#I can do it too-! maybe there’s hope for me yet

[peachylynnie]

gift exchange

word count: 2.4k

contains: sylus x mc!reader (not dating but sylus is down bad), christmas themes, a singular reference to his myth, a singular reference to grassland romance, mentions and consumption of food, suggestive themes, cursing, angst, and fluff.

a/n: i got sick. again. on christmas too. you know what that means. sylus time! on a related note, i hope everyone had a wonderful christmas. my rafayel fic is gonna upload soon as well. enjoy! reblogs and comments always welcome! do NOT copy or translate my work. sylus does NOT endorse plagiarism.

you curse as you rip open a hot chocolate packet. "sick on christmas," you grumble as you pour the contents into a mug. "how the fuck is that even possible."

of course, anyone can get sick at any time. it's inevitable. but, seriously? of all the days the pain in your throat and ears could have appeared, it just HAD to be on fucking christmas day. sure, it's not like you had any plans. normally you would celebrate with grandma and caleb by feasting on countless dishes and singing christmas songs from an old karaoke machine caleb swears isn't broken. but they're not around anymore.

you sigh miserably as you trudge over to the water dispenser for hot water, not wanting to think about your lost family. as you press the button for hot water, you lean against the dispenser, trying to figure out what you're going to do for the rest of the day. you were planning on visiting the market to make a nice dinner or perhaps order takeout at your favorite restaurant. but those are no longer viable options since your throat is killing you and your ears are incessantly burning. maybe you can order delivery? but that means you're going to have to clean up afterward, and you did NOT want to clean anything at the moment, especially with the state you're in.

shaking your head, you bring your mug back to the kitchen counter and search for a spoon.

"water for hot chocolate? i'm disappointed, sweetie."

you jump, an "oh, fuck!" leaving your mouth. sylus had materialized in front of you, a plastic bag in his left hand and a present box in his right. not like you noticed though. you were too startled by his sudden appearance. "what the fuck, sylus?! can't you knock?!"

"no," he deadpans, placing the bag and box on the kitchen counter. his fingers make quick work of untying the double knot on the bag. "besides," he spares you a glance. "i don't think someone who uses water to make their hot chocolate deserves a knock."

you roll your eyes. of course he fixates on that and doesn't explain why he's in your crappy apartment slandering you instead of downing at LEAST three glasses of wine in his luxurious penthouse on christmas day too. "well, screw me for being lazy, i guess," you mumble, crossing your arms.

"don't tempt me."

"huh?"

"what?"

you shoot him a look before grabbing your mug and heading to the other side of the kitchen counter. sitting on your squeaky high chair, you ask, "why are you here, sylus?"

he takes out a styrofoam container and opens its lid. immediately, the comforting smell of miso greets you. as sylus opens a cabinet to retrieve a pot (you don't question how he knows where to find it), you try to look at what else is in the plastic bag. tilting your upper body, you notice another container and hope it has some rice inside. what you don't notice is sylus' breath hitching when he turns back to you after pouring the miso soup into the pot and turning on the stove.

you were wearing a nice, loose top in your favorite color. except, its neck portion was completely cut off, leaving your collarbone and shoulders deliciously exposed. and because you were leaning on your side to take a look at what he had brought you (he loves when you're curious about anything involving him), the sleeve was slowly yet surely sliding down your arm, threatening to show a cup of your bra.

sylus instantly turns back to the stove, even though the miso soup shows no signs of boiling. rubbing a hand over his face, he shakes his head. no, he's not here to ogle at you (the top looks really good on you, and fuck, did your bra cup your breasts really nicely). he's here to take care of you. earlier, mephisto alerted him you were taking some cough drops. and knowing you, you probably didn't have any food on hand to sustain you through your sickness, given his last (secret) visit to your apartment to stock your (empty) fridge. taking a deep breath, sylus returns to the kitchen counter, reaching for the other container. he notices your inquisitive eyes.

"i'm here because it's christmas." he opens the container, and to your delight, it's omurice. marveling at how fluffy the omelette looks and how savory the fried rice appears, you almost miss his answer.

"huh?" you frown. "you're here because it's christmas?"

"is that not what i just said?" sylus jests as he plates the omurice and places it in your microwave.

"well," you start carefully. "shouldn't you have better things to do? like take luke and kieran shopping or pop open another bottle of wine because woo! christmas!"

the silver-haired man shakes his head with a chuckle, propping his hands on the kitchen counter. you try not to focus on his exposed forearms too much. forget the omurice and miso soup; you'll take his arms instead.

"first of all, luke and kieran are busy—"

"on christmas?!"

"yes, sweetie, on christmas." he raises a brow at you for interrupting. you drag your sleeve back up sheepishly.

"second of all, what makes you think i haven't already indulged in a bottle of wine today?" he tilts his head and crosses his arms, gazing at you with a hint of amusement in his ruby eyes.

you pout and look away. "fair point, i guess."

enjoying your cute reaction, sylus returns his attention to the stove. pleased to find the miso soup boiling, he turns off the stove and takes out a bowl from your cabinet (again, how does he know where to find that?). using a ladle to pour into the bowl, he hums a little tune. you try not to snicker at how terrible he sounds. after sliding a bowl of soup and a plate of omurice to you, sylus plants his elbows on the counter and rests his chin on a palm, allowing him a perfect view of his beloved (though you don't know you're his beloved yet; luke and kieran called him a loser before getting their asses handed to them).

"uh," you look at sylus, then at the food, and then sylus again. "you're not going to eat?"

he shakes his head. "i already ate before coming here."

hesitantly, you pick up your utensils. "you know you technically haven't answered my question, right?"

"i'll tell you once you finish." sylus responds immediately. it's almost as if he knew what you were going to say.

no longer wanting to torture your stomach, you cut into the omurice and take a bite. "mmm!" you cover your mouth as you chew. the softness of the egg, the savoriness of the fried rice—oh, you're in heaven. "this tastes really good, sylus!" you take a sip of the miso soup as well. not only does the warm broth soothe your throat, but the spice that comes with it clears up your sinuses, ceasing the burn in your ears.

the man in front of you can't help but smile at the sight. you, in your most vulnerable, beautiful state, enjoying his cooking. he could die a happy man here. and it wouldn't be the first time his cause of death is you. not that he minds or anything.

"thank you, sylus." you take a few more bites before swallowing. "seriously, i needed this."

"i know, sweetie," he says gently. "i know."

you glare at him, but not with as much malice as you used to. "did mephisto snitch on me or something?"

sylus lets out a laugh before grabbing the present box and joining you on the other side of the counter. "he simply saw a poor little hunter in need of some saving."

"since when does being sick mean needing saving?" you mutter as you set your utensils down, having finished the meal. you make a mental note to ask where he got the food. you're definitely going to visit wherever this exquisite meal came from (the man sitting next to you would die if he knew you wanted to visit his place).

sylus hands you the present box, causing your eyes to widen as you finally process its existence. "merry christmas, sweetie."

instead of accepting it, you jump out of your seat and dash to your room, though not without yelling a "wait here!" your heart beats rapidly as you open your closet door, your eyes landing on a small box wrapped in glossy black paper. yes, you were planning on spending christmas alone. yes, you were planning on giving this to sylus as nonchalantly as possible AFTER christmas (as much as he infuriates you, you still wanted to gift him something. why? you're not sure). and yet, here you are, holding the gift to your chest as you sprint back to the kitchen. "here," you pant as you thrust your gift into his lap. "merry christmas, sylus."

now it's his turn to be surprised. peering at what you just put in his lap, sylus can't help but blush profusely. you gifted him something. you actually gifted him something. you went out of your way to buy something for him. you thought of him. sylus brings a hand to his mouth, his fingers gripping the sides of his face hard. oh, you're too much. it's taking him everything to not crash himself into you and hold you tightly with his arms, to press himself so deeply into you until there is no chance in heaven or hell you could be separated from him.

"sylus?" you snap him out of his thoughts. "you okay?"

he blinks. "ah." releasing his face from his grip, sylus looks at you with a composed smile. "i'm alright, sweetie. thank you for the gift," he says as he starts unwrapping.

"it's not much," you say shyly. "thank you for your gift too. i'll open it after you finish opening yours."

sylus nods as he opens the box. his lips part when he finds what lies inside. a pair of black gloves, thermal lined with genuine fleece and adorned with adjustable straps. but most importantly, embroidery by your hands. he could recognize your handiwork anywhere thanks to your previous adventure in the grasslands. the white dove delicately sewn into the wrist of the right glove and the initials of his name intricately engraved into the wrist of the left. the man can't help but smile for the umpteenth time tonight. you really were something else.

"i noticed you wear fingerless gloves whenever you ride your motorcycle," you start as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. "as stylish as they are, mr. sylus," you tease. "i think it's better to have gloves that keep you warm during late-night joyrides, especially now since it's winter." finding the courage to grin at him, you conclude your explanation with, "merry christmas, sylus."

sylus swears he sees an angel sitting next to him. how could you not be an angel? with the way you're smiling at him right now? and the amount of thought you put into this gift? (he's trying not to obsess over the fact that you observe him whenever he rides his motorcycle.) the head of onychinus has never believed in angels. but now, he does. thanks to you.

"thank you, sweetie," he tries to say as calmly as possible. "i will cherish them." when he attempts to put the gloves on, you stop him.

"wait, you don't need to put them on yet! you're going to get hot."

"it's fine," sylus assures as he secures the straps. "i want to."

"okay," you flush, happy that he likes the gift. "let me open yours now."

you wonder why his box is so heavy as your fingers rip off the tape. a gasp escapes your mouth as the wrapping paper falls to the ground. "sylus," you tremble. "i can't accept this."

a record player. a sleek, gorgeous record player with an obsidian platter, supported by a mahogany base and a crystal case. you stroke the tonearm, dragging your index finger all the way to the headshell and relishing in the cool feeling the metal provides. "sylus…" you trail off.

"there's more, sweetie." he murmurs. out of thin air, sylus materializes several vinyls with his evol. your eyes widen, recognizing the images that lie at the center of each disc.

"oh my god, sylus!" your favorite band, he got you vinyl records of each album from your favorite band. they've never even had vinyl records before. holy fucking shit. "sylus!" you chant excitedly, leaping into him as you wrap your arms around his neck. "sylus! you shouldn't have! oh my god!"

you jump up and down eagerly, leaving the man stunned in his chair. his arms are outstretched, unsure what to do for the first time ever. you freeze, realizing the position you are in. "oh uh," you quickly retract from him, a red hue forming on your cheeks. "sorry about that." you go to sit back down in your chair, but sylus doesn't let you. he pulls you back to him with an arm around your waist and a hand at the back of your head. standing at full height, the head of onychinus hugs you tightly, so tightly it's as if he never wants to let you go. you hesitate before returning the hug, questioning the man's motives. but he doesn't say or do anything. just stands embracing you. realizing he bears no ill will, you pat his back playfully. "you know i'm sick, right?"

his grip doesn't loosen. "yes, i know."

"you're going to get sick, sylus," you tease, trying to pull away. as much as you appreciate his warmth, the last thing you want is for him to get sick. just the thought of it strikes fear in your heart. you're not sure why. "come on, let go."

you giggle excitedly as you examine the vinyl records. "oh, should i play this one first? oh, what about this one? no way! you got this one too?!"

sylus sighs before untangling his arms and sitting back down. he'll give in for now. besides, he wouldn't trade that elated look on your face when he revealed the records for anything in the world. he supposes he can enjoy such a view some more.

as always, you don't catch the woozy, lovesick smile that appears on sylus' face as he folds his arms and leans back to admire you. if this is what christmas with you is going to look like in the future, sylus desperately hopes you'll spend every christmas with him from now on. but, just to be sure, because nothing is guaranteed in the future, he follows your example and says for the second time of the night, "merry christmas, sweetie."

[0omillo0]

Felix angst/comfort (you can use this for the clingy series) where Felix feels the constant need to spend time with Y/N ( also rip this hits home for me) and Y/N is, for the first time in their life, not clingy. Like Felix perceives their actions as clingy but in their mind they feels free and as least clingy as they’ve ever been. And then Felix does the whole calls them clingy. And they have to take a moment because they, for once, felt so confident in themselves that they weren’t being clingy, and now they are second guessing themselves. (This is weirdly personal, I’ve been here before, please give mega angst but even more comfort)

Calling you clingy

Felix x Reader ; angst -> comfort

a/n: I hope this is what you wanted! merry christmas loves

Felix had always been a gentle, steady presence in your life—a warmth you could lean into when the world felt cold. His kindness had a way of pulling you out of your head, grounding you when your insecurities threatened to take over. You loved him for it.

But lately, his warmth felt different. He’d been clinging to you in ways you didn’t recognize, filling the spaces between your conversations with a soft desperation. He was more insistent on spending time together—seeking you out even when you felt perfectly fine sitting in your solitude.

At first, it was easy to brush off. Felix was affectionate by nature, and you’d always loved that about him. But when his gentle invitations turned into subtle comments—“Oh, you’re busy again?”—and his eyes lingered on you just a beat too long, you felt a weight you couldn’t explain.

It hurt, because for the first time in your life, you weren’t chasing validation. You weren’t battling the constant fear of being too much. Instead, you’d been reclaiming a sense of independence—spending time with yourself and learning to love the quiet.

You had felt proud. Free. For once, you didn’t feel the urge to text Felix every hour or overthink every interaction. And it had been working. The days felt lighter, and you believed you were finding a balance between nurturing your relationship with him and nurturing yourself.

And yet, tonight unraveled everything.

“Hey,” Felix called softly, pulling your attention away from the pile of papers on your desk.

The sound of his voice was cautious, hesitant, and you immediately turned to face him. “Yeah?” you asked, a small smile on your face. “What’s up?”

Felix shifted in place, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for the right words. He looked like a boy on the verge of confessing something he thought would ruin everything. “Can I… ask you something?”

“Of course.” You set down your pen, turning your full attention to him.

His gaze dropped, and you noticed the way his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Do you think… maybe you’ve been a little clingy lately?”

For a second, the words didn’t register.

Clingy?

Your heart sank, the air leaving your lungs in an instant. The weight of his question crashed into you, heavy and suffocating, as if the room had suddenly shrunk around you. “Clingy?” you echoed, your voice small and disbelieving.

He nodded, wincing slightly as if bracing for backlash. “I mean… you’re always around. You always want to hang out, and I love being with you—I do. But sometimes I feel like…” He trailed off, clearly unsure how to soften the blow.

“Like I’m suffocating you,” you finished for him, bitterness creeping into your tone.

“No!” Felix said quickly, his eyes wide and panicked. “No, it’s not that. I just… I need a little space sometimes. And I don’t want you to take that the wrong way.”

But how else could you take it? You stared at him, your stomach twisting violently. His words felt like a knife turning in an old wound you’d spent years trying to heal.

Clingy.

That label had haunted you for as long as you could remember. It was the word that stuck to you like a shadow, the fear that kept you second-guessing every relationship, every friendship. But you had worked so hard to overcome it. You’d been careful—so careful—to give Felix the space he deserved while finally giving yourself the freedom to breathe.

And now, the one person who made you feel safe had torn that progress apart.

“Felix…” you started, your voice trembling. You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to cry. “I’ve been trying so hard not to be clingy. Like… so hard.”

His brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes. “What?”

“I’ve been holding back,” you said, the words tumbling out in a bitter rush. “I’ve been giving you space. I haven’t been texting you constantly, or asking to hang out every second, or freaking out if I don’t hear from you for a while. I thought I was finally getting it right.” Your voice cracked, and you looked away, trying to rein in the tears that threatened to spill.

Felix’s expression shifted, the weight of your words hitting him like a freight train. “Y/N…”

“But I guess even when I think I’m doing better, it’s still not enough,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” Felix said, stepping forward. His face crumpled with regret as he reached for you. “No, that’s not true. I didn’t mean it like that. I swear—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, stepping back out of his reach. Your hands clenched at your sides as you tried to steady your breath. “I get it. You need space. I’ll give you your space.”

“No, Y/N, don’t do that,” Felix said, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t—”

“I just need a minute, okay?” you said quickly, the words coming out sharper than you intended.

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving Felix standing there with his heart in his throat.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the silence of your room felt deafening. You sank onto your bed, your mind spiraling with questions you couldn’t answer.

Had you been too much? Had you failed to notice something you should have?

You replayed every interaction in your head, dissecting your choices and second-guessing the progress you’d been so proud of.

Meanwhile, Felix sat outside your door, his knees pulled to his chest. His head was heavy in his hands, guilt eating away at him with every passing second. He didn’t know what had possessed him to say those words—words that clearly cut you so deeply.

Finally, he knocked softly, his voice trembling. “Y/N?”

There was no response.

“Please,” he tried again, his throat tight. “I didn’t mean what I said. I wasn’t thinking. Please, let me in.”

After a long moment, the door opened, revealing your tear-streaked face. Felix’s heart broke all over again. Without a second thought, he pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t realize how hard you’d been trying… and I just—” He exhaled shakily. “I was scared.”

You stiffened slightly in his arms. “Scared?”

He nodded, pulling back to meet your eyes. “I thought maybe you didn’t need me as much anymore. And I know that’s selfish, but it made me panic. I thought maybe you were pulling away because you didn’t want to be around me.”

His words sank in slowly, and your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. “Felix… I wasn’t pulling away. I was trying to find a balance. For me. For us.”

“I know,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “And I ruined it. I’m so sorry, Y/N. You’re not clingy. You’re amazing, and I’m so, so lucky to have you.”

His sincerity broke through your walls, and you leaned into his embrace, letting his warmth comfort you. “I just don’t want to lose you,” you murmured.

“You won’t,” Felix promised, holding you tighter. “I’ll do better. I’ll listen better. And I’ll never call you clingy again. I swear.”

You stayed in his arms for what felt like forever, the steady beat of his heart grounding you as the ache in your chest slowly began to ease. Felix didn’t let go, his arms wrapped around you with a desperation that spoke louder than any words he could say.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, his breath warm against your hair. “I didn’t mean any of it. I just… I messed up. I didn’t realize how much you’d been trying, and instead of supporting you, I let my own fears get in the way.”

You swallowed hard, the knot in your throat loosening with every word. “You really thought I didn’t need you anymore?”

He nodded, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze was filled with regret, but there was something else there too—a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I got scared. You seemed so confident, so… happy on your own. And I thought maybe I was the only one who still needed us as much as I do.”

You shook your head, a soft, disbelieving laugh escaping your lips. “Felix, I need us. I always have. I just…” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I needed to know I could stand on my own too. Not because I don’t love you, but because I wanted to be better for you. For both of us.”

His expression softened, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “You are better, Y/N. You’re amazing. And I should have told you that instead of making you feel like… like this.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Felix was quick to catch it, his touch impossibly gentle. “I don’t think you realize how much I look up to you,” he said quietly. “You’ve been so strong, and I’m… I’m so proud of you. I hate that I made you second-guess yourself.”

His words cracked something open inside you, and you leaned into his hand, letting yourself feel the warmth and sincerity in his touch. “You mean that?” you asked softly.

“Every word,” he said, his voice firm but tender. “You’ve been so brave, Y/N. I see it. And I’ll spend every day reminding you how incredible you are if that’s what it takes to make up for tonight.”

For the first time that night, you felt the heaviness in your chest begin to lift. The sting of his earlier words lingered, but his apology—his love—was genuine.

You gave him a small, tentative smile. “You don’t have to make up for anything, Felix. Just… promise me we’ll talk next time, okay? No more letting things fester.”

He nodded quickly, his lips twitching into a faint, relieved smile. “I promise. I’ll do better. No more keeping things to myself. And no more calling you clingy. Ever.”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound breaking the tension in the room. “Good. Because that word is banned forever.”

“Forever,” Felix agreed, a playful light returning to his eyes. He shifted, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. “You’re not clingy, Y/N. You’re perfect. Just the way you are.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment. For the first time in hours, you felt truly at ease.

Later that night, you found yourselves curled up on the couch, the tension of the evening a distant memory. Felix’s arms were wrapped around you, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm as the quiet hum of a movie played in the background.

“Y/N?” he murmured after a while, his voice soft and contemplative.

“Yeah?” you replied, tilting your head to look at him.

“I’m really lucky to have you,” he said, his cheeks turning pink as the words left his mouth.

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re not so bad yourself, Felix.”

He laughed softly, his lips brushing against your temple. “I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to,” you said gently, resting your hand over his. “We’ll figure it all out. Together.”

Felix’s arms tightened around you, his lips curving into a soft smile against your skin. “Together,” he echoed, and in that moment, you knew he meant it with every fiber of his being.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t questioning yourself. You weren’t doubting your place in his life or worrying about being too much. Felix’s love wrapped around you like a promise—a reassurance that you didn’t have to change to be enough.

@intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @inlovewithstraykids @whoa-jo @madirye062 @vixensss @sseawavee @emilyywhyy @halfwinterhalfuniverse @velvetmoonlght @flourishmoon

[mggslover]

How the Unsub Stole Christmas ❆

A Holiday to Remember: part 2

In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut (18+), fluff, found family Content warnings: graphic cm case descriptions!!, mentions of shitty childhood, reader getting in some unsub trouble, oral (f receiving), p in v sex. Word count: 9k 🫣 i swear it reads really fast A/n: read part 1 first! writing this story genuinely brought me so much joy, and i hope you will experience the same while reading this. this will be my last fic for the year 2024, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the support, i can't wait to see what the new year will bring for this blog. don't forget to interact with this post if you've enjoyed! 🎄🤍 dividers by @issysh3ll

It shouldn’t have surprised you that you’d be called out for another case. Still, the disappointment lingered thick in the air.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Garcia murmured softly, her tone sad. JJ wrapped an arm around her, bringing her in for a side hug. “Don’t worry,” she reassured gently. “The trip isn’t over yet.”

Penelope seemed satisfied enough with that answer, but then spoke up again. “I don’t want to stay here on my own. It’s spooky knowing someone got murdered just miles away.”

“You can come with us to the station. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Y/L/N, you’ll head to the crime scene. A deputy will be waiting for you there.” Hotch instructed. 

You exhaled softly and gave a brief nod. Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes filled with that quiet empathy you’d come to recognize over the years.

“Good luck,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

“Thanks,” you replied, your words equally soft. “You too.”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the crime scene. The neighborhood was so small it hardly felt like one—just a handful of houses scattered across large, snow-dusted plots of land. It looked peaceful, almost idyllic, as if nothing could ever disturb the calm. The street was adorned with Christmas lights and festive decorations. The only thing slightly out of place was a crack in the bench beside one of the houses. Otherwise, the neighborhood looked like it had stepped right out of a holiday card.

As you stepped out of the car, you noticed the few neighbors who hadn’t yet been driven inside by the cold. They stood in clusters in front of their homes, bundled up in scarves and coats, watching the scene unfold with cautious curiosity.

You looked over at Prentiss. “We should start doing some interviews—maybe send a few of them over to the station.”

She nodded, her expression focused. “Got it.” Without another word, she made her way toward them.

You followed Rossi and Derek toward the red wooden house, where the Deputy awaited by the front door. He looked young—probably around your age. 

Rossi introduced you to Deputy Wilson. Wilson gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry it’s just me. Almost the whole department is unavailable because of the holidays.”

“Convenient timing for a murder,” you mused.

“The scene’s been left as it was when we found it,” Wilson continued. “The back door’s been forced open, and you can see boot prints in the snow leading to the backyard.”

Morgan immediately stepped forward. “I’ll get a shot of those prints for Garcia,” he said, already heading toward the backyard.

Wilson looked at you and Rossi. “You want to take a look inside?”

You paused before heading in, shaking the snow from your boots and making sure not to use the doormat—the one engraved with the names of the family members. It felt wrong, almost disrespectful, to dirty the only thing that might be left of them. 

You took in a sharp breath as you entered the house. Your gaze was first taken by the large Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, decorated in red and gold. But then you noticed the bloody mess underneath it. Four bodies—two adults and two children—lay scattered on the floor, broken Christmas ornaments surrounding them, as though the killer had dropped them carelessly after his violent act. The mother and father were draped over each other, their throats slit cleanly. The teenage daughter, too, had her throat cut, but her body was twisted in a way that didn’t seem accidental. The small boy—no older than ten—was slumped between them, his face frozen in an expression of terror, a look that would haunt you for days.

The scene before you was a sickening parody of a perfect Christmas. But the most disturbing part wasn’t the carnage—it was their faces. Each of them wore a grotesque, unnerving smile, painted onto their lips in blood. It was a mockery of joy, an image of happiness forced onto the dead.

You felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat and turned away, needing a moment to breathe. It was then that you noticed the walls, once filled with smiling family photos were now smeared with blood. Shattered frames lay scattered on the floor, as if the killer had intentionally destroyed the family’s history, piece by piece. 

Rossi spoke first. “The unsub who stole Christmas,” he mused, his tone almost playful despite the grim reality.

You gave a sharp exhale, a brief scoff escaping your lips. “Yeah, you could say that.”

You put on your gloves and picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor. You handed it to Rossi without a word. He took it, studying it for a moment before speaking again. “One thing’s for sure—this wasn’t just a murder. This is deeply personal.”

You nodded, scanning the room. The starkness of the crime scene was still sinking in, but your mind was already running through the facts. “The execution was meticulous,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the room, “but the aftermath... messy. The unsub rushed out of here—didn’t even bother closing the back door behind him, and those footprints? Almost like he didn’t care at all about leaving evidence. We might even get lucky and find DNA on the bodies.”

Rossi considered it. “It could be that he was in a hurry. In a small neighborhood like this, people will notice anything out of the ordinary. He probably knew he had to move fast.”

You hummed in return. “It still doesn’t add up. You can’t plan a murder with this much detail and then completely overlook how to cover your tracks afterward.”

You took another slow turn around the room, examining the details. Every piece seemed to add to the strange puzzle, but none of it fit together. As you passed the fireplace, something caught your eye: a piece of paper tucked into one of the stockings. You reached for it carefully, your fingers brushing the corner stained with blood.

You unfolded it with precision, revealing the scrawled words in black ink. The sentence was short and written in Latin, a language you hadn’t encountered in years. You stared at it, furrowing your brow as you tried to make sense of it.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Latin, would you?” You asked Rossi, half-joking, though the seriousness in your voice remained.

Rossi looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and dry humor. “Does it look like I know Latin?”

You smiled, already pulling your phone out of your pocket and speed dialing Spencer. As the phone rang, you turned your attention back to the paper, the blood spatter still making your stomach turn.

“Hey,” you breathed out as he picked up the phone after the second ring.

“Hey,” Spencer replied. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft with concern, your single syllable being enough for him to decipher how you feel.

You glanced over your shoulder at the murdered family, swallowing hard before turning away. “I will be,” you responded. Once that fucker is behind bars.

You straightened, pushing the thoughts away, and focused on the task at hand. “I’ve just found a piece of paper at the crime scene. It’s a text written in Latin. I figured it’d be quicker to ask you than wait for Garcia to look it up.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment. “Good call. What does it say?”

You glanced at the paper again, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Spencer spoke, his voice calm but precise. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse. ‘Now they know you’re not perfect.’” His perfect Latin pronunciation made you wince at how poorly you’d read it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? A taunt?”

Spencer’s voice was thoughtful. “Sounds like he’s trying to prove something. It’s definitely personal.”

You exchanged a look with Rossi, who was standing nearby, holding the broken picture frame. “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. Whoever this unsub is, he knows the Reynolds family intimately.”

“Garcia’s already digging into the family’s background,” Spencer replied without missing a beat, already a step ahead.

“Good,” you muttered, relief washing over you for a moment. “How are things going over there?”

“JJ’s been trying to reach family, but they don’t live nearby,” Spencer answered. “A snowstorm hit. I’ve been tracking the meteorological data, and the chances of them making it are close to zero.” 

You nodded, a dull ache settling in your chest. “Well, I’m going to keep looking around here. The bodies will be picked up soon to go to the lab, and then I’ll be heading over to the station.”

“Alright,” Spencer replied, his tone warmer now. “I’ll see you there. Be careful.”

“Always am,” you said, offering a small smile even though he couldn’t see it.

The words on the note kept drifting through your mind. Maybe it was the sentiment that came with Christmas—or maybe it was the fact that, up until now, you were having a perfect holiday, something you never thought you’d get to experience—that made the scene remind you of your childhood. How everything looked so joyous from the outside, especially during the holidays. But if you looked closely, you’d see the cracks. The ornaments on the tree, hastily glued together, their edges jagged and uneven. The hole in the wall, cleverly concealed behind your stocking. 

You were probably overthinking it. After all, it wasn’t the family that was broken like yours was—it was the unsub who had shattered their picture-perfect life.

Rossi’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, kid?”

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the past and into the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

You and Rossi walked into the secluded room the Sheriff had arranged for the team, exchanging your findings with Morgan and Prentiss along the way. You’d made a quick stop at a Chinese takeaway to grab food for everyone, knowing the team needed fuel for the long hours ahead.

The rest of the team was already seated around the table, and Reid was in the middle of showing Hotch something on the map of the neighborhood.

“Oh, you guys are the best!” Penelope sighed, her voice full of appreciation as she caught sight of the plastic bags you were carrying.

“We couldn’t leave you to go hungry,” Emily responded with a grin.

You took a seat closest to where Spencer was standing, and he naturally slid into the chair beside you. You reached into the bag and pulled out the only plastic fork, knowing he’d struggle with chopsticks. He flashed you a grateful, closed-lip smile as he took it from you.

Once everyone had filled their plates, the conversation turned back to the case.

“Garcia dug up some useful info,” JJ began. “Stephen Reynolds owned a construction company that’s on the verge of going bankrupt. It’s possible the unsub was an employee who got fired—or was cut loose because the company couldn’t afford him anymore.”

“It seems like the whole family was targeted,” you added, leaning forward. “The note was left in one of the children’s stockings. It doesn’t feel like the murder was just directed at Stephen.”

“That’s why we need to find out more about the Reynolds family outside of their neighborhood,” Hotch said. “The employees at the construction company could have insight. It’s clear the neighbors aren’t going to give us much.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed, a skeptical look on his face. “Did they really not give you anything? The neighbors, I mean.”

Prentiss shook her head. “Nothing useful. They kept insisting that the Reynolds’s were a perfect family. They even seemed offended when I pressed for more.”

“That doesn’t sit right. The note specifically mentioned how the Reynolds’s are not perfect.” Rossi replied. 

“I gotta give it to them, though,” Garcia chimed in. “The Reynolds’s are model citizens. The parents were both heavily involved in charity, and the kids have won multiple prizes in spelling bees and other competitions.”

“Has anything bad ever happened in that neighborhood?” Morgan asked, clearly skeptical about the idea of perfection.

Penelope clicked away on her laptop. “Well, there was a fire in one of the houses about ten years ago, because of damaged Christmas lights.” She made a sad face as she continued searching. “Oh, and a cat got stuck in a tree once… didn’t make it.”

“What happened to the family in the house?” Spencer asked.

Penelope’s fingers paused over the keys. “Uh, let me see… The Eriksens died from smoke inhalation. Oh… this is sad. They left a child, Christopher Eriksen. He was put into foster care when he was just eight.”

“Did the Reynolds’s live there when that happened?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, they did. Actually, they organized a fundraiser to build a bench with the parents’ names engraved on it, in their memory.”

You felt your pulse quicken at the mention of the bench. Something about it seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t trust your mind right now—not with everything still scattered from the case, and the ghosts of your past tugging at the edges of your thoughts.

You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, but you decided to ignore it, keeping your focus on Hotch as he spoke up. 

“It’s best if we head back to the cabin to rest up,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the station’s closing tonight so everyone can spend time with their families.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, the relief of getting some rest evident on their faces. But as the team began gathering their things, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You hated the idea of putting the case on hold, even if it was just for the night. The face of that little boy kept haunting your thoughts, his wide eyes silently pleading for answers, for peace. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.

Spencer’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, his warm hold holding you in place. His lips barely moved as he mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head.

The entire car ride had been silent. Spencer’s gaze would occasionally flicker over to you in the backseat, but you kept your eyes fixated on the road, watching the scenery blur past.

The silence stretched on as you said your goodnights to the rest of the team and walked toward your shared room with Spencer. As you both got ready for bed, there was an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Now, lying in the king-sized bed, you both stared up at the ceiling, the quiet stillness between you thick with unspoken words.

“When are we finally going to talk about what’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, careful but insistent.

You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, your words coming out a little too quickly.

“There’s obviously something wrong,” he pressed gently. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” you answered, your voice softer now, more honest. Usually, Spencer never had to press. There was something about him—something warm and patient—that made it easy to open up, to share your thoughts without fear of judgment. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t just the case. It felt personal, something you couldn’t fully explain.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said, thinking aloud. “It’s just… something’s off. And I don’t know if it’s just me.”

“What do you feel?” His question was quiet, but his concern was clear.

You hesitated. “It sounds stupid,” you muttered, brushing it off.

“Nothing you could say would sound stupid to me.” His words, soft and sincere, made your chest tighten with warmth. You turned your head to look at him, noticing the closeness between you, the way his gaze lingered on you.

“You thought it was stupid that I shower at 115 degrees,” you said with a playful smile.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing just a little. “I don’t think it’s stupid that you like it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I just think it’s stupid that you’d risk hurting yourself over it.”

His eyes warmly looked at you. One hand rested underneath his pillow as he lay on his side. You turned toward him, mirroring his position.

"I’m really struggling with this case," you softly admitted, trying to keep eye contact, though your gaze flickered down, betraying the weight of your words.

“Was it hard seeing the crime scene?”

"Yeah," you choked out, your throat tight. You blinked quickly to try to stop the tears that threatened to spill. “It was... it was horrible.”

His hand reached out to gently rub your bare arm under the blanket. "It’s completely normal to feel affected by what you saw," he began, his voice steady but laced with the kind of empathy that only someone like him could offer. "Witnessing something as violent and horrific as the bodies of two children—it’s traumatic. The brain processes trauma in complex ways, especially when it involves young victims. According to studies in neuropsychology, traumatic experiences, particularly those involving children, can cause the brain to release a surge of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. This flood of chemicals can lead to acute emotional responses, such as anxiety and flashbacks.”

“I’ve been experiencing flashbacks,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You met his gaze, looking for reassurance, and he gave you the space to speak, waiting patiently. “It actually started earlier today, when we arrived at the cabin. I’ve never experienced a Christmas like this, you know, the kind that feels warm and joyful. I- I don’t know if I’m making connections that aren’t there, but the feeling I had in that house was the same feeling I used to get when I was growing up.”

He tilted his head. "What feeling?"

“...Jealousy.”

His eyebrows knitted. “Jealousy?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, gathering your thoughts. “You could feel so much rage in there. Everything that made the home feel homey—that warmth, that love—was completely shattered. The way the unsub positioned the family members under the Christmas tree, the way the note was tucked into the stocking… There’s a reason for it. Christmas represents this idealized view of perfection. I don’t think the message was to prove that the company going bankrupt is some sort of imperfection in the family’s picture-perfect life. No, it feels like the unsub was jealous of their happiness. Of the fact that they had a family who seemed perfect—something he never had. He wanted to destroy it. To ruin their happiness. He could never have it, so he shattered the illusion of perfection entirely.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing your words. “So you think the Reynolds’s were targeted as surrogates?”

“I guess so. But you don’t just stumble across a neighborhood as desolate as theirs.” you responded.

“It could still be one of the employees of the construction company. If Stephen bragged about his perfect family to the wrong person, it could have triggered something.”

You hummed in agreement, but Spencer could see there was more on your mind. He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

“As I got older, I learned that blaming others wasn’t going to make me feel any better about my situation. It’s like the unsub hasn’t realized that yet. The way he executed this crime—it’s almost like a child throwing a tantrum. He was so meticulous in setting everything up, and then once he got what he wanted, he just… walked away. There was no care for the aftermath, no consideration of what would happen afterward.”

“Do you think the unsub could still be a child?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Your mind clicked, and for the first time, the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. “How old was the kid when he was put into foster care?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Eight. Why?” Spencer's confusion was evident.

“It’s been ten years since that house caught fire. That would make him eighteen now, and—"

Spencer’s eyes widened as realization struck. “And that he just got out of foster care.”

"Exactly," you said, rolling out of bed and storming downstairs.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Spencer called after you, quickly grabbing his cardigan from the chair in the corner of the room before hurrying to catch up.

“Be quiet, I don’t want to wake anyone.” You instructed, feeling Spencer’s presence behind you as you moved toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he hissed in a whisper as you opened Garcia’s laptop on the table. You didn’t respond, your fingers already flying over the keys as you settled into a chair.

Spencer huffed, knowing full well there was no stopping you once your mind was set. He hovered behind you, draping the cardigan over your shoulders. “I’m not covering for you if Garcia finds out,” he warned, glancing over your shoulder at the screen.

“That’s fine. I know exactly what to say to win her over,” you said nonchalantly, clicking away. In your mind, the image of Spencer in the shower was still vivid—a story you could easily use to distract Penelope if it came to that.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you found the file. “Here it is,” you muttered, eyes scanning the information on Christopher Eriksen. You clicked to open it fully, Spencer already reading ahead of you.

“They found bruises all over his body when he was put into foster care,” he read aloud, his voice tense as the words sank in.

You leaned forward, your breath catching. “This is it,” you murmured. “His parents— they must’ve bought into that ‘perfect family’ image of the neighborhood, but behind closed doors, they were hiding this. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like for him? Everyone thinking his parents were saints, while they were hurting him? All the while, they’re the ones who get a memorial bench, their lives celebrated while they tortured him.”

“It was on Christmas that he was put into foster care. Now, it’s the first Christmas since he’s been out. It makes sense to go back to the place where it all started,” Spencer concluded.

“I need to go there,” you said urgently, slamming the laptop shut.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Spencer asked, bewildered. He immediately followed you as you rushed to the door, still in your pajamas. “You’re not seriously planning on going out like that?”

“It’s just a quick peek. I need to see if I was right about the bench,” you said, almost to yourself, already focused on the task ahead. You didn’t even glance behind you as you pulled on your shoes and yanked open the front door, wrapping Spencer’s cardigan tighter around yourself to ward off the cold.

In moments like these, Spencer knew exactly who had trained you. You were unmistakably like Gideon—determined, single-minded, and often impulsive once your mind was set. And that, in turn, always left Spencer in a state of mild panic.

“You can’t drive at night,” he said, his voice rising with concern as he followed you into the snow-covered yard. “You have nyctalopia!”

You didn’t stop, your focus unwavering. “You should take night-blindness seriously, it takes forever for your pupils to dilate, and by that time, you’ve already missed the stop sign or, I don’t know, hit a pothole or something. Your contrast sensitivity goes down, so objects blend into the background, and—did I mention the glare from headlights? Because that’s a huge problem, and it makes it worse! You’re already having trouble seeing, and now the glare from every car that passes is just blinding you. It's like trying to navigate in a fog, but it’s just light fog, which—okay, that’s a really bad analogy, but you get the point!”

His words fell into the background as you continued walking, your mind fully occupied with proving your theory. The case had been driving you mad. If you could just confirm that the bench was broken—that Christopher was the one who’d done it in a moment of anger—everything would click. The case would be solved. You’d give the Reynolds family peace. And, selfishly, you’d give yourself peace.

“Please,” Spencer begged, now standing in front of the car door, blocking your path. “If you’re going, at least let me drive.”

His comment made you halt in front of the car. “You hate driving,” you pointed out.

“I’d rather be uncomfortable for a few minutes than risk something happening to you,” he admitted.

You stared at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for how much he cared, how he believed your theory and was willing to go along with you. 

You reached out and took his hands. It was a gesture he rarely tolerated from anyone, but you’d learned over the years that Spencer appreciated it when it came from you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Thanks, Spence,” you said softly, the words simple but your voice full of appreciation.

He swallowed, his eyes softening as he nodded. “We’ll just take a quick look, right?”

“I swear,” you promised, a reassuring smile tugging at your lips. “Just a quick look.”

He sighed, still clearly uneasy but unwilling to argue. You handed him the car keys and moved to the passenger side, sliding into the seat. 

—————

Spencer slowed the car as you neared the familiar area, the headlights casting long shadows over the snowy driveway.

"Let’s stop the car here," you suggested. The thought crossed your mind just in time—it would be very inappropriate to drive into a quiet neighborhood with an unknown car at this hour, especially after a murder had taken place.

You and Spencer stepped out of the car, the cold biting at your skin as you walked side by side. You stayed close to him, partly to keep warm, partly to follow his tracks through the snow, the dark pressing in around you. The Christmas lights that had lit up the neighborhood earlier were now off, leaving everything shrouded in an eerie quiet.

You made your way to the bench. Your hand skimmed over the smooth wood, lingering on the top right corner where you felt a distinct break—something sharp and jagged where a piece had clearly been broken off. You exhaled in relief. You were right.

Spencer’s hand shot out to gently grab your wrist, his fingers warm against the cold night air. "Careful," he said, his voice low but insistent. "You don’t want splinters. Stay here, I’ll grab a flashlight from the car."

You nodded, watching as his footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick darkness around you.

Alone now, you scanned the area. Everything was still and silent, save for the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Your eyes were drawn to a dim light flickering from inside the rebuilt house where the Eriksens used to live, just past the bench. Curiosity nudged you forward, and before you could second-guess yourself, your feet were already moving toward the light.

You crept closer to the window, standing on your toes to peer inside. The house was barely furnished, still very much in the process of being worked on before it could be sold. You pressed your hands against the cold glass, forming makeshift goggles with your fingers, your face just inches away from the window as you tried to get a better look.

A sudden pressure on your stomach snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could react, an arm tightened around your waist, yanking you away from the glass. For a brief moment you thought Spencer was playing some kind of prank, trying to startle you—but the movement was so fast and forceful, you knew Spencer would never grab you that aggressively.

Your gasp caught in your throat, immediately silenced as a cold, rough hand clamped over your mouth. Panic surged, but your body went stiff when the sharp edge of a knife pressed to your throat. You didn’t need any further confirmation that this was the unsub.

"I don’t know who you are," the voice rasped, low and dangerous, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. "But you shouldn’t have shown up here."

The tension in his voice was unmistakable. You could feel his rage, his plan disrupted by your unexpected presence. Every instinct screamed at you to fight back, but you remained frozen, knowing that one wrong move could end it all.

“I didn’t plan on killing anyone innocent, but you’ve put yourself in this situation,” he spat, his grip tightening on the knife.

In that fleeting moment, you made a decision. Taking a leap of faith, you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. The sudden bite startled him, and by sheer luck, he loosened his grip on the weapon.

“Christopher!” You shouted, the name ringing out with urgency.

It was enough to catch him off guard. In that instant, you turned, quickly positioning yourself with a better angle. He was taller than you—still, just a boy, consumed by something far beyond his control. His pain was evident, lurking beneath the fury in his eyes. You knew this wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Who are you?” His voice was strained, the words gripping with suspicion and confusion.

“I’m here to help you,” you said sincerely, keeping your voice steady.

“No, you’re not,” he denied.

“I swear I am. I know what happened to you. I know what your parents did to you.”

Without warning, he shoved you hard against the house. Your head slammed into the window, a sharp pain exploding in your skull. “You don’t know anything!” he screamed.

“I do, Christopher. I do!” The words came from a place of desperation, your breath ragged. “I understand. I know how much this eats at you, how alone you feel because you’re the only one who knows the truth. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. The truth will come out. People will know what your parents did, what really happened here. You’ll get what you want, the world will see that they’re not perfect.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something soft, vulnerable. 

“They all knew what happened!” He said in anger, pointing at the houses surrounding you. “They all knew and no one said anything!” He shook his head, “I’ll never get what I want. It’s too late for that.” he muttered bitterly.

Despite his words, you felt a flicker of hope. He was talking. He was listening. That had to count for something.

“It’s not too late, Christopher,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “I thought the same thing once. But family… family isn’t just the people you’re born to. You can build your own, one that will love you despite everything. I’ve got that family now.”

He swallowed hard, his face momentarily flickering with doubt. “I wish I could believe you,” he said, his voice quiet, tinged with regret.

And then, in a flash, his arm shot out. Instinctively, you braced yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable strike.

As the seconds stretched on, memories—both regrets and cherished moments—flashed before your eyes, a cruel reminder of everything you had to lose.

But then, a loud thud echoed in the night. Christopher crumpled to the ground, his body going limp. You whipped your head up, heart in throat, and saw Spencer standing behind him, the butt of his gun covered in blood, the impact of the blow knocking Christopher out cold. 

A shaky breath escaped you, half a sob, half a gasp of relief. You stumbled toward Spencer, your legs nearly giving out as you threw yourself into his arms. 

“I’m so sorry,” you cried into his chest, voice cracking. “I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

He shushed you softly, brushing a hand through your hair as he held you close. “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Twenty minutes later, the team and the police arrived. Spencer had called Hotch the second you’d calmed down enough, and by the time they got there, Christopher was still passed out. The officers dragged him into the back of their car, while JJ and Prentiss took it upon themselves to reassure the neighbors that they had someone in custody.

You knew exactly what was coming when Hotch finally made his way over to you and Spencer, but your head was pounding too much to care.

Hotch scanned the two of you with a sharp, disapproving look. “Really? You went to catch an unsub in your pajamas?”

“The whole ‘catching the unsub’ thing wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” you muttered, wincing slightly as the headache flared.

Hotch exhaled sharply, then turned to Spencer, his gaze a little more pointed. “I could’ve expected this from her, but I expected better from you, Reid.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, knowing there was no defense. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Hotch gave a sigh in response, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m too tired to deal with the two of you right now. I expect to see both of you in my office in the morning.”

“Actually, I checked all the rooms in the cabin, and there’s no office. Which is surprising, considering—”

“Spence,” you interrupted him with a nudge of your elbow.

He shot you a tight-lipped look, turning back to Hotch. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

—————

The second you closed the car door behind you and buckled your seatbelt, you passed out. You’d always slept best during car rides, and especially now, with your mind much quieter now that Christopher Eriksen wasn’t your problem anymore.

When you finally arrived back at the cabin, you were still sound asleep. Derek told Spencer to wake you, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he carefully made his way to your side of the car, unbuckling your seatbelt. He lifted you into his arms, trying not to huff too loudly as he carried you through the thick snow. He made his way up the stairs quickly, hoping Penelope wouldn’t notice the wet tracks from his boots inside the house—he couldn’t take them off while holding you.

He was glad you were in your pajamas as he gently laid you on the bed. He walked over to the closet, grabbing some extra blankets and draping them over you, hoping it would help you regain some warmth.

Then, he crawled into bed beside you. Closer than he would’ve dared if you were awake, not quite touching, but close enough to share body heat. His gaze lingered on you, watching how peaceful you looked. The night had been a lot to handle, but he knew he’d do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.

The bright light reflected off the snow outside, filtering into the room. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes, the movement only making your headache worse. You huffed and carefully opened your eyes, being met with the sight of Spencer. His hair was a curly mess, and a small, warm smile painted his face.

“Hey, how’s your head?” he asked softly.

The events of last night rushed back to you, and you groaned again. “So, all of that really happened?”

“It did,” Spencer confirmed.

“I really hoped I just got drunk on too much Glühwein,” you sighed, wincing at the thought.

“You can still do that tonight,” he teased.

“No,” you muttered in disgust. “I need to recover from this first.”

You glanced over at him again, seeing the concern still shining in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that situation last night,” you said quietly. “Everything about it was just... stupid.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on going, who knows who else he could’ve hurt,” Spencer pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.” You thought about it for a second, the weight lifting slightly. “Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”

“I’m glad I went with you,” Spencer said, his voice softening. “If I hadn’t... I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you. I would never forgive myself if I wouldn’t have been there in time.”

You gave a heavy sigh, turning your gaze to the ceiling. “That’s why it’s probably best we stay friends,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. Despite Emily’s pep talk, this was proof that it wouldn’t be wise to start something serious with Spencer.

“Friends instead of what?” Spencer asked, his voice higher, as if eager to hear the answer.

“Instead of us dating,” you said, almost offhandedly, not realizing you were speaking aloud about something you’d never discussed before, even though the topic would come up eventually.

Spencer froze, his eyes wide, hope flickering in them as he looked at you. “You would date me?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You froze too, catching up with the fact that you had said that out loud. Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately turned your gaze to the ceiling, not daring to look at his expression.

“Uh—hypothetically,” you stammered, scrambling to cover your tracks.

“You would hypothetically date me?”

You swallowed, still too flustered to look at him. “Yes. If... you would, I mean. If you wanted that, too...?”

Spencer was silent for a beat, his gaze never leaving you. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” you answered, your voice steady despite the racing thoughts in your head.

He slowly moved closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You flinched back instinctively, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his expression apologetic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your heart beating faster.

“You said you’d want to date me,” he murmured, his voice unsure.

“Yes, but—” you stopped yourself as the realization hit that he was planning to kiss you. “Oh.”

Tentatively, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. You leaned in a little, but this time it was him who pulled back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Kissing you.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, his tongue darting over his lips. “Okay.”

You smiled softly, then closed the distance, your lips gently pressing to his.

Spencer hummed in satisfaction, both of you staying like that for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away. You were the first to break the kiss, catching your breath. If it were up to Spencer, he’d keep his lips on yours forever.

Your eyes fluttered open, faces still inches apart. Spencer cupped your face and pulled you back in, placing several soft pecks on your lips before he leaned on his arm, slightly hovering over you as he deepened the kiss.

You tried to mirror his movements, but a sharp pain shot through your skull. “Ouch,” you hissed, pulling back.

“Just lay down, let me take care of you,” Spencer assured, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. You slowly lower yourself onto your back, the soft sheets crinkling beneath you, and Spencer moves above you, the blankets still covering both of you.

His lips found yours again. He kept them slightly parted, giving you the chance to slide your tongue against his. The world outside seemed to disappear as you melted into each other, lips moving in sync.

The kisses become more heated, each one a little deeper than the last. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, the other hand resting on your side, his touch sending little sparks of warmth wherever it brushed.

You could feel the heat between you growing. “I’m so warm…” you mumbled against his lips. 

His eyes darkened slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was rough as his fingers lightly trailed over the buttons of your pyjama shirt. “Do you want me to take this off?”

You nodded, and he slowly started undoing each button with purposeful care. His gaze flickering between your eyes and the exposed skin. He let out a moan when your shirt finally fell open, his eyes taking you in. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out in awe, before pressing his lips to yours again. 

You responded eagerly, your hands fumbling between your bodies to undo his shirt in the same way. You slid the fabric off his shoulders, letting your hands run over the muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin. 

He gently pressed his body weight down on you, and you shuddered at the feeling of your nipples pressing against his bare chest.

His lips delicately kissed your face, until he reached your ear. He nipped at your lobe, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Do you like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You answered in a soft moan, your body arching into him. He didn’t need to ask again; he could tell you were enjoying this as much as he was.

His lips slid lower, kissing and sucking on your neck, while his hand slid down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

His mouth moved to your collarbone, and then he teasingly dipped lower.

“God, Spence,” you softly moaned as he placed a wet kiss on your lower stomach. “That feels so good.”

His hand, which has been resting on your breast, trails down until it reaches the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“More, please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips instinctively. His fingers slide around the band as he slowly pulls them down, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

He lowers himself onto his stomach on the mattress. With a tender touch, he lifts your legs over his shoulders.

“Is this okay?”

For a moment, you’ve lost yourself in his gaze—those warm brown eyes looking up at you, his pink lips swollen from his kisses…

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond, nodding.

You moaned as his mouth made contact with your inner thighs, his tongue warm and wet against your skin. He took his time, kissing his way to the sensitive spot where you needed him most.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice shaky with need.

The anticipation was unbearable as his hot breath tickled you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer. Slowly, his tongue flicked over your pussy, and you gasped, your body trembling at the touch.

He moaned in response, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue swirling in soft, teasing motions that had your hips lifting off the bed in search of more. 

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, before repeating the motion, licking you again and again, while he grinded himself against the matress.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body quivering as he continued. He alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his finger moving up and down your pussy until it entered you gently, then slowly adding another, the stretch an overwhelming pleasure. 

You gasped his name, your body writhing beneath him as the pressure built with every move. “Spencer… please, don’t stop…” you begged, voice thick with need.

His fingers curled inside you, pressing just the right spot as his tongue continued swirling around you. Your legs started trembling as you reached the edge.

“I’m—“ you gasped, but the words dissolved into a string of moans as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your legs were shaking as you came undone, clenching around his fingers, your hips bucking against his mouth. 

Spencer didn’t stop, though. He kept going at a gentle pace, letting you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. Then, he slowly pulled away, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, eyes wide and full of wonder. 

“Was that good?” he asked softly, licking his lips. 

You laughed breathlessly as you nodded, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Come here,” you whispered seductively, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, which only added to your arousal.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with desire, his forehead pressed to yours. “I need you. I need to be inside of you.”

You nodded, moving your hand down his body, feeling the hardness of him against your palm. He helped you pull his pants down, and you stroked him gently, feeling him twitch in your hand before guiding him toward your entrance. He let out a low groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pushed into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent.

You could feel every inch of him, every movement as his cock repeatedly hit those places inside that made your head spin. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his ragged breaths.

“You’re so warm,” Spencer whimpered. “So perfect for me.” 

Your hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, your body moving with his. His pace quickened, and you couldn’t hold back the desperate cries that escaped you. 

“Spencer… I’m so close,” you gasped.

“Me too,” he moaned, his hips slamming into yours. “Let me come with you. Please, let me come with you.”

You nodded, your body trembling. “Now, Spencer…” you begged in a breathless plea.

His breath hitched, his body tensing as he gave one last deep thrust, and then, with a loud, guttural moan, he came inside you. You followed a moment later, your body clenching around him as you fell apart. 

The room was filled with nothing but your ragged breaths, the sound of two bodies, tangled in a quiet, shared moment of bliss. Spencer collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“That was… perfect,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.

You smiled softly as you placed your head on his chest, fingers lazily tracing his stomach. “Yeah,” you said in a breath, your heart full of him. “It really was.”

You let out a soft groan as Spencer stood up, and you instinctively reached for his hand, pulling him back toward you. “Don’t go yet,” you pouted.

Spencer smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, wrapping a blanket around his waist before walking to the corner of the room. He rummaged through his bag, his back turned to you for a moment as you blatantly checked him out.

“I miss you,” you murmured, leaning back into the pillows.

He chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not even five feet away from you.”

You shrugged, your voice a little teasing. “Still feels like you're miles away.”

With a smile, he walked back toward you, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hands behind his back. “Which hand?” he playfully asked.

“Left,” you replied without hesitation.

He swiftly shifted the small box he’d been holding from his right hand to his left, then grinned, revealing the gift. “Here you go.”

You blinked in surprise. “That was your present?” you asked, your voice filled with wonder as you recognized the familiar wrapping Garcia had handed you the day before.

Spencer nodded, watching you closely. “Yeah. Open it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the gift, your heart racing with excitement. Beneath the paper was a velvet black jewelry box. You glanced up at Spencer, your eyes searching his for reassurance. He gave a soft nod, his smile encouraging.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, you opened the box—and there, nestled inside, was the most stunning heart-shaped locket you’d ever seen.

“Oh my God, Spencer,” you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

A shy smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “It used to be my mom’s,” he said. “She doesn’t wear jewelry much anymore, but she wanted me to keep it... to give it to someone special one day.”

Your heart melted at the thought, and you looked at him with newfound tenderness, the weight of his gesture sinking in. 

“She was happy when I told her I wanted to give it to you,” he added, his eyes soft with sincerity.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Your mom knows about me?”

Spencer nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I tell her pretty much everything. She likes hearing about you most.”

“Why?” You curiously asked.

Spencer's smile deepened, and he looked down at his lap for a moment, as though gathering courage. When he looked up at you again, his eyes were soft, full of love.

“Because you make me happy.”

After your intimate moment with Spencer, the inevitable conversation with Hotch had to happen. Just before the talk, Hotch received a call from the lab confirming the DNA found on the Reynolds matched Christopher Eriksen’s—meaning the bittersweet news of Christopher going to prison.

“I still don’t get how the two smartest people on the team act like half a brain when they’re together,” Hotch had said with a half-smile, glancing at you and Spencer. “But… you did good work.”

—————

Later that morning, Emily spotted you, her eyes immediately drawn to the locket around your neck. “Fancy,” she commented, her smirk growing as she cocked an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you absently played with the necklace, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s Spencer’s. He gave it to me.”

Emily’s smirk turned into a knowing smile, and you could see the proud glint in her eyes. “You two are something else.”

—————

Throughout the day you and Spencer did your own thing, trying to act casual in front of the team—yet every time his hand brushed your back or he leaned in for a quick kiss in the empty hallway, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as he played chess with Rossi, your eyes catching his in those fleeting moments.

You felt Spencer’s presence behind you like a familiar warmth as you stood in the kitchen. He slipped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be such a romantic?” you mused, running your fingers through his hair, the feeling of him against you enough to make your heart race.

His lips hummed against your skin. “It’s your fault,” he stated, his voice thick with affection. “You drive me crazy.”

You tugged him up the stairs to your shared room, pushing him playfully onto the bed. You stood between his legs as you began to slowly peel away your clothes, revealing the red laced lingerie set Derek had gifted you during Secret Santa.

“Never thought I’d be thanking Derek for gifting you this,” Spencer mused, his hands sliding up and down your legs, a smirk displayed on his lips.

You smiled, tracing his jaw with your thumb, the heat between you growing. “What do you think of checking out the hot tub?” you purred.

He swallowed nervously, his eyes flicking down to his lap. You rolled your eyes as you responded in a sigh, “You can choose the temperature.”

Before you could say another word, he scooped you up, lifting you over his shoulder with a playful slap to your ass. You yelped, giggling as he carried you off toward the bathroom.

—————

The cabin was large, but unfortunately not big enough to avoid Garcia, so you knew what was coming when you heard the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hallway floor. She was heading straight toward you, her finger pointing accusingly at you.

“I slept with Spencer.” you hurriedly spilled out before she could say something.

She stopped in her tracks. Her face went through a thousand different expressions in the blink of an eye—confusion, disbelief, excitement—before she finally let out a high-pitched squeal. “You... you slept with Spencer?”

“Twice,” you giddily answered, the smile creeping across your face before you could stop it.

Garcia’s expression finally broke into a huge grin, and without missing a beat, she grabbed your hands and started bouncing on the spot. “Derek is gonna lose his mind!”

You barely had time to protest before she was already up the stairs.

As the end of the day drew near, the group gathered around the fire pit in the backyard, cocoa mugs in hand, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces. 

“Are you sure your phone is on silent?” Garcia asked Hotch, eyeing him with suspicion.

“I’m sure, Garcia,” Hotch replied with a small smile.

She was satisfied, her focus shifting to Rossi. “The honor is yours. You may present the last Secret Santa gift.”

Rossi cleared his throat, glancing around awkwardly. “Now, this might sound like a cheap excuse for forgetting to buy a present…” Laughter rippled through the group, and Garcia shot him an offended look. “But... I think I can speak for all of us when I say the best gift is us being together in this beautiful location.”

He turned to Hotch, his voice genuine. “Aaron, you’ve built a good team here. A good family. You should be proud.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his eyes briefly glancing over the group, the weight of the moment settling on him. “I am. Thank you, David.”

And for the first time, you didn’t question whether you deserved a place in this loving, dysfunctional family—you knew you belonged.

[quzen]

A lovely Happy Birthday to Aya!!

(his birthday is Dec 25th)

Summon: It's far too early for this....Where is my book??

Groovification: My Birthday isn't an excuse to wake me up like this....Though I suppose i can get back to reading.

Home: Do you want to hear about the story I read?

Swap Looks: I hoped the hood would make me less approachable...instead it just gets Atlas to poke fun at it...

Home Transition 1: I think I'll find myself more books today...or a new game. I deserve at least that on my Birthday....

Home Transition 2: Atlas feels the need to drag me out and about for my birthday after he figured it out....I wish he wouldn't.

Home Transition 3: I got a gift from Riddle today, a book I hadn't read yet. We haven't spoke much but I appreciated it.

Home Transition - Login: Sigh...Seriously? Can't even have a break today?

Home Transition - Groovy: I'm pretty sure Housewarden saw me trip over my own two feet while reading...I can't tell if me or him was more embarrassed by that....

Home Tap 1: Don't get used to seeing this...it's embarrassing enough.

Home Tap 2: Despite not having any plans myself, Atlas has practically a schedule for my birthday. I haven't even spoken to half of those people or care for half the activities...But I appreciate that hes trying I guess.

Home Tap 3: Cater got me star lights for my birthday. I'd say I'm not sure how he knew, but i think i know who told him so. Still don't know how he knew I liked stars though...

Home Tap 4: Back home, Ma would've made a cake and a bunch of sweets for today. I'm not particularly fond of them but she made them so, maybe I'll bring some from home some point.

Home Tap 5: I think i may hide away with the Hockey club for the rest of the day, I can at least rely on Mozie not to make a big deal of this...I'd stay in my dorm room but well, Atlas would find me...

Home Tap - Groovy: Oh? You're interested in this book? I'm slowly working through it, but Riddle had given it to me a while back. It's actually pretty good, coming from him that is ehehe.

Duo: [Aya]: Birthday wishes....from you? That's unexpected... [Cater]: Well it is your Birthday! Can even do a photo for the occasion. (might be a bit long apologies)

Birthday Login Message: Hello... Eh? My Birthday? It's really not that big of a deal as others make it out to be. Atlas had me dragged out all day so I'd rather not deal with more social gatherings, even if they had been a little fun....If you really want to celebrate with me, we can play a game or read..quietly.

If you wish to have the Ignihyde Relax BG blank feel free to ask!

[mini-ism]

#— HOLIDAY LIGHTS.

pairings: lighter x afab!gn!reader [MDNI]

words: 3,300

synopsis: he hated the way those cheery holiday lights made him feel so small the night you rejected him. yet, he still answers every time you call. that shred of hope will never die, especially not as it gets cold.

warnings: p in v, biting, kissing/making out, creampie, oral sex/cunnilingus, friends with benefits type relationship (can be read as reader and lighter get together after the fic), lethal amounts of pining, rejection, grinding/dry humping, nipple sucking/licking, unprotected intercourse, afab reader (gender neutral, no pronouns/feminine terms). 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

notes: crossposted to AO3. merry pissmas losers. ily!!

it was a force of habit, always a call away.

ever since his boxing days, he was a call away.

“hello?” his husky voice could be heard on your end. it was getting cold out, the season lonelier when alone.

“lighter!” you spoke happily, almost relieved he’d answered. when didn’t he answer your call? even when he was busy at the time, he managed to return the call, managed to ask you “what’s up?”

in a heartbeat, you could hear his smile through his words and tone, he filled in the blank. “you want me to come over? you know, it’s the holiday season, can’t leave you feeling lonely.”

you laughed, an involuntary, fond, and soft noise. “yeah, could you do that? it’s been a while since i’ve seen you. …maybe you could be my gift?”

he chuckled on the other end, letting a bit of a snort through, “you bet. i’ll be there soon.”

you could only manage to tidy your bedroom before he was knocking at your door, the knocks gentle but persistent. you opened the door for him, standing in his usual attire. he waved hi, making haste to immediately settle in like it was his home too. “you missed me already?”

lighter’s words carried a teasing lilt to them, “well of course i did.” you answered him honestly, perhaps even a bit shyly. he smirked, the expression not entirely smug, carrying a layer of humility.

“well, i missed you too,” he turned to you after hanging his jacket on the back of the nearest chair, outstretching his arms, “come here.”

you obliged, scoffing at his endearment, letting his arms wrap tightly around you. his hug was secure, full of warmth and strength, a level of love underneath the surface of it all. you and him were quite familiar, your bond deep and connection deeper. he had met you when he was still fighting in the ember arena, misery behind his swollen eyes and bruises littering his battered body. yet, you never took him for what he seemed to be — a ruthless man with nothing but his life to put on the line.

hadn’t it been around this time he first kissed you? when he gave you his breathless confession? he tore off his boxing gloves, nose trickling with blood as his diaphragm stuttered with each breath. lighter had taken a particularly ugly punch to the gut, every last bit of oxygen in his lungs getting beat out of him. it still hurt to breathe, and that punch was sure to leave a hideous bruise on his … washboard abs.

as the champagne-golden and multicolored christmas lights illuminated the streets above and around the city, he huffed out an honest admission. a declaration of deep love, a sparkle igniting behind his dark and tired eyes.

you could only tell him that now wasn’t right. that, as much as you loved him back, he needed to get out of here most, that there was still so much interpersonal work to be done for yourselves. his ego was terribly hurt, the beating he took insurmountable to the pain of a slight rejection. but still, you called.

the attraction was palpable, undeniable, tangible. his name was spoken on your lips like a prayer, reverent and begging for his mercy. you begged him like he wholly owned you. the ache in his ego was replaced with a strange swell of pride, the look in your gaze unmistakable as he approached you. you stared at him with those pretty, twinkling eyes, that look beckoning him for his mercy and cruelty, to treat you as his for another night.

lighter would always oblige you. sure, that pain that shattered his fragile ego mended, and yeah, the way you practically worshipped him inflated it further. he was convinced that not even time could rip you away from him, that as he became a different man with new goals and a better set of priorities, you remained in his life. he turned down everyone, a silent part of his heart naively hoping that eventually you’d throw yourself onto him like a damsel in distress. you’d profess your equally passionate love for him, and that you were ready to be his only. he’d always pick up your call.

lighter loosened his grip slightly, bringing you back to reality as a small bit of chill crept in, “it’s always nice to see you.”

you smiled, the affection in his voice oozing with sincerity. you could feel him beginning to shuffle towards your room, holding you tight as you began to backpedal. he released an arm around you to gingerly shut the door behind him, the limb stretching somewhat awkwardly as he smothered you in himself. you couldn’t complain, the man smelled incredible and he was warm as a radiator.

his hands were immediately on you again, moving upwards to cup your face. he couldn’t stop himself from smooshing your cheeks together, stifling a laugh. lighter dove in to peck your lips, mimicking them with a puckered look of his own, the sight was thoroughly amusing.

he couldn’t stop himself after one kiss, the kisses becoming progressively less silly. his hands lessened the puckered tension of your lips and cheeks. he gently caressed your face with his thumbs as his lips deepened the kiss. his lips grazed yours, every second of contact drove him further into a frenzied need. your lips on his always felt so right, so soft and gentle. the way you tasted left him craving something that was so uniquely you, that couldn’t be emulated or sought anywhere else. his tongue was granted entrance, mingling with yours in a familiar way.

lighter softly groaned, the sound coming from deep within his chest. he never got tired of feeling your tongue on his. whatever taste your lips had, your tongue was better, it was stronger. his kiss was heated and passionate, seeking that comfort that you brought his soul, your presence a healing balm. he could bask in it for as long as he lives, until his existence is a fading shred fighting the winds of time. his hands came to your waist, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, breaking the kiss to lift your shirt over your head. lighter’s breathing was ragged, eyes carrying the recognizable spark of need behind the darkly tinted lenses.

you stood in front of him, chest bare, your nipples hardening. he could never get tired of those tits, eyes immediately flicking down to look at them. his face was dusted with a soft pink color, peeling off his right glove to get a bare feel. his calloused fingers immediately came up to pinch the nipple softly, rolling it under his thumb and on the side of his index finger. the pressure was enough to make you wince in a delightful pain, drawing your lip between your teeth. his bare hand palmed the swell of your chest, groping as much boob as he could in his large hand. the sensation of your soft skin against his rough palm got him harder than he wanted to admit, you still had that effect on him after years. “…fuuuuck.”

lighter’s curse came out as more of a hiss, a quiet admission of arousal. he quickly pulled off his other glove, letting it carelessly land on your floor next to your shirt. his hands immediately roving back onto your chest, squeezing and kneading as much as he could.

your eyes were lidded, vision growing hazy and careless. you could feel him lift you up, hoisting you high enough to latch his mouth onto one of your tits. his arms were strong and tight around your body, carefully bringing you over to your bed. his mouth was unfocused and lazy, tongue lapping at the bud to stiffen it every time he felt it soften. lighter guided you down onto your sheets, laying himself above you.

lighter’s lips immediately lavished attention onto the other nipple, taking it between his teeth and sucking it with a pop. you could feel his cock hardening in his pants as he laid on you, hips rocking every few seconds. “you have no idea how much i love doing this…” he muttered between breaths.

lighter trailed kisses from your sternum to your clavicle and up your neck. you could feel his breath tickle your ear and his lips drag along your pulse point. his hands travelled down your abdomen, to your lower waist, trailing his tongue down your carotid slowly. lighter savored the whimper you let out for him. “that’s right, baby, let me hear you.”

lighter pressed a sloppy kiss to the junction of your collarbone and neck, tongue licking along the light bite marks he left on your skin to tease you. his fingers pressed into your sides harder, grinding his hips and cock against the flesh of your thigh beneath him.

his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, pulling them off with your underwear. lighter parted your thighs with a particularly large and muscular thigh of his own. you carded your fingers through his hair with a sigh, giving him a gentle look. lighter returned it with a smile, letting his lips kiss their way down your body. he replaced his thigh with his face, nuzzling the inside of your thigh as he laid prone on your bee. he pressed his erection into the sheets, grunting as the friction provided him with growing arousal disguised as relief. lighter nipped the inside of your thigh playfully, giving the quivering skin a kiss as a mock apology.

as he dove in, tongue first, he held eye contact with you. he allowed you to remove the sunglasses covering his eyes, the sight of you bearable to the rest of the world. his tongue flicked at your clit, sucking and kissing the sensitive slit between your legs. your fingers worked in his hair, his arms snaking around your thighs to press you closer to his mouth. he shut his eyes, rolling his hips against the soft sheets beneath him.

you had always been more than bearable in his heart, in his eyes. you were probably the only person rooting for him in an arena full of people cheering on his downfall. it had all become too much, the sights, the sounds, the smells. the sunglasses became his weird coping mechanism, serving more than their original purpose. he could only handle parting with them when he was with you, you were the only person that didn’t look at him harshly. you didn’t tell him to fight for you, you’d be the only person to clean his wounds and wash all the dreaded blood out of his hair.

that kiss he gave you during his confession was the only gift he could give you during the season. he was still flat broke, struggling to keep it together. he wasn’t living his life, he was watching it through those pretty green eyes of his. you were the only one to cut through the zombie-like haze of his mundane life. he had nothing material to provide you with, though his soul screamed at him to fight more matches, scrape up enough money doing odd jobs. yet, the way you looked at him had him feeling like all you wanted was him. although you kissed him back that night, he still couldn’t shake the looming doubt clouding his judgement. those holiday lights were hurting his eyes.

it had him filled with a strange sense of jealousy, envy. they were bright and admired, even through all the years of wear and harsh weather. people loved those lights, they would go out just to see them. they would seek them out, they were the substance of holiday nostalgia, something to decorate with and gawk at. he felt small and incomparable to the barrage of festive lights and cheer that night. it was stupid, he knew, but it was real.

a sharp tug on his hair pulled him out of his thoughts. you were breathing heavily, body shaking with pleasure as he mindlessly ate you out. his tongue was coated with a thick sheen of your cum, pussy quivering as you trembled. he didn’t need to use his fingers to get you to come this time, you must have really missed him. he gave your cunt another thorough lick, a long stripe to collect as much cum as he could on his tongue. it left you in agonizing pleasure, the sensation causing you to buck your hips and sob.

he loved the way you tasted. your skin, your lips, your tongue, even your pussy. he could eat it for days, he would if you’d let him. “can’t get enough.” he swallowed down the rest of your cum on his taste buds, the tangy taste lingering.

he had neglected his own body, too. he could feel the sticky pre-cum pooling in his boxers, cock twitching. his dick was begging him for attention, to at least grind on something, to let him bury himself inside you without a thought. his eyes were glassy, his stare magnetic and alluring. lighter’s hair was tousled and messy, his green eyes shining with arousal. it had you wishing he didn’t hide those pretty eyes away from the world, remembering that you’re lucky he still has them, even after all those black eyes and that horrible injury he sustained years ago.

he rose, settling himself differently between your thighs. your body was trembling, but your eyes conveyed full trust in him. you watched as he lifted off his own skin-tight undershirt, the scars along his body speckling his skin. the texture was different from his much softer skin, each with its own unique story. had he listened to you, maybe he wouldn’t have half of them. you still diligently kissed each one when you could, caressing his chest lovingly. his scars were never something he was ashamed of, just a reminder of reality, a reminder that the world isn't what it seems. you say they make him look sexy, so that isn’t half bad either.

the dog-tags around his neck jingled as he unbuckled his belt, throwing it aside with the rest of the clothes on the floor. he couldn’t be reminded to care, palming the prominent bulge in his pants instead. his face was red with lust, sweat dripping from his chest and beading around his hairline, soaking into his soft locks. lighter deftly unzipped his fly, reaching down into his boxers with a sultry drag of his fingers. he traced them down his lower abs, lower, lower…

you could see the outline of his hand stroking his cock through the fabric of his boxers, eventually freeing his dick from its confines. his size never failed to take your breath away, lighter still had to break you in each time. years of fucking, yet you could never get fully used to his cock. he stroked it a few times with a heavy sigh, a noise he reserved for his time with you. “nobody one could get me hard like you,” he mused, “i don’t think i can get hard thinking about anyone that isn’t you at this point. you have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

fuck, if that didn’t turn you on… you moaned, squirming and writhing in arousal, just from his honest thoughts. “lighter, take me. i don’t want anyone else’s dick, just yours.” your voice was strained, laden with burning hot need. you could feel the coil in your gut tighten with every one of his grunts. his voice was so sexy and deep, so smooth and soothing, soft when he wanted it to be.

“i thought you’d never ask,” lighter teased, collecting your wetness at the head of his cock, pushing in slightly with just the tip. you let out a whine, the sound throaty. you looked to him, who was already looking down at you with a loving smile. he pulled back out, the tip of his cock barely slid inside you. lighter’s hand came up to stabilize your leg at the hamstrings, the other aiding his cock inside with practiced ease. he winced in deep pleasure as your pussy graciously accepted his length, you were much wetter than usual too.

he couldn’t help but throw his head back after your cunt took the fattest part of his cock, burying himself to the base, his shaft coated in your wetness. “fuck, you want all of this?”

you gasped as he rocked his hips further into yours, the head of his cock hitting your cervix. you grit your teeth, jaw held tight as he pulled out slowly, dragging his hips out, before slamming back in. he took note of the lewd expression you made, jaw loosening as he fucked back into you, each thrust faster than the last, the pause in between shortening. you looked so hot like that, taking his dick just as you should. it’s got him realizing his love for you has grown even more over the years. it felt less like a trauma bond, blossoming into a deep and profound appreciation, an attraction that his brain can’t handle processing without short-circuiting a little bit. lighter’s expression mirrored yours, his face flushed, hair sticking to his face as he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and held it.

he had gradually increased his pace, the sound of skin against skin gradually getting louder. your bed started to rock against the wall, his hands grabbing the undersides of your thighs tightly. he didn’t dare to look away from you, from your eyes. your pussy was already an eyeful, getting all wet and tight like that, but fuck, the faces you made as you got close made him even harder. hard enough to dick you down into your mattress.

lighter hadn’t silenced you at all, matching your moans with fervor. his hips slammed against yours, groaning and huffing louder. his muscles were wound with the same tightness and tension as yours, your pussy getting unbearably tight with every shaky exhale. “come on, that’s it, lemme hear you. let me feel you come on me, i want you to cum on my dick. can you do that? fuck, fuck…”

his brows furrowed in concentration, his rhythmically rocking into you with a brutal force. the bed frame was squeaking and moving underneath you both, masked by the shared sounds of pleasure and sex. the intense pressure in your gut was rearing its head, coming to a climax, little babbles falling from your lips. “lighter, gonna— i’ll, fuck, ohh… fuck, fuck, lighter! lighter!”

your hips frantically pushed against his, beckoning him deeper, harder. with a particularly loud mewl, your back arched off the bed, wailing in pleasure as your climax washed over every tense muscle in your body. lighter didn’t stop, the pace maintained and ruthless as he chased his own orgasm. “yeah? yeah, just like that, you feel too fuckin’ good. think i’m gonna cum too.” a faint jingle could be heard in the heat of passion, the silver colored dog-tags dangling off his neck with each thrust. “take care of this pussy every time you want me, oh, fuck—”

his final words were strained with pleasure, his own body twitching as his balls drew up tight. he rutted his hips a few times in and out, fucking his cum into you with uncharacteristically deep and desperate moans. his hands shook, palms clammy and body quivering with the after effects of sex.

lighter leaned down to give you a tentative kiss, one akin to the first gift he ever gave you. it was slow, explorative, devoted. he leaned into your neck, nibbling on your ear affectionately, “how is that for a gift?”

“…good enough for me to reconsider our relationship.”

[midnight-mourning]

Christmas Spirit

❄️❄️Midnight's DCA December Day 12❄️❄️

woof, now we're REAL behind chat, apologies was busy but also like, feeling unwell, but here we are! hope you enjoy :)

Prompt: christmas request! Reader doesn't care for christmas since their relationship with their family isnt great and nearly ever christmas since they moved out included multiple fights or screaming matches; they just want to have a positive association with christmas and don't mind working on a holiday at their crazy but chill job with their favorite animatronic coworkers. And these fellow coworkers intend to make sure this christmas is a postive one even if theres silly mishaps here and there.

Word Count: 2048

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

When you realized the date this morning, to say your heart sunk into your chest was an understatement. Sure, maybe it was a bit dramatic to go from chipper and ready for the day, to dragging your feet out the door, but to be fair, this wasn't exactly your favorite time of year. So, you think you had a little bit of a pass. 

Though, as you slam open the door to the Daycare just a tad too harshly, spooking Sun whilst he was mid-decorating, you cringe. Maybe not too much of a pass. 

He shakes it off, however, bounding over to you as happily as ever. "Good morning Sunshine! And how are we today?"

You decide to brush off your mistake. Based on the current state of things, he's very excited about the coming holiday, and you'd hate to ruin that for him. 

"I'm doing well, Sunny. And what about you? The place looks great!" You motion to how already, the Daycare is already well on its way to being totally decorated. It's impressive, to say the least. You left less than 24 hours ago, though he probably has a lot more time on his hands than you. 

He puts a hand to his faceplate, waving the other bashfully. "Oh, we're just getting started! Would you like to help?"

"Ah, I don't want to um, get in your way at all." Not to mention even the idea of touching a decoration makes you want to fling it across the room. Despite how ridiculous a notion that is. You shake your head. "I'll just get stuff set up for the day as usual!"

Sun hesitates a moment, rays shrinking. "Oh, okay then! Well, if you change your mind, just let me know! Always happy to have your touch with these things."

You're too distracted by your own discomfort to acknowledge the compliment. Instead only offering a quick nod and a smile as you march over to the craft station and start preparing. 

You'd hope that would be the end of things, but you weren't so lucky. All throughout the day, both sides of the Attendant seem to be ever curious about your thoughts on different holiday plans they have, asking your opinion on this or that. Whether they realize it or not, you can feel your weariness about the topic growing worse, and paitence wearing thin. 

It was only a matter of time before you cracked, and it happens at probably the worst moment to do so; puppet time. 

Sun decided to put on a Christmas themed show—of course—and had all but insisted for your help. Again, not wanting to cause issues, you agree. However, it's easier said than done. 

"—And we all just enjoy the holidays so much, don't we friend?" Sun asks, ever in character with his hand puppet.

You chuckle, awkward. "We sure do!"

"What's your favorite part of the season?" His little character does a spin on the mini stage. "Mine is making cookies, oh oh! And playing out in the snow, and wrapping presents for my friends!"

For some reason the question—which should have been expected—throws you for a loop. "Oh, well, I don't really have anything in particular. But I'd love to hear more about your favorite activities!"

"Oh come on, everyone has something that's their favorite." He presses, unintentionally pushing your buttons. 

At that moment all you can think about is all the years of arguing, fights, yelling. Family members bickering about things that don't matter, and yet, won't talk to each other for weeks afterward because of some minor slip of the tongue. Feelings of being isolated, alone, and utterly miserable creep in. 

You can't help the words that slip out then. "Well, some of us don't like Christmas very much at all!" You say, voice over the top with fake cheer.

Sun seems to take the hint then and thankfully, recovers the show from there. You're a bit embarrassed to need the save. You didn't think you'd lose your composure over a silly puppet show, but apparently, you were wrong. 

It's when you're packing things up to get ready for naptime that Sun broaches the topic once more.

"You, you don't like Christmas, Starshine?" Sun asks, voice soft. 

You take a deep breath, then shake your head. "I, no, not really. No." You see Sun's rays shrink, and put your puppet-free hand up. "But it's okay! Really don't let me bum you out any. I'm sorry I lost my cool for a moment there. It won't, won't happen again."

Before you can speak on it any further, you turn away, heading to start getting naptime mats out and such. Had you not, you would have seen Sun's hand reaching out for you, concern and care clearly evident on his features. 

After that little incident, neither Attendant talks to you about the holiday in detail again. You still discuss activities as usual, but they don't ask specifics of you anymore. You're relieved, but you do feel bad. You hope to make it up to them by having an easy day of work on Christmas itself. 

Get some organization done, clean up some things that you've been putting off, that kind of thing. Hell, maybe you'll even tolerate some holiday music while you work too. 

When you walk inside bright and early on Christmas morning however, Sun nearly jumps out of his skin upon seeing you. At least, you think he would have if he did have skin, that is. 

"Sunbeam! Wha—what are you doing here today?" He rushes over to you. 

You smile and start taking off your coat. "I work today, Sun. Obviously."

After removing your hat and scarf, you grab your apron, brushing it off once or twice before clapping. "So, I was thinking we tackle the craft closet first and foremost, and then go from there with all our usual stuff, that sound good?"

When he doesn't answer you turn, only to jump when you realize he's right behind you, rays flicking side to side. He takes hold of your shoulders and bends to your level. 

"Starshine."

"Sun." You nod. 

His grip tightens for a moment, then loosens. He narrows his eyes. "We, are not. Working. On. Christmas."

"Well I'm already here—"

He shakes his head, picking you up suddenly. "Nope. Absolutely not. I won't allow it. If you're going to be here then we're going to make this right."

"Hey! Put me down! Where are you even taking me?" You kick your legs in vein, now slightly annoyed. Before you thought he was just joking, but now you realize he's dead serious. 

You get your answer when he sets you down in a bean bag. Taking a moment to snatch up a blanket with one hand and untie your apron with the other. Before you can blink, the blanket is laid across you, you have several Christmas themed stuffed animals surrounding you, there's a set of antlers on your head, along with a coloring book in your lap. 

Sun nods once down at you, hands on his hips. "Now, you get started on that and I'll get you some hot coco. Okay?"

"What, but—"

But he's already off again, "Don't move~ I'll be just a moment!"

Deciding that you're better off to indulge for a little bit, as opposed to outright protesting, you do as he asks. And, while not your favorite thing in the world, sitting and coloring in the peace of the Daycare, holiday music playing softly around you, is nice. 

Sun's gone for longer than you would have expected. Especially for just a cup of premade hot chocolate. But, when he eventually returns you do take the time to thank him for the quick break, that you appreciate the thought, and that you're ready to actually get started for the day. 

Surprisingly—suspiciously—he agrees. 

You won't admit to longing for the warmth of the cozy nest you leave as you stand, but the longing isn't allowed to last for long. Sun's hand is tightly wound with yours as he leads you out of the Daycare and towards the theater. 

You take a sip of your drink, confused but still following. "Um, did you want to start with the theater's supply closet then?"

"Friend, when I said no work on Christmas, I wasn't kidding." He stops just short of the entrance, energy now becoming more antsy. 

He lets go of your hand and you frown. "I told you it's alright, Sunny. I don't mind, honestly."

"I know! We know, but,"—he shakes his head—"We want to, change that. Make it up to you! If, you'll let us?"

He's looking to you now. You're hesitant, of course you are, but you can at least hear him out. "Sure, bud."

"If you don't like it, that's okay too! We just, wanted to try." He turns slightly and starts to open the door.

You open your mouth to respond but are instead taken aback by how pretty the theater looks. There's warm lights strung across the ceiling, decorations of red and green that sparkle. A medium sized tree with decorations laying nearby sits near the middle of the room. Snowflakes in all intricate patterns litter the space. There's a video of a yule log playing on the screen, and music softly twinkles around you. 

While not as intense as the Daycare in terms of the level of Christmas-vibes, there's something more, comforting, about it. Something maybe a bit more familiar, that unlocks a memory you'd left behind back when you were much smaller. 

"When did you find the time for all of this?" You ask quietly. You'd been in here just yesterday and it looked nothing like this. 

Sun comes up behind you, hand on your shoulder. "Just now. We just thought that maybe something a bit more relaxed, but still festive, could be fun for you? We can decorate the tree, or, or watch movies, or dance. Whatever you would like, honestly. Whatever you want." 

"Whatever I want?" You look up to him, almost unable to speak.

He looks down to you and after a pause, wraps his arms around you with a nod. "No one should be sad during the holidays, Star. And it's, it's not our business why but, well, we just want to try and change that for a little bit. To try and make you a little happier."

The tears well up before you can stop them. 

Sun starts panicking. "Oh! Don't cry. It's okay, we can just go back to the Daycare—"

"No, no it's okay, really." You sniff. Your reaches up to his faceplate, halting his fretting. "They're happy tears. I'm very grateful. And emotional."

He relaxes into your touch, but his tone is still concerned. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah I,"—you shake your head—"You know what? Let me just show you."

Without thinking further, you raise your other hand and pull his faceplate down to your lips. You release him again after a moment, giggling. 

Sun's rays click, then—"Just to be sure, Moon would also like you to show him."

This causes you to laugh outright, and soon enough you're in the naptime attendant's arms instead. 

You spend the rest of your day in higher spirits than you would have otherwise expected for the holiday. The attendant takes turns doing the various activities they planned with you. And maybe it's only because it's with them, or because of the new relationship you've found yourself in, but you find it all to be so much more bearable than before. More than bearable really, enjoyable. Truly and completely, enjoyable. For the first time in a long time. 

"What are you thinking of, Star?" Moon asks as the two of you dance across the room. 

You shake your head, smiling. "Just about how much I appreciate the two of you, is all."

"Just appreciate?"

You scoff. "I think you know by now it's more than that. Don't even think of trying to scam me out of more kisses."

He snickers in response. 

Just the music for a moment. 

"Thank you, guys. It means a lot."

Moon bends you for a dip, leaning in. "Merry Christmas, Starlight."

"Merry Christmas, Moon."

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Thank you for the request @pip-plz!! Was fun to take this and make something wholesome, esp as someone who hasn't always had a fun holiday experience myself, hope I did it some justice!

Masterpost link

Tag list (if you would like added, see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

@juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml

[liquidcatt]

your boyfriend writes a letter to come to terms with your death

cw: angst, maybe ooc, slight comfort, mention of car accident, grieving process, no happy ending, implied s*icide, lots of tears are shed

My dear Y/N,

It's been a few years since your passing. I struggled to write this so I apologize if it sounds like I’m rambling. I want to get this off my chest right now before I regret not doing it later. 

Before I met you, I was not a fan of Christmas. Like, at all. It brought back memories from my childhood. Memories that reminded me of a different time before life showed its ugly face. Memories that I use to look back on with contempt and melancholy. Memories that honestly I would wish to forget. Memories that basically made me not want anything to do with it at all.

I remember it like it was yesterday: I got invited to an early Christmas party by one of my friends and I saw you being dragged through the crowd by your sister, wanting to introduce me to you. I was aloof with you at first as you weren’t too into the holiday spirit either to even have a casual chat with me. But as we talked, however, I felt myself being drawn to you. Like someone was telling me that you were one. And they were right. Some say it was a slow burn romance in the making, but screw it, I didn’t care. Seeing your face turn bright red when I asked for your number before you left so we could keep contact was the highlight of the night. Honestly it felt like I was in high school all over again; asking the cute girl next to me in class if she wanted to go out with me. I don’t regret that night and I’m glad you didn’t too. 

Every Christmas with you was so different, I was so happy to share it with you. We’d watch all those cheesy Christmas movies and sometimes do little commentaries on how stupid they were. Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” was always blasting on the radio as we drove home from dinner. On certain nights, I’d get into my winter clothes excitedly so we could go outside to see the snowflakes fall from the sky, feeling their wet kisses land on my cheeks. Your family was so fun to be around. Your parents were a little old-fasioned, but I was happy they welcomed me with open arms. I even got to meet some of your young cousins; they were so adorable, I hoped that we would've started a family as well. I will always cherish those memories of you. The memories that made me remember my childhood and how much I took them for granted. I wish I could tell myself that things would get better and that I would find my soulmate. 

But as they say, life showed its ugly face yet again, only this time it took you away from me forever. Your mother woke me up one day, screaming on the phone and told me that you had gotten into a car accident. I can still hear the sound of her crying echo in my mind. I hate it so much. It was raining heavily and they said your car had slipped off the road and crashed into a nearby tree. You died on impact. Seeing your body in the coffin was like something out of a nightmare. It had to be right? My mind kept screaming that you were just asleep and that this wasn’t real. But it was. You were dead. I wanted to console your parents, but I held my tongue and stayed silent. After that, things were never the same.

To ease the pain, I watched all the movies that we use to snuggle together. I’m listening to your favorite Christmas songs over and over again, singing my heart out like you did. The ugly sweater you gave me one year to match yours is still hidden away somewhere in my closet. I have no desire to wear it unfortunately. My friends try their best to cheer me up during this time, like visiting the places you used to frequent and eating at your favorite restaurants. They’d also check up on me to make sure that I don’t do anything stupid. Yeah right. Like I would ever. I’m too much of a coward to even try. I’d visit your family once in a while to chat with them. Your parents told me that I was always welcome in their home, but it does little to heal the gaping wound in my heart. They let me have some of your belongings as they didn’t have the heart to get rid of them. The grief of losing you took a toll and I can see it on their faces. You and your mother look so alike, it was almost like talking to you again. The wrinkles on her face get worse and worse every day. I swear she looks like she had been crying for a long time and I can’t blame her. Your dad is a hard-working man. He worked a lot to make sure you got everything you wanted. And your sister, I never got to thank her for introducing me to you. She has no idea how much I would’ve loved to get married. The more I see them, the more guilt I feel festering in my throat. I feel like I let them down; I felt like I let you down. 

But that’s not what I’m writing this letter though. No, I’m writing this letter to tell you that these past few years were some of the best and I wish that I had more time to spend them with you. The truth is Y/N, you made me love Christmas again. And I miss it so much. I miss you. I miss being excited to see the presents nestled under the tree waiting to be opened. I miss the ornaments on the tree you would decorate as they swayed slightly like they were waving. I miss holding your hand as we walk the streets at dusk admiring the Christmas lights hanging on the houses and shops. I miss making cookies with you even if they didn’t always turn out perfect. I miss falling asleep next to you on the couch as we struggled to stay awake to see Santa. As long as I was with you, everything was okay. You were what Christmas was always about: being with the people you love.

What’s even the point of celebrating it anymore? I know that you would tell me that you wouldn't have wanted this. You’d hold me in your arms cupping my face to wipe away the tears, saying you wouldn't want me to be sad. No way in hell that would you have let me stay cooped up in my room either, shut away from the world. You’d tell me to be happy and remember you in a positive light. You’d want me to celebrate Christmas with everyone who loves and cares about him. But you aren’t here to tell me any of that. You're gone. And I have to accept that.

As I’m writing this, it’s only a few more hours until Christmas. This year has gone by so fast. I bought a small, white cake at the last minute at some store nearby that's open till midnight. It was the cheapest one I could afford as I’m short on cash right now. It’s plain, but simple, just how you would’ve liked it. You didn’t care if anything I bought was expensive or not. 

I still live in the apartment we shared together. This ‘home’ that was once full of radiance and mirth for a time is now replaced with a dark, melancholy ambience. It’s so different without you. I have trouble sleeping because I instinctively turn and expect to see you laying next to me. The other side of the bed is cold, I miss looking at your peaceful face while you slept. I took a picture of the cake and sent it to your family and some of my friends. They all loved it and I’m sure you would’ve too. 

There’s so much more I want to say, but this is all I'm able to get out. If you're looking down from heaven right now, always know that I’ll always keep a piece of you in my heart until my dying day. I love you and that feeling will never change. Merry Christmas Y/N. 

Love you always, Your boyfriend

Kageyama, Tendou, Tsukishima, Akaashi, Suna, Kuroo, Ushijima (+ your fav)

a/n: One of my managers at work had a daughter who died that loved Christmas and it was never the same for her :’(

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Paper Pirates (Conclusion)

MDNI

Shanks x f!reader

Summary: An unconventional member of an unconventional crew, you finally solve your captain's equation.

Warnings: Smut, fingering, piv, swearing, smoking, allusions to power imbalance

A/N: Merry Christmas and happy holidays! - Ya filthy animals. Thanks for all the support! I have another Shanks piece brewing (a genuine one-shot, even!) that will hopefully see the light of day in the coming week. Til then: stay tuned, drink water, kiss someone you like, and survive the holidays!

Shanks is, as ever, a bonfire on a winter night. Blazing bright and beautiful. A human beacon with a smile so bright it made his hair dull by comparison. He should be ridiculous, maybe even an object of pity with his scarred face and missing arm, but he’s confidence given legs – legs in ridiculous printed trousers, even.

He holds court in the bar closest to the docks. He’d swaggered ahead with all your worldly possessions under his arm, chatting up passing locals. You’d followed, drowning in his wake. The storm inside you didn’t touch him.

You followed him here, met up with the crew after picking open you scabs so he could see how deep the infection ran, and now you’re once again ducking under too many waving hands and wondering how the hell these killers and thieves smile so readily. As he guzzles sake and laughs with Lucky Roux, he feels farther away than ever. Memories are easier to hold close. Now you can only calculate the gulf between your understanding and his plans.

The sea between your feelings and his easy charm.

This must be what a cuckoo chick feels when it realizes it has the wrong feathers.

Cheering voices shake the tavern walls, and you sit among the merry-makers, pretending to enjoy yourself. But you know your voice would come out wrong if you joined in. There’s a reason you never fit the atmosphere aboard the Red Force. Even when they were trying to be kind, your comrades must’ve sensed something strange had hatched in their midst. An intruder in the crow’s nest, so to speak.

You sit, stewing in your own self-pity, taking the barest sips from your glass. You can’t afford to be drunk. Not tonight. Not after your conversation with Shanks.

Maybe things have never been easy between you and the Red Hair Pirates, but everything spiraled after you revealed yourself on a tide of rum and fatigue. Drinking is a solitary activity now. No way in hell will you make things worse. You still hope, a little desperately, for an amicable separation.

You spill your drink twice, fetching refills to keep up appearances.

That game ends when Beck joins you. He lands across the table, filling the corner where you settled with the excuse of eating away from flying elbows and table dancing. The stew smelled so appetizing every other time you passed the place, but you’re struggling to do it justice. Doesn’t help that it gets colder with every bite.

Still makes a marvelous diversion from Beckman, though.

Until he opens his big, stupid mouth.

“Hongo seen the wound yet?”

Which wound? The time you shot yourself with your own big, stupid mouth in his company or the bullet you caught during your year or isolation?

“No wound.” You shovel a spoonful in your mouth, buying a moment of peace. “Just a scar. And he’s threatened me with a thorough exam tomorrow.”

“Shame. Earned your first major scar of on your own.”

He makes it sound like your fault somehow, and that grates. Your tolerance is growing thin, and you haven’t spent more than ten minutes in each other’s company tonight.

It isn’t your fault they left you behind. As always.

It wasn’t your fault the Marines fucked up a good thing. As always.

It sure as hell wasn’t your fault that you got shot in one of the most chaotic battles you’d ever seen.

The world turned and you clung on where you could.

You wonder if Beckman even remembers what it’s like to have no one at his back, no ship to rely on.

He taps out a fresh cigarette. “Would’ve been an opportunity to celebrate.”

You laugh as he lights up, almost genuinely. “Like you’ve ever needed one.”

If the crew celebrated every first scar acquired on the sea, they’d never stop drinking. But maybe they do. It would explain some things.

“Hn. It will be good to have you back on the ship. Never enough good crew.”

“Oh please, we both know I’m average at best.”

“Do we?” Beckman didn’t take his eyes off his match. “Captain talk to you about his plan yet?”

Your spoon circles the bowl’s rim. The vibration shakes into your fingers as metal drags over rough crockery, but the men are too loud for you to hear the chime.

“We talked about a plan. Wasn’t really his.”

One more bite. Just to soak up the drip of booze you’ve choked down. Nothing’s ever as good as you hope these days, and you’re starting to wonder if it’s your own fault.

You push the meal away, hoping no one asks why there’s so much left. The folks behind the counter work hard, and you’d hate to insult a family recipe.

Beckman shakes out his match, and his cool eyes fix on you. For all the bodies in the room, his attention carves out a private space. You might as well be back on deck, drinking in the dark after they party’s over.

You lean back. Cross your arms.

“I do sometimes look up from the books, you know.”

If the Captain agrees to your plan, it will impact Benn’s role most. And you’re comfortable with him. He doesn’t ask for much. So long as you meet his expectations, he doesn’t demand a sunny smile and a performance. You’re grumpy bastards both, the eyes in the back, assessing and measuring. You don’t know what answers he’s looking for at your table in the corner, but you can guess a few questions.

“Shanks only brings aboard people who’ve already… become what they’re gonna be, I guess.” Just saying his name pushes your gaze to find him across the room.

It’s no wonder you fell in love. Doesn’t make you any less of a fool. “It’s why he doesn’t take on apprentices, I think. He knows he’d protect them. They’d get hurt. They’d have to, at some point, or they’d never push themselves. So, he always turns the young ones down.”

Benn doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t twitch. He blinks, slowly, like a cat, and a ribbon of smoke fades into the rafters. You look him in the eye.

“That’s how I know. I am what I am. Good at numbers. Entirely average in every other respect.”

“Tsk.” He looks away. Uses his boot to grind out an old cigarette that’s been cold on the floor since before you arrived. “You see the numbers, but you’ve put ‘em in the wrong places. A transcription error. Get out of your own way.”

Your arms cinch tighter around your chest, and the eye contact slips up and away. The rafters offer an escape. You study graffiti carved by a thousand daggers over endless decades by happy drunkards. Maybe they’re a map to sanity. A star chart of curses, confessions, and promises.

Are you even having the same conversation? It feels like everyone is pushing you to the brink of madness.

Nothing adds up anymore.

“You’re smart,” Beckman says. “And you’re strong.”

He kicks you under the table to reclaim your attention from the ceiling, and you jump, yelping. You regard him with a hint of shock. It’s minor violence, yeah, but it’s friendly violence. It’s a new level of engagement. The routine mandates sitting and snarking over more booze than you want to drink. Beckman isn’t the touchy sort.

The cigarette dips as he grins.

“Let yourself believe in something, girl.”

“I – I don’t – what?” Your tongue is too big for your mouth, and your teeth keep getting in the way.

Beckman glances away, and you follow his line of sight through the shouting, and the drinking, and the rowdy delight to your captain.

Shanks.

He’s in the middle of a story, slapping the bar for emphasis. Part of you wishes you could sneak closer. Hear his tall tales and measure them against his usual bullshit. Bask in his presence. But your overwhelming common sense tells you it would burn to sit beside him. Bonfires can catch.

Seas. He really is beautiful.

You remember who you are sitting beside.

The first mate chuckles, and your face burns.

Flailing to your seat, less graceful than most of the drunks, you cough up an excuse.

“I’m going for some air.”

Cigarette smoke chases you out the door, and you march away from the windows, turning the corner into an alley where you can breathe.

Fuck’s sake.

You press cold palms to your cheeks, horrified by the heat. Did your feelings show? Beckman clearly spied something to amuse himself with in your expression. Who else? How many witnesses to your shame would cackle at your expense in the morning? Maybe they’d just assume you stepped out to throw up. Because you had good manners, unlike the rest of them.

Not a bad thought, actually. You feel like hurling.

Night has settled over the town, and the locals are giving the pirates their space. Normal people have normal work to do in the morning, and even Shanks can’t chat the stars still. A breeze carries whispers of the sea into your hideaway, and you ache for the clean smell of deep water far from shore.

Your resolve cracks like an egg.

Slumping against the brick wall at your back, you accept your truth. It doesn’t even take half a bottle of rum this time.

You love Shanks. You crave life aboard the Red Force. The captain shared a taste of his world and instead of thanking him for the experience, you’ve gotten addicted. Demanding. It will never be enough. Given the chance, you’d die happy at sea, listening to the ship groan creaking lullabies.

You might die if they agree to your proposal.

If Shanks leaves you forever.

Even though that would be safest. That would be reasonable.

That would be good for the crew. For him.

“There you are.”

Think of the devil.

Shanks, framed in moonlight, invades your sanctuary. “Thought you might be sneaking off.”

You freeze. Your mind goes blank with the fear of being caught and the contrary urge to impress. Something spews out of your mouth, but you have no control over it.

“Just breathing.”

What a fucking stupid answer. Might as well tell him there was no air in the tavern when you noticed how his eyes sparkle when he laughs.

“Well.” He picks a spot on the wall across from you, mimicking your position. “Can’t have you stopping that, can we?”

An obligatory smile. You’ll give him whatever he commands, but there’s no joy here.

Believe in something.

Sure. Just like that. Drop all your defenses as you waited for the executioners’ spears.

Shanks smiles at nothing and glances towards the sky.

“Your thoughts aren’t too far from mine,” he says. “The old system needs adjustments. Can’t have you catching any more bullets with just your skin.” His eyes flick back to you, fixing you in place. You aren’t sure whether it’s your nerves or his haki.

“But we have very different ideas about your future with the crew.” His captain’s voice rings between the broken crates and empty barrels surrounding you. He’s found something he doesn’t like and he’s working out a solution, gearing up to state orders and fix his will on the future.

It’s a challenge. You rise to it.

“And what’s your great idea, then?” If he thinks he’s solved the equation better than you can, let him prove it.

“No more layovers. You stay on the Red Force like every other crewmate. The Den Den Mushi aren’t a bad idea, and I agree we’ll need new eyes and ears on shore, but your place onboard is essential.”

If people keep telling you things like that, you’ll start to believe it. You shake your head, knocking the warm fuzzies away before they rot your perspective like mold.

“I kind of doubt that. No offense.”

His eyebrows rise. “You think I’d have brought you on if I didn’t think you could cut it?”

“I mean,” you gesture broadly at the crew that isn’t there, “anyone can do the numbers with a little time and training.”

“Sorry to ruin your rosy view of the world, but they really can’t.” That captain voice is gone. He’s all smiles again. Teasing almost. Like he knows a secret and is watching you walk into a trap. “Not like you. Mathematics are strategy in your hands, and we need more of that. You have no idea how many times Building Snake complains when you aren’t around, or how often Lucky Roux moans about larder management. Your work touches everything.”

He leans forward, eyes glinting in the distant streetlights, and props his arm against the wall just over your head. Heat radiates from him and that stupid unbuttoned shirt he always wears. Can he feel the warmth curling out in answer from your own skin?

“And I agree with Lucky, by the way,” he croons. “You’re very scary.”

Your breath physically stutters. It’s entirely involuntary, and you bite your tongue, eyes wide as you struggle to read him. He still wants you on the crew. Alright. But what else?

Logic strains under the pressure of his regard.

You force yourself to breathe. Hopefully that will help you think. Unlikely, though, with the way Shank’s scent fills your head. It’s dizzying.

“It would still be a problem.” This isn’t reasoning. This is pleading.

His smile flicks to life, and like the helpless little moth you are, you prepare for it to scorch you.

“I don’t have a problem with it.”

One of his feet slides forward, not quite invading your space, but close. His toes linger in the gap between your feet, suggesting a path of navigation you know will take you past whirlpools and monsters.

He doesn’t get it. A quick pity fuck won’t fix this.

“It’s easy to ignore feelings you don’t have, Captain, but it would be a problem for me.” There’s nowhere to look but his eyes or his pecs, so you swallow your jagged anxiety and focus on his face. A strong twitch would bring you together, you’re that close. He deserves a punch. But that might just be an excuse to touch him. And you’d rather do that softly. Fuck.

“If we’re going to talk about it, then let’s get to the point.” There isn’t much space to draw yourself up, but you try, and you don’t miss the way his lips twitch. You want it to make you angry, but the rage just won’t kindle. “I caught feelings. That’s my fault, and you’ve been more than gracious about it, but I meant what I said, and if the best thing for the crew – for you – is to peel off, that’s what I’m going to do.”

That’s it. You’ve said your piece. Now he can make his move as captain. Chide you. Dismiss you. Laugh. Your eyes shut, and you brace for words you don’t want to hear. If he’d just cooperated with your plan and let you distance yourself, maybe you could’ve –

Hair whispers over your face, and Shanks’ temple presses to yours.

Your eyes pop open. He’s right there. Right here. He wasn’t supposed to come closer.

He chuffs, and his breath rolls down your collar.

“So stupid.”

He kisses your forehead as you stand dumb and amazed.

The…fuck?

What?

His little chortle cracks into a hearty laugh, but it isn’t mockery or a mere diversion from your shame. He laughs all the time, for all kinds of reasons. But this one’s real. His shoulders shake with it.

“So smart. But so stupid.”

There must be a proper response to this. But it feels like your first meeting all over again. Your decisions have been upended, and it’s all his fault.

But it’s a good thing. Isn’t it? Wasn’t it even back then, when he arguably ruined your life and turned you into a pirate?

It isn’t bad.

But it can’t be real.

Even though he’s filling your senses, and you’d never dare hope for something like this, let alone imagine it.

But –

Cigarette smoke wafts down the alley with Beckman’s shadow as he turns the corner. “You both are. Makes you well suited.”

The glowing tip of his cigarette is shockingly grounding. The bright red is familiar. It isn’t the romantic, pale moonlight or the dim yellow streetlights that cast everything in chiaroscuro. That’s really Beckman. This is really happening.

Your soul and mind slam back into your body with the violence of a shipwreck. Your defenses splinter, and it feels like your whole chest cracks open to put your heart on display, leave it pulsing and naked for a careless pirate’s strike.

Oh, holy shit.

You have absolutely no idea what your expression is doing at the moment, but Shanks leans even further in, letting his cloak block you from his first mate’s view. His lips hover by your ear.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Do you trust me?”

Trust. Beyond his role as captain. Shanks the man. Shanks the man who said he doesn’t have a problem with your feelings. Shanks the man who doesn’t have a problem with your feelings and dropped a kiss on your head while crowding you against the wall in a dark alley.

Simple answer, really.

“I guess I do.”

He pulls back and grins like a gods damned shark.

“All I needed to hear.”

For the second time that night, he rips the ground from under your feet and flips your world on its head.

Fairly literally, this time.

Between one fluttering heartbeat and the next, he’s ducked, thrown you over his right shoulder and launched out of the alley. Straight into the air. Wind rips tears from your eyes, and your hair stings where it lashes against your skin.

Backman and the tavern shrink below, and gravity yanks on your stomach.

“Shanks!”

His laughter rumbles through his shoulder into your belly. He must’ve been expecting to sacrifice an eardrum to your shriek, and whatever he’s getting from this must be worth it. To him at least.

You’ve only seen him sky walk once or twice, one of many abilities he stores under good humor in case of bad weather. Since the Red Force practically demands fair weather by its very presence, you haven’t seen him break out the weatherproofing often.

Nails sinking into his cloak, your mind blanks on adrenaline. There are no equations in freefall.

Just as you begin to lose altitude, he steps again, and you howl, trying to sink into the man’s flesh. You’re like a cat frantically trying to cling to a human raft.

He touches down on the deck of his command ship, and you can’t unlock your knuckles from where they’ve knotted into his clothes. Just as well, because he doesn’t take his arm from around your knees. A few steps bring him to the captain’s quarters. A kick opens the door. A second kick closes it. And then – finally – he helps you slide down from his shoulder.

Your legs are boneless. You refuse to let go. Your dignity hangs by the thread count of his clothing.

“I thought you trusted me?”

Looking up, you meet his shit-eating grin, and you pant in lingering terror and growing rage. “Fuck you, Shanks.”

He’s practically glowing, he’s so happy. Cackling in glee, he falls back into a wide chair, pulling you to sit across his lap, your back supported by his remaining arm.

Shaking the hair from his eyes, he beams at you. Like you’re finally in on the joke.

“I think I need to keep you closer. Hard to take care of me from so far away, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He isn’t wrong. The distance between you swelled like an ulcer, a terrible little fear you couldn’t help worrying as you scanned the newspapers and bounty posters for an update. For proof he was alright. Safe. Well.

But as the ringing fades from your ears and you take stock of where you’re sitting, you’re afraid to add up the final sum.

“Captain – Shanks.” You catch yourself. His hand rests on your knee, and because you have no idea where to put yours, you clutch one fist to your chest and let the other settle over his wrist.

What is happening? A black and white answer is all you want. You can set a course if you can just find the difference between north and south.

“What is this?”

His nose traces your jaw, and you turn into the contact as eager butterflies cannibalize the anxious moths banging around in your gut.

“What do you think?” He’s lured you close enough, and he steals a kiss. A satin brush of desire that conjures a sigh from his chest. Warm eyes find yours as they blink open, like sunset at sea. “It was never your problem. It’s my fucking problem, too.”

Whether or not he’s lying, there’s only one good response to that.

You know what to do with your hands now.

Taking his jaw, you pull him into another kiss. A proper one that delivers on all the restrained promise of the first. His grip rises to your waist, pulling you into his chest as his lips tattoo his feelings over yours. You’re far from a blank page, but you doubt you’ll ever be able to read old notes under the bold script he prints.

He pulls back to breathe, and he smiles under the little pecks you pepper over his face. Skilled fingers explore everything he can reach, and you know you’ve gotten too close to the bonfire. You’re starting to melt.

“I didn’t mean to leave you for so long,” he murmurs.

When his hand wanders over your chest, firm enough to spark every nerve to life, your head falls back, and he takes advantage. He mouths along your neck, around your ear as he continues.

“At first, I wanted to prove to myself that I could be good, that I wouldn’t take advantage of you. Be a responsible captain.”

He squeezes a breast, and the jolt rushes down your spine, trapping itself between your legs. Red hair twists between your fingers as you desperately explore him in return. He’s too busy talking and tasting to kiss.

“Wanted to give you room to breathe. To come to your senses.”

The wandering hand drifts. Smoothing over your sternum and down your belly, spreading over your trousers’ fastening.  

“But then one thing led to another, and Beck handed me your bounty poster.”

It shouldn’t surprise you that Shanks has a motormouth, even as a lover. His words touch as skillfully as his hand, though, and you’re drunker than you’ve ever been on rum. He doesn’t have to be good. Whatever he wants, he can have. You’ve been a cold pile of kindling for an age. He’s set you blazing to match his heat.  

His touch lingers on the buttons, and you kiss whatever parts of him you can reach. The crown of his head. His temple. You map his shoulders with curious fingertips, pushing under the collar of his loose shirt. He listens to your cues.

The first button pops free.

“I have no doubt you could go out on your own.”

The second button.

He slips his hand under your knee, pulling your leg to straddle him, your back to his chest.

“Make a name for yourself as a pirate. Terrify the world with your numbers and your revolver. But I couldn’t bring myself to be happy for you if you did.”

Back up your thigh, over your hip. He lets you simmer, anticipating his next move. Even as he finally moves under your clothes, he pauses short of the goal, and you whimper. Your head rests against his shoulder, allowing him every piece of you he desires, and he nips your earlobe.

Drunk off him as you are, he wants you to hear every word that comes next.

“I want you to be my pirate.”

Calloused fingertips creep between your folds, and you immediately roll your hips, chasing him the way you’ve wanted to for so long.

He grazes your clit in passing, and your back arches. “I am. I’ve always been yours, you idiot. Please, Shanks!”

Boyish giggles trail over your flesh as he finally touches you, strokes you, finds the proof of your unquenchable infatuation. He hums, beyond happy with himself and the task in hand.

“Poor thing. Have you been aching for me like this all year?”

You gather enough breath to pant, “Longer.”

He croons and licks the first dew of sweat blooming along your throat.

“Poor little pirate.”

Quick circles over your most sensitive spot push you staggering towards the precipice in record time. You’ve never gotten yourself off so fast. No partner has ever managed it, that’s for fucking sure.

But it’s him.

And he’s holding you, and all but purring as you flutter and jerk against him, and you want to…

One finger pushes in, and you buck, crying out. You’re still riding the cliff’s edge, and you aren’t sure if this is better or if you’re going to give him another scar for abandoning your clit. You whine, and the finger pulls back. It returns with a friend at a fresh angle that grinds his palm exactly where it belongs.

“Fuck.”

“Exactly.”

He searches, stretching you as he goes. When he finds what he’s looking for, your eyes all but roll back into your head. The both of you groan as you clench. He shoves you over the border, and you lose yourself. The orgasm rips your mind away, and you float, convinced you’d drift to the ceiling if he wasn’t holding you. Wasn’t still knuckle-deep, drawing out the fall.

By the time you settle back into your own skin, your toes and the tips of your fingers are tingling. He removes his hand and it only makes you want to cry a little.

Until he brings it to his lips. Sucks his fingers clean. Winks as you stare.

“To the bed?” He isn’t even trying to hide how excited he is. You can feel him, long and hard under your thigh, but the roguish glee in his eyes reveals more.

Once you’re in that bed, he won’t be letting you up for the rest of the night.

“Just a minute.” You pet his face, almost slurring as you explain. “I need to catch my breath.”

“Mn. Take your time then.” He nuzzles into your neck, and without the distraction of his fingers curling inside you, it tickles. A lot. His stubbly little beard rubs into your flesh, and you realize he’s doing it on purpose when you flinch and the hand resting over your belly squeezes. He draws his cheek over the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Hmm? Something wrong?”

“N-no.” Fuck that. You can win this game. Even though you’re already biting your lip to keep the giggles locked in.

His whiskers move down your neck as he aggressively cuddles into the tender skin, hunting for the spot that will break your resolve. He finds it in the gap between shoulder and neck. Laughter tears out of you, and the hand on your belly dances to your side, setting you writhing on Shanks’ lap.

“Alright! Alright!” You go to stand, but his arm keeps you pinned.

“Thought you needed to catch your breath?” He doesn’t move away from your neck as he speaks, using his lips and breath to continue your torment.

“I yield,” you gasp. Tears gather in your eyes as you wriggle, trying to push your way free. “Let me go.”

The tickling fingers smooth flat again, and he stops attacking your neck. Only to place a chaste kiss there. “Never.”

But he does, letting you rise, sliding his grip down to hold your hand. He looks up at you, his heart in his eyes, and everything inside goes still.

It’s like sailing through a Calm Belt after passing through a storm. It’s the same ocean, but everything looks different.

Right.

This is it.

Safely at anchor, the ship barely moves, but there’s always that subtle sway that keeps the light moving. Your sea legs find it a thousand times firmer than shore. A dance that lulls and leaps. Home and heart.

His thumb rolls over your fingers.

Here’s the solution to the equations that never quite fit.

The solution brings your knuckles to his lips for a kiss, holding your gaze until you blink back to yourself.

“Take off some of those layers for me.” He’s all suggestion, in every sense, and nodding, you step back, letting your fingertips slide free of his hold.

You have no idea how to perform a striptease without making yourself ridiculous, so you stay practical. His attention keeps you safe, and you don’t look away as you shed your jacket, pull off your boots, tug away your socks. When your hands drift to your trousers, still unbuttoned from Shanks’ good work, his eyes dip to follow. The fabric falls, and his tongue runs over his lower lip, almost like he’s caught in thought. But his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide when he meets your eyes again, and you doubt there’s anything left in his head besides visions of what he’s about to do to you.

You begin working on your shirt buttons, and he stands. His shirt pulls smoothly over his head, a feat he performs gracefully even with a single arm, and your fingers shake, stumbling in their task as you appreciate the view. Golden skin and a warrior’s build. It isn’t even the first time you’ve seen him shirtless. Damn.

He basks under your appraisal, shaking back his hair and leaning his hips forward so there’s no mistaking his interest as he unbuckles his belt.

It dawns on you, as you struggle with your buttons, eyes lingering over inappropriate places, that it has been a very long time since you got this far. Romantically. With a man who’s clearly well endowed.

Math can be a cruel mistress. Even if physics isn’t your specialty, you understand some things about pegs and holes. Laws of volume and stretch. That sort of thing.

“Stop calculating.” He’s caught you. As usual. And he’s laughing you both past any anxiety. Easy as a strong wind under blue skies. “I can feel those damn numbers stealing your attention from me, and I’m a greedy, greedy pirate. I need it all.”

Your own grin catches, spreads.

A greedy pirate you can trust. Do trust.

Equations be damned. Shanks has always found a way to get what he wants, and you know he wants your pleasure as much as you want his.

He kicks off his sandals as he swaggers up to you and pulls you tight, banishing your calculations and concerns with a kiss. When his tongue begs entrance, you oblige, hurrying to meet him, eager to feel and touch and play in thrilling new ways.

You find the bed together. Or it finds you. Maybe, like Beckman, it has some secret understanding with the captain. A conspiracy to place you somewhere soft and vulnerable. Regardless, you fall back, never leaving your lover’s embrace.

Shanks is more than happy to finish with your shirt, making a show of slipping each loop free with his one hand. Everything else comes off in a rush. The man’s an octopus, groping, squeezing, and surrounding you like he has twice as many limbs as most men.

He has you on your back, bare, one leg hoisted over his shoulder. As he takes his time coating himself in your slick, a moment of clarity breaks through the crush of sensation.

“I really do want to take care of you.”

There’s no pause. He lets your words soak in, rumbling in satisfaction as he slowly breaches your entrance. He falls forward to rest on his forearm, covering you as he rocks in and out, creeping deeper like an incoming tide.

“Oh, you are. You’re taking such good care of me.”

He seals any further complaints away with a kiss, moaning and lapping into your mouth. There’s too much to parse into individual feelings. You’re so full, and he’s so warm. Pleasure thrums through you, and everything tangles into the press of bodies, the unspeakable intimacy of the act.

Some unknown time later, when you sneak a breath and a thought, you gasp, “Not fair.”

Wicked laughter answers, and he pushes deep, grinding up against your clit to chase away any idea of the world beyond how good he feels.

 “I’m your captain. Nothing about this is fair.” He bites your lip and moves faster, gleefully driving you to the brink of insanity once again.

Your body delights in his, and it fights to keep him as resolutely as your mind tried to escape. Every time you flutter and clench around him, his eyelashes flutter over his cheeks. The muscles over his back roll under your grip.

It’s strange and wonderful. A day ago, you expected him to abandon you to your sensible plans. Now, well, it’s a whole new world, isn’t it?

Whispers of his name pick loose strings from his control.

When you crash through your orgasm, burying your scream in his shoulder, he pounds you through it. His mouth moves, full of words he’s beyond articulating, and a groan from the depths of his soul shakes through the both of you as finds his own release.

He falls beside you, hair damp with sweat, meeting your pleasure-numbed eyes with a lazy smile.

“C’mere.”

His arm loops around you, pulls you back to his chest, and the afterglow hums over you like music.

Distant voices remind you of the crew outside Shanks’ quarters.

“I hope you know,” he mumbles, “you don’t have to worry about finding a spare hammock below decks ever again.”

He snuggles into your neck, and you stroke the arm anchoring you.

This dickhead.

How many crewmates saw the captain’s little show? How many put the pieces together after you both disappeared? How many heard you chanting his name?

Gods. You’ll have to find some energy to worry about that tomorrow.

Might be a good reason to get drunk, actually.

[thewindigo]

Could you do another Okarun x reader fic? Maybe one where they see each other at a party and one of them feels overwhelmed so they go back to Okarun’s house and possibly do it? Oh and also maybe make him more subby, and some comedic moments too? Btw I love your writing it’s sooooo good !!!!

‘Sorry for Party Rocking’

sum. how could going to a simple frat party end up with you in the bed of the sweetest boy in your class?

warning. 18+ NSFW MDNI. aged up characters. virgin!ken ‘okarun’ takakura x fem!reader, porn w/ plot, cowgirl, creampie, praising, he’s so ooc.

wc. 2.3k

notes. my fics just keep getting longer and longer.. I definitely got carried away with this, I just love him sm💔

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

as you sipped at your drink, your eyes drifted from the hypnotic dance floor to the sea of partygoers. you felt a sense of detachment until someone bumped into you from behind. a familiar scent washed over you as arms wrapped around your waist to steady you both.

okarun whispers close to your ear, his voice quivering "s-sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going..."

you turned to find okarun blushing furiously, the close contact sent your heart somersaulting.

okarun’s hands lingering on your hips longer than necessary as he gazed up at you. okarun's words tumbled out in a rush, his eyes darting away nervously. “I'm so sorry! I wasn't... I wasn't looking where I was going! are you okay?” he pulled his hands from your hips and fidgeted uncomfortably, hands twisting together, clearly distressed at his clumsy actions. blushing deeply, voice barely audible "please, please tell me you're not mad..."

with every stammered apology, his adorable vulnerability was on full display, making it impossible not to feel a swell of warmth for him.

"c-can I... maybe make it up to you somehow?"

his gaze flickered down to your lips, then back up again, hopefulness shining in his eyes like stars on a clear night.

your heart skipped a beat, sensing the unspoken invitation hanging between you. the music dimmed to just a distant hum, overtaken by the crackling tension of this moment.

you bit your lip, a playful glint flashing in your eyes "yeah? how exactly do you plan to do that?" okarun blushes crimson, stumbling over his words again "I, um, well, if you'd... if you'd let me..." He trails off, too shy to finish his suggestion.

your teasing only seems to fluster him more, his cheeks burning hotter. he swallows hard before gathering the courage to speak again, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“maybe... maybe a kiss?" he poses it as a question, seeking your permission but unable to hide the hopeful glint returning to his eyes.

you chuckle, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"you’re so sweet..." you pause, looking up at him through your lashes, biting your lower lip playfully. okarun swallows hard again, eyes widening slightly.

“can I kiss you, okarun?" you ask sweetly, yet confidently, leaving no doubt of your intent. at your question, okarun nods enthusiastically, unable to form words.

“y-yes, please..." he stutters out.

his eagerness fuels your boldness, and you close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a slow, sensual kiss.

pulling back just enough to speak, your voice low and husky "you taste good..." you murmur before bringing your lips back to his, deeper this time, hands gently cradling his face. he lets out a small gasp of surprise, hands flying to your waist as he responds eagerly, melding into the kiss.

as you continue, the pulsating rhythms and flashing lights of the club start to overwhelm okarun's senses. his kisses become more desperate, his hands grasping at you as if seeking an anchor in the sensory storm.

okarun muffled against your mouth "too much...can't..."

he pulls back, chest heaving, eyes wild and unfocused. with a herculean effort, he manages to form coherent words.

"please...your place...or mine...I need out of here..."

you smile knowingly, running a finger along his jaw.

“aw, poor okarun can't handle the club scene anymore?"

you lean in, nipping his earlobe playfully.

he whimpers softly, legs trembling beneath him "please, you're killing me..."

he clings to you, seeking support as his resolve crumbles under the onslaught of sensations. your teasing only makes him more desperate, like a man drowning in a sea of desire.

you laugh, a throaty sound "alright, let's get you out of here then."

you take his hand firmly, leading him toward the exit, hips swaying with an added sashay, knowing he's completely under your spell.

once outside, the chilly night air does little to cool the fire burning between you. he stumbles along beside you, still flushed and disoriented from the experience. “I think...I think my place would be better." he looks up at you through long lashes, voice barely audible over the sound of your footsteps.

despite his timidness, you can sense the unspoken plea, the need for privacy and space to truly let go. his usual composed demeanor is shattered, replaced by a vulnerability that makes your heart ache with affection. he takes your hand and starts leading the way, walking briskly towards his apartment. you follow along, your heart pounding as anticipation builds. as you approach his building, he unlocks the door and holds it open for you with a small, nervous smile.

okarun leads you straight down the short hallway to his bedroom, the door creaking softly as he pushes it open. inside, the atmosphere is intimate, with low lighting casting shadows on the walls surrounding the neatly made bed. he gestures awkwardly towards the bed "so...this is..."

he trails off once more, cheeks burning as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly at a loss for words.

you take advantage of his silence, moving closer to him until only a breath separates you. your fingers find the hem of his shirt, slowly inching it upwards. "I think we both know why I'm here, okarun..."

his eyes snap back to yours, dark with longing as he nods mutely, allowing you to undress him, bit by tantalizing bit.

okarun shudders at your touch, hands coming up to cover yours, guiding them gently. there's a sweet shyness about him, a side you've yet seen up close until now.

"I've... I've never..." he admits quietly, voice hoarse as he gazes into your eyes imploringly.

you pause, eyes sparkling with mischief. "never what?" you tease, running your nails lightly down his chest.

he gulps audibly, squirming under your ministrations. "you know..." he stammers, avoiding direct eye contact.

you chuckle “say it."

he whispers "I’ve never been...with someone before..."

you can't help but giggle at his adorable flustered expression. "oh my, are you a virgin, okarun?"

his face turns beet red, hands fluttering helplessly as he nods.

leaning in, your lips brush his ear. "don't worry ken, I'll take great care of you..." you purr, hands sliding down his sides teasingly.

he lets out a tiny, embarrassed squeak, eyes widening as he swallows hard. "y-you will?" he manages, voice cracking.

you nod, still grinning, and begin to remove your own clothes. okarun watches with rapt attention, biting his lip as he takes in every inch of you unveiled.

he whispers "you're so pretty.." his words are soft, full of wonder and desire.

despite his attempts at cool composure, there's a telltale tremble in his hands, betraying his nerves. but his eyes never stray far from you, drinking you in hungrily.

standing before you, okarun is utterly vulnerable. his eyes dart everywhere but at you, cheeks flushed crimson as if he can't quite believe this is happening.

"I-I don't know what to do..." he confesses, hands twitching by his sides, seeking something to hold onto.

despite his apparent innocence, there's an air of anticipation in the room. the weight of his inexperience hangs between you, yet it only stokes the flames of your desire further.

you take pity on him, gently guiding his hands to rest on your hips. "just follow my lead," you whisper, lips brushing against his forehead.

he nods jerkily, his palms feel cool against your skin, but his fingertips betray a subtle tremble, like he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go.

you smile reassuringly, trailing your fingers down his chest, savoring the way he leans into your touch. when you gently push him back onto the mattress, he goes willingly, a small gasp leaving his parted lips.

“please..." he breathes, tone laced with longing, body tensing in anticipation.

he watches you with an almost desperate intensity, surrendering himself to this new experience, placing his trust completely in your hands.

your heart swells seeing him so yielding, so ready to submit. You run your hands through his hair, stroking gently to calm his nerves.

“be a good boy for me, ken."

he swallows hard, nodding fervently.

you find his vulnerability utterly endearing, and you can't resist poking fun at his shyness as you hover over him, the warmth of your body enveloping his.

“still nervous?" you chuckle, trailing light kisses down his neck, making him shiver.

he nods rapidly, face burning with heat. "a-a little..." he confesses, voice barely audible.

despite his admission, his hands tentatively reach for you, unsure how to proceed further, but unwilling to let go.

as you sink down, taking him in deeper, okarun's fingers curl involuntarily against the sheets, overwhelmed by the velvety warmth enveloping him.

he whispers hoarsely "It's so...so good..." he gazes up at you with a look of wonderment, like he's discovering something sacred.

you feel a thrill knowing you're giving him this exquisite sensation, and you continue sliding down, feeling every inch of him pulse and throb within you.

his hips instinctively rise to meet you, seeking more of that divine friction. a small, broken noise escapes him, laced with raw need.

"please...don't stop..." he begs breathlessly, hands scrabbling for purchase on the small of your back, desperate to anchor himself to this feeling.

your heart swells at his plea, spurring you on. you begin to move with fluid, undulating motions, angling yourself perfectly around him. each time you come down, he hits a sweet, sweet spot deep inside you.

okarun whines with each roll of your hips, face flushed crimson with exertion and emotion.

“you’re doing so good for me, ken..." you murmur, voice low and laden with feeling, your hands cradling his face as you continue your rhythmic dance.

lost in the haze of pleasure, you rain tender kisses along his jawline, his neck, anywhere you can reach as you pick up the pace. your breaths mingle, ragged and fast, bodies slick with effort.

"s-so good," you whimper against his temple, nipping his ear playfully as you drive him closer to the edge. "just a little more..”

okarun is consumed by the overwhelming sensations, his mind going blank except for the exquisite pleasure coursing through every fiber of his being.

every touch, every kiss, every movement brings him higher, until he's sure he'll shatter into a million pieces if it keeps up. It's too much, yet not enough – he never wants this feeling to end. you've become his whole world in this moment, and he's helpless to do anything but feel.

his heart pounds wildly, threatening to burst free from his chest as he surrenders completely to the ecstasy you're creating within him.

you watch his reactions with a smile, thrilled by the way he falls apart beneath you. your hands trail down his chest as you roll your hips, taking him deeper with each pass.

he gasps and squirms under your expert ministrations, his cheeks ablaze with bashful delight. his hands slide down your thighs, gripping hard as he tries to weather the onslaught of sensation.

your name becomes a chant on his lips between stifled gasps and throaty groans. you feel him swelling inside you, pulsing with the strain of holding back his climax. his usually soft eyes are dark with need, boring into you as if searching for salvation.

"please...I can't...much more..." he manages to rasp out, beyond coherence, teetering on the brink.

you lean down, your movements slowing to deep, languid thrusts as you claim his mouth in a searing kiss, muffling his cries of release. his body arches off the bed, surrendering completely as he finds his sweet end within you.

okarun shudders violently beneath you, warm, thick evidence of his ecstasy spilling into you, the kiss lingering even as the aftershocks ripple through him.

feeling him pulse and spend himself inside you sets off a chain reaction, your own release crashing over you like a tidal wave. you break the kiss and tilt your head up with a cry of blissful surrender, sinking down to the hilt as you join him in that exquisite moment of shared ecstasy.

your fingers tangle in his hair, his name a mantra on your lips as every muscle tenses and then goes lax. as the intensity subsides, you collapse against him, his heartbeat a soothing rhythm against your chest.

he buries his face against your neck, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment.

you stroke his soft, raven locks affectionately, wanting to put his mind at ease.

“hey...look at me…” he slowly lifts his eyes to meet yours, tinged with remorseful uncertainty.

"you did so good for me,” your voice is gentle as you seek to lift his spirits.

he swallows hard, nodding slightly at your words. "b- but I didn't do anything..” he trails off, unable to bring himself to finish the thought.

“shh...you made me feel amazing. and I know next time will be different." you kiss his forehead reassuringly, believing in his potential to return the delightful torment.

his cheeks immediately ignite once more, the kiss on his forehead only serving to stoke the flames of his blush.

he sputters out a nervous laugh, hands flying to his face as if to shield himself from further embarrassment. "n-next time? you're...you're not mad?"

he peeks at you through his fingers, eyes widening in disbelief.

“of course Ken,” You punctuate your words with a playful poke to his ribs, making him squirm.

okarun yelps, body jerking at the unexpected poke, his eyes sparkling with laughter.

just as you're about to tease okarun further, the door bursts open. Momo storms into the room, hands on her hips, eyes blazing with annoyance.

“There you are! I can’t believe you abandoned m-“ she pauses, realization kicking in as she takes in you and Okarun in a rather compromising position. “j-jesus! learn how to lock the door will ya?!” she exclaims as she slams the door closed.

“whoops!”

[evilslushy]

hii!! i <3 ur fics, could u write one abt y/n finding out she's pregnant with her bf (hamzah) 's baby, and she tells him in some cute way and maybe with some fluff/smut?? i just feel like hamzah has such a breeder kink that he would love it😭

When the Time Is Right

Husband!Hamzah x f!reader

(A/N): lowkey proofread this (#ChristmasMiracles) I apologize, this is actually horrifically bad. One of the reasons why and honestly—it’s on me! I should’ve made a detailed request rules post! >_< but i hate anything that has to do with pregnancy—being pregnant—anything of that sort! I was really struggling with this and I tried to change it up to them trying for a baby after many failed attempts but… I still think this is HORRIBLE ;( I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me after taking so long to get back to you with a really shitty version of that you asked for </3

High-key angst, mentions of failed attempts of pregnancies, borderline smut but not really, still—MDNI!

wc: 1.3k

As awkward as it is to say out loud, you and Hamzah have been trying for a baby for some time now. And as much as it breaks your heart to see those pregnancy tests showing negative results, it hurts even more to witness the disappointment in Hamzah’s eyes.

You both try to mask your pain with hopeful smiles and encouraging words, but the silence that follows each failed attempt grows heavier. Hamzah, ever the optimist, often reassures you, saying, “It’ll happen when the time is right.” Yet, you’ve caught him more than once staring into the distance, lost in thought, his expression tinged with longing whenever the topic is brought up.

Today was no exception to your previous attempts, your husband sneaking beside you—your eyes meeting his, hesitantly. “What’s wrong?” He uses elbow to prop himself beside you, moving your hair away from your face with his other hand. It rested on your shoulder, messaging it a bit to help set some comfort for you.

“I’m…” you began, but the words stuck in your throat. Taking a deep breath, you tried again. “I know how badly you want this.” You looked away briefly, then added, “And I want it too.” You needed him to understand that this wasn’t something you felt pressured into—it was something you both deeply desired.

His face softened, his gaze full of understanding. “I know,” he said quietly. “We can try another day if you just want to sleep tonight.” His hand moved up and down your arm in soothing strokes before slipping down to intertwine his fingers with yours.

You shook your head. “No. It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” he asked gently.

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed again.”

He snorted softly, a playful edge to his response. “You’re being ridiculous. Baby, I’m not disappointed.” You looked up at him, leaning into his chest, your lips pressing into a slight pout. “I see how sad you get. It makes me sad,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

Hamzah’s expression shifted, and he used the hand holding yours to guide it over his waist. Then he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, cradling you against him as if to shield you from the weight of your own worries. “I’m not sad,” he said firmly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I told you before, it’ll happen at the right time.”

You hummed against his chest, the arm that wrapped around you moving up and down as his fingers ghostly ran across your back. You shivered, looking back up at your husband after hiding in his chest for a few minutes. He looked down—smiling at you. The gap between your lips closing, his smile felt against your lips.

He flipped you away from his body, hovering over you; his lips still attached to yours. Your hands slipping under his loose fitted shirt, feeling for his waist to pull him towards you. The way he kisses you alone shows you how much dedication he has for you. He sighs into the kiss, pulling away to take his shirt off. Taking the hint from your lingering hands.

You smile at him, the proud and excited smile on his face made you break into a fit of giggles. His index finger hooks the elastic band of your pajama shorts, pulling them away from you then letting it go so it’d snap back and hit your skin. Leaning down to kiss you again while his finger hooked your shorts off your legs.

A moan slipped out of your throat—sounding like a groan in pain, making him pull away to see what’s wrong. His lips were left plumper, eyes lidded—chest heaving. The sensual air thick around him, your heart skips a beat.

He raised his eyebrow, indicating his curiosity. “You okay?” He asked. Everything about this, his tone, his warmth, the energy around you. It could send you to sleep. Your hand reaches for his hip, moving upwards to caress his waist. “Yeah.” You cup his face, creasing his cheeks by rubbing your thumbs up and down.

Hamzah’s eyes wandered over your features, studying you intently, as if memorizing every detail of your expression. Slowly, his face leaned toward your right hand, his cheek pressing softly into your palm. His lips curved into a faint smile, and for a moment, the world outside your shared bubble seemed to disappear.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his tone inviting you to open up but never pushing. His hand slid up to cover yours on his cheek, his fingers warm and grounding. “You don’t have to keep everything inside, you know. Are you not feeling it?”

His words made your chest tighten, not in a painful way, but in that overwhelming way love and vulnerability often do. “I just don’t wanna let you down,” you admitted softly, your voice breaking slightly.

Hamzah shook his head, his smile faint as his hand squeezed yours gently. “You could never let me down,” he said firmly, his gaze locking with yours.

The way he looked at you made your heart flutter, a warmth spreading through your chest that both comforted and unsettled you. His fingers slid from your hand to your wrist, his touch light but intentional as he guided your hand down to rest against his chest. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm, grounding yet electrifying.

“Such a pretty girl. Pretty for me.” He murmured, his voice lower now, the edges softened by the intimacy of the moment. His other hand settled at your waist, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles that sent a ripple of heat through you.

You blinked, unable to form words, your breath catching as he leaned in closer. The faintest smile tugged at his lips before he tilted his head, brushing his nose against yours in a gesture so tender it made your pulse race.

“Hamzah…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but it was enough to draw him in further.

His lips hovered over yours, teasingly close, his breath warm against your skin. “Tell me what you need,” he said softly, his tone a mix of care and something deeper, something that made your cheeks flush.

Your hand slid down his chest, fingers curling around the fabric of the hems of his shirt. That was all he needed to feel.

His lips met yours again, gently, with a hunger that had been building. His hand pressed beside your head to hold himself above you. The kiss was slow at first, unhurried and deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every moment. But as your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging him closer, his restraint began to waver.

The world around you blurred; the only thing that mattered was the way his touch ignited every nerve in your body, making you forget everything except him. Every issue you’d faced, every tear you've cried, every painful heart tug melted into an intoxicating sensation you couldn’t get enough of.

He hummed against your lips. His hand moved, slowly, from your waist to your knee, bending it upwards—spreading your leg away to settle in between them. A quiet gasp left your lips at his sudden change in manner. His hand slipped down from your knees to your thigh, settling past it on your hip. Squeezing as he pulled away.

His lips began to trail kisses on from your jaw to your neck, the way his breathing brushed against your skin made your heart feel warm, even in these situations where lust would be the only thing you’d want to feel, his love would wash down on you intensely.

Your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. Enjoying the feeling of your husband’s sensual touch on you.

[feinyan]

Hello! How are you doing??

Can I request cute and fluffy moments with damon and kai? Like just silly cute daily stuff they do with reader

MOMENTS WITH THEM featuring. damon maitsu, kai monteago and wolfgang akire.

hiii i hope this fits what you'd requested. hope you enjoy it. some actual writing and some small silly headcanons ! i see all your requests and ill try my best to work. expect another post maybe after christmas! three feinyan posts in a week .. who is this …?

# damon maitsu

laying on the couch together, resting practically atop of him, face close to his own with your body positioned between his legs. elbows digging into his chest as you ramble and giggle on endlessly about your day. he’ll suddenly raise move hands, sliding them toward your waist and giving it a big squeeze. the cold fingers against your bare skin catch you off guard, and it sends you tumbling down (not a very far distance, albeit) with your head into his chest. he snickers at you with a smug grin as you give him a lecture.

internally fights himself to not completely melt into your touch. he feels like a dumbass when he does. its conflicting. standing in front of him, fingers intertwined within his own, leaning in close enough to feel his breath against your skin. parting your lips and sliding a thigh in between his own, he stumbles backwards, pulling away from your touch. the two of you sort of shoot looks at each other in confusion. damon, a flustered mess, muttering to slow down and give him a second to process it. he wants it, but hes nervous. too nervous to process your touch, too nervous to process even just the way he feels. if things go too quick for him, he feels like his brain will turn to mush. these type of moments make you giggle. a humored hum escaping your lips whilst he gives you an embarrassed look, biting his lip whilst unable to refute your laughter. but you don’t mind it with ill intent, and he’s aware of that. his need for your patience, his nervous grin, his shaking fingers. its all too cute when he overheats in the moment.

soooo annoying in the morning. its a daily occurrence. grumbles about still being tired, burying his face into your chest in order to shield his eyes from the sunlight interrupting through the blinds. you’ll literally have to drag him out of bed or annoy him with whining and babbling till he wakes up if you want to get anything done on time. such a sleepy love bug, clinging to you as if he didn’t have a care in the world showing affection.

rough with how he touches you. always. in a way, its a reminder of him. something you like. something special. his way of attempting to be gentle with you yet always managing to be harsh with his fingers or lips is amusing, so you feed him praise nonetheless.

i think he would lean on you a lot. if you’re short enough, he stands behind you, hands on your head and resting his own atop of them.

communicates with you with eye contact. if you’re out with friends and he wants something, he’ll indicate it with his eyes. annoyed? rolls his eyes. confused? gives you a weirded out stare. silly stuff like that. you’ve practically mastered damon eye language by now.

coldest hands. literally ever. his body always feels like he’s ridded with frostbite, stranded in the midst of a winter storm. even in summer.

# kai monteago

pathetic. full stop. has a habit of running to you whilst whining, burying his head into the crook of your neck or clothing, and begging for protection from you. ‘baaaaaaby, damons picking on me again. say something to him! tell him to leave me alooooooneee …’

always caught up on petty celebrity drama and gossips about it with you. texts you as soon as he hears something new, always making sure to keep you updated. bursting into your room, closing the door abruptly behind him whilst throwing himself against your mattress, phone in hand. ‘guessssss what i just found out!’ rambling about dumb internet drama was a topic frequently brought up between the two of you, whether its a hot topic going around the internet as of now, or something he just happenedddd to stumble across. and just happenedddd to tell you about it in detail the minute he heard.

sends pictures of himself to you almost every time you’re apart. he misses you, and he wants you to see his gorgeous face even when you’re apart! constant facetimes, a lot of texts updating you on his day or whining about work, etc.

dummy who uses internet slang with you expecting you to immediately understand. and when you don’t, he acts like its the most shocking thing in the world. ‘babe. how do you not know what rizz means?? its literally everywhere!’

takes pictures of literally everything for social media. food? check. scenery? check. himself? double check.

you two do your nails together .. or you’ll try out makeup products or little trinkets you’d found on each other.

alwaaaays takes you out when he goes shopping. never goes without you, its just routine. thrifting, expensive, grocery, anything. its as if he couldn’t make decisions without you there.

takes pictures of you so often! he just love loves looking at you, whether or not you look inherently ‘good’ or not. he always thinks you look lovely. he def has a photo album of you.

# wolfgang akire

has a routine to leave a kiss against your forehead every morning. even if the two of you are just spending a day in bed together, whether you’re awake or not when he’s preparing to leave for work. he’ll brush your hair out of the way, gently placing his lips against your forehead with a quiet, ‘i love you, i’ll see you soon, my darling’ as to not wake you up.

frequently showers with you. not in a sexual way, but in a way where you two just view each other in such a vulnerable state. a way of being closest to each other in a way nobody else could, giggling or talking over the loud pounding of the water hitting the shower floor, washing each other. wolfie running his fingers through your hair, thoroughly scrubbing at your scalp in order to wash any excess soap out. humming softly, his eyes steadily locked on his working fingers as he’d mutter out a usual, quiet, ‘hold still, i’m almost done sweetheart.’

kisses parts of your body you’re insecure about. scars, moles, any feature you dislike. but he just can’t find a way to dislike anything about you, he cherishes every part of your body, and he won’t forget to remind you of that.

frequently takes toshiko out on little adventures with you. to an arcade, an amusement park. anywhere wolfie thinks both of you will have fun. to him, seeing two people he loves, a girl whose like a little sister to him and you, someone who he’d go to hell and back for giggling and chatting together warms his heart in an unexplainable way.

lends you clothes. usually his sweaters or jacket, but he just wants you to be warm, hes always concerned if you two are out in the winter. bundles you up in a jacket, a scarf wrapped around your neck and big poofy gloves covering your hands.

sends you lovely, sweet messages randomly. throughout the day, he’ll ask if you’ve eaten or what you plan to do today. he’ll call you on break or when given the opportunity. hes always making sure he has time for you, and maybe worrying a little too much.

calm, rarely argues with you. its reassuring the way he listens to you and understands you.

def surprises you with your favorite types of food or flowers after a long day! he knows just how to take care of you.

sometimes he'll come home in a bad mood after work, and you can return the favor! surprising him with things he enjoys, making him a nice warm meal or just comforting him. your words with each other mean a lot.

@ feinyan

[mochiwrites]

SCARIAN PARENTHOOD ARC????? I just saw that post Mochi PLS make this canon this is so fucking sweet ;~; grrgrhhhhhhh that would be so adorable 😭

canon you say? 👀

——————————

Of everything Grian expected from this day upon waking up with a snoring husband in his ear, a secret breach was not a part of the list. Trying to break into Mumbo’s vault, restock The Entity, get Hotguy’d by Scar, all typical occurrences. Searching the server far and wide for a strange anomaly that got past the firewall? Not even close to a thought on his mind.

Still, here he is, checking around the Rift for any strange or unusual entities. Grumbot Prime beeps behind him, watching as he looks over the shifting portal. He doesn’t see anything too unusual upon a surface level gleam of the place.

Up above, he hears the telltale flap of an elytra, along with a call of his name. Looking up, he spots Scar gliding into the cave, landing nearby. “There you are! I swear you took off like a rocket as soon as Xisuma finished explainin’ everything!” Scar heaves a breath as he pauses to catch it. “Have you found anything?”

Grian steps back from the Rift as he shakes his head. “Not yet. I was just about to open my Eyes to search for anything that’s hiding,” he answers. Easily does he slip his hand into Scar’s, lacing their fingers together. “What about you?”

Scar’s lips tilt low in a light frown. “I checked by the Elven Tree and Cookie Emporium but couldn’t find a thing,” he sighs, squeezing Grian’s hand. “Was just about to check Scarland if you’re willing to come along?” His voice carries something hopeful in it, making Grian smile despite the pile of nerves that sit in his stomach.

There’s only a handful of things that can break through a server as strong as Hermitcraft, and Grian has every reason to fear it.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Let me do a quick sweep of the place first.” Grian leans toward Scar to press a kiss to his cheek before looking back toward the Rift. He shuts his eyes with a quiet exhale, internally flipping the switch of his Watcher magic. Keeping his normal eyes shut, a ring of purple eyes float around his head, painting his view in a mix of code and a lavender tinted haze.

He hears Scar mutter beside him, “hot.” Grian promptly elbows him, the feathers of his wings fluffing. Scar laughs in return, although the sound is a little breathy.

Ignoring the distraction of his husband, Grian scans the Rift. Almost immediately is he overwhelmed with the strings of code before him, making him wince. He’ll be feeling that later in the form of a killer headache. But that’s a problem for future Grian. Present Grian has a completely different problem at hand. Lying within the code of the Rift is lines of broken numbers, a small hole. The numbers flicker in and out, and Grian swallows thickly.

“Well,” he starts, voice weak, “I’ve figured out how the anomaly got in.” Guilt already starts to flood him, as he realizes this is his fault. Who knows what he’s gone and accidentally allowed in. Stupid.

“That’s great!” Scar cheers, though one look at Grian’s uneasy expression and he wilts. “Or… maybe not?”

Grian doesn’t answer, Eyes still reading through the ruined code. He picks up on some kind of trail of numbers, and realizes it’s traceable. His eyes open and he looks at Scar. “I think I know where it is.”

Scar squeezes his hand again, a silent reassurance of I’m here. “Lead the way, G.”

——————————

Of all places, they’re brought to a forest not so far from Scarland. The warped numbers twist around the leaves and branches, creating an easy enough trail for Grian to follow. They walk along a path as they look around, keeping an eye out for anything strange.

They come to a small clearing within the forest and that’s when they find their anomaly. Sitting by a pond is a little girl who looks no older than six. On her back are two little wings, the feathers in a complete state of disarray. She wears what looks like an old dress, tattered and singed at the edges. Bandages cover her hands and arms, and she has some light scrapes and bruises.

Grian and Scar share a look before they look back at the child. He gestures for Scar.

“Uh—hello there!” Scar begins, sounding a bit unsure.

The girl startles, her wings fluffing up as she whips her head toward them. Her eyes widen with fear as soon as she sees them, hurrying to her feet.

“Wait!” Scar exclaims as she goes to run. However, he doesn’t have to do much for she trips and lands on the ground with a pained cry. He looks at Grian, who wears a similar expression of concern. Scar looks at the girl again, taking a few small steps toward her. “Are you okay?”

Hastily, she pushes herself up onto her knees, wings opening in an attempt to make herself bigger. Her big brown eyes are filled with tears, expression tight in terror. “S-Stay away!” she shouts, her voice shaking and wet. “I don’t wanna go back!”

“Go back?” Scar repeats, confused, taking another small step forward. “We’re not gonna make you—”

“I said s-stay away!” she yells again, her eyes flashing purple. Grian’s breath catches at the sight of it, and if he needs further evidence of this little girl’s identity, she looks right at him. Afraid. “H-He’s gonna bring me back! He has the big scary eyes like all the others do!”

Grian thinks he’s going to be sick.

“What?” Scar looks over at Grian, confused. He stares at the avian for a second before his eyes widen in realization. “G, your magic thingy! Make them go away!”

Right, he didn’t shut his Eyes—that’s what’s scaring the poor kid even more. Letting them close, he feels a soft pressure against his skull, and Grian grimaces. Lovely time for a headache. Pushing that aside, he looks at the girl. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apologizes. “They can’t reach you here, I promise.”

She still looks afraid, and Grian winces.

“Why don’t we introduce ourselves, hm?” Scar smiles at her as he sits down on the ground. “I’m Scar, and this lovely man right here is Grian. We’re members of Hermitcraft, the server you’ve stumbled into,” he introduces cheerfully as Grian sits beside him. “What’s your name?”

“I…” the girl begins, though her eyes well up with tears. “I don’t remember…”

“Hey, hey, that’s alright! Why don’t you pick a nickname to be called for now?” Scar’s smile doesn’t waver, staying warm and gentle as he speaks to her. He never fails to amaze Grian, truly. Scar really is a wonderful man.

The girl blinks at Scar, looking confused. “A… nickname?” she asks.

“Yeah! It can be whatever you want, we just need a name to call you by,” Scar explains. “Everyone deserves a name.”

Her expression scrunches as she tries to think of a nickname, deep in thought. Grian can’t help finding the sight adorable, watching her wings twitch. “I… I wanna be called Sunny,” she decides on, and the smile Scar gives her is so bright.

“I think that’s an amayzin’ choice, Sunny!” He grins at her, watching the way her eyes light up. “Do you think you could tell us what happened to you, Sunny? You said you didn’t want to go back… did you run away from someone?” The two of them already know the answer to this, but they have to be sure.

Sunny flinches at the question, her wings folding tightly to her back as her shoulders rise. The tears are quick to return as she looks down at her lap, shaking. “T-They… they were really tall and had a-all these big wings…” she sniffles. “They w-were really scary… and they’d m-make me do training that really hurt…”

Grian’s hands curl into tight fists, some protective feeling clawing at his chest. Just hearing how trembly her voice is leaves Grian’s blood boiling. Seeing how little she is, knowing what the Watchers are like, his heart cracks. Judging by the hitch in Scar’s breath he has the same reaction, the man frowning.

“I-I’m sorry,” the little girl apologizes, looking up at the two of them as she sniffles. “Please don’t t-tell Them I’m here..! Don’t make me go b-back! I just… just wanted to see the sun…” Her tiny wings wrap around herself as she trembles, and Grian feels his heart breaking in half. She looks so small and afraid, he can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for someone at her age.

“It’s okay,” Grian’s speaking before he thinks, avian instincts crying for him to protect her. “No one here is going to make you go back. Not if I have anything to say about it.” There’s a stubbornness to his voice that catches him off guard, and he can feel Scar’s eyes on him. For the moment he ignores it, focusing only on soothing the scared child before him. He’s not good with kids like Scar is, but he’s sure going to give it his best shot. “Hermitcraft is a safe place for runaways like us. You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

Sunny stares at him with open surprise, her brown eyes shiny as new tears start to form.

Scar doesn’t bother hiding his own shock from Grian, but he quickly covers it up after, keeping it for much later, when it’s just the two of them together. For now, he nods earnestly in agreement, “You’ll be safe here, promise. Once we explain everything to our admin I’m sure he’ll have no problem with you staying!”

Grian watches as the girl begins sniffling before her little wings flutter and she’s flying right into them. It catches both of them off guard, Grian’s own wings flaring as he and Scar hurry to catch her. She presses her face into Scar’s shoulder as she shakes and cries and Grian looks at his husband. He sees the same protective gleam within the depths of his eyes, and Scar nods at him.

They’re going to do whatever it takes to make sure she stays here.

[claudiafrankie]

Pick a Card: How is Your Soul Doing

Disclaimer: Tarot is not an evidence-based practice. You are in charge of making your own decisions.

Pile 1 - Water

Wowie pile 1! This feels really good. The picture on the oracle card you picked made me feel like you are in this drop of water, protected and encased in this womb. The rainbow looks like it's feeding/emptying into the water drop, kind of like an umbilical chord. You are kind of churning around and developing, maybe growing a little uncomfortable, feeling like you are too big for your current environment.

Then, bursting over the waves or a rocky mountain range in the distance, a bright white sun explodes into the sky. I see you with your back to this, you aren't aware of it yet.

It looks like the drop of water is suspended over the ocean - and not a calm one. You are cocooned amidst a storm. You probably have felt like you've been in survival mode for a long time. Trying to do small things to bring the light and spark back into your life, with nothing really sticking or working for you. You might have been feeling like you just want to cut everyone off and run away, or like you need to do something drastic, or make some kind of otherwise significant change in your life.

I think you are being heavily protected right now, and watched over. The rainbow emptying into the drop, to me, is like your ancestors and guides providing you with the nourishment you need should you decide to seek it out. They have been sending you messages and communicating with you, and want to pass on advice and wisdom. It's like your outside looks solid or mostly the same, but on the inside you are caterpillar chrysalis enzyme goo, not quite sure what you are going to solidify into.

I think you have been emitting light and hope to those around you during this time of transformation, whether you are aware of it or not. There seems to be light emitting from the right side of the water drop, which spirals upwards and connected with the illuminated sky. I think people around you are anticipating your reveal, waiting to see what kind of person you are going to become.

I think you feel pressure from this, like you have to become something extraordinary and "wow" people that you might not even know very well to begin with. This is part of why you are in this cocoon, you are connecting with who it is that you want to be. Without taking outside opinions into consideration. Going deep into that space within you that is always there, that's quiet and still, that connects you to god.

Pile 2: Fire

Hey pile 2, welcome to your reading!

You chose the 'fire' oracle card, which reads: "As one of the four physical elements, Fire brings us inspiration, creativity, and focus, while also being associated with the masculine properties of strength and life-force. This card can indicate a powerful time of transformation and creative energy."

Your tarot cards are: Queen of Swords, 3 of Swords, Knight of Swords, Nine of Swords, and the Page of Cups.

Looking at your oracle card I was getting the feeling that you have been putting out signals, trying to communicate the need for help, ask for assistance from the universe or your guides or some higher power or source, whatever you believe in.

It looks like the pyramid in the bottom center of the card is lit on fire with the orange/red triangle on the top. Then the large planet-looking object hovers above, and I get the sense that there is help coming to you that may come as a surprise, maybe in the form of a person you wouldn't expect.

Also with fire, and asking for help, I started thinking about fire signals, and then that moment in Lord of the Rings where Gondor lights the beacons to summon help from Rohan - "The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!"

Looking at the Queen of Swords kicking off your spread, (using the universal waite deck) she holds her sword upright looking straight ahead, gesturing outwards with her left hand. She gazes over the rest of your cards, we only see her right profile. The 3 of Swords stands before her, and the Knight of Swords comes crashing in, sword raised, windswept and single-minded.

The 3 of Swords is sandwiched between the queen and the knight... big red juicy, pierced three times, exposed to the elements.

The queen has placed her sword in the heart and so has the knight. Then there is a final ace of swords down the middle - remember in Avatar the Last Airbender, one of the very first episodes, we learn that Sokka tried to remove a fishhook lodged in his hand with another fishhook?

The nine of swords... Something has been attempted to be solved from an angle that doesn't work anymore. A cerebral, thinking one. You have thought yourself in circles about something. You have learned a great deal, about yourself and whoever else this involves. But it's hurting you. And ultimately, it's done. Whatever has happened is over now, but it's like your brain cannot seem to let go. You hold on, desperately trying to decipher some riddle, some code, some writing on the wall that at this point you think you might be imagining.

The Page of Cups stands at the very end of your spread - the only card that's not in the suit of swords. He sees the woman in the nine of swords suffering night terrors, and the repetitive cerebral approach being taken to mending the broken heart. He doesn't seem to be judging, he offers his cup lightly, almost like he's dancing. Here is the help you called for - the Queen, looking over all the cards between her and the end of your spread, is beginning to see above the clouds. How her sword is not a one-size-fits-all tool for solving problems. She has become so used to running her world using her brain. The page sees this and, filled with respect and admiration for her obvious intellectual prowess, lovingly and informally suggests a new way. One that's a little less heavy than that steel sword in your hand.

The four of cups at the bottom of the deck - the page offers his cup but won't force you to take it. After that, the six of swords, ace of pentacles, queen of wands, ace of wands... I think you might want to take that cup.

[sports-on-sundays]

Oh...! Maybe you can make a part 2 of the fic Mama's Boy when they're on date or make a new one with the same trope because this is so cute and I can't stop reading it! 😆

mama's boy / Héctor Fort / Part 2

Summary: Héctor x best friend!reader - Héctor takes you on both of your first dates, his clear, awkward, huge crush on you funnily apparent. Link to Part 1!

Requested?: Yes! Thank you!

"...Héctor...?!" Lamine suddenly says louder, gently slapping Héctor's shoulder, snapping Héctor out of his deep thoughts. "Did you just hear any of what I just said?" the seventeen-year-old asks in slight exasperation.

"Uh... yeah, of course," Héctor replies, looking at the younger guy like a deer in headlights.

"Then what was it?"

Héctor sighs. "Alright. Maybe I didn't hear you. Sorry. What was it?"

Lamine shakes his head. "It doesn't really matter. Not really, in any case. But what's your problem lately, man?"

"What do you mean?" Héctor asks a bit too defensively and quickly.

"I don't know. It just seems like you're always zoned out and stuff. Is there anything going on?"

Héctor sighs, shaking his head, standing up to go. "No, no, it's nothing. Just got a lot on my mind. Anyway, I've got to go now. Bye, Lamine!" and he leaves before the boy can press him any more on the subject.

Because the truth is, he does have something on his mind. Something really big. And he hasn't been able to get it off his mind literally all week.

But it'd be awkward to tell Lamine the thing that's making him literally check out of conversations is all centered around a girl. And if Héctor knows Lamine enough, he also knows Lamine would never let him live that down.

Well, tonight is his date with you. Ever since he asked you out about five days ago now, at your house, in your room, all he can focus on are the nerves of that. You, the girl he's known for years, the girl that's always been so close yet so untouchable. He is taking you out on a date.

And you actually like him back.

Just the thought of that makes his chest tighten. How on earth is he going to survive a date with you, no matter how excited he is for it?

"You've been awfully quiet this car ride," Héctor's mama says in the car seat next to him.

Héctor sighs, shrugging. "Yeah, I guess so..."

"Aren't you excited for your date?" his mama says kind of teasingly, giving him a little nudge.

"Of course! I guess I'm just..." he trails off.

"You're just a bit nervous, but that's something you'd never admit to anyone out loud, huh?"

Héctor just smiles awkwardly, shrugging, and lets his silence be the answer to that question. After a few seconds, he sighs, unbuckling his seat belt, and saying, "I just hope I don't screw it all up."

"Hey, trust me, Héc. Look here for a second," his mama says.

He looks up, meeting his eyes. "Yeah. What?"

"You won't screw it up. I'm sure it'll go great. You've known that girl since you were both born. And I have, too, by the way. And if there's one thing I can tell, it's this: she likes you just as much as you like her. She's just less of an awkward idiot about it!" His mama laughs, giving him a little pat on the shoulder.

"Hey!" Héctor snaps back, unable to keep the smile from breaking out on his face at the tease from his mama.

She gives him a little pat, saying, "There's my boy's real smile. Now, go on, and have fun, Héc!"

He smiles and nods, getting out of the car, feeling a lot better than before.

Héctor replayed this scene in his head over and over, all week, perfecting it every time, until he was sure what he would do and say, in order to be perfectly smooth and charming, without being too corny, either.

The scene where you would walk up to him, and he'd take you inside the restaurant, and you'd sit down, and it would all go just the way he wants it to.

But all the sudden, as he sees you walking towards him, he feels his heart begin to pound in his chest, and the moment you reach him and say happily, "Hey, Héctor!" all other thoughts and plans of what he would say next fly right out of his head.

His mind goes blank, and instead of the smooth comment he thought he'd make right here, he just smiles stupidly and says, "Hi. I'm glad you came!"

You smile softly. "Well, I am, too. Let's go inside."

So the two of you walk in, and Héctor internally beats himself up at how much he's 'already messed up.' At least according to himself, that is.

So in an effort to fix his mistakes, as the two of you are escorted to your table, he suddenly gently slips his hand into yours and looks at you with a sweet little smile.

You smile back, blushing a bit, and squeeze his hand gently.

That's when he blurts, "You look really good today. I mean, like... I mean, you look beautiful... Uhm..." he clears his throat. "You look good every day, obviously, I mean. I just mean to say... you look especially pretty today."

You smile, feeling how awkward he's being. But regardless, you think it's cute. He's cute. And he's being sweet. So you say simply, "Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself." You can tell he's tried to look his best for this. His clothes are perfectly ironed, his shoes clean, every hair on his head perfectly in place. You can't help but smile softly when you think about the effort he must've put into all that as you both sit down across from each other.

You both begin looking over the menu, and as you do this, you say with a little smile, after you catch him giving you little glances for the fourth time, "You really like me, don't you?"

He smiles a bit and says, "There's a lot to like about you." Finally! Something that was at least half-smooth! his brain screamed, like as if he'd just scored the winning goal. Which is actually quite funny, considering the situation itself.

You smile and say, putting a hand to your chest, "Why, thank you!"

And he grins back at you, his eyes softening in some sort of deep affection that further tells you just how down bad he is for you.

"So, what are you going to get?" Héctor asks, beginning the small talk of the night, which, honestly, you're thankful for.

As the date goes on, though, you both settle into being more and more comfortable with each other, until it seems at the end you've both forgotten this was supposed to be any different than any other time you've just hung out and had fun with each other.

Until the time for you both to get going is nearing, and suddenly Héctor, apparently getting a newfound spark of confidence, reaches across the table to take your hand in his own. You look up, watching him inhale slowly, before meeting your eyes with his own and saying in a gentler, more serious tone than the teasing one that had lingered most of the evening between the two of you: "So... have you liked it?"

You smile as each of your hands seem to naturally entwine in each other's. "Liked what?"

"Tonight. Our date."

You beam. "Oh, Héctor, I've just loved it."

"Really?" he asks, his eyes sparkling.

"Don't you know that any time I get to spend with you is amazing? Come on now, Héctor," you gently tease.

He beams back at you, squeezing your hand.

That's when you finally feel comfortable enough to ask the unabating question that's been on your mind all week: "Héctor... how long have you liked me...? You know, in this way."

He seems hesitant. Maybe slightly taken off guard. But he doesn't let go of your hand, and after some silence, finally responds with, "The truth is, it's been longer than I've even known."

You can't help but laugh a bit at that, maybe a little nervously, saying, "What does that mean?"

Héctor smiles softly. "It means that I'm starting to think I've felt like this towards you for years. Like, at least five."

Your eyes widen at that as your heart rate begins to quicken. "Oh... my goodness, Héctor, that's so sweet...!" It really is. Hearing those words from him is so... touching.

He smiles awkwardly, glancing away from your gaze, before asking, "How long have you liked me? I mean, you do like me, right?"

"Héctor! Of course I like you! I like you a lot!" you exclaim, liking the way he happily looks back up at that. "I mean, I guess it hasn't been as long as you, but I've probably liked you for, like, at least eighteen months now."

He seems to be satisfied with hearing that, and says, "It kind of seems perfect, doesn't it?"

"What does?" you ask, your expression softening further.

"The way we've known each other... forever. Our families love each other, we have the same interests, we know all the little things about each other. It's almost as if..."

"...we're meant to be?" you finish after he trails off.

His eyebrows happily shoot up. "How'd you know that's just what I was going to say?"

You chuckle. "I guess we're just on the same wavelength, too, on top of it all, huh?"

He squeezes your hand, before daring to bring your hand up to his lips and gently kiss it, saying, "I guess we are, my princess."

You stare in awe at him, suddenly feeling like he's just shot you in the heart with an arrow of love, regardless of how cheesy that all seems. You can't help but giggle and tease, "Oh my God, Héctor. I didn't know you had that in you!"

He beams, admittedly seeming quite pleased with himself.

Soon, then, he pays for the meal, and the two of you stand up to head out. As you walk, Héctor links arms with yours, and once you're outside, he turns to grab your shoulders gently, face you, and look into your eyes. All you can see in them is simple, beautiful, complete joy. It's then that he whispers, "I hope you know... how much this means to me. All of this."

You stare at him. He so... close. It's not like you haven't been this close to him before- you have, many times.

But this time? This time, it just feels... well, different.

This time is different.

His thumb gently rubs your shoulder. The tenderness in his dark brown eyes...

You swallow.

"You're so beautiful... I'm so glad I get the privilege to be so close to you. I'm so glad you're my best friend."

"And I'm so glad you're my boyfriend," you suddenly blurt with a silly little smile, your heart pounding at the words you just let slip from your lips.

His eyes immediately widen. "You... You really want to...?"

You lean in close, gazing up at him, "I'd love to, and I know you would, too."

He grins, before it slowly dies down to a simple, soft, dreamy smile. "I sure would..." he barely murmurs, moving his hand up to gently cup your cheek.

You chuckle breathy as he lean in, tenderly planting a kiss on your cheek, before moving close to whisper in your ear, his cheek almost touching yours, his gentle, warm breath on your ear, "Well, I guess I've got to go now... But I'm excited for next time, huh?"

You grin, whispering back, "Oh, Héctor, I hope you know I can't wait."

He grins back and whispers, "Good. Me neither. Now, bye bye, Y/n!" He leans away again, pecking you on your cheek, closer to your mouth this time, and waves as he starts heading off.

You beam. "Bye bye, Héc!"

And this time, he doesn't seem to mind you calling him that. In fact, he might actually like it. Just a bit.

[littleredwolf]

Home for Christmas

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: It's Christmas Eve at the Avengers Compound and you and Wanda are busy making festive cookies for the team to enjoy upon their return from a mission.

Warnings: none. This is pure fluff/cosy Christmas content.

Words: 982

A/N: I wanted to have a go at something fluffy and festive, so I hope this ticks all the right boxes! Merry Christmas!

--

The snow fell in gentle cascades, blanketing the compound in a glittery shimmer that added a touch of magic to the view. Inside, the compound had been transformed into a festive haven, every corner adorned with twinkling lights and tinsel, while Christmas music played softly over the sound system, mingling with the rich scents of sugar, vanilla, and freshly baked gingerbread. It was like a scene straight out of a Christmas movie, so cosy and picturesque. 

“I think we may have overdone it,” Wanda mused as the two of you stood at the counter to admire your afternoon's work. 

The kitchen sides were covered with trays filled with cookies of all shapes and sizes. There were snowflakes, gingerbread men, Christmas trees, candy canes, Santa, stockings, and even some questionable looking reindeer. To anybody else, maybe it was a little too much, but with a team full of superheroes to feed, you wondered if maybe it wasn't enough.

“I don't think that's possible,” you replied, straightening one of the cookies on the tray closest to you. “The super soldiers alone will get through most of these between them.” 

“I'm surprised you haven't made Bucky his own personal batch,” she said with a teasing smile.

At the mere mention of his name, your cheeks flushed and your chest tightened. 

It had been nearly three weeks since you'd last seen Bucky, he and a few other members of the team had been away on a mission, and while he'd sent a few texts and the occasional picture (one particularly adorable shot of him and Sam looking begrudgingly festive in Santa hats), you missed him more than you’d like to admit. 

The compound had felt strangely empty since he'd been gone, you'd missed his dry humour, his quiet strength, and the way he always managed to put you at ease simply by being there. Your bed had felt too big without him in it each night, and the absence of his arms around you and gentle kisses to soothe you to sleep had thrown your sleeping pattern completely off balance. 

The excitement of his imminent return had been bubbling all morning, making you so impatient and restless that Wanda had insisted you do something to keep yourself busy, hence the cookies.  

Now you were finished, however, the nervous excitement was returning, and you couldn't resist the frequent glances out the window to see if you could spot the quinjet through the snow. 

“You really love him, don't you?” Wanda smiled as she began to tidy everything away, sending the dirty utensils to the dishwasher with a wave of her hand. 

You hesitated for a moment, contemplating her words, then slowly nodded. Although neither of you had used the ‘L’ word yet, there was no denying how you felt. 

“Yeah, I do. It's different with him, Wanda - I can be myself around him without feeling like I have to dilute any part of my personality. I never thought I'd find someone who just accepts me as I am - even the messy, broken bits! He’s just, so damn perfect, you know? I feel like pinching myself sometimes because it feels too good to be true!” Your tone was light, but there was no hiding your insecurities from Wanda Maximoff - she knew you better than you knew yourself most days. 

She reached over the counter to squeeze your hand, smiling softly. “He feels the same way, you know. Anyone can see it.” 

Before you could respond, the compound’s security system chimed, announcing an incoming quinjet. Your heart leapt -  they were home! 

“They’re here!” you exclaimed, abandoning your work and rushing to the window. Through the snow, you could just make out the sleek shape of the jet landing on the pad outside. 

Wanda laughed as she trailed after you.“I think you’re more excited about this than Christmas itself,” she teased.

You turned to her with a thoughtful expression. “I'd say it's a draw,” you smirked, and she shook her head with a laugh. You turned to the window again, but the snow was so thick now that you could barely see a thing. 

“What are you waiting for? Go and greet your man!” Wanda urged, giving you a gentle nudge. 

You didn’t need to be told twice - you slipped on your shoes and dashed outside, forgetting to even put on a coat in your rush. The icy wind bit at your cheeks, but you hardly noticed as the quinjet’s hatch opened and the team began descending the ramp. Sam was the first to emerge, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Merry Christmas!” he called, waving as he approached and pulling you into a bear hug. “Now, where are the cookies?”

“It’s good to see you too!” You laughed, giving him a playful shove as you sent him on his way, your attention snapping to the next figure emerging from the jet. 

Bucky stepped out into the snowy evening, his eyes scanning the landing pad until they found you. His face softened instantly, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he hastily made his way down the ramp. 

You didn’t wait for him to reach you. You ran to him, flinging your arms around his neck as he caught you, pulling you close. The familiar scent of him - leather and something faintly metallic - wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

“You’re freezing,” he gasped, brushing his gloved hand over your cheek. 

“I don’t care,” you replied, smiling up at him. “You’re home.”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin mirroring yours as he cupped your face. “I’m home.” 

He pressed his lips to yours, filling you with so much warmth that it instantly melted away the agony of the last three weeks. 

Out of all the gifts you could have written on your Christmas list, being back in Bucky's arms was by far the best one.

[cutehoons02]

PREVIEW

The chapter will be released at Christmas as a small gift:) I hope you like it too, i would write a little series with members of the enhypen in vampire version

A small part of what you will find:

"Really? Couldn’t you change behind the partition like everyone else? What is it you have not yet understood that i’m not fascinated by you Jake" The vampire in front of you laughed and slipped his pants from the suit and remained only in boxers in front of you, were you cursing him in all possible languages because he wanted so much to embarrass you and tease you?

«Well, where is the fun if i went to change in knowing? It’s nice to see you so cheeky looking at my beautiful physique and who knows maybe in your mind you imagine being over my legs or while licking these beautiful muscles!» You were so tired of his insolence that you threw your shirt at him and heard his laughter.

"Jake! put some clothes on, for God’s sake!"

«You are so boring Y/n, should you relax and have fun sometimes and why do you use words like Holy Heavens? I’m a vampire, not a priest or some clerical member»

You sighed, trying to ignore it. But your work came before his stupid beats so you walked up and gently took his shirt. "Put this on. Right now, Jake. Otherwise, I’ll send you out in just boxers." Jake took a step towards you, getting close enough to hold your breath. «Can you help me, right? You’re the designer. Touch me as well. I don’t bite... at least not without permission.»

You stared at him trying to keep calm. "Did anyone ever tell you that you’re unbearable?" Jake laughed softly as you might get slightly touchy, but when he felt her stylist’s little fingers touching his shoulder to fix his shirt, everything changed.