Javi’s eyes just about match it, blackened and blown out with lust.

The card is plucked out your hand.

The hand on your neck leaves, in search of your waist.

The fabric of your dress bunches, wrinkling and creasing as his fabric-straining grip inches it’s hem higher and higher.

You feel sexy like this, face heated and breathing heavy.

It’s an effect he has on you, has had on you, forcing you to look at yourself in new lights, in new angles, admiring every out-of-line trace of you for what you are.

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

And every other word under the sun that Javi whispers into your skin with innocence as his body commits sins within you.

At the bottom of the mirror, you watch as the white cotton of your panties comes into view.

Wet, as you both expected, the thin fabric now turned almost sheer, exposing the delectable view of your cunt hugged cutely by the cotton’s tight seams.

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

There’s a strain to his voice, one that would have you worried he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way you’re watching as his face contorts with lust.

His eyes are dark and you study them like he studies his card, contemplating something.

A few seconds pass. 

Tension is puffed out his chest with one exhale, through the nose.

You feel the air tickle your skin.

He nods curtly, to himself, and flickers his gaze back to meet your own in the mirror.

It’s unwavering, even as he brings the black plastic down and smacks it against your mound.

You squeal, he hushes, and you both know he doesn’t mean it at all.

He likes when you gift him noise, a private aria only he has tickets to.

Just as easily as the first time, he snaps the card against you again, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through your clit.

Just as loudly as the first time, you squeal, a jolt back into his warm, steady, hard embrace.

“What’re you running from, hmm?” His face turns, burrowing itself in the tresses of your hair.

A shallow sniff, and you wonder if he notices the smell of his shampoo on you.

There’s a pressing of lips, against your scalp, and it’s far too gentle of a juxtapose to the imagery of his fingers pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the bathroom’s cold air and the two pairs of hungry eyes in the mirror.

“You say that this is what you’re worth, and then you don’t want to take it?”

The third spank of the card against your bundle of nerves is harder, louder, echos in the confined space. A moan, minuscule and muffled, slips past tightly shut lips, a look of fear flashing through wide eyes.

Javi’s quick with his reassurance, gentle with his comfort, a hand stroking over your collarbone.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear you. You just be as loud as you need, hermosa, they’re too busy encouraging that boy-cop to ask you to dinner.”

There’s a tint of jealousy to the way he says boy, and you’re reminded of the image of him in the kitchen doorway.

Smack!

The card strikes down, once more, this time eliciting an open-mouthed gasp. 

He doesn’t let up, repeating the action twice more.

It hurts, in a way that makes your core throb and your toes curl, squirming aimlessly in a grasp he knows you don’t truly want to escape.

But he mocks you, with a hushing noise in your ear and gentle it’s okay, corazón, Javi’s got yous against your neck. His thumb swipes through your folds, coating it in your wetness and dragging itself up to your clit, soaking it in soothing rubs.

His gentle nature lasts mere seconds, his wrist flicking back only to smack the credit card down again. This time, it’s a pattern of three, repeatedly crashing down on your sensitive nerves one after the other.

In the mirror, you watch him observe as he twiddles the card between deft fingers, contemplation on his mind.

The room’s quiet, apart from your shortened breaths and his deep inhales.

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

It must have been a loud cheer, for you to hear them all the way up here.

And, suddenly, the stakes feel higher than when you were sat at the poker table, counting Javi’s coins with every passing round.

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

This doesn’t seem to cross Javier’s mind, who merely twists your head away from the bathroom door and back to the mirror, to where his hungry eyes await.

All contemplation is gone, he’s decided in what he’s going to do, and so you watch as he takes the card and swipes it through your cunt.

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

In fact, it’s rather uncomfortable, the solid plastic hard on your delicate skin.

It’s the arousal of him doing it that gets you weak in the knees, to have him perform such a mundane act- the swiping of his credit card- in such a crass, dirty, wrong way.

Like he’s paying for you, committing a physical transaction in exchange for your body.

It doesn’t matter that he could have you for free, has had you for free.

He wants to pay, wants to reward you in a way that aligns with the capitalistic world.

“Javi…” You whimper, softly, head lulling back against his shoulder as he swipes the card again.

Your eyes, slowly slipping shut, shoot right back open as you feel the rounded corner of the card prod at your opening, as if trying to notch itself within you.

“Think she could take it, corazón?” Javi bites at your ear, teeth clamping down and pulling at it’s lobe. The card sinks in, not even an inch. You nudge back into, your cry circling the room around you both. “I know, baby, I know. It’d be a wide stretch, but ain’t that all pretty whores like you are good for, hmm?”

It’s automatic, the way you bend to his every whim, head nodding without direct orders from your brain, every part of you, conscious or not, ready and willing to prove you could fit his card inside of you.

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

Surprisingly, the hand between your thighs retracts and you watch as he brings the card up to your mouth, glistening with your arousal.

“Open,” the directions are unnecessary, your mouth already dropping open for him in an act of muscle memory.

He hums approvingly, yet his eyes are still fury filled as he slots the card between your lips, lathering your tongue in your own taste. 

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, corazón?”

The statement rings true, both ways: as much as you’ll take anything, he’ll give anything.

You don’t tell him that, though, finding it much easier to rest your palms on the countertop, backing your sopping core into him, enticing him with the wiggle of your hips and whines from your lips to take you already.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry that pretty head. Javi’s gonna feed this greedy little cunt, ok?”

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

Something smashes, in the basement, and it’s enough to have you flinching.

Javi’s touch soothes you, a hand running over the curve of your shoulder as he presses yet another kiss into your neck.

“S’okay, probably just a beer bottle.”

He doesn’t move another inch, not till he sees you nod, melting back into him.

You hear, more than you see, the way he tugs his trousers down, just enough to free his hardened cock from its jean-clad confine. The risky business of a quickie in your parents’ en suite calls for clothing moved aside, and not removed.

Much to your annoyance, his all-encompassing warmth drifts away as he moves back, hands clamping down on your hips. 

He tilts them to the angle he wants, the angle he knows gets him brushing all your sweet-spots.

He tugs the skirt of your dress up, and then readjusts your soiled underwear.

You hear him draw a deep breath and watch his eyes in the mirror, glued to that spot between your legs, entranced.

The drag of his cock over your folds is familiar, the way he smacks the head of it against your clit is welcomed.

He spears you no gentle coaxing, no stretching around his fingers first, coming undone just for him to fill you right back up, this time with his cock.

No, this is a vengeful touch, the kind that’s meant to display his irritation, his fury, for reasons you’ve yet to confirm yet you’re more than willing to accept.

A man like him, so unfairly selfless, taking something in this world for himself, how he wants to and how he likes to.

You’ll be his vice, so long as he grants you his virtues.

Javi fills you with a single thrust, grunting low into your ear as you feel the way the air is physically knocked out both for your lungs.

He’s still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he works on steadying his breathing, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch.

You whine out some version of his name, feel yourself pulse around him.

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

He’s making you wait for it, you think, torturing you with an impending paradise.

He’s savouring the feel of you, he thinks, taking advantage of the few moments alone he wins with you.

"Javi,” he barely lets you part from him to speak, chasing a trail of kisses down your jaw. “This isn’t the time to develop patience.”

The snide remark earns you a bite, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. You squeal, try remind yourself to be quiet, only to squeal louder when his hands tickle at your waist.

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

His hips roll back, slowly, but it’s better than nothing, better than when he wasn’t moving at all.

Still, he makes you squirm a little longer, moan his name a little louder.

Only then does his fake resolve snap and he’s fucking into you at a brain melting pace in the blink of an eye.

Javier does his best to keep quiet, at first, biting down on his lip and your neck just to contain all those melodies he usually makes.

You can’t say the same for yourself as, despite your efforts, broken moan after broken moan tumbles out your mouth and into the sink, filling and filling and filling it in sync with how Javi your cunt.

You wonder how long till it all spills over the edge.

“Joder (Fuck),” he groans as you unconsciously squeeze him tighter, pulling him deeper into your walls. serves him right, for the teasing and the torturing. “Tienes el coño más lindo en todo el mundo. (You have the prettiest cunt in the whole world.)”

You feel lightheaded.

Warm, sweaty, covered in the fingerprints of a lover you shouldn’t be with.

The bathroom fills with an array of sounds. The slapping of skin against skin, the broken cries of an agent’s name, the mindless rambling of a man drunk on pleasure.

“So good to me, baby. Always so fucking good to me.”

“Gonna stay here forever, fuck. That sound good to you, corazón, hmm? Full of my cock always?”

“Look at yourself… Pura belleza (Pure beauty).”

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

There’s no worrying about the happenings around the poker table, no listening out for your father’s car pulling in the driveway, no worrying about your tousled hair or sweating skin.

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

“Please, please, Javi-“ The words all melt together, pleads becoming his name, his name becoming pleads.

You’re not sure what you’re begging for.

It’s okay though, Javi always knows what you need.

“I know, amor (love), I know,” he murmurs into your skin, butterfly kisses so gentle you wonder how they come from the same man that’s pistoning his hips into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. “Let go, c’mon. Show me how much you love this cock, how much you love-”

He’s cut off by his own groan, you cunt fluttering around him as you inch closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs. 

It brings a welcomed cushioning, shielding you from repeatedly bumping against the marble of the countertop.

Your legs part further, eagerly, an easy pathway for his yearning fingers to seek out the wonders of the female body as they brush over your clit.

The gentle tactile that he strokes over your bundle of nerves, partnered with the repeated brushing of his cock against that spot that makes you weak in the knees, drool out your mouth, it’s becoming too much.

Eyes glancing in the mirror, you wonder if yours is the same image of the whores who’d warmed his Colombian nights: sweat soaked skin, hooded eyes, messed up hair, wrinkled clothing.

He tilts your hips, a deeper angle to fuck into you that has you perching up onto the tips of your toes, fighting with the chance of losing balance.

He’d catch you, if you fell.

Wrap you up in an embrace that’s more familiar than your own.

“I’m gonna- Fuck! Corazón, need you to cum. Now, please. Please. Need to feel you-”

He’s babbling, losing composure and revealing the side of him you pray he never showed those other women: the side that needs, the side that longs, the side that begs to see you cum before he allows himself to, before he’s able to.

“Javi,” it’s a struggle to speak, but you endure, fighting off your orgasm and holding back tears. There’s something you need from him too. “Cum with me. Wanna be full of you, all of you-”

“¿Sí? (Yeah?)” He pleads back, thrusts already getting a little sloppier, hands a little shakier in the way they touch you. Much like his poker face, you know how to read the face he wears moments before he falls apart. “¿Eso es lo que quiere mi corazón? (Is that what my sweetheart wants?) Want me to cum in you, hm?”

“Yes, oh god yes! So bad, Javi, I want it so bad!”

“Ay, bebesita, no llores. (Aw, baby girl, don't cry.)” He coos, a condescending lilt to his words that has you falling into a bigger mess. “Shh, don’t worry, baby. Gonna fill you right up, so my cum’s dripping down your thighs when that poor kid asks you for your number. Thinks he’s got a shot with you cause he made you laugh, poor boy wouldn’t know how to deal with all the noises I get out of you.”

Javi divulges into a spine-tingling rant of burning hot jealousy, the kind that leaves your cheeks burning and your heart scorching, lit under a flame of your desire for more of him. To have him, equal parts physical and emotional.

You try warn him of the bubble that’s about to burst, the feeling in your loins building and building till it’s seconds way from toppling over. 

“That’s it, baby, squeeze my cock. Lemme feel it,” He urges, heart pounding out his chest against your back, hands tightening their grip on your hips. “Need to feel you cum, ‘s all I want.”

You both crash and burn, together.

You fall first, a chaos of unfinished words, crying out for Javi.

He follows close behind, body pressed against your own like he’s willing you to fuse together, to become to entangled in one another that all possibilities of separation become void.

“Take it, cora-” He’s in your ears, in your head, in your heart. Inside of you, consuming you, as eagerly as he’s willing to be consumed by you, fingerprints on hips and teeth-marks in necks. “Take it, take it, take it.”

Arms envelop you from behind, crossing over your chest to pin you back against him.

He’s nearly stagnant, nothing but the twitch of his cock and the shallow thrusts he fucks you deeper with, filling you with another, another, another pump of his cum.

“So good,” Javi’s voice persists, teeth gritting as he bites back the need to be loud, to be heard, to lay a claim on you so blatant no one could deny hearing it. Your relationship with your father is the only thing that holds him back. “Good to me, baby. Always… Good… Díos. (God.)”

Craning your neck to the side, you manage to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s something he accepts easily, lips parting and melting into a dance against your own.

One of his hands falls over your jaw, twisting your face even closer to him.

The kiss dies slowly, with each of you refusing to truly part, pecks being splattered messily against the other’s mouth.

“Was I,” Javi interrupts you with another kiss, his free hand smoothing up and down your side, his hips still slowly rocking into yours, a delicious sting of overstimulation biting at your core. “Am I worth it?”

He pulls back, tired gaze warm as it takes in your messed features.

With the smile that stretches over his lips, however, one would think you were the prettiest creature in all the world.

He calls your name, calmly, slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of it on his tongue. “You’re worth everything I could give, and more.”

There’s something behind the ways he says it that makes you believe him.

With little will to do so, you peel apart from each other, his hands moving quick to adjust your underwear as his cum starts to leak out onto your folds.

He exits the bathroom first, a final kiss placed on your cheek before your left alone, forced to confront the wrecked version of you that will never see your parent’s en suite in the same light.

Your dad arrives back just in time to see you slipping back down to sit at the poker table, no seat left for him to take but the one between his sweet daughter and his loyal best friend.

If only he knew he was placing you both where you most wanted to be when he suggested Javi give you a ride home, waving you both off through the car window with no idea Javi's cum sat dripping out your cunt, staining the car seat.

Your phone buzzes to life in your hand, slipping you out of your memories.

Your father’s contact name reads clearly on the screen.

Hitting decline one more time, you roll over and try ignore the gathering slick between your thighs.

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

Mr, I don’t want a label You made me a little miss unstable (And it)

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

Pick out a tree, synthetic, and lump the box up the countless stairs to your apartment.

Try not to think of how he would’ve insisted on helping, refused to let you carry it.

Even if it culminated in him doubled over in pain, clutching his lower back.

Lights, baubles, action.

The tree’s smaller than you expect, barely reaching your hip, but it’s green, tree-shaped and festive. It’s enough.

Your decorations are minimal, a few inconsequential things you picked out your parents’ stash. There’s a Santa hat, frayed with time. A few cracked baubles, with string so thin you suspect they’ll snap off. A gingerbread man ornament, a glass snow-flake. A crooked star, missing one of its points, tops the tree.

A homemade snowman, one you’d gifted your parents after a busy day in nursery. Neither of them had the heart to tell you you’d made its nose a rather phallic shape.

And then there's the red phone-box, nestled somewhere in the middle, an etching of LONDON brandishing it as a reminder of your trip.

You’d picked it up in a tiny bookstore, right next door to The Distillery Club.

The winter season has never felt so lonesome, tucked away in your grown-up apartment. 

There’s no fireplace to warm your hands, no hot cocoa boiling on the stove. No cheesy hallmark movies to laugh at with your mother, no racing past your father to grab the last slice of dessert.

It’s just you, alone, with only your wandering mind as company.

Sometimes, more often than not, it wanders to him. To if he’s alone.

To if he’s filling his heart as easily as he fills his bed.

To if he’s finally bought a second seat for his dingy balcony.

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

He hums, brows furrowing, lips pouting, smoke dragging into his lungs.

The cigarette sits perched between two fingers of the hand resting on your knee, his other curled around your waist.

“Some what?”

“Tactic,” you repeat. Watch him blow a puff a smoke, taste his ash at the back of your throat. “Only having one chair, so pretty girls have no choice but to sit in your lap.”

He lets his gaze wander away from the streets below and up to you, sitting pretty in his lap. Like a cat, draped over his thighs.

Nothing but his own rumpled, inside-out shirt to cover your skin.

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

Fingerprint bruises littering your hips, bitemarks etched into your collarbone.

“I gave you a choice,” he speaks with a reservation he didn’t have before, when he’d offered you a ride home from the bar. There’s an etching of something that’s diluting his expressions, sinking him deeper and deeper into his own pensive mind. “You were the one who insisted on sitting on me.”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Nails pinch at your thigh, causing a squeal out of you.

A few birds fly off a nearby wire, a head or two turn in the street below.

They don’t see you, or Javi, or the lack of clothing that sits between you.

“Neither were you. In fact, you were a little busy fucking my fac-”

“Stop!” Your sudden modesty feels unearned, yet that does nothing to stop you from placing your hand over his mouth.

He licks at it, you grimace, he licks again.

Then takes another breath of nicotine, as you wipe the remnants of his spit onto his naked thigh.

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

The whiff of Javi’s post-sex smell- muted cologne, matted sweat, burnt ash- steals your senses, reminds you you’ve already done enough to disappoint your father, a cigarette can’t do much damage.

So you let him hold it up to your mouth and inhale it’s poison.

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

But that was supposed to stay in Vermont, tucked between snowy slopes and wooden cabins. Existing in a timeline separate from your reality, where you are your father’s precious daughter and Javi is his trustworthy colleague and friend, that is where it should have stayed.

And it had, for two weeks. Sixteen days, specifically. 

You’d returned to classes, to sharing lunch breaks with your father in his office, to slowly moving more of your things out the family home and into your new apartment.

And Javi, from what you heard, had returned to keeping civilians safe, to sharing a drink or two with your father at the end of the work week, to flirting with every secretary within a mile radius.

Neither of your crossed paths and, when you nearly did, the other made the effort to turn a corner, shut a door, hide behind a wall.

Until tonight.

Until you ditched your mediocre date, some lame excuse of having a last-minute paper due.

Until you’d gone to console yourself over your failing love life, unknowingly sliding into a bar stool right next to the most desired cop in town.

Until he’d turned to you, tilted his head, and asked “d’you wanna get out of here?”

He’d offered to take you home.

The drive was quiet, tense, until his hand drifted over the gearstick and you dragged it down onto your thigh.

He squeezed.

You inched it further up, till the tips of his fingers brushed at the edge of your dress.

He took the invitation, took a turning towards his own place.

Brought you into his apartment, drowned you in his fountain of kisses, begged you to sit upon his face. He’d made you see stars beneath a roofed sky, eyes rolling so far back they threatened to get stuck there.

With barely a moments recovery from a third blinding orgasm, he dragged you down the expanse of his body, sat you down on his cock and refused to help your overstimulated, puddle-brained self ride him, grinning cunningly with his back pressed against the mattress as you struggled through shaky legs.

Eventually, he tired and launched himself, arms tangling behind your back, feet planted flat behind you, hips fucking up into your battered cunt until you both came to a haltering crescendo.

He’d layed you down to rest, cleaned you of any mess, and then wandered out to his balcony, inviting you to join him when the feeling returned to your legs.

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of.

“Huh?”

“This. Us. It could be casual, y’know?” Another puff of smoke slips right through his lips. “If that’s what you’re worrying about… your dad, and all that other stuff. I don’t need a label, not if it means I get to have… We could keep it casual, if that’s what you want.”

It takes a few moments for you to fully register his words, and then a few more to formulate a response.

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

Because what else could Javier Peña, notorious womaniser, want with you if not a casual, no-strings-attached permit to sleep with you, as many times as he sees fit, without the risk of losing his job or, worse, his best friend?

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

Within a half’s hour, he’s got your hands white knuckling as they grip the metal bannister of his balcony, his own hands busy pulling your hips back to meet each of his desperate thrusts, not even the cool air of the night enough to soothe the flaming desire that burns between you.

Your stomach twists, your mouth dries, your eyes water at the thought of him out on that balcony now.

Somebody else, some new body sat in your spot, upon his lap as they exchange smoke rings and warm mouths.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think i’m alright

The Laredo sheriff’s department is known best for three things: its lack of parking, its swoon-worthy ex-DEA agent, and its office holiday parties.

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

A Christmas wreath, mistletoe hanging from every doorway, egg-nog and mulled wine.

It’s not just Christmas.

It’s menorahs, and ficus trees, and a statues of different gods.

Each piece of culture, tradition, holiday that makes up the people that inhabit the station, day in and day out, behind desks and in cop cars, filing paperwork and fetching coffees, represented in some way, celebrated.

Each member of staff is encouraged to bring their friends, their family.

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

Then there’s the gift exchange, a Secret Santa system, optional for each member of staff.

It’s the part you look forward to most.

Crowding your dad the minute he gets home on the first of December, poking and prodding till he lets it spill who he’s got.

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

Drawing up a list, made of details and anecdotes your father remembers of his target.

Dragging your shop-avoidant father down to the mall, for a day of gift hunting and sweet-tooth indulging.

Getting to watch your father’s coworker open their gift, eyes lighting up as you once again knock the ball out the park and gift them something perfectly tailored to them, winning your dad the spot of top gift-giver year after year.

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

No trying to crack just what exactly your dad should gift his person.

No waiting with baited breath to watch them open it, heart racing with that little fear of them not liking it, of you failing.

No, the moment that name fell from your father’s mouth, you knew what he needed to get.

Hinted at it, slightly.

Claimed you’d smelt it on a friend, thought it would be a good idea.

Sipping on some wine and picking at the buffet, you watch him pick up his gift.

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

Look down at the box, confused, then tear into the wrapping paper.

The whole room stops.

Not really, but it feels like it does, as somewhere across the room Javier Peña holds up a bottle of that damn cologne.

And, when his eyes instinctively find yours, it feels like everything else fades away.

Fades to grey.

It’s just him, and you. The only two within the room, holding a secret too heavy on the tongue to ever speak it aloud.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Knows you’d watched him spray it on his skin, day in, and day out.

Knows you’d worn it on your own, sunk it deep into your pores after intertwining your souls upon wrinkled sheets.

Knows you’d watch its contents decrease over time, time you’d spent with him.

That bottle of cologne reminiscent of a timer on you both, that morning before the hospital trip becoming the last few sprays he got out of it.

Colour returns to the world that surrounds you as your dad steps into view.

He’s hugging Javi, pathetically tipsy and ignorant to the lipstick stain on his cheek, no doubt ingrained to his skin with how hell-bent he is on having your mother kiss him beneath each mistletoe.

They’re exchanging words you don’t hear, slapping one another on the back.

You turn on your heel, insides twisting as nausea overcomes you at the scene.

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

You’re trying to leave, tempted to take the good old Irish exit and just slip out a back door.

But your parents- ne, your father- are so busy show-ponying you around the room, that you fail to take a single step that goes unnoticed.

“There she is!” Your father calls out, somewhere behind you, as you slip your hand into the arm of your coat. This act sparks outrage, a frown birthing onto his face. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving too.”

You say you’re tired.

He boos, loudly, like he’s not the chief of police and a whole grown adult.

Grabs at you, lovingly, trying to pry the coat out of your hands.

The effort is minimum, and you know he’s only messing around.

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too. 

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

[photo1030]

oh!! can you recommend HH Arthur fanfics? without being modern.

Ooo, now this one is both easy and hard! There’s so, so many good things going on right now! So much material coming out daily. I’m such a pack-rat and will devour everything I get my hands on.

But here are just a few that I am obsessed with right now:

Of Love and Loss - @coltermorning

The Tie that Binds My Soul to Thee - @moeitsu (all about this one right now)

Your Ivy Grows - @roseghoul26

The Call of the West - @cassietrn (this one is interesting bc she has the same oc in various fic threads)

Dried White Roses - @pine4pple-b0i (this is a great early gang look)

25 Days of Christmas @zanazirafanfic (this one kills me, each chapter is a look at various gang members, all with winter scenarios)

I’m also a sucker for post-gang life bc I can’t handle the idea of Arthur’s demise.

Redemption Was Just the Beginning - @lacrymatoryao3 (this is simply amazing. A lot of characteristic Arthur inner turmoil that is beautifully done)

Second Chance for and Outlaw - @summerontatooine (I LOVE this one as a post gang look. There is even a second leg that goes with it but focuses on Charles - Ballad of Lonesome Heart)

These ones are older threads but still my all-time faves:

The Blue Side of the Mountain @sweet-by-and-by (post gang life and SO amazing)

Arthur!dad Series and Arthur!protector series - @queenxxxsupreme (this writer is one of the reasons I started writing my own fic. So much content on their list too)

And then there are some that just always put out amazing work: @rivetingrosie4 @shootybangbang @sixgunluvr

Hope this helps. Like I said, there is some great stuff out there and I know there are those that I follow and get tagged on that I am forgetting. But these are my ones that are the objects of my affections.

[onthewaytosomewhere]

DAY 1 is an appreciation day - ✨ Favourite holiday fic/creation ✨

so let's start shall we

Kinda think that I might be his type by @kiwiana-writes – this is a turkey day fic so still holiday - and it is so good!!!

I really hope I can get him alone by @clottedcreamfudge–the follow up to the bea and alex friends turkey day fic and so good!!!

Be Worthy Love, and Love Will Come by @sparklepocalypse - this is not just one of my fave holiday fics but one of my fave fics in general by Mags or anyone- if you've not read it yet go do so!!!

Just Fall in Love with Me This Christmas by @priincebutt - okay i luv me a hallmark holiday movie so damn much and this was really a perfect fic version of one - Nico rocks this one so hard!!

You're the Perfect Gift for Me by @cha-melodius - while we'e on the hallmark movie kick this fic by Sara was one of my fave holiday fics last year! I've always luv'd the idea that the "hallmark bad guys" are not always horrible (even tho some really do suck lolz) - if you didn't read this yet - run, don't walk

under the mistletoe by WaterlooLovers - when i was thining of fics to put on this i was all "oh i need that one where alex brought henry home with him for the holiday and it goes like those kind of things usually do" bcuz i am a sucker for a good trope and i luv this one so much so here it is if you've somehow missed it

Oh what a laugh it would have been by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf - if you want a fic where alex dresses up as santa that also has an adorable munchkin - Val has you covered with this fic !!!

Got a will to win and a Cheshire grin by @kiwiana-writes -so this is one of those fics that you read and are like "i did not know i needed that but holy fudge i needed it" MJ knocked this wonderful fic about firstprince as santa's elves out of the park!!

[mlbigbang2024]

ML Big Bang 2024 Fic Recs

Romance Category

This collection of fics were recommended by the contributors of the @mlbigbang2024 for their favourite fics of 2024 (posted in between Nov 2023 to Dec 2024).

General and Teen and Up Fics

The Cap and Bells (Rated: G)

By @cardiac-agreste (KPG)

Main relationship: Adrien/Marinette

Tags: Loveybug AU, loveywalker, implied Ladynoir

Summary: Catwalker meets up with Loveybug after a difficult day in his civilian life.

Read on Ao3

What we liked about it: How can you express joy and love in 600 words or less, in all its poetic glory? 

Off Pointe (Rated: T)

By @mysticraven20

Main relationship: Adrien/Marinette

Tags: AU - No Miraculous, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, AU - Ballet

Summary: To Adrien, dance was just a selection of movements. A well rehearsed transition from one gesture to the next; the brush of a hand, the closeness of bodies, a well-timed duet between two people to entertain. His mother had encouraged him to dance from his heart and love his music — a metaphor he never understood, until that one day when they stopped. The pregnant pause in the combination of fluidity, finally making everything clear.

It wasn’t the quality of the choreography or the characters they were playing, it was the girl twirling effortlessly around in his arms. For, when Adrien finally found the right partner, that’s when the music truly began.

Read on Ao3

What we liked about it: This is a beautiful holiday fic. I loved the newspaper articles as a narrative device and the author conveys a love of dance in between all the fluff and angst.

The Devil Wears Gabriel (Rated: T)

By @jigglypuff1994

Main relationship: Luka/Marinette

Tags: Inspired by The Devil Wears Prada, Fashion Designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Turtle Nino Lahiffe | Carapace

Summary: Being Ladybug is no easy task; she is the leader of Team Miraculous and keeps peace throughout Paris. Other than the weekly akuma attacks, her main problem is keeping Chat Noir and Viperion under control and out of each other’s jealous hairs. Sometimes, she misses the old days when it was just her and her kitty.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng has recently graduated university and lives in Paris with her steady boyfriend of a few years, Luka Couffaine. After interviewing for a position she doesn't want in the first place, she ends up working as Gabriel Agreste’s assistant.

Between akumas, a narcassistic boss, and the men fighting for her attention, how will she survive the next year of her life?

Read on Ao3

What we liked about it: It is a retelling of the movie the devil wears Prada, (also, Natalie is a bit younger in this) I really like it because I love that movie. The characters fit pretty seamlessly in these roles. In this fic Adrian/ Chloe never met Marinette and the others. Oh and at the start of the fic is Lukanette still a thing, but if you know the movie, then you also know there is some angst ahead. :’D (Oh and I personally love the relationship between Chloe and marinette, it’s to die for!! <3)

Cookie Cutter (Rated: T)

By @rosekasa (alizeh, maketea)

Main Relationship: Adrien/Marinette

Tags: Friends to lovers, baking, identity reveal

Summary: after the start of their government-issued break, ladybug and chat noir realise that their christmas vacations are not going the way they expected.

but when ladybug, lonely and partner-less for her favourite baking competition, accidentally stumbles across chat noir's secret apartment, they realise there are more ways than one to work as a team.

Read on Ao3

What we liked about it: Ladybug and Chat Noir bake together!!!! Gosh I am a sucker for fics where they have to cooperate on non-akuma things! AHHHHHHHH!!!

The Only Love We Keep (Rated: G)

By @nemaliwrites

Main Relationship: Audrey & Zoe, Chloe & Zoe, Marinette & Zoe, Alya/Zoe

Tags: 5+1 Things, Self-Esteem Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary: Zoé is used to wanting things she can’t have — loving people who do not love her back. She’s made peace with that.

But as soon as she meets Scarabella, she’s a goner.

Or, five times Zoé’s love wasn’t reciprocated, and one time it was.

Read on Ao3

What we liked about it: It's a 5+1 prompt about an oft-derided character, looks at Zoe’s American life, and explores her budding romantic feelings. Even if you don’t care about Zoe, this is a must-read.

A Contact Named Kevin (Rated: T)

By @mysticraven20

Main Relationship: Adrien/Marinette

Tags: Scapegoat, anonymous caller, idiots in love

Summary: Marinette doesn’t know his real name, but her contact known as ‘Kevin’ has helped her out of many sticky situations.

Or the one where Chat Noir is Marinette's scapegoat.

Read on Ao3

What we liked about it: A sweet fic about Marinette using Chat Noir as the person she calls to get her out of sticky social situations. It’s cute and fun and original. Author is one of the most dedicated Adrienette writers in the fandom.

Phantom Pains (and other hints of you) (Rated: T)

By @buggachat

Main relationship: Adrien/Marinette

Tags: AU - Ghosts, Child Abuse, Implied Sexual Content

Summary: She couldn't remember anything. Not where she was going, where she'd been, why she was in this stairwell, or even her own name. But as she watched the blood pool at the base of the steps, she at least knew one thing for certain: the corpse was hers.

Getting used to being dead was going to have its growing pains.

—

“Well, unlucky lady,” Chat Noir greeted with a bow, “Can I get your name?”

“Didn’t we just talk about this? I told you, I don’t remember it.”

“And I told you,” he reminded, “that you can just pick whatever fits you best.”

—

Ladybug and Chat Noir may not remember who they once were, but at least the two lost souls can find comfort in each other's company. But as Ladybug starts uncovering more and more memories of her life, letting the past go doesn't seem as easy as Chat Noir claims it to be.

Read on Ao3

Why we liked it: Marinette DIES. Now she's a ghost. But not everyone is sad! A wonderful story with inventive lore.

Mature and Explicit Fics

Hold My Hand (I want to show you off) (Rated: E)

By @burntwaffle12

Main relationship: Adrien x Marinette

Tags: workplace sex, semi-public sex

Summary: Working at Gabriel was as easy as breathing, until she was required to sit on top of Adrien and kiss him all over.

Read on Ao3

What we liked about it: A story about hot mess Marinette helping Adrien during an awkward photoshoot.

Requiem for a Dream (Rated: E)

By @akumatisedhamster

Main relationship: Adrien/Luka/Marinette

Tags: Lukadrienette Endgame, Primary School teacher Adrien, Jubilation powers used for evil

Summary: Six years ago, the Supreme was defeated with the help of Shadybug and Claw Noir. But not without its consequences. Trapped in a magical coma using the power of jubilation, they were slowly tortured, reliving nightmares of their own design.

In an act of desperation, Hesperia wiped the memories of Shadybug and Claw Noir so that they could live the rest of their lives as normal teenagers.

What he didn’t know was that Shadybug was pregnant at the time. ——————————————— Newly single and broke, Marinette moves back to Paris with her six year old daughter.

She was doing just fine, mending her broken relationship with her parents and finding her feet again in her hometown. Working as a porn star had its advantages. Good money, flexible hours. Things got more complicated when she started dating her co-star, Luka. On top of that, she didn’t expect to get feelings for her daughter’s primary school teacher, Mr Agreste.

Her new boyfriend couldn’t stop noticing how her daughter bore a striking resemblance to Adrien. But he wasn’t the girl’s father… or was he?

Read on Ao3

What we liked about it: I love the post-Supreme reverse world and the whole memory wipe element!

A Bump in the Road (Rated: E)

By @talkstoself

Main Relationship: Adrien/Luka/Marinette

Tags: No Powers AU, Established Relationship, Unplanned Pregnancy

Summary: Four years. Four years they’d been together when their relationship hit a fork in the road - Luka wanted a baby, Adrien did not. After going their separate ways Adrien spends a fantastic night with a down-on-her-luck stranger named Marinette and realises he does want forever. He’s ready to commit to Luka.

Slight problem, the one night stand left Marinette pregnant…

Read on Ao3

What we liked about it: The relationship that slowly grew between Luka Adrien and Marinette was wonderful!

It's Hard to Overstate my Satisfaction (Rated: E)

By katrinette_afterdark

Main Relationship: Ladynoir

Tags: Porn, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously

Summary: "Have you ever thought about what would happen if you put my baton in your yo-yo?"

She squints at him. "Is that supposed to be a euphemism?"

Read on Ao3

What we liked about it: This is crack smut at its finest! Hilarious concept, excellent execution.

Two Virgin Losers (Rated: E)

By @literaphobe

Main relationship: Ladynoir

Tags: Virginity Loss, Aged-up Character(s), Sexual Humor

Summary:

kittykittymeowmeow: My superhero partner (23F) recently asked me (23M) to take her virginity. I’m guessing she thought I was some type of sex god whore, but I’m actually also a huge virgin. For some reason, my lack of sexual prowess made her double down on her decision? She got kind of excited for us to platonically lose our virginities to each other and that made me panic. I mayyyy have told her I don’t want to be deflowered by another virgin, just in case she sucks at sex and I wind up hating it. The truth is, I think she’d be great at sex (she also thinks this). I think she’s amazing at everything she tries. I’ve also fallen in love with her multiple times and I will almost definitely get obsessed with her again if I sleep with her. Unfortunately, even though she’s really mad at me right now, I want her so bad I think I might die. Um… AITA?

Read on Ao3

What we liked about tit ( <- serendipitous typo): Ladybug asks Chat Noir to take her virginity. Then they tap-dance around each other, and inside each other, with alacrity, angst, passion, and idiocy.

Queen Marinette: A Royal Engagement (Rated: M)

By @hamsteriffic

Main Relationship: Adrien/Marinette

Tags: Arranged Marriage, AU - Royalty, Georgian Period

Summary: Princess Marinette had always known she would marry for duty, but she had never even heard of King Adrien until her betrothal (she would know, because she had looked up all the crown Princes within a hundred mile radius).

Nevertheless, her parents were delighted at the offer of marriage and her uncle was given the privilege of escorting her to England for her wedding and the whole thing felt wrong.

Read on Ao3

What we liked about it: Period pieces can be so fun, can’t they? I spent a long time with my wife playing Queen Charlotte in the background of my life. She may have Netflix, but I have Ao3 and this! I win! The sex, when it comes, is perfectly written, plot-centered intimacy.

[atsro-slut]

Hi again Via! Post-exam happiness got me thinking... What about a fic where you are officially done with exams for Christmas and you and Remus decide to do smth fun to celebrate it? Could be anything, giving you total freedom there! 🫶

A Hogsmeade Celebration

Hi lovey!! You know I'm a sucker for a Christmas prompt! I hope you enjoy!!! I also decided to make a gender neutral reader because I always write female reader lol

Remus Lupin x gn!reader

Exams? Done. Rules? Ignored. Remus Lupin whisked Y/N off to Hogsmeade for a night of mischief, magic, and butterbeer-fueled skating under enchanted lanterns. With laughter echoing through the snow and romance in the air, this was a holiday adventure worth breaking a few rules for!

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:☆

Snow fell gently over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, blanketing the castle grounds in a pristine white. The students, having finished their final exams for the term, were a flurry of excitement, chattering loudly as they spilled into the corridors and made plans for the holiday break. Inside the Great Hall, the house tables were abuzz with laughter, while the enchanted ceiling mirrored the snowy sky above.

Y/N sat at the Gryffindor table, their cheeks rosy from the warmth of the Hall. They twirled a steaming mug of hot chocolate in their hands, the rich scent of cocoa mingling with the faint hint of peppermint. Despite the festive cheer, their thoughts were already drifting beyond the castle walls. The allure of a quiet evening away from the chaos of their classmates had been growing all week.

“Enjoying the calm before the storm?” a familiar voice teased, snapping them out of their thoughts. Y/N looked up to see Remus Lupin standing beside them, his scarf slightly askew and a playful smile on his face. His amber eyes gleamed with the kind of mischief that made Y/N’s heart skip.

“If by storm, you mean everyone’s endless chatter about their marks, then yes,” Y/N replied, grinning. “I’m enjoying every second.”

Remus chuckled, his laugh warm and contagious. “Good, because I’ve got an idea for how we can make tonight even better.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what might that be?”

“Well,” he began, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “it involves Hogsmeade, a bit of rule-bending, and possibly some magical mischief.”

“Rule-bending? You, the ever-responsible Prefect?” Y/N teased, their eyes twinkling. “Should I be worried?”

Remus feigned offense. “I’m perfectly capable of bending the rules when the occasion calls for it. Besides,” he added, a soft blush dusting his cheeks, “I thought it might be fun for just the two of us.”

Y/N felt their own cheeks warm, and it wasn’t from the hot chocolate. They’d been dating Remus for a few months now, and though his thoughtful gestures always melted their heart, the idea of a secret outing made the moment feel even more special.

“All right,” Y/N said, setting down their mug. “I’m in. What’s the plan?”

An hour later, Y/N and Remus stood near the entrance to the castle, bundled against the cold. The snow continued to fall in delicate flurries, and the grounds stretched out before them like a frosted fairytale. Most of the other students were still inside, enjoying the warmth of the common rooms or making plans for the holiday feast.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Y/N whispered, glancing around to make sure they weren’t being watched.

“Positive,” Remus replied, pulling a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. He tapped it with his wand, muttering, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Y/N watched as the parchment revealed itself to be the Marauder’s Map, its intricate lines forming a detailed layout of the castle and grounds. Tiny footprints moved across the map, marking the locations of students and professors.

“Impressive,” Y/N said, leaning closer to examine it.

“Comes in handy,” Remus said with a wink. “Now, the coast is clear. Let’s go.”

He led them toward the secret passageway beneath the Whomping Willow, its branches swaying menacingly in the wind. With a whispered spell, Remus froze the tree, allowing them to slip inside the hidden tunnel. The journey was dark and chilly, but Y/N’s excitement grew with every step. By the time they emerged near Hogsmeade, the village was aglow with festive lights.

The sight of Hogsmeade took Y/N’s breath away. The snow-covered rooftops sparkled under the moonlight, and colorful lanterns lined the streets, casting a warm glow on the cobblestone paths. The shops were decorated for the season, with garlands of holly and charmed snowflakes drifting lazily in the air.

“This is incredible,” Y/N said, their voice full of awe.

Remus smiled softly, watching their reaction. “I thought you’d like it. I figured we could explore without the usual crowds.”

As they wandered through the village, the two of them stopped to admire the window displays. At Honeydukes, candy canes danced inside the glass, and enchanted chocolate frogs leaped between shelves. In Zonko’s Joke Shop, a pair of enchanted snowmen were having a playful duel with snowballs.

They eventually made their way to The Three Broomsticks, where the warm, inviting glow of the pub beckoned them inside. The air was filled with the scent of spiced cider and roasted chestnuts, and the chatter of patrons created a cozy hum. Y/N and Remus found a corner table, and Madam Rosmerta brought over two mugs of butterbeer, their golden tops foaming with warmth.

“To surviving exams,” Remus said, raising his mug.

“To adventures,” Y/N replied, clinking their mug against his.

After leaving The Three Broomsticks, the couple strolled through the quieter streets of Hogsmeade. The snow had stopped falling, leaving the world wrapped in a peaceful stillness. Remus led Y/N toward the outskirts of the village, where the lights of the main shops faded into the soft glow of the moonlit hills.

“Where are we going?” Y/N asked, their curiosity piqued.

“You’ll see,” Remus replied cryptically, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

They soon arrived at a small clearing surrounded by tall evergreens. In the center stood a frozen pond, its surface shimmering like glass under the moonlight. Remus waved his wand, and a dozen floating lanterns appeared, their golden light reflecting off the ice. The effect was enchanting, turning the clearing into a scene straight out of a storybook.

“Wow,” Y/N breathed, taking in the sight.

“Thought we could do with a little skating,” Remus said, offering his hand. “What do you think?”

“I think you’ve outdone yourself,” Y/N replied, slipping their hand into his.

With a flick of his wand, Remus conjured a pair of enchanted skates, which laced themselves onto their boots. He stepped onto the ice first, his movements tentative but steady. Y/N followed, laughing as they wobbled slightly before finding their balance.

The two of them glided across the pond, their laughter echoing through the clearing. Y/N’s cheeks ached from smiling as Remus twirled them in an impromptu dance, his usually reserved demeanor giving way to playful abandon. It was a side of him that Y/N adored, one that he seemed to share only with them.

As the night wore on, the lanterns above them flickered softly, casting a golden glow over the ice. Y/N and Remus eventually drifted to the edge of the pond, where a conjured bench waited. They sat close together, their breaths forming little clouds in the cold air.

“This is perfect,” Y/N said, resting their head on Remus’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Remus replied, his voice soft. “I wanted to do something special for you. You’ve been amazing these past few months, putting up with all my quirks and stress.”

Y/N lifted their head to look at him, their eyes filled with affection. “Remus, you’re not a burden. You’re... well, you’re everything.”

He flushed, his lips curving into a shy smile. “You always know what to say.”

Y/N laughed lightly. “Just speaking the truth.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the distant rustle of trees and the occasional hoot of an owl. When the cold finally began to creep in, Remus stood and offered his hand.

“Ready to head back?” he asked.

Y/N nodded, their heart full. “Let’s go.”

The walk back to Hogwarts was quieter but no less magical. The stars glittered above them, and the crunch of snow beneath their boots was a soothing rhythm. By the time they reached the secret passageway, the castle was dark and still, its inhabitants fast asleep.

As they parted ways in the corridor near the Gryffindor common room, Remus hesitated, his gaze lingering on Y/N.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to their forehead.

“Goodnight, Remus,” Y/N replied, their voice filled with warmth.

As they watched him disappear down the corridor, Y/N couldn’t help but smile. The night had been perfect—a memory they would treasure for years to come.

[queen-of-scissors]

Master list for my dumb drawings;

THİNGS İ HAVE NOW;

Sucker for love!

Creator with squishmellows! (GONE FLUFF?!?!)

Creator on Christmas after imposter hunt.

Creator uninstalls Teyvat and Teyvat misses you.

Creator uninstalls Teyvat and Teyvat Crumbles.

Creator reinstals Teyvat (pt 2 of the last one)

Monika and Sans visit Teyvat!

HALUCİNATİONS?! (Creator finds their Acoltyes in their house)

HALUCİNATİONS?! (Dainslieff and Kaeya Version)

Creator plays AMONG US with acoltyes

God of multiverse (Roblox and Minecraft)

Creator of a thousand worlds!

Calling characters bbygirl part 1

Yeeting Venti

THİNGS COMİNG SOON:

Explaining other lores on other worlds

Creator crying their eyes off after Casm quest

Celebrating Nowruz (i hope i wrote it right)

Creator Ascending someone else

Creator who loves messing around with the code

Creator with gen Z humor

Creator that lived through War in their world

Acoltyes (English is hard) that has a phone

Telling them about covid (damn im late)

Creator calling people babygirl

"flowers and unplanned proposals" (not my fic but artwork regarding to that fic)

Creator showing favortism towards MONİKA

Creator from imposter AU but acoltyes are from soft AU

"untouchableee untouchable" tiktok with zhongli

"untouchableee untouchable" tiktok with Xiao

Reverse streamer AU (not my fic but an artwork idea)

Creator who is a vocoloid fan

Real life sagau things i lived through (i am genshins favorite child)

Gaslighting Yanderes back series

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 4

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

Serenade by @porcelaincas

“Will Solace,” Nico said. They were so close now that Nico could see that there were golden flecks among the blue in his irises. “Are you trying to serenade me?” or the one where Nico falls for Will even before the battle against Gaea and it all culminates on a warm summer night.

i am always a deep deep sucker for fics where will and nico know each other, at least slightly, before BoO. theyre so fascinating and for what. in this one in particular...oh will helping nico in the bronze jar is crazy. i don't want to spoil it but my ass was sat on that seat reading.

2. Stupid Teens by tihsho

Will likes getting gifts, and Nico likes the way Will blushes whenever he gives him anything. It should be a simple situation, but nothing's ever simple for Nico. Something's bothering Will, and Nico can't do anything about it. Never mind that he still can't seem to put a name to these feelings, either. Maybe there's a point in here about anger and nuance, or maybe it's a point about being young, or self acceptance, or whatever else. Or maybe Nico's just reading into it too much.

yes the homophobia scene is a little gratuitous. HOWEVER. the beginning scene is so dorky and ridiculous that i actually smile WIDE every time, first time i read it i laughed out loud. and the whole nico likes to spoil will a little bit (a lot bit) even well before they got together headcanon is GODSENT its one of my favourites. and i also like in this one how will maybe needs a minute to get comfortable in his sexuality too!!

3. Find Happiness in Misery by percyspandapillowpet

"Nothing can make me happy, Solace," he spat bitterly before turning away and wiping furiously at his face. "I like to try." --- In which Nico is searching for happiness, for his childhood, and for a Christmas present.

this is an older fic, but i think it still holds up!! i love any fic that goes over the whole mythomagic thing tbh. theres so much story potential there and this fic had a very sweet premise.

4. Looks Like We'll Be Trapped Here For A While by percyspandapillowpet

Nico stopped in his tracks and turned towards Will. “The Aphrodite cabin is planning to prank us. Today.” Will raised his eyebrows. “How do you know?” "They were talking about it. I just heard them.” Sighing as if it were just what he was expecting to hear this morning, Will reached up to scratch the back of his head. “Okay. What do you want to do about it?” Nico pondered this for a moment. “I think we should hide.” “Hide? Where?” Will asked. “We can’t leave camp, and it’ll be awfully boring to stay in the forest or something all day.” After a quick mental scan of all possible locations, Nico realized there was only one unfortunate solution. “Um…how about my cabin?”

cheesy and fun!! the mythomagic scene in particular made me giggle. in particular i love this part and feel like you should all be made aware of it:

“It’s…a game I used to play, when I was little,” he replied carefully.

Will looked up at him. “Do you still remember how to play?”

He felt his entire face turning red. “Well…kind of, I guess, but I’ve outgrown it…”

Will glanced at the back of the box. “What’s the attack power of Athena?”

“Five thousand,” Nico replied automatically, and then immediately groaned. That stupid game was so hardwired into his brain, and now Will was going know how much of a weird geek he was—

But Will was smiling. “That’s adorable. Teach me how to play.”

nico being physically unable to hold the stats back....unbeatable headcanon. adore

5. Pawsitively Perfect by percyspandapillowpet

“Is that…” Nico couldn’t even finish is sentence when suddenly the thing mewed. A moment afterwards, it revealed its tiny brown face, turning to face the son of Hades with round, curious eyes that seemed much too large for the rest of its head. Nico would be lying if he said it wasn’t the most adorable little creature he had ever laid eyes upon. But soon enough, the reality hit him. Will had a cat. Cats were not allowed in camp. Will had brought the cat into the Hades cabin, so if they were caught, they would likely both get in trouble. Not that Nico was scared of getting in trouble with the cleaning harpies—it was safe to say he’d been through a lot worse. What he didn’t think he could handle was the shame of being ridiculed as the kid who tried to hide a kitten with Will Solace. Jason would never let it go. Nico glanced from the kitten’s face back up to Will’s, which was somehow equally as endearing with his pleading-blue-puppy eyes. He knew what he was going to ask just from his expression. He sighed. “Will, you can’t keep it.”

bleeding heart will my beloved. sweatshirt thief nico u are so real. honestly a power couple what more could u want. a kitten? there's a kitten, rest assured.

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[aftgficrec]

ah I'm so excited you're open!!! thank you for the ridiculous amount of work you all do 🙏ok, this might be too specific but any fics with an alternate take on Andrew and Neil's post-trk reunion? Andrew gets out of easthaven early, Neil leaves the Nest later, AU's, etc.? i think it's a really interesting point in their dynamic, and I'm a sucker for sober Andrew realizing someone was watching his back for once

Feeling a bit like a Bernie Sanders’ meme – ‘I am once again asking myself why I spent so much time on an ask,’ 😅 but it's because this is such an iconic and beloved scene for our fandom. For a super fun ‘live’ first-time reader reaction to this high drama, check out ‘The King’s Men, Chapter 1 – Hello Foxhole, My Old Friend’ by @nickireadstfc here. -A

also see

Andrew's POV of throwing keys off roof here

‘Come and Save Me From It’ here (completed)

‘Learning To Feel (When You've Forgotten How)’ and the fandom meta posts here

‘pipedream’ here

‘reaching for the heights’ here

‘Lost boy’ and ‘[Un]broken’ here

‘I Know You From A Nightmare,’ ‘The Marks We Make,’ and ‘Draw Me Out, Mark Me In’ here

‘Marked’ and ‘Soulmates who can feel each other’s pain’ here

‘Of Stars and Stories’ here

‘What’s normal now?’ here

long previous recs with reunion mention

‘No More Fucks To Give’ here (updated)

‘The Sphynx and the Hare’ here (completed)

‘corvus, vulpes, lupus’ here

‘never fallen (from quite this high)’ here

‘Not a Pipe Dream’ here

‘everything and nothing begins with you’ here

Andrew gets sober, Neil stays at Evermore

‘Oh Raven,’ ‘Jailbird,’ and ‘Take to the Wing’ here

‘Scared to Live (But I'm Scared to Die)’ here 

 ‘Comeback’ here

you may also like

Christmas at Evermore here plus song rec ‘Far From Home (The Raven)’ here

Proust here plus ‘if you really love nothing’ here

Neil’s a hallucination here

Andreil meet in Easthaven here

‘just a slow body’ here

‘Will you be there when I come back?’ here

‘Here With You’ here (complete)

‘i'm here right now (just be here right now with me)’ here 

‘We're All Stories In The End’ here

‘Spirits In My Head’ here 

‘Fold me in your palms’ here

‘The Raven Prince’ here

‘Thanks, Matty’ here

‘Lullaby’ here

Random Rec - Andrew Minyard playlists round up here

Just a Pipe Dream by loveroulettes [Rated T, 2781 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange Summer 2021, Locked]

Andrew thought coming off drugs will get rid of all side-effects, so why is Neil still here? AKA the scene where Neil picks up the cigarette from the ground and smokes it, but from Andrew’s POV

tw: implied/referenced abuse

reckless/i like it by Willow_bird [Rated M, 27259 Words, Complete, AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2022]

One thing didn’t seem to have changed since getting off the drugs. One thing almost seemed to have gotten worse. ”The next time someone comes for you, stand down and let me deal with it. Do you understand?” “If it means losing you, then no.” --- 5 times Andrew realized this something he had for Neil was, well, treacherous + 1 time he admitted (at least to himself) that he liked it

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: kidnapping, tw: choking, tw: implied/referenced torture

In the rain by Lyndis [Rated G, 1147 Words, Complete, 2021]

Part 2 of Quick and Dirty, parts 3 and 15 here

Andrew is off his drugs for the first time in years. No one knows he is back from Easthaven and he just wants to see Neil.

Time Machine by Marquee [Rated G, 137 Words, Complete, 2023]

Part 4 of Aftg Poetry

Andrew wanting to kiss Neil on the roof, but he isn’t sure he should. But like a poem?? Yeah.

Tumblr Prompts by lipsstainedbloodred [Not Rated, Collection, 2018] 

Chapter 13: Page 12: What if Neil didn’t go with the monsters to pick up Andrew from Easthaven (Andreil) [T, 2434 Words] 

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced sexual assault

his solace by orphan_account [Rated M, 2292 Words, Complete, 2016]

Andrew’s first thought of Neil Josten was ‘fake’. He was a boy who was clearly lying, clearly pretending to be something he wasn’t; or at least, something he didn’t want to be. Andrew’s next thought of Neil Josten was ‘dangerous’. He was too attractive for Andrew to ignore, whilst single-handedly being the biggest flight risk he’d ever met. Neil looked for exits everywhere he went, and Andrew hated him for it.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: violence

Silent Words by Jeni182 [Rated M, Collection, Complete, 2018]

Chapter 2: Colors [T] Andrew hates color. It’s part of the reason why he’s always in black. It’s just easier. The color doesn’t make his eyes hurt. He doesn’t have to think about shit matching. It deters people, a lot of times.

When You Were Young by SpookyMiscreant [Rated T, 1831 Words, Complete, 2017]

It starts when the monsters pick up Andrew from Easthaven. Andrew sits on the roof of Fox Tower and contemplates Neil Josten now that he's sober. Set to the background music of When You Were Young by The Killers.

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied referenced child abuse and neglect

this hole you put in me (wasn't deep enough) by gaygoyle [Rated T, 3368 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil blames himself for not doing more for Andrew while he's at Easthaven. So, Neil returns the one thing he knows even with his ban- Exy.

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

Shades of Sunset by darkbluebox [Rated T, 1885 Words, Complete, 2020]

Andrew is five years old, and he thinks orange is the most beautiful colour in the world. Twenty years in the life of Andrew Minyard.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced csa

Tell Me How You Hate Me by Killingmeslowly_24 [Rated T, 30532 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2023]

Next to Kevin sat a man who was roughly Neil-shaped, but that was where the similarities ended. Because Neil was brown hair, wide eyes, and a skittish demeanor. Neil was hidden smiles and questions and questions, so many goddamn questions, and- No. This wasn’t Neil. This man was a collage of bandages and bruises, hair bathed in flame. This man was a slack jaw and blue eyes, blue like ice, like an ocean, like drowning, too much like freedom for Andrew’s comfort. ... Or, The King's Men from Andrew's POV

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: violence, tw: dissociation, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: depression, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks

Bury it deep down, keep it under your skin by All_for_the_andreil [Rated T, 2123 Words, Complete, 2023]

He only wants to jump off the roof half the time. He supposes that’s progress too. The other half he’s only thinking about it in theory. How many bones would he break? Would he die on impact, like his mother did, or would it take some time? Would he feel the pain, or would it be just pure shock? Would he laugh as he fell? -or- Andrew's life told in snippets

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: canonical character death

Promptober 2023 by djinthehouse [Rated T, Collection, Updated Oct 2023]

Chapter 2: Falling into his reverse based on the song, The drug in me is you, by Falling in reverse

tw: referenced drug overdose, tw: canonical character death, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: psychological abuse, tw: gun violence, tw: murder

Chapter 4: Weak for the Boy This is based of the song, Weak by AJR it is kind of the opposite of Falling into his Reverse. 

tw: referenced nonconsensual drug use, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: blood, tw: psychological abuse

drop the game by Joana789 [Rated T, 1647 Words, Complete, 2017]

Then, the pills are gone. The buzzing in his veins is gone. The too-bright colors of the world are gone, everything back to its overwhelming dullness again. Neil Josten is, startlingly, still there.

tw: implied/referenced torture

but i’ll know, i’ll know by neilpipedreamjosten10 [Rated T, 2709 Words, Incomplete, Updated Nov 2023]

After Andrew comes back from Easthaven, Neil is missing, and Andrew is the only one who remembers who he is. But Neil never left Edgar Allen. *** This takes place during TKM, a what-if? fic where Andrew returns and finds that Neil was like a figment of his imagination, but now he has to save the runaway.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: referenced overdose, tw: referenced suicide, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: torture

Lost (I Don’t Want To Be) by Demiwitchwoodwalker [Rated T, 4564 Words, Complete, 2022]

Part 2 of Someone(s) To Stay 

Kevin didn't respond, couldn't, and he suspected Riko knew that as his next words oozed with some sort of satisfaction. "I thought I'd give you a bit of a heads up, as a… let's say Christmas present. Your precious Nathaniel's getting inked. It's a shame Jean already got three, it would've suited the little Wesninski."

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: panic attacks

NB: kandrew/developing kandreil

meta

*tw: may include references to Andrew’s canon trauma and suicidal thoughts

Andrew's time at Easthaven meta by series author @korakos [Tumblr, 2015]

Neil didn’t make Andrew want to live. He gave Andrew a reason to give into that want. meta by @haletostilinski [Tumblr, 2016]

The Extraordinary Strength of Andrew Minyard meta by @imaginedmelody [Tumblr, 2016]

the drugs went away and neil was still the same meta by @miniyrds [Tumblr 2016]

after they pick Andrew up at Easthaven meta by @evil-diabolical-oops [Tumblr, 2016]

andrew hates neil meta by @kickfoxing [Tumblr, 2017]

can you imagine Andrew coming back from reliving weeks of abuse… meta by @boris-pavlikcvsky [Tumblr 2017]

Midnight Thoughts about Andreil meta by @saltierthanbottomofapretzelbag [Tumblr, 2018]

Was "If it means losing you, then no" the final nail in the coffin? meta by @blogaboutyafavbirdboys [Tumblr, 2019]

meta about andrew and caring and wanting things by @sinistercacophony [Tumblr, 2020]

thoughts/feelings/deeper meaning of the (rooftop keys/cigarette) scene? meta by @bloody-wonder [Tumblr, 2020]

andrew thinking that neil was just a side-effect of the drugs meta by @twirlingflurry, @buriedinbaltimore [Tumblr 2021]

how utterly, heartbreakingly sad it is that Andrew calls Neil a pipe dream meta by @fortheloveofexy [Tumblr, 2022]

“You were supposed to be a side-effect of the drugs” meta by @sepulchralblues [Tumblr, 2023]

he cannot be real, he has to be a hallucination meta by @neveranniething [Tumblr, 2023]

neil just gives andrew his bands and knives meta by @grooviestguru [Tumblr, 2023]

you may also like

in the dream I don't tell anyone (you put your head in my lap) by Fortheloveofexy [Rated T, 1850 Words, Complete, 2022, Locked]

The real Neil would never allow this, would not let himself be this vulnerable. The real Neil can barely stand to be around him. Andrew knows this. But Dream Neil? Dream Neil is a different story.

Will you be there when I come back? by Shamman [Not Rated, 299 Words, Complete, 2017]

Andrew is trapped in Easthaven with an eidetic memory and tries to focus his thoughts on the confusing image of Neil Josten's face. -Because however terrible it may look, Andrew's current circumstances are much less pleasant. Furthermore Bee has been making him sing and play the guitar in a very therapeutic attempt to make him express some sort of actual emotion over the past year.

tw: violent imagery

You Gave Me A Key And Called It Home by glintchi [Rated T, Collection, Complete, 2019]

Chapter 19: Yes, I Admit It, You Were Right [460 Words] Renee was waiting for him in the basement, fingers already taped, hair pulled back into a tuft of a rainbow ponytail.

Foxhole Tidbits by SpangleBangle [Collection Rated T/M, Updated  2018] 

Chapter 14: My Friend, O My Friend [M, 953 Words]  Prompt for Renee's reaction after Drake/Easthaven and Andrew's return.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: canonical character death

Did You Miss Me? by Deathandcommas [Rated G, 555 Words, Complete, 2023, Locked]

Aaron and Andrew have a late night chat after Andrew gets back from Easthaven.

tfw spoons by StrawBerryRains [Rated G, 216 Words, Complete, 2021]

Nicky offers Andrew ice cream when they arrive home from Easthaven.

A Taste of Your Own Medicine by caffeine_withdrawl [Rated M, 66454 Words, Incomplete, Updated March 2023]

Set after the infamous Thanksgiving, but then diverges from canon. Andrew and Bee decide it’s time for Andrew to come off the drugs, but works some magic so that he is allowed to do it in Columbia. Neil is tasked with helping him through it. They decide to do it the same way Andrew helped Aaron sober up, by locking him in a bathroom. Andrew doesn't react well, and switches between rage and panic. Andrew wonders if Neil is real or if he made him up because of the drugs.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: body horror, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: flashbacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: drug addiction, tw: withdrawal, tw: vomit, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: ptsd, tw: emotional abuse, tw: hallucinations

making it harder to breathe by Azure_Allumiia [Rated T, 1643 Words, Complete, 2021]

Christmas Break with the Foxes, featuring Andrew at Easthaven and Neil in Evermore. Foxes celebrate New Years in NYC with the ball drop.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: rape/noncon, tw: medical abuse, tw: torture, tw: blood

Dead Birds by Noah98 [Rated G, 1601 Words, Complete, 2021, Locked]

Neil just got back from Evermore and Andrew has returned from Easthaven. Riko calls. He wants a rematch and oh boy does he get it.

tw: violence, tw: blood/gore

Art

NB: just a sampling of art for this scene

“Feel Again” original song by @whatbutandreil [Tumblr, 2020]

Picking up Andrew from Easthaven part 1, part 2 comic by @coldcigarettes

andreil keys off the roof scene: animation by @hahanken | comic by @rainbowd00dles | comic by @lunapiq | art by @esklinray

I hate you comic by @thematicallycoherent

I’m not a hallucination art by @clumsyartish

Stick around long enough to figure it out for yourself. edit by @m1nyards

You are a pipe dream art by @viennemort

“you spend all this time watching our backs” edit by @matthcwboyd

not a hallucination a pipe dream art by @kryptidfox

“you were supposed to be a side effect of the drugs.” art by @planetmontressor

"Go inside and leave me alone." art by @dimsunstuff

“No, you’re a pipe dream.” art by @starkingdraws

[ofstoriesandstardust]

the alchemy (j.c.m.)

a/n: wow, i really am sticking to my unintentional every two month fic posting... anyways, this all occurred because of @cottagecori tempting me with the thought of getting a customized jersey for Javy. this is part of my unpublished midnight rain series (will i ever get the balls to post that sucker? not a clue). enjoy!

summary: Super Bowl Sunday in Javy's jersey and a little more.

inspired by taylor swift's the alchemy

warnings: fluff, i'm yearning okay, proposals, swearing, unedited

word count: 1.5k

“this happens once every few lifetimes/these chemicals hit me like a white wine”

“Has Javy ever gotten to wear that jersey?” 

Your eyes narrow at Jake as you mix the dip. “Does it matter?” 

Jake snorts. “Well, you did buy that for Coyote for Christmas, like, over a year ago now. And I think I’ve seen him wear it like, at one game since then. And that was only because you were out of town.” 

You shrug. “Maybe it’s a good luck charm.” 

Jake chuckles, standing up. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

You huff as Jake opens the fridge. “I don’t remember it being your business.” 

“It has his last name on the back!” Jake exclaims, turning you to show the jersey off to his friends. Your cheeks turn a dusty pink as you catch his eyes from across the kitchen island. 

Truth be told, he hadn’t gotten to wear the customized Saints jersey to a single game or watch party since you’d gotten it for him the Christmas before last. And he couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed because the sight of you proudly outing his last name on your back every time you watched a Saints game together was worth a thousand jerseys. 

“...you don’t even like football.” He blinks, realizing the conversation has moved on. 

You shrug again and he can tell you’re sheepish from across the room. “We compromised.” 

“How is watching every game and only being allowed on your phone during commercial breaks a compromise?” Payback says incredulously. 

You smirk. “He has to buy me In’N’Out after every game. And to me, it’s more than worth it.” 

-

You yawn, tucking your head into his shoulder. His thumb rubs soft circles into your ankle as he listens to the post-game interviews. 

The elation of his team winning the Superbowl, for the first time since 2010 you had reminded him, would carry him through the next four weeks, easy. The knowledge that you had been there with him, cheering just as loud as he had would carry him for even longer. 

“Still wanna get food?” He asks, nudging your cheek with his nose. You yawn, shrugging. 

“Rain check for tomorrow? It’s late.” 

He nods, before taking a look around the house. Cleaning their place post-parties was always awful, but this had to be the worst yet. “Shit, I should really get this place cleaned up.” 

You groan, pulling yourself up off the couch. “Don’t worry, I can do it. ‘Sides, you should be out with your friends.” 

Fanboy had mysteriously disappeared with a girl (friend of a friend of a friend of Omaha’s) sometime during the third quarter and had yet to resurface. 

Bob had gone with Rooster and Hangman out for a drink and a few of his friends from high school who'd been in town for the game had gone with them. He probably should’ve joined them for a celebratory beer (or three) but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to leave your side. 

He just wanted to celebrate with you. 

“It’s not your house.” He finally lamely coughs up and you roll your eyes as you collect empty Solo cups from the living room. 

“I really don’t mind.” You say, leaning over the coffee table, giving him a glimpse of the back of the jersey. 

He hates to say he has a possessive streak in him, he really does. He hates it because he thinks of the guys he’s met in the service who say they’re possessive, who control their girl, who think of their spouse as their property. 

But watching you walk around his house, cleaning up after him and his friends, he knows it’s true. He is possessive of you, something he can’t help. Not in the weird, controlling way, but the knowledge that you are his, his partner, the one you come home to every night. The sight of you walking around in his jersey with his name on the back, seeing you so proudly wear his last name and own it, well… it does something to him. 

“Stop staring.” 

He blinks, eyes coming into focus. You’re not looking at him, eyes focused on the empty cans of beers you’re pouring out into the sink. But he can hear the smirk in your words as his eyes follow your every move through the kitchen. 

“I’m not staring.” He claims, knowing full well he is. 

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.” You snort, tossing the cans into the recycling under the sink. 

“You could be; don’t ever limit yourself.” You toss him a glare over your shoulder as you pull a bunch of chip clips out of the drawer. He pushes himself up on the couch. “You don’t have to clean up, seriously.” You shrug as you pull your hair away from your face, giving him a better view of the jersey as you turn away from him. 

“It’s fine, I really…” 

Your voice fades as he fixates on the name on the back. His name. 

Machado

God, does he want to make you Machado.

He bites his lip, thinking of the ring tucked away in his closet. The ring he had designed specially for you, after he always swore he’d never let himself get this close to someone again. 

He wants you to be a Machado more than he’s probably wanted anything else in this world. He just hopes you want the same. 

-

He thinks of little else for the next few months. 

The burning desire, deep in his chest, to get down on one knee and propose to you only grows, especially after the two of you put your down payment on your dream house together in early June. 

You both spend the tail end of summer and into the fall building your home together, out here by the beach you’ve always wanted to live close to. 

It’s all so domestic it would rot some pilots' teeth. 

You go to Home Depot after work to pick out paint samples and visit furniture stores he can’t pronounce the names of to look at couches on weekends. You go to Best Buy and pick out a TV and there’s always a vase of fresh flowers from Trader Joe’s on the dining room table every Sunday. He makes you dinner most nights as you sit with a glass of whatever seltzer you were trying that week and trade stories about the workday. You go grocery shopping together every Sunday afternoon and even have a Costco membership together. And the whole time he’s thinking about how badly he wants to make you his wife. 

It almost becomes too much to bear, the question nearly slipping from his lips one lazy morning in bed. The two of you were so close to being done with the house and he simply couldn’t bear it a second longer. 

He barely manages to stop in time, diverting to ask if you’d make pancakes this morning. You raise your eyebrows but give no other acknowledgement that he might’ve said anything else. He’d had a plan to do this right and you deserved better than being asked while half-awake. 

By the time the two of you start the two-block walk to the beach near your home, he’s practically bursting. 

Nerves and eagerness thrum through him as he takes your hand. You either don’t notice or don’t comment on the way he’s gripping your hand just a little too tightly, thinking of the little box tucked away in the picnic basket the two of you were taking with you. 

To catch the sunset he’d said, when he’d asked if you want to picnic on the beach for dinner tonight. You’d been more than willing, as he expected, and you were none the wiser. 

It was perfect.

The sun is setting in the distance, the sky becoming a golden pink, as your feet dig into the sand. He intertwines your fingers, squeezing your hand as he does. You look over at him as he takes a deep breath. 

“You look gorgeous, sweetheart.” 

You smile at him. “So do you.” 

His smile only grows at your words, the surety in what he’s about to do growing. 

Christ, he can’t believe he almost wasted this moment right here. And yet, any sort of soft speech he’d prepared beforehand gets wiped from his brain as looks at you, taking in the way the sun makes you glow golden. 

Breathless, he whispers, “Will you marry me?” 

Your eyes grow wide as you lean in towards him. “Are you- are you serious?” 

He nods, a giddy joy alighting his chest. “Yes, yes, God I am so serious. Baby, I- I want to marry you more than anything in this whole world. I want to make you a Machado.” He picks up the box tucked under his leg, sliding the ring out. He poises it just so at the tip of your ring finger. “Will you do me the greatest pleasure in the world by being Mrs. Machado?” 

Your eyes grow glassy but you nod, shock still written in your features. “I- I would love nothing more. Yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you.” 

The ring slides over your finger with ease and it’s barely on before you’re pulling him into a kiss. His hands cups the back of your neck as he sighs into, feeling his heartbeat finally steady. You were going to be his, forevermore.

[critter-rarepair-reccs]

Hello all! I hope you're having a lovely day. Today I bring you our very first recc list, featuring eighteen fluffy fics! Some are pure schmoop, some come with a side of angst, and a few with a touch of smut as well. You can find them below the cut and I highly encourage you to check them out, and leave kudoes and comments to spread the rarepair love 🩷

To Keep It All In by rabbitxheart (2071 words, Teen) Pairing: Fjord/Caleb Widogast (Widofjord) Warnings: Drug mentions

Fjord touches a weird mushroom thing that makes him high and sick and has to be babysat until the clerics can heal him the next day. While Caleb is sitting with him he tries to make a confession.

Reccer Says: It's really cute and Fjord has sweet moments with Beau and Nott too. Just great sickfic fluff

lips pressed to the palm of your hand by vietbluecoeur (2410 words, General) Pairing: Yussa Errenis/Marion Lavorre (Rubygold) Warnings: None

Yussa does Marion's makeup for her before a performance. She returns the favor. They kiss about it.

Reccer Says: It's just SO beautiful. Every word feels gilded or done up in the cosmetics that cover Marion's vanity. The whole thing is poetry, not least of all the relationship between Yussa and Marion. They're so sweet and you can feel the affection they have for each other in every sentence. The way they banter and tease each other is adorable and Viet's voice for Yussa is also just so fun (let that old man say fuck! XD) Also, the way the title ties into the fic is just so sweet.

a place for us to dream by glossolali (1105 words, General) Pairing: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (Shadowidomauk) Warnings: None

Essek, Molly, and Caleb share a cozy and domestic summer afternoon.

Reccer Says: I am a sucker for cozy cuddly domestic fluff and for Shadowidomauk and this combines the two in the sweetest package. They're snuggly and in love and it's absolutely wonderful.

cheap wine and new beginnings by bunnymauk (2618 words, Teen) Pairings: Past Lestera/Mollymauk Tealeaf, Hinted Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss (Shadowmauk) Warnings: Referenced drug use, referenced car accident

Essek and Molly leave the club early and hang out at Molly's place together, there's cuddling <3

Reccer Says: I enjoyed it!

fledgling pledges by hanap (3100 words, Teen) Pairing: Astrid Beck/Eadwulf Grieve/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (Blumenshadow) Warnings: None

Caleb, Astrid, and Eadwulf go on a date with Essek, and each try to woo him.

Reccer Says: Its adorable

she said "take care", but i take more than i bring by MouseInTheCastle (3385 words, General) Pairing: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss Warnings: None

Molly and Caleb are together, and Caleb and Essek are together, but Essek and Molly aren't - Essek gets sick and Molly takes care of him

Reccers Says: Warm and fluffy and cozy, very very sweet <3

December's Language is Imprecise Grief by Marvelouska (2688 words, Teen) Pairing: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (Shadowidomauk) Warnings: None

Molly, Caleb, and Essek staying in the dorms over christmas break, and Molly and Caleb try to make it a great holiday for Essek.

Reccer Says: I enjoyed it!

someone as lost as you by floralprintshark (6500 words, Teen) Pairing: Beauregard Lionett/Jester Lavorre (Beaujes) Warnings: None

Jester asks Beau about her first kiss. The conversation leads to a question Beau didn't expect.

Reccer Says: It's very sweet and has a lot of mutual pining and disaster lesbian Beau

Thread by Crewe (2256 words, General) Pairing: Fjord/Caleb Widogast (Widofjord) Warnings: None

Fjord and Caleb develop a routine at night, Caleb reading his books and Fjord mending his and his friends' clothes.

Reccer Says: It's quiet and domestic Widofjord from the very beginning of campaign 2.

Maybe by Tulikettu (3389 words, Explicit) Pairing: Shaun Gilmore/Vax'ildan (Vaxmore) Warnings: None

Vax thinks a good cuddle will really set him right. And Shaun must give the best hugs. (Fluffy smut ensues)

Reccer Says: I enjoyed it!

Vivere, Ridere, Amare by noconceptoflife (20189 words, Mature) Pairing: Yeza Brenatto/Veth Brenatto/Caleb Widogast Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Anxiety

AU where Caleb meets the Brenattos soon after leaving the asylum and hides with them in plain sight. Pretend poly marriage turns real.

Reccer Says: I enjoyed it!

The Maps are Gone (So Are Our Footprints Too) by J (6514, Explicit) Pairing: Yeza Brenatto/Veth Brenatto/Caleb Widogast Warnings: Consensual voyeurism

Yeza knows Caleb and Veth have something special, and decides to show Caleb how best to take care of Veth on their travels.

Reccer Says: I enjoyed it!

Not Fancy Stuff by CriticalRolemance (3216 words, Teen) Pairing: Shaun Gilmore/Vax'ildan (Vaxmore) Warnings: None

Vax and Gilmore take a moment to forget about the looming existential threat of dragons and have a picnic dinner on the roof of Whitestone Castle.

Reccer Says: All the fics in this series are simple sweet fluff, but this one is probably my favorite. They're just a pair of romantic idiots and they deserve to get to be stupid in love together.

something sweet by roundtriptojupiter (4988 words, General) Pairing: Percy de Rolo/Grog Strongjaw Warnings: None

An oblivious, and very confused Percy, becomes subject to Grog's tribe-specific courting rituals when the goliath gets a crush on him. (He eventually gets the hint)

Reccer Says: It's a very niche ship written in a way that feels very authentic to the characters. It also completely got me onboard to the possibilities of said ship! As well as that, it's just a well written, very sweet fic. A great way to get acquainted with what is probably one of Vox Machina's rarest pairings.

The Scientist's Guide to Being Loved by tangereen (1237 words, Teen) Pairing: Eadwulf Grieve/Essek Thelyss (Esswulf) Warnings: None

Essek tries to figure out if Eadwulf is in love with him using logic.

Reccer Says: Essek is a goofy little guy trying to use science to explain emotions. I think it's cute.

bifurcation of heart and bone by 917651827 (2372 words, Explicit) Pairing: Eadwulf Grieve/Essek Thelyss (Esswulf) Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics

After his pregnancy, Essek can transform his body and fuck his partner the way he prefers.

Reccer Says: This esswulf focused entry in an Astrid/Eadwulf/Essek/Caleb series is so sweet! After he gives birth, Essek is able to get his dick back and fuck Eadwulf. They're both so loving and gentle with each other. It makes my heart burst!

Through the Years by piratesPencil (5649 words, Mature) Pairing: Yeza Brenatto/Veth Brenatto/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast Warnings: None

Scenes of how Caleb and Essek and the Brenattos' relationship grows over several years and they eventually form a polycule.

Reccer Says: I love each one on one scene between Essek and the others. Also great demi Essek feels 💕

And we have two reccs for; Today I Love You Even More by wtgw (5687 words, Teen) Pairing: Yeza Brenatto/Veth Brenatto/Caleb Widogast Warnings: None

Yeza encourages Veth to pursue her crush and is surprised when he ends up developing one of his own. Takes place in Xhorhas between the time Yeza is rescued and the time they’re able to relocate him; a very sweet fic about Yeza slowly falling for and awkwardly romancing the Wizard boyfriend his wife picked up on the road.

Reccer 1 Says: I loooooove Yeza's characterization his dynamic with not just Veth and Caleb but the rest of the nein is great Reccer 2 Says: I always love any story fleshing out Yeza and his personality+motivations, and this one does it so well! His patience and kindness in letting Nott persue Caleb, and then his own developing feelings, are just so endearing and fun to read about.

Thank you for joining us for our very first recc list! We'll be doing these every Wednesday for the foreseeable future 🩷 All enclosed recommendations were submitted by the community via our submissions form, which you can find here. All fic information is as it was provided by the reccer, so it may not be accurate to the author's intent or the precise contents of the fic itself. Please assume good intent from all parties 🩷

Submissions for next week's list are already open! We'll be featuring Modern AUs. If you have any you'd like to highlight, you can send them in here. The week after that, the theme is Whump, and you can also submit fics for that now!

If you want more rarepair fic, check out @cr-summer-wildflowers and their event collections on ao3! If you want some friendship after all this romance, take a look at @critter-genfic-events and their recc lists! And if you're interested in everyone's favorite wizards, you can't go wrong with the lists at @aeor-is-for-reccing !

Thanks all and have a lovely day/night/timezone! 🩷

[stevetonyweekly]

Cap-Ironman Rec Week - Time Travel - Tuesday

IT’S TIME TRAVEL TUESDAY! 

Guys. I am so excited about today’s theme. Anyway--welcome to day two of @cap-ironman rec week, featuring---you have already been told--TIME TRAVEL! I am such a sucker for time travel with our boys, so here’s some of my favs. 

~

The Twice-Told Tale by arysteia

For someone he'd hero-worshipped for so long, Steve Rogers in the flesh is a pretty big disappointment. For one thing, he keeps looking at Tony as though he reminds him of someone else, and even if he never says anything, Tony's pretty sure it's his father. A lifetime of not measuring up to Howard's expectations is more than enough, thank you very much, and he's certainly not going to make an effort to live up to any of Steve's. Steve's pretty clearly failed to live up to his expectations, in any case, and that's not hypocritical at all.

my thoughts: if you’ve followed the blog at all you will not be surprised to see this included. I almost didn’t, because i rec this fic so often. BUT--it’s my favorite time travel fic, and one of my favorite Stevetony fics of all time so. Read it, I love it, Steve’s patience in this is fucking saint levels. 

To Make Much of Time [Podfic] by paraka

When Iron Man rejects Steve's romantic advances, Steve is disappointed, but of course he understands -- Iron Man's secret identity is important. But when a portal opens and Tony Stark crashes into their midst from twelve years in the future, Steve starts to suspect that there are more secrets here than he can even begin to comprehend, and neither Iron Man nor Tony are providing any answers.

my thoughts: i am hugely fond of the original fic (by sineala) and the podfic that paraka did for it is just lovely. I adore identity porn and the way that the Tony’s interact. Perfection. 

Your Name on Every Wall by Sineala

The Time Gem throws Steve into the past rather than the future, and in doing so, it gives him the opportunity to undo his past mistakes. But when it turns out that all of his mistakes involve Tony Stark, Steve begins to wonder if he's ever going to be able to mend things between them.

my thoughts: the beauty of time travel is the hindsight and the angst of it is not being able to change a damn thing and Sineala captures that sooooooo well here. 

More Than Gravity by JenTheSweetie

“Aw, time travel, no.”

On Christmas Eve, Tony came unstuck in time.

my thoughts: time travel AND team as family shenanigans? What’s not to love? 

the mistakes we never made by Areiton 

Steve’s sigh is so tired Tony is actually offended. 

“I didn’t do this,” he says, before Steve can say anything. “I didn’t even play with any HYDRA tech and accidentally do this.” 

“Pretty sure I did this,” one of him says, easily. 

my thoughts: ok so this one is mine which might be cheating but ALSO--Tony having to face both his bratty past self and future silver fox self (and isn’t Steve’s attention there interesting) is just--fun. I love all the Tonies. 

[lestappenforever]

What A Bright Time (It's The Right Time) - A Lestappen Christmas fic

You didn't actually think I'd leave you without a Christmas fic, did you?

This whole thing came into existence because I wanted to write a Christmas karaoke fic after listening to way too many Christmas songs, and I'm a sucker for Christmas fics.

So, here it is - my silly little Lestappen Christmas gift to you!

Dedicated to the beautiful, wonderful @f1writingbyme, who pretty much watched me write at least 70% of this fic live by creeping in the document along the way. Thank you for being such an incredible friend to me at all times, and for always hyping me up whenever I try to write. You motivate me more than you'll ever know, and I love you. ❤️

If you want to listen to the songs/versions in this fic, you can find a playlist here.

And please have a look at the Arctic Igloos at Ranua Resort in Lapland, Finland before/while reading. You'll understand why later.

You can read the full fic on AO3 here.

Merry Christmas, everyone! 🎄

Summary: “I still can’t believe Max agreed to lend his private jet to get everyone here,” Charles says to Lando and Pierre as they make their way into the elevator of the lavish apartment building that holds Lewis’ Monaco apartment.

“We know, Charles, you’ve said that ten times already,” Lando responds in exasperation. Charles sees the eye roll through the mirror in the elevator.

“It was a bet, Charles. And you know Max is a man of his word,” Pierre offers, pressing the button that will take them to the penthouse.

“I am aware of that, Pierre,” the Monégasque shoots back, earning him an elbow to the side from the Frenchman. “But I’m just saying, I never would have expected it.”

---

OR: Lewis Hamilton arranges what he hopes to be the first annual F1 Christmas Karaoke event in 2023. It's about as chaotic as anyone would have expected.